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goblinpuppy35 · 2 years ago

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The Punk and the Wolf

(Previous chapter, Part 3, Next chapter)

Remus Lupin x Male Reader

Summary: Set during OFTP, Y/N is Mad Eye Moody's assistant and while staying at Grimmauld place, him and Remus develop a connection.

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The next week was grey and cold, frequent rain showers kept the pavement slabs outside damp and reflective. At night the winds blew, rattling the windows and echoing through the halls. To keep the inside of the house from matching the bleak atmosphere outside most of the warm table lamps were kept on throughout the day and at night they looked like paths of yellow tinted orbs guiding you down the hallways. All the students had returned to Hogwarts, a little nervous and reserved to leave.

Remus was helping Sirius as much as he could, rumours were growing that the dark lord was hunting down werewolves, forcing them to join his side, so for the time being the two friends agreed it was safer for Remus to stay in the house and help with meetings and strategy planning. During one of these wet mornings, Remus and Sirius were hunch over the dinning table together reading and replying to letters from members of The Order and associates. The task was draining but there was an unspoken sense of commodity between the two, they had been friends for so long and been through so much together Remus always felt at ease in Sirius' company.

"Forget the war this, THIS is what's actually going to kill me" Sirius groans as he leaned back in his chair rubbing the palm of his hand with his thumb. Remus only laughs and rolls his eyes as he continues to write his letter. "These ones will need to be sent out before midday" Sirius sighs as he scoops a pile of letters into his hands "when Moody comes back tell him". "Moody and Y/N already came back about an hour ago" Remus interrupts not looking up from his parchment. Sirius jolts up and stares at his friend who is still focusing on his writing, "and how do you know that?". "Because .." but Remus trails off and only then dose he look up from his work, not at Sirius though, he keeps looking forward hoping this moment will just pass.

"Because Y/N has felt our book on the side table across the room which means he's sleeping in the other room now" was what Remus has stopped himself from saying. Our book. Over the past week Y/N and he had developed a system with thier shared reading of The Odessy, when either of them were going to sleep they would leave it on the side table for the other to pick up and carry on where they left. Only once was the book disturbed when George pick it up to hit Fred's head when he was annoying him to which Remus took the book and hit George over the side of the head lightly and told him not to hit others with things that didn't belong to him. Afterwards Remus carefully made sure Y/N's bookmark was still in the same place.

Remus had noticed that Y/N had started underlining quotes within each chapter and making little comments in the sides of the pages which Remus would rely back to.

"Do you think this imagery links back to the first chapter?" -Y/N

"Possibly! the part with the Cyclops has always been my favourite" -Remus

"I'm enjoying it, tho Moody keeps telling me to stop reading about one when I have a Cyclops right in front of me that I should be listening to :) " -Y/N

Along with communicating through annotations, every morning that week Remus had been greeted with a premade brewing cup of tea in the kitchen and every other day a new type of chocolate based snack Y/N had picked up for him in the muggle world. This charming ritual always made Remus smile but the gesture also reminded him that Y/N was already back and collapsed in the living room with Moody, door closed behind them. Remus was constantly fighting the urge to go in and take Y/Ns hand and thank him for these small moments which were becoming the highlights of his day. However in the few meetings they attended together, another situation were Remus was pained by not having Y/N alone, Y/Ns eyebags were starting to give his a run for their money. He must be exhausted. On the particularly fierce nights Remus would lie awake in bed and worry about Y/N being out somewhere in the rain, all their missions were obviously essensail but at this point Remus had fully submitted to his deepening feelings for Y/N and simply wanted to know he was safe. Not that he was going to admit this to Sirius right now if he could avoid it.

"Well if they are back now then I can go in and ask them" Sirius declared abruptly rising from his chair and briskly walking towards the living room door. "Pads no! Y/N needs to rest" states Remus getting up and swiftly chasing after his friend, Sirius had started to open the large door until Remus places his long fingers in the gap keeping the door in place just a jar. "Oh Remus .. buddy.. you've got it bad haven't you" Sirius statement makes Remus frown and blush simultaneously thought this reaction is broken by his ears honing in on a small noise coming from the living room sofa. Looking over Remus can see Y/N, alone, outstretched and slumped on his side across the sofa, legs lifted up over the arm and boots still on. His gaze travels up to Y/Ns face which is half hidden by his Y/H/C hair sticking to his face and neck damp, he is shivering in his sleep. The poor lad must have been caught in the storm on his way back this morning Remus thinks and leaving Sirius in the doorway he makes him way into the room. Carefully trending his way over to not wake Y/N who's face was scrunched up and twitching slightly. Remus thinks he must be dreaming. Leaning over Y/Ns sleeping body like a stone arch Remus reaches up for the blanket laid over the back of the sofa and slowly draps it over Y/N. Before pulling it all the way up he stops and listens, Y/N is muttering in his sleep.

"I ... I ... no ... we... we cant.... please.." followed by soft whimpering. Remus' eyes are stricken with concern. Then with an ungraceful whack the other door to the room swings open and Moody marches in "Y/N! Up! Those death eaters we've been tracking have been spotted on the other side of London". Before even opening his eyes Y/N promptly lifts up his torso "hhhmm sure Moody just one sec I.." and then he opens his eyes and is staring up and a stunned Remus, still leaning over him and half way through draping a blank over Y/Ns body. The taller man is like a shocked doe, frozen in spot not sure what to do. Only taking a few seconds to process the situation Y/N smiles tirdly up at Remus, placing his hand on Remus' upper arm "Thank you, tho Im going to have to ask for a rain check on the tucking in" and putting more of his weight onto Remus' arm he lift his body fully upright and over the arm of the sofa, beginning to trail on after Moody. Remus was caught breathless by this physical contact and it wasn't until the sound of the back door shutting, signalling they had left did he clear his throat, straighten up and begin to slowly fold up the blanket that was still in his hands.

"I know what your going to say" Remus says in an annoyed tone to the room sensing that Sirius is still standing in the doorway, arms folded and looking at him, "Oh good because I know what your going to say, you cant possibly tell him how you feel because he shouldn't have to be burdened with the likes of you and your condition and you deserve to die alone and brooding, Mooney if you weren't so loveable your level of self deprecation would be suffocating ". With a huff Remus places the blanket back onto the sofa "I say those things for a good reason Sirius, Y/N is already run off his feet I ... I just want him to be looked after" he says looking defeated at his friend. There's a moment of silence. "I will talk to Moody, see if he can give the lad a day off" Sirius says with a understanding nod, then leaves the room.

Two nights later Remus is lying awake listening to the rain, unable to sleep. The full moon was approaching soon and his senses were digging into him like pins from all directions, his ears picked up a clicking sound which he knows is the sound of the back door latch being opened two floors down. Y/N? Making his way down and towards the kitchen the sound of rain grows louder and opening the kitchen door Remus observed the pale blue light of the night filling the kitchen as the backdoor was wide opening, creating a perfectly framed rectangle of rain coming down steadily. A silhouette is standing in the frame, a small orange glow appearing under their face as they take a long drag from their cigarette, Y/N was staring out into the rain and didn't notice Remus until he closed the door behind him and began to walk towards his direction. At first Y/N looked shocked but upon seeing Remus face his own face relaxed "hello stranger" Y/N says with a smirk before dropping his cigarette to the floor and crushing it with his boot.

"Mind if I join you?" Remus was leaning on the opposite side of the door frame to Y/N pointing down at his packet of smokes. Y/N starts to take two fresh cigs out as a gust of wind goes by making him shudder slightly. "I enjoy watching the rain so much I forgot about the cold" he says with a nervous laugh looking down. Shadow falls over Y/N as he realise Remus is towering over him, arms rolling back and then moving forward as the taller man removes his cardigan and gently places is around Y/Ns shoulders. Slipping his arms into the sleeves Y/N doesn't protest and instead silently looks up into Remus piercing blue eyes. Maintaining eye contact he puts one cigarette into his own mouth and guides the second towards Remus's lips, the older man parts his lips slightly letting the cigarette be placed in his mouth. Leaning in closer till the cigarette tips are almost touching Y/N brings up the lighter and lights them both at once. Smoke begins to build up between them but their eyes stay connected.

Remus adored how deep Y/Ns Y/E/C eyes were, their intense stare made his heart flutter. He clears his throat and takes a drag. Within Remus felt like he was burning up. He had to tell Y/N about how he felt and how they couldn't do anything, it just wouldn't be fair on him. "Remus I need to tell you something" Y/N said breaking the intimate silence between them. "Okay" Remus tilted his head and looked down at Y/N as he brought his cigarette to his lips between his fingers. "Over the past week I've developed strong feelings for you.. really strong feelings" Y/Ns eyes are fixed on an unknown point outside as he taps ash onto the wet ground "I doubt you share them but regardless I need to let you know what nothing can happen here. Im not worth the trouble and it wouldn't be fair on you" Y/N looks up at Remus with a smsll sad smile. Remus is dumbfounded. This guy just stole my line he thought.

"Y/N.. how could you say that about yourself! You are extraordinarily considerate and caring. If i had to go a day without seeing your handwriting in our book i don't think id bother getting out of bed", Remus was taken aback by his own honestly, everything was coming out now so why stop. "Remus. Stop. This cant happen. I will cause you nothing but pain." Y/Ns tone is much more stern and has straighten up folding his arms across his chest, his chin just about the height of Remus' shoulder. "The only thing you currently cause me is worry Y/N" Remus blurts out "Your working yourself into the ground , I know everyone's missions are important but .. but I cant help but want to look after you." The rain is getting harder. "Im beyond help" mutters Y/N has he flicks his cigarette away "just stay away from me okay". "Y/N you are being ridicules" Remus says reaching out to touch Y/Ns shoulder but Y/N shoves it away forcefully. "Fuck you Lupin. You. Dont. Know. Me. You cant help me. No one can!" Y/Ns eyes are pricking with tears and with a spin of his heel he storms out into the rain. This time Remus reaches out and successfully grabs Y/Ns cardigan covered shoulder "wait please!". Y/Ns tears are mixed with the rain and he starts to struggle against Remus grip.

Remus's cardigan hung lose over Y/Ns upper body so with his thrashing and Remus tight grip and piece of clothing began to slip off Y/Ns body with ease until it was left in shambles in Remus arms. He stood hunched in the door frame, Y/N stood up straight, breathing heavily in the pouring rain, both staring at Y/Ns outstretched arm from where the cardigan had left. Remus' eyes widen in disbelief. A distinct red mark flowed up Y/Ns arm like a curling spiral with a thin whiter lined mark within the red, almost looked as it it was glowing. It looked as if Y/N had barbed wire under his skin. Remus had read about this many of time but had never seen it in real life but there was no mistaking the permeant mark of the Unbreakable Vow.

#remus #lupin #remus lupin #90s #gay #remus lupin x male reader #remus x you #remus x reader #fanfic #fluff #remus x y/n #angst #magic

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jodilin65 · 11 months ago

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Yay! Tom’s lab results are great! His TSH is 3.25 (lucky guy), and his cholesterol is low, though it has always been low. His glucose is 84, and he said he can't remember it ever being that low. His A1C has dropped from 6.2 to 5.8, which surprised me. While it’s an improvement, it’s still considered pre-diabetic; I thought the pre-diabetic range was 6.0 to 6.4, but it’s actually 5.7 to 6.4. So, he’s still slightly pre-diabetic. This gives me hope that if cutting back on sugar could drop him four points, it could bring me into the normal range since I was at 6.0. Genetics could still eventually work against us, but this gives me hope for the immediate future.

There’s no way my cholesterol will be even close to good, but hopefully, my TSH won't be too out of whack. I'm going to try my best to get it into the single digits, but I won't increase the vitamins until it gets closer to my lab appointment.

Even though I'll never lose weight, and I doubt Tom will either, going keto is definitely the smart thing to do. It’s much healthier. Yes, most sugary snacks do taste better than sugar-free ones, but there are still plenty of yummy sugar-free options. The cookie dough fat bombs I made were so good that Tom only let himself have one because he knew he’d get carried away, lol. They’re very sweet and rich-tasting. The brown sugar substitute called Swerve is amazing—it looks, tastes, and smells like the real thing!

The next thing I’m going to try is making my own cheese crackers. I got ultra-thin Sargento cheddar cheese, and after cutting each slice into fours, I'm going to lay them out on parchment paper and bake them at 250° for 45 minutes. It says to check every 5 minutes, and I will because we do have a bit of a kick-ass oven.

I can’t take Zyrtec anymore. It makes me sleep too long and leaves me groggy and hungover the next day. I’m still a little fuzzy-brained, and I got up at 7:30 p.m. I’m going to have to use the spray, but only when the congestion gets bad. I just hope that if we ever move, I don’t have epic sneezing fits wherever we go.

I’m still not sure if there are any foods that leave me tired the next day, but I spotted an entry of mine from 2015 that mentioned feeling perkier since cutting back on carbs. I had good energy yesterday and the day before, but I also took ibuprofen before bed, and I wonder if that’s why I slept sounder.

Yesterday’s glass of wine made my heart race. I don’t know why, but it does this every now and then. Maybe I sipped it too quickly. I probably won’t have any tonight.

I began watching FBI and like it even if there’s too much of America’s favorite subject. It’s by the same producer, Dick Wolf, who produced Law & Order.

The Muslim guy with a leading role was quoted as saying he wants to show the world that Muslims and Arabs aren’t bad.

LOL, yeah, tell that to the Israelis.

I might watch PD True as well.

I was about to edit and post this but then I ended up taking a 90-minute nap. I don’t know why, but it’s been a wonderfully plane-free night since I first got up early in the evening. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever gone that long without hearing something flying up there. Ironically, it comes after yet another complaint to the FAA, but I don’t think it’s connected to that—people just don’t care.

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jimblejamblewritings · 3 years ago

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snow falls hot | part 15.

Summary: (Y/N) Snow isn’t a Snow at all. She’s a Targaryen— Rhaegar’s child. Taken in by the Starks, she leads her life as another on of Ned’s bastards. Will she be able to live in Westeros comfortably? More importantly, does she have any ambition to see herself one day on the Iron Throne?

Warnings: it’s game of thrones…

Pairing: gendry x reader

Word Count: 3.7k

Previous Part | (Series Masterlist)

Winterfell was thriving. The North was very much the same. It was still taking time to recover after the dead marched through. But the North felt promising with you. The lords and ladies of their houses had confidence when they agreed that you should lead. Under Ned’s thumb, side by side with Robb. It was obvious you knew the North in and out. And from little, the ones old enough to remember you remembered the air of royalty and leadership that trailed behind you as you walked through Winterfell.

You and Shadow had come back from Bear Island the day before. Some of the Free Folk were now living there with all of House Mormont killed. The Free Folk adapted well to living inside the Wall. They still did things their way but found that a lot of their customs aligned with typical views of the North. Shadow became the best resource possible. You quickly could reach the farthest ends of your kingdom. If supplies were needed, you could take them by strapping a basket to her legs.

When you didn’t need to go very far or the baby wasn’t in the mood to fly, you would take Grey Wind. The wolf reached full height when he was practically still a puppy, but the spryness of a young almost teenage wolf was apparent. He seemed to run faster nowadays and get distracted rather easily sometimes. Ghost often came with you if he wasn’t trailing behind Tormund who stayed in Winterfell instead of marching South.

The gates opened to let you and Grey Wind back inside. You laughed as you watched the children race after their dragons— Eddard stopping briefly to wave to you before following his friends. Sansa approached, her dragon blowing a puff of smoke before flying far away in the other direction. You slid off of Grey Wind, who licked the back of your hand and walked away to wherever he was going.

“You’re barely showing,” she commented. “Was it like that with Eddard?”

Having missed your first pregnancy, Sansa was very much involved with this one. She was there for every task to the point where she was almost pushing the midwife out of her job. You laughed and held your stomach.

“Oh no. By the time we reached the Twins it was fairly obvious I was pregnant. Sam is learning about children from the midwives. They say sometimes you stay small all the way until the birth.”

Before Sansa could say something else or take another step, Jaime and Brienne approached on horseback. They jumped down from the horses and Jaime brandished a letter. You looked at the wax seal with a dragon on it— it could only be from Daenerys. You tore through the seal.

“What is it?” Sansa asked as your eyes scanned the paper quickly.

“It’s from Varys.”

“What does the Spider want?” Brienne asked.

“He says Cersei has brought all the citizens into the city… a human shield.”

“Surely—”

“She won’t attack? They killed her dragon, taken her closest friend captive. She says she will tear Cersei from root to stem. When the false queen doesn’t surrender because we all know she will not, Aunt Daeny wants everyone to know it was Cersei’s fault the sky was brought down on King’s Landing.”

You read the exact quote from the parchment. You read the paper once more and crumpled it up.

“How did she take Meereen, lead the Dothraki? She has always used fire to get what she wants. Brash and a tyrant. A single utterance of a word she doesn’t like and she thinks you must be destroyed from it as if everyone will agree with every decision you make. She speaks of breaking a wheel but all she has done is continue it, she thinks because her people aren’t in chains that means she is just.”

The three around you watched as your eyes went white and Grey Wind returned to your side. Another flash of white and Shadow dropped into the courtyard. You turned to Sansa.

“I know you’ve only ridden her for fun but the saddle is in the stables, Eddard is comfortable as well if you need help.”

You adjusted your bow, sword, and quiver of arrows and swung back onto Grey Wind. Jaime grabbed your arm.

“Where are you going, Your Grace?”

“I need to get my brother before our Aunt leads him to his death.”

“He is capable. This is Jon— ”

“No! He isn’t Jon Snow or Lord Crow or whatever. His name is Aegon, Aegon Targaryen-Stark and I will not let that usurper of a Dragon Queen take his life. Gendry is with him!”

“You are pregnant.”

Brienne’s words stopped you. You relaxed your fingers from where they were gripping Grey Wind’s fur and looked at three of your advisors in front of you. They watched your fingers dance on your stomach before you squared off your shoulders and looked them in the eye.

“I had a dream and Daenerys has taken the second path. One that promises fire and blood on the backs of innocent people. I wanted to put my faith in her because she is family, it has been broken. I am not the Queen in the North, nor the rightful heir to Seven Kingdoms or an Iron Throne. The Iron Throne is a chair, a concept that no longer exists. Seven Kingdoms do not exist, only one and that is Westeros. I am Queen of Westeros and two false queens threaten my people.”

Brienne, Jaime, and Sansa all bowed down understanding that nothing would change your mind. They didn’t want to agree but acknowledged you were speaking like a true royal.

“What would you have us do, Your Grace?” Sansa asked when they stood back up.

“Little Bird, keep Winterfell in the dark. Northernmen do not need to march for me, they are needed here. You will arrange for Uncle Edmure and the Vale to escort Bran, Tormund, Sam and anyone else you deem important to King’s Landing. They will need to leave tomorrow. You and Eddard will as well. Fly to us on Shadow.”

“Should you not take your dragon?” she asked.

“No. She will see Shadow a mile away. I want to save King’s Landing not rain fire on them. Grey Wind, big as he might be, is less noticeable.”

“And us?” Brienne asked, motioning to her and Jaime.

Your eyes went white and they watched Grey Wind howl. Not long after, Ghost appeared.

“Riding a direwolf is much like riding a horse. Do you two need a saddle?”

Ghost growled slightly when Jaime went to attach his horse’s saddle to the wolf until you shushed him. The dire wolf let the saddle be strapped around him and then both new riders get on. You nodded at Sansa before Grey Wind sped off. Brienne and Jaime both held to Ghost’s fur with a nervousness as he followed behind his brother.

The wolves were well on the path to King’s Landing when you stopped so they could drink. With the people in the land now knowing who you were, you weren’t concerned about food. If the three of you got hungry, any tavern or farmer would be glad to feed you. The wolves were lapping at the river water when you gasped. Brienne and Jaime were up immediately but you reassured them it was fine.

“You sounded anything but,” Jaime commented.

“I’ve never dreamed while awake before. Ser Jaime, what did my grandfather say before you killed him?”

“Burn them all… why?”

“Dracarys,” you whispered.

“I’m sorry?”

You shook your head. There was no way to tell them you saw Missandei’s head. You saw fire not just red but green as well. The ringing of bells still echoed in your ear. There was no way to tell them that what you saw was like the Long Night only fire instead of ice and the living instead of the dead. You walked away from them to bend down and pet Ghost and Grey Wind while they were drinking. Jaime and Brienne watched you sit in the grass between the wolves who eventually sat down as well.

“Was she always like this?” Brienne asked him.

Jaime nodded. “I remember seeing her in Winterfell, how they loved her. She was a Snow then but there was always something different about her. Of course back then I was only thinking not the worst choice for a wife that Robert could have made me take.”

Brienne lightly hit his shoulder and Jaime chuckled before continuing.

“But yes, she’s always been like this. A bit more hardened now.”

“Who wouldn’t be after what has happened to her. I can’t help but think how different the world would be if Ned had told the truth,” Brienne pondered.

“I’d still be queen,” you said suddenly and looked back at them.

Your two knights jumped slightly in surprise, thinking you hadn’t been listening to them. You laughed and stood up to walk back over to them and sit down. Brienne held up a canteen of water and you took it along with some bread that was in their bag. Picking at the bread, you took a bite and chewed a bit before continuing to speak.

“Your words are kind Ser Jaime but I haven’t always been like this. I wasn’t smart. I told Ned to bend the knee to Joffrey and he died.”

“You did?”

“Varys took me to see him in the dungeons and Ned told him. My biggest kept secret was one shared by too many people to be a secret if any of you were aware the other ones knew. Our trusty spider told Ned he had a choice to install the true ruler and I… I still remember what I said, I… Lord Stark will bend the knee. My decisions led many to death when I was younger, more stupid.”

“You did what you thought was right to protect your family and your people.”

You shook your head at Brienne’s words. “But I didn’t. I second guessed my own dreams because I was so determined to be a plain girl, just live.”

“What changed that?”

“There’s a small farm nearby, I know the family. They took care of Eddard and I when he was still a baby. Winter was coming and they, the other families around, were barely surviving. My dreams became too much to ignore anymore— that’s all I did after Robb’s death, ignore my dreams. But I couldn’t anymore… I used to scoff at the idea of birthrights and prophecies.”

“Now?”

“Now? I still think they can be a crock of shit,” you chuckled at how the two knights looked stunned at your word choice. “But they also mean something to those willing to rise to the occasion.”

Jaime raised his canteen.

“Enith of House Targaryen-Stark. First of Her Name, Commander of Beasts, Shadow Rider, and Magic Entertainer. Queen of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men. Lady of Winterfell, Azor Ahai, rightful heir to the Iron Throne and the Seven Kingdoms now turned one. Queen of Westeros.”

Brienne raised her canteen as well. You bowed your head and with a smile held up the bread in your hand as a toast. The two knights seemed so sure of you that you couldn’t help but be sure of yourself. As soon as the sun broke the horizon, you guys were immediately back on the wolves. In a few hours, Sansa would be sending the Vale to protect Bran on his way. In a few days, she and Eddard would be in King’s Landing. Not just to save innocent citizens but to save your son as well, you didn’t have much time.

The wolves were almost at King’s Landing when you abruptly stopped. Brienne and Jaime looked around in confusion when you jumped down from Grey Wind. Your head whipped wildly and you turned to face them, worry apparent on your face.

“Do you hear it too?”

“Hear what?” Brienne asked.

“The bells.”

Jaime couldn’t help but adjust his grip on his sword, having heard a conversation similar to this before. Brienne cleared her throat to inform you that she hadn’t. Jaime shook his head in agreeance. You nodded slowly and laughed. Jaime held onto his sword a bit harder. Even Brienne was slightly worried.

“Magic is madness. It isn’t ringing— it’s death. It always comes back to the Doom doesn’t it?”

“Your Grace?”

“Daenys Targaryen, the reason our House even exists today. The Doom, whatever it was, sounded like ringing in her dreams. Death has always sounded like the ringing of bells and it haunts us all whether we know it or not.”

“What are you saying?” Brienne tried to find meaning in your words.

“The gods don’t flip a coin each time a Targaryen is born. We are all mad. We all hear death, play with magic, exist in realms man probably shouldn’t go. It isn’t fate or the gods’ whim that some of us are tyrants, potentially even evil. That is a choice all on our own.”

“What you hear?” Jaime asked as he relaxed his grip on the sword. “This bell ringing, death… does that mean Daenerys has made her choice?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“I hear death and it tells me to protect the living and avoid it. Aerys heard death and it told him to kill who he perceived as an enemy and ensure it. Jon— Aegon— hears death and it tells him to keep fighting and hold it off another day, for enemies and his people alike. I do not know what Viserys heard, we’ll never know what Rhaegar heard. And I don’t know what Daeny hears, not for certain. I don’t think she quite knows herself.”

“But she will make a choice soon.”

“She will.”

“And?”

You touched your stomach, the icy wound chilling your fingertips.

“I haven’t looked for ghosts since getting stabbed by the Night King. They remind me too much of my own death to speak to them but they are forcing me to listen. If I am to protect the living and avoid death, we cannot wait for Daenerys to decipher what the bells mean to her. The people cannot wait.”

“We need to warn them, then.”

“Sansa should be flying overhead soon. King’s Landing might be on fire when we get there, Cersei hiding in the Red Keep. I don’t know about Jon and Gendry, or Arya. We have to be smart, you are my Queensguard but the people are more important than I am at the moment.”

“You want us to help get them to safety?” Brienne asked.

“Yes. I’ll find everyone else on my own. I’m going to kill Cersei and when Daeny comes for her head she will see me sitting on the throne instead, waiting for her to answer to all her crimes. But I need you two to move as many people out of the fire’s path… and don’t get yourselves killed while doing so.”

They nodded and you made the little journey left into King’s Landing. Armies stormed the streets and the fire hadn’t started yet and while you had hope, you were worried it was coming. Grey Wind raced through the streets until you found your men, Jon, Gendry, and Ser Davos leading them all along with the Unsullied. Lannister men were in their way— a tense standoff. Gendry and Jon were surprised to see you in front of them. You jumped down from Grey Wind and Gendry was immediately to you, hand on your stomach.

“Take our armies and go back to your camp.”

“You swore an allegiance to help Daenerys,” Grey Worm interjected.

You ignored him and looked at Gendry and Jon then at the Lannister army behind you. “Their swords are on the ground. Have they surrendered?”

“Yes,” Jon responded.

“Good, take them with you. And if any would like to go back to Winterfell or even Casterly Rock they are welcome to stay in our camp until we leave. You are done here.”

“Of course, Your Grace.”

“Your allegiance—”

“Is to my Queen,” Jon cut Grey Worm off. “And that is not Daenerys.”

Bells started to ring and you shook your head. At first Northern men were smiling in relief but one look at their queen and they knew something else was wrong. Your grip on Gendry’s forearms tightened. You looked to the skies to try and find the large looming form of Drogon.

“Tell them to stop,” you said. “Tell them to stop ringing the bell.”

Your hands moved to cover your ears but the ringing could still be heard. You felt surrounded and soon the physical bells sounded like the ones of spirits and you knew what your Aunt’s choice would be. You looked past Gendry at Jon.

“Get the people out of here! As many as you—”

Fire. You all ducked as fire swept overhead, hitting the tops of buildings right around you. Grey Worm picked up his spear and threw it at the Lannister army— the Unsullied and even some Northern men resuming in fighting. Jon, Gendry, and Ser Davos rushed you to the side underneath the cover of another building as the men began a rampage. You organized as quickly and as efficiently as you could. The Northerners that hadn’t gone red with bloodlust listened to Ser Davos’ orders to sweep the streets before everyone was turned into ash.

Others went with Jon to stop the Unsullied from attacking more Lannister men, who were retreating, or innocent civilians now that Daenerys had declared war on all of them. Gendry went with you on Grey Wind as you tried to avoid the fire and race through the Red Keep. A puff of green caught your eye in the distance. Wildfire, the random spots left by Aerys were lighting up around the city. You and Gendry reached the Red Keep, not completely in shambles but parts of it damaged.

“Arya?” you questioned at the figure in the distance by the stairs.

Your sister straightened up and looked at you. You cleared the distance first to give her a hug.

“Oh, I wasn’t sure if you were in the city or safe.”

“Daenerys—”

“I know. Jon is trying to get her to stop. They are helping people to safety. Where is the Hound?”

“He just left to fight his brother.”

“You and Gendry clear the people from the Keep before the fire reaches. Take Grey Wind with you, he’ll lead you back to me when you are finished.”

Arya nodded and gave you another hug before running off. Gendry stepped up to you again. His hands rubbed over your stomach as he looked over you. His lips mashed up against yours, not quite fitting properly together, before he followed Arya. You watched the three figures disappear before making your way up the stairs and into the castle.

Cersei knew when it was time to retreat. There was an exit through the dungeons. She would leave there and live another day. Live another day to fight off the Dragon Queen. Her footsteps echoed against the concrete but abruptly stopped when she became aware that she wasn’t the only one making noise in the dungeon. Faint humming made her stop running and slowly walk, the humming turned into low singing.

“Only a cat of a different coat, that’s all the truth I know,” you began to sing as your fingers traced your bow. “In a coat of gold or a coat of red, a lion still has claws…”

You were sitting on the large dragon skull that you touched years ago. Cersei backed up when suddenly an arrow zipped past her, causing her to stop and turn back to you. She stood deathly still and you couldn’t help but smirk as you pointed an arrow at Cersei. It was like herding a sheep, she only moved when you made a motion.

“If you had had better control of your son, maybe we wouldn’t be here now,” you said.

“Please,” Cersei muttered.

“Are you here to beg for mercy? Bend the knee to me, ask me to be honorable? You should have left us alone, all the Starks ever wanted was to be left alone.”

“It was war.”

“I’ve heard your brother say that before. You know, Stark men don’t fare well when they come South. Luckily, I am not a man and we are no longer just Starks.”

Before she could say another word, you let the arrow fly. Cersei sunk to her knees as she clutched at her shoulder— you were careful not to aim directly for her heart. You slid down from the dragon skull, pulling out your sword. It scraped against the concrete as you dragged it.

“Our House live by a code. The man who passes the sentence must swing the sword. Cersei Lannister, for your crimes against Westeros, I sentence you to die—”

“I am with child,” Cersei begged. “Let me live my life in the dungeons, I beg of you.”

“You’re pregnant?” you asked with eyebrows raised as she nodded frantically.“Who is the father?”

“Euron Greyjoy.”

Cersei watched your hand automatically go to your own stomach. “You are too, with child? You have a new lover?”

You nodded without much thought. “Gendry… Robert’s bastard.”

A chuckle escaped your lips as your words sunk in that Robert Baratheon was still haunting everyone in a way— his presence forever known. The chuckle erupted into laughter and soon Cersei joined you as she realized the same thing. The dungeon echoed with shrill laughter of women and then fell silent as Cersei’s head hit the floor, your sword making a clean cut through her neck. You bent down to where her head was.

“I am not Ned or Robb, I will not die by honor. A lesson the Lannisters taught me.”

You picked her head up by the hair and began to walk out of the dungeons. Grey Wind greeted you as you made your way to the main area again. Only Arya was with him.

“Sansa’s arrived.”

“Here.” You threw Arya Cersei’s head. “Let us greet the Dragon Queen and our guests.”

(end)...

#game of thrones fic #asoiaf fic #gendry x reader

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thelustybraavosimaid · 3 years ago

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@doublehex.

You asked, I shall answer on a different post (as not to clog mummersblade's activity/post):

Did GRRM always plan on Jon being resurrected, or do you think lines like that one is just a coincidence? There are times that I think GRRM always planned on it, right from the start.

Yes, I really think he did. Let me find the quotes to kind of back this up:

Finally he looked north. He saw the Wall shining like blue crystal, and his bastard brother Jon sleeping alone in a cold bed, his skin growing pale and hard as the memory of all warmth fled from him. (Bran III, AGoT)

Chunks of coal burned in iron braziers at either end of the long room, but Jon found himself shivering. The chill was always with him here. In a few years he would forget what it felt like to be warm. (Jon III, AGoT)

“Yes, life,” Noye said. “A long life or a short one, it’s up to you, Snow. The road you’re walking, one of your brothers will slit your throat for you one night.” (Jon III, AGoT)

He saw the glint of steel, turned toward it. “No blades!” he screamed. “Wick, put that knife…”

…away, he meant to say. When Wick Whittlestick slashed at his throat, the word turned into a grunt. Jon twisted from the knife, just enough so it barely grazed his skin. He cut me. When he put his hand to the side of his neck, blood welled between his fingers. “Why?”

“For the Watch.” Wick slashed at him again. (Jon XIII, ADwD)

Jon lost his life not just for Arya, but also from growing discontent with fellow Night's Watchmen, shown early on in ADwD and it's his inflexibility—and his involvement in the matters of the realm—that led to his demise. This line of Noye's especially seems to be foreshadowing enough for me, not dissimilar to Arya's "a wolf with a fish in its mouth?" quote.

The original outline mentions that there is a deadly rivalry, between Jon and Tyrion, over Arya. The dynamic is still there, but the members have been switched around. We've seen this enacted in the series (still with) Jon, but over "Arya" and with Ramsay (as he burned Winterfell, with the sieging "assistance" from Theon. There is obviously no real love, helpless or otherwise, between Jeyne and Ramsay, but as his wife, Ramsay claims possession of her). In a way, it is Ramsay's words and letter (assuming he wrote it) that also led to Jon's death.

Send them to me, bastard, and I will not trouble you or your black crows. Keep them from me, and I will cut out your bastard's heart and eat it. (Jon XIII, ADwD)

His fingers closed around the parchment. Would that they could crush Ramsay Bolton's throat as easily. (Jon VI, ADwD)

...

I have my swords, thought Jon Snow, and we are coming for you, Bastard. (Jon XIII, ADwD)

I cannot help but feel that George always intended to make him test his vows - unsuccessfully in the beginning, hard decisions to make but ones that would ultimately allow him to go back and realise his duty, before he gets hit really hard with the final one, the deadly one.

So I think his intention was always to die and come back. And that's the importance of Melisandre staying on the Wall. (I feel like Jon is the *stone dragon* that R'hllor wants her to wake, but that is a conversation for a different time.)

My spells should suffice. She was stronger at the Wall, stronger even than in Asshai. Her every word and gesture was more potent, and she could do things that she had never done before. (Melisandre I, ADwD)

So since we established that Jon was, in my opinion, almost designed to die, there had to be some kind of workaround for him to return. What better way than with resurrection?

As he had criticised Tolkien for with Gandalf, his idea of returning would come with a twist.

Even less likely is that he came up with Jon being killed and resurrected while he was writing ADWD. He starts to lay down the foreshadowing real thick in that book, so that could be evidence that he needed to lay the train tracks as the train was coming to town.

Yeah, I would even go so far as to say that he began the death imagery and hints for Jon in AGoT:

Jon shook his head. "No one. The castle is always empty." He had never told anyone of the dream, and he did not understand why he was telling Sam now, yet somehow it felt good to talk of it. "Even the ravens are gone from the rookery, and the stables are full of bones. That always scares me. I start to run then, throwing open doors, climbing the tower three steps at a time, screaming for someone, for anyone. And then I find myself in front of the door to the crypts. It's black inside, and I can see the steps spiraling down. Somehow I know I have to go down there, but I don't want to. I'm afraid of what might be waiting for me. The old Kings of Winter are down there, sitting on their thrones with stone wolves at their feet and iron swords across their laps, but it's not them I'm afraid of. I scream that I'm not a Stark, that this isn't my place, but it's no good, I have to go anyway, so I start down, feeling the walls as I descend, with no torch to light the way. It gets darker and darker, until I want to scream." He stopped, frowning, embarrassed. "That's when I always wake." (Jon IV, AGoT)

There's a lot waiting down there for him - Ned, Lyanna, perhaps? Information about his parentage? But also death.

There's an interesting theory that the crypts serve as an in-between of life and death, which is why Rickon and Bran dreamt of Ned down in the crypts even before the raven came with the announcement that he had died.

The names of the direwolves also are important. The fact that we know that wargs and skinchangers live on in their bonded companions gives credence to Ghost's name.

I'm not so sure about this, as I think the biggest reason he has Lady Stoneheart and Berric Dondarion is to set up Jon's resurrection, but there is still the chance he connected all those three characters together after he wrote ASOS.

Yep! He talked about this before, actually:

And, ehh, he’s more or less the same as always, except he’s more powerful. It always felt a little bit like a cheat to me. And as I got older and considered it more, it also seemed to me that death doesn’t make you more powerful. That’s, in some ways, me talking to Tolkien in the dialogue, saying, “Yeah, if someone comes back from being dead, especially if they suffer a violent, traumatic death, they’re not going to come back as nice as ever.” That’s what I was trying to do, and am still trying to do, with the Lady Stoneheart character.

And Jon Snow, too, is drained by the experience of coming back from the dead on the show.

Right. And poor Beric Dondarrion, who was set up as the foreshadowing of all this, every time he’s a little less Beric. His memories are fading, he’s got all these scars, he’s becoming more and more physically hideous, because he’s not a living human being anymore. His heart isn’t beating, his blood isn’t flowing in his veins, he’s a wight, but a wight animated by fire instead of by ice, now we’re getting back to the whole fire and ice thing.

George describes Lady Stoneheart in this same interview as "a vengeful wight who galvanizes a group of people around her and is trying to exact her revenge on the riverlands."

Jon will be different in the sense that he is a warg and has a shield against what's causing Stoneheart and Beric's deteriorations—Ghost—but being a warg has its perils as well:

"They say you forget," Haggon had told him, a few weeks before his own death. "When the man's flesh dies, his spirit lives on inside the beast, but every day his memory fades, and the beast becomes a little less a warg, a little more a wolf, until nothing of the man is left and only the beast remains." (Prologue, ADwD)

As Jon is the only main character warg who actually died, this passage is meant to be about him.

#ramble

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jackoshadows · 3 years ago

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In the books:

Wex stole after the two, a woman and a boy. He must have stayed downwind, so the wolf would not catch his scent."

"He knows where they went," Lord Wyman said.

Davos understood. "You want the boy."

"Roose Bolton has Lord Eddard's daughter. To thwart him White Harbor must have Ned's son … and the direwolf. The wolf will prove the boy is who we say he is, should the Dreadfort attempt to deny him. That is my price, Lord Davos. Smuggle me back my liege lord, and I will take Stannis Baratheon as my king." - Davos, ADwD

GRRM interview:

He was asked where is Rickon and what will happen to him (a reader who forgot a part of ADWD it seems). GRRM said Rickon will appear in TWOW.

GRRM about Osha, SSM, Deeper than Swords: 26 Mar 2014 (its around the 56 min mark)

Q: Can you think of instances in seeing these portrayals, the actor’s take that gave you a new perspective?

GRRM: When Osha comes back in the books, it’s possible, I haven’t actually gotten to it yet that she will be influenced by what I’ve seen, that I will write a more interesting character.

Unicorns in TWoW, SSM: Neil DeGrasse Tyson's Startalk: 17 May 2019

Unicorns will appear in TWOW and GRRM will have a "unique" take on them

GRRM SSM, 8 Sept 2014

Q: Let us quote J. K. Rowling, queen of fantasy: “Fantasy has its own laws. Some things are prohibited. No sex near unicorns. ”

A: There are unicorns in my next book, and probably sex not far from unicorns. There's a lot of sex in "The Iron Throne" despite the dragons.

GRRM notes while writing season 4 of GOT, Vanity fair article:

Speaking of which: Martin leaves a little note for the producers when writing about Ramsay’s flesh-eating hounds, whom we see hunting down a girl for sport.

[N.B. A note for future reference. A season or two down the line Ramsay’s pack of wolfhounds are going to be sent against the Stark direwolves, so we should build up the dogs as much as possible in this and subsequent episodes]

This is the alignment of houses in the North:

Houses supporting the Boltons: Frey, Dustin and Ryswell. Manderly (Fake), Umber, Locke, Hornwood, Stout, Cerwyns, Tallharts, Slates - all most probably not loyal to the Boltons

Northern houses with Stannis Baratheon, fighting to free Arya Stark: Mountain clans - Flints, Norreys, Wulls and Liddles, Glover, Mormont, Umber, Karstark (Fake)

Note: Manderly has promised that he will be leige lord to Stannis if Davos gets him Rickon. Many of Roose’s bannermen (Umber is seen talking to Manderly, Stout consults with Umber etc.) maybe aware of what Manderly is planning and know about Rickon Stark.

House Glover is also interesting. Sybelle Glover declares for Stannis after he defeats the Iron Born at Deepwood Motte. Robett Glover is plotting with Manderly at White Harbor with respect to Rickon. Arya Stark helps free Robett Glover and other Northmen at Harrenhal. Galbart Glover is in the Neck with Robb’s decree legitimizing Jon Snow and naming him KITN.

This is the current weather in the North in ADwD:

“Lord Stannis is lost in the storm,” said Lady Dustin. “He’s leagues away, dead or dying. Let winter do its worst. A few more days and the snows will bury him and his army both.” - A ghost in Winterfell, ADwD

---

The first flakes came drifting down as the sun was setting in the west. By nightfall snow was coming down so heavily that the moon rose behind a white curtain, unseen. - The Turncloak, ADwD

---

The yard was a white wilderness, full of half-heard sounds that echoed strangely amidst the storm.The icy trenches rose around them, knee high, then waist high, then higher than their heads.They were in the heart of Winterfell with the castle all around them, but no sign of it could be seen.They might have easily been lost amidst the Land of Always Winter,a thousand leagues beyond the Wall. - Theon, ADwD

---

Lord Bolton unrolled the parchment. “His host lies not three days’ ride from here, snowbound and starving, and I for one am tired of waiting on his pleasure.” - Theon, ADwD

---

“The gods have turned against us,” old Lord Locke was heard to say in the Great Hall. “This is their wroth. A wind as cold as hell itself and snows that never end. We are cursed.” - A Ghost in Winterfell, ADwD

---

By the ninth day of the storm, every camp saw the captains and commanders entering the king's tent wet and weary...and report their losses for the day.

The fifteenth day of the march came and went, and they had crossed less than half the distance.

On the twenty-sixth day...the last of the vegetables was consumed...On the thirty-second day, the last of the grain and fodder. - The Sacrifice, ADwD

---

Justin Massey looked up from his horsemeat. “The cold count last night reached eighty.” He pulled a piece of gristle from his teeth and flicked it to the nearest dog. “If we march, we will die by the hundreds.”

“We had eight hundred horses when we marched from Deepwood Motte. Last night the count was sixty-four.” That did not shock her. Almost all of their big destriers had failed, including Massey's own. Most of their palfreys were gone as well. Even the garrons of the northmen were faltering for want of fodder - The Sacrifice, ADwD

---

“Winter is almost upon us, boy. And winter is death. I would sooner my men die fighting for the Ned’s little girl than alone and hungry in the snow, weeping tears that freeze upon their cheeks.” - The King’s Prize, ADwD

---

We had expected to find the king at Winterfell. This same blizzard has engulfed the castle, alas. Beneath its walls we found Mors Umber with a troop of raw green boys, waiting for the king’s coming.” - The Sacrifice, ADwD

---

The snow was following heavily outside."Wind's from the south," Yarwick observed. It's blowing the snow right up against the Wall.See?

He was right.The switchback stair was buried almost to the first landing, Jon saw, and the wooden doors of the ice cells and storerooms had vanished behind a wall of white - Jon, ADwD

This is the state of things in the North before actual Winter hits, which happens at the end of ADwD. Winter is not coming anymore, it is here in the books. This is Arya warging Nymeria in the Riverlands:

Her nights were lit by distant stars and the shimmer of moonlight on snow, but every dawn she woke to darkness.

------

"What three new things do you know, that you did not know before?"

"I know that some men are saying that Tormo Fregar will surely be the new sealord," she answered. "Some drunken men."

"Better. And what else do you know?"

It is snowing in the riverlands, in Westeros, she almost said. - The Blind Girl, ADwD

---

The castle dominated the broad fertile valley that maps and men alike called Blackwood Vale. A vale it was, beyond a doubt, but no wood had grown here for several thousand years, be it black or brown or green. Once, yes, but axes had long since cleared the trees away. Homes and mills and holdfasts had risen where once the oaks stood tall. The ground was bare and muddy, and dotted here and there with drifts of melting snow. - Jaime, ADwD

And finally KL:

"On the window seat a raven loitered, pale, huge, its feathers ruffled. It was the largest raven that Kevan Lannister had ever seen. Larger than any hunting hawk at Casterly Rock, larger than the largest owl. Blowing snow danced around it, and the moon painted it silver.

Not silver. White. The bird is white.

The white ravens of the Citadel did not carry messages, as their dark cousins did. When they went forth from Oldtown, it was for one purpose only: to herald a change of seasons.

"Winter," said Ser Kevan. The word made a white mist in the air. - epilogue, ADwD

Just a reminder that Rickon Stark and his direwolf are important and will be important in TWoW. One of the richest and most powerful houses in the North is backing Rickon Stark as Lord of Winterfell. Without Bran there, Rickon is the rightful heir to the North. Other Northerners in play include the Mountain clans marching for Arya Stark and the folks who know of and have Robb’s decree. And various Northern houses and clans are doing their own plotting to put a Stark in Winterfell.

Also a reminder that Stannis is stranded in a snow storm 3 days from Winterfell.

Marching from the Vale all the way to Winterfell in these harsh snowstorms, with a Vale army - who have no experience with the harsh conditions of the North - is near impossible.

Davos, Rickon, Shaggydog and Osha are certainly going to get to WF faster than Sansa and an army. Rickon has an actual Direwolf - the symbol of house Stark. House Stark follows male-preference primogeniture law of inheritance.

The Vale have their own problems brewing with winter here. Aegon has landed in the Stormlands, there is trouble in the Riverlands and KL is in chaos. Is the army going to abandon the Vale and go North in the harshest Winterstorms, experiencing huge loss of lives just to get Sansa to Winterfell?

The show is not the books. Nonsensical show plots don’t belong in the books. I will let just leave GRRM’s own words here:

In a convention panel this year, George said on the record that he had no idea what they were doing with Sansa or where they’re taking her storyline, which now makes sense perhaps.

#Rickon Stark #ADwD #TWoW speculation #GRRM #TWoW #The Northern Plot #The Vale #Arya Stark #Sansa Stark #Jon Snow #House Stark #Vale army

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softsan · 4 years ago

Text

NCT WEREWOLF AU (jaemin)

🖇Unsolved Love (pt.2)

MASTERLIST

PARTS: | 01 | 02 | 03 |

WOLF PROFILES | Y/N’S NAMES

GENRE: Werewolf AU, Mystery, Mermaid AU

QUOTE: “He had unanswered questions which he had dwelled on, an unexplained hollowness that had left him discontent. It is as if he lost something that day, but what?”

WARNINGS: Graphic scenes of violence, Blood,

The dampened parchment slipped between your fingers. You cursed, your eyes scanning frantically forth, deciphering as much as you could before the wet ink smeared to mush. You were aboard an enemy ship, gathering as much intel you possible could before your existence was discovered.

"Men!" The sea captain commanded his crew, "Find the one that dares trespass upon our vessel."

You cursed, overhearing the heavy boots clobber over the deck above. If you didn't flee now, they would discover exactly what you were after.

You pulled back the long sleeve of your midnight cloak, your fingers looping into the candle's holder. You lifted it from the adjacent trunk, the candle's wick drooping, lighting a shadow across your face. With little time to waste, you scoured through the last few items in the chest. You held up the wooden handle, a golden stamp at its end. You titled your head curiously. The stamp was used to imprint a crest of sorts into a letter's wax seal.

"Has anyone looked in the under quarters?"

You quickly shoveled the stamp into your deep pockets before blowing out the candle. You wandered in darkness, your sight better than most. You waited until the staircase was clear, slipping back on deck. The sailors were in a fluster, searching behind barrels and hoisting up sails.

You silently proceed, inching against the dank wall of the ship's cabin. You carefully peered around the corner, keeping your body hidden.

"And who do we have here?" A gruff voice startled you.

You stiffened under the sharp blade that was pressed against the side of your throat. The man jerked down your hood, your locks fumbling down to your shoulders.

"Woman?" He said with a tone of distaste.

He forcibly grasped your arm, shoving you out into the open, "I've found the trespasser," He announced to the rest of the crew.

The men gathered, some staring your down with lecherous sneers.

"Speak," The tallest came forth. He was wearing a captain's hat.

You didn't budge, your lips forming a thin line.

"Shall we make you talk then?" He raised a fist.

You let out a scoff, they could try, but it'd take a lot more than brute force to break you.

"Her eyes," One sailor spoke.

Immediately, you lowered your gaze.

They began to murmur amongst themselves, the captain calling for silence.

The blade beside your neck pressed harder, "This knife is made of silver, one slit, and you'd be dead."

Your mouth dried. They knew your weakness after all.

"Keep her away from the ends of the ship. Once she touches water, she'll be gone."

The captain was a lot more informed than you had initially thought. Nonetheless, they didn't quite realize just the extent of your powers. Your eyes flashed, their eerie coloring, while your pupils dilated. You centered on a man in the crowd. As soon as he lifted his eyes, you caught him in your spell.

"Take out your sword." You instructed.

Helpless to do otherwise, the man unsheathed his sword. His peers stepped aback with perplexed looks on their faces.

"Rodger, what are you doing?" One demanded.

"As I tell him." You replied swiftly.

"Do you intend for my crew to fight each other?" The captain's stance hardened, "One man under your control is nothing against us all."

He was eluding you would lose. After all, while out of the water, control over one person would be your limit.

"Put the sword against your neck," You told, "If this blade slices my neck, then you are to slice yours."

The man under your compulsion did as you ordered—his sword resting underneath his chin.

"Sea witch."

"She is pure evil," Another whispered.

The silver blade at your throat trembled. You thrust your elbow back, the man grunting leaving an opening. You fled to the rear of the boat, your ribboned slippers coming undone. You kicked them off your feet as you climbed on the plank. You swiveled around on the thin timber that extended out to the ocean.

"Send the king my regards," You stretched out your arms, diving overboard.

"Man, the cannons," They shouted, running to their stations.

You kicked your legs, descending deeper into the dark below. The roar of cannons erupted in the air. They bore into the waves, with their mighty power, lighting the ocean orange when they exploded.

You hissed as debris and shrapnel lodged themselves into your back.

───

Jaemin was captivated by the singsong of the moon's call. He gazed upon the sea of stars, his paws sinking into the rich dirt below. His prance slowed to a walk. He was alone in the forest depths in a place all too familiar, yet not familiar at all.

He couldn't explain it. Why did he always return to this spot? Underneath, the green foliage between the great oak trees which towered to the skies.

Decades ago, after being ambushed, he had jumped into the watery abyss, and the next thing he knew, we were lying in this very spot. He had unanswered questions which he had dwelled on, an unexplained hollowness that had left him discontent. It is as if he lost something that day, but what?

His ears twitched, tuning to the tides that scaled up the shore. If he strayed further, his feet would meet the sand. It was where the wicked woods met the savory seas.

Jaemin sucked in a breath, the smells of seaweed and saltwater drifting up to his nostrils.

I knew I'd find you here. Renjun's voice broke Jaemin from his trance.

Renjun emerged from a bush of blackberries.

Am I that obvious? Jaemin teased.

Renjun's white coat glistened under the moonlight, his golden eyes gleaming as he approached. Like Jaemin, Renjun was having trouble sleeping.

You still stuck on this place, aren't you?

You're still having those dreams, aren't you? Jaemin countered.

Renjun remained quiet. The two of them sat in comfortable silence. Hopefully, they'd receive answers to their questions sooner than later..

───

You staggered, your palm reaching for a tree branch to steady yourself. Your breath came out uneven, the hot stinging of your back worsening with each day that passed. You were driven to the heart of the forest, away from the sea. You were certain you had lost the hunters that trailed you, however in your endeavors for safety, you had gotten lost in the endless maze of trees.

You huddled to the ground, your knees aching. How long had you been walking? How long had it been since your last meal? You leaned into the small rocky stream, splashing fresh water over your face. You rubbed your eyes, your reflection staring back at you.

The turquoise color of your eyes had dissipated to a human hue. You were growing weaker, reverting to be humanlike.

I need to get back to the ocean. You needed to be around saltwater for your powers to regenerate.

You crawled back to your feet, unsure of what direction to go in. The birds chirped from above, a cold gust brushing the leaves of the trees. Nightfall was coming. You decided to continue following the stream.

As the skies darkened and the moon raised, you grew weary. Perhaps you should find shelter for the evening?

A fearsome howl echoed; gooseflesh appeared on your arms. You bent down a branch that skewed your field of view. Ahead was clearing, an open field of clover. There was a large manor, too, well-constructed of stone.

Your stomach growled, could there possibly be food in there? Usually, you would have never risked setting foot in a wolf's den, but you were desperate. You tugged your torn hood shielding your face. You strode closer to the manor.

It was quiet. Maybe they're not home?

You heaved on the oval door handle. To your surprise, it wasn't locked. You pushed onto the door. It creaked open as you slid inside.

To your luck, you were greeted by a kitchen. You shuffled through draws and cupboards, searching for anything to devour. Under a tin, you found a loaf of bread. The loaf was spliced in four quarters. You held up one of the quarters, sinking your teeth into the dough. You groaned with delight, taking another bite.

"Who the hell are you?" A booming voice made you jump.

You shoved the rest of the bread in your pockets of your dirt-stained dress. You dashed in the opposite direction. The wolf caught you with little effort, its strong arms hurling you off the ground.

"Let me go," You struggled, focusing the last of your energy in your eyes.

"Not until you telling what your in doing here," The wolf snapped, your compulsion ineffective.

It was hopeless. You were too weak. You kicked your legs in one last-ditch attempt.

Others came running down the stairs. You counted five men and one woman. The women went the sconce to alight the oil lamps, the room illuminated by a pale yellow.

Jaemin had come down due to the commotion. He masked a yawn with the back of his hand, furiously blinking to see what was going on.

"What's with all the fuss, Johnny?"

Jaemin froze a tantalizing scent wafting through the air. He took a couple more deep breaths, his fingers tingling with excitement.

"Let me go," You cursed.

Jaemin's eyes enlarged, his chest pounding with anticipation. You lifted your head, your hood slipping down.

"Who is she?" Taeyong stepped forward, his presence commanding respect.

"I don't know," Johnny responded, still holding you over the countertop.

You dug your nails into the arm Johnny was holding you with. He flinched, his eyes flashing crimson.

Jaemin's own eyes changed, a threatening growl escaping his throat. The rest of the room fell silent, Johnny's brows raised in surprise.

"Jaemin?" Haechan cautiously asked.

"Put her down."

Johnny and Taeyong exchanged looks.

Jaemin? Your eyes fell on the young wolf beside the staircase. Your jaw trembled in horror. It couldn't possibly be the same wolf you had met all those years ago?

Johnny's arm sagged as he placed your back onto the ground. You fell back against the counter, using it to support yourself.

"Jaemin?" Taeyong strode closer, placing a hand on Jaemin's shoulder, "Is she your-"

Mate.

The word went unsaid.

Eve came closer to you. She offered you her hand.

You stared at her hand, unsure what the lady wanted from you.

"My name is Eve," Her lips tilted into a sincere smile, "You've come a long way, haven't you?"

You slowly nodded.

"Come on then," She offered her hand again, "Let's get you washed up and in a fresh pair of clothes."

Your face softened. It sounded too good to be true. Additmitidly, you were a little unused to humans not being afraid in your presence.

"It's okay," She soothed, "We won't hurt you."

You hesitantly placed your hand in hers. She squeezed your hand in reassurance before leading your upstairs.

Jaemin couldn't take his eyes off you. He nearly went to follow you just so he'd remain in your presence.

Johnny let out a laugh in disbelief, "I waited close to five hundred years to find my mate, and here Jaemin's mate just comes waltzing through the front door."

Taeyong cracked a smile.

My mate, Jaemin couldn't stifle down his buzz. His inner beast rumbling, he had finally found the one.

"I should talk to her," Jaemin suddenly realized he hadn't even said a word to you yet.

"Let her settle in a bit." Taeyong advised.

───

You soaked in the bathwater, dabbing a wet cloth over your face and neck. It felt good to wash and rest your limbs. However, your back still stung. You reached behind, trying to dig out the debris which remained lodged in your back. You winced, blood pooling in the tub.

"Are you nearly done?" Eve called from behind the door.

"Almost," You let out a ragged breath, giving up.

You wrapped yourself with a towel, patting yourself dry. You then drapped yourself with your torn cloak.

Eve ushered you into one of the bedrooms. She had already laid out a chiffon nightgown and a pair of night slippers for your to wear.

"Thank you," You said shyly.

She brushed of your thanks, telling you to call her if you need anything. She then left you alone to change.

It took you some time to fit the material on, your back giving you agony.

Jaemin clamped onto the tray of food, his hands clammy. He never thought he'd be so nervous meeting his mate. He knocked his fist on the wooden door of his bedroom.

He heard your delicate footsteps head towards the door. You opened it slightly, peering through the small crack you had made.

"Hi," Jaemin beamed, "I thought you might be hungry."

You bit your lip, your stomach rumbling. You were starving.

"Can I come in?"

You opened the door a little bigger, nodding.

Jaemin swallowed. You wore but a simple nightgown. It's thin material laying over your curves and leaving your legs on display.

You had an undoubtable beauty, a beauty which was almost ethereal-like.

He handed you the tray. You licked your lips, taking a seat on the bed. You lifted the spoon and began slurping the soup.

Once you had finished the bowl, you wiped your mouth with your sleeve.

"I can get some more from downstairs if you'd like?"

Your eyes fell on Jaemin's, his golden orbs shining down at you. It was hard to believe fifty years had passed since you had saved him from drowing. Your sight flickered momentarily to his lips. You could almost remember how he tasted.

"That's okay, I've taken enough advantage of your hospitality."

Jaemin shook his head, his hair adorably sticking up in places. Without thinking, you patted down on his hair.

Jaemin's chest swelled as you retreated your hand, embarrassed.

His sweet, all-consuming mate, where had you been all his life?

MONI’S NOTE: Werewolf Jaemin's second installment. I hope you all enjoy it. If you do, please consider reading the other member's parts. They are all a part of the same universe, and you may even notice some cross-over between them.

If you’d like to be tagged in this fic please send me a message.

#jaemin #nct fanfiction #nct #nct dream fanfiction #nct dream #na jaemin #nct scenarios #nct dream scenarios #nct imagines #nct dream imagines #nct au #nct dream au #nct werewolf au #nct reactions

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terresdebrume · 4 years ago

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[ID : A book cover where the background is a picture of a deep blue starry sky. At the top is the title in brushstroke-like white letters, and below that are representations of the seven liberal arts placed in a circle : Astronomy (7th Art) with simple representation of the solar system, then Grammar (1st) with a scroll of parchment covered in writing, Rhetoric (2nd) with a bearded man's head, Logic (3rd) with a circular labyrinth, Arithmetics (4th) with an abacus, Geometry (5th) with a spiral + construction lines and Music (6th) with flying notes and a scale. All symbols are in while lines. In the bottom left corner, the darker silhouette of a wolf howls at a brilliant star in the center of the cover. The quote "'You said you missed it,' Geralt said, 'I don't...I don't know things like geometry, I've never read the Almagest, but I know a few things.'" is at the bottom of the cover in white letters. /ID]

And I'm going to put the rest of the text under a cut for this one, 'cause it's gonna get long xD

More fic covers | More fic recs | AO3 link in reblog

So now that I've gotten a little more into the habit of making covers and got a little more skilled about it, I simply couldn't not cover Star_flaming/ @europeansdomusicalsbetter's The Sevenfold Path on account of it hitting so hard on my competence kink and also my immense love for Geralt and his tendency to be blind to his own qualities and smarts. (Also just like. Great demonstration of Jaskier's genius, thank you Author for showing off your own academic accomplishments^^)

I decided to put astronomy at the top of the circle despite the fact that it would normally be reserved for the first item of the list, because astronomy is the one where Geralt and Jaskier rejoin in that Geralt finds it easier to relate his knowledge to Jaskier's studies, and the background is a starry night because it fits both the choice of astronomy as the "main" art of the cover and the loveliest scene of the fic (and not just 'cause there's a kiss). Also, stars pretty.

The howling wolf silhouette is there for several reasons, but the main one is that it reminds me of a small moment in Disney's Pocahontas. During the song Colors of the wind, there's this shot that shows clouds over a starry night making the silhouette of a howling wolf, and in the French version the lyrics for this shot are "Do you hear the hopeful song of the pining wolf?" (Literally "Do you hear the song of hope of the wolf who's dying of love?") and it fits so well with Geralt's symbolism in this fic it just...had to be there. So yeah, that's a small nod to that. Also, the cover looks more generic without it.

Aaand...that's a lot of ranting for one cover, but also this may be the one I put the most forethought in, and also the most symbolic one I've made so far along with the one I made for my Clark Kent-centric epic, so a bit of explanation is sort of justified, I guess. Anyway, hope y'all enjoy the cover and the fic!

#supplies #Fic Cover #The Witcher #Geraskier #Geralt of Rivia #Jaskier #Matt makes stuff #Also this is a clear case of using office (aka my canva education account) for things that are not at all job related #Oh well #It's a free account anyway so xD #20n

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iomhair · 4 years ago

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Robb x Jaime headcanons

And since those two is pretty much all I can think about on a daily basis - here are some headcanons for Robb and Jaime just because I need them to be here <3

During the war Robb’s curls are getting absolutely out of hand. They are messy, they are tangled, they have to be sheared for once. Or brushed at the very least. Jaime says it’s a bird’s nest. Robb snarls and says that his hair is fine. Secretly he will try to do something about them.

Robb’s face is insanely expressive.

Jaime’s not so much. He at least tries to hide his emotions.

Does not really work very well. Everything is in his eyes. Everything.

Robb loves Jaime’s eyes, loves the colour, loves every emotion that he sees reflected there.

Jaime has learnt to use it to his benefit.

Robb has a very keen scent. Jaime is amused by this and for him it is just another proof of Robb being raised in a pack of direwolves. Starks are savages, for sure.

Robb is smart, but sometimes he is really not. Like at all. He does not even consider all the dangers of King’s Landing because he got used to trust someone’s word. Just like Ned did. Jaime freaks out when they are in the capital, he still remembers what happens to all Starks within these walls. He will not let that happen again.

When Jaime sees Robb talking to Littlefinger or Varys, he is absolutely terrified. He will intrude, he will grab Robb and he will drag him out from the conversation this very second. He does not care how suspicious it looks. He will care later though.

If it was up to Jaime, he’d keep Robb locked up and he would let him out only when Robb’s men are finally returning back to Winterfell with all his Northern army.

Robb feels uneasy in King’s Landing. Jaime knows it. The nights they spend together he sometimes asks Robb to tell him about Winterfell and the North. Robb loves to talk about his home. He smiles and his eyes sparkle. These talks make him feel better. Jaime makes Robb feel better.

Jaime loves Robb’s accent. And Robb loves the way Jaime speaks.

Especially when Jaime calls his name. Not “Your Grace” like everyone else. Not even “My Lord”. Just “Robb”. Quiet, loud, calm, whispering, laughing, moaning, anything. Even when angry.

Although when angry Jaime calls him “Stark”. Only Jaime can make it sound like a swear word. Eventually Robb learned this trick as well. The effect was quite the opposite though.

The way Robb growls “Lannisterrrr” and wrinkles his nose makes Jaime feel all sorts of things. He is not angry with Robb anymore. In fact, he will let Robb have an indulgence for today.

Robb is very curious about Jaime’s past. He asks him about his knighthood days, tournaments, his life at Casterly Rock, about the Targaryen reign and the last dragons. He wants to know everything.

Robb strives to be as disciplined as Jaime. When needed, and even when not needed, Jaime Lannister is damn stoic. No, seriously. Disciplined bastard. Must have been an army experience. Robb hates it. He also loves it.

Robb has very little patience. Especially when it comes to teasing. Jaime knows it and uses it every time when he thinks he can get away with it. Big surprise: he does not really want to get away with it.

Jaime is not fond of North to put it lightly. But he will learn to love it for Robb. Soon he’ll find it quite comforting. One day he will even visit Godswood that would be covered in snow. North grew on Jaime and he did not even notice it.

When sleeping, Robb is taking the whole bed, it’s not even a question. Jaime does not mind, he likes to warm himself up against Robb, he is like a personal fireplace, always warm.

Jaime would be very intimidated by Grey Wind at first. Which is understandable since this is the huge ass direwolf. That is until one time he comes to Jaime and falls on the back with the quiet sigh, demanding belly scratches.

When Robb is angry with Jaime he is using Grey Wind as a post dog. He’d give give him the parchment with the elaborate angry message and ask to bring it to the Lannister. Or not bring. Whatever, really. What does he care. Grey Wind always brings them to Jaime. He then stays for more scratches.

Jaime is a snuggler. He is very affectionate and devoted when there is just the two of them. He never shies to smile or laugh when he is with Robb. Robb loves to see him happy.

Robb is taking his title extremely seriously. This was a huge responsibility out of damn nowhere and he was definitely not ready for it. Eventually it grows on him. Jaime tells him that it’s similar to just being the Lord of Winterfell, only on a bigger scale. Like.. imagine the whole North is Winterfell. And Robb cares about Winterfell. He’ll do just fine.

Robb would absolutely disintegrate house Locke, ripping it out with its routes. Not even Boltons. Their name will disappear. Every memory of them will disappear. But Jaime will decide what to do with the head of the house.

Robb values Jaime’s advice. A lot. He is the part of his council, his right hand, he is always there, and his every advice and observation are always considered, no questions asked. The final word always stays with Robb though. He is the King.

Robb really likes when Jaime compares him to the wolf. On some level he really is, as wild and untamed as a true predator.

Robb gave Jaime a Valyrian steel sword as a gift, because of course he would. They have very similar swords that were melted from one. Yep. Jaime’s sword has a lion on the handle, and Robb’s has a wolf.

Robb Stark is a romantic. There, screw it, I said it.

Robb x Jaime modern headcanons:

Scotland. Of course Robb is from Scotland.

Jaime would sigh every time he even has to think of the nasty mess that is Glasgow.

Every time Robb comes to London he makes it a damn point to speak with the strongest accent ever. Posh folks from London, Lannisters included, do not quite understand him. Jaime still does though.

Robb is feisty. One night he’ll have too many drinks and will start a brawl in the center of London only because he thought that someone said something nasty behind Jaime’s back.

Robb loves borrowing Jaime’s clothes. T-shirts, hoodies, anything will do. Secretly Jaime loves to do the same. Jaime’s clothes is more clean.

Whenever Robb visits Jaime, he always brings a bottle of good scotch from the airport. Surprisingly, at some point, all the whiskey in Lannister’s house was switched to the American bourbon. Robb does not quite like it. But hey, better that than the stab in the back from Tywin. Although it kinda felt like it.

Robb has a BMW motorcycle. He is a damn good driver. It does not make Jaime feel easier though, since motorcycles are dangerous. He specifically forbade Robb to park his motorcycle anywhere near Lannister’s manor. He knows his family better than Robb does and he knows what they can do.

They both have big families with complicated relationships. This is kind of a problem, for Jaime especially.

Robb does not really care what others will say. Jaime thinks it’s because he is young yet. It’s not though. Robb truly does not care. He likes to be honest in his intentions and hates hiding Jaime from everyone.

He does a very bad job at hiding though. Everybody knows at this point. The reactions... vary.

Robb knows and loves most of the hiking routes in Scotland. Jaime thinks that this is crazy. He does not quite like hiking or any similar activities. The wine tasting on a nice boat though, right by the southern France... Now we talking.

Jaime loves the warmth. Summer suits him, just as autumn and winter suits Robb.

Sometimes Jaime thinks that Robb is some sort of fey that came out from the old Gaelic legends. Especially in the mornings when he watches Robb sleeping. It should be a full crime to be this beautiful.

Robb is good at cooking. Very good and efficient. Not surprisingly, really, if you have house full of younger siblings and their pets, who are constantly hungry. And Robb was raised to be a damn good big brother who will never leave little Starks hungry even if they have to eat burned porridge.

Jaime finds it quite odd and a bit worrisome that most all of the local pub owners near Edinburgh know Robb and greet him heartily whenever they visit a pub. Back in London Jaime’s visits to the restaurants are a bit more formal. Lannisters have a certain reputation. He can’t just barge into a random place and get drunk there. He wants to though.

They love Starks in the North. Stark’s sigils are quite common there.

Once Robb came into Jaime’s house with the bag of fresh muffins and coffee from Starbucks. It was 5 AM. He spent the last couple of hours in the train from Glasgow to London St.Pancrass.

Robb threw stones into his window and loudly quoted Shakespeare, very amused with himself.

Jaime was not sure if he wanted to kiss Robb after that or to kill him right there.

Robb is not a fan of London.

But Jaime made sure to show him the best of it.

Hugo Boss store in Soho was one of the stops. Robb really likes dressing up nicely. And Jaime knows it.

Since then Robb even have a couple of favourite places in the city. Nothing to do with the stores though.

Robb hates leaving London. When he does, he prefers doing it by train. Somehow it feels less painful.

He cheers up as soon as he sees road signs in Gaelic.

Once Jaime just said “fuck it” and jumped to the train with Robb. He did not have anything with him, not even a wallet. Not even a ticket. The things he does for love.

Robb was shocked, but his smile could probably light up the whole station, if not the whole city.

This was the best train ride that Robb ever had in his life, although Jaime napped on his shoulder almost all the way.

#jaime lannister #robb stark #game of thrones #jaime x robb #those were lemon muffins by the way #robb x jaime

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tothedarkdarkseas · 4 years ago

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Ink, diary, backstory, carnegie, dickinson, and parchment for the ask meme. Love you too

Ink and Diary - see previous ask!

backstory: how did you come to love writing?

(*Thinks* Do I love writing...?) You know, this probably reflects quite poorly on me, but I'm not sure what the best answer here is. I wrote bits of fanfiction here and there when I was younger, and I also drew fanart-- until I realized I wasn't very good at either of those things. I hadn't written anything in at least 7 years when I started writing Gorillaz, mostly off the back of my inspiration from reading Yearz and obsessing over a scummier, more realistic universe for these characters. The truth is that it wasn't quite a childhood dream or lifelong passion, it was something I stopped when I became too embarrassed by my lack of skill, and picked up again simply because I felt compelled to do it-- and indeed, like any creative pursuit, you do get better the more you do it. I would absolutely say I've rediscovered a passion for writing and I do like to entertain certain ambitions of writing a collection of short stories, but I'm also not hard-nosed in dedication to that goal. I have always loved stories, but that wasn't strictly in regard to written stories, often it was more of a love for movies and music which inspired little imagined scenarios; I wasn't always a voracious reader nor did I frequently write anything to fruition, which seems like it disqualifies me from being an authority on those things.

carnegie: what authors and/or books/stories have inspired you to write or influenced your work?

As mentioned previously, I really wasn't a voracious reader. In fact, this was and is a source of some humiliation-- having not read the classics or other things that people know and respect can make you feel like the dimmest person in the room. The awkwardness of these conversations is honestly something that motivated me to read a bit more recently, but even that was more focused on poetry and essay collections. My go-to answer is generally Joey Comeau, probably most evident in his queer-punk stories Lockpick Pornography and We All Got It Coming, but also his more gentle lingering on grief Malagash and the offbeat and sporadically poignant collection Overqualified. (I really loved Overqualified at the time it came out, so it has a special place in my heart.) I've recently read two poetry collections which gave me a little boost to begin working: Calling a Wolf a Wolf by Kaveh Akbar and A Fortune for Your Disaster by Hanif Abdurraqib. And I'd be remiss not to mention-- Yearz. Like, it surely embarrasses Danni for me to say that but it is the simple truth.

dickinson: what insecurities do you have about your own writing? what do you think you should improve on?

Sheesh, where to start? All of it, quite plainly, I don't think there is any element which could not be improved on. I always felt that I struggled with dialogue and making it sound natural, but if I were naming the damning culprit I would say my writing is more bogged down by the overwriting and underediting. I remember being younger and feeling a bit defensive of "purple prose" because subconsciously I knew I was very prone to it. To be frank, when I write a story more quickly and don't embellish much in the detail I always feel it is too sparse and not distinct, I fear it isn't saying anything that makes it unique to me-- but those stories seem to be the ones that have "performed" the best based on recent stats, which confirms that I definitely overthink this, haha. The problem as I see it is that these, er, lofty sentences are good on their own ("good" is subjective, some have definitely been Bad, but let's pretend we're just seeing the "good" examples) but when stacked together with hundreds, thousands of "lofty" sentences with similar structure, similar length and similar "impact," it can start to make the reading process tedious. I don't want to tire readers out or make them cringe at how hard I'm overcompensating for my lack of education or formal skill, and I do fear it comes across as exactly that when I write the way my brain tells me to. When I say underediting, I don't mean that I don't edit-- I edit to the brink of madness, I rewrite constantly, but I don't often have the heart to cut something out. I really don't edit things to make them more brief; I do think it's arguable to what extent brevity is good for a story, but... it's more important than my writing reflects, haha. There is some impact lost when you are too precious about unnecessary sentences, and I am unfortunately too precious about it. I don't think I'm particularly good at plotting either, as my fanfic writing has relied more on character studies than progressing actions and events, and I fear in longer form (ie: this current WIP) it will come across to the reader as meandering, aimless, and quite frankly boring. To be kinder, I know these are subjective things. I don't think all of my stories are bad, but I don't think all of them are good. I don't think any are great, and I don't think I'm at a skill level where I feel comfortable resting on my laurels or taking a swing at self-publishing. Writing is still challenging to me, and I suppose it's up to personal perception whether it is good to be challenged because it shows you're putting in effort, or whether it's a sign you don't have a natural talent for something, heh.

parchment: how often do you or your personal life influence your writing?

Fairly often, but it's generally in small, inconsequential ways. I don't try to put myself in the characters in any sort of comfort/projection way, but I also think it's unrealistic to expect nothing of yourself ends up in your writing, even if it's in the form of something opposing the character. A line of dialogue might be revised from real life, or a thought that a character has might be based on something I've thought before. Two examples come to mind-- in November Hasn't Come, the musing about Stu framing childing posters or torn up flyers to look artistic because you become self-conscious at a certain age about taping things on your wall is pulled right from my own life and my dozens of frames. I still have a hang-up about framing things I deem embarrassing without the frame. The other is a line in the WIP which may or may not end up in the final product, but I had certainly intended to use it from the very start-- a character quips to Stu about his casual pill usage that "They're not dinner mints," which is straight from a real story involving a loved one and painkiller abuse. I loved this quote because it's got that touch of grim humor about it that really suits my type of fiction, but it is in fact real. (Now that I've said it I'll try my best to keep that interaction in the final product.)

#long post #thank you for helping me burn part of my day

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fatedfvllen · 5 years ago

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𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝟘𝟘𝟙 / 𝕔𝕒𝕣𝕚𝕒𝕕: 𝕗𝕣𝕠𝕞 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕡𝕒𝕤𝕥

Her eyes were fixed on the fluid flame in her grasp. The flame did not burn or nor did it feel hot; it felt comfortable in her little hands. It took many shapes before it settled into a miniature swan. Little Louisa grinned from ear-to-ear watching the flame-made swan flap its wings and take flight before it faded away against the glow of the Glass Palace. “Again, again!” she demanded. “Uncle, again!” She tugged on his forearm that propped him up from the sprawl of pillows on the floor. High Lord Eirian smiled & gladly indulged his niece.

“Are you sure the Day can provide their end of the deal?” Elrick Caerwyn spoke to the Dawn Court’s small council. The royal council always met in the light of dawn. The soft rosy glow of the day’s first light basked the room with pale gold light that reflected little rainbows like a kaleidoscope.

“Yes,” one of the advisors—Lady Ina, the Governor of Coin—spoke with a quick nod. “Lord Hartwell is eager to make this alliance as much as we are.”

“Then let’s get a treaty to their emissary immediately.” Elrick looked up from his parchment and turned to sign some documents with a quick flick of his phoenix feather quill. “If that concludes today’s business, then I adjourn this council’s business.” He smacked a pale wooden palm gavel on the table marking the end of the meeting.

Several members got up from the long table, but did not leave the chambers. In one seamless motion, human indentured servants moved into the chambers to serve refreshments: honeysuckle wine and bitter amber ale. However, Elrick made his goodbyes to get back to his little Louisa.

“Your Grace!” A court messenger flagged Elrick down just before he stepped into the family’s private wing. “You have a letter, it has the Spring Court seal…” His heart began to pound in his ears as he looked down at the seal. Elrick thanked the page and dismissed him after delicately taking the letter. He flipped it over only to see the familiar curly script of his ex-wife, Rosina Gryffyths of the Spring Court.

A rage burned in him and his skin flecked like an opal. His skin got so hot that the pale blue wax seal started to melt from its stamp.

“Brother!” Lord Eirian smiled as Elrick barged into the antechamber of the royal chambers, Louisa squealed as her father came in and rushed over to his side clutching his leg. A small smile curled at the corners of his mouth, but his face still hung with melancholy. Eirian picked up on his brother’s glum, as his rosy gaze found the melted wax sealed letter in his grasp, “Elrick, what news do you have?”

“Lady Rosina has written,” Elrick spit out his ex-wife’s name like hot nails; it made Eirian wince.

“Will you read it?”

“I don’t have to—I know what she wants…” Elrick looked down at the beaming face of his only daughter and heir. His heart sunk in knowing what her wicked mother wanted. Eirian waited for Elrick, “she wants her daughter as a pawn in the Spring Court. Claiming quality time…” Elrick picked up Louisa and placed her gently in a puffy chair next to a plate of pastry, Louisa without pause picked up a sugared pastry and popped into her tiny mouth. “Like she gives a gods damn about her daughter. It’s absurd!”

“But she has a claim to her,” Eirian added somberly.

“She shouldn’t! It will only hurt Lou in the end. Rosina is a wicked woman. I don’t want my daughter around her!” Elrick’s voice grew that it shook the glasses on the table and startled little Louisa whose mouth was full of sweets.

“We will protect her,” Eirian consoled his brother. “We can send her with a convoy. Our best men—I don’t care if they have business for the court. Cognatio Prae Omnibus.” Eirian quoted the last part of the Caerwyn family motto; Family Before All. Elrick took a deep breath as Eirian reassured him. Astralis Law did give Rosina the right to see his daughter, but he would never abandon Louisa to the she-wolf, Lady Rosina.

#post / louisa narrie #post / narrie #more to come later <333

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jamiebluewind · 5 years ago

Text

Charatcter Descriptions and Summary 2.15

This is the "short" version of descriptions. I have a much MUCH longer one with lots of quotes that I might have to split up to fit. As always, let me know if I need to edit or add anything and tag/ask/PM me about art and stories so I can check them out!

Warning: multiple blood mentions, torture, imprisonment, violence, stabbing, gun violence, canon typical violence, injuries, burns, homophobia and bigotry, gore mention, horror (including body horror), beheading, violence against animals, 69 mention, and disrespecting a mummy

***

Bad Kids

Fabian

Fandrangor stats: +2 to attack and damage. Finesse, one handed. 1d8 piercing. Burn a spell slot on a sucessful hit to add an extra d6 of damage per level.

Wrapped Alistair's foot in his sheet to trip and flip him up before deeply stabbing him in the abdomen

Held his sheet out to further protect Adaine.

Slashed Dayne with a reposte (while also burning a 1st level spell slot on his sword) as he yelled "Toxic masculinity is dead! I dance now!"

Closed in on Penelope using an athletics check that involved jumping and running across the deck. His mobile flourish pushed her to the edge of the deck before he kicked her off the ship.

Took out Alistair and Penelope (details in their section)

Stood at the helm after Bill fell off, turning the ship over due to the gravity being off

Riz

Hissed at Vraz

Got so sweaty and nervous over a terrible line ("You attacked the wrong guy!") that he missed the greesers

Shot Dayne from hiding while saying "You missed spring break" before hiding again (Fabian responding "Classic The Ball. Always shooting from hiding").

Had no clue where his father actually was, telling Bill the little thathe knew.

Got sleepy while he was hiding

Was shot out of the cannon and blasted off into the city (taking some damage). Shouted "I'm the ball!" as he flew away before smashing through a dark red and black stained glass window 200 feet below the ship, tumbling into a strangly familiar building. The room was empty due to all the devils hearing the alarms and fleeing. He rushed down a familar dark hallway.

Witnessed his father being tortured and saying that he didn't care about his son, but still misty steped into the room with the unconscious Pok the minute the devils left.

Tried to scoop his dad up into his Briefcase of Holding, but the two barbed devils came back (snarling as they saw him), one grabbing his briefcase and the other grappling Riz to restrain him. He kept trying to save Pok anyway even while restrained and fought against the devils over his briefcase (see Pok area for more)

Kristen

Rolled up sleeves over Daybreak attacking Tracker

Walked up to Daybreak with anger in her veins (over him hurting Tracker), said "Hi Daybreak. It's so great to see you. I've been PRAYING FOR YOU!", and slammed her staff down, using distructive wave. Light radiated out of her as every enemy was hit but Penelope (due to Globe of Invulnerability) and Johnny Spells and took out 3 Scarecrows. She then spat on Daybreak which hisses on his cheek as he yelled "Ah! Love! Love wins!"

Was knocked out by Daybreak and was back in Silvar looking at a nice tree

Used a 4th level mass healing word before her and Tracker dimension doored away from Daybreak

Adaine

Arcane Hand works like a claw machine with a controler in her hands

While prone, shot a lightning bolt at Dayne, Penelope, and a Scarecrow (after counterspelling Penelope's counterspell). Took out the Scarecrow.

Hit Daybreak with a 4th level Cromatic Orb (cold damage).

Smacked Johnny's fire spell out of the air with a counterspell after calling him "a predator who didn't fuck" and then ignored Johnny completely to go after Daybreak by hitting him with a 4th level (cold) chromatic orb

Used Forceful Hand to grab Bill to keep him from falling (two of the devils stayed grapped to Bill)

Fig

Tried to shake Gilear awake

Fig The Unfaethable

Her insignia burned in her head when she used psionic blast (took out two Scarecrows)

Winked at Ayda

Used Healing Word on Kristen

Attacked Daybreak with Bombing Blade (adds bardic for extra and if he moves willinging before her next turn he takes thunder damage)

Took out Daybreak (details in his section)

Was tossed by Gorgug towards a plummeting Bill like a missile before backpacked onto Bill, snatching a scroll from Vraz's pocket (Vraz: No no no no no! / Bill: What's yours is ours.), and Dimension Dooring back to the ship with Bill.

Gorgug

Stood over Kristen's unconscious body to protect her

Used Reckless Attack twice on Daybreak, the first time dealing 50 damage and the second time ("I'm just so tired of you") another 48 damage.

Took out Dayne (details in his section) and two Scarecrows

Grabbed some holy oil to take with him to coat his weapon with.

***

Familiars and Companions

Boggy: Hit by Penelope's Cone of Cold which caused him to freeze, crack, and fall apart (can be brought back by Adaine)

Gaf: Made incorporial by Ayda to protect him/her/them during the battle

Baby: Was made invisible by Fig. Tried to pickpocket Vraz, but just got a scrap of some kind. Did a very indecent celebration dance while invisible (when Penelope was "killed").

Hangman: Freaked out over seeing Johnny before siding with Fabian. Leapt to attack Johnny Spells, but couldn't make it and settled for slamming into the greeser Sorching Ray. Frozen and knocked down by Penelope's Cone of Cold.

Hirelings and Partners

Tracker

Stayed behind on Goldenrod

Held up a hand with her holy symbol to summon Twilight Sanctuary (gives everyone a d8 of temp hit which they can choose to replace or keep each round).

Cast Beacon of Hope

Knocked out by Penelope's Cone of Cold (which also ended her two spells)

Hit Kristen with a max level cure wounds, yeling at everyone to look away as she jumped onto an unconscious Kristen who was lying between Gorgug's legs (Kristen started touching his leg thinking it's Tracker's). Everyone assumed they were 69ing, but Tracker actually just gave Kristen a very sweet kiss on the mouth and said "Double clerics baby. Nobody can keep us down for long."

Went into flying wolf form to catch Kristen when she fell off the ship.

Ragh

Took out two Scarecrows, goring one before tossed them the ship and spartan kicking the other off the deck.

Ran up to a prone Dayne chanting hoot growl and yelled "I've done a lot of shit in my life because of you asshole!" as he bodied into him (nat 20).

Walked up to Fabian and Gorgug crying after Dayne was killed.

Instigated a three way chest bump with Fabian and Gorgug, not noticing Adaine who was forced to duck ("Oh god! The jocks are being fiesty!")

Was yelled at by Daybreak which he used as an opportunity to confront Daybreak both verbally and physically.

Ayda

Cast a spell that poured out massive amounts of water over Avernus in an attempt to flood hell (in retaliation for them taking Fig) before checking on Fig

Touched both of Fig's arms as she checked if she was okay before casting Protection From Evil And Good on her.

Flew off Goldenrod to help Sandra Lynn protect the ship from incoming fire by throwing up abjurative wards, but came back and landed on the deck before the ship left Avernus.

Flew towards Daybreak and Penelope, teleporting multiple times per second to create a flickering group of 10 of her before slashing out with her talons to damage them both.

Cast clairvoyance to find Riz, pointing at the building he was in.

Used her portent to save Fabian when Goldenrod lost gravity (allowing him to hold on) before flying to catch Adaine.

Sandra Lynn

Left the Goldenrod to cover their tail, doing a swan dive off deck (which looked likes she flew up from the upside down deck) and landing on Baxter before knocking a teleportation missile out of sky with her arrow.

Smashed back down onto the deck with Baxter before healing a down Tracker (Kristen: Thank you Sandra Lynn!)

Hit Daybreak with arrows.

Jumped on Baxter when the ship lost gravity and went to help catch Kristen.

Gilear

Was immediately killed by Bill Seacaster who shot him in the chest.

Brought back by Kristen with 1 hp, a bleeding chest wound, and covered in cenders and fire

Was told by Gorgug (who stood in front of him) to lie on the ground

Hid in the golden sarcophagus (somehow lifting the massive lid to do so)

***

The Pirates

The Goldenrod

The still "living" transmogrified body of Kalvaxus turned into a flying ship against his will

Kalvaxus has to swallow down the cannon coming from his mouth to talk and turning always hurts him

Shot by Bill for calling himself a boat instead of a ship

Captained by Bill Seacaster, crewed by cender zombie pirates, and the flagship of Bill's rebel armada of dragon carcus ships

The ship has it's own gravity and can sail in any direction (including upside down), but the unsecured barrels on deck are a hazard during fast turns.

Able to breached through to Dis, Bill having some way to travel through the levels that the other devils couldn't find

Broadsided The Iron City, firing tons of gold, holy water, and saints finger bones wrapped in old parchment out of it's cannons.

Captain Bill Seacaster

An enormous devil with one cender eye, a devil bone hook, and a floating skull and crossbones insignia over his head

At the helm of Goldenrod after rescuing Riz, Fig, Gilear, Hangman, and Baby/Wretchrot (via being yanked up on rope ladders to the Goldenrod).

Part of his multi level marketing scheme was to have pirates steal holy relics for spell slots and then use the holy relics as ammo against other devils and their ships.

Shot Gilear throught the chest on sight

Got a chain wrapped around his neck by Kystrona

After Gilear was brought back to life by Kristen, he said nice things to Gilear and gave him a massive glowing sword (which was too big for Gilear to wield). The bad kids were all deeply confused by how quickly he went from one extreme to another.

Offered Kristen snuff powder

Ordered his crew to shoot Riz out of a cannon to "help" him look for Pok

As his hook hand was stabbing into one of the three devils he was fighting, he took a legendary action to shake his fist and yell "That's my darling boy!" over Fabian "killing" Penelope. He corrected himself to yell "He's his own his darling man boy!"

When the gravity on the Goldenrod was dispelled, he told Fabian to take the helm before letting go on purpose, taking the three other devils with him (rescued by Adaine and Fig).

Alistair Ash

An intern on the Goldenrod

Skull is cracked open like an egg with part of it fully missing. Inside the socket is roiling fire. His eyes are rotted out, the fire shining through his sockets.

Attacked Fabian exclusively due to being left behind by him

How he was finished off: Fabian stood up, his body very bloody and burned from the beating he's took. Fire enshrouded his sheet as he wrapped Alistair in it in order to spin him like a top. As Alistair twirled in the air, the Hangman hit him in a flash. As Alistair popped of the wheel of the Hangman, Fabian took out Fandrangor (which was rippling with his own inner light and magic) and pierced Alistair's ribcage up through his heart. Silver motes of light burst out of Alistair's mouth, "eyes", and the empty socket of his skull. Bill cried a single tear out of his non ember eye as he said "It be beau-ti-ful". Fabian told his father "I'm my own man now." to which Bill answered "The story keeps getting better!" Meanwhile, Alistair changed his opinion on Fabian, seeing him as chosen one and (since he had to die for Fabian to become who he was) himself as chosen in a way. Fabian asked if Chungle Down Bim was still alive, but Alistair only yelled "He's gonna shit in your mouth!" before being destroyed. One of the many bottles on Bill's belt filled with a red mist that was Alistair, now even more in debt to Bill with another 2000 gold added to his tab to bring him back in another form later.

Cinder Pirates

The crew of the Goldenrod, most (if not all) of which being victims of Bill's pyramid scheme

Assended from ropes to their respective ships after raiding The Bottomless Pit, yoinking up crates and boxes filled with treasure (like books and weaponry) as they went.

Loaded the cannons of The Goldenrod with holy relics, books, golden reliquaries, holy water, and even the body of a dead saint (who was unceremoniously dumped out of his golden sarcophagus). All the relics almost looked like they were from other worlds.

Bill doesn't do the best job putting his followers back together, so most are in worse shape than Alistair. One was missing his entire jaw!

Most were finished off by Penelope's Cone of Cold

***

Bill's Pursuers

Devil Crafts

Iron zeppelins piloted by devils in pursuit of Seacaster.

Shoot ground to air missiles that shot spinning pentagrams of fire teleportation that glowed when they hit, teleporting in reinforcements.

Vraz The Mean, Lorzug The Impaled, and Kystrona The Chained

All appeared through a dimension door at the helm of the ship before the three devils began fighting Bill.

Vraz (after Fig denied a direct order) released all warlocks under Gortholax by making all his contracts null and void.

All of them (including Bill) do tramendous amounts of fire and poison damage, but all of them (including Bill) are immune to fire and poison, so the fight devolved into a bunch of very dangerous people who can't hurt each other just slapping the hell out of each other.

***

Greesers

Johnny Spells

Appeared via teleportation missile with his crew

Roiling in flame with veins glowing in a red light, using a snap comb to brush his hair back and wearing a black leather jacket with a clean white tee.

Hit Fabian with Ray of Fire and then was IMMEDIATELY tossed off the starboard side of the ship by Adaine using her Arcane Hand.

Was saved by Kystrona (via animate chain) before he fell to his "death"

Spent an entire turn to get back on the ship only to have his fire spell dismissed by Adaine.

How he was finished off: Flew off the ship (again) when it lost gravity, saying "No! I had stuff. I had plans. I had-" as he fell to his "death".

Johnny's Crew

Six teiflings greasers who appeared via teleportation missile wearing black leather jackets with clean white tees.

Two trampled over a dead Gilear to get to the teens.

How they were finished off: One was gored by Ragh before being tossed off the ship, one was spartan kicked off the deck by Ragh, two were killed by Gorgug, and two were destroyed by Fig's psionic blast

***

Harvestmen & Friends

Penelope Everpetal

Got to Goldenrod via teleportation missile with Dayne, Daybreak, and four Scarecrow Harvestmen.

Had sunken deep pools of darkness for eyes. She wore a burnt prom queen dress. Jagged shards of metal were stabbed into her skull like a crown (which caused blood to trickle down).

Was protected from magic most of the fight due to casting Globe Of Invulnerability

Stepped forward with a corny line ("Oh I'm so sorry guys. It's time to chill out.") before casting Cone of Cold which took out Tracker, Boggy, Hangman, and most of Bill's crew.

Was knocked off the ship by Fabian and fell down into the sky over the Iron City of Dis, shreaking and wailing as she went. Saved herself by using Misty Step to get back to the ship.

How she was finished off...

Penelope: *appeared in a twirl of magic and hit Fabian with a Firebolt, knocking him down to 4HP* I'm so sorry that you had like... some sort of collapse and appear to be fighting with a blanket now, but I just wanna tell you something. We are gonna drag you and all your shitty stupid little- what? Bad kid friends to hell. Forever.

Fig: I actually already live here. I'm an arch devil.

Fabian: Yeah! Did you hear that? She already lives here!

Kalvaxus: Again if we [re con noise] it later. This fight seems mostly lost. Use reason!

Penelope: Now. It's time for you to go bye bye Fabian *starts casting another spell*

Fabian: (crit, mobile florish, plus 2nd level spell slot with Fandrangor) *throws up his sheet so it blocks her field of vision (like how people trick their pets) and then grabs her and tango swing dancing spins her off the ship as she yells and is destroyed as motes of silver light shoot out*

Dayne Blade

Burning ember flaming vains with a hellish gleam to his eyes

Doesn't know how long he's been there

How he was finished: Begged Gorgug to not "kill" him due to him being an Owlbear, but was ignored. He tried once more, saying "Dude dude dude we're both Owlbears!" but Gorgug simply answered "You're not an Owlbear anymore" before he chopped off Dayne head. Gorgug then pretended his head was a ball and that he was going for a pass.

Coach Daybreak

Burning ember flaming vains with a hellish gleam to his eyes, a whistle, a silvered halberd, and regenerating health

Aggressively targeted Tracker and Kristen (even as Gorgug literally stood over Kristen) and knocked Kristen out at one point

Yelled "No!" while flames shot out of his ears at the thought of ending toxic masculinity

Freaked out over Gorgug being an Owlbrear

Not a true devil, just a soul trapped in hell that was powerful enough in life to fight for the devils, punished to never understand why he was there (Brennan "He cannot find peace, but he can find you").

How he was finished: Daybreak shouted "I'm gonna kill you all. All of you deserve to be here, not me. I was a holy man! *points to Fig* YOU ARE A LITERAL ARCH DEVIL!" Fig answered "Yeah bitch it's fun!" before she used a 4th level psionic blast on him. He screamed as he was knocked off the ship and eviscerated by both Fig's psionic blast and the after effects of her booming blade* (Fig also steals his visage)

Scarecrow Men

The transfigured bodies of four former harvestmen who died

Burnt charred skin, flannel button up shirts, and heads of burlap sacks with scarcrow eyes, which were slightly aflame

How they were finished off: one was killed by Adaine's lightning bolt and the other three were gone in a flash of light by Kristen's destructive wave

***

Dis and Pok

Iron City of Dis

Choking smoke and freezing rain

Endless sprawling cast iron metropolis of dread, misery, and torture

Alarms (clacksaws I think Brennan said?) rang as the devils shouted "It's Seacaster!"

The city was lit up by Goldenrod (while the other ships in the armada caught up)

Building Holding Pok

At least one dark red and black stained glass window (which Riz crashed through). The room within was empty due to all the devils hearing the alarms and fleeing.

Dark hallway leading to a light coming out from under a closed doorway. A slightly ajar door was next to it and a possible third door with steal thrones was next to that. The slightly ajar door had a somewhat reflective marble wall (where a reflection of Pok could be seen from the hall) and a two way mirror that showed an interrogation room.

Pok

A goblin who was strapped to a chair and had a swolen eye. A pit fiend also splashed acid in his face

Was interrogated by a pit fiend flanked by two barbed devils

Kept a good poker face around the devils, at one point was snarling and growling as he had (what appeared to be) a goblinoid frenzy come over him

Was lacerated by barbed whips handled by the barbed devils until he collapsed, asking why he was there as he coughed up blood and appeared to go unconscious.

Shot both barbed devils in the head with his gun (which he picked off of Riz) as they were restraining Riz

Reached up and slapped his right ear to call for an extraction as a halo appeared behind his head. He reached out to grab Riz (Kid, I can't believe you made it here) before a beam of celestial light smashed through the ceiling. He confirmed that he was an undercover angel before raising his fist up in a superman pose as the beam made a loud sound and took the pair away.

***

Questions and Thoughts

How does Lorzug move, much less fight?

Fig shouldn't have told Vraz to eat her ass. She might have taken her up on it and tried to take a bite out of her ass. O_O

What IS a potentate?

How will Fig use her warlock abilities after being released? Was her insignia burning in her forehead how she's still able to do it?

Is Dayne's curse to never know how long he's been there?

How short is Adaine that our three Owlbears (all over 6 feet tall) didn't notice her when they went in for a three way chest bump?

Destructive Wave is the power of pissed off protective girlfriend energy.

When Kristen was knocked out, she was back in Silvar looking at a nice tree. Possible connection to the unknown goddess?

Adaine still has Johnny's warlock switchblade comb.

Will we get updated Pok art now?

Where is Riz now and how will he get back in time? Was this Kalina's plan all along (blow Pok's cover and delay the party longer to give them more of a lead)?

I am well aware that I spelled Alistair several different ways because I have no clue how to spell it and don't have it on my list of how I might spell it.

Please somebody teach Bill how to not suck at making bodies. I mean, I'm over here feeling sorry for those cinder zombies and between the crippling debt and unpaid internships, he could at LEAST give them working bodies with jaws and stuff.

Really paying attention made the 69 scene so much funnier and makes Ayda's confusion over it being a sex act so much more priceless. The couple was fully clothed, Kristen caressed Gorgug's leg while she was unconscious and being healed by Tracker, and (according to Brennan) Tracker just gave Kristen a sweet kiss. Part of me wonders if Tracker was messing with the group while Kristen came to thinking something dirty happened and just went with it, the other teens too inexperienced to know otherwise (save Ayda who must be so confused! XD).

The uselessness of Johnny Spells was one of my favorite parts of the stream.

Anybody else super happy Bill was so supportive of Fabian coming into his own, being supportive of his friends, and embracing dance?

Bill/Vraz. Nuff said.

31 notes · View notes

onemilliongoldstars · 6 years ago

Text

a crown seldom enjoyed - chapter 25

To maintain the fragile peace between north and south, Clarke of House Tyrell is sent to live in Winterfell as an act of faith between the two kingdoms. There, she is put under the protection of the first queen in the north, Queen Lexa of House Stark, Daughter of Wolves. A woman draped in steel and silver, wolves at her heels and rumoured to be a manifestation of the fury of the old gods; Clarke refuses to be awed be her quiet violence and cold smile. Instead of fostering unity, the meeting of the wolf and the rose lights a spark that spreads through the rest of Westeros, threatening to burn it to the ground.

25/33

clexa game of thrones au

read on ao3

Book Three: Chapter 4

Jasper and Monty have been utterly invaluable to Clarke since she first met them in Raven’s room all those weeks ago. Not only do they know every alleyway and gunnel in the city, but they also seem to know everybody of importance. Whether they have gambled with them, fought with them, or drank with them, the pair know every face that passes, and can slip money into the right hands to find out almost anything. They are quick to find out where Lord Bolton is staying- his money would make him stick out even if his accent didn’t, they tell her. A girl who works in the kitchen of the establishment he’s staying in is able to tell them which room he’s in.

“We need to send him a note, to lure him out.” She paces around her solar, Octavia watching her with a grim expression.

“How can we?” Octavia makes her way to the writing desk to peer down at the letters. “We don’t know what language this is.”

“We’ll keep it short.” Settling at the desk, she pulls out a short strip of parchment and dips her quill into the ink. “Lexa said Bolton was receiving letters with a red wax seal, so I had Harper fetch me one from the market.” She inclines her head to the red candle flickering on the writing desk.

“What will you write?” Octavia bends over her to watch. “ Aegon’s Square, midnight ?” She quotes, and Clarke nods, holding the parchment down as she waits for the ink to dry.

“We’re going to set a trap.”

The note is slipped under Lord Bolton’s door by the kitchen girl, and all that is left to do is wait. Clarke sends notes to the many ladies expecting her company tonight, pleading wedding nerves and excusing herself. With their nuptials only two days away the ladies are more than happy to let her alone, and she is able to slip from the castle under the cover of dark with Octavia by her side. They tread the now familiar path to Raven’s lodgings, and the blacksmith welcomes them with flagons of mead and chicken which none of them touch. While they wait, Clarke produces the letters from their place within her corset to show them to Raven.

The girl peers down at them, curious, leafing through the parchment, and then finally ask. “Why are they written in Braavosi?”

Clarke and Octavia’s heads whip around to stare at her, their eyes wide, and Raven looks between them with surprise. “What?”

“You know what language this is?” Clarke demands, the moment she can find her words again and Raven nods slowly, still eyeing her warily.

“It’s an old form of Braavosi, I think.”

“Can you read it?” Octavia asks, sharply, and Raven’s frown only deepens as she glances over the parchment.

“Maybe. My mother taught me some Braavosi when I was young, but that was only the common tongue. This is ancient Braavosi.”

“Ancient Braavosi?” Clarke exchanges a glance with Octavia. “Where did Lord Bolton learn to speak that?”

“Only really the old masters speak in it Braavos,” Raven tells them, offhandedly, her gaze fixed to the letters. “The bankers and such.”

“The Iron Bank of Braavos.” Octavia’s eyes are wide. “You were right, they’re all connected, Pike and Bolton and the Iron Bank.”

“But how?” Clarke sits heavily on the edge of the bed, twisting her hand fretfully in her skirt. “I feel as if we have every part of the puzzle but no clear picture. What can Pike and Bolton be offering the Iron Bank that they want?”

“And why is Bolton betraying the queen?” Octavia mutters, darkly. “The Boltons were always slimy and power hungry, but to stoop this low…” She curses below her breath.

“Once I’ve studied these I’ll be able to understand them.” Raven finally looks up from the letters, “The language is similar and I remember enough of my Braavosi to at least get an understanding of it.” Carefully, she folds the letters back together again and they both watch as she carefully plucks away a loose stone in the wall to slide them behind, utterly hidden. When she turns and meets their astonished gazes, she quirks a smile and says, lightly teasing. “You don’t think I’d trust anyone living in a tavern, do you?”

“ You live in a tavern.” Octavia points out, but Raven ignores her, settling next to Clarke on the bed.

“Tomorrow I’ll set to work decoding those letters, but for tonight we have other things to discuss.” Raven looks between them both. “Jasper, Monty and I want to try to get Ivy and Benam out just before the wedding.”

Clarke stares at her, “But the wedding is in two days, Raven.”

“I know, it’s soon, but if we can get them out just before the wedding all of the excitement and chaos will be the perfect distraction. The streets will be filled with people, and most of the guards will be posted on the roads to the Sept and at the castle anyway, no one will care about one woman and a baby in Flea Bottom.”

“ Pike will care,” Octavia argues and Raven purses her lips with frustration.

“But the guards won’t think to tell him until after the wedding and by then it’ll be too late. The guards don’t know their importance, they just think they’re guarding Pike’s mistress and bastard, at most.”

“What will you do with Ivy and Benam once you have them?” Clarke asks, watching as Raven’s back straightens under her gaze.

“Jasper and Maya, the kitchen girl at Bolton’s inn, they’re going to pretend Ivy is her sister and take them back to Maidenpool, where Maya’s family is. They have a farm just west of the town, no one will think to look for them there.”

“How will you get them out?”

“The guards will be distracted anyway, what with the celebrations beginning,” Raven shrugs, “Jasper and Monty are going to create another distraction,” A fleeting smile crosses her lips, “It’s what they do best. They won’t even see me slip upstairs and sneak her out.”

Clarke stares at her, taking in the certainty in her features, and suddenly fights the urge to hold her. After so long trying to figure things out alone, it is an undeniable relief to have Raven at her side and know that she can trust her. Carefully, she places a hand on the blacksmith’s shoulder and says, sincerely. “Thank you, Raven. You’re invaluable, I hope you know that.”

An unaccustomed flush rises up Raven’s cheeks, and she shrugs off Clarke’s hold with an embarrassed laugh. “It’s nothing.”

“I want to come with you, help you get them out.” Octavia puts in, eagerly, and Raven frowns at her.

“You have to protect Lady Clarke.”

“No,” Clarke shakes her head, holding out a hand to interrupt them. “Octavia is right, you’ll need her more than I will. It will be a dangerous task.”

“When they’re safely on their way I can return and tell you.” Octavia adds, and Clarke nods.

Carefully, she stands and brushes out her skirts, glancing out of the window at the moon high in the sky. “We should go and wait for Bolton.” She feels a flicker of anxiety slice through her. “And see if the queen came.”

---

In the darkness, Aegon’s statue looks like a towering, faceless monster from its place in the middle of the cobblestone courtyard. It is mostly deserted at this late hour, but Lexa doesn’t lift her hand from its place resting against the hilt of her sword at her waist, and beside her she knows that Anya is twitching to draw her sword or one of the many daggers hidden on her person. She had protested so fiercely to this adventure that Lexa had thought she would go so far as to tie her down in her solar, but when Lexa wouldn’t be swayed she had insisted on accompanying her with Ser Lincoln, despite Lexa’s protests. They wear dark cloaks, the hoods pulled up to cover their faces, and linger in the shadows of a dark butchers shop. Lit by only the silvery light of the moon, Kings Landing appears cold and ghoulish.

Anya twitches at her side, and from the corner of her eye Lexa sees Honour’s dark form prowling in and out of the shadows, his teeth flashing. The sound of quiet footsteps is all that warns them of the approaching figures, and Lexa spins, reaching for a dagger as Anya begins to pull her sword from its scabbard, before they recognise Clarke’s face beneath the hood.

“Clarke,” Relief flushes through Lexa’s body and she is reluctant to admit that a part of her had thought this could be some elaborate ruse. Clarke’s eyes are alert with anxiety, her lips thin, and she offers a nod to both Anya and Lincoln. Behind her stand Octavia Snow and, to Lexa’s surprise, the Winterfell blacksmith apprentice Raven Reyes.

“I’m glad you came,” She tells Lexa in a low voice.

“Will you explain any further?” Lexa demands in a whisper, allowing Clarke to guide them all back into the shadows. “You’ve told me barely anything, Clarke.”

“Bolton should be on his way,” Clarke’s voice is pitched so quietly that Lexa has to lean in to hear what she’s saying, their arms brushing together. “If the red wax is a sign from Pike, he’ll think that’s why he’s here. That should be all the proof you need.”

“You had a note sent to him?” Lexa guesses, and at Clarke’s nod questions. “How did you know where to find him?”

Clarke casts her a smile that is not quite happy. “I know people in this city who can find things out.”

“I see,” Something flashes across Clarke’s face and Lexa feels as if she has stepped over a lip without realising. There are depths to Clarke that she has only ever guessed at, and to see them splayed out so clearly here is disconcerting, skewing her worldview.

“Look,” At Octavia’s low instruction they all turn, like marionettes, to peer through the shadows at the hooded figure entering the square. His hand rests on a broadsword at his hip, and when he turns dread and shock shoots through Lexa’s body to see Bolton’s face in the moonlight.

She steps forward, reaching to draw her sword, but Clarke’s hand on her shoulder stops her. Their eyes meet and Clarke shakes her head slightly, and then steps out of the shadows before Lexa can do anything to stop her. Beside her, Octavia makes a strangled noise, and goes to follow, but Lincoln puts a heavy hand on her arm and they are left to watch in horror as Clarke steps into the moonlight.

Bolton notices her in moments, drawing his sword with a terrifying hiss of metal and Lexa’s heart thumps so loudly she fears it will attract his attention. Clarke pauses for a second, but no fear shows in her eyes as she draws down her hood and reveals her face to the stunned northern lord.

“Lord Bolton.” Clarke’s voice is cold and low, but it carries across the courtyard with little problem. “You came.”

“You summoned me, Lady Clarke?” His grip on his sword slackens just slightly, though he still keeps the weapon raised.

“Am I not who you expected?” There is a soft, lilting quality to Clarke’s voice that belies her words.

“I-” Lord Bolton hesitates, “I didn’t know who to expect.”

“There’s no need to be so guarded, my Lord.” Clarke gives him a pretty smile, seemingly utterly unconcerned by the blade it his hand. “Lord Pike sent me to fetch you.”

“Lord Pike?” The northerner doesn’t miss a beat, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Clarke laughs, and the sound bounces off the stone and brick to make it stilted and strange. “You’re playing coy, like a maiden, my Lord. Lord Pike said you may be suspicious of me, but how would I know to find you here if he had not told me so?”

Bolton’s brows twitch and Lexa imagines that she can see the cogs turning within his head, judging and wondering at this pretty southern flower before him. She is practically vibrating with the effort of not revealing herself from the shadows; Clarke appears so helpless from here, armed with nothing, small and lithe before Bolton’s hulking figure.

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?” Bolton questions with a scowl, but Clarke only shrugs.

“You don’t, I suppose, but would I really talk about killing a king and overthrowing a queen if I didn’t mean it?” Though she knows that Clarke is keeping up her ruse, the words hit Lexa to her core, causing bile to rise in her throat.

Bolton’s expression slowly relaxes, his eyes travelling over her, interested and evaluating. “Lord Pike sent you to the north?” He asks, at last, and Clarke gives a slight smile.

“Of course, why do you think I became so close to the queen?”

Lexa’s heart stutters at the words, and she works to keep her expression smooth and cold as those around her shoot her uncertain glances, watching surreptitiously for her reaction.

Bolton’s expression darkens and at his next words Lexa’s patience snaps. “I can certainly understand why she would be so taken with you… Tyrell women have a way with weak souls, I hear.”

Lexa steps from the shadows and rips her sword from its scabbard. The shrill whistle draws the attention of the pair in the square, and they turn to look at her, Bolton’s eyes widening at the sight of her. He draws his sword, swinging to angle it first towards Lexa and then Clarke, but in his moment of hesitation Clarke springs out of his reach and reveals a dagger hidden in the skirt. Her expression hardens from her girlish, innocent smile into one of deadly seriousness and Bolton takes a hesitant step back from them both. He turns to flee, but behind him stand the menacing figures of Lincoln, Anya, Raven and Octavia, surrounding him.

“I should have known never to trust you,” The words spill from between her lips, furious and icy. Bolton’s eyes narrow and fix upon her, “You joined the war of north and south so late, you were the last to swear allegiance to me.”

“Why would we join a war that cost us thousands, in both lives and coin?” Bolton retorts, almost spitting in his rage. “A war to satisfy your father’s thirst for power?”

“My father was a good man! He was trying to protect us!”

“He wanted to cut us off from the rest of the world.” Bolton shakes his head and for a moment Lexa sees a flash of weariness in his eyes. “He was afraid that we would lose our traditions and values, that we would be weak and vulnerable, but he acted out of fear.”

“You’re wrong,” Lexa growls, fiercely. “He only wanted what was best for us!”

Bolton only scoffs, “How could you know? You were nought but a child when the war began, you would believe whatever your father told you.”

“You’re a serpent,” Lexa slips into a defensive position, holding her sword at the ready. “Spitting lies to cover your treachery.”

“If left unchecked your family would pull the north into despair and destruction.” He swings, and their sword meet with a crash that sounds deafening in the quiet courtyard. “We cannot isolate ourselves from the rest of the world, we will not survive.”

“We are protecting ourselves!” Between their words their weapons clash, a chorus working in tandem with them, and they circle each other. Bolton is a good fighter and a seasoned warrior, and Lexa has to keep her wits about her or pay the price.

“You truly think that I do not want what is best for my land?” Bolton demands, fiercely. “The people I have fought for, the land tilled by my ancestors, the castle built by my great grandfather?”

“You swore allegiance to my father!” Lexa twists, her rage fuelling her swing, but Bolton is too fast and she barely catches her footing in time to bring her blade up to meet with his, throwing him away. “What do you want from this? To rule the north?” She spins and their blades meet in a flurry of clashing steel, barely catching blows that would leave them dead if they landed. Bolton spins and manages to catch her arm, cutting through her thick clothes to tear the skin, and Lexa cries out, stumbling backwards.

Anya and Lincoln, content until now to let her fight her own battle, step forward, swords drawn, but Lexa waves them away, glowering at Bolton from beneath the strands of hair that have fallen from her braids and stick to the sweat on her forehead. Bolton is breathing heavily, clearly more affected than he would have Lexa think. They stare at each other for a long moment.

“You Starks,” The contempt in his voice is like ice sliding down her spine. “You think you’re so honourable and good, but your father was just the same as the rest of us. He saw this mess before any of us and didn’t want to be drawn into the war that will engulf the south. He was a coward.”

The words pull a furious snarl from between her teeth and she rains down a series of heavy blows upon him. Bolton stumbles, struggling to match her power and speed, and she bears down upon him, pushing him back until his feet stumble, and he slips, falling heavily on the cobbles. He turns to swing his sword manically towards her, but she kicks at his wrist so fiercely that she hears the bone snap. Bolton cries out, the weapon falling from his limp fingers, and falls heavily onto his chest, trapping his arms beneath her knees to ensure that he can’t reach for another hidden weapon. To his credit, Bolton does not struggle beneath her and his cold eyes stare up at her without fear.

In the ensuing silence, falling across the courtyard like a blanket of snow, Lexa barely feels the throb of pain in her arm. All she sees is Bolton’s hard face, his cold eyes and the genuine hatred there.

“You won’t do it,” Disdain colours his words. “Honourable Stark, you would never kill me like a common beggar on the street.”

“You underestimate me,” She pulls her dagger from her belt, and holds it close to his throat. “Truly, you do. You’re a threat to my people, and I am judge, jury and executioner.”

She thinks she sees Bolton’s throat bob as he swallows, his eyes flickering down to the blade. Then his gaze hardens, and he raises it to stare up at her. “If you think this ends with me, you are wrong.”

The words are his last. With a flick of her wrist, Lexa slices through his throat, and he dies with wide eyes and a gargled noise. The blood sprays out, splattering across her jerkin, neck and face, bt she barely flinches, staring down at his lifeless face until she is sure she will never forget the sight. It is a soft voice and a familiar hand on her shoulder that finally draws her away from the body beneath her. Blinking, she turns to find Clarke looking down at her, tenderness flickering just below the surface of her expression.

“Lexa,” Her voice is quiet, and Lexa stands mechanically, starting when she realises that her legs are shaking. Clarke’s arm winds around her waist, supporting her weight, and she is every inch the queen she will soon be when she fixes their companions with an imperious view and says. “The queen is hurt, we will take her back to Raven’s rooms.”

They hurry to the tavern above which Raven is staying, and the room seems small and crowded with them all crammed inside. Honour lingers at the door in the shadows, unwilling to follow into this warm, bright, crowded place, and Lexa sees Raven hurry to clear some of the mess from her desk and floor. To Lexa’s surprise, Anya bends to help her, and the pair exchange a glance that she cannot understand. Her arm throbs, and Clarke lowers her to sit upon the bed, her brows pulled tightly as she peers at the wound on her arm.

“This is bad,” She says, her voice low, “I’ll need to stitch it,” She glances back at the people filling the room and requests. “Will you all give us some privacy, please?”

Octavia and Raven nod immediately, and when Lincoln and Anya look to lexa, she inclines her head. “Wait downstairs,” She instructs, exhaustion sitting in every lip and valley of her words.

Before they leave, Raven pauses in the doorway. “There is a box with bandages and needles and thread beside the bed if you need them.”

“Thank you,” Clarke stands to see them out, and close and lock the door behind them, and Lexa lets out a long breath and allows herself to slump forwards, peering down at the her wound. She can barely see it through the ripped fabric of her jerkin, and Clarke hurries to sit beside her with the box of healing supplies Raven pointed out.

“I know it hurts,” There is a brusque, sensible tenderness to her voice, and she gently nudges Lexa further along the bed so that she can sit beside her and tap away her probing fingers. “But don’t touch it.” She looks down at the wound, her brows creased in concentration, but when her eyes flicker up to Lexa’s there is a nervousness to them and a flush upon her cheeks. “I’m sorry, you’ll have to take off your jerkin, I need to get to it more easily.”

Lexa’s eyes widen, her breath catching in her throat and her cheeks heat so suddenly that she is sure they are blazing red by the time Clarke turns her back to collect a bowl of water from across the room and stoke the fire to warm it. As she moves around the room, Lexa struggles to get out of her jerkin and undershirt. She cannot help but sneak glances at Clarke’s figure, moving around this room with such familiarity. There is something enchanting about watching her complete such domestic chores with skill and efficiency, utterly in her element, and as she lights candles to settle the room into a warm, golden glow, Lexa has to tear her eyes away.

She becomes suddenly aware of her nudity when Clarke sits beside her again, the warmed water and a clean cloth in her lap. She is still wearing her bindings, but she can’t help but hold her shirt against her stomach with her good arm.

“This is nasty,” Clarke tuts, inspecting the wound with the eyes of a healer, and Lexa struggles not to jolt when her fingers touch her bare arm. Clarke’s eyes flicker up to her, dark like a stormy sky, and Lexa’s throat becomes dry. “I’ll have to clean it first,” Clarke says at last, glancing back to the warm water in her lap. “Or it will become infected. This will hurt, are you ready?”

Lexa nods, but at Clarke’s first touch she cannot help but flinch. Clarke pauses, giving her a moment to collect herself, and Lexa grits her teeth as she continues. Her touch is gentle, despite the pain, and clinically efficient. When Lexa sneaks a glance at her beneath her lashes she sees that Clarke is biting her lip in concentration, and feels a flicker of endearment for the southern lady. Clarke eventually finishes and sits back, putting the water to one side, and picking up a needle and thread.

“I’m sorry,” She sounds genuinely regretful. “I’ll have to give you a few stitches, to help it heal.”

Lexa only nods her head, reaching to bunch her shirt up in her free hand and squeeze it tightly. It’s not the first time she’s had hurried stitches, but still a shiver runs through her when the needles pierces through her skin and she feels the thread running through the puncture wound. She swallows harshly, the noise loud over Clarke’s careful, concentrated breathing.

“Why didn’t Honour interfere?”

Lexa blinks, her eyes falling away from the spot on the far wall that she had fixed them to. “What?”

“When you were fighting Bolton, why didn’t Honour interfere?” Clarke threads the needle again, and Lexa flinches, but answers.

“They know when to interfere and when not, if I had been in real danger he would have helped me.”

Clarke arches an eyebrow, “You don’t think this is real danger?” She tugs the thread very lightly to make her point, and Lexa manages a small smile.

“I’ve been in much worse danger than that.” Lexa’s gaze flickers over Clarke’s downturned head, “I wish you hadn’t stepped out there to confront him.”

“I know,” Clarke smiles wryly, “That’s why I didn’t tell you before I did it.”

“You were certainly very convincing,” Her thoughts darken at the words, “Lord Pike killed the king? And your father?”

Clarke is silent for a few moments, but Lexa doesn’t press her. When she finally answers her voice is steady, but thick. “Yes, I don’t know why he killed my father but I suspect it’s because he was close to finding out what was going on.”

“This is bigger than either of us know, isn’t it?” The words are soft, and Clarke sighs quietly.

“I fear so. Raven is going to try to translate those letters for us, then we’ll know for certain.”

“Raven Reyes is going to translate those letters?” Lexa tries to keep the scepticism from her voice, but Clarke must notice because she quirks a slight, sardonic smile.

“Raven is from Bravos, actually, and she thinks she can read them.”

“The letters are in Braavosi?” Lexa’s brows twist with curiosity. “Why would Pike and Bolton be communicating using Braavosi?”

Clarke’s eyes flicker up to her, but when Lexa meets her gaze she looks away again. She can’t read her expression with her head bent over the careful stitching in Lexa’s arm, and her stomach builds with dread the longer their silence continues.

“You know more than you’re saying.” She realises, aloud, and Clarke ties off the final stitch, reaching for a light bandage to wrap around her arm. Her fingers are soft and warm, and their touch against the tender skin of her inner arm sends a shiver through Lexa, freezing the words on her lips. She struggles to breathe steadily until Clarke finally ties off the bandage and says, with the gently sensible tone of a healer.

“We want the bandage to allow blood flow, but protect the stitching. Be careful with it, you shouldn’t have much bleeding, but change it if need be.”

She stands to clear away the water and bandage, and with distance Lexa gains the clarity to think once again.

“Clarke,” The sound of her name draws Clarke to a stop, her fingers pausing where she holds the cloth above the water. A steady drip fills the room. “What aren’t you telling me? Why would Bolton and Pike be using Braavosi?”

With measured movements, Clarke squeezes out the last of the water from the cloth and sets it to one side. She gathers a wine decanter and mug from the sideboard, and pours the wine out, before returning to settle on the bed and hold out the wine for Lexa to drink. She takes it with some trepidation, her concern growing.

“Do you remember,” Clarke says at last, her eyes fixed just past Lexa on the low fire flickering in the grate, “The assassin in Winterfell?”

Lexa’s eyes widen, and she has the horrible feeling of standing on the edge of the Flint Cliffs, looking down at the sea’s dark waters. “Of course, how could I forget?”

“We never found out who the assassin was,” Clarke meets her gaze, and there is a darkness to her eyes that makes Lexa shiver. “But I have my suspicions. I think he was a Faceless Man.”

Lexa’s brows shoot up and she blinks, struggling to manage the disbelief on her face. “Really?” She asks, at last. “What proof do you have? The Faceless Men are the most skilled assassins in the world Clarke, they never fail.”

“But he wasn’t expecting a direwolf,” Clarke corrects, shaking her head. “I’m only guessing at that first assassin.”

“First assassin?” Lexa echoes, her eyes widening and her voice richocheting up with horror and surprise. “Clarke, do you mean to tell me- you’ve had another-”

“Several weeks ago,” Clarke glances away again, and the fierce fear and anger in her eyes is enough to make Lexa’s heart ache. “I was hurt.”

“How could you not tell me?” Lexa reaches out and can’t stop herself from touching at Clarke’s arm and reassuring herself that she’s still here and alive. “You were hurt?” She fears she will not forget the image of Clarke’s pale body in her bed in Winterfell, blood on the floor and bedsheets, until the day she dies.

“I have healed well enough,” She skates a glancing touch over her stomach, where Lexa assumes the assassin’s blade made contact. “I was lucky, Octavia saved me, and Roan.”

“Roan?” The more she learns the less Lexa feels she knows.

“Ser Roan, one of my father’s most trusted knights. My mother sent him to Kingslanding to fetch me home in secret, I think her deception is the only reason I am alive today. The assassin didn’t know to expect him, nobody did except maybe my mother. He killed the assassin, but Lexa,” She fixes her with her vibrant gaze again and Lexa feels transfixed. “YOur focus is in the wrong place, the assassin was a Faceless Man.”

“How do you know?”

“When she died her face changed,” Clarke’s voice trembles just a little, “I saw it before my eyes.”

“It changed?” Lexa’s eyes widen, her breath catching. “I’ve only ever heard of such things.”

“It was like… water, sliding away.” Clarke’s voice hitches and Lexa takes her hand. She can’t stop herself, sliding their fingers together in an attempt to anchor Clarke to this warm, safe room, behind a locked door. “I never know if I’m safe,” Clarke’s voice is still distant, but her fingers tangle and squeeze tightly.

“I wish I could persuade you to leave this place,” Clarke’s gaze moves back to her and when their eyes meet the depth of pain she sees in Clarke’s forms an ache in her gut. “But I know you never will, I can only try to keep you safe. Have you told the king of your suspicions?”

Guilt flickers across Clarke’s face, and she shakes her head. “I do not know if he’s involved yet,” She admits, and upon seeing Lexa’s horror hurries to continue. “I suspect not, truly, but even so I don’t know what Finn would do with this information. He has little tact.”

“And you will still marry him?” The words spill from her before she can think, but she doesn’t regret them, even when Clarke’s eyes widen.

“You know I must,” She answers, at last, and Lexa’s heart shatters once again when their gazes meet and she realises that she knows the southern woman is right.

“I know.” Her heart cracks within her chest, and they fall into each other’s arms in tandem, clutching at one another as if their lives depend on it. In this moment they are hidden away from the world, and Lexa is able to lean into the crook of Clarke’s shoulder and inhale her sweet, floral scent, committing it to memory. She hopes that in this embrace Clarke can feel the words that she cannot say, the words that would break both of their hearts to hear. Though she cannot voice them, she knows those words will be imprinted on her heart forever and she hopes that Clarke can feel them in its beating and the clutch of her desperate fingers and the tears that soak through the shoulder of her dress.

#gotau #game of thrones #clexa #clexa gotau #clarke griffin #commander lexa #clexa fanfic

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divine-veil-vb · 6 years ago

Text

Never ending survey

RULES: Repost, do not reblog. Tag 10 blogs!

Tagged by: @lareine-kira and @paleshadeofrose

Tagging: @hangedemperor , @istolin , @maximiloix , @trahja-tia , @eorzeasfrozenknight , @charm-in-spades , @thorcatte , @haila-wetyios , @a-sharlayan-abroad

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BASICS.

FULL NAME: Varg Blacksoul, formerly Timur Oronir NICKNAME: Varg-Varg (given by Lareine), Stiffy and Grumpy (given by Silke) AGE: 54 BIRTHDAY: 9th sun of the 1st astral moon ETHNIC GROUP: Xaela Au Ra NATIONALITY: Othard, Ishgard LANGUAGE/S: Common, xaelic, ishgardian SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Demisexual ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: Biromantic RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Single and not looking for company. HOME TOWN / AREA: Dawn Throne, Azim Steppe CURRENT HOME: Pillars, Ishgard PROFESSION: Paladin, medic/healer at Ishgard’s service.

PHYSICAL.

HAIR: Long and silvery grey. EYES: Black with white limbal rings, small irises. FACE: Angular features, long nose, high cheekbones. LIPS: Narrow, often cracked, slightly darker than his usual skin color. COMPLEXION: Grayish purple BLEMISHES: Dark circles SCARS: Lots of scars which he keeps hidden at all times. Two thick, long ones are visible and almost go across his right eye. TATTOOS: No tattoos. HEIGHT: 210cm WEIGHT: Slightly underweight BUILD: Slender but masculine, somewhat toned. FEATURES: Black markings around eyes, and naturally thick, black claws. ALLERGIES: None USUAL HAIR STYLE: At work or formal meetings it’s combed back either completely or with some locks on his temples left loose. In more casual situations he mostly just lets it be. USUAL FACE LOOK: Calm, focused, narrowed eyes. USUAL CLOTHING: Full, dignified heavy armor or parts of it combined with a long coat, formal robes, jodhpurs, vests, blouses and high-heeled boots.

PSYCHOLOGY.

FEAR/S: Imprisonment, being held or tied down, physical pain, betrayal. ASPIRATION/S: To be successful, self-sufficient and powerful until the end, to bring as many as possible wrongdoers to justice, to find an heir, and catch people still on the loose who managed to escape his revenge long ago.

POSITIVE TRAITS: He keeps his word, doesn’t leave things unfinished, is a good motivator for slackers, aims for high-quality results in everything, is reasonable and logical.

NEGATIVE TRAITS: Insensible towards most of people, logic always comes before his own or other people’s feelings, very straightforward, capable of cruelty if necessary.

TEMPERAMENT: Calm SOUL TYPE/S: Thinker ANIMALS: Gray wolf

VICE HABIT/S: Smoking. He hates it, but it’s the least harmful thing that calms his nerves down, and he’s addicted. He tries to limit it though, and use it only in worst occasions, since he doesn’t want the side effects affecting his health or work. If things get especially grim, he also has full stashes of potent liquor and intravenous sedatives.

FAITH: Science usually comes first, but he’s also spiritual in some way. It’s one of those topics he doesn’t discuss with anyone. Some of his duties include working as a cleric, so it may have something to do with Halone. Or then it doesn’t, and it’s just another job.

GHOSTS?: Has seen them with his own eyes so can’t deny their existence. AFTERLIFE?: He hopes it exists, for reasons. REINCARNATION?: It’s a possibility.

POLITICAL ALIGNMENT: Generally neutral, but on demand would choose the side of underdogs: ignoble, the poor and the sick, minors etc. Wouldn’t show his alignment publicly if it was a threat to himself. Would also pretend to be supporting the oppressor, only trying to sabotage their work at every opportunity. Even I’m not sure would he actually die for anyone else or some common cause. He has fled once to save his own hide and he could do it again. Knows main points of what’s going on and where around the world for the sake of common knowledge, but is only interested in topics that concern himself. Has been a target for racists since arriving to Ishgard as a teenager, so he despises them from the bottom of his heart.

EDUCATION LEVEL: Learned

FAMILY.

FATHER : Not relevant MOTHER : Not relevant SIBLINGS : None that he knows of EXTENDED FAMILY: Iris Ymir (patient and protege) and Arsene Dreadeois (butler)

NAME MEANING/S:

Timur is a Turkic and Mongolic name which literally means iron. In Indonesian, timur translates to east and symbolizes hope by the rising sun.

All members of the Oronir tribe believe themselves to be direct descendants of Azim, the tribe's god of the sun.

Varg is wolf in swedish. Varg was also originally a nickname given by his friends at the Steppe. It was the only thing he kept after starting his new life in Ishgard and severing his ties with his homeland.

Blacksoul was given by his comrades in the army for being so ruthless towards enemies - both the ones on the battlefield and the ones captured.

HISTORICAL CONNECTION?: None

FAVORITES.

BOOK: Science, mythology, swordplay, alchemy, etc. Everything that has something to do with his work or hobbies. DEITY: Halone seems to share most of his values. HOLIDAY: Doesn’t celebrate any. MONTH: September and October. There isn’t many little things in life he gets pleasure from, but fall colors is one of them. SEASON: Fall and winter. PLACE: His estate, cathedrals, libraries and forges. WEATHER: Thick fog, rain and sunshine at the same time. SOUND/S: Fire, rain and musical instruments when someone who actually knows what they’re doing plays them. SCENT/S: Herbs, iron, parchment. TASTE/S: Whisky, tea, whatever Arsene makes. FEEL/S: Clean clothes, heat radiating from a fireplace. ANIMAL/S: Doesn’t like animals except for his chocobo, Mori. NUMBER: Doesn’t care about numbers. COLORS: White, black, blood red, gold, silver.

EXTRA.

TALENTS: Accuracy of a chirurgeon, skillful with swords, managing to define a goal fast in any kind of surprising situation and being very patient and stubborn at achieving it. BAD AT: Admitting he has weaknesses, comforting people, having fun, small talk, relaxing. HOBBIES: Reading, studying, weapon maintenance, alchemy. TROPES: Antihero, tragic hero and mad scientist. Definitely could also be a villain. Depends on whom you ask.

QUOTES:

“Since you seem to be so worried of my… customers, perhaps I should take you along the next time I interrogate them. You would see with your own eyes what kind of delicate, exquisite and misunderstood individuals they are, when they spit on you, mock their victims and brag about the amount of people they have raped or murdered.”

“Today it happens. Make sure she is out of here before I return tonight. I am no longer even sure which one of them is the worse one.”

“It was a mere procedure. If procedures were considered intimate, I would be close friends with half of Ishgard by now.”

“Do tell me... If you work as much as you claim, how come you are always broke when we meet?”

“Very well. Play something for me. Let us see are you a man of your word.”

MUN QUESTIONS.

Q1 : If you could write your character your way in their own movie, what would it be called, what style would it be filmed in, and what would it be about?

A1 : He’s been busy sticking his spoon into so many soups during his life that you could probably make a trilogy of his fooleries feats. The first part would tell about his early life in Azim Steppe and how he was forced to leave from there, the second part about how he found his soulmate and adapted to his new life in Ishgard, and how it all eventually ended up into a shitstorm, and the third one would be the current storyline. No clue about the name, though. The Soulforge would be perfect but too bad it’s taken.

Q2 : What would their soundtrack/score sound like?

A2 : Bloodborne, Dark Souls and Amnesia the Dark Descent OSTs are absolutely the closest ones you could get to Varg. Orchestral, choir, bowed string instruments, both epic and monstrous. Even if there were more peaceful pieces here and there, while listening to them you’d still have that same feeling of dread you used to have while playing the original Resident Evil and Silent Hill games and finding a safe room: you just barely escaped death but can’t stay in the safe haven forever.

Q3 : Why did you start writing this character?

A3 : He’s quite different compared to my Forsaken shadow priestess in WoW, whom I used to RP for... two or three years? Long story short: I wanted something else for a change. I also used to have an old Forsaken death knight, who was a lot more similar to Varg, but he was more evil. He existed pretty much only for occasions when someone needed a true villain for some plot. He was funny however and I always thought it was a pity I didn’t get chances to RP him more often.

Q4 : What first attracted you to this character?

A4 : He’s a mixture of four different OCs of mine, with a bit of his original spice ofc. One of them came into being in, uh, somewhat obscure conditions. Kept seeing him in my dreams when I was a kid, and he became one of my imaginary friends I used to have back then. And not just one of the many, but the closest one. Also generally in entertainment I couldn’t care less about Lukes and Frodos. Villains, tragic heroes and the like are my thing. They’re usually the most multilayered and interesting characters.

Q5 : Describe the biggest thing you dislike about your muse.

A5 : Perfectionism. I’m similar and it sometimes drives me nuts to watch him neglecting himself while trying to achieve perfection. If I could physically talk to him I would go and slap him and be like “EAT. SLEEP. YES THE THING IS GOOD ENOUGH ALREADY. LEAVE IT.”

Q6 : What do you have in common with your muse?

A6 : Well, already kind of answered this one, but wait, there’s more: insomnia, nightmares, PTSD, misanthropy and cynicism come to mind first. And booze. How could I almost forget booze? I believe I know what misery is so I’m good at RPing miserable characters and make them look as authentic as possible. *lols like Alcyone from Magic Knight Rayearth* We both also have a strong sense of justice and nonexistent sympathy for those who use others as stepping stones. Aye I know, sounds a lot like a self-insert character, but it’s not like that. It’s more like... before meeting him/the OCs he’s based on, I used to be quite a scentless and tasteless kid. Similarities and peer support attract. And I’ve also learned from him.

It’s also a lot like me and Lareine. We became friends because we had 95% of the same interests and problems but perhaps that’s why we get along so well and understand each other.

Q7 : How does your muse feel about you?

A7 : He would probably hate and like me at the same time. Or couldn’t decide. We both like peace and quiet, doing our job well is fundamental and our basic values are pretty much the same. We would get along well if we worked in the same place. However, unlike him, I have some horrid procrastination seasons, crippling self-esteem issues, tend to put other people’s needs and opinions above my own and keep stressing about things for 7 billion souls instead of just myself. I’m suspicious of pretty much everything else except Lareine and our plushie crow Agatha, except that Agatha creeps me out sometimes as well when she takes out a knife and sits next to my bed at night, staring at me, can’t watch Hachiko without bawling my eyes out during the entire movie, love puppies and kittens and danger noodles and I’m addicted to video games. Very likely he’d kick me out as well.

Q8 : What characters does your muse have interesting interactions with?

A8 : Varg would never admit it to himself, but I think he gets best along with people who are a bit silly in some way, and who get on his nerves by being too carefree and doing stupid things. Lareine and Iris, when they’re behaving. Arsene, who’s kind at everyone. Currently Shaura is my favorite. Varg himself is so uptight people like them help breaking his gray routines. Also a bonus: he doesn’t see them as a threat, so that’s probably the closest he’s able to get to relaxing among other people.

Q9 : What gives you inspiration to write your muse?

A9 : I’m a fan of my own characters. It doesn’t feel like I would’ve created them. I saw them with my third eye or something and I’ve just written for others to read what I’ve seen. I don’t plan RPs beforehand. I just let the hound loose and let him do whatever he wants. So far I haven’t got tired of my characters’ antics and could just write more. The only obstacles are limited hours per day, necessary evils like eating and sleeping, procrastination, trying to sort out my life, and the damn FFXIV. SOMEONE PLEASE TAKE IT OUT OF MY HANDS.

Q10 : How long did this take you to complete?

A10 : Ehh, maybe 4-5 hours.

#final fantasy xiv #ffxiv #character info #au ra #never ending survey

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