#simply wielding the four sword

[pocketramblr]

Thing is it's got to be about equality- if you add the fs dungeon to Legend's story you gotta add the realm of memory to Four's, which would actually mean he's previously time traveled to two other eras- and would thus recognize the downfall duo's worlds

[portraitofalinkonfyre]

A Fierce Dillema

Pairing: Fierce Deity x Reader

Warning(s): None, just some introspective fluff and controlled chaos with everyone's favorite deity <3

Masterlist

“(Y/n).”

You awoke to the gentle calling of your name and a firm hand on your shoulder. A groan left you as you tried to turn away, to hide in the downy pillows and scattered sheets of your bed, but the voice was too persistent to ignore. A quick glance at your nightstand revealed that it was four in the morning, which was only cemented by the fact that the sun hadn’t even risen yet. 

“(Y/n),” the voice, oddly familiar, continued to press. “Wake up.”

Wake up, he said. You already had an inkling of who would dare disturb your slumber, and it only became clear when you saw the Fierce Deity’s silver-haired reflection on the glossy surface of your alarm clock. He was wearing his armor and that blade of his was secured to his back, which undoubtedly meant something significant had occurred since you bid him and the other boys goodnight six-ish hours ago. “Oh my god, what happened?” 

There was a slight pause. You could practically feel the tension through the calloused hand on your bare shoulder and sincerely hoped he hadn’t gone out and killed someone… or set the kitchen on fire. Again. You weren’t sure which was worse, because at least a body was easy enough to hide when you had nine heroes at your disposal. 

“Can humans consume deer meat?”

What? 

You had to physically turn around to convey the bafflement you were currently feeling. Ever the gentleman, he removed his hand and took a respectful step backward. Now facing each other, you looked him straight in the eye and asked: “Is there a deer in my kitchen?”

“Yes.”

“...Is it for breakfast?”

“Yes.”

…Okay. You were an adult, so you would handle it as such. It was a minor miracle that he had the foresight to talk to you before attempting to use your stove (you hoped). Besides, you did say that you were going to teach the boys about your world until another portal showed up to dump them somewhere else, and Fierce would be no exception. “I’ll be down in five. Do I need to watch meat-cleaning videos or did you put that sword to use?”

The Fierce Deity, destroyer of gods and civilizations alike, looked almost offended by your assumption of his sword usage. You watched, amused, as his voice took on a scolding tone. “I would never, it is much too large for such a task.”

“Whatever you say, buddy,” you slid out of bed with the grace of a waterlogged snail, arranging the blankets in some haphazard semblance of a made bed. Fierce quickly made himself scarce, leaving you alone with your thoughts. 

Your relationship with the deity was an… unusual one. You had been cleaning when you accidentally knocked over Time’s precariously placed traveling pack, only for a vaguely-humanoid mask to fall out. You proceeded to snatch it up and the shit that followed was wild enough to be the star of a bestselling novel on Booktok, because there was no other way to describe it when a seven-foot, fully-armored man materialized two feet away wielding a sword that was as long as you were tall. Chaos had ensued and a fight nearly broke out between the newcomer and Sky, of all people, in your kitchen until Time managed to calm everyone down. From then on, he had simply coexisted in your home, though there were occasionally spats between him and the other boys. Traditionally, Time was the one to break it up when it happened, but you also discovered you yourself had some sway to him when you screamed loud enough. 

Recently, however, Fierce had become unusually devoted to helping out around the house, going so far as to attempt to duel Wild for the right to cook dinner. It had taken a full minute of scolding to get him to pipe down and watch Family Feud with the others, though you got the vague sense that he was pouting as he watched you from the couch. His behavior only ramped up when your boss blessed (cursed) you with more hours at work and you returned home to learn that, in the span of five hours, he had managed to not only break your vacuum cleaner, but nearly maim the mailman for “invading your territory”, to which you informed him that things were drastically different in your world and promptly bought a “guard dog on duty” sign to hang on your mailbox. 

A quiet creak of the floorboards outside reminded you of who you were keeping waiting. With a muffled curse, you threw on a half-decent shirt, leaving your axalotle pj pants right where they were, and dashed outside to meet the deity. He was leaning against your wall, arms crossed over that mouthwateringly muscled chest (you had eyes), but seemed to snap to attention when you barreled into the hallway. “Let’s cook this bitch!”

And so you did. While the gorey mess practically dripping from your island wasn’t particularly enthusing, you sucked it up and retrieved a pan, turning the stove to the max. A bit of oil later and you had a butchered flank roasting on the front burner, while a large pot filled with bones boiled away. Fierce was very considerate of your lack of knowledge on this sort of thing, quietly handing you the finished cuts when you requested them. He hardly spoke, choosing to listen as you prattled on about nothing in particular. Within the hour, you had an entire pile of roasted meat on a serving plate, and several members of the chain had begun to trickle in, likely drawn by the delicious scent of food. It was only when everyone was downstairs did you notice that he had disappeared. Despite the minor fuss the younger boys raised, you grabbed some food and went to find him. 

It was on the woodpile in the very corner of your property where you tracked him to. Even with his impressive bulk, there was still space to sit on the stacked logs, so you plopped down happily. Fierce looked at you with a surprised expression, but said nothing. So you did instead, offering him the plate. “I hope you know I’m not going to let you run off without eating after all you did.”

He took the plate. “It is nothing.”

You shrugged and began peeling the orange you snagged earlier. “Maybe to you, but not to me. You gave us a break and I’m grateful.”

“I stole sleep from you.”

“And?” You honestly had no idea why he thought you cared about that. Sure, waking up early sucked sometimes, but you weren’t made of glass. You popped an orange slice into your mouth. “I’m an adult.”

There was silence, but it wasn’t as uncomfortable as one would think. The sun had long since risen, bathing you in warm golden hues that not even the gentle breeze could chill. It didn’t even dawn on you how strange you must have looked–sitting next to an actual deity while dressed in a stained t-shirt and printed animal pants–or how unusual your life had become. 

“I have a question,” said the deity. You listened intently before answering–it wasn’t often that he initiated conversation and you didn’t want to spoil it. 

“...I have an answer.”

If you had looked closely, you would have seen the subtle quirk of his usually flat mouth before his expression reformed to something more solemn. You wondered if you should have mentally prepared for this conversation. “You do not fear me… why?”

You blinked, trying to process what had just been said to you. “Excuse me?”

As if sensing your bafflement, the Fierce Deity elaborated: “I could end your existence with a sweep of my sword. Thousands have recognized this, but you either deny or remain oblivious to it.”

Ouch? You knew little of his backstory beyond being imprisoned in a mask for countless years by someone named Hylia for–... well, you don’t think he had informed you, but it was far from warranting fear. If he had wanted to hurt you he would have done so already. You were honestly a bit offended he thought so little of you. “Is that all you think there is to it? I’ve told you before and I’ll say it again: you’ve done nothing to warrant my fear, so I don’t know where you’re getting this from,” you paused, realizing how harsh you sounded. “...Sorry, I just… I don’t see you that way.”

“Then how do you see me?” asked the deity, and you were caught off guard by the genuine curiosity in his pupil-less eyes. Was he… self conscious? It was a laughable thought, that the Fierce Deity was capable of such an emotion, but it was the only one that made sense in this dance of conversation. 

That begs the question… how did you see him? ‘A person’ was your first thought, but it was what anyone would say. An acquaintance? Yes, but then it made your relationship seem almost transactional, which was not what you were aiming to convey. He was clearly looking for reassurance beneath that stoic facade and you knew an opportunity like this wouldn’t come again. 

“A friend,” the words rolled off your tongue before you could stop them, but what could you do besides continue? “You’re my friend.”

It was simple, really, though that didn’t stop him from looking completely and utterly baffled. “You consider me… a friend?”

Why did it sound like such an affront when he said it like that? Your orange was long gone, but it didn’t stop you from fiddling with the peel in your hands. “I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it,” you responded honestly, because, really, you wouldn’t have. “You don’t sound like you have many friends.”

There was a sort of bitter melancholy in his tone that you knew all too well. “I have none.”

You grinned and reached up to pat his shoulder, emboldened by the rising light and your own sense of duty. “Until now.”

For the first time in forever, The Fierce Deity, vanquisher of worlds and gods alike, smiled. Truly smiled. You could have sworn his porcelain cheeks seemed a little less stark when he took your hand, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of it like in the fantasy novels you read as a child. Then, before you could choke out a flustered response, he leaned close and said. “I vow to not disappoint you.”

It was almost impressive how quickly you recovered from the shock of his actions. With a small laugh, you laid your hand on his shoulder, warm as an inferno, and whispered. “You could never.”

Is this the same AU as Knightmare In Toronto? Who knows!

[m1d-45]

renewed

summary: many things have changed in aether's life since he met you...

word count: 2.7k

-> warnings: n/a

-> gn reader (you/yours) + aether as traveller!

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay || @cupandtea24 || @genshin-impacts-me || @chaoticfivesworld || @raaawwwr || @ryuryuryuyurboat || @undrxtxd || @rainswept || @wanderersqt || @rozz-eokkk

< masterlist >

aether isn’t quite human. at least not entirely, not anymore.

it could be argued that even prior to coming to teyvat, he and his sister weren’t entirely human. they were nearly always stronger than the native life wherever they traveled, never lingering long enough for an accurate portrait to be drawn. between their glittering wings and the razor sharp swords at their hips, it could be easily argued that from the perspective of the people they visited they could be called angels.

a few wrote legends about them. the gilded warriors with shimmering swords that blinded as they slashed, so in step with each other that it was as if they were one being. the saviors, the adventurers, the peaceful giants, twin faces atop four wings apiece. lumine always managed to sneak away a copy of these legends, and they privately laughed over the artwork at their camp that night.

“we don’t look that intimidating, do we?”

“i’m fairly certain-… hang on, is that a tail?”

“that’s supposed to my hair, i think.”

“no no, look. it connects lower, here.”

“…by the stars-”

they didn’t see themselves that way, though. they were simply twins, defined by the other in every sense. never apart for long, always stood side by side, trading swords before a dangerous fight as a promise to return them.

‘draw me with courage.’

‘wield me with valor.’

lumine and aether and aether and lumine. they never fussed about the order, so long as they were together. call them whatever you’d like, insults or praise or a simple, tired request to leave, as long as it was both of them. they were all they had left. the other half of their life. to try and pry apart the seam would only result in bleeding hearts, limbs tangling together to at least die by the other’s side. even ‘twin’ was too simple a word to fit the entirety of their lives into. ‘twin’ implied a degree of separation, an impossible gap between them where wind would blow and the world would dig into, pushing them away like waves in a boat’s wake. ‘twin’ was too shallow a word, to bitter, too small to encompass everything they felt.

such fervent devotion could never be considered ‘human,’ for no human would ever live long enough to know the fear that came with knowing everything that swelled would eventually fall. no human would clutch so desperately to the twin pillars in their life—would ever consider basing their world upon two things. they’d call it foolish, even, for what would you do if one collapsed?

aether never liked that question. he didn’t like it when he and lumine first heard it, he didn’t like it when he and lumine heard it a second time, he didn’t like it anytime he and lumine heard it after that. he didn’t like it now, her sword slipping from his hands as he reached, his fingers barely brushing hers.

the unknown god laughed, and he barely had time to feel rage before the world closed in on him and his memory faded away.

aether and lumine. lumine and aether. she was always insistent upon his safety, but just this once he wished she wasn’t. living in whatever stasis she was in within that cube would certainly hurt less than this, bile rising in his throat at his failure.

somewhere in his mind, he knew that it logically wasn’t his fault. he remembered the layer of warmth that had surrounded him mid-battle, saw the reflection of understanding in lumine’s eyes. it wasn’t technically his fault, he didn’t ask to be saved, ignoring that it was his own actions that led to his god’s blessing. perhaps if he wasn’t so strict about the time of his prayer he wouldn’t have to be alone on this beach, though there was no way to find out. the sand stretched on either side, and though it wasn’t infinite, he had not left the immediate area around where he’d first woken up. to move was to move on, to leave, to accept that his world had shattered into a thousand little fragments and to give up on picking them off the floor. he couldn’t leave. to leave was to surrender to this new fate. to leave was to forget about his sister, to forget about his self, to forget about the half of his life he never imagined he could lose.

family and faith. to lose his gods favor was a threat he could live with, as there would only be himself to blame. but his sister?

if he hadn’t fished up paimon, he’s not certain he would have eaten the fish that came up instead.

she was bright, bubbly, at least after coughing up an impossible amount of seawater. she thanked him profusely while wringing out her hair, insisting on helping him in return because “it’s only fair!” as if he wasn’t three times her weight (save her magic) and and ten times as strong.

and he let her. he’s not sure why, but he did. he watched her fumble to catch crabs, ending up covered in sand, and managed a weak smile. it was for her, he told himself, spearing three with a sword that wasn’t his, helping her arrange driftwood into a measly campfire. he hardly felt hungry despite being on the beach for what had to be a few months in local time, but she was so insistent that he have some.. it was for her benefit. he just had to get her somewhere safe, then… then…

“so, where are you from?”

aether looked up from his barely-touched meal, meeting her eyes. they were so wide and earnest, too trusting for someone that just met him.

not that he had any ill intentions. no, lumine would always joke that the day he was willingly rude to another would be the day the sky turned red—something that had been the case on one of the planets they’d visited, much to her delight.

aether turned back to the fire, pushing aside the memory. “another planet.” his voice was hoarse and his throat scratched with salt from attempting to drink the seawater earlier, which was not as potable as he’d hoped. “i flew here with my sister.”

“you have a sister?” paimon looked around, though they both knew she wouldn’t find anything. “where is she?”

aether swallowed salt and bile, taking another bite of his crab just to stall. “how about we talk in the morning?”

she let the topic drop.

he didn’t sleep that night, lending her his scarf as a pillow and keeping watch. she didn’t wake when the moon erased the shadows in the sand, or when the sun first crested the sea, or when the sky fully lightened to a pale blue, birdsong filling the air. one of the remnants from the fire found its way into his hand, reaching out to gently shake her awake. her eyes were heavy and she covered her mouth as she yawned, aether looking away before his own could water.

he drew nothing in the sand as she asked her questions—who are you, where’d you come from, who are you missing, what happened to her, why didn’t you do anything?—sketching out mountains and seas he wiped away as soon as they took form. he spoke for much longer than he meant to, his words pulled out as if they were tied to some invisible string.

when was the last time he was alone for this long?

paimon listened intently, brows drawn and frowning deeply, watching as he carved twin—twin, separated by time and space—stars into the sand. “so… what you’re trying to say is that you fell here… from another world? but when you wanted to leave, to go on to the next world, your path was blocked by some unknown god?”

wow, he wanted to snark, i didn’t know there was an echo out here! but the chance never came. magic gripped him by the throat and his eyes went wide in panic, his mouth shaping words he didn’t choose to say by force. he didn’t want to say what someone else told him to. he didn’t know what was going on. he was being pulled at some ghost’s whims, walking stiffly across the sand. it did not skid from beneath his feet, nor pull his balance one way or another. it was solid as stone, leading him up the beach without warning, without knowledge of why or when it would stop.

when was the last time he was this helpless?

(lumine.)

he stumbled across the shore on uncoordinated limbs, fighting fruitlessly. ahead, slime bubbled up from where the sand met the sea, but the ghost did not stop. mist coagulated into a pale blue blob with hazy spots for eyes, and only then was he allowed to stop. paimon yelped and ducked behind him, a familiar weight sinking into his hand. the slime had barely the chance to turn and see him, jerking up as if surprised, when his arm slashed forward.

a sword. not his sword, not lumine’s sword, but a sword, pulled from nowhere, the dull blade hacking at the blob of its own will until the sludge dispersed and sunk back into the sand. a soft mist lingered above the sand, but he was pulled forward without care or remorse. he didn’t even know if it would have hurt him.

weight hit him between the shoulders, cold spreading over his skin and absorbing into his skin. energy buzzed beside his ear, his earring humming with neither outlet nor conduit. were he anyone else, he would have been afraid, but he recognized the buzz. all at once, he understood. all at once, the weak puppetry was vindicated, his muscles relaxing and letting it happen. your energy sank into him, and he let himself stop worrying.

if you were here, he’d be okay. if you were here, you could fix this.

if you were here, he could find his sister, and everything would be okay again.

aether was not human. not entirely, not anymore, and he knew the people of mondstat could tell. you had stayed to guide his body for a week, alternating between helping the knights with dvalin and exploring the plains of mondstat. he was weak and your grip was frail, his attacks uncoordinated and clumsy, but you were there. you understood. the cavalry captain gave him a long stare as they exited his domain, a mix of curiosity and disbelief swirling in his one eye.

when you finally left, you did so in the middle of mondstat square. a physical weight lifted from his shoulders, the anemo he’d absorbed turning from calm and controlled to pushing at the edges of his form, trying to make him give. the anemo archon approached, soothing the wind with a wave of his hand, pulling him along for a drink and a chat. his knees did not want to bend without your command, his mind fraying a bit from continued exposure.

“how interesting, that you’re still standing after a week without rest,” the bartender remarked, the glass in his hands obviously an excuse to keep them above the bar. “what’s your name, outlander?”

he did not think of his own name. no, when he went to answer, he thought of the name you had given him, the one you whispered as you sheltered him from the unknown god’s wrath. it was not his, but it was yours, and wasn’t that what he was asking for?

it took too long for him to answer. red eyes narrowed but eventually chalked it up to exhaustion, giving him directions he couldn’t hear. the captain led him to a room in the back, but he didn’t sleep that night, sitting at the window and searching for the thin sliver of stars.

he didn’t need to eat anymore. he could, certainly, and it tasted fine enough, but he didn’t exactly need to. he’d thought it odd, at first, that barbatos was healed strictly by the wind, but he understood now. he spent his free time sitting under vanessa’s tree, half-asleep as he waited for your return.

you were his source of energy, of will. you knew answers to problems he’d have given up on, and if you didn’t then you tried and tried and tried again until you got it right. you were the power that purified dvalin’s tears, you swept the wind to fix the holy lyre, you cleared the seals around decarabian’s tower. he was a medium, and he was happy with that. your presence waxed and waned, the lapses without you seeming to pass by in a blink.

a few of the knights worried for him, but he knew your vessels understood. none held as much of your power as him, none were as reliant on you, but they understood. they excused his oddities with a kind smile, paimon always at his side to make sure he didn’t waste away the day simply sitting in one spot. prior to coming to teyvat, the concept of elemental sight was something he was only vaguely familiar with. a few planets had some talented witches that could feel the flow of energy through the ground and grass, who could watch the mist in the air and predict the weather. he’d never experienced it himself before. now, the world lit up as his eyes took on a teal sheen, your power mixing with the anemo within him to grant him insight. the world was so vibrant, even the most mundane sights capturing his attention. how could he not stare? if he had it his way he’d always view your creations like this.. but whenever paimon snapped him out of it he’d come out of it with a headache, not to mention his staring tended to be off-putting to those around.

a lot of his new behaviors were. when within your control, he moved stiffly, with repetitive motions forecast well in advance. you chose what he said, when and how he moved, you controlled the very flow of elements through his body. it was harder and harder to think for himself without you there and though paimon handled most of the conversation, there was only so much she could say.

“who are you looking for?” lumine. his sister. himself. the knowledge was there but his throat was closed, unwilling to move without your order.

“thank you for your help.” you’re welcome. don’t worry about it. it was nothing. all he could manage was a stiff nod, eyes flicking to the sky, counting the days until your return. he’d gotten a good grasp of your routine by now.

“who are you?” yours. a traveller. lumine’s. he could not blame those they ran across for their suspicion, even though he wanted to. could they not feel the remains of your presence lingering around him?

they had to go to the rite of decension soon. liyue was holding off, though, waiting for your arrival. they’d never dare to make you miss it, so aether felt no hurry to leave. he laid in the middle of windrise, staring up at the stars. he used to sit atop the knights’ headquarters, but it took too long for the lights of the city to turn out and he liked picking out the various constellations.

his was up there, somewhere. he didn’t have a vision like your other vessels, but he could feel it. it was written right beside your decision to save him and not lumine, alongside your actions in mondstat and everything you’d do in liyue. fate, you’d called it, well-acquainted and intertwined.

aether fell asleep on wet grass among cold wind. he did not get sick, nor was he attacked or otherwise hurt. why would he have been, anyway? your blood was in his veins; he had nothing at all to fear.

[written-in-flowers]

Traditions and Expectations: Pt. 1

Pairing: Aegon II x SisterWife!Reader

Genre: fluff, smut, slice of life

Word Count: 7k

Summary: It is Targaryen tradition for brother to wed sister, as you'd done with Aegon. But with no eligible son for your daughter, you've had to look elsewhere for a betrothal. The question is whether to abide by Targaryen traditions or allow your child to follow her heart?

Tags: chubby!aegon, domestic life, arranged marriages, canon-typical incest, brother-sister marriage, mother/daughter themes, family expectations, hubby/wifey stuff, smut, vaginal fingering, breast play, nipple play, multiple positions.

Tagged: @lovelykhaleesiii

***

Your mother decided you'd be Aegon's wife on your fourteenth nameday. It is customary in Valyrian tradition for the eldest son to marry his eldest sister. As Targaryens, one of the last families who escaped Valyria's downfall, you followed this tradition despite societal and religious norms in Westeros. You being the eldest daughter and Aegon being the eldest son, the betrothal was set and you'd be married when you both reached maturity. Your entire life people  knew you'd marry Aegon. It was simply a fact you'd known growing up. 

But, unlike your mother, you will not have it as easy.

You sat in the cushioned chair on your veranda which overlooked the small courtyard outside Maegor's Holdfast, and pondered on marriage. Down below, your eldest child, Daella, practiced her archery skills on targets in the training yard. Thirteen with cascading lengths of silver hair, Daella had beauty, brains and brawn. She stood tall and slender, a petite waist cinched by a leather belt. She is the epitome of beauty, but also strong and bold. It did not matter how many times you scolded her for wrestling with the stableboys and firing off arrows, Daella still did it. It got to a point that you gave into her adventurous nature, letting her ride off on hunts with her grandfather and uncle and take up archery. 

You watched her taking out arrows from her cloth target, and wondered if her husband will let these passions flourish. Many Westerosi men dislike women who take on "men's sports' '. To them, ladies of noble status should stick to dancing and reading poetry, not participating in archery challenges and learning how to skin animals after a kill. Having a bride who can out-ride and out-shoot them might displease them, therefore ruining any chance of a betrothal. Were your eldest son, Baelon, born first and Daella second, they'd be undoubtedly matched. But Daella is much older than Baelon, who is your third child. Vaelen, your second boy and fourth child, is not a suitable match either. You and your mother concluded that Saera, your second child, would marry Baelon. Vaelen will likely marry the baby in your belly, or another noblewoman. 

This means you need to find a husband for Daella. Most noble marriages are political ones, so naturally you'd want a lord that is close to The Crown and doesn't mind marrying a dragonrider. On the table beside you, you looked at the four scrolls you'd received today. You'd spent ages pouring over the different noble houses in Westeros, searching in vain for a husband that would please your daughter. She wouldn't marry just anyone. You told your mother you wanted Daella to have a happy marriage. You wanted her to experience the love and warmth you often felt with Aegon. In the end, it came down to four possible suitors.

Fourteen-year-old Tymond Lannister was a nephew of Lord Tyland, current Master of Coin. Lord Tyland told you all about his handsome nephew who could wield a sword, battle ax and morningstar. A boy like him, he said, could handle the fiery Daella. His father, Lord Jason, agreed to a possible marriage between his son and Daella. It would benefit both parties: The Lannisters are one of the wealthiest families in Westeros. Having them tied by marriage will ensure the wealth of the kingdom stays intact. 

Twelve-year-old Osric Arryn is the younger cousin of Lady Jeyne Arryn. You heard about his jovial and tender hearted nature from people around him. A husband with a soft heart but a firm hand might intrigue Daella. Lady Jeyne’s reply alluded to them coming to terms over her dowry. Another good match for Daella and the family. The Arryns have a large army as well as The Eyrie, an impenetrable fortress. She will be well protected and cared for there, which mattered to you greatly. 

Thirteen-year-old Edmure Tully is the auburn haired, freckled, strong man you thought Daella may like. You'd seen the boy once at a tourney, standing much taller than most his age with a man's body starting to grow. Being her age, she might relate to him better. His father, Lord Grover, told you while Edmure might seem hard on the outside, he had a heart of gold. A marriage pact with House Tully brings more security to them in the Riverlands. 

All three of them accepted. All three of them are good matches. Yet, it is not these that give you pause. It was the fourth scroll that still remained unopened. You saw the aquamarine seal with the Velayron seahorse stamped in the middle, and hesitated. It had been several years since you’d last seen your nephews, Jacaerys and Lucerys. Since then, Jace has become Heir to the Iron Throne and Prince of Dragonstone, married to Baela Targaryen. Luke lives on Driftmark alongside Lord Corlys, his grandfather, and his bride-to-be, Rhaena Targaryen. 

It cannot be Luke who has reached out to you. You’d recalled hearing about Jace and Baela having children of their own. Admittedly, you couldn’t get the children’s names straight but you knew they had a boy and two twin girls. You picked up the unopened scroll, and rolled it between your fingers. Glancing back into the yard, Daella had switched from archery to axe-throwing. Ser Criston told you she’d become intrigued by it after seeing a man doing it at a tourney for your wedding anniversary. You only asked her to use the smaller ones to avoid injuries. Jace and Baela’s son must be her age. Your father received the news around the time you’d given birth to Daella. But, you might have that information wrong. 

“Ah, there you are, my love.”

Aegon appeared from behind you, hands behind his back and a grin on his face. He gave you a soft peck on the cheek, and took the chair opposite you. A maid served him a cup of wine, which he drank from right away. You continued staring at the scroll in your hand, afraid to open it. You know what will be written inside. No doubt it was your sister, Rhaenyra’s, idea. A part of you considered the idea since Rhaenyra will one day be queen, and with Prince Daemon at her side, your entire family may be at risk. 

“How are the children?” he asked you, looking down into the yard where his sons trained with Ser Criston. 

“Fine. Daella’s aim is improving impressively,” you answered absentmindedly, not fully focused on him. 

“Hm,” he nodded, “Vaelen’s swing is improving as well. I know he mopes about his sword training, but I told him it’s important for the sword to be as sharp as the mind.” 

“Aegon.”

“Wife?”

“Jacaerys…He has a son, doesn’t he? I remember Father mentioning it once or twice before.”

“He does,” he said cautiously, holding a cheese cube in his hand. “I believe his name is…Gods, what is it?” he racked his brain for a moment, then said, “Aerys? Aenys? I don’t remember exactly. It starts with an ‘Ae’. Why do you ask?”

“I received a raven from Baela this morning,” you told him. 

He popped the cube in his mouth, then actually looked over at you. Seeing the worry on your face, he asked, “And what does it say?” 

“I am not certain,” you said. “I haven’t opened it yet.”

He picked up the scroll from Lord Jason, read it, then said, “Marriage proposals?” 

“From Lannister, Arryn and Tully,” you told him. “They all agreed to make terms.”

“And that one is from Baela?”

“Yes,” you showed him the small paper with its seahorse seal. 

“You wrote to them?” he asked, bemused. 

“I had not. It came this morning with the others.” 

Aegon looked at you, then said, “Are you going to read it?”

“I can’t,” you said, shooting out your hand to him, “You read it.”

“Darling, I do not see what the harm is in reading a letter,” he chuckled. Aegon took the scroll from you, and broke the seal. Your stomach churned when he read the first word, “Dear Princess YN, I hope this letter finds you and your family well. My sister, Rhaena, informed me that you and Aegon are making plans for a marriage pact for your daughter, Daella. As you know, Jacaerys and I have a boy who is her age named Aeron-Ah, yes, that’s the boy’s name!-” Aegon snapped his fingers with a satisfied smile, “I propose a marriage between our two houses. I understand the relationship between our families has been detached for several years. But, I have very fond memories of our youth, and I hope with this union we can begin to repair that breakage between us. My lord husband and I will be arriving in King’s Landing in a fortnight for Prince Baelon’s birthday tourney-Who told them about it? Did you?”

“Certainly not. It must’ve been Father or Rhaenyra.”

“Hm, I suspect as much. ‘I will be more than happy to discuss possible terms with you then. I eagerly await your response. Signed, Baela.’ Hmpf, how informal of her.”

‘Memories of our youth’. What memories? When Luke cut out your younger brother’s eye and never received punishment? When Luke and Jace teased Aemond for not having his own dragon? All the numerous times that your father favored Rhaenyra and any of her offspring over you and your siblings? You’d gone your entire life being told that when Rhaenyra ascended the throne, your family was a challenge to her rule. The eldest of Viserys’s children from his first wife, he’d proclaimed Rhaenyra his heir. When Aegon was born, he should’ve immediately been named heir to the throne, but he wasn’t. Now, Aegon showed no interest in being king and never mentioned a desire for it. But, with her husband Prince Daemon in her ear, Rhaenyra might feel threatened by Aegon and his four children. 

Your children. 

Not only your children, but your sister, Helaena, and brother, Aemond, too. Their children, twins Jaehaerys and Jaehaera, young Maelor, and baby Rhaenor.

Your uncle and Rhaenyra’s husband, Prince Daemon, is not well known for his kindness. 

“What is your decision, love?” Aegon asked you, putting the letter with the others. “Marry our daring Daella to one of these lords or the unremarkable son of Jacaerys Velaryon?”

You looked out to the yard once more. Daella stomped her foot in frustration as her axe missed the target completely. A picture of Daella meeting Aeron and finding him insufferable came to mind. Your daughter got along well with most girls and boys she met, being sociable and charming to everyone. But, when she did not like someone, she made it very obvious. Sometimes too obvious. What if she met Aeron and disliked him? On the other hand, what if she didn’t? It’d be ideal for everyone involved. It is the most obvious choice. Everyone will say so. So, why were you so hesitant to say ‘yes’?

“I want her to be happy, Aegon,” you told him softly. “I want her to find love and happiness as we have. I don’t want her shackled to a man she isn’t at least fond of; having children out of duty instead of desire.”

“I am afraid, my dearest,” he took your hand gently in his, “That our union is incredibly rare in this family.”

“That’s not true,” you replied, finding comfort in his touch, “There is Aemond and Helaena as well.” 

“Alright, then somewhat rare.” 

“Mother, Mother!” 

A voice caught your attention from behind and you turned to see Saera appear. In a dress of cream and gold, she reminded you of princesses in fairytales. Her silver curls tied into a simple plait down her back, her violet eyes struck most people immediately. So much like her father’s, but he insisted she resembled you. Saera, eleven years old, came rushing up to your husband, and sitting in his lap. She beamed at you as she spoke. 

“I had my dress fitting for Baelon’s nameday,” she said. “Grandmother helped me pick out the colors for it.”

“Oh, was that today, love?” you asked her, slightly disappointed. You looked over your shoulder to see your mother walking in after her, in a gown of emerald green and black. Her signature Hightower color. “Mother, why did you not say anything?”

“You had more important matters at hand,” she answered, kissing the top of your head before taking up a wine cup. She spotted the letters on the table. “Any agreements?”

“They all accepted,” you told her. “There is one that has surprised me, however.”

“Oh? Who?”

You handed her the letter, “Baela Velaryon. She and Jace have a son Daella’s age.”

“Is Daella getting married?” asked Saera, who took up a bread with strawberry preserves on it.

“Not yet,” Aegon told her, playfully taking a bite of her bread to which she whined. “But, your sister is of age for betrothal and your mother has insisted we decide this very second who it will be.”

“It does not need to be ‘this very second’,” you replied. “I have received responses from Lords Lannister and Tully, as well as Lady Arryn. Any of their sons would make a suitable match for Daella, and their alliance could benefit our house. But then, I received Baela’s proposal.”

“And it gives you Pause.”

“It does.”

“Why, Mother?” asked Saera, smearing jam around her mouth as she finished her bread.

“It is complicated to explain, dove,” you told her kindly. “You’ll understand when you are older.”

“Saera, love,” Aegon said, lifting her from his lap, “Why don’t you go with Dyana to see your cousins, hm? I’m sure Jaehaera would love to see your doll collection.”

“Why can’t I stay?” she moped, getting off his lap but not leaving. “I want to know who Daella’s going to marry.”

“You’ll hear about it when we’ve made a decision, alright?” he promised, kissing her forehead. “Now, go. Dyana…”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Saera reluctantly left with the maid, and left the three of you alone. “Father will approve of the match highly,” you told her, returning to the conversation at hand, “And so will Rhaenyra. I bet anything this was all her doing.”

You thought about your elder half-sister. Rhaenyra was the daughter of Gemma Arryn, your father’s first wife. When she passed, King Viserys assumed he’d never remarry or have more children, so he named Rhaenyra heir to the throne. But then, he wedded your mother, Alicent Hightower. Any sensible king would’ve saved everyone the headache and named Aegon heir, but not your father. He valued Rhaenyra and her bastard sons more than any of his other children. He’d never do or say anything against her, no matter how severe the crime. You bitterly remember the night Aemond lost his eye in a fight with Jace, Luke, Baela and Rhaena. Your father should’ve demanded an eye for an eye or at least a serious punishment be dealt. But no. He told them to apologize and leave it at that. He’d never do anything to upset his precious Rhaenyra. It’d broken your heart when you visited your father’s sick bed, hoping to read to him, and in a medicated haze he’d called you ‘Rhaenyra’. When she had Jace, Luke and Joffrey, it became obvious they are not true Velaryons. They did not have the skin or hair of their father, Lord Laenor, but instead the coloring of Ser Harwin Strong. Commander of the City Watch.

This only soured the relationship between your families.

That resentment in you did not want your eldest daughter, your first born child, married to Rhaenyra’s grandson. Yet, the looming threat of Prince Daemon crossed your mind. If his grandson married your daughter, Rhaenyra will no doubt cherish any children they have.

“Princess Rhaenyra means well,” your mother said, taking Aegon’s seat when he offered it to her. “She will be our queen one day, whether we wish for it or not. I do not need to remind you that Prince Daemon-”

“-I know, Mother,” you cut her off, not wanting to hear it out loud. “Rhaenyra…She is quite lovely to the children…”

“She adores them,” she agreed. She paused for a moment, “She put forward the coin for Saera’s and Daella’s nameday gowns.”

“What?” This caught both you and Aegon off guard.

“She has?” asked Aegon.

“She has,” she nodded. “She said princesses of the realm should always be dressed in fine splendor.” She looked between the both of you, then back to you, “YN, listen to me. Do not make the mistakes I have made when it comes to your children-”

“-Mother, you’ve never-”

“-I have,” she insisted. “Don’t pass down whatever grievances you have with Rhaenyra’s family to your children. They’re young. They should be playing and growing alongside their cousins, not being separated from them. A marriage between Aeron and Daella might work out for everyone.” When she saw you and Aegon unconvinced, she said, “Besides, it is tradition. The King will insist upon it should Rhaenyra bring it up.”

You wondered where this advice came from. During your girlhood, your mother constantly grumbled about ‘Rhaenyra’s sons’ and their baseborn features. It’d been her who often questioned their birth in private. Yet, since Rhaenyra’s return to King’s Landing, you noticed the pair becoming much closer these days. You’d spotted them walking in the gardens, sharing meals together, and working together to better the kingdom. You wondered what transpired to bring about this forgiveness and unity. Perhaps you can do the same. You gingerly accepted back Baela’s letter, and thought on it more. Baelon’s tenth nameday celebration would be in two weeks. You had plenty of time to think over your answer.

“Invite them all,” Aegon declared, picking at more cheese on the table.

“Invite who?”

“Lannister, Arryn, Tully, and Velaryon,” he said. “Daella can meet all their sons and see if she likes any of them.” Neither you or your mother said anything, he went on, “You said you wanted Daella to find love and happiness. She can only do that if she’s given multiple options instead of one. You’ve always been the romantic one out of us, and what is more romantic than finding love at a tourney?”

“Aegon…”

“YN, you know Daella. If we tell her to go left, she goes right. If we tell her the sky is blue, she’ll tell us it’s green,” he continued. “If we happen to invite all these suitors, she might take to one of them on her own.”

“She’ll suspect something.”

“She won’t if we all keep it to ourselves,” he responded with a smirk. You sometimes forget your husband’s cunning nature. 

“Aegon has a point,” your mother told you. “Invite them all and we will see if she takes to any of them.” 

You mulled it over in your mind, then nodded, “Yes. That seems the best route for this.”

“Ah! You fool, that hurt! Father!”

Vaelen’s contemptuous voice came from down below, and you saw your youngest sprawled on the ground at his brother’s feet.

“Well, get up and hit him, Vaelen,” Aegon called back.

“I’m tired!”

“Your opponent isn’t going to care,” he said. He grunted and put down his wine cup. “Time for me to intervene,” he looked over at you, “Write to them and personally invite them. Have the seamstress make her a special gown, and the jeweler can fashion a tiara for her. Something golden with rubies. Maybe sapphires or emeralds to stand out-”

“-I will see it is done, Husband,” you laughed, “Go see to your sons.”

He kissed you one more time before going down to the yard. Aegon lifted Vaelen to his feet, handing his sparring sword back to him, and spoke to Ser Criston. 

You spotted Daella standing with Aemond, who was helping her pick out a selection of knives instead of axes. Aegon was right. A strong-willed girl like Daella won’t accept a marriage pact because she’s told to do so. If you wanted her to have a happy marriage, she’d need to find it on her own.

“I know you don’t like to admit it,” your mother began, drinking from her wine cup, “But Aegon is right.”

“Mother, how did you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Decide Aegon and I would be right for one another. At any point during our childhood, you could have decided to not marry us, but you did.”

Your mother stared at you for a moment, then she confessed. “I did not decide right away,” she told you. Seeing your raised eyebrows, she nodded, “Yes, that is a myth. I told your father I wanted to wait before announcing your betrothal. It’s a Valyrian tradition to wed brother to sister, so it made the most sense. But looking back on my own marriage and marriages of those around me, I was hesitant on my decision. I didn’t want my daughter to suffer a loveless marriage, never knowing true companionship or romance. I worried you might end the same way as I did with Aegon.”

“What changed your mind?”

“Aegon used to bawl his eyes out whenever we took you into another room. Your wet nurse would set you on the ground, and you’d immediately crawl over to him. As you grew, I saw how you behaved around one another. You enjoyed each other’s company over people at court. You spent nearly every waking moment together and refused to be apart for more than a few hours.” She smiled softly, looking out into the yard, “One day, I sat up here with your father while your brothers trained in the yard. You came out with Helaena, and you stood right there,” she nodded to an open spot that overlooked the yard, “And watched him. You didn’t say anything, or make yourself known to him. You simply watched him with this soft smile on your face, full of complete content.”

You nodded, vaguely remembering a day similar to that. “Then he noticed me there,” you finished for her. 

“And the smile that you both shared,” she grinned, “Made up my decision. You stared at one another, fondness and love in your eyes. He then said, ‘Princess, my opponent begs for mercy. I shall make it your decision to spare him or deny him.’”

“And then I said to show him no mercy,” you laughed, remembering a young Aegon, long-haired and skinny, standing where Baelon did now. 

“Aegon would do anything you asked of him,” she said. “Daella will find a similar love one day. Whether it be with one of the suitors or someone else entirely, she will have it.” 

“Mother, did you see that?!” Daella’s voice called from the yard, beaming at you excitedly. “I hit the center! Look!”

You saw the thin blade stuck halfway into the target, and smiled at her, “Wonderful, darling. You’ll be an expert with your uncle’s instruction.” 

She went back to her knife throwing, and you put aside any thought of arranged marriages and family feuds for the moment. You did have a nameday to plan, and invitations to send out. 

“What does Saera’s gown look like?” 

****

Knights, hedge knights, sellswords, and lords came from all over to attend Prince Baelon’s nameday tournament. You spent days planning feasts and gatherings that will happen throughout the week. Not only did each day have its own competition and accompanying feast, but the final celebration included performances by singers and mummers, magicians and animal performers, and several courses. You told the small council you’d spare no expense for your son’s tenth nameday. It would be a nameday to rival them all. 

Yet, while handling all these duties with your pregnant belly, the thought of Daella’s marriage proposals loomed over your head. Neither you or Aegon brought up the subject around her, but she seemed to suspect a plot nevertheless.

“Lord Tyland visited the training yard this morning. He complimented my knife throwing skills,” she said to you at dinner the night before the tourney, “He said he couldn’t wait for me to meet his nephew, Tymond.”

“Well, he is very fond of his nephew, Daella,” your husband said first. “He talks about him as if he is the boy’s father. Perhaps he is hoping you two will meet and get along.”

“I wonder why he might have that idea,” she looked pointedly at you, “Mother?”

“The Lannisters have always been an ambitious family,” you told her. “Lord Tyland most likely hopes you will meet his nephew and grow fond of him. You are a Princess, after all. The King’s granddaughter and Prince Aegon’s daughter. Maybe he hopes a Lannister-Targaryen marriage would bring his family great fortune. Do not think anything of it, love.” 

“Mother, I am fully aware that I have flowered now and am of marrying age,” she said to you. 

“What does ‘flowered’ mean?” asked Baelon, chewing on string beans. 

“It means she’s a woman,” said Vaelen. “I read it in a book.”

“Boys,” Aegon hushed them. “Yes, darling, you have flowered and are of marrying age, but your mother and I don’t plan to marry you for a long time. I recall telling you never to grow up so then you’d never marry and leave me, but,” he shrugged, drinking his wine, “Here we are.”

“You may have flowered, but you are still too young for marriage in my book,” you added. 

“Not too young to make arrangements for me, though,” she retorted, cutting into a slice of beef and eating it. “Whoever he is, I won’t marry him.”

“Whoever who is?”

“Whoever you’ve both chosen for me,” she said. “I won’t do it. I don’t want to get married.”

“You are a princess of the realm,” you responded, “Marriages not only help politically but also continue our bloodlines and names. It is your duty as a princess and a Targaryen to marry to protect and continue-”

“-I don’t want to,” she snapped. “I won’t go through with it. I don’t want to get married to some stupid lordling who can’t find his backside with both hands.” 

“No woman does,” you told her, “But as women of the realm-”

“-Surely there is more to being a ‘woman of the realm’ than marrying and having babies,” she remarked. “Why must we be stuck in this one role in life when there is so much more we can offer? Look at all women throughout history. Princess Visenya. Princess Rhaenya. Nymeria of Dorne. Look at Nana. Look at Aunt Rhaenyra. They’re both on the King’s council and have his ear. They’ve contributed more to the world than having babies.”

“Nana only became the queen because she married the king,” you said. “Rhaenyra may be the heir, but she married Ser Laenor and had children of her own. All the women you named married and had children to continue their legacy. How can you expect to continue a legacy without marriage or children of your own? Do you plan to live forever?”

“I won’t get married,” Daella repeated, having no real answer to your question. 

“You will,” Aegon said more firmly, “We all have our part to play in this world and yours will be to marry.”

“No.”

“Yes.” 

“No.”

“Daella,” he groaned, “You are a princess. Some would say you’re born for this.”

“Was I now? I thought I was born because you and Mother wanted children; not because you must have them.”

“We did want to have you,” you implored her, “But it was also expected that we would. Daella, we’re not doing this to upset or hurt you. It is what every princess does: I did it. Helaena did it. Your sister will do it after you.”

“I don’t care who has done it before me,” she said, no longer focused on her meal. She stood up suddenly, “You can’t make me.”

“Daella…”

She spun around and left the hall. You leaned back in your chair, feeling dejected and defeated. Your eyes met Aegon’s. 

“Will I have to get married one day, Mother?” Saera asked you, pushing her vegetables around on her plate. 

“No,” Aegon said, “Because you vowed you’d never grow up and leave me. A Targaryen must keep to their word.” 

He tickled her side and the mood in the room lifted. Yet, Daella’s forceful words stuck with you. You knew she’d never take kindly to the idea of marriage. Your daughter is a free spirit, a bird that wishes to fly untethered to any solid thing. A part of you felt guilty tying that bird down, but it did not need to be so. Aegon’s warm hand taking up yours caught your attention. You met his eyes, and saw the softness in them. 

“I will speak with her,” he said, moving to stand. 

“No, no,” you shook your head, standing up before him. “I will speak to her. This is a woman’s conversation, Aegon.”

He conceded, nodding and returning to your other children. You bent to kiss him, then left the hall towards Daella’s bed chambers. Rays of moonlight still shone between the pillars coming from the open courtyard, a cool breeze coming in from the city. This did nothing to distract you from your worries. Daella seemed to believe marriage stood in the way of her future greatness. She needed to know that it is not so. As you reached her room, you heard the faint, melodic voice from behind the door. Singing. Daella’s light singing voice reached you and you smiled. With a gentle knock, you opened the door. 

“-I dream of fair maids of summer, with flowers in their hair-” you heard her sing quietly at her vanity, brushing a comb through her silver curls. 

“-I dream of maids of winter, with snow in the air,” you sang after her, walking into the room with a disarming grin. 

Her eyes found yours in the mirror, and her face soured. She stopped singing at once, pretending to be focused on her hair. You shut the door and approached her. Neither of you said anything as you took the brush from her, and began undoing her braids for her. Her curls went through your fingers like silk, shining in the faint candlelight glow. 

“A bard sang that song on my wedding day, you know,” you told her, starting to gently run the comb down her hair. “It’s where I first heard it. I loved it so much, I asked him to sing it a second time. I thought it was such a beautiful song-”

“-I don’t want to get married.”

“As you’ve stated previously,” you nodded. “If you do not wish to be married, love, then what do you want?” 

Daella did not speak right away. You saw the desire to speak plainly inside her, wishing to pour herself out to you. Though, the fear of being rejected or dismissed in favor of your own wishes disagreed with this. “You can tell me,” you assured her, looking at her in the mirror. 

“I want to travel, Mother,” she told you, imploringly. “I want to see the world; go across the Narrow Sea and see the Free Cities and meet different people, and see different cultures. I want to go about the realm on my dragon, seeing my grandfather’s kingdom and meeting his subjects. You and Father used to go into the city all the time-”

“-Yes, but we still married,” you interjected. “My love, you do not have to choose one life or the other. Being married…” you took a breath, pausing your brushing to think. You never imagined having this conversation. You merely accepted your cards when your mother dealt them. “Being married isn’t being tied down to one place. It is not a prison sentence. It’s having a companion. It’s having someone to share those dreams with. You can still have a full and rich life whilst having that other person. Look at your father and I, we betrothed and still saw wonders together.”

“The Street of Silk is not a worldly wonder, Mother,” she drawled. 

You tapped her shoulder sharply, “I meant the times that we went dragon riding together.”

“Where did you go?”

“Everywhere,” you answered. “We went as far as The Wall once. I told your father I wanted to see the world, and he promised me we would. Yes, we still visit our old stomping grounds from time to time, but that is nothing compared to our progress around the realm.” 

“You? You and Father went on a progress together?” she looked back at you in disbelief. 

“It’s originally been your grandmother’s idea,” you’d finished brushing her hair, but did not stop. You fondly remembered you and Aegon seeing the different castles and meeting the lords and ladies of the land. “Your father disliked the idea since courtly duties bore him to tears, but I told him it could be fun. We’d meet different people, and see new things. We went to The Wall to meet the Night’s Watch. We saw Winterfell and the big heart tree there. We went to the Maidenpool, and saw The God’s Eye from a distance. We visited The Twins. It was lovely. 

You finally stopped brushing and told her, “Being married does not mean you’ll be forced to stay in one place. You’ll have someone else to share those new experiences with and grow together from them. It’ll bring you closer to them.”

“I doubt it,” she scoffed. “You’ll marry me off to some insipid little lordling who will insist on keeping me locked in a castle, having his babies and running his household for him.”

“No,” you replied. “I planned on marrying you to a man of your choosing.”

This information caught your daughter off guard. “You did?”

“I did,” you nodded. “At first, I will admit I sent out propositions to certain lords and ladies who have sons your age, but I’d intended for you to pick at your own leisure. You are not as fortunate as other Targaryen women to have ready-made brother-husbands,” you lamented, “But I hope you may find happiness like I did with your father. As with songs, I cannot pick that for you. You must choose whether you like them or not. 

“Your brother’s nameday celebration will be a good chance to not only find a possible match, but perhaps make friends and allies outside of King’s Landing. Lord Beesburry has a granddaughter who also enjoys songs and dancing, and Lord Rosby has two who are fond of horses like you.” You put your hands on her shoulders, and said, “Do not worry about marriage for now, my love. Go to the tourney, seek out happy nights and enjoy your youth as I did.”

She smiled at you, the expression reminding you of your Aegon. “Thank you, Mother.”

You kissed her cheek and hugged her from behind, smelling the lavender in her hair. You left her to finish preparing for bed, and walked alone to your own chambers. Taking a seat at the vanity, you stared at yourself in the mirror while undoing your hair. You and Aegon took your progress right after your wedding. You’d never left home before, and you’d always wanted to see the world beyond King’s Landing. The promise of adventure and excitement encouraged you to take the leap into the unknown. Flying Moonfyre with his Sunfyre nearby, you felt like you could take on the world. 

“How is she?” Aegon walked into your chambers, finding you by the vanity. 

“Better than before,” you told him. “I explained to her that marriage isn’t the end of your life. You can still enjoy it while being with another person.”

He snorted, “Forgive me, my love, but I’m afraid not many lords would agree with you.”

You put down your brush and leaned on your elbows on the table. Head in your hands, you knew he was right. Adventure is not something lords think about unless they mean about themselves, while their wives stay home. “I suppose I can only pray then,” you decided, “That she finds what she wants.”

“It is the only thing we can pray for,” he said, coming up behind you and kissing your neck. “I sent the maids away for the night. Dyana and Myra are seeing the children to bed.”

You turned in your seat, smirking up at him, “Is that so? I wonder what reason you’d have to do such a thing. Myra needs to help me undress.”

His fingers ran up your back to the strings of your gown, “Undressing you should be my responsibility.” 

He cupped your chin to kiss you lightly, then gradually continued until your lips locked together. “And it’s the only responsibility you’ll readily agree to,” you teased, standing up and kissing him.

“That and the children.”

“And the children,” you agreed. 

Arms wrapping around you, you felt him deftly untying your dress, the cool night air brushing on the warm skin. You kissed him tenderly while undoing his belt, letting it fall to the ground. Unbuttoning the front of his jerkin, you slipped it from his shoulders to reveal the thin white undershirt. Aegon peeled off your gown down to your shift and bodice, which he undid with deft, swift fingers. That subtle heat you knew well started building in your lower stomach as he kissed down your neck to your collarbone; you felt up his arms to his shoulders, giving a light squeeze out of habit. 

Much like you, Aegon appeared to gain a few pounds himself, no longer the lanky boy he’d been in his youth. Not that you cared in the slightest. You ran your hands down his chest to his breeches, where you untucked his shirt and removed it. He pulled at your shift until you became bare in front of him; his hands pawed at your hips and backside while kissing you deeply. A soft moan filled your mouth as his tongue slid inside, you untied his breeches and tugged them down until they fell on their own. You reached down for his cock while he grabbed at your breasts, groaning softly at the hand wrapped around his shaft. Then, he started walking you backwards towards your bed.

Falling down onto the soft mattress, Aegon’s lust burned hotly. He left soft kisses along your throat to your breasts, which he grasped gently. You whimpered, feeling him take position above you, his semi-erect cock against your bare sex. His cock twitched in your hand in every stroke, and you felt him grow harder and harder. Aegon suckled your breasts, rolling his tongue around each one before giving a delicate suck. You whined at the tenderness just as much as the roughness. One hand still on your breast, the other slipped past your belly to your sex, which dampened at the anticipation of his touch. Two fingers started sliding up and down your slit, dancing over the folds while yours did so along his member. You moaned at the fingers dipping amongst them to your clitoris, where your pleasure spiked inside you. It throbbed against his fingers, a thing he noticed and responded with a roll around your clit. Aegon never failed to pleasure the most intimate parts of you; he knew exactly how to get the fires burning within you, stoking them like logs inside a hearth. He groaned against your skin, gradually bucking his hips into your hand. You repaid the act with tender squeezes from hilt to head, using beads of precum to slicken his length.

“It’s too bad you already have one in there,” he grunted, pecking across your breasts to flick his tongue over one of them. “I’d love to give you another right now.”

"It is a shame, truly," you replied in a laugh, free hand going up into his hair and tugging the wavy curls. This move brought him back to your lips, which immediately locked with yours. "I never say 'no' to you filling me; not since our wedding night, when you took me over and over again just to make sure it took root inside me."

"Well, everyone made such a big fuss over it," he smirked above you. "I thought I might as well be thorough."

He kissed you right as he slipped two fingers into your fluttering sex. You kept yourself spread out for him, grinding against his hand to get it deeper inside you. It reminded you of all the times you'd both scurried off together to dark corners of the castle, heat in your cheeks and hunger fueling your desires. You remembered your journey around Westeros following your wedding, and all the places you'd coupled throughout the kingdom. A majority of them started exactly like this. 

"Remember Maidenpool, love?" you asked, your thumb rubbing the underside of his tip. 

He smiled, "Do I? I recall it often." He kissed you, tongue flicking over your bottom lip before giving a tender tug. "When you pretended to be a maiden again, flustered and ready to be deflowered by me..." he stopped touching, and pushed your thighs further apart, kneeling up and away from you. Hands on your knees, he lifted them up slightly and said, "I don't believe I've fucked you as hard since then."

You then sneered at him, fingers trailing down his front to his cock again, "But, Your Grace," you pouted, "Shouldn't you be careful with me? I have never gotten this far with a man before."

Aegon let out a shaky moan, and plunged himself inside you suddenly. Your body took a moment to adjust, but as he started thrusting pleasure and desire bursted inside you. Grabbing your hips, Aegon kept you in place in each push. You could feel his exact length and girth stretching and filling you every time your bodies met. It became a sensation you enjoyed. 

"Your Grace," you whined, cupping your breasts to pinch your nipples, "Your Grace, please don't stop. Nobody's ever fucked me this way before. It feels so good."

He chuckled, violet eyes looking down at you in unfiltered lust, "Is that so? I find that hard to believe. A beauty like you has never had cock before?" he started pounding you faster, your breasts bouncing from the force and the sound adding to your grunts. "Not even an inch?"

"N-No, Your Grace," you replied. His tip started prodding your center, making you see stars as the orgasm slowly built inside. "No, never. Your cock's the only one I've-I've ever had." You started rubbing your clit in time with his thrusts, keeping your breasts together with your arms so they continued bouncing. The light brush against your sensitive clit added to your pleasure. "Please, Your Grace, keep going. Don't stop. I want you to make me yours."

"Gladly."

He rolled you onto your front, face in the pillows, and entered you again. Aegon held onto your waist as you both met in the middle. The wet sound of his balls hitting your sex drive your passion further down. Just like in Maidenpool, and every time since, Aegon kept his strokes steady and deep. Hands reaching around to grasp your tits brought you up to a kneeling position, locking you close to him as he bottomed up into you. This new position made you see stars. Your sex tightened around him, your clit throbbed at his touch, and you didn't hold back your moans. The repeated, whispered phrase, 'Your Grace', amplified his arousal and you knew it considering his shaky breathing and low groans. 

Your orgasm came all at once, quaking your thighs and tightening your grip on Aegon's arms as he kept you firmly in place. It blinded you to everything around you; Aegon became the only real thing in the room. Normally, you kept your volume down to not disturb anyone, particularly your children, but not tonight. Not now. Not when Aegon's thick shaft and reddened tip brought you to the end of your climax. His own soon arrived, his cock slipping out with a wet pop, and hot streams spilling onto your inner thighs. Mouth pressed to your shoulder blade, you could feel the vibrations from his throat against you. You held him close until he'd finished, dick still twitching against your thighs. 

You both stayed in that position for several seconds, your warm bodies climbing down from the peak in every quivering breath. You collapsed onto the bed in exhaustion. The pregnancy made everyday tasks tiring, and sex only worsened the fatigue. Aegon's arms snaked around your waist as he brought you close to his chest and kissed your shoulder. You thought of the sticky substance sliding around your thighs, knowing you should wipe it away but not having the strength in your arms to do so. So, therefore, your husband did it for you, however lazily his ministrations. 

"Daella will be fine," he said, tossing the cloth aside. "She is a smart girl. She would never choose an empty-headed boy or a brute. If she happens to pick the Velaryon boy, well…accidents happen all the time.”

“Aegon,” you kicked him lightly and he laughed. 

“I only jest, my love,” he assured you, kissing your neck. 

“But, if she were to pick Jace’s boy?”

“If he makes her happy and treats her well, then I suppose I shall live with it.”

You shook your head in a laugh, intertwining your fingers with his to bring to your chest. Tiredness nearly drowned out the worries turning in your mind. Your childrens’ happiness is all you’ve ever cared about. This should not be any different. Daella will pick the right choice, and you’d side with whatever decision she made.

***

A/N: wow, it's been a while since I've written anything hotd. If you can't tell, this is part of my dad!aegon universe lol I hope you enjoyed this and give it a little reblog or a like.

[fanaticsnail]

You Kissed the Clown? Part 13

Oh, my darlings. Crying, screaming, throwing up, drinking. I simply couldn't wait any longer

Word Count: 5,690

Part 12 here, Part 14 to come. Masterlist here in the interim.

Warnings: mention of a bomb/explosives, self harm (Nami)

Destruction.

Complete and utter desolation and devastation is what you were greeted with as you and the other four members of the Straw-Hat crew ventured into Tangerine-Town. Houses smouldering, upturned vendor carriages with not a soul in sight: fishmen nor other humanoid.

Shock fell upon the features of the Straw-Hat’s, comments on the sights that lie before you echo within the chasms of your mind as your mouth hung agape.

“Arlong did this,” your Captain uttered darkly, his eyes narrowing in hardened resolve. You drew your sights to fall on the back of his straw hat, a snarl peaking its way to the side of your upper lip as to express your displeasure.

“Hey, Shit-Hat,” Buggy’s decapitated head called from its place resting against Sanji’s hip from within a canvas satchel hanging loosely from his shoulder, “I think we can all agree that Arlong is a bad fish, but why don’t we quit lolly-gagging and get my body back?”

“Pipe down in there,” Sanji ordered the shrouded head, rolling his eyes at the comment.

“Or what?” Buggy taunted from within the bag, “you gonna whip me up a soufflé?”

Sanji turned to Usopp and muttered to him, “why don’t you take him for a while?”

“Ooh, new guy carries the clown-head,” Usopp commented, his hands raising themselves defensively to pass up the opportunity on being Buggy’s handler for the day.

You took a few steps closer to one of the ransacked houses, noticing a small object twinkled at you within the rays of the sunlight eclipsed by cloud-cover. Crouching down to examine the object, you stooped down to clasp it in your hands. Turning it over in your palms and smoothing the dirt away from its rough exterior, you found it to be a dart of some kind; feathered at the end with a sharpened brass tip tapering into a piercing point.

“Keep up, Tinkerer,” the green haired swordsman called to you, “can’t have you getting too far.”

Rolling the dart over in your hands once more, fury washed over your senses as the world began to fall away from your vision. You had but one focus, and one focus only: destroy Arlong and lay waste to his legion of fishmen.

“Aye, sir,” you spat in return, much to the shock of Zoro at the darkness in your tone.

Keeping up pace with your crew, your vision returned to you as your body brought yourself before a large gathering of people collecting a tribute into a small wooden chest.

“Do we have time to get some more?” a woman asked from the crowd, clasping her chest to stabilise her panicked words.

“No,” a voice called, the crowd parting to reveal your orange-haired companion, “you don’t.” She stalked like a predator hunting their prey into the crowd and made to collect the box from the leader of the town.

“Nami,” you whispered, mouth slightly agape at the sight. Zoro held his hand against the chest of your Captain to restrain him from sprinting over to your former navigator and confront her.

A blue-haired woman in the crowd murmured something to your former companion and spat at her feet in disgust, before turning and walking away from the gathering of people. Luffy’s eyes trailed the woman as her form retreated into several of the lined houses and swiftly away from your vision.

Looking over again to the trail of destruction and tuning out your surroundings, a small whisper of divinity eclipsed your mind. Your sights did not teeter back to interact with your orange-haired companion as she engaged your captain with a hardened taunt and threats of great harm falling upon you all.

Clarity: true and vengeful struck like lightning into your mind as untested and untrialled knowledge enchanted your tinkerer thoughts. You could barely feel the tug on your wrist by your sword-wielding companion as he led you, glassy eyed, throughout the road and down towards the direction of the blue haired woman.

Potassium nitrate. Charcoal. Sulphur. Clay. Cogs. Gold. Copper. Tubing. Piping. These thoughts eclipsed your thought as you absent-mindedly began searching your tinkerer’s pouch for your tools and any of the items you prior thought to include.

As your team entered into the last house down tangerine grove, Zoro relinquished his grasp on your wrist as you were brought to a halt.

“You okay?” he asked in front of you. Your eyes remained unblinking in their focus as you began assembling your items within your fingertips. Barely again processing the rough, calloused hands clasping your shoulders to shake you from your thoughts, you finally graced your eyes upwards; breaking from their glazed state.

“Where’d you go?” he whispered to you in question, “you didn’t respond when Luffy spoke to you. That’s not like you.”

You sighed out a low, rumbly sound through your chest; “leave me here.”

“What?” he uttered, mimicking your same dark tone.

“I cannot fight, Zoro,” you growled, “both you and the clown confirmed that. What was it you said? I can’t kiss my way out of this one,” the last comment you mimicked in Zoro’s tone, laughing a cynical and depressed laugh afterwards.

“Not only did the fishmen torture the man I’ve come to love,” you began darkly, turning your sights back to the town, “but they’ve brought pain and destruction on this town and several towns over.”

Zoro released his grasp from your shoulders.

“What are you saying?” he asked with a deep frown.

“I’m saying it’s not enough,” you sighed before lowering your tone, “I’m not enough. I can’t do what you do.”

“Nobody is asking you to,” Zoro’s tone lightened slightly, bringing you back to fix your vision into his eyes, “you’re a tinkerer, not a fighter.”

“That’s right,” your eyes glimmered with an unnerving twinkle, “I am a tinkerer.”

You began clasping at your pouch again and sunk onto your knees on the wooden floor outside the window of the wooden cabin; emptying the contents on the wooden floorboards under the shelter of external roofing.

“What are you doing?” Zoro asked you, his tone more cautionary than questioning.

You laughed again in a manic sort of way, remaining your fixed gaze holding to the items on the floor before you; “tinkering.”

Zoro, holding his arms out defensively chose to disengage from the conversation; leaving you to rejoin his companions within the cabin. As much as you truly desired to join with your crew inside, your true goal was to currently muster enough energy fuelled by vengeance to create something of chaos, destruction and mayhem rolled into one.

The day became eclipsed by the setting sun as you worked tirelessly on the ground in front of you; pouring powder into vials, screwing cogs against brass bolts, heating a flaming rod of solder and joining pieces together to firmly fix them in place. The scent of charred metal permeated along the wooden perimeter as fumes turned to smoke and ash before you.

“It is done,” you uttered to yourself, eyes wide and a sinister smile befalling your senses.

Bringing your shaky hands to the object you had created, you grasped it within your fingertips after securing a timing mechanism to the face of the object. You rose to your feet, feeling a numbness come over your thighs and calves from kneeling so intensely against the floor for so long. You cringed a little at the pain, soothing over your aching thighs by massaging and kneading the flesh under your palms and fingertips. You thumped your fist against your right thigh before quietly standing uprights; opening the door to welcome the retreating form of your captain followed closely by his first-mate.

Stepping aside from the doorframe and bringing your gaze to fall on the ground, you allowed them to exit the house and leave to be in solitude with a polite bow.

While remaining in the cover of external darkness, a quiet voice began echoing a single word repetitively. As you craned your ear to hear what it was saying, your body jolted as you were frightened by a sudden loud, vocal: “BOOM!”

“Buggy,” you thought to yourself, smiling a little as you made your entrance into the building.

“Yeah,” the blue-haired woman sighed, “I’m gonna go get some air.”

Hushed conversation resumed between Usopp with Buggy’s decapitated head perched atop the blue-haired woman’s dining room table. You were not able to quite make out the words from your position outside of the house, so you began to make your way into the dining room to meet with your remaining crew.

“Ah, screw you guys!” Buggy yelled from his position on the table, “Arlong’s gonna bite the shit out of you anyway.”

You halted your steps, coming to situate yourself next to Sanji and out of view of Usopp and the clown-captain as he continued relaying; “You know you don’t stand a chance against him and his army.”

“And you dumb pieces of garbage,” he continued relaying, prompting Sanji to move from your side and collect a tangerine in his right hand, “you ain’t gonna do anything against that stupid-,”

Sanji moved to thrust the orange, cylindrical citrus into the open mouth of the clown, uttering: “new guy shuts up the clown head,” with a light smirk.

Buggy began coughing and sputtering against the intruding object thrust between his teeth. You creased your eyebrows and shook your head in disapproval at him, a smile peaking at the corner of your lips when his eyes fell on your form.

“Mmf ner dngre der, frner?” he asked you in a soft tone, his eyes softening in question.

You flittered your gaze to Sanji, quirking your eyebrow up to him and gesturing with your chin at Buggy’s head. He held his hands up defensively before wordlessly extending his arm out to usher you to claim the object of everyone’s unease and spirit it away from the common area.

You shook your head, moving to place down the brass object in your hand to rest it beside Usopp’s tools.

“It seems we’ve got very similar ideas,” you said, gesturing down to the items Usopp was cradling in his hands.

“Panic?” Usopp questioned you, eyes wide in desperation.

You laughed at his comment before gesturing to the brass object you placed atop the table, correcting him: “explosives.”

Both the eyes of Buggy and Usopp’s bulged within their sockets at how abrasive your off-handed comment was, before their sights were turned to the proximity of the large brass object on the table.

“What’s the range on that thing?” Usopp asked, reaching to touch the object before apprehensively wincing away from it, “is it active?”

“Only when I want it to be,” you chuckled to yourself mainly, “I’ve rigged a timer to a detonator.”

“What’s it for? You going to kill Arlong with that thing?” Usopp asked frantically.

“I don’t know what it’s for,” you shrugged a little, patting his shoulder lightly, “but I know what it does.”

Turning your smiling eyes to meet with a nervous-looking Buggy once more, you gestured your right hand out to him as to wordlessly ask him if he would allow you to lift his head from the table. He immediately began jumping upwards at the notion of leaving the company currently present to join with you in a more intimate area of the surroundings.

Giggling, you placed your hands gently against his jaw and caressed your hands gently to reach under his decapitated neck to raise him upwards to you. You nodded politely to Usopp as the gagged clown began shaking in delight in your arms. Turning around towards the kitchen, you nodded again to dismiss yourself from the chef in the room; an action he reciprocated with a smile.

As you made to exit the room, Sanji gestured to the black satchel. You shook your head and scrunched your nose at him before exiting the house one again.

“What does she even see in him?” you heard Usopp utter as the door closed behind you, breaking your silhouette away from the light and under the cover of darkness once more.

“I’m not sure, I’m just the new guy,” Sanji mocked Usopp’s tone before laughing at his own joke.

You shook your head and began to walk to be far from the wandering eyes and ears of your crew, desperate to have a moment alone with your beloved jester. You found a small row of tangerine trees, sitting down on a small patch of plush grass and bringing your knees to the righthand side of your body, resting your weight on your left hip as you reclined your back against the trunk of the citrus tree.

Turning the face of the clown you had been dutifully carrying, you noticed the tangerine continued to remain held within his jaw. A small amount of saliva had begun gathering at the corners of his mouth as it struggled to contain the spherical object within his mouth. You placed his head on the ground in front of you before gesturing for him to place the object in your awaiting palm.

Attempt as he might, he could not dislodge the object from his lips by maneuvering it himself. His eyes began to widen in panic, prompting you to reach upwards to his lips.

“I’ve got you, sweetheart,” you whispered, reaching your thumb and index finger to his lips to pry the object from between his teeth. He winced slightly before the tangerine was finally dislodged. He circled his jaw, his voice making an “ah,” sound in relief before he looked up at you through his long blue eyelashes. You tossed the tangerine to the side to lay beside the other fallen citrus fruits on the ground below their trees.

You hesitated your next move, but ultimately decided to go through with moving Buggy’s head to lay perpendicular with your left side as you lay your body down to rest fully against the green grass, moonlight caressing both of your bodies.

“Well isn’t this romantic,” Buggy’s voice cut through the silence, prompting you to giggle in response.

“I suppose it is, yes,” you agreed with a nod of your head, before uttering, “it would be even better if all of you were present.”

Buggy released a groan from his lips as he jumped his head down from its upright stance to lay his right cheek against the ground, gazing deep into your eyes.

“I didn’t mean what I said, if you heard it,” he uttered, eyes brimming with seriousness.

“Oh?” you asked, arching your brow, “and what did you not mean?”

“You’re not a dumb piece of garbage,” he uttered in a tone beneath his breath, “none of your crew are.”

You laughed at his comment, bringing your right arm over your body to make your position more comfortable.

“Why did you say it then?” your eyes twinkled, teasing him with your tone.

“I’m frustrated,” he snarled with his eyes roaming your form, “I just-.”

His voice halted in his absent throat, his gaze being brought back to rest against your own; your eyes half-lidded while maintaining a coy expression.

“I just want to hold you,” he confessed breathily, “I need to feel you flush against my body. I crave you, my queen.”

You smiled, studying his face. His paint had become more askew atop his face, allowing your eyes to meet with the dark blue stubble that had began revealing itself more prominently below his red hued lips. You brought your eyes over to study his pierced ear before trailing to the top of his red and white bandana.

Apprehensively, you reached your right hand towards the top of his head, smoothing over the fabric of the bandana beneath your fingertips.

“If I promise to put this back,” you began, meeting your eyes with his teal ones, “may I remove it from you?”

His eyes flittered between your own before he allowed his face to nod slightly in confirmation. Sighing lightly, you reached both of your hands over to his bandana and pulled the object from his head, allowing the soft blue locks to free themselves from their bonds beneath it.

A gasp left your lips as some strands fell into his eyes, prompting you to reach your right hand over to cast them from skewing his vision. The feeling of his sea-worn hair was softer than you anticipated, noting the bandana must’ve been maintaining the structural integrity of his hair relatively well.

Before you realised what you were doing, both of your hands fell within the scalp of the soft blue hair the clown in front of you adorned, a sigh falling from between both of your lips under your ministrations. You raked your fingers through his hair, his eyes falling closed as he relished the feeling of your gentle touch.

“You are so beautiful,” the words escaped your lips before your mind could keep up with them, having your thoughts overexerted from their earlier fixation on tinkering. Your fingers stiffened in his hair as your mind caught up with your words, prompting Buggy to chuckle at your confession.

“You are even more beautiful, my queen,” he uttered quietly, reopening his eyes to gaze into your own.

Starlight flickered against his pupils, highlighting his teal hue beneath his long, blue eyelashes. Your breath caught in your throat as you became transfixed under the soft gaze of the genius jester. Breaking from your grip in his hair, your fingers trailed to lay at the back of his neck before fleeing from their place to lay in front of your body.

“Why did you stop?” Buggy asked you in a voice above a whisper, “I was enjoying that.”

“I’m sorry,” you hurriedly said, apologetically, “I would never want to disrespect your boundaries, especially because you have no way of defending yourself.”

He rolled his eyes at you before unceremoniously hopping from his place to bring his face within inches of your own.

“Baby, if I wanted you to stop; I’d bite you,” he warned you with narrowed eyes before chuckling, his red nose scrunching and smile lines becoming prominent against his eyes. You laughed at his comment before looking at him quizzically; prompting him to do the same.

“What is it?” he asked, his eyebrows creasing in the centre at the question.

You began searching your mind for the appropriate answer before shaking your head and just speaking directly from your thoughts.

“Your chop-chop powers,” you began, prompting him to crease his brows further and his smile fall from his face. You continued; “where, uh-. What happens to your hair?”

His brows knit together further before his laughter erupted from his lips, a wide smile appearing once more.

“That’s what you’re thinking about?” his voice broke through the air, “where my hair goes?”

You exhaled a sharp breath through your nose in protestation of his laughter, before a wide smile overcame your own features.

“To answer your question,” he began after teetering off his laughter, “yes, it keeps growing. If I want short hair like this-,” he flicked his neck to reveal his chin length locks more to you, “I simply remove it.”

Your brows creased before you reached up once more to smooth through his hair, brows again furrowing in curiosity.

“It’s in my hat,” he chuckled, “I removed it for flare, sweetheart. And now the fucking fishmen have that along with my other fun parts.”

If you had a drink, you would’ve unceremoniously spat the liquid in laughter. Instead, you choked on your own saliva at his comment, prompting him to laugh in response.

“I thought you were going to ask me about something more serious than that,” he said, quieting down his laughter as you recovered.

“Oh? Like what?” you asked him in response as your lungs once again filled with an appropriate amount of air.

“Like if all my parts can detach,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows, “which they do.”

You rolled your eyes at his comment, once again reaching for his head and smoothing your hand over his stubbled cheek and raising your fingertips to brush his pierced ear.

“Buggy,” you addressed him, moving your eyeline from his hair to rest once more against his own.

“Yes, dearest?” he chuckled, “what? More questions?”

You shook your head, smiling at him in chastising his statement.

“No more questions,” you confirmed, “just a statement.”

“Oh?” he asked, bringing his face closer to your own, wiggling his cheek against the green plush grass.

You smiled at him and smoothed your fingertips over his cheek before resting your palm against the rough surface of his stubble.

“I am likely to perish tomorrow,” you nodded your head cynically, prompting the playful expression to flee from his face altogether.

“Don’t say that-,” he began, prompting you to rest your fingertips lightly against his lips to halt his sentence.

“Please don’t interrupt me, my love,” you affectionately commanded him. He nodded frantically in confirmation of your words. You sighed before moving your fingertips back to their place resting against his stubbled cheek.

Buggy felt himself swoon under his new title bestowed to him as he chased your retreating hand with his lips and placing a small kiss against the skin before fully allowing your retreat.

“I am not a fighter,” you nodded your head at your own statement, “and I do not expect my crew to lay down their lives to protect a tinkerer – a boatswain – within the thralls of battle. I am replaceable-,”

“-Don’t,” Buggy warned you, eyes narrowed and commanding presence returning to his features.

“Please let me finish!” you said, desperation clawing at your words.

“Then hurry up and say what you need to say without putting yourself down!” he commanded in a booming voice.

The wind began to blow the sea air against the tangerine trees, filling the air with their bitter-sweet scent.

“I want you!” you spoke, eyes narrowing as you realised the words you had spoken. You shook your mind from your own thoughts and doubled-down on your confession: “I want to go with you so badly. I want to leave my crew behind to join with you; body and soul.”

The words pulled themselves from your throat freely as your eyes began to brim with fresh tears, emotionally draining you from your frustrations.

“I want to feel you within my arms, hold you against me and tell you how much you truly mean to me as I feel you relax into my arms and become one with me,” you began, tears pricking at your eyeline and threatening to break over, “Buggy-,”

“Kiss me,” Buggy commanded you, bringing your attention back from your inner intrusive thoughts and back into reality.

“W-what?” you stuttered over your words.

The clown in front of you sighed as his eyes became darkened under his hardening resolve, a snarl pulling at his lips.

“I know what you’re going to say,” he spat at you, all humour and playfulness fully fled from your interaction; leaving only destruction in its wake.

“And what might that be?” you taunted him, your own snarl forming between your lips and growing into a deep frown.

“I want to be with you, but I’ll never leave my crew,” he said, scrunching up his features and mocking you in a horrid, high-pitched voice.

You snarled at him, baring your teeth at his harsh words.

“I don’t sound like that-“ you began, only to have your words halted by Buggy’s voice replacing your own.

“But that is your intention, isn’t it? I can tell by your tone, sweetheart,” his voice remained elevated, only stuttering under the title he bestowed to you; his own eyes beginning to swell, “you’ll leave me just like the rest of them.”

Choosing not to speak, you allowed a small tear to escape from your left eye and fall to the greenery beneath you. After the one tear escaped from your left, your right followed swiftly behind it.

“Tell me I’m wrong,” Buggy reiterated, his breath hitching in his non-present throat, “tell me you’ll come with me and rule at my side as queen of the pirates-.”

“-I can’t,” you whispered, halting the next words from escaping his lips in their formation behind his mouth.

A moment of uncomfortable and tense silence fell between you, the breeze again gracing itself over your features and blowing Buggy’s exposed locks within it; hindering his sights from meeting your eyes.

“See,” he chuckled, relieving the tension, “this is why I wear the bandana. This shit always gets thrown in my face without it.”

A giggle began to erupt within you as your bottom lip remained downturned, a sob following it before you allowed the laughter to take over. You reached your hands up to his face again and raked his blue hair away from his eyeline, his eyes meeting your own once again as he sighed into your touch. You smiled at him, prompting him to do the same.

“I love-,” you began.

“-Please don’t,” he spoke over you, closing his eyes and shielding his emotions from your sights, “if you won’t come with me, I won’t allow you to.”

“Buggy-,” you again found the words halted by his voice.

“-I said don’t,” he whispered, keeping his eyes tightly shut.

You inhaled a deep breath to fill your lungs as your mind hardened in its resolve. You placed your hand against his cheek and closed the gap between your faces; finally bringing your lips to lay flush against his own.

Unlike the first kiss, you had no need to muster bravery, stupidity or something else entirely. You knew within your minds eye that this kiss was something of purity. Something true. Although you promised both him and yourself that you would not engage with him without his entire form being fully present, you could no longer withhold expressing your adoration and affection for the genius jester as he so beautifully humbled himself before you. Your body responded directly to his direction breathily spoken moments ago.

“Kiss me,” his words echoed within your mind as you trailed your right hand from his cheek to rest against the back of his neck so tenderly.

You felt him inhale a sharp breath through his nose at the initial shock of the contact made between you before whimpering against your lips at the sudden contact. He relaxed against your lips as you soothed him with your hands, brushing his loose hair beneath your fingertips.

He maneuvered his mouth effortlessly against your own, his tongue dancing at your lips to prompt you to open yourself up to receive him. You parted your lips, an action that had a low groan resonate within his bodyless throat as he pushed past your lips with the muscle to meet with your own.

Tangerines; the citrus that was so unceremoniously thrust into his mouth, successfully gagging him by the chef earlier, was the flavour you could taste as your tongue danced against his own. The bitter-sweet citrus being the perfect analogy for the emotion you truly felt as you moved your hand from the back of his neck to trail down his jaw and pull him closer into you.

He struck his chin against your own to angle your face upwards to deepen the kiss, him very much in control over the embrace; although he was just a head. You felt him moan against your lips as he continued to push himself further against you in an attempt to bring himself closer to you. You gasped as you felt his tongue retreat back within his lips, his teeth meeting your bottom lip in its stead, nibbling at the puckered flesh; coaxing a moan from within the chasms of your chest.

Your heart fluttered at his ministrations, a heat gathering itself at the pit of your stomach as a sob released itself from your chest and into the lips of the clown in front of you; prompting a similar response of his own.

He broke from the kiss, resting his forehead against your own; his nose resting flush against your own.

“Please don’t leave me,” he whispered against your lips, his breath halting within his mouth, “I can’t live without you.”

You moved your hand again from his jaw to rest behind his head, massaging small circles at the nape of his neck.

“I can’t leave my captain,” you whispered in return, circling your nose affectionately against his own, “nor will I leave my crew. I would sooner die than betray them.”

Buggy clenched his teeth as fresh tears began to flow freely from his eyes, betrayal the emotion gathering itself within his chest all but three miles away from his current proximity.

“I will never stop pursuing you,” he whispered; his breath becoming one with your own in its proximity.

“And I-,” you began, smoothing over his face with your fingertips; prompting him to reopen his eyes to meet his gaze against your own; “-will never stop loving you.”

Screaming interrupted your thoughts, as your body and Buggy’s head jolted forward at it’s vocalised interruption. You immediately sprung to your feet, your arms stooping down to collect the head within your grasp as you fled to its source.

“Arlong!” the voice cried, baring their soul in intensity.

Your feet carried you faster than you expected it to be, especially while cradling the head of your lover between your arms. As you sprinted on, your gaze was halted by a sight your mind could not readily process.

Nami lay askew on the floor beneath her, a blade clutched within her right hand as she thrust a small blade within her grasp against her tattooed shoulder.

Her movements became halted under the firm grip of your captain as he approached her crouched form.

She looked to him, her eyes filled with sorrow as she continued to clutch the blade between her fingers. Her breath hitched within her throat as your captain bore his eyes into hers, echoing her sorrowful intensity.

“I told you to get the hell out of here,” she uttered darkly, her tone becoming skewed by her sorrow.

“You did,” your captain confirmed monotonously.

Nami’s blade fled from her grip and fell to the ground as she collected herself against her growing rage.

“Then leave,” she commanded; rage and darkness filling her voice at her orders, “you don’t know anything about what’s going on here.”

“I don’t,” your captain agreed with her, the same monotonous and dark tone gathering within his throat as his resolve hardened.

A silent moment passed between them, tension hanging within the air as you cradled your lover’s face between your arms; bringing his view to the situation as it unfolded.

“Luffy?” Nami quietly addressed your captain, turning her sorrowful gaze to meet with his eyes, her voice becoming desperate in its addressal; “help me.”

Your captain reached his right hand above his head and collected his straw hat from above his head, removing it from his raven hair and placing it atop Nami’s orange locks; securing it in place with a firm push.

“Of course I will,” he uttered darkly before turning away from his navigator and maneuvering his body to face his crew.

“Of course I will,” he again growled below a whisper of a breath, his resolution resolving within an awaited breath. He walked down the dirt road to meet with his crew: Usopp sitting against the ground, his arms folded: Zoro propping himself up by his single remaining white blade: Sanji smoking his cigarette down to the butt of the filter before flickering it away.

“Of course I will!” your captain screamed into the empty road, a declaration of his intentions thrust in solitude into the road ahead, Nami bringing her right hand to stifle a sob gathering in her lips.

Luffy’s gaze narrowed, brimming with a single purpose as he uttered: “let’s go,” to direct his crew.

“Right,” the voices lifted of your crew, and within the chasms of your own chest in confirmation on the next course of action.

Usopp stood to his feet and checked his perception on the movement and sounds resounding from before you.

“What’s that?” he uttered in question, prompting you to turn your own sights to the noise echoing ahead.

“They’re attacking the village,” Usopp uttered, confirming your fear as smoke littered the sky with its fumigation.

Echoes of battle hung within the sky; explosions, gunshots and shrieks from civilians joining in a sorrowful chorus of pain.

Reluctantly, you handed over the head of your beloved to the arms of Sanji. You made eye contact with the teal irises of the clown as you parted with him, spiriting away to meet beside your orange-haired navigator.

“What happened, love?” you asked her, bringing your right hand to rest above her left shoulder, noticing her flinch under your touch. You flittered your eyes down to meet with her fresh, self-inflicted wound on the side of her arm.

“Arlong told the Marines the location of my treasure,” she sobbed, her eyes meeting with your own.

You brought her into an embrace, cradling her hat-adorned orange hair into your left shoulder. Your eyes narrowed, your purpose forming within your chest.

“Which Marine?” you asked her, darkly.

She released herself from your embrace, searching your eyes for an indication of your intentions.

“A commander,” she whispered to you, prompting your gaze to meet with her own, “his name is Nezumi. He took my gold: the ransom for the freedom of my village-.” A sob caught in her throat as she attempted to collect herself.

“Shh,” you soothed her, your hand rubbing circles against her skin; “say no more, my dear.”

You released her from your embrace and brought her gaze to meet your own; wildness and mischievousness gracing over your features.

“W-what is that look for?” she asked you, her eyes flittering to meet with your own to search for reason within them, being met only with an unnerving smile and wide eyes.

“Nothing, sweetheart,” you reiterated, smoothing your hand over her form to comfort her; only to unnerve her more, “now I know what it’s for.”

Part 14

Tag List:

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[humanpurposes]

From Eden

Chapter 1: Little Novice

Danes attack Wincombe Abbey and a young novice crosses paths with a group of mercenaries and their Baby Monk // Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Osferth x Original Female Character

Warnings: bit of violence and death, suggestive themes if you squint, there will eventually be smut

Words: 4000

A/n: not me starting another series oops but i can't resist the baby monk

Today saw the first snowfall of the year. A few flakes landed on Bridget’s sleeves as she sauntered past the hard and frosted soil of the vegetable garden, past the pigsty and towards the stream that circled Wincombe Abbey. She swung an empty pitcher back and forth as she hummed the least melancholy hymn she could think of.

They had guests currently. Lady Aethelflaed of Mercia had arrived two days ago, bringing with her a group of guards who were camping at outside the Abbey. Bridget had been tempted to walk past the men on her errand, but the Abbess was already in a foul mood and she didn’t fancy testing her temper. Not unless it was for something interesting.

She had spent her morning as she always did. Prayers first. Her knees were never not bruised by the flagstone floor of the chapel, but with winter settling in they were numb too. Then she saw to the goats and the pigs. Then she helped in the kitchen. Finally, she got to eat in the hall with her Sisters. Bread with some winter preserves and slices of cured ham.

When she got to the stream, she placed the pitcher by her feet. With a final glance over her shoulder to the solitary stone building of the Abbey, she hopped across the water on a sparse path of rocks and made for the line of trees ahead of her.

The woods were the only place she felt like a living person and not simply a novice in a habit.

Bridget couldn’t stand how quiet life the Abbey could be. The Abbess, a stern but fair woman, told her it was because she was restless and unappreciative, but perhaps she was simply not well suited to mindfulness and prayer. Sometimes she could find things to laugh about with the younger girls, but then the Abbess would scold her for her “impiety”.

Once she was amongst the trees she tugged at her habit. In the summer she might take it off, but it offered some extra warmth in the colder months.

Her preferred weapon was where she left it, leaning against the trunk of a young oak tree. A broken bit of a branch, small enough for her to wield and heavy enough to hit against the trees.

She twirled it through her hands, just as her brother used to show her. From the few memories she had, she remembered he could do all sorts of impressive tricks with his sword. He could spin it and slice it through the air in controlled and precise movements.

It had been a decade since she had seen her brother, but she tried to keep his teachings with her, swinging branches at tree trunks, imagining she was a great warrior, like David slaying Goliath. Technically David had slayed Goliath with a rock and a sling, a detail the Abbess insisted was important. Bridget could invent a thousand reasons why, but she didn’t care to.

Especially when she was younger, she liked to imagine herself as a warrior when she was tasked with cutting wood or slaughtering and butchering the pigs. They were both hard work, but she was always willing to do it, if only to have an excuse to be destructive for once. She found it could be quite cathartic.

After a particularly harsh blow against a tree that cracked the branch almost in two, she froze. She heard horses. She hoped they would move on, but she made out a few figures in the distance, figures who appeared to have spotted her and were moving closer.

She dropped the branch and fixed her habit, to find a lock of her hair hovering over her forehead. She tucked it back in as the faces of the riders came into view.

There were five who rode at the front, four men and a woman with pale, blonde hair and strange markings on her face. A larger group, no more than twenty, hung back a little.

“A nun,” one of the men called. He rode in front of the group, their leader, she supposed.

“There we are then, you’ll feel right at home, Baby Monk,” another said. He had a gruff voice and an Irish accent. One of the other men laughed. The woman didn’t react at all.

“Is the Abbey nearby?” The leader asked.

Bridget frowned. He had an accent she could not place. “You are Danish?” She looked amongst the rest of their group, and they each seemed to find her accusation amusing.

“What is my religion to you, girl?”

“I would like to know if you would seek to do us harm.”

He raised a brow. “And you believe the best measure of a man to be the gods he follows?”

“I believe the best measure of a man is his intentions,” she said, meeting his eye and determined to keep her expression stoic.

But apparently he was pleased with her response. “You and I are similar in this respect,” he said, loosening the grip of his reins. “We seek the Lady Aethelflaed.”

“Would you seek to do her harm?”

“Only the good kind,” the Irishman mumbled with a smirk.

The leader rolled his eyes. “She and I are friends. I have come to offer her my protection.”

Bridget looked into the eyes of each of their group, the leader, the Irishman, the one who from his hair also looked to be a Dane, and the younger man riding at the back of the group. The woman had an unsettling gaze, she was the only one Bridget felt she felt compelled to look away from. The Abbess would call the markings on her face the markings of a heathen.

“There is a bridge over the stream,” she said, pointing through the trees. “Cross there. There will be room for your horses in the stables.”

She watched the men move away, each of them offering thankful smiles. She concealed her own, and headed back the way she came, across the stream and to the abbey with the empty pitcher.

Lady Aethelflaed welcomed them warmly and named their leader as Lord Uhtred. After it was agreed that they were decidedly not Danes (not the kind who would attack an Abbey anyhow), they settled in the hall, where Bridget and the nuns brought them bowls of stew and bread.

She expected them to eat like the Mercian guards, wolfing down bread and stew like they hadn’t seen food in days, but Lord Uhtred and his men thanked her graciously as she placed bowls on the table and went round to ladle out more stew for them.

Until she came to the man sitting at the end of the table, beside Lady Aethelflaed. He was the youngest of the group, with wide blue eyes and a sharp jaw. He kept to himself, slightly hunched over his stew.

She was rather fascinated by his robes and the small silver cross around his neck. If he had a slightly worse haircut he would look like a monk. But that was ridiculous, why would a monk be travelling with a group of mercenaries?

She approached him and waited for him to notice her. He looked up at her a smiled vaguely.

She indicated to the pot she was carrying.

“Please,” he muttered, holding out his bowl.

She dished a few spoonfuls for him and he smiled again, a little wider this time. She smiled back.

She wondered where he might be from, why he served a Dane if he wore a cross, how far their group had travelled and how many tales they might have.

“May I ask your name?” He asked.

She had been so distracted trying to think of something to say that his question took her by surprise.

“Oh… Bridget,” she said. “And you?”

“I am Osferth,” he said. He was very softly spoken, she thought. There was something so gentle and subdued about him.

“Are you a monk, Osferth?” She asked.

He glanced down at the cross hanging from his neck. “I was, I left my order to serve Lord Uhtred.”

“And now you are, what, a mercenary?”

Osferth chuckled to himself and shook his head lightly. “I am not much of a fighter just yet.”

“But you have a sword, and your friends are warriors.”

“I am still learning. In the meantime I can only practice and pray to God for courage and strength.”

She felt a light feeling in her chest she was sure she hadn’t felt in years. That’s what she prayed for too, even when the nuns told her she should be praying for patience and forgiveness.

“How did you—”

“Bridget.” The Abbess called, glaring at her from across the table.

Bridget nodded her head to Osferth, a farewell, she supposed, and headed back to the kitchen. One of the girls followed behind her, with a now empty pitcher of ale.

“The Irishman is handsome,” Bridget whispered into her ear once they were through the doors.

The other girl’s mouth fell open.

“What? Surely it is not a sin to look?”

The next morning, the Abbess ensured Bridget stayed in the kitchen. “So you might not be so easily distracted,” she warned, leaving her to peel and slice an endless amount of vegetables.

The Abbess seemed rather distressed at hosting Lord Uhtred and his men. “Ravenous permanently,” she grumbled, marching in through the kitchen with the remains of their breakfast. “They are eating into our winter stores.”

“So why let them stay?” Bridget muttered, dragging the edge of her knife over the skin of a few carrots.

“Because it is our place to show kindness,” the Abbess insisted through her teeth. She emptied the plate into a bucket by Bridget’s feet. “Take that out to the pigs.”

Bridget made no verbal protest. She placed the knife down and left through a small door that led out to the side of the Abbey, just as she had done the previous day. The skin of her cheeks stung when it met the icy morning air. The snow was heavier today. She blinked a few flakes out of her eyes and marched quickly towards the pigsty.

She made sure to scratch them behind the ears, poor things, left out in the cold.

She made her way around the building, to the front doors of the Abbey, and blinked.

And blinked again.

No, there was defineately an army of Danes lined up on the other side of the bridge.

“Good morning, nun!” One cried from atop a grey horse.

“Who are you?” Bridget demanded, but her voice came out a little more broken than intended.

The man chuckled and nodded to the bridge.

They had three hostages, each with a knife being held to their throats.

But with the order from their leader, the first hostage’s throat was sliced open, his body carelessly left to fall to the floor.

Bridget couldn’t bring herself to scream and choked out a broken sort of gasp.

They made no demands, made no moves towards her, and there was no indication they intended to kill the other two hostages. Not yet.

She slowly stalked towards the doors, unable to keep her eyes away from the danger.

“We will wait!” The man on the horse called, “for Aethelflaed!”

She ran to the kitchen first.

“To the hall!” She cried, moving to shut the windows.

The others all stared at her for a moment.

“Now!”

“What is the meaning of this?” The Abbess asked, bolting the door to the gardens as the others fled the kitchen.

“Danes,” Bridget breathed. She hadn’t realised her lack of breath or the restless feeling creeping under her skin.

The Abbess’s skin turned pale. She placed her hand on Bridget’s shoulder and ushered her towards the hall.

The nuns and novices had raised alarm amongst the men. Half of them were already reaching for their weapons.

Bridget and the Abbess slammed the doors of the hall with an ominous thud.

“What is it?” Lord Uhtred demanded.

“Danes. Outside.”

Every man was on his feet in an instant, and the sound of unsheathed swords rang through the hall.

“How many Danes?” The Irishman asked.

Bridget faltered. She hadn’t thought to count them. “More than twenty. Less than fifty.”

A few men moved towards the doors and the windows, but Lord Uhtred ordered them to hold for the time being.

He turned to Bridget. “Do you know what they want?”

“He asked for Lady Aethelflaed.”

“But they may not know we are here,” he said to his men.

“They know someone is here,” Osferth’s voice came. He was still sat at the table and had not drawn his sword.

“But they have hostages,” Bridget said. “They killed one man and they have two more.”

“We remain inside, and we remain silent,” Uhtred ordered, coming towards Bridget and the Abbess. “They must believe you are unprotected,” he said.

He looked between them for a moment, and turned back to Bridget. “Would you speak with them?”

Her heart must have stopped for a moment. “What?”

“We cannot save the hostages, but you can save the lives of the men and women here.”

“And Aethelflaed,” Osferth added.

“You must deny she is here; convince them you have nothing to offer.”

Her restlessness was starting to feel like fear, but she understood Lord Uhtred’s plan, and she could not say why, but she was inclined to trust him.

Until the Abbess interjected. “No!”

Bridget’s heart sank a little. “Abbess, I can do it—”

“No, child, this is my house. This will be my responsibility.” She turned to Lord Uhtred. “I will do it.”

Bridget followed Uhtred and some of the other men into the entrance hall. She stood by one of the windows, out of sight of the Danes, occasionally stealing glances of the Abbess as she stepped out to attempt a negotiation.

“We know him,” a voice muttered beside her. She looked up to see Osferth’s jaw hovering over her. “His name is Haesten.”

The Abbess made her plea for mercy.

In turn, a second man had his throat slit.

“Deny her presence again and a third man dies. And I will burn down your nunnery, and everyone in it.”

Bridget placed her hand on her throat. She could feel her heart pulsing.

A hand gently came onto her shoulder, but Osferth said nothing. His hands were larger than she realised. It wasn’t exactly calming, but she liked it.

True to the words of the Dane, the third man was slain, and when the Abbess reached for an axe she was met with a spear to her chest.

Bridget flinched into Osferth’s chest, keeping her hands over her eyes.

“Aethelflaed!” Haesten cried. “How many more men and women must die to save your bony arse?”

“To the hall,” Osferth said, taking one of her hands in his.

When she glanced once more out the window, Haesten and his men were moving past the bodies of the hostages and the Abbess, towards the doors.

Bridget, Osferth and Aethelflaed gathered the nuns and novices to the back of the hall, while Uhtred and his men lined up behind the doors with shields, spears and swords.

“Will you not fight?” Bridget asked Osferth.

“I told you, I am not much of a warrior,” he said solemnly, as he and Lady Aethelflaed positioned themselves before the others.

Bridget frowned, but tried to distract herself by whispering assurances to some of the younger girls.

When the doors finally burst open she felt utterly helpless. The fighting was kept by the doors and the entrance hall, while Osferth and Lady Aethelflaed watched with their swords drawn.

And when two of the Danes broke through the line protecting the door, they moved together. Lady Aethelflaed fought better than the monk, she thought.

She watched as a third man fought through, overwhelming Osferth while Aethelflaed was still preoccupied.

Bridget couldn’t stop herself. She darted towards the table and grabbed a knife. She supposed the man could have easily turned to her and lodged his axe in her chest, but he didn’t get a chance to even look at her before she rammed the knife into his neck, sending a spray of blood through the air.

The rest of the room was a haze. Something warm and wet landed on and dripped down her cheek.

Suddenly she felt two hands against her shoulders. She blinked.

Osferth’s blue eyes were glaring at her. “That was foolish,” he said.

Three men lay dead on the floor. Swords continued to clash in the entrance hall but Haesten and his men were retreating.

Osferth and Aethelflaed moved out to join Uhtred, while some of the nuns came to wipe the blood from Bridget’s face.

She told them of the Danes and the Abbess’ death. Some of the girls cried, some prayed. She came to clutch her own cross around her neck. But her hands would not stop shaking and her heart would not rest.

She killed a man. Really, it hadn’t been much harder than slaughtering a pig, but at least it felt a little more justified.

If the Abbess were not dead, she would have screamed at her, told her she was ungodly, no better than a cold-blooded murderer, or any of the Danes who ravaged villages and stole from innocent Mercians.

They stayed huddled in the hall until dusk, when Lord Uhtred seemed to finally come to a resolution.

The woman with the markings on her face, Skade, was a seer, and Haesten agreed to take her in Aethelflaed’s place.

Bridget watched the exchange from the doors to the main hall, and a shiver slipped down her spine when Skade turned to Uhtred with a dark look in her eyes.

“You are cursed once more, Uhtred of Bebbanburg.”

Bridget had hardly slept that night. She lay eyes closed, still in her robes and the white headscarf she wore under her habit, listening to the gentle snores of the girls in the beds around her and aware of the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed.

The moment she heard the first whistle of birdsong at dawn, she was up. She pulled on a pair of boots and looked around her bed. But it occurred to her she owned nothing, save for her little silver cross.

She hurried through the abbey, past the open doors of the hall, now empty.

The men were outside, securing their saddles and mounting their horses.

She spotted Lord Uhtred as he was helping Lady Aethelflaed pack her own mount.

Osferth was by his horse, talking to the Irishman.

“Lord Uhtred!” Bridget called over the noise of the horses.

He turned to her with a small smile. “Fear not, we have not emptied your food stores—”

“I want to come with you,” she said.

She had the attention of the others now.

Uhtred chuckled to himself. “I already have a stray monk, I have no need for a little novice.”

Bridget’s skin still felt strange where it had been stained with blood. “I fought better than him.”

“Not a particularly high standard,” the Irishman joked. Osferth’s head sunk, but he was smirking too.

“So you killed one man and now you offer yourself as a warrior?” Uhtred asked.

Her breath caught in her throat as she finally realised the ridiculousness of her proposition. She could swing a branch, cut firewood and bury a knife into an unsuspecting man, but that would hardly help her in a true battle.

“With practice, perhaps?” She said, pressing her nails into her palm. “But I have some skills as a healer also. I’ve assisted the Abbess with all sorts of ailments, no doubt you encounter your fair share of injuries?”

“She’s got spirit, Uhtred, at least give her that,” Aethelflaed said.

“Please,” Bridget said, “give me the chance and I will prove myself to you.”

They each shared a few pointed glances.

“I admire your determination, but I cannot bring a girl onto the battlefield against armies of Danes. I cannot guarantee your protection and I cannot even offer you a horse.”

“Lord? She can ride with me,” Osferth said quietly. “With your permission of course. I can look out her.”

Uhtred raised his eyebrows. “Very well.”

Bridget felt herself smile, wide and showing off her top row of teeth. It felt uncomfortable but she didn’t try to stop herself.

The others were already starting to move off as she approached Osferth as he stroked the nose of his horse.

“Have you ridden before?” He asked.

“No.”

“You’ll sit behind me; I’ll help you up.”

Bridget nodded.

She watched as he placed his left foot in the stirrup and swung his leg over to the other side. “Easy,” he insisted, holding out his hand to her. “Don’t be afraid to use your strength.”

She followed his movements as best she could, but her skirt wouldn’t allow her to bring her leg to the other side of the saddle. She fell back onto her feet with a disgruntled huff.

“Other foot then, and slot both legs onto one side of the saddle.” He held out his hand again. “Ready?”

“Wait.” Bridget looked back to the space around her. The stream, the woods, the doors to the place that had never really felt like home. She reached for her headscarf and pulled it off her head, letting it fall to the ground. She didn’t suppose she would have any use for it now. Her hair fell down her back in a messy braid.

She looked back up at Osferth, between his hand, his eyes, and briefly to the curve of his upper lip. She held his hand tightly and hauled herself up onto the horse, her arms and legs trembling slightly at the effort.

Once the horse was settled Osferth gave it a gentle kick and they began to move. Bridget latched onto his shoulders as they began to sway with the movement.

“What if I fall off?” She asked, suddenly horrified at the prospect.

“You won’t fall off,” Osferth said, “use your thighs.”

“What?”

“Grip with your thighs,” he said.

She did so instinctively. Something about it felt… strange.

They cantered to catch up with the group and Bridget gripped Osferth’s shoulders a little tighter. Until he took one of her hands and placed it on his waist, so she wouldn’t impede on his arms. She muttered an apology and unsurely placed her other hand around him.

A few days ago she hadn’t so much as spoken to a man in years, except an incident where a nearby farmer had broken his leg, and even then she only wordlessly assisted the Abbess to bandage his limb.

Now she had her arms around a man’s torso, close enough to feel his warmth from under his winter cloak as her body rocked against his back.

“You’re frozen,” Osferth said, briefly brushing his thumb over her hand.

“It’s winter.”

“Did you not have anything warmer to wear?”

“We don’t attach ourselves to material items,” she said in a mockingly wistful voice.

He huffed a small laugh and pulled the horse to a stop before swinging his leg around the its head, landing on the ground in one smooth movement.

He undid the clasp on his cloak and held it up to her.

“Thank you,” she said, wrapping it around her shoulders, “but I don’t want you to get cold.”

He mounted again, a little awkwardly with Bridget already in the saddle. “Hold it around me. We can keep each other warm.”

She shuffled closer into him. Osferth brought one hand off the reins and pulled the corner of the cloak around his arm as Bridget settled against his back, resting her head at the base of his neck.

Thank God he couldn’t see her as her cheeks started to burn against the cold and the snow.

[hyukassubi]

🍪 04 | Knight-in-training Kai Kamal Huening

♡𓂃 Pairing -> (Former) Knight! Huening Kai x Seamstress! Reader

♡𓂃 Synopsis -> Growing up, you never believed in purpose, nor destiny. Simply following the path of life, becoming a royal seamstress didn't at all seem like a bad idea. Only thing is, it wasn't your idea.

Your best friend who just so happens to be the crowned prince knows what it's like to grow up having limited choices, and Prince Kang Taehyun doesn't want the same happening to you. The commander knight, in turn, has other plans for the future. After Huening Kai closes a profound chapter of his life, he seeks refuge from the chaos of his past, opting for a cozier lifestyle instead.

... And it just so seems that those plans wouldn't be fulfilled without you.

♡𓂃 Wc -> 1,507

So, knights were a thing, and to your disbelief, some trained as young as ten.

“There’s no way these people are around our age.” You stated, watching beyond the small gathering outside the castle grounds full of young dirty boys facing tired royal knights.

Also it smelled like a pig pen.

Taehyun looked prouder than he’s ever been. “Knight training typically starts at age ten, yeah, but they’ll actually get to wield swords and stuff when they’re… I don’t know, a teenager?”

“You’re telling me they don’t wield swords during their training periods?”

“Nope, we give them rubber ones first, wooden ones later.”

“W-why?”

“Prevention, sweetheart, we don’t want to compensate for a booger-eating weirdo’s hospital fees, after all.”

It was around this time Taehyun’s sassy side started to show up, and from everybody in the castle, the only person who seems to be taking it well is you.

“I don’t think they all eat their boogers. Nor are they that incapable.”

Taehyun scoffed. “You innocent soul.”

“What?”

“You’re right, not all of them are, or will be, useless, I guess. It’s fun watching them grow from mere long-limbed babies to strong, muscular men who’ll end up taking care of you and the kingdom, though. And they especially take great care of me.”

The topic of knights was getting too political for your ten year old brain. “You make them sound like your nannies.”

Taehyun turned to face you, hands on his hips, hips don’t lie. “They are not my nannies.”

“Everyone in this castle is basically your nanny. Right, Bangchan?” You turned to the tall guard next to you, the real OG who has been looking after the royal family since prince Taehyun was in diapers.

Everybody within the field excluding the village boys and Taehyun and you sighed in sync like a church choir going off of several different layering audios and backing vocals, “Yes.”

You spat a smirk at the prince. “See?”

Taehyun didn’t utter a word. He just stared from the corner of his way too big doe eyes with so much intensity it can pierce through your bones like an x-ray.

The mucky village boys simultaneously gulped.

Commander Knight Bangchan who did not look a day over twenty-five harrumphed, ready to start his boring speech or whatever, and you had to hold yourself back from yelling out ‘hear ye, hear ye’ in front of, like, fifty other people.

“G’day everyone.” He started relatively cheery. “I can see by your needle-straight postures and trickling beads of sweat that you fellas are absolutely scared out of your minds for this important day, but fear not! Knight training only gets progressively intense by the time you’re sixteen. So think of these next four years as a bit of playtime, a bit of getting to know each other and a bit of fun.”

The village boys simultaneously let their shoulders drop and sighed in relief.

“That is, if you’re even going to be a knight-in-training for the next couple of years.”

The village boys straightened their backs again.

You had a mild craving for popcorn right about now, and Taehyun must’ve wanted something to nibble on too because he whispered over to you for a cookie but your mother’s clay oven broke down because some random girl that totally isn’t you accidentally stank up its insides by baking up some ‘salmon’ from your father’s recent catches that weren’t meant to be eaten in the first place.

Commander Knight Bangchan continued. “I am Commander Knight, and that’s basically one of the highest positions you can get as a knight.” Silence. “Now, as you can see here are two beautiful young children—”

The both of you stared into Bangchan’s soul, “Tell us something we don’t know—”

“—they are going to be the future of our kingdom.”

A collective gasp sounded from the crowd, and so did a few not-so-very-audible ‘oh no’s coming from the other guards guarding the field area.

Commander Knight Bangchan laid a hefty hand over Taehyun’s shoulder. “This right here is prince Kang Taehyun—” a collective bow from everybody that lasted three seconds commenced, “— and that thing in the white dress and bunny slippers is… his best friend who canonically has no royal significance at this date and time but—”

“Correction, my bestie is a queen.” Taehyun glared and all the boys bowed on their knees—

“Tell you what, I’m done with you folks. Off to the haystack you two, we’ll start knight training, now.”

Taehyun pouted as he dragged you to the haystack to sit down and watch the literal rodeo that’s about to take place, neither of you noticing a pair of keen brown eyes starring back at you for quite some time.

Only half of the boys made it through the Knight-in-training Acceptance Exam, which was kind of odd because all they did was answer a couple of questions ranging from ‘Who are your parents?’ to ‘If the whole castle was on fire and the prince was stuck on the top of the turret, what would you do?’ followed by a practical exam which included punching dummies and wielding rubber swords around.

The only reason why Taehyun told you to leave after the exams were over was because he had to pretty much give an oath of sorts to the young boys which was, according to him, ‘very very boring’ so he recommended you to pick flowers in the castle garden or something and he’ll meet you back in like ten minutes max.

And now here you are, hugging your knees at the edge of the duck pond in the castle garden, staring back at your reflection.

Taehyun just keeps growing, doesn’t he? Not particularly in physique right now but… he’s constantly changing while also being the same old Taehyun?

You wondered, sometimes, how it must feel having the future of your whole life planned out since birth. How the options are narrow yet promising and hopeful, how the future is predictable enough that it isn’t scary.

But, perhaps you didn’t need the universe to give you the map of your future. For what its worth… for now, you had your parents whose love for you is never ending.

And Taehyun.

And the florist, and the bakery.

And the boisterously chaotic castle you consider as your second home.

Taehyun tagged along soon after, with a friend.

“Y/n, I’d like you to meet Huening Kai.”

The three of you were around the same height, same age, but something about the boy standing next to Taehyun screamed ‘fragile! PLEASE handle with CARE.’ which… wasn’t a good fit on him for the most part considering he’ll be a knight in charge of, well, the kingdom. It honestly would never have crossed your mind that this timid, scrawny boy would have the guts to order a bar of soap at your local white market, let alone become a knight.

“Hello, Huening Kai.” Is what you said because that’s how you let another person know that they’re seen and that you’d love to be friends with them.

Taehyun had taught you well.

And he must’ve taught Huening Kai a thing or two as well, because he and all his shyness mustered up enough courage to look you in the eye the whole time and go, “Hello, Y/n. I like your name.”

“Thank you, but I think you have a better name.”

Taehyun nods along. ”I agree.”

Huening Kai takes out something from his closed fist.

A rose.

A rose so pretty and so red and so obviously plucked out from the castle gardens just a few bushes away. “Here. It’s for you.” Huening Kai adds, cheeks pinkening. “I thought it’s pretty so I… plucked it out for you.”

The small gesture shouldn’t have felt special, after all, you were the daughter of a florist and flowers of any kind were always within your vicinity, be it a large bouquet with tiny stuffed animals on it or home decor to be placed by the window of your bedroom.

So… why?

Why did this feel so special?

Huening Kai felt the silence, and it must’ve overwhelmed him because his eyebrows furrowed and his lips perplexed. “If it’s too much I’ll, uh— I’ll put it back and we can start over—”

“Oh no you’re good. It’ll look good on my flower crowns.” You smiled at the pretty little bloom. “Thanks, Huening Kai.”

All Hueningkai could do is smile, a soft thing that shivered at the corners of his lips, breaking away eye contact and shrinking back without meaning too, “Just call me ‘Kai’.”

You thought little to nothing of it, because any friend of Taehyun is a friend of yours you must respect and cherish and keep for a very, very long time. “Okay. Hello, Kai.”

The young knight didn’t quite understand the gesture, so his new found princely friend gave him a small nudge. “It’s a thing she does to tell you that she respects and appreciates you.”

Huening Kai nods, feeling respected and appreciated like he should.

Previous | Masterlist | Next

♡𓂃A/n: Fun-not-so-fun fact, this chapter wasn't proofread before being posted, but I think that shouldn't be a problem because 1) my writing eats hard 2) my humor is immaculate 💅💅💅💅💅HOPE YOU GUYS ENJOYED HYUKA (AND BANGCHANS) APPEARANCE BWAHAHAHAHAH

♡𓂃Tags: @sweetheartsaku @imcringebutimfree @i-like-to-read-at-4am @pengningie @marloree @stormy1408 @blossommi

Reblog & review if you like my work !!

[sapphicseasapphire]

Since he’s my favorite to love and angst, what’s Warriors’ backstory in your Chain as Cryptids AU? Does it involve a lot of angst? Is Linkle (personal hc her as Warriors’ sister) involved? It’s fine if she’s not but is there angst?!

I don’t know why but he and Wild are the best to angst. In my opinion, others are different.

Hmmmm Warriors. Sword Spirit. Cool guy.

I will make a post (eventually) with a detailed backstory for him, but here’s some little bits of information!

He was created, not born. No family, because that’s not how spirits work. (Linkle is there, though. They’re close but not blood related because Sword Spirits don’t have blood). I think his sword is wielded by his Zelda until he’s discovered by the rest of the Chain.

And OH are they confused by him. Wars is pretty distant from the others simply because they have no idea how to interact with him. He probably gravitates towards Time, because Time is a literal God and even if the others don’t know that yet, Wars recognizes that he’s the most powerful in the group. So Time wields Wars’ sword.

Okay okay so I said that they don’t know how to interact with Wars at first. Like they stumble across his sword after being teleported to his era and they’re just like “but where’s the hero?”

It’s Sky who recognizes that he’s a Sword Spirit, and Sky who knows how to deal with (take care of) Warriors. The others (Four) mostly see Wars as a sword and have a hard time understanding a sentient sword. And (namely Wild) will see him more as a spirit, disconnected from the sword. Wild and Wars, both being spirits, can communicate telepathically with one another but they are polar opposites. Wild, the Child of the Mountains, a being made of light and attuned with nature vs. Wars, Sword Spirit, metallic and rough and industrial.

Sky, however, has experience with Sword Spirits. He’s met two of them in the past, and has respected both. Fi? Was very young for a spirit. Only a few thousand years old and was asleep for MOST of that time. But through Sky’s adventure, she helped him greatly. He depended on her. And as she spent time with him, she adopted his traits and developed a personality. (Seriously, towards the end of Skyward Sword, she’s so sassy. And Sky is the sassiest Link. She learned that from him!!! My heart). And then there was Ghirahim. Ghirahim was a Sword Spirit, much like Fi, but he was much older. He was awake for all those thousands of years- awake and independent of his Master. So he developed a very STRONG personality. And even if he was terrifying and creepy and tried to torture Sky at every opportunity, Sky respected him.

So immediately, Sky respects Wars. Warriors’ story is about finding independence and learning to be himself. What he is, without a Master. In the beginning of his adventure with the Chain, he is very much like Fi. He calls them all Master and he spends a lot of time retreated into his sword. In the time that he’s outside of the sword, he’s in his Hylian disguise since he believes that it makes the others like him better. It’s easier for them to understand if they know what they’re looking at haha!

Sky detests this, by the way. He’s always telling Wars to be himself. He encourages him to speak his mind, even though he talks in percentages and calculations for the most part (which is weird to everyone else but Sky gets it). The others also aren’t super comfortable with being called Master but Sky gets it. Sky’s a pretty understanding guy haha.

BRO THIS ISN’T AT ALL WHAT YOU ASKED FOR I’M SORRY. But yeah there’s some information about Wars. And a little bit of angst I think. I personally think that Sky and Wild are the easiest to write angst for, but that’s just because they’re my favorites haha. But yeah, Warriors’ main conflict is to learn about himself and accept himself. Only then can he be accepted by others. And it’s a rough road, but he’ll get there. Eventually.

[monstersdownthepath]

Herald of Gorum: The First Blade

CR 15

Chaotic Neutral Large Outsider

Inner Sea Gods, pg. 288

Whoof. This poor guy is going to have a rough time of it in a few years, won't he? And unfortunately, it has a direct, tangible connection to Gorum, being a chip of sword knocked free by one of the Lord in Iron's clashes with a great god-beast and given life by the energy of the battle. At the time of writing (6/1/2024) we have little idea of what will happen to Gorum's divine servants come the Godsrain, so the looming future of the First Blade is a dark and swirling cloud for it as well as for us.

So we're going to ignore it! And focus on the Now, much like we did for the Hand.

The First Blade is, perhaps, as straightforward as Heralds get. Gorum is a god of war who dislikes diplomacy and underhanded tactics, and as such the First Blade is a warrior with zero ranks in any skill which doesn't directly benefit its ability to initiate or maintain a combat and zero utility or ability to do anything but fight, fight, fight, and make sure everyone else fights, fights, fights as well. Unlike most Heralds whom often have multiple duties, the purpose of the First Blade is exclusively battle, and the book outright states "no accounts exist of the First Blade responding to a summons for a task other than combat;" whether or not it would be willing to train warriors is left unsaid, but it's fully willing to join in whatever fight presents itself... just be wary that disappointing it may see it killing (or at least terrifically maiming) everyone on every side out of disgust or even boredom.

Fittingly enough for one of the most combat-oriented Heralds in existence, getting into a one-on-one with the First Blade typically only ends in one way: a messy, painful death. Let's see how!

First thing's first: That weapon in the art? That's decorative at best, and an insult at worst. The First Blade is the Lord of Battle, proficient with ALL weapons and capable of instantly summoning any mundane weapon made of any material it desires in a single standard action to overcome whatever DR it encounters... but every weapon it could potentially summon is actually weaker than its Bladed Slams which, damage-wise, are usually more than enough to deal with whatever foe has presented itself.

Indeed, if the Blade is wielding an actual weapon against you, it's either because it believes you don't deserve to die by its hand, or because it's testing your mettle. It may even be showing you mercy by using a weapon, for whatever reason Gorum may have decreed. There IS a third option, in which it has determined that using a weapon with a property its slams don't have (such as Reach, Trip, Disarm, or being made of a specific material), or if it would, for the fun of it, like to make four weaker and less accurate attacks rather than two powerful and accurate ones. For the most part, the Blade will be using its two slams to devastate anything that enters its threat radius (10ft space + 10ft reach) with 2d10+16 damage while also tacking on 1d10 bleed. It's also to Great Cleave to slice through an entire squadron of foes at once, lacerating them all at once with its bladed arms so it doesn't lose as much DPS when it focuses a single enemy down.

The Blade's slams also count as magical, chaotic, adamantine weapons for the purposes of piercing DR and hardness, meaning there are few impediments the Blade cannot cleave through just by hitting it enough times. Even the iron and steel its god loves so much are shorn like paper by the Blade's hands, though this Herald DOES have some meaningful connection to iron; it's got Ironsense, letting it detect any iron coming within 60ft of it, which helps it negate ambushes and the sneak attacks of any foes it may face. And speaking of Sneak Attacks, as a hater of all forms of underhanded tactics, the First Blade is immune to poison and has 75% Fortification, meaning critical hits and Sneak Attacks have a 3 in 4 chance of simply not affecting it.

You know what else doesn't affect it? Most magic. See, the First Blade has the same Immunity to Magic as an Iron Automata, meaning that a good 80% of the spells in the game simply cannot affect it in a meaningful way! Electricity damage will slow it, but the far more common Fire damage will heal it, and most attempts to debuff it directly will just not work, assuring a good, clean battle between it and its enemies without magic getting in the wa--

oh you've made a wall surrounding it. Fair enough. It'll just do that right back, having Wall of Iron available to it 3/day to trap its foes in an arena with it (it's got Blade Barrier 1/day for a similar reason!). I say "without magic getting in the way," but the First Blade has a unique array of spell-likes which I have a difficult time envisioning the uses of. Well, I mean, I know how I'd use Chill Metal and Heat Metal (which it can do 3/day each), but it's hard knowing why the First Blade would ever bother using them... except, perhaps, to "gently" discourage unworthy foes of taking up arms against it, to scare off warriors who could not possibly survive an upcoming battle, or... well, as part of one of its crusades to slaughter an entire battlefield which disappointed it.

I'd imagine it uses its 3/day Repel Metal or Stone for a similar reason. Some creatures simply aren't worth battling, and dismissing someone so hard that them and all their compatriots are blasted 60ft backwards is a hell of a way to make that statement. RMoS also gives the First Blade an emergency disengage button on the chance someone manages to pierce its DR 15/Adamantine and Lawful and outpace its Regeneration 5 (suppressed by adamantine weapons only; magical substitutions will not work) enough to finally put it on the back foot.

While Gorum expects his worshipers and even his Herald to battle to the bitter end, he isn't so bloodthirsty that he expects them to die in a fight they would have a chance of winning were they better prepared (unlike his rival Szuriel), so a tactical retreat can be fully justified even by the vicious Herald. RMoS is an extremely powerful tool in that regard, as there is no way to resist the effects aside from dropping all the metal on your body. Amusingly, given that it's almost wholly metal, the First Blade can aim RMoS at itself to blast itself 60ft backwards to relative safety. This is, perhaps fittingly, the only true escape tool the Herald has if it must retreat.

It has no fly speed and no teleportation magic, relying solely on a 30ft movespeed to get it where it needs to go; a humble Create Pit spell takes the Herald out of the fight for several rounds until it clambers back up. Even its Swarm Form, which turns it into four squares of whirling death (4d6 damage at a time) can't fly! It's got no immunity to paralysis, stunning, or sleep, meaning nonmagical means of inflicting those status ailments have a chance of working... provided they can contend with the Blade's +20 Fort save or +12 Reflex save. Its meager +8 Will save seems like a weakness one could easily pounce on, but most effects which could take advantage of it are blocked by its Immunity to Magic, rendering that point moot. Even still, indirect ways of attacking it or containing it which don't rely on it making saving throws still work like a charm.

It can even make its enemies stronger, as it projects a 100ft aura of Rage that gives any creature which willingly accepts the effect--ally OR enemy--the spell's benefits and downsides! It cannot turn this aura off. When the First Blade joins a battle, oftentimes the only way it's walking away is by killing or demoralizing the enemy to the point they can no longer fight; it simply has few other ways to retreat from a battle it, for whatever reason, cannot or does not want to win. It's quite fitting that the First Blade is basically incapable of retreat on its own, but this relies on you being capable of putting it in enough danger that it feels the need to... and, quite simply, there are very few level-appropriate parties that can do that before it's got half of them facedown on the floor and the other half imprisoned in Walls of Iron, waiting their turn.

At the very least, dropping your weapons and surrendering will often get you mercy; Gorum grants mercy to those wise enough to realize when they're outclassed. Just don't even think about picking your weapons back up until the First Blade has fully departed, because going against the sacred rules of war by attacking it after you've surrendered is a sure way to earn its eternal ire against your companions and a swift, messy decapitation for you, personally.

You can read more about it here.

[quoththemaiden]

Aziraphale: The Sword that Guards the Tree of Life

Looking where the furniture isn't

This post is dedicated to @meatballlady's excellent insistence that if we want to try to predict where season 3 will go, we need to look at where the furniture isn't. That is, what must have been there but wasn't shown?

For this one, my source material is going to be Genesis. That is, in no small part, because it does in fact fuck severely that Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett took the angel with the flaming sword and the serpent of Eden and made them kiss (@joycrispy, @ouidamforeman). It's also because Genesis, quite simply, exists, and it seems safe to assume that most everyone in Gaiman and Pratchett's intended audience has been exposed to at least its first few chapters dozens of times.

What does Genesis tell us about Aziraphale's purpose?

3:22 Then the Lord God said, “Behold, the man has become like one of Us, knowing good and evil; and now, he might reach out with his hand, and take fruit also from the tree of life, and eat, and live forever”—  23 therefore the Lord God sent him out of the Garden of Eden, to cultivate the ground from which he was taken.  24 So He drove the man out; and at the east of the Garden of Eden He stationed the cherubim and the flaming sword which turned every direction to guard the way to the tree of life.

@joycrispy's analysis above highlights Aziraphale's role as given in the last verse: as the angel chosen to wield the flaming sword, he was sent down after Adam and Eve were expelled to prevent them from returning. Instead, he chose to protect them by giving that sword away. His desire to protect humanity is indeed beautiful (@give-soup-please, @snek-eyes).

But wait, what came right before that? "And take fruit also from the tree of life...?"

2:9 Out of the ground the Lord God caused every tree to grow that is pleasing to the sight and good for food; the tree of life was also in the midst of the garden, and the tree of the knowledge of good and evil.

That's right: What we see in the show is that Adam and Eve were sent out of Eden so that they'd have to deal with the rain and the animals and have to work for their food, but that was never the primary motivation. God planted two special trees, and after Eve and Adam ate from one of them, God was terrified at the prospect of them turning around and eating from the other. And thus, the Garden of Eden was made off-limits and set to be permanently guarded by an angel with a flaming sword.

So, the flaming sword.

Twice now, Aziraphale's sword has helped humanity survive complete and total destruction (@nottobehornyonthemain). The first time, he handed the sword to the first two humans, which protected not just them but the entirety of the human race via Adam and very pregnant Eve.

The second time, he let it be wielded by The Them, who used it to best the Four Horsepeople of the Apocalypse and save the billions of humans already alive as well as unborn generations.

Perhaps the flaming sword was only intended as a plot point in the first season. However, if its purpose were completed, it could have easily been destroyed. As a narrative piece, it could have broken dramatically at the end of the face-off against the Four Horsepeople. Or, Watsonianly, God could have chosen to break it Herself; after all, it was already used against its intended purpose twice, so why let it keep existing?

Instead, it's carefully taken away to... where? Heaven?

The place Aziraphale is now going?

Or at least a place where he could likely find a record showing where it's being stored?

Whether you call it "rule of threes" or "Chekhov's gun," I think it likely that Aziraphale will be getting his sword back in season 3. He probably doesn't want it (@createserenity, @ineffableigh, @doctorscienceknowsfandom), but he'll need it.

The question, then, is what would Aziraphale do with the flaming sword he was given to prevent humans from reaching the tree of life?

If we're looking at where the furniture isn't, the biggest stretch of an interpretation would be to say that the missing furniture is the tree of life. If anyone knows where Eden is, it would be Aziraphale, Guardian of the Eastern Gate. We know that both Heaven and Hell want to end humanity. The opening credits have humanity walking to their judgment after their deaths; what better way to prevent that than by preventing those deaths?

The most intense version of this theory says that the audience should be familiar with the story of the Garden of Eden and know damn well that there are two special trees there and that Aziraphale was put in place to guard the second one — the one humanity hasn't eaten from yet, the one that grants immortal life. That's where, if I were truly trying to swing for the hills by aiming at where the furniture isn't, I would ideally like to end this post. If that were the case, season 3 could even open with Aziraphale walking towards the Garden of Eden, sword in hand, but this time approaching it from the outside with the intention of tearing the wall down.

But, let's be honest, making individual people immortal doesn't feel like it would fit with the themes of Good Omens, nor with Neil Gaiman or Terry Pratchett's world views.

So, let's take the tree of life symbolically: Instead of the tree of life granting individual humans immortality, it could instead represent giving humanity immortality. In that case, the thing that's where the furniture isn't is Aziraphale's sword. You know, the sword that's already saved the human race from extinction twice now, with both times being because Aziraphale gave it away.

I suspect that the sword will wind up in Aziraphale's hands again in season 3. I also quite suspect that it won't be staying there. In the end, I expect it will once again be up to humanity to reach out their hand to take the apple from that second tree.

[dinadearine]

Foreign

Mizu x Foreign!Reader warnings: Gore, Swearing, mention of death YES! I have a real wave/flame sword (kris sword) with me! sadly it's rusty lol.

Mizu knew all the rules of being a samurai, and a woman, complications of having both titles, she had to disguise, to hide her imperfections, to hide her identity, letting her true form be hidden away from prying eyes, just to receive nothing but submission, or revenge from the four.. Or rather.. Two men she seeks to kill.

Arriving on London, things isn't as easy as it seems, strict attire, she had to steal, lucky for her, her skills has come in handy with stealth, dealing with a white british bastard only added to even more complications

Just like you, you arrived at London with a different purpose, same skills of stealth, to become a mischievous thief, taking what doesn't belong to you, but still, behind that filthy and troublesome heart, is a warm soul that needed pride and familiarity.

Coming across a commotion, taking in the sight of a crowd cheering on a death match, few leaves with a weak stomach, while others laugh and watch like heartless maniacs. your grip on your crease sword tightens from the sight of two men having a duel, you watched closely, you couldn't help but feel a little bored, and you've decided to squeeze through the crowd, fixing your attire to hide any femininity, you walked up to the host, and simply ask. "..May I join the duel?"

The host smirks and cheers on "well folks! look at this little man, he asked if he can join!" The crowd bursts into laughter, but that didn't shatter your pride at all, you simply huff a chuckle as you step into the ring. "alright little lad, let's see what your capable of."

Mizu came across the commotion and she watched closely, you wield a sword, just like her, but what caught her attention.. is your sword, odd shape and size, rather than being a smooth, and curved sword, yours was wide, wavy, and sharp at both sides. Mizu having the full disipline of weilding a sword, but this was odd, surely she knows the rule of life and death in each edge of a katana, but yours, holds no life, both sharp edges represents pure death.

Bleeding, you let out a growl as you limp and swing your sword at your opponent, the sound of sword clashing and cheering crowds is deafening, exhaustion overtakes as you let out a wheeze, taking one last slice. A loud thud falls under your feet, looking down to see your opponent, dead, head sliced in half, limbs unmoving while blood starts to pool around them, you lift your scarred feet and stomp on them, you feel both prideful, yet furious, a random anger that bubbled up your senses, yet it eventually subsided once you've finished kicking the opponent after a few times.

The crowd goes wild as you claimed victory, you didn't acknowledge such pride, and you simply walk off, boredom overcoming you once more. Seeing this is like a fever dream, Mizu had never seen such sword in her entire life. She was in deep thoughts before you walked past her, the scent of blood wafting her senses back to reality, she hesitantly followed you, luckily you were heading somewhere secluded.

As you walk in a dark empty alleyway, you were daydreaming about foods, you felt your stomach growl, you let out a silent groan, hungry, that all you could think of, just as you could turn to a sharp corner, you felt someone latch onto your arm, startled, you unsheathed your sword.

"Calm.. I mean no harm." the stranger said, you observed their attire, they look very.. Over dressed. Your grip on your sword tightens as you speak, low and laced with a commanding tone.

"From the looks of it I think you would harm me, now answer my question, who are you?" You lift your sword higher, aiming at their throat, you narrow your eyes as you wait for their response.

"I…" Mizu starts off, but she cannot just give out her name, she simply must make a simple excuse, and atleast try to have a conversation with you. "I'm afraid i cannot tell you that, but i would like to speak with you about your.. sword." Mizu said, politely pointing at your sword with her palm.

Raising a brow, you lowered your aim, both intrigued and cautious, you asked "what? you want to talk about my sword-" your words were interupted by you very own stomach, growling for food.

MIzu went silent, glancing at your stomach, she speaks "Perhaps I could take you in a soba shop while we discuss?" she suggests, you hesitated for a moment, until you finally sheathed your sword with a deep exhale, glancing up to meet her concealed eyes, you nod. arriving at the shop, you took a seat while Mizu ordered a soba for two, settling down, by the cushion across you, she watched you eat, before speaking. "You.. Your like me." she paused "but different." she breathes out.

You glanced up at her still chewing on your soba, you swallowed before you reply "... You ask odd questions." Mizu remained stoic, inwardly wanting to slice your tongue with her sword, good thing she remained composed.

"I ask odd questions for odd people." she replied, her gaze remained focused on you, observing your behaviour. You finished your soba, chugging down the soup and setting it down with a loud sigh. "so you think I'm odd? that's rather rude." you blurt you, crossing arms with a pout.

"no, I think.. You're unique." she said, and shit, that made your cheeks red, you cough, trying to hide away your heated cheeks as you speak. "Ahem.. Flattery is futile, just state proper questions, and we will separate paths." you leaned back, looking away, using your hand to pretend your massaging your cheeks, only to hide the red colors that has mixed with your flesh, Mizu, intrigued, a small smirk tugged at the corner of her lips, mirroring your position to provide open conversations.

"Fine, what I want to say is.. Your sword, is very… 'unique' and it intrigues me, how do you use it? how do you follow the principles of the sword?" Mizu asked, you paused, taking a moment to take in her questions.

"oh... I... I trained myself, this sword is called a 'flame' or 'wave' sword, mainly forged in.. Spain and indonesia… But mine is from the Philippines, and is commonly called 'kris'." you replied, chugging down a cup of water before you continued. "why'd you ask anyway?"

Mizu's brows shot up, her interest deepens, leaning closer, she speaks. "So.. You're from the philippines? interesting. I came from japan and.." her words trails off with a hesitant shift, she pulled up her sword, revealing a beautifully forged blue blade, you choked on your spit as you take in the sight. "I.. forged this myself… in my swordfather's hut." she took a moment to place it on the table, but never dares to push it torwards you, a silent note that she doesn't trust you either.

Leaning in to examine the sword, your eyes gleamed, you've never seen such beautifully forged sword before, you slowly leaned back as you speak. "you have skilled hands, I am… impressed you've forged such sword, what metal did you use, may I ask?" you tilt your head, indicating interest, Mizu as hesitant as always, she took a moment once more before she replied.

"Thank you, this sword is forged with an asteroid." your brows quirked up, surprised, you repeated her phrase, she nods.

"… Asteroid…?" you repeat again, the topic making you overwhelmed with confusion, merely tiping your ching your thumb. "How... From what I've heard is that asteroids are typically foreign rocks." you mused as you further sink into your seat. "The Asteriod is specifically made out of blue metal." Mizu mentioned, your brows furrowed.

"is that even possible? I mean, I don't know shit about space, really? does it even contain foreign elements? how did you tame the wild metal and mend it into your liking?" you asked, you feel like your asking too much, instinctively pausing as you leaned back and sigh "sorry, I got carried away." you muttered, cheeks heating up in embarrassment. Mizu remained impassive, yet she is amused by your demeanor, shaking her head as she speaks.

"Don't apologize." Mizu said, her usual stoic tone swelled up with a hint of reassurance, she decided to shift the moment to a friendly pace by suggesting. "we can learn more about each other with…. A friendly duel?"

yall sorry its rushed, things been very busy since the holiday aah

[zombiecicada]

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1: Subject #42’s Eyes

Subject #42 has large forward facing eyes, its pupils can easily expand and shrink to account for glare or near total darkness. The sclera of the eyes are vibrant yellow. This was later concluded to be due to having high levels of some bilirubin adjacent chemicals within the body.

Originally, it was assumed Subject #42 was suffering from liver failure, but further examination and blood tests revealed such was far from the truth. Whereas that much bilirubin in a red blood celled organism would be a sign of toxicity, because Subject #42 does not have red iron based blood, these high levels of bilirubin do not strip away or break down the blood cells. Instead of causing toxicity, it’s a natural antioxidant.

Subject #42’s eyes appear to have entered a near constant state of myosis, even in low lighting.

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2: Subject #42’s wings

Subject #42 has broad webbed wings that suggest an adaptation for long periods of non stop flight over vast distances.

Such an hypothesis was confirmed reviewing the observation notes of Subject #42 traveling vast distances prior to its capture. Subject #42’s wings were bound with cold iron cuffs shortly after its capture. While Subject #42 later outsmarted the attempts to restrict its ability to fly by simply using its abilities to levitate, the cuffs serve as a successful means to stop it from phasing through the walls of its containment unit.

The second finger of Subject #42’s wings are covered in small, aged scars along the whole length of the limb. The patterns and depth of the scars are consistent with wounds received from scraping against rocks and deflecting debris with the limbs. Subject #42 will swing its talons around like weapons with remarkable precision.

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3: Subject #42’s teeth and mouth

Armed with impressively developed canine teeth and a pointed, papillae covered tongue, Subject #42’s diet is primarily that of a hypercarnivore.

This has lead Doctor Cruce to hypothesize that Subject #42 might have been following the armed forces to feed on the bodies of the casualties produced by the conflict. Subject #42 does share some characteristics of scavengers, such as strong jaws and sharp teeth, but the metabolic cost of traveling such far distances, alongside its abilities, claws and the sword it was found wielding suggests that Subject #42 would likely or primarily have hunted opposed to scavenged. And yet, there was no reports of Subject #42 hunting anything prior to its capture.

The blue colouration comes from the subject’s blue blood, being copper based instead of iron based and highly oxygen efficient. An endurance test concluded Subject #42 can go almost four hours without breathing, suggesting Subject #42 comes from a low oxygen environment where it pays to be able to make the most of the little oxygen available. However, it seems to be perfectly fine in environments of standard 21% oxygen levels.

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4: Subject #42’s paws and forelimbs

Everything about Subject #42’s paws and forelimbs suggests it is a highly efficient climber. It has tough palms, strong claws for grip, an abundance of collagen within its body, and well developed tendons and ligaments.

A test concluded that with ease it can swiftly scale up vertical walls, alongside being highly oxygen efficient, it does not tire easily, leading Doctor Cruce to suggest Subject #42 might’ve evolved in a rocky, mountainous environment.

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5: Subject #42’s standard vision

A vision test conducted on Subject #42 determined it has remarkably clear long distance vision, able to spot small movements and small details from over several hundred feet of distance.

It can see a wide range of colours and in various levels of lighting.

Interestingly enough, it is badly nearsighted, seeming to have put all its points towards seeing very far instead of close up.

When Subject #42’s powers are activated, its eyes go fully lavender in colour and light up in a bioluminescent display.

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6: Subject #42’s ‘soul vision’

Finally approaching Subject #42’s bizarrely dare say otherworldly powers, hooking up various scanners and devices to Subject #42 to scan its brain Doctor Cruce discovered Subject #42 has an ‘alternate vision’ that she’s come to dub ‘soul vision’. When activated, Subject #42’s retinas stop perceiving light entirely, instead seeing a vast spectrum of the electromagnetic wave length that shows up to Subject #42 in various ‘colours’ and shapes.

While it took a bit of trial and error, it was discovered that people who have what’s been commonly dubbed a ‘soul’ will show up to this alternate vision as a figure with white eyes. Anything without a soul, be it people or objects, will be entirely invisible to Subject #42 during this time. It seems to be able to toggle back and forth between these two modes of vision at will.

Currently, it is unknown if the ‘colours’ that show up have different meanings. Subject #42 continues to show no ability and or interest in answering any questions that are asked of it.

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7: Further manifestations of Subject #42’s ‘soul magic’

Subject #42 is highly proficient in the use of its magic. It appears capable of instantly and immediately telling if something with a soul approaches it, even through walls and when its vision is restricted, suggesting the soul vision might be able to see through solid objects and see a remarkable distance away.

Alternatively, it may just be a sense that Subject #42 has passively.

When focused, this soul magic can form highly energetic lasers (resulting in biweekly maintenance required to Subject #42’s containment unit), an energy field around itself, and various other high energy attacks.

Subject #42 has a large quantity of energy within it, which it appears to get by steadily absorbing the lifeforce of everything around it.

Subject #42 has a large quantity of energy within it, which it appears to get by steadily absorbing the lifeforce of everything around it.

While it initially caused concern and almost led to the immediate order to terminate Subject #42, Doctor Cruce confirmed at the time that Subject #42 does not appear capable of doing this to such an extent that it would cause death or noticeable symptoms, quote ‘it's not taking from you anymore than the rate of you already naturally dying’. This statement was later retracted when, during a test, Subject #42 killed a test subject by simply touching it, examination to the body shows no wounds or signs of bodily trauma. It appears that Subject #42 instantly killed the fellow subject by removing its life force.

Doctor Cruce now believes that Subject #42 can indeed at any time rapidly and fatally absorb the life force of another being, but must come in contact with it first. For safety precautions, and yet another complaint from maintenance, Subject #42 was later moved to be held in stasis.

Up until that point Subject #42 had simply been very aloof and standoffish, during its final moments before being put in stasis it seemed to enter a state of hysteria, repeatedly calling out for something or someone.

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There are still many unanswered questions regarding Subject #42, such as the unnatural origins of its abilities and its origins in general.

Doctor Cruce’s conclusion is that it would benefit Nightmare Enterprises to make demonbeasts using Subject #42’s DNA.

However, she stressed a high deal of caution and time to conduct further research before proceeding with any attempts to make new monsters.

Subject #42’s highly unpredictable nature and abilities could lead to the creation of a monster far worse than it that could be impossible to contain that could become an unimaginable threat to the company, especially if it escaped and got into the wrong hands.

(END OF LOG)

[hubristicassholefight]

Swordswoman Showdown 3rd place

Camilla Hect (The Locked Tomb) vs Brienne of Tarth (A Song Of Ice and Fire)

(Better here in a "preferred character" sense, not "who would win in a fight")

Camilla art by @friendamedes, used with permission

Propaganda below cut

Cam

trained w a rapier & knives. practical. handsome. extremely efficient and capable.; she’s my boyfriend and I love her. Please vote for cam she is my life

Gideon Nav uses one very large sword in defiance of the expectation that a cavalier should use a rapier, but Camilla Hect instead uses two. Just as much defiance of social expectation, twice as many blades. The reveal of her specific brand of swordiness is the heart of one of the book's most iconic lines: "Cam? Go loud."; In the spirit of the laconic charm of the Warden's Hand I will simply say "Camilla's competent."

She prefers two short swords but has been know to wield a rapier and other such bladder instruments; She also loves to organize spreadsheets

Go loud.

Brienne

gets gifted a sword made with the rarest metal ever because she’s THAT good; she’s simply the best

Brienne is one of the top sword users alive in her day. She's descended from a man who's catchphrase was "I'm better with a sword." Better than what? You. Jaime Lannister. Loras Tyrell. Any five given guys at once. She has a fantastic sword that might be magic or cursed and is named Oathkeeper because that's what she does; I love her

Beat like 20 guys in a tournament when she was 19. Was given a magic sword. Won a sword fight against the premier swordsman in the realm. Very swordly; Very tall and strong. Holds her sword in high esteem. Accomplished with other weapons as well!

She's defeated multiple of the top knights in the series in duels. One such knight gifts her the fabergé egg of swords and she uses it to defend orphans and stuff. Got out of a bad betrothal by dueling him and beating his ass so bad she broke multiple bones. Honestly there's so much more she is the swordswoman of all time. to me; She's buff and ugly and 6' 5" and so honorable and kind that she inspires the guy who fucks his sister to yknow. stop doing that. literally gets mauled for the sake of protecting a bunch of orphans (with her sword). also she's 20 she should be at the club ‼️

One of the best sword wielders in Westeros, the author says he would pick her to defend him. Has a cool sword called Oathkeeper. Manages to go up against 7 fighters and take out most of them,. The only true knight; First off, talking about book brienne, they massacred show brienne, the show runners simply didn’t understand what she’s about.“ She had no chance against seven, she knew. No chance, and no choice” brienne had plenty of choice but she couldn’t leave people to die. The chivalric paradigm is rotten and corrupted, but here is Brienne, the one true knight, who isn’t even a actual knight! “knights are for killing”, but here is a knight who risks her life again and again to protect innocents! Bri IS hope, she is the light in the dark that shows that things can be better, things must be better. Fundamentally an idealist: “Winter will never come for the likes of us. Should we die in battle, they will surely sing of us, and it's always summer in the songs. In the songs all knights are gallant, all maids are beautiful, and the sun is always shining”

#BRIENNE WON A MELEE WHEN SHE WAS 19 !!!!!#DONT LET HER LOSE

#MORE LOVE FOR BRIENNE#SHE FOUGHT A DAMN BEAR WITH A WOODEN SWORD#SHE AVENGED A MAN UNJUSTLY MAIMED#SHE PROTECTED CHILDREN AGAINST SEVEN MEN#NO CHANCE AND NO CHOICE

I'm going to put some propaganda for Brienne, because she deserves the world.

Some people have been quoting the "no chance, no choice" in the tags, but for those that don't know it comes from this scene:

...she could hear the faint clink of swords and mail from beneath their ragged cloaks. She counted them as they came. Two, four, six, seven. (...) Brienne sucked in her breath and drew Oathkeeper. Too many, she thought, with a start of fear, they are too many.(...) Brienne tried to keep the fear from her voice, but her mouth was dry as dust. The children, she thought. The door to the inn banged open. Willow stepped out into the rain, a crossbow in her hands. The girl was shouting at the riders, but a clap of thunder rolled across the yard, drowning out her words. As it faded, Brienne heard the man in the Hound’s helm say, “Loose a quarrel at me and I’ll shove that crossbow up your cunt and fuck you with it. Then I’ll pop your fucking eyes out and make you eat them.” The fury in the man’s voice drove Willow back a step, trembling. Seven, Brienne thought again, despairing. She had no chance against seven, she knew. No chance, and no choice. She stepped out into the rain, Oathkeeper in hand. “Leave her be. If you want to rape someone, try me.”

This is basically one of the most badass and awesome moments of the series... because here, Brienne is not guarding a King, vanquishing a great Evil Lord, or fighting a big glorious battle... this is an inn full of orphans being attacked by raiders, children whose lives really don't matter in the great scheme of things. If they were all to be killed, nobody powerful would really care, no history book would write their names.

The logical thing is to run away from there as fast as she could. And yet, Brienne decides to enter an unwinnable nightmarish battle (one where she gets her arm broken and her face eaten) because is the right thing to do. She is a true knight.

Because, in the dark pseudo-medieval world of Westeros, where the patriarchal martial system reigns supreme, there is no space for someone like Brienne, she herself said it best:

"You have a noble father who must surely love you. (...) I know he would tell you that he would sooner have a living daughter than a shattered shield." "A daughter." Brienne's eyes filled with tears. "He deserves that. A daughter who could sing to him and grace his hall and bear him grandsons. He deserves a son too, a strong and gallant son to bring honor to his name. (...) I am the only child the gods let him keep. The freakish one, not fit to be a son or daughter."

And yet, despite being on the fringe of this society that doesn't accept nonconforming gender expression, despite not being able to be named knight, Brienne is still the embodiment of the ideal of knighthood. She is a true hero, who over and over decides to defend the innocents and do the right thing.

So yeah, my conclusion here is... I think she and kiku should kiss <3

[crazylittlejester]

I think a rarely seen angst idea is the main hero learning that the villain is related to them in some way. So...

- Legend learned probably during his first or second adventure that he was Ganon's nephew. The mere thought made his blood grow cold and bile rise to his throat. How could he be related, by body and blood, to that thing he has fought time and time again. He's thankful that he wasn't tainted by his malice, but that doesn't make it any easier to swallow.

-Hyrule didn't realize until much later down the line, possibly by Aurora. Maybe they were looking through old records from the eras long before theirs, only to find the bloodline that belonged to Ganon. He was sickened and disturbed, and by both his decision and hers, they burned the scroll. Hyrule hated him enough as is, they would hunt him down if they ever knew.

-Sky always knew that something was slightly off about himself. He had abilities that the others didn't, and upon learning that the Master Sword didn't burn the other heroes when they wielded it was a little strange. Fi always hinted that he wasn't something mortal, but he always brushed it off as his own paranoia. Sun knows, deep down. She knows that he is the bastard son of Demise, and that is a secret that will go with her to the grave.

-Time's mother would have been considered a lucky woman by a lot of people. To be chosen by the king of the Gerudo of all people to marry would have been an honor, and she considered it so. She would birth him a son, one with a pointy little nose like his and eyes as blue as hers. Time knew after connecting the dots during his adventure. The similarities he had with the king of thieves was far to many for any denial. It's a secret only Wars and Malon knows. The shame he feels is something beyond all else.

-Four was blessed by the winds, that's what his grandfather told him. He could easily tell if a storm was coming or if the winds were trying to lead him somewhere. That's how he got around in his journey to help the minish and when he drew the four sword. He, just like Sky, is unaware that Vati was his grandfather's brother. Wizards age much slower than non magic folk, which could easily make anybody none the wiser. He simply inherited a little bit of magic from that side of the family, that's all.

-Warriors was told outright by Impa that he was the son of Volga. He was given two options by his commander, renounce the man and deny any relations to him, or be killed for being an accessory to his war crimes. He wasn't foolish, and took the former. It didn't soften the blow after the war that his father was killed in the final battle against Cia, but what's done is done. He does often wonder if he could've harnessed his draconic side if he had betrayed the kingdom instead, but dwelling onwhat ifs never helped anybody.

-Twilight, being Time's decendant, makes him related to Gabondorf as well. Unfortunately, it seems he inherited that cruel man's tendency to lean into magics and weapons that belongs to that of darkness. The dusk could easily claim him as its own, and the shadow that plagues them all seems to have an easier time replicating his very form and personality. If he were to adorn the blasted armor Ganondorf wore during their final encounter, it would look as if made for him. Another Link who likes to pretend he knows nothing.

-Wild was born many eras before Hyrule was truly the empire it is (or once was, after the Calimty struck) today. Born between a simple human woman and the first Gerudo male to be born, he was a bright little angel. But, all good things must come to an end, and after the Imprisoning War, the young woman sought for anything to prevent her child from being executed for his father's crimes. A kind woman, Zelda, she called herself, offered to help. The young boy was swept away to an era out of reach, and the woman slept easy knowing her little boy was safe. She does wonder what happened to that kind woman, maybe it has to do with the beautiful dragon that now lingers in the sky?

-Wind is the luckiest in terms of relations. He was so far removed from Time that one could simply say that they were to distant to be proper relatives. His Ganondorf knew that the boy was somebody who could've been the heir to his throne so many ages ago, and he reminded him so much of how he was back when he was younger. He might have been blessed to not be closely relate to him, but Wind was the only one of them all to be seen as family by him.

yo dude, you put a lot of thought into these, these are cool! i don’t usually headcanon things like this but it’s such an interesting idea and definitely adds a whole new layer of angst and suffering 😭 ESPECIALLY THE WARS AND VOLGA ONE LIKE DAMN? AND WILD?? OUGH.

[katyspersonal]

The first two options fall kinda close to one another, it just depends on the specifics! Aldrich will somehow show "traits" of whoever he eaten, like how you can receive Smough's armour from him = it is very apparent that he ate Smough upon invading (how ironic lol). + Worth to mention he might have devoured Nito('s scraps) as well, since he is using Gravelord Sword:

But maybe eating someone so powerful as Gwyndolin permanently "locked" him into this shape and there isn't any further point of digestion :p

At the same time, element of Aldrich is water, so maybe literally any other God would have lesser effect but since Gwyndolin's element is Moon, it is able to move him? @val-of-the-north suggested that maybe what remains of Gwyndolin is still unwittingly "holds him back", so that's why Aldrich is kind of just vibing in that room instead of going outside and devouring more? + This is of course following the idea that Sulyvahn doesn't have an interest in Age of the Deep and fed him Gwyndolin in self-defence (might explain very tattered look, like if he was struggling)!

At the same time, for all we know, maybe Aldrich already looked similar to Gwyndolin in life! Average Irythillian appearance is pale skin and black hair, but also white hair might have been a trace of darkness corruption! For example, The Four Kings, corrupted by Abyss, have white hair, Deacons, corrupted by the Deep, have glowing red eyes.. Abyss and Deep are similar in terms of:

Or, hell, this could be why all Abyss Watchers have white hair and glowing red eyes! So imagine if Aldrich simply regained his human form, minus all the fat he accumulated as it went into his lower body now, and he only imitates Gwyndolin's fighting tactics!

^ Also the idea that Gwyndolin DID change from pastel to goth by the times of DS3 IS a really enjoyable one xD It is kind of like full moon vs new moon stages! I just started to feel less confident about it over time since Gwyndolin's statue in Irythill features their typical outfit, minus the crown and some jewellery and his trademark staff! Meanwhile, Aldrich's clothing is drastically different and he wields generic staff of Darkmoon Knights, with his crown in fact being more similar to this design. It gives me an impression that Aldrich hastily copied, knowingly or unwittingly, what Gwyndolin was like from vague memories, just could not quite grasp it of course. The moon cycles symbolism is still a really fun headcanon though!

(Not to sidetrack but I love the detail of Gwyndolin's statue missing the snakes, as well as him depicted with covered eyes even without the crown! Just proves further for me that his eyes likely were dragonic, like Priscilla's and Yorshka's!)

And, then, again, since Sulyvahn was acting like someone speaking for the sickly God, maybe they were still intending to squeeze out whatever use it could have had xd This is a more shitposty idea than a serious one, but worth to mention!

[msneedful-ispleaseful]

Haruto and your Cunny<3 (kinktober 2)

You had heard legends years ago of a man who could mend a sword like no other and wield it even better, his integrity was exceptional to all who had ever battled him. He was feared for a grave reason, but being you, you just had to see him, sneaking away from your father's home and searching for the blacksmith. It was there you had found his empty cottage you crept inside that fateful day taking note of the still hot irons on the table, and tools, sitting down your bag and letting your defenses drop you shuffled through the man's thing.

Imagine your fright when the door blew open, the wind of the storm blowing in, turning your head in shock you saw the figure of a man, his hair flying over his shoulder. "Who. Are. You." his sword dripped in blood, and fear rose in your throat as you stood up on shaky legs "I've come to seek your help" The quiver in your voice made your words hold no weight, the door closed behind him and his tall heavy form sat at the table resuming whatever work he was doing.

"No," he said picking up a hammer and banging the iron in pristine form. "I come to seek a sword carved from your hands." you said not letting his rejection bother you, he looked up behind his lashes, eyes set in indifference and focus "No." you sighed "why?" "I only make swords for people worthy of wielding my work. You are a thief" he says gruffly eyes flicking to the traveling bag you were going through still in your hand, you follow his gaze and drop it "I was not stealing." stuttering and flustered he gives a hum of disagreement "I was simply curious" he doesn't respond just continuing his work "If you would just listen to me!" "Get. Out." you sighed in defeat, thinking your travels for nothing when you caught a glimpse of his legendary sword lying against the table leg, you simply grabbed your own bag and slowly walk to the door, grabbing the handle of his sword and running out the door into the storm before he could think.

At a moment's notice he was standing to his feet, annoyed and angered he looked out the cabin door your form running into thick dense trees rain pouring down hard, he sighed before taking off after you, using his keen sense of hearing. it was only minutes later you looked over your should to see him hot on your trail "Give me back my sword!" he had yelled over the thunder "You should have relented and made me my own!" the clouds got worse as you took up speed "Why do you need one so badly anyway?!" he asked entertaining your silly idea "Because, I must avenge my mama!" you said, recalling the demon that killed her in cold blood. You hear him scoff he catches your kimono strings in his hands pulling you back, you swing the sword in horrid form managing to cut his wrist, the blood dripping onto the forest floor as you make your leave again.

You didn't stop running till you Tripped on a tree root, nearly falling off a cliff at the edge of the forest till he caught you pulling you back. Looking up at him your wet cold body clung to his you braced heavily, and he snatched his sword and sighed "sorry" you mumbled hands gripping his robe. "Yes...sorry indeed I will make you a sword, just this once. But on one condition" he says with a sigh of tiredness and longing in his voice "Yes anything!" you say "Stay here and let me teach you" Hatro hadn't taught anyone in a long time, but something about you and your fire and persistence called to him. You nodded agreement to his terms and he led you back to his cabin. That was years ago.

***Four years later***

The door flinging open made you turn your head with a smile "Welcome home hataro!" you walked up to the tall man and wrapped your hands around his neck as he fell into your embrace "Hey, baby," his voice was gruff and deep "tired?" he nodded "too tired to...please me?" you asked slowly and timidly making him take his face out from the crook of your neck and look at you with determined eyes "no, of course not." you smiled with a giggle "Then...will you eat me out please?" he looks at you for a moment before ushering you to the small bed, you climb inside spreading your legs letting your dress bunch at your waist revealing already bare lady parts to him, slick and ready "Were you waiting for me?" he asks teasingly as he eases himself on his stomach head on your thigh mouth inches from your craving cunt. "yes..." you whispered as you felt his breath against your cunt.

He licked long and languidly at your soft plush cunt, pressing the tip of his tongue into your nub gently but firmly and giving fast, soft, licks to it. Gasping with a small arch you rested a hand in his hair thighs closing around his head as he began sucking your clit with pressure. "Mmm Hataro! more please..." At your begs, he began to make out with your cunt as he would your lips, before dipping his tongue into your dripping entrance fucking it in and out at a fast pace "Yes!" you gripped his hair pushing his face deeper into you aching cunt, he let two thick calloused fingers take place in your entrance fucking them In and out his pace fast and distinct.

Rubbing against soft gummy walls, your cit swelling with pleasure it was too much to take you began to shake and tremble before releasing with a cry. He slowed down his methods until they came to a nice stop, he looked up at you with a smile that would scare others but not you "Satisfied?"' You nod and close your eyes as he takes you in his arms.