#into what he hates the most; an abundance monster. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

monpalace · 9 months

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ships .. (ocarina of time/majora's mask) link/reader, (linked universe) time/reader.

content .. it's only natural you search for your nephew after he enters the lost woods on a dare. you can't have a problem with the hand dealt to you when the beast who gives you shelter is so kind.

warnings .. no beta, we die like the promise i made to finish this before the summer after my junior year ended (i started this in april, it's august). i didn't know where i was going with this after a certain point and i think that's obvious. reader uses she/her pronouns. large, legal age gap (reader is in her 30's - 40's, time is a few hundred years old). less of a fic and more snippets, but it's almost 7.5k+ words. i don't think i explicitly say which link it is, so i guess it's ambiguous? nephew is named because this would be a pain to write otherwise.

notes .. prompted (not inspired!!) by beauty and the beast, but also the batb fanfic i found after my friend showed my an nsfw ao3 tag account on twitter. beelzebub / lord of the flies from fear and hunger was a huge inspo for link / time's physical description but there is leeway for how he can be envisioned. he's still large as shit though lmao. the layout of the manor was this, only because i wouldn't be able to write this without knowing.

supposedly there's gonna be a second part. supposedly.

idk. i might hate this enough to just. not.

The Lost Woods wasn't as intimidating as everyone talked it up to be.

Yes, it felt like the trees moved when you turned your back to them, and, granted, there were a few mobs of monsters that could get the jump on you if you weren't paying attention, but you had managed to get away with a few scrapes the few times it had happened.

The only thing to keep you company was the howling winds that grew in intensity and your own thoughts that were sprawling into whatever corners they could reach, but that was fine. You'd gratefully take decades-old gossip from the next town over instead of the creeping paranoia of what was behind you.

Of course, you would willingly go through this, that, and whatever else one thousand times over if it meant finding your nephew— and to keep yourself from reprimanding yourself from reprimanding the teens that had dared him out into the woods, but that was another thing.

Along your investigation, you'd found a broken trail of breadcrumbs that led to nothing when you followed them. They were torn pieces of fabric from his clothes, just big enough to be noticeable but small enough to keep himself protected from the elements.

(You'll forever be thankful that a younger your drilled the idea into his head.)

You'd long since discovered calling his name was useless. The only thing you've managed to do was draw the attention of a few wandering stalfos dressed in clothes from centuries ago.

The ones that had managed to find weapons were always the most painful to deal with.

If your determination weren't so established, you would've lost your sanity within the first day.

Food and water were no issue, you were smart enough to pack more than a week's worth of both. There were non-perishable options and several choices for your nephew when you found him; he'd no doubt have his fair share of cravings after being lost for so long.

(Three days was an eternity to you.)

Just before the sun had reached its crest in the sky, you'd realized that there were more empty clearings than trees. Wildlife had become scarce as well.

Where deers and wolves previously ran abundant, birds and squirrels that ran from the smallest of noises replaced them.

The wind had calmed, at least. It no longer wanted to push and shove you in whatever direction it pleased or steal the bag full of items you brought along. You didn't have to hug your sweater to your chest in fear of it being ripped from your arms either.

Instead, it was still.

Admittedly, the clearing gives you more paranoia than anything else.

When your mind starts to wander to places you'd rather it not reach, you begin to hum a quiet tune to yourself— your nephew's favorite— and allow it to ground you.

You were here for a reason. You wouldn't leave until you found him. You'll be fine until you find him, and you'll find some way to live in the forest that refuses to let its inhabitants go peacefully.

It's hours later when you hear the first sound of life (or suspended death) that doesn't feel like a threat— though, in hindsight, you should've been smarter and more suspicious of it when you first heard it.

A high-pitched instrument repeats each croon you let out, eventually taking over and silencing you. You follow the tune without much of a thought. If it were some sort of elaborate trap to lure you in, you couldn't be mad at yourself if you fell for it.

Clusters of trees become less and less as you follow the instrument and its recreation of your nephew's song. You call his name and are met with nothing but the music (from an ocarina, you quickly recognize) growing louder as time passes.

To say you're shocked when a large and, admittedly, well-kept manor enters your field of view would be an understatement. It's covered in vines, invasive arrowroots, and spreading flowers, but looks lived in if the smoldering smoke slowly dissipating in the afternoon air was anything to go by.

You couldn't begin to imagine who lived inside before the woods took it over (or what lived in it now). The architecture says it predates the Hero split in four, but you doubted the inhabitants of the floating sky built something so elaborate when they returned to the surface.

Your eyes jump past the crumbling pillars and dilapidated statues to the half-glass double doors that seemed to open on their own.

The music was coming from inside the manor now.

Steeling your nerves and squaring your shoulders, your hand grips tight on the strap of your satchel as you walk up the stone stairs covered in moss. You have to hold onto the guardrail installed next to it just as tight. Looking down, you find the carvings of it sorely separating it from the older antiquity of the manor.

Taking in smaller details (for future escapes or weapons against whatever lived inside, you'd figure out later), you find that the small pools of water that came from the sides of the manor and ran and fell alongside the stairs you climbed held small clumps of straw-colored fur. Some caused the surrounding water to turn into a pink hue that reminded you of fairies you've seen in childrens' books.

(Your hand reaches into the satchel to make sure you brought all of your nephew's well-loved books as well as a novel or two for yourself.)

(You did, thankfully.)

There's a smell filled with musk that permeates the air the closer you get to the manor, thick with amber and ginger and it reminds you of the times you come across a pack of wolves during your childhood.

Upon entering the manor, you find it was strongest in the wing of the manor to your right. It took over almost the entirety of your senses, but it wasn't an unwelcome or overwhelming sensation. If you paid close enough attention, you could sense the homely feeling underneath the ferality of it.

You prayed you'd be able to tell when the beast returned; if it was gone in the first place.

You take close note of how the foyer wasn't truly a foyer with how it was filled with windows rather than walls that led to a courtyard and how the only way to enter the wings of the manor was the winded stairs that connected via the terrace.

You don't fail to notice how the wing coated in the musky scent is coated entirely in shadows despite all the sources of light.

You couldn't decide if you were thankful or filled with loathing at the idea of what roamed on that side of the manor.

It's a struggle to turn your eyes away from the darkened wing of the manor, but you do manage when the music picks up once more from the left wing. It's significantly brighter and doesn't fill you with a sense of dread as the right one does.

Trap be damned, your nephew was here, you knew it— you felt it.

Reaching the top of the stairs, you find that you're inside a parlor room that leads to three other pathways. One was a library, another was a dining room, and the last was a small hallway.

In any other situation, you'd explore some more. The supposed beast that possibly lived in the manor kept everything in better shape than what you'd expect— or hopefully it was the forest spirits that lived throughout the forest.

Hopefully, those same spirits kept your nephew safe.

You have to close your eyes to better determine where the music is coming from, the only thing you can hear beside it and your own breathing being the manor settling. Your ears guide you inside the hall and you find it branches into a corridor, a bathroom, and two bedrooms.

Common sense seems to leave you when you spot the back of your nephew's head. Your breath quickens as you watch him clap along with the ocarina, you force your eyes to keep their clarity when you hear him hum each note just as you remember.

"''ire," you call in a weaker voice than you intended or thought you had. The nickname he claimed he hated so much tumbled from your lips so easily as you rushed inside the room, one arm rushing to remove your satchel while the other reached out to almost check if he was real.

The Lost Woods were known for their tricks, after all.

When he turns to face you, he's scrambling over himself in the bed. You're able to see how he limps on his right ankle and knee, how the entirety of his limbs were wrapped in bandage wrap as though done by a child. There was no blood, so you hold off on checking him over.

(The bandages were stained, thankfully not with blood. It was mostly dust and grime.)

(You'd have to sanitize whatever was wrong.)

You meet him more than halfway when you catch the way he winces and hisses with each movement.

"Auntie— Auntie— Titi!" His voice is airy as he speaks, emotion causing his words to come out as chokes. His arms reciprocated the tight hug you had on him, forcibly keeping his arms from trembling due to either nerves or injuries. "Titi, Titi, Titi!"

The way he says the word makes him sound like some chittering bug. If you listened hard enough, you could tell how his teeth clattered together, but you couldn't decipher if it was from a chill or emotion.

All you wanted to do was keep his head against the crook of your shoulder and neck while you pressed kisses to the crown of his head and kept him as close to you as you could, but you knew better.

Pulling away, you reach back for the satchel that you previously discarded. "What's wrong? What happened?" You force your voice to even out when you speak, hands already reaching for his arms after you sit the bag against your hip.

He shakes his head, but you've known him long enough to know there was something wrong. "They're from when I first went in the forest," he answers, voice quivering. "It's all healed. I think."

He doesn't push your hands away or pull his arms back when you skillfully unravel the bandages, carefully pulling and prodding the scars that littered the skin, and he was telling the truth despite the coloring.

"Did you forage like I taught you? Why are most of them green?"

"The spirits."

"The spirits?"

"And the soldier." He looks over your shoulder as though searching for their figures. "I haven't seen him yet, though."

Your eyes squint as one of your hands rubs over the strange texture of the scar, the other reaching for the antiseptic and clean fabric in your bag. "Are these spirits children or small trees with masks?"

You'd heard of both in legend. No one's ever seen them.

You're not sure which you'd rather watch over your nephew.

His eyes drift to his side before peering back over your shoulder once again. His brows furrow as he thinks of how to answer, head tilting as his pupils dilate.

"Both," he answers, "and ones that look like scarecrows. I asked them to bring you."

You force your gaze to keep itself on your nephew. You wouldn't let it wander to spirits you couldn't even see. "The ocarina?" You instead ask another question jumping around your mind, sucking your tongue in appreciation when he nods. "Smart boy."

An airy laugh leaves him, his face lighting up with a smile. "Learned from the best," he snorts.

You risk pressing kisses to the apples of his cheeks and forehead at his flattery, hands cupping themselves on the nape of his neck to bring him closer.

A younger him would push you away without a second thought, whining on about how you were embarrassing him in front of his friends.

He lets you do so now regardless of the spirits that surround you both.

"What've you been eating?" Your hands drop to his biceps when you pull away. They weren't thin like you'd expect them to be after three days in the forest; they were fatter than they had been before he left. "Who's been feeding you?"

His answer of "the Soldier," is quicker than you would've liked. "He goes out and hunts. He always brings back meat. I think it's deer.. it tastes.. bland."

"He.. cooks it, right?"

Another laugh wracks through your nephew's body. He knows you're only being cautious, but he can't help it.

"All the way through," he hums, flexing his arms when they start feeling stiff. "I think I don't like it because it's not your cooking."

He knows what your response is going to be before he finishes speaking, years of having lived under your guidance making him attuned to the smallest of your movements.

When your expression shifts from being relieved to disappointment with a twitch of your eye, he can tell you're not pleased with his statement.

Dousing the fabric in the antiseptic, you take his arm in your hand and begin wiping it down. "Don't be rude." Your voice takes on a less-than-pleased rasp, speaking lowly as if you knew the Soldier was near; but you still apologize when the sting sets in. "Have you thanked him?"

(You're sure you would continue to speak quietly regardless of the context of the conversation. You didn't want to risk "the Soldier," doing anything unfavorable.)

(Your nephew's words of praise did little to ease your stressed heart.)

"I never know when he's here. He drops the food off while I'm asleep. He brings books and carvings too." He watches as you wrap his arm in another roll of (cleaner) bandages, undoing the old one on his other arm while you prepare another piece of fabric. "The Spirits say I'm the most excitement he's had in a while, so he doesn't mind."

His voice was beginning to grow hoarse from speaking so quietly. You tap his throat to tell him to relax.

"They say he's nice," he continues, doing as told. Tapping the fingers of his now free hand against your shin, he tries to recall what all they've told him.

"I think they said he used to live in another part of the woods when he was a kid?—" His eyes glance back over your shoulder, suddenly becoming sure of himself. "— Ah. They did. They said he left and came back when he was older."

You raise a brow but don't speak your question.

Your nephew takes hold of your retreating hands in both of his.

A clatter and snippy huff outside the bedroom door rouses you from your light sleep.

Nearing a week into your stay at the manor, you'd think you'd be more accustomed to the noise, but you aren't.

You carefully remove your nephew's head from your arm, using even more caution when trying to remove the conjoined weight of several spirits from your legs as you slip out of the bed.

It's hard, but you manage to do so without waking any of them— you hope.

(You still couldn't see any of the Spirits, but over time you could feel when they crowded around you and when the wind moved as they rushed past you.)

The floorboards creak beneath your feet.

You hear the sound of claws scratching against the floor on the other side of the door.

Pressing the crown of your head against the door, you tap your fingers along the handle to give the Soldier a warning and wait a few moments.

If you listened hard enough, you swear you could hear him scurrying into one of the other rooms before he shut the door behind him.

It reminded you of a dog.

Smiling to yourself, you're careful opening the door, keeping your head to it and your eyes on the floor. You turn to the other side of it to close it, waiting for the click of the lockset to speak.

"Are you decent?"

His confused "huh," sounds more akin to a gasp than any other noise.

You rap your fingers against the handle again. "Can I look up?"

"Oh—" he sounds choked. "Yeah— Yes. Yes. You can. Sorry."

"Thank you," you hum, leaning down to pick up the tray of food. It consisted of almost entirely meat with a few vegetables you figure are exclusive to the woods. "For both the food and taking care of my nephew."

There was a thumping noise behind the door, the frequency of it was like a tail beating excitedly.

The Soldier lets out a croaking noise and you know his mouth started moving before his mind was able to catch up. "No, I should thank you for looking for him— and for telling him not to use his name."

You let out an airy laugh. "It's common knowledge where I'm from. I wouldn't be a good parental figure if I didn't."

Another noise leaves the Soldier as you fix yourself to open the door. You can't discern what this one means. "I don't know when they started calling me the Soldier, but it's not— uhm.. A favorite.. of mine."

"Oh?"

"Soldier," he sounds more confident in himself and you don't have the heart to tell him you heard him the first time, "it's a nickname. I don't know where the kids got it, but I don't like it."

Readjusting the tray to rest against your hip and forearm rather than in both your hands, you hum curiously. "So what should we be calling you?"

He pauses longer than you'd think it'd take to remember your own name, but you wait.

"Link."

"Link?"

"Yes."

"Like in a chain?"

".. Yes."

You nod even though you're sure he can't see you. "I'll be sure to tell 'ire."

"Thank you." There's more thumping from behind the door.

"And thank you."

There's another noise from Link you struggle to understand, but you figure it's because he starves for conversation. "I heard what your nephew said about the food, too. I'll try to find something to flavor it with next time I'm out."

"Thank you," you repeat. Your eyes curve with your smile. "He'll greatly appreciate it."

Link raps his fingers against the door in response, but he doesn't say anything. You take that as your queue to reenter the bedroom.

"How come your side of the house is always dark?"

You gently pinch your nephew's elbow and he swats your hand away, leaning impossibly close to the door that separates him and Link.

There are a few moments of silence from the man that 'ire filled with bated breath. Link takes an audible, steadying breath before knocking what you think is his nail against the door.

"I wouldn't want to scare you both off."

It was an answer you expected, but you were disappointed nonetheless.

"Boo," your nephew groans. You're sure Link could hear the pout in his voice if the quiet chuckle he lets out was anything to go by. "You can't be worse than what I've seen out there."

There's genuine intrigue in the noise Link lets out. "Oh? What exactly have you seen then?"

Pure excitement fills your nephew's expression when he turns to look at you from over his shoulder. His fingers tap against the floor restlessly, tongue already listing off whatever monsters he's encountered (read: come up with) in his twelve years of life.

"— but their teeth are the worst! They're poisonous and there isn't a cure for it!"

You have no clue as to what creature he was talking of now. There were at least fifteen of them who injected poison through their teeth, eight of which had no cure.

(You don't have to strain as hard to see the Spirits as you did two weeks ago. The shadows and light shift around then as they move to sit around your nephew, seemingly hooked on your nephew's every word.)

(You remember when he would crowd himself around you similarly whenever you would tell him a story.)

You close the book that sat in your lap more for decoration than entertainment at that point and place a hand over your heart.

"I drew a lot of them too! My aunt brought them with her!" He pushes himself through the motions of standing up before immediately stopping and returning to his seat in front of the door. "I'll show them to you if you eat dinner with us!"

There are a few stammering noises from the other side of the door and yet you can't bring yourself to apologize for your nephew's bargaining.

Your own curiosity was quickly starting to get the better of you against your wishes.

The noise he had made several nights before makes itself heard again. His claws (you discovered those a few nights ago) scratch against the wooden flooring as he moves to sit against the other wall rather than the door, his voice moving with him.

"I don't want to— I wouldn't want— want to disturb you— either of you." His words are muffled by the door and his growing quietness, a regretful lilt stuck in his throat. "But thank you for the offer."

If he truly didn't want to join you and your nephew (and the spirits) for dinner, he was terrible at showing it.

"I know I wouldn't mind," you hum, standing to put away the book. A loud thumping makes the floor vibrate and 'ire has to stifle a laugh. "I wouldn't mind picking up a pot and pan again either."

"No!" Link quickly apologizes for his tone after realizing his outburst. "You don't have to. I wouldn't be a good host if I made you do that."

"Are you scared I'll poison you?"

Your nephew's voice drops to a whisper he swears you won't be able to hear. "She can't. She's the best cook ever."

You're not sure how the two correlate, but you'd take thew compliment.

"She won't?" Link's voice drops to entertain your nephew despite his earlier convictions. It takes on a playful direction, fur rubbing against the wood-tiled floors in excitement (based on prior interactions). "You've never gotten sick? Not once?"

'ire begins to shake his head but quickly stops. "Only from eating too much— which you will do, by the way. Best cook around," he reiterates.

Link chuckles, tapping his fingers against the floor restlessly. It takes him a moment to come up with something to say and neither of you push him to hurry.

You were both too hooked on his every word to do so anyway.

"I'll.." He's shy for all the attention. You wonder when the last time he got so much focus on him outside of the spirits. ".. I'll be sure to think about your offer. Why don't you tell me about a few of your monsters so I have more of an incentive?"

Your nephew jumps on the opportunity while you think over the plethora of recipes in your mind.

It wasn't rare for one of the imps to accompany you outside when you went foraging.

You never strayed too far from the manor— the last time you had been dragged outside of the area you had designated for yourself (and your nephew) by the children, Link had to come and rescue to lot of you before the sun had gotten too low.

Suffice to say, it was a rather humbling experience.

Kneeling, squatting, or sitting on the ground had never been easy on your knees or back, but the grass below you had felt as though it were a pillow hailing from the Heavens itself.

Your body works on picking herbs from the ground before placing them in your bag repurposed for your (new) everyday tasks while your mind wanders elsewhere.

You're humming to yourself when a twig snapping breaks your focus.

It was a nice reminder that the imps hadn't, in fact, accompanied you that day.

Your head lifts to survey the surrounding woods. Your entire body was still, mimicking a deer caught on a hunting trip.

There was nothing immediately in your line of sight that could be seen as a threat, but you had lived a long enough life to know that wasn't enough reason to let your guard down.

You're slow to rise to your feet and your ears are strained as you listen for whatever had made the noise.

"I'm sorry!"

You can feel your body relax when you hear Link's voice call out from behind a tree. You sink back to your knees without much thought, clutching the fabric of your top to calm your battering heart.

You weren't sure what you were going to do if it were an actual danger anyway.

"I didn't mean to scare you," he continues. His arms move and you can see one drop against the side of a tree while the other tightens around the corpse of an animal. "You were so still, I wasn't sure if you were okay."

A quiet, breathless noise leaves you. You're not sure if he could hear it, but you can see his shoulders relax when you do. "You're— You're fine! I just.. didn't know that you'd be out and about at this time."

When the hand not occupied with that week's dinner (barely) lifts to grab ahold of a tree branch, you're shocked to just now find out how tall he is.

"It's not your fault. I didn't know you were out here," he grunts while gently tugging at the branch. "Are you alone?"

Your eyes drop to the flora that surrounds you to not feel so invasive. Your fingers rub against the blades of grass idly when a restless feeling overtakes you. "A few of the kids said they'd join me later, but I'm not too sure when that's supposed to be." A short, genuine laugh leaves you. "I wouldn't be surprised if they forgot."

Link lets out his own, quiet laughter that you can only clue together when you see the entire tree shake in your peripheral. "I wouldn't take it to heart. They say they'll join me in hunting all the time but never do."

"Have you ever given them a stern talking to? I've heard that usually works with spirits."

"They barely listen to me as is. I think you'd have more luck than me."

"Is that an offer?"

"Are you headed home now?"

A strange vice tightens around your heart at his wording while you look through your bag. "Mhm," you hum, standing now that your legs aren't like that of a newborn. "You'll have to remind me of the way, though."

"I can guide you," he hums in reply. "You just can't look back."

Turning your back to him, you're surprised you don't jump when a sharp claw gives a ghostly touch to the center of your back.

You're shocked that you disregard the urge to check over your shoulder every step back to the manor.

You were no stranger to 'ire's night terrors.

They'd gotten better over the past few years as he aged, but all that progress had been undone during the near month you'd been in the forest.

Wiping away the tears that had managed to slip out, you ignore the prickly and uncomfortable feeling that comes with keeping your lulling head up so you can watch him.

You'd done it a thousand times before and would do it one thousand and one more if it meant he felt better.

You don't miss how his grip on your arm tightens when you start humming his favorite song. Your hand trails up to his hairline, nails (claws?) tracing the paint on his face that refused to fade.

You'd spent so long trying to scrub them and the green marks off, you hadn't even realized his skin had started to pale into a sickly grey in patches while darkening into (what looked like) a necrotic black in others.

You didn't even want to think about the changes that had started coming to your body.

You were, however, thankful you weren't thinning into a stalfos.

"You're not as sneaky as you'd like to think."

"How'd you know?"

"I have a young nephew. You learn quickly."

A brief laugh leaves Link from behind the cracked door. Though you didn't face him, you could see the way his eyes illuminated the wall in front of you, even managed to catch on some of 'ire's face.

It was a pretty blue color.

You don't comment on it.

"What's wrong?" Your voice has a deep rasp to it, your hand continuing to stroke your nephew's face even after he begins to calm down.

He'd slowly begun dropping more and more barriers (physical and mental) when it came to communicating with you both, having taken up shadows in their stead. He had gotten more confident in conversation as well, stammering and stuttering less the longer your nephew forced him to talk.

It makes you wonder how long it'd take for him to finally make true on those dinner plans.

"I heard him," Link hums just as quietly, the glow of his eyes moving to instead look over the sleeping spirits that crowded themselves around the space not occupied on the bed. "I was worried. Do you want help with them?"

A soft laugh leaves you when one of the imps buries their head onto your calf as though it were a pillow. "They've been like this since we first got here. 'ire," you press a kiss to his forehead when he rouses, waiting for him to settle before speaking again, "says they like to cling."

"You don't mind?"

"He's not too far off from them nowadays."

"Does he miss anything?"

Laying on your back, you being 'ire's head to rest against your shoulder. Your gaze is finally able to see how he'd take up all of the doorway (and then some) through the crack of the door.

You'd be shocked he hadn't flinched away if it hadn't been for the way his hand reached out to clasp it.

The tips of his fingers reached well past the frame of the door, his claws further, and you could only imagine just how much space he was taking up in the small hallway.

You were confident he could fit five or six of you in his hand without trying.

Your eyes jump back to the three (possibly four?) eyes before he can become self-conscious.

"Almost everything," you answer after pulling yourself from your thoughts. "His clothes, his dolls.. He could go without his friends, though."

His eyes jump from your face to the window as he huffs out a nervous laugh. It makes you wonder if he knows something you don't, but you don't push. "And you?"

"Hmm?"

"And yourself," he clarifies, "what do you miss?"

You're silent.

What exactly did you miss?

The feeling of your village's grass between your toes after the rain, the baker's treats that no other could replicate, being a part of such a tight-knit community, the sun after a particularly muggy morning—

There wasn't any need to be a sap.

"I'm not sure," you finally say after a long period of silence. You hadn't realized your eyes had left Link, yet when you force your gaze back to him, he holds it without issue. "I struggled with becoming attached to things unlike 'ire."

"Hm."

"What?"

"I can't remember the last time someone said something like that."

"You have visitors like us often?"

"More than you'd think."

"And what's become of them?"

The glow of his eyes drops to the sleeping spirits that litter before looking to the window again and you quickly understand.

The hum that leaves your throat is more lackluster than you intended it to be, but given how quickly the topic had changed, you give yourself the grace.

"Well," you start after clearing your throat, "what's something that you miss?"

The manor creaks when Link leans against a wall and his confidence in the movement tells you more than you'd expected.

You don't think you'd ever have the same amount of trust he held in it.

There's a playful tone in his voice when he speaks, one of his hands raised to scratch against his chin. "You'd have to promise not to be dramatic when I say."

"Is it my fault you use such outdated terms thousands of years behind my time?"

Link turns away to stifle his laughter, shrouding the room in darkness and forcing your eyes to strain with it.

"I can't say I've had the easiest experience understanding you or your nephew's sayings," he hums, drowning you in the light of his eye when he turns back, "the kids have to keep filling me in."

"Shame, and here I thought you'd been closer to my age. Have you been leading me on this entire time?"

Link's claws knock against the wall, his tail wagging against the floor while he huffs his amusement. "Have I? When I don't even know your name?"

If the weight of 'ire wasn't on your shoulder, you're sure you would've had a physical reaction of some sort.

"It'd do you good to not forget it," he hums, the movement of his tail slowing until it stops entirely. "Titi and Auntie, as much as I hate to say it, won't do much good."

Another lackluster noise leaves you as the arm trapped underneath your nephew lifts to rub your thumb during his forehead. "How fun."

"The kids are too attached to do anything now." The door slowly creaks open before stopping. It shuts so there's only a crack instead. "You'll be fine to share your name now."

"You never answered my question."

"Which one?"

"I haven't asked a lot," you huff before taking a softer tone, eyes rolling closed. "What is it that you miss?"

Link quietly snorts, muffling it by pressing his face to the door. He takes a steadying breath before saying a quiet, "a lot, I suppose. I can't name just a few things." A low noise leaves him, it's similar to a growl. "My friends? Playing music as well— my hands aren't good for much but skewering these days. My horse, Epona, too. She was the prettiest mare."

"Is she red with a white mane?"

"You saw the kids' drawings?"

"I've seen her before, I think— or maybe it was a hallucination?" The hand stroking 'ire's forehead stops as you scrounge your memories. "When I saw her outside the forest, I knew it was real. Another fated hero was mounting her."

You'd like to think yourself a master of figuring out what each noise he makes is meant to mean, but the one Link lets out once you finish speaking is short and of a higher pitch than normal.

When he begins to stammer over his words as he had when you first interacted with him, it feels like years' worth of progress has been undone.

"I— uhm— You— I don't— err— Thank—"

His tail thumps three times before he knocks his head against the door with a heavy groan. He lets out a quiet "Hylia, be damned," you couldn't help but think he hoped you wouldn't hear to go along with his frustration.

"It's been a long night," you finally prompt. "You'd best get some shut-eye before 'ire bombards you with more from his imagination, yeah?"

"Yeah," Link answers in a weak voice. "Yeah," he repeats to himself more than anything, "of course. Good night," he steps away from the door. "Sleep well."

"Same for you."

The night Link finally takes you and 'ire up on your offer for dinner, your nephew and the spirits had taken to floating around the east wing's dining room to prepare it for such a grand event.

"Titi, titi!" One of the Kokiri exclaims, tugging at the fabric of your skirt (that Link had made out of a spare bedsheet). Her voice had a strange echo to it— all of them, really— and had given you migraines up until you'd finally become accustomed to it. "'ire says that you'll make your world-famous pudding! Will you? Will you?"

You ignore her exaggeration in favor of forcing yourself to wrench your eyes away unless you wanted her puppy dog face to work on you. "Should I? I.. I can't say any of you have been acting well enough to deserve it.."

Even in your peripheral, it's not hard to miss the absolutely crushed look on her face. Her eyes were wide and her bottom lip wobbling like she was about to cry despite your joking tone.

"But why—y," she whines, dragging the last syllable on while hiccuping on her breath as she went on. You know the tears pooling in her eyes are just as fake as your rejection of her request— but you know just as well who'll win the battle at the end of the day.

"I—" hiccup. "Want—" hiccup. "Cake—" hiccup.

You raise a brow. "Pudding or cake, sweetheart? I can't make both."

The girl begins to climb your back while you return to sautéing the vegetables, arms wrapping around your neck so she can press her cheek against yours. "Cake! No, pudding! No! Cake! No—"

"I'll tell you what," you interrupt, taking the pan from over the open flame once the food is charred to your liking. Your skin thanks you when you step away and douse the fire, the arid air leaving through the open window. "Why don't you ask a few of the others which they want then we can try and get Link to bake it after dinner?"

The girl jumps off your back with stars practically filling her eyes. She cries out for several names while she runs off, hands clapping excitedly as she shouts out the change in plans.

You're left in peace until your nephew enters with his journals clutched between his arms, bouncing between his feet while he watches you finish plating each food item on dishes you could only dream of owning where you're from.

"D'you think he'll come?" 'ire's voice is low, almost as though scared Link will hear. You know he does if the night of his nightmares a few months ago were anything to go by— but he didn't need to know that.

"He'd better," you answer in an equally low tone. "I didn't spend so long slaving away at this just for him not to."

"Is that a threat?"

The plates in your hands aren't spared by the flinch that wracks through your body. Your reflexes are quick to catch them before any of the food can hit the floor.

'ire, on the other hand, has no issue with voicing his shock in the form of a scream, scurrying from the doorway while dropping his journals. He jumps behind you, hands clutching the fabric of your skirt while he hides himself behind your hip.

"Well?"

Placing a hand over your racing heart after putting the plates down, your other hand comes down to rest on 'ire's head. "It's rude to sneak up on people, you know."

The blond fur of his chest rustles with his laughter. It was difficult to see much else other than that, what with the way he hid himself behind the wall connecting the kitchen to the pantry.

You hadn't even heard his footsteps or creaking floorboards when he first approached. Had he been there the entire time and 'ire hadn't seen him, or had he only walked in after 'ire entered?

You wondered if he was naturally quiet or if he just learned which floorboards were loose.

"Is it sneaking when you were expecting me?" Link's voice is lighter than it usually is, a slight tremble could even be heard if you focused on it enough. He rocks on his feet and briefly leans forward, a less organic-looking side profile coming into view before leaving right after. "If I knew I would be this unwelcomed, I—"

"That's a joke, right?" 'ire stomps away from your side while he speaks, stepping over his discarded compilations of works to stare up at Link with wide eyes. Your nephew ignores the way Link's hands raise to cover his face and how he backs away as soon as he pivots in his foot to face him. "You're not actually gonna pansy out, right?"

Your feet lead you to the two before you can have much of a thought. "Zaire," you say in a terse voice, taking hold of his shoulder and bringing him against your front so you can stop him from interrogating the poor man. "Don't be rude."

Whatever argument he has dies on his tongue when he takes a good, long look at Link. His mouth gaped open like a fish, one of his fingers lifting so he could push it into the fur of his stomach, watching the skin beneath sink with the force of it as though it were the most interesting thing in the world.

"Woah."

If you had any less sense of dignity, you'd let yourself have the same reaction.

"Don't be rude," you reiterate, pushing Zaire's hand down until it finally reaches its rightful place at his side.

"No," Link breathes into his palms, clearing his voice to try and rid it of the anxiety (and, possibly, humiliation). "He's— he's fine. This wouldn't be the first time someone responded like that. I'd be more concerned if he did any other way."

Zaire shrugs your hands from your shoulders, stepping until he is toe-to-claw with Link. "Then why are you hiding your face? It can't be that bad," he says, tugging at the fur of Link's elbows, rubbing them between his fingers so he could better be accustomed to the texture.

Spreading his fingers enough so you both could see the four holes in the inorganic material, Link lets out another heavy breath. "I'm self-conscious," he can tell the answer doesn't please Zaire and continues speaking, "It's been.. too long.. since I've shown anyone either of my faces."

"A mask is.." Your voice falters off when you finally find the words to speak, losing them again when you fail to find a proper way to articulate your thoughts.

"It's mostly you and the kids, no?" You try again when you figure out a way to better word it. "Is a mask not.. Is it.. necessary?"

When the blue light that emits from his eyes lifts to look at you, an unidentifiable emotion shoots through you. He holds your gaze for a few, silent moments before turning his head and dropping his hands.

"It's like a second skin," he simply offers.

"Sad," Zaire sighs, backing away and turning until he stood in the center of the kitchen. "Can you still eat with it? Like I said, Auntie is the best cook in all the realms and you have to taste it to believe it."

Curse your nephew's skill of lightening a mood.

Rather than let his insecurities keep him from looking at either of you for the duration of the night, Link looks down at Zaire with a playful jolt of his shoulders. "It's not fused with my face."

Zaire's eyes curl into crescents while he grabs two of the plates from the counter. "Good!" His tail (a terrifying new addition when he first started changing) wraps around the third dish, walking himself past the two of you in the pantry so he could place each one on the dining table. "You'll love this then! Auntie," you don't miss the way he adds your name causally, "always makes this on a big day!"

Link repeats your name under his breath before doing the same with Zaire's. He lets out a thoughtful nod as each one rolls off his tongue, one pair of eyes looking at you while the other continues to follow your nephew.

He wrings his hands together when he catches the way you examined him oh-so-carefully, arms crossed with your head tilted.

"It's nice," he gulps as though every inch of nervousness had reentered his body. "It's a nice name. I like it. It suits you."

You don't know if you were teasing him prior, but you decide to do so now.

"I'd hope so." You pat a hand against his arm as you walk into the kitchen, ignoring the oily feel of his fur. You ignore the feeling of him watching and instead focus on searching through the cupboards for the drink you had foraged around to make just days before. "I could say the exact same for you, thankfully."

"Now, why don't you have a seat so I can play host this time?"

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doumadono · 7 months

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TUMBLR SHADOWBAN

So, on the 30th of September, Tumblr hit me with the infamous shadowban out of the blue. They took a whopping 10 days to even respond to my initial email notifying them of the issue.

Their response was a real head-scratcher. Apparently, my account and one of my works had been reported multiple times in a ridiculously short span. As a result, they slapped my account with the ban and threw it into the "check and investigation for potential malicious activity" pit. My account got tagged as a potential harassment, hate speech source, and even suspected terrorism (seriously, what the heck?) Who knew I could be so potentially malicious, right? 😅

But here's the kicker – the most surprising twist in this tale came in the form of an e-mail I received yesterday, after the ban had been lifted. Tumblr had provided me with the identity of the individual responsible for this reporting spree. Drumroll, please... It was someone I was super close to, like 2 years ago. Well, I'm shocked but not surprised as I parted my ways with them in rather negative atmosphere. But man, seriously? Then, Tumblr did their Sherlock Holmes act, sifted through my account, and concluded that everything reported was a big ol' nothing-burger.

Now, here I am, still with a weird taste in my mouth over the whole ordeal. It's the first time something like this happened to me, and I've been around since 2016. So, a dear friend suggested I should have a backup account, and where else to start but the good ol' @thepaperpanda, where my writing journey first began. If you'd like to stay in touch or just show some love, consider giving that blog a follow - in case the shadowban monster rears its ugly head again, we'll find a way to stay connected.

And hey, this is the perfect moment to give a shoutout to those who've been my rock during this dark time. @crystalwolfblog - in my hour of need, she was the lucky first to field my frantic call regarding my account's unfortunate banishment. With unflinching dedication, she clung to the phone for hours on end, soothing my agitated nerves and embarking on a valiant quest to rescue my beleaguered digital presence ♥ @mrskokushibo - the second pillar of strength in my life, always ready to provide unwavering support and clever solutions to any problem. Her guidance proved invaluable, and I'm deeply appreciative of her enduring patience during those challenging days! ♥ @sanriokamabodo - her generous support and heartfelt words were like a soothing balm for my soul in the midst of this challenging period, and I can't help but feel privileged to have her as my friend ♥ @greenwitchsalem - oh boy, what can I say? His words have a way of working their magic on me, like a soothing balm to my soul. I find myself inexpressibly grateful for his presence during this challenging period, as well as for the abundant warmth, encouragement, and unwavering support he offers ♥ @serenesaku & @muzansfangs - I must say, your overwhelming support and warm welcome upon my return after the shadowban are truly appreciated! ♥ I'd like to extend a shout-out to all the incredible folks who reached out to me, even if you didn't make it into the list above. Just so you know, each and every one of you holds a cherished spot in my heart. The overwhelming wave of support I received, even during my temporary absence from this site, left me utterly speechless. I mean, we're talking a whopping 14+ messages in the DMs just yesterday! You all are simply amazing.

#tumblr shadowban #what happened to me #might delete later

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nitunio · 20 days

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Ryou and Riku Are The Same! (just differently)

In the latter half of Third Beat of IDOLiSH7 Ryou approaches Riku (after countless of hours spent researching and watching him) with a thought-provoking sentence: You and I are the same. I'm you and you're me.

To a normal i7 fan it might come off as a stretch or as one of the infinite amounts of Ryou's manipulations BUT hear me (Tsukumo Ryou pfp) out...

UNDER THE CUT. IT GOT REALLY LONG.

Ryou was raised emotionally abused/neglected by parents (calling himself an "overlooked talent", mentioning to Shiro that his family hated him) which led to all of this (vague hand gesture). And to Ryou's knowledge Riku suffered just about the same — but what Ryou knows is only the surface of what was happening to Riku.

While looking at Riku's "abandoned by family" the initial assumption is that they did Not like him or even neglected him — which is the assumption that Ryou makes since it's the most likely one, which leads to him making the comment in the first place. But we as an audience know that everything about surface-level information is coated with layers of nuance.

Riku is loved by his parents, and adored, protected and always pampered by his brother. All of the attention of this world was given to Riku — in a deep contrast to Ryou being constantly overlooked by his relatives. Yet since Ryou doesn't have insight into the inner relationships of the family he doesn't see how different they are.

Then how are they the same?

Both lack and abundance of attention can cause the same kinds of traits to manifest — selfishness, seeking attention, constantly proving oneself to others — as well as give near-identical core beliefs.

Riku has the ability to connect to other people's hearts, one that was prevalent in his childhood, with receiving love from a giving brother and parents. Riku draws people in, to feel the sense of connection, collective emotion that's dependent on its center (Riku). (Insert Iori's analysis here, but basically — if Riku were to need anything, all people affected would rush to provide it, selflessly without any regard for their own safety/emotion)

Ryou has the ability to read people, which was, and I'm speculating on the material given, a vital thing in his childhood since the lack of emotion/presence made him far and distant from people's experiences, but very close to knowing How people Work. Ryou draws people in, in the sense of knowing how to make them walk into his grip, to manipulate for own gain later. (If Ryou needed anything — he'd make all people affected get it for him, without any regard for their own safety/emotion)

And to that extent, both of them are monsters.

And when Ryou notices Riku, he connects with him too, but on a deeper level than anybody else. Riku to him is like a younger version of himself he can still save (hence the "I'll protect you" thing he said, and generally his tone and expressions dramatically shift to more sincere ones than the voices and expressions he does for Momo/other people), because Riku is both still young and hasn't had as much disappointment with other people as him.

But in spite of Ryou thinking that Riku and he are the same, Ryou doesn't have what Riku has.

He barely gets noticed (pt3 ep1, he is not doing anything loudly and weirdly in public, and naturally doesn't get noticed. or when he does it's in context of bothering Momo), which leads to grander and more dangerous outbursts over time (in contrast to Riku, who is, by design, more vibrant and noticeable, as well as a magnet for people, and the attention he gets increases with more joy and fun and popularity of i7).

All of the people Ryou was with, at one point or another abandoned him (IDOLiSH7 as a group consists of people all of which (except Riku, I think) thought about quitting but ultimately didn't, and the journey to the conclusion made the bonds even stronger).

And both of these points lead to weirdness, coldness and sadism on Ryou's part — which to a larger extent turn people away from Ryou and make them hate him even more.

And the speed at which this hate happens matches the speed of Riku receiving more and more love in First Beat. And the core reasons for which all of Ryou's plan happens Match Riku's core reasons.

Riku is selfish — it's about him proving himself to his brother (and to the entire world, for that extent), about him having fun, about him being loved and appreciated For What He Can Do and Not Being Underestimated, about him being in the center of it (the whole Perfection Gimmick thing is the proof of it).

Ryou is selfish — it's about him proving his skills to his family ("i'm [insert skill] yet they still kept choosing my older brother"), about him getting his revenge, about him being noticed as he stands atop of the now useless and hated idol corpses, about him being in the center of it.

Riku craves attention and love to the same extent Ryou does, and Ryou feels like people overlook him and his capabilities to the same extent Riku does.

And what Ryou read through Riku, and what Riku felt through Ryou, is mutual, both of them the same, even if they're different.

_________________________

Tangents I went off on that felt like they didn't fit in the text:

Riku and Ryou are ZOOL

What Antagonistic Quartet establishes is that Ryou, in one way or another, relates to/resembles all members of ZOOL in their fears and insecurities (rich of him to mock them for being dependent on external validation when deep down he is the same).

But, applying the Riku = Ryou to it, you can see that Riku pretty much connects to ZOOL in this way too. He wants revenge (on Kujo Sr.) (as Haruka), he wants for people to Have expectations of him and not just be worried about him (as Torao), he wants to keep singing with teammates for fans who will cheer him on (as Touma), he wants to keep pursuing what he wants to (as Minami)...

And while Riku is a manifestation of these wants that gets presented with IDOLiSH7's innocence and fun, ZOOL shows the audience the uglier and more aggressive side of it, which is valid in its openness and sincerity. And they coexist well.

Chaos, Zero and black holes

Fuck! So, Riku = Ryou and Riku = Zero. You see where this is going.

Zero in his hurried leave left chaos and uncertainty, and by Kujo Sr.'s concerns, Riku, with the same ability to influence other people, might turn out the same. I honestly don't remember where I was going with this. I wrote this bullet point at 5 AM and I'm looking back at it with a confused expression.

The Ryou thing is too vague

What we know of Ryou is limited to imagination and thoughts based on what he (and others) share about him. These points:

He was not a "family pet" (mentioned by himself in antagonistic quartet section 2)

His family didn't love him (mentioned by Shiro and himself, Momo too iirc)

highlight that he is vastly different from Riku, then how did he make such a good assessment of character?

As antagonistic quartet shows, Ryou can not only dig up surface-level information, but also background info as well.

(in AQ we see that he Does dig deep to strike the most painful spot. also another tangent -- how. how did he find 4 talented people. did he consistently go and scan for them with his people-reading skills only to (obvious in Haruka's case) stalk them until they're at their worst??? to provide a helping hand??? BUT ALSO. to know that at one point of time there were people that experienced the same kind of pain as he did. and many more felt seen and heard by ZOOL's songs after that. im going to cry. he did connect. in his own way)

SO, continuing on Riku, he probably Had asked people who worked at Nanase family's place or were close to them and found out all about the relationship they had. Let's entertain the thought of him going this deep and Knowing that Riku and he, in fact, were not treated the same by their families.

My ultimate Reach with this is that it either A. didn't matter to him when the end is the same - being abandoned (which was a recurring thing to Ryou) or B. twisted itself into an even unhealthier connection.

point A is obvious. point B:

Ryou's family Did do good things for him. like, Zero concert. listen there's not many examples and this is my "reach" segment i get to. i get to reach. But even in its good it was bad behind the scenes. And since he can't literally intrude inside Riku's head he can't really know if what others said about his relations with family was true or just keeping appearances of a happy family.

So, how is their friendship going to pan out?

I feel like even if Momo didn't exist as an obstacle it just wouldn't pan out for them. Momo and Riku share the same sentiment of having complicated feelings towards a person (Banri and Tenn respectively), which don't reach Ryou's calculating heart. (It's easier to hide away Banri and bury Tenn into the ground than confront feelings that may require one to reflect on own concerns and emotions)

And even then, Ryou is very quick to change gears if anything unpleasant happens (which would just quickly lead to unproductive destruction, as it did with Momo -- and it also happened with Riku because that "I'll protect you" changed into "You too will betray me"). I feel like in pt 4 the development they had while barely interacting in person amounts to a greater effect because both recognize the abilities that they have, and Riku gets to tell him a piece of his mind.

yes ryou idols can be selfish and dreaming in itself is selfish. dreaming can lead to hurting others and being hurt. but its okay

it's also something that they share in that aspect -- ryou is afraid of being hurt (even in his coldness he is fragile) and riku is afraid of hurting others (even in his selfishness he wants people to be happy)

_________________________

anyways,

NPD flag colour-picked from their colours (3 from each, only picked from hair/eyes, not clothes)

#nitunio.txt #nitu i7 ramble #idolish7 #ryo tsukumo #tsukumo ryou

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anime-grimmy-art · 11 months

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(woops forgot to post yesterday)

Day 8 – Comrades

Zet – Zet definitely prefers to hunt alone as it would just give her more factors to keep track of. This mostly stems from the fact that she had always hunted alone, since her quests were always ones nobody should know about. She was, however, pushed into a leader/teacher role later down the line to get hunters new to the New World accustomed to their new surroundings and the new monsters and it turned out she was a hella good teacher if she tried.

Mei – Mei hates being alone a lot, so she is always delighted to have someone accompany her. In most of her travels she had Ena by her side, which made Mei really happy, but having someone fight alongside her made her even giddier. It just felt like a safe blanket to have someone there to support her on a hunt.

Chidori – At first, she kind of preferred hunting alone, just for the fact she didn’t want people to know that she was a terrible hunter, but once Fiorayne had gone on a hunt with her, Chidori noticed how much more fun it was and how much more secure she felt. Chidori is also rather anxious, so she had a hard time getting to know the people of Elgado, but through hunting together she had an easier time growing closer to them. Once her family from Kamura started hunting with her to boot, Chidori developed to hate hunting on her own. Especially hunting with her master, Utsushi, is a blast because it just reminds her so much of her training days and she always eats up his abundance of supportive comments.

Day 9 – Bond

Zet – Don’t ask her how it happened, but yes, emotionally stunted Zet somehow found a soulmate in the FTL. Him and the Handler were the two people in the New World that slowly but surely cracked open Zet’s walls, so when in Seliana it was the FTL that was standing before a lifechanging challenge, she made sure to stand by his side and support him. They kind of morphed into the Commander and his ace, just like the FTL’s grandfather and the huntsman, and through this continuous cooperative work, the two grew closer until something shifted. Ofc it was the FTL that kinda sprang the idea of being “something more” but Zet was surprisingly okay with giving it a try and suffice to say, she rather enjoys the outcome.

Mei – Little does she know it yet, but her deep affection for Kyle might not just be that of a good friend. After they had finally sorted out their differences, Mei did everything to be good in his book, and when he joined her on the last stretch of her journey, Mei was really happy and giddy despite the looming danger. She highly enjoys their (playful) bickering and she loves to make him work himself up. For now, she only knows that she’d jump at any opportunity to spend time with him, be that out on a fun hunt or help him with boring paper work, but in time she’ll realize what those feelings really mean.

Chidori – Once student and master found themselves on even footing, so suddenly grew their relationship uncertain. Once her and Utsushi seemed to see eye to eye, it felt like some invisible barrier had vanished and suddenly there was so much potential floating around the air, it actually made their relationship a bit awkward for a while. But after the whole affair with Ibushi and Narwa, and Utsushi being surprised how much it actually scared him to lose his “favourite pupil”, these two tentatively tip toed closer to each other until the finally took the plunge. They didn’t really broadcast their new relationship to anyone and are not particularly affectionate in the open (they do basically act the same as ever), but really, everyone knows these two are a thing. Even the people of Elgado could tell after only knowing them for a little while, but both Chidori and Utsushi still think no one knows.

#monster hunter #monster hunter world #monster hunter stories 2 #monster hunter rise #mh oc questionnaire #field team leader #mh kyle #master utsushi #oc #zet #mei #chidori #mh #monster hunter iceborne

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deadmenandthedivine · 8 months

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DEAD MEN § the DIVINE

chapter thirteen: the ghost of years coming and years past

Maetilda Targaryen, First of her Name, was supposed to be many things. What she became was entirely different.

table of contents

trigger warning!!! this fic contains many graphic topics and depictions. such as but not limited to: dead parents, abusive parents, toxic family systems, incest, medieval misogyny, forced marriage, threats of assault (sexual § physical), actual assault, imprisonment, kidnapping, murder, blood/gore, uxoricide, familicide, disassociation, thoughts of self harm and annihilation, PTSD and other neurodivergence. i will do my best to update as i go along, but please let me know if i have missed anything!

word count: 5357

Her entire body shook as if she were trapped in an overboard barrel in the middle of a sea storm. She had already survived a dinner with the Queen once before. What was another meal? What harm could it do? What harm could she do? This meal was far different than any before. She would be alone. Alone with her Grace. Under sole scrutiny of the powerful woman after the princess had been mouthy with her in the Godswood. Maetilda felt if she were to stick one toe out of line, that evening’s dinner would most certainly be her last. She had fretted over her choice of gown the entire afternoon, and had Adelyn redo the two braids in her hair more than once — before ultimately telling her to take them all out. It was like a monster had crawled inside and taken over. An ugly green monster. She could already anticipate each of Queen Alicent’s judgmental comments. How her neckline was too low or her hair was not quite right. It was exhausting. But then there was the other part of her that wanted to give the Queen gray hairs. She wanted the Queen to be just as upset with the affair as her father, just as he wanted. She wanted to make her father happy. Perhaps then, he would spare her. If she was lucky, he would even be proud. Although if she were to ever hear the words ‘well done’ come out of his mouth, she would most certainly need to seek maester’s assistance. While providing her with healing services, the maester could also take an official record of the historic incident. Two birds with one stone.

She was stalling, staring into the looking glass at her reflection. Her knight hadn’t knocked yet. No one had come to collect her either. And she refused to put her jewelry on until the last minute. Instead she looked at her gown, her lowest cut one. Warm red taffeta with a tighter waist, trumpet sleeves, and an A-line skirt. Picked specifically to upset the Queen. Never in her life had she deliberately set out to anger someone. Especially a royal someone. She wondered if she would truly be doing the right thing or if she would be thrown in the Black Cells for conspiring with her father. Yet she saw no other way forward. If the Hightowers did not kill her, then her father would. Her choices were not abundant. Her eyes darted to the balcony doors, suddenly thinking of a third choice. But she quickly shook the thoughts from her head as fear immediately began to set in again. She had to remember that she was not herself. Not completely of sound mind within enemy territory. Regardless, she needed to be at her best, her sharpest, if she were to disgrace herself without disgracing herself. Although she still was not entirely sure just how she was going to do that. Her father had given her no guidance. She stared down at the bronze selenite and pearl jewelry she had laid out on the vanity. The same set she had worn to family dinner the evening before. The light whites of the stones sparkled against the red of her gown. As the day had passed by, the pink of her darker cheek had slowly started to subside. Very slowly. She scoured her brain for what she could remember of the Queen, what the woman hated. Impropriety, disorder, and chaos. How far out of line would the princess be allowed to go? How many missteps before she would be an unspoken-for-woman once more?

A quick knock at the door announced Ser Gunthor’s arrival before he stepped inside. The princess cast her eyes over her shoulder to find his jaw clenched, but he tried to hide it, “Prince Aemond is here to take you to dinner, mi’lady.”

“Thank you. Send him in.”

Keeping her back to the door, she turned back to her vanity and avoided glancing up at the looking glass. Yet she felt his presence nonetheless. Her hands shook as she threaded her earrings through the holes in her earlobes, looped her belt around her waist, slipped the rings on her fingers, and fingered with the clasp of her necklace. She tried and tried, but she could not get it to unlatch.

“Are you ready, ñuha dōna?” The prince’s voice inquired softly.

“No,” She admitted, back still turned, “I cannot seem to put my necklace on.”

“Your handmaids did not put it on for you?” He did not hide the surprise in his voice.

“I wanted to do it myself.”

There was a pause before the sound of a few soft footsteps forward echoed through the room, remaining a respectable distance away, “May I help you?”

The princess remained rigid, only handing the necklace back to him by an extended arm backwards. His footsteps crept closer, until they were right behind her. He held the proffered hand in his own for a brief moment before he took the jewelry teasingly slow. She dropped her hand back to her side. Her entire body was still as she waited to see what he would do next. In only a few moments, the cold bronze of the necklace shocked the skin at the front of her neck. Aemond clasped the necklace over the top of her long silver honey hair before he tenderly pulled it all free. Taking the time to play with a few strands and run his fingers through the tresses. After trying several braided styles, Maetilda had instructed her handmaids to leave her hair down, completely undone. Allowing it to trail down to its full length. The Queen certainly would not appreciate the lack of decorum. Paired with the jewelry, the princess nearly resembled the women of the night who often warmed her father and other lord’s beds.

“You are so beautiful.” Aemond whispered.

“Will you be joining dinner?” The princess ignored his remark.

“Yes. My mother invited me after our meeting with the Small Council.”

“Just the three of us then?”

“Yes, Aegon and Helaena will be at future dinners, but not this one.”

“Future dinners,” The princess quipped as the words brought a chill down her spine, “If your mother doesn’t hate me; that is, if she doesn’t already.”

“Is that what you think?” He chuckled.

“You think I am mad?”

“Not mad.” He smiled, “Certainly not.”

“Hm,” She mimicked him.

“My mother only wants to assure your comfort and happiness once we are man and wife.”

“My comfort… in which castle?”

He opened his mouth before closing it, noticeably hesitant with his answer, “We shall spend our time between both Runestone and the Red Keep.”

“Did she decide that?”

“It does not matter.”

“I think it does.”

“My apologies. I am not at liberty to tell you.”

“I see. Quite the husband you shall be.” She scoffed, attempting to see how far she could push him.

“Are you questioning me?” He dared her to take her prior statement back.

Refusing to step down, she turned around to meet his gaze. He smirked at the expression on her face. It was enough to rattle her composure, but she fought internally to keep him from seeing it. She would not be thrown off her footing that easy. He reached forward and brushed more pieces of her hair with his fingers. Something he would do to Helaena when they were children. He would play with her curly hair as the two girls spoke. Always more fascinated by her hair than his own.

“You are,” He answered his own question smugly. “The dragon rears her horns.”

“You seem amused.”

“I am.”

“A young boy laughing can crawl under your skin, yet I cannot?”

That piqued his fascination. He leaned forward, “And why do you wish to get under my skin, ñuha dōna?”

He caught her. She had walked right into it, given away the plot, and the princess had not even made it to dinner. Her body tensed as she thought of an excuse, “I am only trying to understand you.”

“We have our whole lives to understand each other.”

“And if our lives should be short?”

“Now you seem hopeful.” He joked.

“I like to plan for the worst.”

His spine straightened as he got a bit more serious, “What did your father say to you earlier?”

“It does not matter.” She cocked her eyebrow at him, daring him to repeat the same words they had just said, silently asking him if he liked how it felt to be on the receiving end.

“Let us go. My mother is waiting.”

Arm-in-arm, Aemond lead Maetilda wordlessly up several flights of stairs and down numerous corridors. Ser Gunthor followed behind them. He was tense and she could feel it from behind her. His armor made its characteristic jingle with each step. The Red Keep was expansive, but her gown was far much easier to move in than her others. However, she could feel her gown slide lower on her chest with each new set of stairs. Aemond’s eyes burned her skin as he watched her readjust. After exactly four stops to fix her gown along the way, the two finally came upon a set of doors in one of the tallest towers. Two Kingsguard stood at the ready. One of them was a Cargyll twin. The future married pair had come to the Queen’s personal solar. Aemond turned to her and assisted his future bride in her pruning before giving the signal to open the doors. Her heart skipped a beat at the burst of deep emerald green. Everywhere. The bedding, the curtains, the rugs, the tapestries, the chairs. The most green she had ever seen in her life. In the center of the room, a large dining table had been brought in and dressed. A green brocade tablecloth with citrine colored candles, and golden platters of finger foods. Three ivory place settings with golden plates and cutlery. Two sat on one side while the third sat across from them. The Queen occupied the lone setting, standing to greet the couple who made their entrance. Her gown was a very dark green. It had gorgeous ivory and gold trim that nearly matched the table. The neckline crawled up her neck and stopped at her chin. Her golden seven pointed star necklace gleamed in the candlelight. She was the image of modesty and humble regalia. The princess kept her head held high as she let go of her betrothed’s arm to take her seat. Her footing only faltered when the chair moved back without her touching it. Maetilda glanced behind her to see Aemond patiently waiting to push her in. She carefully took her seat and lifted her feet just high enough for the chair to glide forward with no issue. Aemond then quietly took the seat next to her. As soon as they were situated, actual food was brought out to the table. Spiced ham, fresh greens and vegetables, pastries, pies, and more. A cupbearer filled her goblet to the brim with honeywine. The princess rushed to take the first bite, determined to get even a crumb in her mouth before the Queen. But the cupbearer blocked her access and Alicent was already chewing before Maetilda had anything on her plate.

“Thank you for joining me tonight, both of you.” The Queen broke the silence.

“Thank you for having us, mother.”

“Yes, thank you.” The princess echoed less enthusiastically.

A silence settled around the three. Only the sounds of cutlery on plates and chewing could be heard. It made her spine tingle, like a deer sensing a nearby hunter. She was being hunted. By owls in the rafters.

“Have you enjoyed your accommodations, princess?” The Queen poked.

“They have been suitable. Although I find everything so much different than I remember in my youth. The green from outside seems to be everywhere but. Oh, and the spirits! Gods be good, I hope I am not cursed. Spirits are everywhere. There seems to be one that lives in my chambers.”

“Spirits?” The mother and son gasped in unison.

“Yes! A tall ghost with a black cloak, no face, and a raised arm. It stands in my room at night.”

“This is the first I have ever heard of…” The Queen trailed off.

“Princess, are you certain it is a spirit you are seeing?”

“I would not lie about such things.”

“I will have the High Septon come to bless your chambers.” Alicent nodded resolutely.

“The High Septon?” Maetilda asked.

“Who else should I send?” The Queen challenged.

The princess shrugged before drinking more wine to avoid responding. Her Grace’s question had been a trap. Yet the princess would be smarter than to walk into it. More silence settled around the three. The sounds of eating were slower and quieter. The three were suddenly more careful of the noise they made. But of course, such silence would sear the skin after a while. Too much of it burnt. The Queen opened her mouth again.

“I have been thinking about the many feasts that will be happening in your honor.” Alicent started, “And I decided that it would be best for you to see a dance teacher.”

“Is this because of my performance last night?” The princess laughed before taking a deep gulp of her goblet.

“Of course not. You are a wonderful dancer.”

“That I am! Come to think of it, I do not believe I have ever seen you dance, your Grace.”

“I save such frivolous activities for special occasions.”

“Oh, yes! Excuse me for being so daft. Would not want to anger those seven gods of yours.” Maetilda nodded casually.

The Queen chuckled dryly, “Something tells me they are preoccupied with others.”

Others. The less pious. Those less married to their Gods. Maetilda. Her father. Her family. Of course. The Queen thought her seven Gods would smite them all before they so much as looked in her royal direction. Silence consumed the three once more. No sounds of chewing or cutlery on plates. They all sat forward in thought. The princess herself stewed like a concoction over a fire. She had not done enough. Had not stepped far enough out of line. The Queen thought she was going to one of the seven hells and still did not fight to keep Aemond from marrying her. Could the princess not condemn Aemond too? Guilt by association? Was the Queen not worried that she would no longer see her son in the afterlife once the vows were said? The princess found herself questioning if it even mattered. If she could completely humiliate herself and still be subjected to the marriage, to her father’s promise of ruin before it happened. Frustration bubbled within her. She wondered what her father would say. If he would give her warning before he sent his men after her or if they would use the element of surprise to their advantage.

“Three moon’s time is not very long.” Aemond stated awkwardly, suddenly drumming his fingers on the table.

“Not at all. Everyone will be working diligently.” Alicent agreed.

‘Josey Flowers,’ The princess thought. The name of the woman who had measured her and talked of necklines and trains just the other day. “I was measured for my gown yesterday.”

“How wonderful! Songs will be written about your beauty.” Aemond smiled.

“Like they were written for me,” Alicent huffed sarcastically before she sipped her own goblet. Her tone was bitter. There were no known songs to ever be written about the Hightower Queen, none that framed her in good standing.

“The bards save their songs for special ones.” Maetilda joked.

Aemond visibly tensed, “There have been songs written for you, mother.”

“You must have heard some that I have not.” The princess shrugged.

“Songs are not important. It is not the bards that I care about pleasing.” Alicent snipped.

“Of course! What is a song in your honor when you are eternally burning in seven hells?” Maetilda laughed, “Which one do you think my mother went to?”

Both the Queen and her second son choked on their drinks. Lady Rhea Royce’s was a name most often whispered. There were many rumors about what had happened to the late Lady of Runestone, but no one ever spoke of her to Princess Maetilda’s face. Except for Daemon himself, and it was a subject he hated. Yet the mention of the late woman did not seem to have the effect on the Hightowers that it did her father. Sorrow, awkwardness, and discomfort rather than rage. The Queen cleared her throat before she answered, “She went to the Father’s Golden Hall.”

“Do you think the rumors are true? Do you think she was murdered?” The princess pressed farther, hyper focused on having an awful dinner in order to make her father proud.

“I do not know what you speak of.” Alicent lied.

“Hmm,” Maetilda nodded.

“You are not being fair to my mother.” Aemond stated.

“Your mother was not fair to me or my family upon our very arrival! Or have you forgotten?”

The Queen let out a loud sigh, “You are right, Maetilda. That gesture was not fair. But as my husband preached last night, I only wish to make amends.”

Seven hells, the princess thought. The last scenario she had expected was one in which the Hightower Queen extended an olive branch. The princess crossed her arms, unsure of how to move forward. Unsure of how to make her father happy. She could feel the lilac eye study her closely again, as if she were an ant under a magnifying glass. As if he could dissect her — mind, body, and soul — just by watching her alone. She wondered what he thought, if he regretted ever being pleased with their arrangement. The princess scoured her brain for words as she attempted to form a response. There was nothing. Not a word.

“Maetilda, you will be my daughter soon. You will give me grandchildren—”

“I will supply your son with a castle,” The princess listed along without missing a beat. Suddenly springing into a fit of passion, “It seems I have a lot of things that other lords and princelings want.”

“Need I remind you this was the King’s decree? Not mine.” The Queen’s face began to turn red.

“Before the previous two days, when was the last time the King made a decree himself?”

“He has not been well.”

“And why have only the maesters been consulted? Their methods have only seemed to make him worse.”

“They have prolonged his life.”

“According to who? The same maesters poisoning him?”

“You are lucky that I have not yet called the guards in here to take your tongue.”

“Take my tongue! It does not change the truth.”

There was a pause as they all exchanged glances between each other. Smoke practically poured from the princess’s ears. She felt cornered and outnumbered, but it only made her feel bigger. Perhaps that was how her father felt during his outbursts. She was ready to leap from her chair and continue the shenanigans of the night before. She did not care how effortlessly her betrothed knocked her brother to the floor. She would not let them win so easily.

“You are sounding like your father, Til.” Aemond spoke gently, but his words cut deep.

“Gaomas bona vēdros ao, valzȳrys?” (Does that displease you, husband?) The princess mocked him before turning to the Queen, “Will we be traveling to my castle as soon as the festivities are over?”

Alicent all but rolled her eyes, “Yes.”

The mother and son looked taken aback when Maetilda responded with laughter. Genuine laughter that sharply turned dry and sarcastic. Just as her father’s had earlier that day. She felt absolutely mad, but she found the lack of subtlety quite humorous. It seemed to be a sick joke. First the decorations in the castle, down to every damned tapestry. Then the stars and the prayers and piousness. Next was her castle. She should have guessed when she saw the books in the library. Someone had been reading about her family on purpose. Someone had been carving runes into stones on purpose. That someone had not been Aegon or her father. It was Aemond, and he was after her home. The rug was being pulled out from underneath her. She had not realized it until that very moment.

“The castle is mine, it belongs to my family. The Vale will never be Oldtowne. Try as you may.”

“I do not want your castle.” Aemond stated.

“Were you not the one studying its history and power in the library?” Maetilda fired back, “Nearly gutted the whole section of the damned library. Or was it your drunk brother?”

“I was curious.” He admitted, jaw locked and fists clenched.

“You’ve been plotting.” She called his half-bluff.

“It was the King’s decree!” The Queen repeated.

Maetilda crossed her arms in her chair. Another serving was brought out for them to eat. Not one of them touched it. Fresh fruits and deserts, all covered in powdered sugar. Not one hand reached forward. Not one person moved. It was a stand-off as they all sat around the table.

“I am looking forward to Rhaenyra’s presence around the Keep more. I would like to keep it that way.” The Queen sighed, “I do not fault you for the way that you feel. Or your outbursts. Runestone is where your mother died. I lost my mother when I was young too.”

The princess stood up in her chair, breathing hard like a dragon ready to explode. “Do not pretend to know how I feel. You do not know the last thing about me.”

Maetilda’s eyes narrowed at the woman. The princess’s breathing only grew more uneven. The sound of Aemond’s chair scooting back tickled her ear, but she did not flinch. The princess and her future sweger stared each other down intensely. Both refusing to be the first to look away.

“May I excuse myself, your Grace?” Maetilda calmly seethed.

Alicent nodded. Her head barely moved as it did so. The princess did not wait another moment before she catapulted out of the double doors. Her body trembled, anger, fear, anticipation of consequences. She didn’t know how to think or how to feel. She was like one of the ghosts that roamed the Keep, practically floating as she moved at an erratic pace. Ser Gunthor’s bronze armor jingled after her, the sound serving as a constant reminder as to where she was going. She wanted to get away. From everyone and everything. And she knew that her chambers were not safe, not from Aemond or her father. She knew they would look for her there. Where could she go if she did not want to be found? The place where no one went at night — the Godswood. So that is where she ran, straight to the safety of the weirwood tree. The lack of walls was a bit unsettling. She was not sure who or what could lay beyond her sight. But she felt safe knowing her knight stood guard. The roots of the tree cradled her as she curled up and leaned back. Bugs sang their nightly songs and soft bustles hummed in from Flea Bottom. The citizens of King’s Landing were enjoying their eve wing, unlike her. The soft breeze was slightly chilly, but it wasn’t so bad once the princess hugged herself. She got comfortable in her spot, and laid her head back. The bark of the tree was hard but smooth. Somehow it felt more restful than any feathered pillow she had ever laid her head on.

Ser Gunthor stood a few paces away. His head on a swivel as he scanned the Godswood for danger, “Are you alright? ‘Sure you wouldn’t rather lay in your bed?”

“I’m sure.” She stated.

“Y’look cold, mi’lady.”

“I said I am fine.”

“You said you were sure, not fine. But alright.” He shrugged, crossing his arms as Maetilda closed her eyes.

The rocky cliffs, rolling hills, and rain-cast shores soon returned. Instead of flying over them, she rode through them on horseback. Unlike any horse she had ever been gifted or owned, it was white with no spots, not a single blemish tarnishing its ivory, and donned dark brown leathers, adorned with runes. Its mane was cropped for function, assuring that none would whip into the rider’s eye while at a full gallop. The reins and stirrups were worn from extensive use. The seat of the saddle molded around its rider’s butt like an old pair of shoes on one’s feet. The two rode together down a clearly definite trail. In the valley between the small mountains and cliffs. The horse had been there before, its hooves traversed the land effortlessly. It knew their destination regardless of whether or not the princess knew. Like two lifelong companions on a morning commute. In a delicious rhythm, horse’s hooves met the Earth over and over again. Clunk, clunk, clunk. Echoed off the rocks around them. Clunk, clunk, clunk. It almost had a tenor pitch. Smaller yet sturdier than any horse she had ridden before; it had not been bred for a smooth ride or to pull a carriage. As if it knew what she had been thinking, a whinnie joined in the chorus of hooves. A familiar whinnie that had echoed in her ears before. Everything seemed to foreign yet familiar. Including the land. She had only seen the land once before. From above as she plummeted to the ground below. It was breathtaking from any vantage point, deserving of its very own tapestry. She wished she could weave what she saw from memory and replace the damn tower one in her chambers. She wished she could capture the mist and the clouds and the air. She wished she could commit it all to physical copy so she could show anyone who would look. It was a beauty that deserved to be admired, that graced and blessed all who looked upon it.

The princess glanced up toward the heavens, curious if she would catch sight of herself crashing through the clouds. Yet there was nothing. Not even a seagull. Perhaps it had been the rains. They had clearly passed through recently. The dirt was darker, and it clumped together like clay as the horse’s hooves kicked chunks backwards with each stride. Would they ride up upon her body after it had already fallen? Would she see what had become of her before she had jolted up in bed? Would the horse stop and allow her to stare? To see herself in all her grace and glory? Or would the horse keep running? Perhaps it would never stop. The white horse and the princess’s silver honey hair would blur together in one smudge as they ricocheted from one coast to the next. Perhaps they would stop, sooner or later. Much like a sailor once long at sea, the princess would sway as she stood at their final destination — where it would be. Although she hadn’t remembered meeting the mighty white mount, she trusted it. She felt nothing but safe atop its back. Between its shoulders and hips. Their pace never faltered, never slowed. The hills merely continued to roll on. The two ran until the horse came to a sudden halt. The princess felt as if she were in a daze as she struggled to keep balanced. All her work went to shambles in the blink of an eye. The white steed reared up in its hind legs, making itself big and intimidating, only to tip back too far. Time seemed to slow down as she fell, the horse’s wide and heavy back looming after her. It was almost funny how one moment she had been completely at peace only for the next moment to be nothing but fear, horror, and regret. Perhaps it was a good thing. Perhaps the horse was doing her a mercy by crushing her. No more marriage, no more threats, no more scheming. It would be bliss. She felt her body hit the ground as she sat up straight in her bed. Her chambers were dark and foggy, but it did nothing to obscure the cloaked figure in the corner. It floated tall with its arm stretched upward, holding a jagged rock. Her heart began to pound. She immediately knew what came next. She did not have to wait for the figure to come rushing forward before she desperately tried to scramble out of her bed. Everything happened so fast. The sheets grew tighter as they wrapped around her ankles and locked her there. Keeping her trapped in the confines of her bed. The figure ran forward in the blink of an eye. Quicker than humanly possible. Rock raised and at the ready. Her body tensed. She screamed as she clamped her eyes shut and braced for impact. She could feel the air move as the figure descended upon her.

A gentle hand met her forehead and her entire body flinched, trashing away from any harm. Her eyes shot open. Only to see Ser Gunthor crouched over her. His hazel and sage eyes were flooded with worry and concern as he brushed her hair from her face and spoke words she could not hear. Her ears rang like a bell. Her sworn knight wrapped her tighter into a blanket she had not had before. It was thick and warm, and she grabbed at it feverishly before pulling it farther into her. The knight ran his hands up and down the princess’s arms quickly, creating a small amount of heat to help warm her. He began counting his breaths aloud as he inhaled and exhaled. His eyes never once left her. Soon the sounds of the numbers came into focus, the ringing in her ears very slowly dulling. Ser Gunthor’s voice was even and steady. Like a mother’s heartbeat while her babe rests on her chest. He continued to count until her breathing evened.

“You were sleeping well there… until you weren’t.” He remarked.

“I had a bad dream.”

“Must’ve been a scary one.”

The princess nodded, “Similar to the one I had before I found the stones.”

She quickly glanced around the Godswood, making sure there was no cloaked figure. By the time she looked back at her knight, he was searching the area himself. He searched the brush, the surrounding trees, anywhere he could search through. But they both found nothing.

Ser Gunthor looked at the princess seriously as he rested his hand on the hilt of his sword, “Let’s go back to your chambers. I will do a look-through before you go back to sleep.”

As soon as Maetilda nodded in agreement, he gathered up the blanket that had been laid on top of her and helped the princess to her feet. He then draped the blanket over her shoulders and offered out his arm for her to take. Tiredly, the princess took his arm and laid her head against his armored bicep. They walked together slowly and steadily all the way back to her room. Maetilda’s eyes and limbs felt heavy with sleep as she struggled to keep pace, but Ser Gunthor slowed every time he noticed her falter. She was exhausted, even with the fear of death coursing through her veins. Her eyes lulled shut as she allowed her knight to lead their way back. A journey they seemed to have made in record time. She must have fallen asleep while walking. The knight did just as he had promised, checking every last nook and cranny in her bedroom, before he assisted her into bed. It felt as though eyes watched her as she moved, but there was no cloaked figure to be seen. Her tired eyes scanned the room to be sure. The only one watching her had been her knight. He tucked her into the blankets and draped the new one over top. She smiled and thanked him through her yawns. Gently, he wished her goodnight before he closed her door behind him. Eyes still heavy as giants, the princess was fast asleep soon after.

A/N: so maetilda still has some growing before she reaches her final form. arguing with the queen is… a choice… but she’s also not exactly thinking clearly… that being said, i love me some Gunthor :) i promise this isn’t a cheesy love triangle, i just love him.

TAGLIST: @marvelescvpe @snh96 @imsoshygirl @faesspace

xoxo messy

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #hotd imagine #aemond one eye #hotd #hotd aemond #house of the dragon fanfic #aemond x fem!oc #aemond fanfiction #aemond x oc #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x fem!oc #aemond targaryen x ofc #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x fem!reader #dead men and the divine

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localplaguenurse · 6 months

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Oh right are y’all ready to see what the noggin had brewing during my finals?

Hint: it’s depraved, I’m pretty sure Wifey is just a my whump character now

So I was thinking about what kind of experiments dottore would do if he ever got his hands on Wifey.

I’m gonna spare you from the worst of it because I want to look at least a little bit sane

Well first he would take it as an opportunity for him to test if wifey’s body can sustain and control the geo gnosis since they have part of Morax’s power, after pantalone wants his mora.

My theory is that they can but not in the way dottore wants it, its incredibly unstable and even if he somehow placed restrictions on the gnosis to only produce mora I doubt Wifey would have the capabilities to do something like that since there are so many details in a single mora coin and not to mention they would have to produce millions of it (because with the abundance of mora, it’s value as a single coin is quite low)

And not the mention the physical effects of having a gnosis ripped out of you and then placed back in on a daily basis, it would leave them so weak and then have to repeat all over again?

Also extorting the fact that Wifey cannot physically die before Morax, I think they would only give them just enough food to survive

And that’s only normal Wifey, can you imagine abyss Wifey?

Dottore has been wanting to get childe on his surgical table for years, and since Wifey and childe have similar abilities after coming out of the abyss…. Well dottore Is going to have a field day with that

So many things he can learn about the abyss just by subjecting Wifey to experiments and discovering the secrets to the foul legacy form.

Also I wouldn’t put it past him if or when Wifey starts to become numb to it and they stop reacting, dottore would start telling them how he hunted and killed theyre children

Y’all so I wrote 90% of the answer this morning, went to check a notification and the app crashed. I started refusing my answer right now, literally set my phone down to plug my laptop in, and it crashed again. Tumblr does not want me to answer this.

Anyways, to clarify: Wifey is the “won’t die unless directly killed” flavour of immortal. You CAN kill them, you’re just gonna have to try a little harder because the adeptal healing keeps them from succumbing to more extreme injuries. That said, I don’t imagine it allows them to, say, regrow limbs, and if the injury is bad enough it WILL leave scars and other possible damage.

The only reason Wifey can actually handle the gnosis inside them is because they’re married to the previous owner. It’s not that it like recognizes Wifey as Rex Lapis’ wife, it’s that the healing Wifey inherited from Morax keeps them from at the very least keeling over. I also like to imagine that because it’s specifically Morax’s adeptus energy, the gnosis sort of recognizes that. It’s kinda like vaccine logic, I guess.

That said, I imagine the main BIG reason the mora doesn’t form right is not JUST because Wifey’s technically mortal, it’s that they don’t even use Geo. The Geo Gnosis belonged to the Geo Archon, a god literally MADE of geo, and now Dottore’s sticking it in a mortal* dendro vision wielder. I’m not saying stick it in a geo user, or stick the dendro gnosis in Wifey, but like... probably should’ve anticipated it wouldn’t work.

As for Abyss Wifey, god that poor thing. They hate that part of them because it reminds them of such a horrifying and traumatic time of their life. The only “good” that came of it was their Foul Legacy, because it means they can’t get hurt anymore, no one would dare to go near them.

Not only would being abducted and experimented on because of your monster form suck on its own, but Dottore has the strength to rival the gods. Wifey won’t stand a chance, and you know what that means, right? It means that even their ugliest and most vicious side, the one born from their trauma, will not save them. It means that anything in theory can happen to them, and whatever is going to happen will be so much worse than the Abyss.

When Wifey goes catatonic, they might not even react to Dottore saying he’s killed their children, because they know that couldn’t happen. Their children wouldn’t let that happen. Morax wouldn’t let that happen. Surely it… it’s not true. It’s not true. As the days go by with no signs of help, they’ll start to believe it more and more and have a full breakdown. They’d do nothing but cry or stare into nothingness until help arrived or...

Abyss Wifey, on the other hand, will immediately go to tear out his fucking throat. They have to be sedated most days because they activate Foul Legacy every chance they get to try and kill him. Even if help arrives, they’re not leaving until they’ve put Prime’s head on a pike.

I should tell you to stop whumping Wifey, if only because it gives me ideas myself. Also, beta will gut us.

#ask #as gold as the ginkgo trees #ivy!#abyss wifey au

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sojournvagabonds · 9 days

Text

Honkai Star Rail Original Character: Apocrypha

Name: Apocrypha Age: Unknown Sex: Male Eyes: Red Hair: Long, Dark Red Height: 6'3ft Path & Type: Abundance, Physical Gimmick: Apocrypha is self sustaining through his attacks; he bites his victims and drains them of their blood which heals him. He otherwise wields a simple rapier.

WARNING: DARK THEMES AHEAD

The Vampire's Massacre

There was once a man from a distant backwater planet. The man was filled with hopes and ideals in order to keep his people and loved ones safe. This man had affinity with medicine or what his people called it “The Healing Arts.” It was a technique given to him by the gods; or so he thought. He could heal wounds and create elixirs to heal the sick. This man was once a hero in the eyes of the populace but it is in mortals nature to begin to fear what they did not understand. So tragedy struck.

The planet’s most popular world religion began to change. It began to fear the odd and unexplained as heretical and forbidden. That ideology spread like wildfire and the healer that was once so beloved was scorn and slandered as a heretic. Soon the man’s home was burned to the ground while he was away in the forest gathering healing herbs; his family was barred inside and suffered until there was nothing left but ash. Upon his return; the man found his home and his loved ones burned. Anger and loathing bumped through his blood and veins and despair set deep in his heart. He had been blessed to heal by the gods above but yet the mortals saw him now as a monster.

The guards of the local church captured the once kind man and dragged him to the gallows. The crowd roared in his ear dubbing him ABOMINATION. Why did the hearts of man change so drastically? He was a man who healed the ills of others only to be condemned by them in the end. The man’s heart cried out in both hate and anguish. The noose was tied tightly around his neck and his heart throbbed in his ears. The man’s long black hair and noble attire swayed as a wind blew through the tension. The screams of the populace blood thirsty for a made up enemy of the planet’s main religion.

The man began to wish as angry tears strolled down his cheeks. The executioner was speaking but he couldn’t hear the words. With one sweep he felt his body lunge forwards and the rope snapping tightly as it began to crush his throat. Air was blocked and tears still feel as the once beloved healer felt his hate rise. This how it would end? If there were gods watching then please give him the strength invoke his righteous anger. This was injustice…this was treason. The man’s heartbeat slowed and his vision began to fade. Please, oh gods above, hear his cries. Hear his pleas to survive.

The man’s lingering will remained but his body was cold. It fell into the ground still as a corpse but not one noticed the changes it began to undergo. The man’s skin faded in all color and was pale as fresh snow; his hair drained into into a blood hue and his eyes were wide with purpose and malicious intent. The gods must of cast their gaze upon him this day because he stood up. His chest did not rise or fall nor did his heart beat. The kind healer had became the monster the people saw him as. With the noose around his neck like a collar; his eyes stared daggers at the crowd. Everyone was silent in fear.

The hunt was on and the blood lust ran deep.

The man with inhuman quickness leap upon the executioner first; newly formed fangs ripping at the man’s jugular; the blood tasted sweet like honey. It brought him life and substance. The people screamed in terror as he slaughtered men and women alike. His eyes did not glance at the children; some small kindness still lingered in the monster’s soul. No adult was spared within the town. The cobblestone streets were stained crimson as the massacre lasted through the morning. Only when sunlight hit the man he would fall into a deep slumber.

There were deep cries and the blood bath caught the attention of the outer world organization, the ICP. The ship and an ambassador had arrive to talk trade deals with the locals but found nothing by a sea of corpses drained of their lifeblood and a man doused in crimson. They arrested him and was brought upon a massive ship. There it was determined that the man was blessed by the Aeon, Yaoshi but the blessing was more so of a curse. The man was vamperic in nature and deemed unfit to be around others. So they named him Apocrypha. They sealed him away for years on a small planet.

Era passed quietly and Apocrypha slept silently until one day his tomb was disturbed by some curious merchants looking for relics. The vampire was discovered and taken by the merchant to his ship, curious of Apocrypha’s condition and nature. The vampire’s rage had cooled but his hunger for blood was strong. The merchant made a deal with Apocrypha; he would supply him with blood if he would use his talents to help him find relics and other dangerous items that mortals couldn’t handle without aid.

Apocrypha agreed. He was granted enteral life as long he was able to consume blood regularly. He now works for a greedy merchant that put him in dangerous situations. The once kind man didn’t desire anything now; he got what he wanted before his sealing and thus became apathetic and aloof; following the orders of whoever would give him the blood he thirsted for.

#hc #apocrypha

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syntheticsimp · 2 years

Text

TwstOCs: Booman Brothers!

SD Model:

Coffins & Groovy Candy:

Lester Trivia/Info Dump

- Very Fungi! Loves puns and cracking jokes. Has a mental catalogue of jokes/puns ready for any situation. He actually makes people laugh. Would win the title of Class Clown, hands down he has no competition.

- His grin can be pretty unnerving especially since he's hardly ever seen without it.

- When he's agitated only time will fix his mood. Surprisingly he tends to keep away from people when he's in a less than happy mood if he can. Says its cause he doesn't want to deal with people annoying him, but in reality he just doesn't want to snap at anyone who he feels doesn't deserve it. Will never admit that last part.

- Truly only ever seen with his brothers.In the rare case you find him alone he's either in a bad mood or genuinely enjoying his alone time and might invite you to join him.

- Candy! Candy! Candy! Has an abundance of it. Pulls it out of thin air sometimes. Walking piñata. Want some?~

- Loves video games, manga, anime and idol groups. Things he won't admit #2: Wishes he had someone to chat with about theses things 24/7. Doesn't know it but he's friends with both Lilia and Idia online. Online Alisas: BarrelBoi!

- Founding Member of the Creepy Crawly Society! The reason the club is named the way it is. Elias and Cain came up with a boring name. Which is why Lester changed it when he went to turn in the forms. His name sounds better after all.

- Will pop in the the game board club from time to time. He likes joining them for their club activities when his club doesn't meet. Honorary Member.

- Somehow will be the first person to the cafeteria.

- Has a Magicam shit post account. Full of weird memes and obscure shit. Also has an insane amount of followers. He doesn't know why.

- Is fluent in internet lingo. Can translate any obscure internet speech into normal words and vice versa.

- Keeps up with the latest internet drama. Sometimes the first to know of it.

- Has a pet Scorpion. Its name is Claws. He hides it in his room.

-’Lester’ is the name given for when interacting with people who aren't family.

Cain Trivia/Info Dump

- The Jock(-ish) Brother. Loves sports and will pop in to the sports clubs to mess around and play. He's pretty good at most sports and this surprise most who play against him.

- People honestly wonder how he got sorted into Diasmonia and not Octavinelle.

- Very good gambler, the odds are usually in his favor. People genuinely think he cheats. But he's just good at knowing what is a good bet and what isn't.

- Another who is easy to anger. Will be outright furious and will lash out at the person who put him in a bad mood. Will get payback.

- Gardening is his hobby. Many people find this quite surprising since he's such a punk. Green Thumb! Comes in handy for the Monster plant he houses (hides) in his room.

- The Monster Plant is his pet. Its name is Seymour.

- Founding Member of the Creepy Crawly Society! Hates its name since it sounds so damn childish. Has tried to get the name changed but Crowley always gives him the run around.

- Uses the club time to collect insects to feed Seymour.

- Super good at picking locks. Even the toughest lock just takes him a few minutes to unlock.

- Likes to spend time collecting gossip and ‘accidentally’ hearing others woes. This is quite hypocritical of him since he doesn't like people butting in to his ordeals.

- Genuinely wishes deep down to be considered approachable because he wants to have an abundance of friends. However since most people find him unnerving he chooses to play the role of the bad guy to fit their standards of him. “If people think I'm a monster then let me be a monster” type of attitude. Won't admit it ever.

- Music Lover! Punk, Rock, Alternative, Pop, Blues. Some of his favorites. Lowkey wants to start a band.

-Horror junkie! Collects horror movie memorabilia. Has seen almost every horror movie at least 5 times.

-’Cain’ is the name given for when interacting with people who aren't family.

Elias Trivia/Info Dump

- The ‘Diplomatic” Brother. Tries to solve most things by talking and coming up with compromises.

- His temper is much colder than his siblings. If you ever get on his bad side he will most likely give you the cold shoulder and be harsh with his words. His outburst are more methodically cruel compared to that of Cain’s fiery outburst.

- Enjoys a good Tea party. Tea Fanatic. He has a scheduled tea time for himself and even has a tea for every occasion. Tea set collector! Has a tea cabinet in his room to display the sets and the variety of teas he has.

-Tea buddies with Riddle. They try to schedule a meet once a month at the minimum. Will schedule more of their time allows it. Enjoys a good cup of tea with Malleus too!

- Herb collector! Green Thumb as well! Loves concocting herbal remedies for himself and his siblings. Presses Herbs and flowers alike. Has many a books with pressed fauna in them, with notes scribbled on the side.

- Owns a crystal ball. Incense burner too! Witchy vibes if the hat wasn't a give away.

- Into cottagecore and gothic aesthetics. Soft boy vibes!

- Book worm! Reads when ever he has a chance. Would start a book club if he wasn't such a socially awkward individual.

- Wishes he was better at communicating with people how he felt. Just like his brothers, wants more friends but knows people are unnerved by him. Which is why he's only truly close to Lester and Cain. Has made some progress with Riddle tho. As well as Lilia and Malleus.

- Founding Member of the Creepy Crawly Society! ALSO dislikes the name Lester has given it. He would've much preferred it be called the Entomology Club at least. Uses his time in the club to partake in his hobby of pining insects. Hangs them up in his room.

- Has a super nice singing voice which he refuses to share. Has stage fright. He also at some point wished to be in a play at least once. But again, stage fright!

- Avid play reader and attendee. So much so that he has a box full of ticket stubs from shows he's been to.

- Has a large toad as familiar of sorts. Its name is Dr. Finkel or so the toad says. Elias will occasionally bring it to lecture with him and does so by hiding it under his hat.

-’Elias’ is the name given for when interacting with people who aren't family.

---

DIASOMNIA BOYS IN THE HOUSE!!!!

Honestly when I came up with their designs I was totally shook. Like honestly in disbelief that they were born from my mind.

BUT now that they're I hope all who come across this post love them as much as I do! Some spooky guys with hearts of gold hidden under the brittle surface!

Debating on who to post next, but it'll come to me eventually.

Anywho! Feel free to ask any questions about these three or any of my other character!

My inbox is open and I'm ready to answer :) Thnx for your time!

#twst oc #twst art #twst #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland oc #twisted wonderland art #twisted wonderland fanart #diasomnia #diasomnia dorm #diasomnia oc #Elias Booman #Lester Booman #Cain Booman #Booman Brothers

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damienthepious · 11 months

Text

lalalalala oh we’re still here with the poor lizard

The Beast In On His Chain (chapter 13)

[ch 1] [ch 2] [ch 3] [ch 4] [ch 5] [ch 6] [ch 7] [ch 8] [ch 9] [ch 10] [ch 11] [ch 12] [ao3] [???]

Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Relationship: Lord Arum/Sir Damien, Sir Damien/Rilla, Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla

Characters: Sir Damien, Lord Arum, Rilla, Sir Absolon

Additional Tags: Second Citadel, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, prisoner/guard dynamic, Dehumanization, (which feels like a weird word to use for a nonhuman person bUT. it’s what i got.), Despair, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, (EVENTUALLY!!!! it’ll take a while), Captivity, Suicidal Thoughts, (that will be a theme throughout. inescapable in this particular fic. alas.), Eventual Romance, (Yes the dynamics in this one are fucked. honestly i’m kinda Stretching my limits these days.), (having fun with it. fucking around. it’s fine.), Recovery, (eventually), Self-Reclamation

Chapter Summary: Rilla rages, and Arum dreams.

Chapter Notes: This one got... kinda abstract on the back half and MIGHT have made me cry at least once. Warnings for references to violence and blood, references to the treatment of dislocated fingers, continuing malnutrition and dehydration, and Arum continuing to be passively suicidal. oofa doofa.

"I want to see him," Rilla half-growls the next morning, pacing the floor like a cat, clenching and unclenching her hands in front of her stomach. "I want to- after something like that? I just- I can't even imagine what he must be thinking, I just-" she spins quick, throwing her body in another direction with a grimace. "But I can't, because it would be stupid to draw attention to myself after that happened, worst possible idea and it could come back down on you, too, because they're not complete idiots actually and if your fiance goes and hovers around the monster captive the so soon after he tries to escape, if Absolon is there and he recognizes me-" she huffs. "Only make things worse. I'd only make things worse and it might block off possibilities later, I'm already next to useless here anyway-"

"You are not useless," Damien interjects, feelingly, and Rilla pauses long enough to throw him a grimacing sort of smile, vaguely grateful, before she spins on her heel again and continues.

"I just... I want to see him. I know I can't see him. I'm worried. And it makes me want to break things! Which is a dumb, unhelpful urge. But it's there, and I'm not even the one who got hurt! I hate this, I just-"

"I think... I believe that patience is a tool we must employ," Damien says quietly, looking towards the window. "Time is the resource we have in the most abundance. It is very likely, my love, that without our influence, nothing at all will change. He will remain static, trapped, yes, but- neither better nor worse off. We must be..." he pauses, winces awkwardly, and then continues. "We must be careful. We mustn't move too quickly, or we risk..."

Speaking in terms of subterfuge makes Damien feel... twitchy. Dirty. Uncomfortable. He tries to bury the feelings, tries to refocus on the way Arum trembled as he released Damien from his grasp. The way Arum collapsed into his arms after Damien set his fingers.

His eyes.

Damien shakes his head. "I want to do this right," he settles on, after a long moment.

Rilla slows, slightly, and sighs. "Me too," she says, and then she pushes her hair out of her face again. "Me too. I just- it doesn't feel right."

Damien's lips tighten, his brow furrowing. "I don't expect that it will," he says, slowly. "Not until..."

"Not until he's free," Rilla says grimly. "Which won't happen unless we're careful, and clever. Which- I can be careful," she says. "Contextually," she adds when Damien flicks his eyes to her with gentle amusement. "When I need to be. It's like medicine. It demands precision and care, or the prognosis..."

He nods. "And we are both of us, I think, rather clever." He smiles. "Contextually."

She scowls at him, but her eyes are dancing. "I think he might be, too," she says after a beat. "He... his eyes-"

Damien's hands flex, oddly, and he twists them together in front of himself for a moment, the memory of Arum's eyes burning at the back of his mind.

"He looks... he looks like he's always thinking three steps ahead," she says. "I'm not actually all that surprised he tried to escape. I'm more surprised that he doesn't try more often."

"He used to," Damien says, almost without thinking, remembering the stories he used to hear, newer context making them seem... darker. More grim. If the result of this most recent escape attempt on Arum's physical form is any indication. "He... he used to."

Rilla meets his eye for a moment, expression hard, and then she swallows. "Well," she says, tone firm. "Good thing, then, that he's only going to need one more try."

Damien thinks-

The towering spire of the Citadel, the layer after layer of guards, the chains, the stone collar, the wide countryside full of knights-

He exhales, and then he nods.

"One more try," he agrees.

Arum's dreams are changing.

(His waking hours are changing, for the first time in however long. Perhaps this should not surprise him.)

They are changing; some sharper and darker, bloodier. Some of cutting and burning, like when he first came here and his worry for his Keep overwhelmed everything besides his rage and defiance. Some of Sir Absolon's gauntleted knuckles. The taste of blood.

Some of-

Other things.

Water, now.

Waterfalls, rivers. The collapsing ocean at the edge of the world. Water on Sir Damien's cheek, a handful of droplets, rivuleting together like condensation on a cool morning, running down his skin, trickling from the curls of his hair. The brightness of tears in his eyes.

(He does not think that one is real. He cannot remember, exactly. Wetness on Damien's cheek from pouring water unsatisfyingly over his head, but- not tears. Not real. Does that matter?)

Water on Arum's tongue, flowing down his throat as if to drown him, but he breathes it in and breathes it in and it fills him with soothing coolness as if he is himself a goblet, as if he is himself a lake. As if he could be filled. As if he could, perhaps, be satisfied.

(Damien sits with him every day, now. Brings a canteen full to the mouth every day, pours him cupful after tin cupful every day, allows Arum to drink it all the way to empty. Every day.)

(His throat hurts less. He feels- slowly, slowly, so slowly it is hard to be certain, but- he feels the difference. Drop by drop may still fill a bucket, and Arum...)

(Every day, Arum feels a little less empty.)

Some dreams are stranger. Some dreams, his vision comes in charcoal lines on pale parchment. Sketch-lines that move, landscapes shifting in soundless wind. Playful watercolors breathing in the plumage of a heron, in the dancing leaves of an aspen, in the light-scattering surface of a lake.

(Memories, or wishful thinking, spilling to mix with his only recent window into the outside world.)

Flowers. Flowers and flowers and flowers, bold dark lines contrasting with sweet yellow or vibrant orange. In the dreams they lay out in front of him, deep and endless and lovely, but- nothing he can touch, through the paper.

(Amaryllis hasn't come back since the attempt at escape.)

(They are not bringing tour groups through, just at the moment. He would feel satisfied, about that, if not for...)

He dreams of paper, charcoal. He dreams of water, yes.

He dreams adjacent to fire, as well. Adjacent, only, because it is not about fire, truly, in the dreams, it is only-

Heat.

(No sunlight, down here. No touch. Torches on the walls, far outside of his reach, and only cold steel and stone at his fingertips, he is so cold, here. Always. Except-)

Heat, against his scales. The suggestion of fire. Or-

(Damien hasn't touched him again since the day he set Arum's fingers. Has only touched him twice, in truth, and only once of his own will. Though- he still caught Arum, the first time, after Arum let him go. But that second time- the pain, yes, of fixing what had broken, but- afterwards, as well. A hand on his shoulder to keep him from falling, his snout almost pressed against the human's shoulder, Damien's other hand a suggestion of blazing heat, hovering just barely, just barely aside from Arum's cheek.)

Dreams of false fire. His scales hot with heart-heat, the heat of the blood in someone else's veins. Skin, soft dark skin against his scales. Hands on his shoulders, hands on his arms to help him fall into that blaze. Hands on his face. Heartbeat in his wrists, pulsing where Arum can feel it. A second rhythm, to accompany the lonely useless thing in his own chest.

(Arum wakes gasping. Wakes gasping. Wakes gasping, and finds himself surprised when Damien isn't there.)

He dreams-

He dreams of Sir Damien's bow. Dreams of his hands, raised. Dreams of pity transmuted to action. Dreams of his eyes, bright and bright and bright, blazing with heart-heat.

Arum still dreams the old dream, rekindled new. An arrow in his heart, and freedom.

(And from this revivified dream, Arum finds that he wakes in tears.)

#elle's fanfic #second citadel #rad bouquet #lizard kissin' tuesday #amaryllis of exile #sir damien #lord arum #the beast in on his chain

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