#fic: blood in the snow

[hyuwunjinie]

Blood in the Snow (pt.1)

Characters: Hyunjin x afab reader (ft other skz members)

Genre/warnings: Royalty AU, Arranged Marriage to Lovers, Romance, Smut, Angst & Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual pining, Toxic Parents, Misogyny (Period accurate)

Explicit sexual content. This work portrays elements/themes that may be triggering, proceed with caution. Minors DNI.

Word count: 1,157

Summary: You thought you were engaged for eternity, destined to live your princess' dreams in a grand castle. But the moment you close your eyes, all you can see is the blood in the snow.

—

Today the weather was absolutely wonderful, yet you were anxiously clutching the ruffles of your dress. Your mother sitting next to you had been trying her best to reassure you, to no avail, and your behavior earned you a light tap on the back of your right hand as she clicked her tongue. 

“y/n, I know you are impatient, but please, try to keep your dress in one piece, alright?”

Impatient wasn’t quite the right word. You were terrified. The carriage you were in was meant to bring you straight to the Great North to meet your betrothed, a Lord much higher in status than you were. You were already missing the golden fields of amber wheat that ruffled near your home’s stables.

You didn’t want to admit it, but you couldn’t call this place home anymore, really. Home was now wherever you were headed to, or it shall become home sooner or later, you tried to reassure yourself. You didn’t even know when you could come back, of if you’ll ever get the opportunity to. This realisation was breaking your heart, but the adrenaline rushing through your veins was keeping you from becoming too emotional. 

Your back was already hurting, and you wished you were horseriding instead of having to sit in a stupid carriage in a stupid ruffled dress. In your opinion, you looked like a porcelain doll. And this was not a compliment ; an overdone makeup with your skin way too fair and your cheeks way too pink, a dress that looked like it came straight from a six years old closet, and a painful hairstyle which took one hour to put in place. 

“Mom, I’m just stressed, okay? I am not looking forward to this anymore.” You admitted with bitterness.

“Oh Honey, don’t say this, please. You are gorgeous, there’s no way they won’t like you. give me your hands, they must be tense.”

You always admired your mother’s way to dodge a difficult subject by redirecting people’s attention on another, but this time you silently cursed the gods you were the victim of her stratagem. With a sigh, you gave your hands to your mother who dedicated herself to slowly massage them. Looking out the small window of the carriage, you contemplated the slow change of the scenery, the golden leaves of the south trees slowly giving up their spots for their green cousins. Reminiscing the past, you let yourself drift to sleep under the careful gaze of your mother.

—

“Mom, where does he live ?” You asked, your small frame holding onto her hand in front of the newest portrait in the hall. You were four or six years old, at most. 

“Way up north, sweetie.” Your mother answered, her voice calm and collected. Cold but warm, she gave you a reassuring press on your palm. 

“... Why can’t he come play here ?” You let out with a pout, puzzled at how distances worked still and scratching your brain to understand your mother’s words. 

“It’s too far. it would take him hours to reach this place.” She chuckled, mellowed by your cute face and visible dilemma. 

“That’s not fair. I want to play.” You were eyeing the portrait now. 

A youthful boy was sitting next to two adults. Their faces seemed warm and inviting, a welcoming sight for the viewer. But you learned fast enough that your focus should be on the other kid. He had short black hair, full lips and almond eyes. Dressed in expensive clothing, he sported a navy blue vest with shorts and dress shoes. 

Your mother sighed, a thoughtful gaze etched on her face. 

“Life is rarely fair, y/n.” Her sudden grave tone made you look up, and she met your gaze halfway. “See, this boy ? His name is Hwang Hyunjin. One day, you will be his wife. Like your mama and papa.” Silent tears rolled down her cheeks, contrasting with her small smile. “And you will have a happy, wonderful life with him.”

“...Mama, why are you crying ?” Confused, you could feel your own tears prickling your eyes, but you didn’t even know why you felt this way. 

Now at your level, your mother gently put back a strand of your hair behind your ear and embraced you closely. 

“... It’s nothing, sweetie. Mama is a little tired, alright ?” She sobbed in your shoulder. 

You remember it snowed, that day. 

—

“Y/n ! look !!” You were woken up in a rush by your mother who was gently rubbing your upper arm to get your attention. 

Barely processing your environment, you focused your brain on your mother who was pointing intently at the carriage window.

You followed her hand, and all you could see was white. Snow, you realised. Snow as far as you could see. It was the first time you witnessed a wintery landscape. In the south, it did snow some times, but it never stayed on ground, melting right away upon its contact. 

The light reflected so prettily upon the white mantle outside that you let out an audible gasp, mesmerized by this new sight. getting closer to the window, you could see your breath, and you shuddered, suddenly aware of the sudden drop of temperature you were experiencing. You were hurting still, but you suddenly felt glad to be inside the somewhat warm haven of the carriage. 

Reaching for the bag in front of your seat, your mother pulled up an ivory chawl that she put tightly around you. 

“I knitted this one myself, you know ?” She chuckled proudly.

“Wait, really ? I thought you hated knitting, mother.” You stared in disbelief at the skilled handiwork of the chawl and its flowery details. You slowly discerned patterns of sunflowers and lilies. You recognised the sunflowers to be you, as it was your favorite flower, and it didn’t took you long to remember lilies were Hyunjin’s favorites.

“Oh, I do, don’t get me wrong. But I wanted to surprise you. I was meant to give this to you after the wedding, but I suppose now is as good as ever, right?” She looked at you, gaze thoughtful and unreadable. You stared at each other for a second, before you finally broke the eye contact. 

“Thank you, mother. It’s a wonderful gift. I will treasure it greatly.” You stared at the mixed patterns of sunflowers and lilies. “I will use it a lot with these temperatures, I’m sure.” Reaching out for a hug, you suddenly felt as if something changed, in that instant. A realisation that, after the wedding, your parents will return to your- their home. You won’t see your mother every morning anymore, waiting for you at breakfast with eggs and toast and fresh orange juice. You won’t be able to go flower picking together anymore. You squeezed her more tightly. 

“...I will miss you, mother.”

“I will miss you too, y/n.”

In silence, you held onto these words for what seemed an eternity. 

[hazardous-who]

[ What You Think You Know, Among Ice and Snow ] "The demon let the heart fall to the ground without a care, discarding the organ as if it was nothing but trash. It angered Kakashi, but he did nothing but sit and stare, every bit of fight fading from his system as he considered the position he was in. He was going to die, and there was nothing that could be done to stop it." Read it here ! - > *Click*

[setokaibapetty]

5 + 1 Fic Friday Roundup: Surprise Relative

Some fics where a surpise blood relation pops up. Like, sometimes the guy who raised you was lying about being your dad, sometimes a Pit gives you a baby, etc.

Imprint (AO3) - "He screwed his eyes shut, held his breath, desperately wished that he was back in his safehouse, alone and blissfully unaware. But the weight in his hands remained, and when he opened his eyes, it was to the bean-shaped 'fuck you' the Lazarus Pit had kindly bestowed upon him, arms and legs folded up against his front beneath off-white muslin while tiny lips smacked softly.'

Red Blood, Blue Blood (AO3) - "Jason Todd was living a very ordinary life in Crime Alley before his mother gets sick. Then, suddenly, Jason and Catherine have to grapple with the secret everyone has known since Jason was born with black hair and blue eyes—Willis Todd wasn't his biological father. Bruce Wayne is, and not only is he the richest man in Gotham, he has three other children who may not be glad to have an interloper in their midst."

Going Off-Book (AO3) - "Dick winces. “Tim, meet Damian Wayne. Apparently, his mom told him who his dad was when he turned eighteen and the first thing he did after finding out was enroll in the nearest police academy. He served for a couple of years and just arranged a transfer here from Metropolis.” He directs a pleading gaze at Tim. “Like I said, Bruce had to go out of town for a while, but he asked me to show Damian the ropes. Tim, I’m sorry, but—"

when the dead tree flowers (AO3) - "It wasn't solely Jango Fett's DNA that went into making Domino Squad. Palpatine had other plans for them. Thankfully, so does their second genetic donor, and he has just as few qualms about murder as a Sith Lord."

Open Arms (AO3) - "The story starts when Quinlan get's a call from the hospital; an old girlfriend has given birth and named him the father, leaving the baby at the hospital. This triggers a series of events that bring Fox back into contact with his bio family, who he is not as distant from as he might like to think."

Bonus: welcome all your bastard actions home (AO3) - "Daenerys had arrived at Winterfell three days past, a great host of dragons and roses and suns and krakens, clearly expecting Jon -- the King in the North, as uneasy that title rests on his shoulders -- to bend the knee. Instead, he takes her to the crypts to speak of ancient history."

[lookinghalfacorpse]

blood upon the snow

READ HERE on ao3

“I can’t do it,” Phil answered.  His voice was weak.  “It will take me 50 years to figure this out, and another 50 for him to forgive me.  The lad won’t live long enough for me to make this happen.” “We don’t know for sure that he’s mad–” “Then why won’t he come home?”

(in the wake of sam and quackity's recent recapture attempt, philza and technoblade are seeking vengeance. dream is nowhere to be found.)

sequel to 'the trees deny themselves nothing.'

SO FAR: 4 chapters, 4000 words. plenty more to come.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: mentions of torture, Descriptions of Injury, Loss of Limbs(both fingers & leg), Amputation, Panic Attacks, Chronic Pain, Sam being a major weenie

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Whumpuary Day 1-2

Prompt: Snow

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Typical TWD violence and gore; blood; head injury

gif by r66dus

“Why are we patrolling when we can’t see ten feet in front of our faces?” You were yelling into the wind, only satisfied that the archer may have heard you when he turned halfway. 

“Wha’?” Daryl called from beneath the bandana that shielded the lower part of his face from the biting cold. 

Taking a deep breath, you moved your scarf aside and shouted louder. “Why are we—” The slightest crinkle next to one eye gave away the smirk hidden beneath the black and white patterns. “I hate you!” You could barely hear him chuckle. 

“No, ya don’!” At least he was kind enough to wait for you to trudge through the steadily deepening snow to reach his side. “Ya should head on back if it’s that hard on ya!”

“Please. Like I’d leave you out here alone!” You sputtered indignantly when he ruffled your toboggan hat. The man knew exactly how to rile you up, and he did it as often as possible. Though you acted perturbed, you actually enjoyed the times you could see a smirk or a small smile. 

Daryl smiled a lot more these days. It was one of your favorite things in the chaotic, dystopian world. After Rick and with the Whisperers still lurking, you wouldn’t blame him for wearing a permanent scowl like the old days. 

“We can cross over here n’ circle back.” He pulled down his bandana and motioned toward the frozen river. “Froze solid. Won’ fall through but be careful anyway.” He started across, sensing you weren’t following. “Wha’re ya doin’?”

“Keep going. I’ll catch right up.”

“Y/N, wha’re ya doin’?” He repeated more sternly. 

“I need to pee, Daryl!” You frowned when he smiled and there was the slightest bounce to his shoulders. “It’s not funny.”

“Yer gon’ freeze yer ass off.” The ‘literally’ hung in the air, but you knew he was thinking it. “G’on then. Ain’t nothin’ I’ve not seen b’fore.” 

You pouted. “You can’t watch me pee!”

“Ya do it ev’ry mornin’ while ‘m brushin’ my teeth.”

“Yeah, but this is more…open!” When he titled his head with a look that clearly stated you can’t be serious, you huffed. “Shut up, that’s different too!” Your cheeks were suddenly warm, even against the frigid gusts. Daryl had been up close and personal with your lady bits more than you could even begin to recollect. 

With a grin, he held up his hands in surrender. “I’ll keep goin’. Slow. Wanna be close jus’ in case.”

You rolled your eyes. “Yes, daddy.” When a dark brow arched, you feigned displeasure and grabbed a gloveful of snow and tossed it at him. “Go away, pervert.” He was still grinning as he turned to put a little distance between the two of you. Pants and underwear were down to your knees quickly, the urge nearly unbearable by the time you’d convinced him to keep moving. You couldn’t stop the relieved groan even if you’d tried. 

You had expected to hear him laugh but thankfully, the wind was just too loud. With the wonderful lack of toilet paper, drip-drying was the only option left to you, though you were certain your vagina would be full of ice by the time that happened. After several moments, you pulled up your pants and secured the button and zipper, then your belt, curling your lip at the yellow patch of snow. The apocalypse was gross. 

“Done!” You announced cheerfully loud. 

“Wash yer hands?” He chuckled when you were close enough. 

“Oh, shut up and walk.” A handful of poncho enabled you to spin him around and shove him forward. You were smiling to yourself when the hairs stood on the back of your neck. It wasn’t from the cold. “Daryl.” It felt like someone was watching you. Your eyes met his. He had felt it too; was already pulling his crossbow from his back. 

“C’mon.” He motioned you closer while you each surveyed your surroundings. The Whisperers had been absent since the cold had set in, but it was possible they had returned. Over the scream of the harsh wind, neither of you heard the low growls coming from below. 

Daryl yelped when a hand caught his ankle and gave a sharp tug. You could only watch as his boot slipped and he tumbled, the back of his head bouncing off of the ice with a sickening crack and splatter of red across white. His weapon slid to a stop several feet away.  

“Daryl!”

The walker was trapped in the snow, only one arm and half its face exposed. Enough for your blade to find its mark. Dark, congealed blood covered your knife as it fell next to the archer, your hands on him immediately. He remained unresponsive to each shriek of his name, but you had to find some measure of calm to assess his condition. 

Breathe in. Breathe out. 

The frosty vapor that formed in front of his lips showed him to be breathing. You quickly removed a glove to press your fingertips to his neck, finding a thready pulse rather quickly. With the gentlest touch you could manage, you slowly, carefully lifted his head, nauseated at how boneless he appeared. You were terrified of moving him. Head and neck injuries were never a thing to play with, even in the old world when hospitals were abundant and functional. 

Holding his head only slightly off the ice, you whimpered at the moderate amount of blood that had covered the pale surface. Head injuries bleed a lot. He’s fine. He is fine. Your teeth were nearly puncturing your bottom lip while you probed the back of his head blindly. Through his wavy hair, it was difficult to find the injury straight away. Once your quickly numbing fingertips pressed onto a swollen split in the skin, you were forced to turn his head for a better look. 

The laceration was small but deep, most likely near to the skull. You couldn’t see bone, but the snow and blood made that nearly impossible. For now, you needed to take care of the blood oozing from the wound and over your fingers. The cold would help with the active bleeding but you unwound your scarf and placed it behind his head. Why the fuck didn’t you bring medical supplies and food on patrols when shit like this was a distinct possibility? 

“Daryl.” You said loud enough to be heard over the wind but with a calm that betrayed the panic stirring within your chest. You had to move. The two of you freeze if you remained. There was also the possibility of walkers or Whisperers, and you were sitting ducks. “Come on, baby, wake up.” The pet name flowed out easily, reserved for intimacy or comfort. 

You were met with unrewarding silence for a moment that seemed to last forever but finally, your archer groaned and grimaced. He made to turn his head before even opening his eyes, gagging almost immediately from the pain that surely accompanied the movement. 

“Stay still for a minute. You’ve got a concussion for sure but I’m worried about more.” You soothed, rubbing his chest in lieu of touching his face or hair. “Getting back is gonna suck. Take some time to get yourself ready.”

“Survived worse.” He slurred. You didn’t need to see his pupils to diagnose the head injury. He had hit so hard that you wondered how the ice didn’t splinter from the impact. You kept a sharp eye on the surroundings to buy him some time. Both of you knew what the journey back to the gates would entail, short as it would be. “Le’s get outta ‘ere.” Daryl shifted toward his side to get an arm beneath him. He had yet to open his eyes, likely knowing the tilt of the world that awaited. 

“Slowly.” You kept your hands on his arms, his shoulders, prepared to assist and comfort. “That’s it.” The archer barely made it to a sitting position before retching, cognizant enough to turn the opposite direction from you. Your hand rubbed circles over his back, a grounding comfort that was also a display of gratitude for not vomiting on you. “I’m sorry.” Your heart ached with a need to draw the pain from him and take it upon yourself. The whimper that followed the sick was the only indicator of the agony the action had likely caused. 

“M’ready.” He panted. 

“Okay, let me grab your crossbow.” You scooped up your scarf, stuffed it into your coat pocket, took carefully swift steps to collect the weapon and strapped it to your back as you returned to his side. “Okay, grab my shoulders and pull yourself up slowly. I’ll help balance you but you go at your pace, okay?” There was the slightest dip of his head in an almost nod before he thought better of it and mumbled an ‘okay’ that you couldn’t even hear. 

You planted your feet, watching the area for any signs of threats while Daryl used you to begin levering himself upward. At the first pull of his weight, you grunted and he let go. 

“It’s okay. I’ve got you, baby. I promise you won’t hurt me.” You smiled, hand on the crook of his shoulder with your thumb stroking his collar bone. He didn’t balk at the endearment, not even the usual scoff. 

“Okay.”

The process began again. Daryl was stout, but the challenges of surviving had helped you build strength. While it wasn’t easy, it was not impossible for you to bear the added weight. On his feet, the archer swayed and granted you the first glimpse of his unfocused blue eyes. One pupil was noticeably larger; worrisome but you couldn’t do anything about it. He needed medical attention that the infirmary could hopefully provide. 

You were quick to grab his elbows and steady him when he stumbled backwards. “You’re vertical. I’d say we’re making progress.” One of his arms pulled across your shoulders, the two of you embarked on what promised to be a difficult trek home. 

You’d only been walking for about five minutes, when Daryl lurched forward and vomited, painful heaves that made keeping him upright nearly unattainable. He groaned, clenching his eyes shut and spitting onto the dirt. 

“You can do this. Just hold onto me.” You frowned at the hardened blood on the back of his neck, frozen into flecks by the bitter cold. 

The process repeated several times and by the time the gates were a looming shadow beyond the whiteout, Daryl was putting nearly all of his weight on you, toes of his boots dragging with each slow step. 

“Almost there.” Your voice was no longer reaching him. As the gates opened, the archer went down and dragged you along with him. You began shouting for help, silhouettes of your friends growing more perceivable with each hurried step. “Help! Daryl needs help!” 

Your worry for him was overriding the urgent voices surrounding you, blurred hands coming into view to settle on your archer. You had no choice but to step back and allow them to take him, following in a daze while more hands guided you along. The panic you had stored away was finally able to break free. 

You cried. 

Stitching the wound had been a brutal excursion. Daryl needed to be held down as the near frozen skin, hypersensitive in the heated infirmary, was forced together. Aaron and Gabriel assisted, their guilt for the required intervention was evident in both faces. You sat in front of him, whispering encouragement and reminding him how much you loved him. The archer vomited from the pain alone before unconsciousness mercifully claimed him. 

Without the means to confirm, Daryl was released on strict bedrest in case of a skull fracture. He could sleep as long as you were near to monitor for any changes in his vitals. He would become confused, nauseous, and irritable. You were there to hold back his hair, mindful of the stitched wound. You needed to remind him of where he was and what had happened. At one point, he had even asked for your help in finding Merle, who had died years before. 

After a while, he settled and dozed, Dog on the bed with his furry head on the hunter’s thigh. You finished your list of chores quickly, placing a steaming bowl of soup and a cup of tea on the nightstand by your side of the bed. Daryl was awake the moment you had stepped inside the room. Damn hunter’s senses. 

“Hey, Humpty Dumpty. How are you feeling?” Settling yourself with your knees resting against Dog’s side, your fingers gently brushing back Daryl’s hair. The archer hummed, and caught himself seconds before he would have moved his head to scowl at you for the nickname. 

“Had worse.” He croaked. 

“Doesn’t mean this can’t hurt like a bitch.” You countered immediately. The archer hummed once more. It probably hurt less than speaking. You had helped him clean up just after his release to recover at home. If he was stuck in bed, you were going to make damn sure he was comfortable. The flannel pants and Ozzy t-shirt at least made him smile. “Do you need anything?” You adjusted the blanket Carol had left once during a visit. 

“Jus’ you.”

You smiled, your face and neck flushing. You pressed your lips to his temple, the brush of your mouth against his skin but a mere whisper. 

“You’ve had me for a while, Mr. Dixon. That’s not gonna change now.”

[selineram3421]

Warning! ⚠

⚠ blood in doodle-like a lot sooo...if you don't like blood do not view, all caps for excitement ⚠

*rushing over* I'm runnin'! I'm runnin'!

*stops and rests for a bit before taking a DEEP breath*

I HAVE ✨ART✨!!!

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH-!

*I'm serious, blood warning*

I can hear the ringing noise in this bit. (Looks blurry)⬇⬇⬇

Trauma? Shooketh even?

Gotta snap out of it a lil though.

I wonder what happened?

[hvrtrcts]

BLOOD UPON THE SNOW -> after the young wolf dies in the red wedding and the war of the five kings finally comes to an end, druella bolton finds herself in a predicament when in a twist of events she is disinherited and the murderer of her younger brother, the bastard and his dogs rule the land of winter. the blood of the red kings flow in her blood, the leech lord's daughter she is called but when she is betrayed by her own father to be married off to a frey knight in all but name, druella knows she needs to take matter in her own hands. gif credits x

[hushed-chorus]

Simon is lucky to survive when his ship is wrecked, even if it left him stranded on a desert island. But he's not the only one who escaped. The ship's mysterious cargo, the creature in the box, also made it to shore. What hope does Simon have when a vampire is lurking in the island's wooded interior?

Welcome to Carry On Through The Ages 2023 (@carryonthroughtheages)! Please enjoy my Age of Sail Snowbaz fic about survival and finding happiness against the odds.

Blood, Salt & Hummingbirds on AO3

(Chapters 9/9, T but mind the tags and CWs in chapter notes)

[hyuwunjinie]

Blood in the Snow (pt.2)

Characters: Hyunjin x afab reader (ft other skz members)

Genre/warnings: Royalty AU, Arranged Marriage to Lovers, Romance, Smut, Angst & Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual pining, Toxic Parents, Misogyny (Period accurate)

Explicit sexual content. This work portrays elements/themes that may be triggering, proceed with caution. Minors DNI.

Word count: 1,479

Summary: You thought you were engaged for eternity, destined to live your princess' dreams in a grand castle. But the moment you close your eyes, all you can see is the blood in the snow.

—

“My Ladies ! We have reached our destination.”

Your semblance of shared peace was disturbed by your handmaid who had knocked gently on the carriage door, and a looming sense of dread filled the pit of your stomach. 

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” you murmured to your mother’s ear. 

“Y/n. I know this is difficult. I’ve been here before and I feel your pain. But this is normal, and all young girls go through this step once in their life. You will be okay, like I have been.” She reassured you at the best of her ability. “Now, now, Let’s meet that Hyunjin boy, alright ?”

You chuckled childishly. It wasn’t often your mother indulged in more familiar language, and it always made you laugh to hear her talk like this, because you knew she did it to calm you. And it worked. Your mother was obviously your parent, but she often felt like a close friend to you and you were glad to have that close bond with her. 

“Alright, mother… you have to let me go now, or else my hair will be all messed up !”

She held you closely a few seconds more, before releasing you and kissing both of your cheeks. 

“You’re my gorgeous, wonderful and smart daughter. Now, go steal his heart.” 

And she left you, leaving the carriage first with the help of the handmaid. Suddenly very aware of your appearance, you made sure any wrinkles of your dress was flattened, and that your makeup didn’t run around your eyes. Counting to three in your head, you opened the door, and was met with the biting cold of the wind as your handmaid helped you get down the steps. A distinctive crunchy sound startled you. It was the first time you stepped in snow. The white mantle was only a few centimeters tall over the ground, but you found the noise extremely satisfying. You decided you liked winter in the North. 

Shielding you from the wind, your maids escorted you towards the front door. The Hwang manor was tall and imposing. Dark marble pillars and grand windows, the estate was bigger than what you could ever imagine. It must be at least three times the size of your parents’, you thought. Around you and as far as you could see, the landscape was covered in white. You barely had time to take in the sights, though, as the cold reminded you, and you made a beeline for the small salon dedicated to greet the guests.

“This is such a delight to finally meet you, Lord and Lady y/f/n.” A stranger’s voice resonated behind you. 

You turned around, to see your parents making a curtsy before who you guessed were the two estate owners, Lord and Lady Hwang. A small push on your back from your handmaid prompted you forward, and you joined your parents in their curtsy. 

“And if this isn’t Lady y/n ! This is an honor to receive you all under our roof, please, be at home here.”

“The honor is ours, My Lords.” your parents said simultaneously. 

You waited until your parents got up before following them, and sported your best polite smile as you took the time to look at your hosts. 

Lord Hwang was tall, taller than your father, for sure. He has pinkish cheeks, and a smiling face enticing everyone to listen to his words. His posture seemed relaxed and open. A stark contrast with Lady Hwang, who, you realised, had been staring at you intently ever since you entered the room. Eyeing you from head to toe, she was gauging you.

You felt it difficult to concentrate over your parents and Lord Hwang’s words with her gaze locked into yours. You decided to break eye contact first, disturbed by this display. This seemed to please Lady Hwang, as you could see a small smile etched on her lips as she greeted your parents herself. 

“We hope you’ve had an uneventful journey ? The road can be tricky and troublesome.” She spoke in a calm and collected manner, joining her hands on her front. 

“We did, my Lady. Your estate is a sight to behold with all this snow !” Your mother answered, cheerful. 

“You must be exhausted, let’s discuss business after dinner, shall we ?” Lord Hwang suggested while the handmaids and butlers were busy bringing all the pieces of luggage to your family’s quarters. “Miss Ahri, could you bring Lady y/n to the library ?” He continued. “There’s someone she’s ought to see.” 

The pit of dread at the bottom of your stomach reignited, and you could feel the stress and adrenaline coursing through your whole body. Finally. You have been waiting for this moment ever since you were born. Seventeen years of waiting. Seventeen years of letters for this instant. 

You followed Ahri -headmistress of the estate, you learned from your mother’s lessons- through another corridor, passing by several halls and rooms that were unknown to you. The tapestries were refined with rich colors and details, and the whole mansion was lit with gorgeous candlelights. 

“You needn’t worry, my Lady. Young Lord Hyunjin is a kind soul, albeit a little timid. I’m sure he will like you.” Ahri spoke in a shy voice, eyes still facing forward.

“... Thank you, Ahri. That’s nice to hear. I hope you and I will form a close partnership.” You said in a formal voice. She chuckled lightly.

“I’m sure we will, my Lady. But if the advice of a headmistress is of any value to you, you should focus on yourself, today.” She added, a glint of amusement in her eyes.

Ahri was a gorgeous woman in her thirties. Her hair was tied up in an intricate bun and she sported a fine handmaid dress, made from good and rich fabric. The small marks of age added a certain charm to her demeanor and you felt completely at ease in her presence. 

You barely noticed that you had already stopped walking and reached your destination. Standing in front of the double door. You took a deep breath, trying to ease your nerves. Ahri looked at you, waiting for your call, and when you felt finally ready, you nodded, signaling her that she could proceed. 

She knocked lightly on the door, and a stuffed voice answered positively from behind the door. Turning the handle, you almost forgot the release your breath and you took in the sight of the library as Ahri opened the door for you, holding it patiently. 

One, two steps inside, and you were in awe in front of the marvel of knowledge resting in front of you. Meters of shelves going up, covering two floors completely, and a wonderfully tall window that brought in enough light to illuminate the whole room. Various plants and trinkets adorned the tables buried under piles and stacks of tomes. 

It didn’t took you long to notice the figure standing on the right, basking under the golden light of the sun, sitting on what seemed an especially comfortable couch. His long, black hair made a nice contrast with the white shirt he was wearing. Hyunjin was reading, and it took everything in you to not speak up. 

“Yes ?” He questionned lazily.

Ahri cleared her throat, and Hyunjin was probably expecting anyone else but you considering the surprised face he made when he turned his head around. dark almond eyes and slightly parted full lips looked at you in disbelief, if only for a second before he stood up, making his book fall on the ground, and made a curtsy to salute you. 

“L- Lady y/n ! It- It’s- a pleasure to finally meet you.”

Oh, and he was blushing now, probably embarrassed by his previous display. You were no better, though. You had since then put your hands in your back to stop fidgeting incessantly, and this dress was becoming way too stifling. 

“That pleasure is shared, Lord Hyunjin.” You made a curtsy as well, your doe eyes looking up to him slightly.

Picking up his book and holding it close, he approached you closer, taking in the sight of you.

“It’s nice to finally be able to see you, not just, the idea of you. I hope you’ve enjoyed my letters, all this time.” He murmured. 

“I did, Hyun- I can call you Hyunjin, right ?”

“Of course you can… y/n.” 

“To answer you, I did enjoy them. I hope you’ve been enjoying mine. And that the dried flowers weren’t a bother.” You chuckled, kinda embarrassed to have that conversation in front of Ahri whom you just met. 

Hyunjin didn’t answer directly. Instead, he took his book and showed you the title. Languages of Flowers of the garden. He opened it, and you gasped silently at the sight in front of you.  Used as a bookmark, was a dried sunflower.

[blyth-me]

blood is thicker masterpost

Summary: Valeria Jade is the only daughter of a nobleman in post-rebellion Panem. When her father falls ill and she attends a Capitol Ball, she finds herself becoming the object of Sejanus Plinth’s desire. He is the perfect gentleman, his appeal growing when Valeria discovers he is next in line for the throne. Unbeknownst to her, she also catches the eye of Coriolanus Snow, the adoptive brother of Sejanus. Cold, calculated, and closed off, he somehow makes his way into her heart. As her father lays on his deathbed, Valeria must choose between duty and love to save her father’s legacy.

Warnings: fluff, angst, royalty!AU, death, some gore, greif, smut, some old-timey beliefs, cursing, some violence

SMUT 18+ MDNI! IF I CANNOT SEE YOUR AGE, DO NOT INTERACT! ALL MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED!

A/N: This series is currently in the works. If you would like to be an editor, please let me know. If you would like to be on the taglist, please let me know. Thank you for reading this in advance!

masterlist

prologue

chapter 1

[matri4rch]

Child of Auri-El

The ATLA soundtrack gave me inspiration and now we have Mingyue. This OC is more of a personal fic that idk if I'll post because... Hehe... I got two fics posted already.

Anyways, the picture was too beautiful not to post.

[red-riding-wood]

Chapter 1

OC: Aleera

Fandom: Game of Thrones / ASOIAF

Summary: Former protector of the last Targaryens and bastard daughter of the Mad King Aerys, Aleera ventures to Westeros in search of the family she's never known, and finds herself swallowed by a world of cruelty, ambition and lies... She must leave behind her heart to survive, and, like her ancestors, forge her path through fire and blood. Madness and greatness, they say, are two sides of the same coin, and may the world hold its breath to witness how this coin lands.

Warnings: (for entire story) angst, graphic violence, gore, cursing, sexual assault, graphic sexual content, incest, torture... standard GoT stuff. I'm not holding back with this story so if you're not a fan of dark or disturbing content this is not for you. Also future Ramsay x OC and Petyr x OC and those two are their own warnings.

~ Combines content from Game of Thrones TV series and the ASOIAF books. Some canon changes are made to suit the story. ~

“Here, allow me,” my sister spoke, her voice a murmur and her fingers like silk as they wove themselves through my long, tangled hair. She had always been soft-spoken, unless the fire awoke in her. Her voice was soothing, in these rare moments when I did not allow my envy to pervade my mind.

And while I initially relaxed under her touch, watching as she undid the snares in my locks, I could not help but allow my gaze to linger on the pale silver of hers, the arcane violet of her gentle eyes. Mine stared back a dull, cold grey that I could only imagine must have belonged to my mother, much like the red hair that came from being born of a Tully. Though only a half-sibling to Daenerys, I was twice the Targaryen she was. But it was hidden beneath the markings of a mutt.

“Do you know when your wedding is?” Daenerys asked me softly. “I wish to see you before I am pledged to Khal Drogo.”

My mouth pinched into a bitter line.

“Viserys hasn’t said.” As much as I tried, I could not hold the spite from my tongue, though I believed she would perceive its aim to be at our brother, who had made the arrangements.

“You haven’t asked?” Daenerys seemed genuinely surprised; out of the two of us, I had always been the more headstrong, even with the brother who proclaimed himself the last dragon.

“I have,” I said. “I believe he is still negotiating for a higher price.”

The only time my brother had ever called me a Targaryen was when he was selling me to amass wealth and soldiers for the army he planned to march on Westeros, the origin of each of our births. The land of the Seven Kingdoms, and the fabled Iron Throne he claimed awaited him.

Dany’s expression turned rather grave at that. Neither of us wanted to be sold like cattle, nor did we want to part from each other. Despite living in her winged shadow, we shared a bond that would never break, no matter how wretched my disdain grew.

“Viserys thinks Khal Drogo’s army will carry out his wishes when I am wed. At least with the gold, he can hire mercenaries loyal to his purse. Let us hope that he settles for less than you are worth.”

While Dany was being sold to the great horse lord of the Dothraki, I was offered to a wealthy magister in Pentos, a man whose name I had never heard uttered before my brother had told me the news. And while my sister would become a khaleesi, a queen of a warrior tribe, I would be nothing more than a housewife to one of Illyrio’s lazy aristocratic friends. Of what use would my swordsmanship be, my years of protecting my family from the many vile creatures and men in Essos? And of what would become of my sister’s soft skin and feather-like hair? When would the Dothraki break her gentle heart?

“And what am I worth?” I dared to ask, stiffening.

Her fingers didn’t cease their rhythm, not even now that she was making intricate braids from the outer layers of my hair. Her violet eyes didn’t even meet the biting steel of mine in the mirror. And she said,

“Sister, there is no sum of gold that could ever be worth your company.”

The thorns around my heart softened a bit at that, but guilt gnawed at my chest. I wondered, sometimes, if she was completely unaware of my envy of her.

“What of an army?” I asked.

The line of her mouth quirked into a smile, and she said, “There is no sum of men, either.”

---

The Dothraki had come for my sister when the sun was highest in the sky, the hooves of their mounts thundering through the snaking paths of the hills to announce themselves before they spilled into the courtyard, bare-chested warriors butting shoulders as their steeds snorted and bayed. Reins pulled taught and black, wild eyes flashed as their riders brought them to heel.

The entire ceremony had lasted less than a quarter of an hour, and not a word was spoken other than those I’d heard Viserys whisper into Dany’s ear, pointing out the long braids down Khal Drogo’s back. Each braid signified a battle won; the Dothraki cut their hair after every defeat. If it was fear or awe that had stricken my sister’s face, I was certain not, but I would never forget it. Nor would I ever forget the sinking feeling when she had strode towards her new king, could never forget how emptiness weighed so heavy in my gut.

Viserys had sent me away shortly after the meeting, wishing to seek council with Magister Illyrio, the man who had opened his doors to the three of us nearly a year ago. He had aided my brother in finding suitors for us both, was a believer in Viserys’ claim to the Iron Throne and wanted to bleed him dry of a king’s generosity.

All I knew was that Dany had come sobbing to me afterward, that she had tried to speak against her union to Khal Drogo, that our brother had uttered words so vile to her that they still echoed in my own ears. And while I dreaded my own dinner tonight with my suitor, while I found myself grimacing at the thought of having to cook for him and watch him grow fatter over the years, of having to clean his bed sheets each night after he used myself or one of his whores, of never again feeling the weight of a sword in my hand or my sister’s fingers through my hair, my heart could not help but fracture from her own miserable fate as her tears dampened the fabric of my gown. And though I would have traded places with her in a heartbeat, though I had always wished to be her, I had put aside my resentment and told her to be stoic, to let her tears fall quietly when Khal Drogo would take her purity. She was so fragile, yet she needed to be strong. I needed her to be strong. 

Now, sun swept the bathhouse in a blanket of gold; dusk was within the hour, snaking its talons beneath the awning of the balcony overlooking the sandy hills of the Pentos outskirts and glittering off the colourful masonry of the bath’s walls. Tousled curtains of ridiculous proportion billowed from the great gusts of wind that poured into the every crevasse of the building and threatened to chill me past the dampened fabric of my gown. One of Illyrio’s servants scurried from my sight with the last urn of soiled water from my sister’s earlier bath, sandals landing heavily against the stone as I descended the steps. I could still picture Viserys handing her the fine silk she had worn for Khal Drogo, could still taste the bile on my tongue when I watched his hands wander across her naked form. As the servants slipped dragon pins that I would never wear through the shoulders of the light garment.

My wrath burned like fire beneath my skin, drummed against my chest like the hooves of the Dothraki stallions, and split the quiet of the building as I practically roared my brother’s name,

“Viserys!”

One of the curtains whipped and curled around itself as the wind changed direction, before blowing back with another gust of wind that stirred the curls from my shoulders and revealed the bright red robes of Illyrio, surprise flashing across a pudge face as a bearded mouth parted to speak.

But, ushering him aside, was my half-brother, tall yet thin in frame and leaning to bark something in the man’s ear. Whatever he said, it was disagreeable to our host, who seemed all the more shocked by his words, but pinched his mouth shut and disappeared along the balcony.

Pain flared where my nails had dug into the palms of my hands, only noticeable when I peeled my fingers from my fists. Viserys knew better than to hit me; it was not a physical battle I would need to win today but one of words, and I could never twist and morph them into such sweet yet false promises as he did, could only spit them like hellfire as its flames licked at my throat and boiled my blood so hot it threatened to consume me. 

And while I should have been silent, should have kept my protest and my sister’s admittances to myself, I could bear the echoes no longer.

“You are calling it off,” I ordered him, tone dark as the stallions’ eyes that had flashed at me in the courtyard. “You are calling it off – the wedding, Khal Drogo, the khaleesi and khalasar, so help me, by the gods, I will – “

My words were extinguished in a shattered breath as my brother’s finger rose to my lips, and he said to me, “Hush, dear sister. Do you wish to wake the dragon?”

My lip curled around my teeth as I glared up at him, meeting the lilac of his glittering eyes and taking note of the subtle yet gloating line of his smirk. As the sole surviving male Targaryen of the Rebellion, he had proclaimed himself the “last dragon”, though he had all the strength of a child still pink in its skin, and his foolishness was only at times mistaken for courage by imbeciles like Illyrio and the servant girls who frequented his quarters.     

“If I must,” I growled.

“Khal Drogo is already expecting his bride come their wedding. I cannot withdraw my end of the bargain now. He would have all our heads.”

It was to be expected that my brother had chosen to weasel his way into a situation that could only benefit him but had mortal repercussions for his family. And it was only natural that he was attempting to use fear as a means to quell my fury.

“Then call off my marriage, and let me go with her, to protect her. As I have always done,” I suggested, trying not to let the desperation creep into my tone.

Viserys’ finger reached to brush a lock of hair from my face; I had undone Dany’s braids earlier and it must have made me unpresentable. I witnessed his smirk twist into a displeased line when pale eyes examined my face, felt my heart quicken in my chest, my blood boiling yet my stomach fluttering.

Though he looked about to comment on my unkempt appearance, his eyes wandering from my wild hair to my tear-stained gown, he said,

“She does not need the protection of a girl who thinks herself a warrior when she will have an army of the most vicious fighters at her side.”

I could not bring myself to draw from the touch that I craved, but his words stirred the hellfire in my chest and I practically spat in his face, “You said you would let every one of those ‘viciousfighters’ fuck her – and their horses, too, if it meant reclaiming your throne. And tales of the Dothraki and their brutality do not go unsung in any corner of Essos.”

Of all the dangers in this cruel world, it was not the rapers nor the thieves nor even the assassins sent by the usuper, but our brother she needed protection from the most.

Not a trace of doubt shadowed Viserys’ glittering eyes as he told me, as if speaking to a child, “She needed to understand how important my conquest is.” His deft fingers fell from my cheekbone and settled on my shoulder, thumbing at the fabric of my gown.

“Your conquest?” I spat, and his flinch came as a simple yet earned satisfaction. “Your army and your gold is bought by selling your family. Is this really how you want the great song of your reign to begin? How can you even expect to continue your dynasty, that you insist to be so pure? You cannot expect to wed Daenerys, not when she is pledged to Khal Drogo, and – ”

“Daenerys will mother my heir.” These words, spoken so calmly amidst the storm of my fury, brought mine to a slamming halt in my chest, my lungs screaming for air and my lips parted in a silent plea as a knife twisted between my ribs.

My brother’s hand slid to my other shoulder as his body pressed against mine, and his soft lips brushed the tingling flesh of my neck. I was paralysed, captive to his venomous touch and his cold words. “Khal Drogo will not be able to refuse a king,” he whispered in my ear, and I shut my eyes to find a tear suspended on my lash, now streaking down my cheek. Viserys worked the fabric of my gown from my shoulders, the winds outside now sweeping a chill across burning flesh, the garment tumbling slowly down to my breasts.  “And neither will you, dear sister. When my army marches on the Red Keep, we will pay that usurper back with fire and blood, and I will ascend to my throne, and the people will cheer, and you will hear great songs about me from the bards in Essos.” I could almost feel the heat from his body and the fire of his touch melting my fury away into yearning. I leaned into him, if only slightly, a soft moan catching on my tongue as he groped at my breasts through the fabric that would only fall at his whim. “And tonight, you bed not a prince, but a king. The one, true king.”

And just as he released the fabric, I stole myself from my trance and I tore my body from his, tugging the sleeves of my gown back over my shoulders. His visage was blurry past my unshed tears, the silver of his fine hair undulating beneath the dusk’s blanket of rich gold so befitting of a king.

“Take me with you,” I pleaded, nearly breathless.

A grin so wide it came sickening to my stomach stretched across his features, and I blinked, his high cheekbones and his furrowed brow and his scornful eyes sharpening. “How absurd. Of what use would you be to me when I am king? Is it my throne you desire?”

I swallowed lead. And when my lips formed the confession, my voice was quiet, so quiet it mimicked the gentle whisper of a lover,

“It is not a throne I desire.” I looked him deep in his eyes, forcing back the new hail of tears that threatened me, and from his look I could tell that he knew what I meant to say, that mayhaps, in all our years of growing together as siblings, he finally understood me.

“You foolish girl,” he chuckled, the baritones of his voice loveless. “You want to be my queen.”

My fury surged again in my chest, stirred by the pain that had burrowed itself deep in my soul, and I suddenly found my voice as my tears streamed freely down my face,

“All I’ve ever wanted was to be worthy enough for this family, to be by your side.”

For you to look at me the way you do Daenerys. To speak of me not as a bastard but a Targaryen.

But I once more bit my tongue, a slave to my desires.

“Aleera, you are not a queen. You are a bastard – a whore, like your mother. Your blood is tainted, your flesh sullied by scars. You throw yourself at any man willing to offer a copper for your bedside.” If my words were fire, his were poison, sinking deep into the marrow of my bones, chilling my boiling blood.

Past his soured expression, I studied the beauty of his face – the fairness of skin that I had once known to be filthier, stretched gaunter over pointed cheekbones, before Illyrio had come along. The face of the Beggar King. Even then, I had found him handsome.

But each scar that had not tarnished his flawless skin nor my sister’s had scored cruel through mine, and I wore the stench of blood and steel to his bed, blood as red as the hair and steel as sharp as the eyes that marked me as half-bred.

And when I told my sister stories of my skirmishes and thievery and whoring, I looked upon her ethereal face that mimicked my brother’s so, and I would have given anything for her silver hair and her pale lashes, and the light rose of her cheeks, and the soft skin I knew my brother favoured.

And each time I bid her goodnight, I cursed the gods others prayed to for these differences that made me an outsider.

Years of this torment frothed at my tongue as I rose my voice, shaking, in more fury or fear I could tell not,

“You would be dead if not for my scars, brother. Each was earned protecting this family. Each meant another week that you could live. And each man I bed meant another meal to fill your aching belly.”

Each another step from the acceptance I craved.

“And I would do it all again, for you and my sister,” I told him, my tears still falling unbidden to my breathless lips. “I may not be your family, Viserys, but you were mine.”

 And there it was. That awful, simple word. Were.

Now that mud no longer caked his clothing and hunger no longer gnawed at his gut and he slept in a bedchamber rather than a gutter, now that he was to be a true king rather than a beggar, I was no longer necessary. I would be gone, in a day, or two. Mayhaps sooner if he could be rid of me. And I would forget that beautiful face, slowly, as I spent the rest of my life serving someone who never made my stomach flutter as he once had.

And I needed to let go.

My gown swept across the floor as I turned to stalk across the bathhouse, towards the winds of Pentos that howled into the deathly silence of Illyrio’s seaside domain.

“Aleera!” Long fingers curled around my wrist, tightening so firm the flesh would surely bruise, and my head snapped around, my cold eyes surely shooting sparks as I let my gaze fall so tragically on the face that I would remember, for a time, not as my brother, but as the man who’d sold me.

“Do not ever touch me again,” I hissed, and shook him off as virulently as his own touch had landed upon me. And though uttering such words split my heart in two, twisted the knife deeper past my screaming ribs, I knew that it was always meant to be this way, that I was never anything to him but a means to an end and another body to warm his bed.

---     

Each tide that drew back into the sea seemed to steal a piece of my heart with it, and each wave that crashed against the rocks below echoed my fury. I clenched and unclenched my fists where they rested on the sandstone railing, nails stinging my palms. Dark clouds crowned the bright of the sunset, and the winds swept sand into the frantic air and commanded the sea with an iron trident.

My sight rested where the sea gave the illusion of stretching forever into the light fog that crept along the water, and each time the chill of the western winds buffeted my face I could almost feel the beyond calling to me.

But it was not the Narrow Sea that called, but rather, the continent known as Westeros, the land of my birth and the home of my alleged mother, who in her late years came to be known as Catelyn Stark, wed to Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell and Warden of the North. A powerful title, and a powerful name; the Starks were one of the longest standing houses in Westeros, and commanded a vast, near barren stretch of land until the Wall of the Night’s Watch barricaded them from northern savages known as wildlings. Snow was said to fall from the sky, shadowcats and mountain lions and wolves said to prowl the lands, and great, white trees with leaves red as blood stretched into the heavens of the oldest gods.

My adopted mother had died giving birth to Dany when I was barely out of the womb, but a knight named Ser Willem Darry had smuggled us three children across the Narrow Sea to the Free Cities of Essos, in which he purchased a beautiful manor to raise us until I was the age of nine and Viserys the age of thirteen, when King Robert Baratheon’s assassins burnt it to its foundations. In his rebellion, he had usurped my father, The Mad King Aerys, the second of his name, and had commanded that every Targaryen be executed to ensure his claim to the throne and his dynasty.

As one of the last Targaryens, my mother Catelyn had given me to Dany and Viserys’ mother, Rhaella Targaryen, for my own safety. It was because of Ser Willem and Viserys that I knew these things about the mothers I’d never had, about the father who’d burned cities, about the houses that waged wars across the sea.

And while I had always yearned to seek the mother who had been forced to give me up as an infant, who probably still cried for me as I did for her still, I had always been needed here in Essos, to take care of this family that was never truly my own.

I would bring Dany there, to the North, where my birth mother would welcome me back as her eldest child, where my sweet, innocent sister could be free of Khal Drogo and our cruel brother.

Where he can never touch her again, a venomous part of my mind added as lead formed once more on my tongue. Where she cannot bear his children.

“Sister?”

I flinched at the soft lull of her voice, and when I turned to behold her, I found myself snapping with a still-virulent tone, “What do you want from me?”

Though evidently taken aback, fear dashing through bright, arcane eyes, she was calm when she spoke, “I overheard some of your words with Viserys.”

My stomach churned, and my heart seemed to clench in my chest. “How much?”

“Enough,” she said, and took a step forward, but no more. “I don’t mean to cause you pain, sister… I only wish to help ease it as you did mine.”

When I looked at her face, I saw the silver-haired beauty who had always overshadowed me, had always been more wanted. And when I looked at the silks that were draped across a now womanly figure, I thought of Viserys shedding them, thought of his hands entwining themselves into those silver locks as they once had mine. I foresaw her belly, swelling with his child, and it was all I could do to muzzle my rage.

“I’d rather be alone,” I said bitterly, turning my gaze back to the writhing sea and hunching over the railing with an almost petulance.

“I don’t want Viserys. Not in the way he…” Dany trailed off, her words nearly swept away by the winds.

I whirled on her, my heart clenching tight in my still-aching chest as I hissed, “Not in the way he wants you. Did you come here to remind me of that? Are you here to tell me that you don’t want Khal Drogo as well, that you don’t want to be a queen?”

While I would never wish to be pawned off by my own brother, in any circumstance, I wasn’t certain my sister realised how greater an honour it was to be sold to such a dangerous, prominent man than a nobody who happened to carry a large purse. And unlike my sister, I knew the Dothraki would not break me. If anything, I could learn to turn them against Viserys. Break free.

Dany’s eyes were more sad than fearful now, and something about them made my heart splinter. I closed my eyes, exhaling, realising that I was mayhaps unjust with my words.

Turning once more to the railing, I said, voice lowering, “I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that.” My fingers curled into another fist to quell my rage as I forced the image of her from my mind. “None of this is your fault.”

After a pregnant pause, and a few mournful cries of the gulls, Daenerys stepped beside me, her footfalls silent but her presence indicated by the sweet perfume Illyrio had gifted her. And she told me, plainly,

“I had a dream.”

I sighed. My sister had always thought her dreams had meant something; when she dreamt of the three of us prospering with mountains of gold and an army at our heels as we marched back to Dragonstone, the isle of Dany’s birth, she’d told me it would someday come true. When she dreamt of horrible monsters emerging from the darkness – likely a result of overhearing the priestesses who pledged themselves to the Lord of Light – she asked me to watch over her the next night closely with my sword.

“Please, spare me,” I said, imagining that she was about to try cheering me up with some pointless illusion. “Nothing but cruel tricks from the gods, no doubt.”

But she spoke anyway, her fingers landing across the railing adjacent to mine and her silver curls whipping back from her face as she stared into the blackening sunset,

“I dreamt of two dragons, one of ice and the other fire; one of silver scales and the other a crimson as blood red as your hair. The red dragon seemed to claw itself from the other, rising above it in a black sky.” Her head tipped back to regard the first stars emerging in the hollowness above. “And then both were swallowed by each other’s flame. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but now I wonder if it has come true. If the dragons are meant to be you and Viserys.”

I scoffed. Dragons had not existed for nearly a century, though tales of the great beasts tamed by my Targaryen ancestors were always favoured by mummers and bards. But it was her interpretation of the dream that baffled me most.

“Viserys is no dragon,” I said, my lip curling with more than a slight disdain.

“No,” she said, her voice soft but assured. “But you are.”

Something winked in the last, fading rays of the sun, and I looked to what she held out to me in shock.

The pendant was of the three-headed dragon, the sigil of the Targaryen house. The intricacy of the craftsmanship detailed even the ridges along the slender necks that reared above the body of the beast, its maws gaping and tongues as sharp as its teeth. I could not help but run my fingers across the silver-hued jewelry in awe, thumbing at the tightly woven chain that bound the circular pendant.

“Valyrian steel.” Though I had suspected it mainly from the ripples that ran through the metal like markings along the dragon, I could confirm it now that I held its unusually light weight in the palm of my hand. Few remnants of Old Valyria remained, but there were some blacksmiths and jewelers who still knew how to reforge the rare metal of our ancestors.

My heart swelled, warm and whelming, in my chest, mending the fracture the sight of her had carved moments ago. When I looked up at her again, everything about my demeanor must have softened, for my eyes were swathed again in unshed tears, and she bore a small yet loving smile, violet eyes glittering in the quickening dark. I glimpsed the silver dragons that Viserys had pinned to her silks, and I no longer looked upon them with envy, but rather, a strength that emerged deep from my soul and bound me to the one person who had always been there for me, who may, in fact, still have been my family.

Rendered speechless, another silence passed between us before she spoke, “No matter where our paths take us, promise me, Aleera…” Her fingers gently folded mine over the pendant. “… that we will always be sisters.”

The tear was warm against my cheek as it shed, and the smile that quirked my lip was genuine. I held the necklace to my chest, tightly as if in fear of it being swept away by the winds. And I realised that not all of my heart was torn empty.

“I promise.”

NEXT CHAPTER

SERIES MASTERLIST / FULL MASTERLIST

Please let me know if you would like to be added/removed to any of my taglists and notified of new works!

Taglist: @emotionalcadaver @zablife @confidentandgood @shelbydelrey @punypoesy

[multifandomnonsense]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Game of Thrones (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death Relationships: Olly of the Night's Watch (Game of Thrones) & Jon Snow Characters: Olly of the Night's Watch (Game of Thrones), Jon Snow, Alliser Thorne Additional Tags: Whumptober 2024, Execution, the depictions of violence aren’t too bad it’s just descriptions of the stabbing and hanging scenes, But I figured it’s better to tag it just in case, The Night's Watch (A Song of Ice and Fire), Episode: s06e03 Oathbreaker (Game of Thrones), Betrayal, Whump, Unhappy Ending Series: Part 2 of Whumptober 2024 Summary:

Olly faces execution for betraying Jon and helping to kill him

[importantdestinydefendor]

I have written this mans name so many times and now you wanna correct me? In chapter 6????

At least the suggestion is rad as hell.

[dkniade]

Dawn Winds, Heed My Vision

Venti is dissociating and he stumbles to Angel’s Share to get help from Diluc.

It was inspired by that one Diluc comic I did, where I decided the other voice is Venti. I’ve done some drabbles before but I think this was my first time writing a proper fic with Diluc? Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Venti Has PTSD (Genshin Impact), Dissociation, Flashback, Self-Blame, Guilt, Snow, snowstorm, Night, Alcohol, Blood, Poison, (last three are brief), Mentioned Dvalin, Mentioned Durin

[elladcat]

●Evil Queen x Yandere!Servant!Reader Fluff●

Note: I also posted this on wattpad, my account is EllaDCat, please go check that out if you're interested!

Warning: yandere tendencies, blood/gore, violence, mention of death, murder, etc.

Summary: You're her most trusted servant who believes that she is the most beautiful unlike any other. One day, she orders you to lure in and kill the princess, and you oblige to do so.

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[Y/n POV]

No one could ever love the queen more than I do. Unlike them, I deeply adore and respect her, especially her utmost beauty which she takes the most pride in.

Ever since she became the new queen after the former queen died, I started to fall in love with her and pledged my loyalty to her and only her. I wish for nothing more than to be used and praised by her.

Growing up, I used to be a peasant without knowing what my future held in store for me, until I was offered a job as a servant for the royal family. However, it did not make me feel as happy as I thought. Instead, it felt so dull and uneventful despite my decent pay and such.

But when Queen Grimhilde married the king and became the new queen, I felt like I had a real purpose in life. It seemed like she had given me a reason for my dull existence, and I am forever grateful to her for giving me one.

Her Majesty, who had seen my loyalty towards her, was quite pleased and would like me to be her personal servant, to which I agreed, of course. She would talk about things, and I would listen to her while accompanying her, even complimenting her graceful looks just to see her beautiful smile.

Her beautiful smile...

No matter what happens, I will not let any disgusting barbarians harm her or taint her graceful looks. I will forever follow her until the end of our time.

This morning, Her Majesty has called upon me, and I shall go without hesitation.

I entered the throne room and knelt before Her Highness. She takes a seat with such grace and confidence as she always has.

Y/n: "What do you wish to speak to me, Your Highness?"

Evil Queen: "My dear faithful servant, I have a task for you that needs to be rid of."

I raise my head to look at my queen with a determined gaze. I knew what she meant - if someone had offended her or insulted her looks, she would summon me to silence them, and I would comply.

It didn't bother me because I had poisoned the king and lied to everyone that he had passed away due to sickness and old age, and I was ordered by her. And it angered me that someone would dare to speak up of my queen's name and beauty.

Y/n: "State their name and I will happily take the task."

Evil Queen: "It is my stepdaughter, Snow White, who needs to be rid of. You will take her far into the forest and find a secluded glade where she can pick wildflowers for her late parents. Then you will kill her!"

I wasn't fazed by her words of wanting me to kill the princess. I don't care much about Snow White despite her kind nature; I'm still loyal to the queen, and if she asks me to end her life, then I will gladly do so.

I'm quite aware that she deeply loathed her stepdaughter's beauty and how much she despises her for it, and I, of course, tell her that she will always be the most beautiful woman than any other women I've ever met.

Y/n: "Yes, of course, Your Highness. I will do my best."

Queen Grimhilde smiled at my words.

Evil Queen: "Good. Bring back her heart in this, my dear faithful servant."

She brought out a box for me to take it, and I accepted it and left the throne room to do my task. I will not fail my queen.

I am taking the princess to the forest away from civilization by horseback riding. Once we're there, she will be collecting flowers for her late parents while I stay behind, standing near a tree and watching her silently.

Snow White picks up every piece of colorful flower she can find while humming a song, unaware that her fate will be cut short soon.

I look around the area to see if anyone is nearby. Fortunately, no one is there to witness me do the horrible deed. I stealthily walk up behind her, slowly taking my dagger out as the princess is being distracted by a juvenile blue bird, unaware of my presence.

Just as she says goodbye to it, she turns and notices me raising my dagger. She tries to scream, but I quickly cover her mouth and plunge the dagger deep into her abdomen.

Her once beautiful blue dress is now painted red as I continue to stab her body until she is no longer moving.

I stare down at the now deceased princess who lies with her own blood. Her blood paints the forest floor and the wildflowers. Even her blood manages to land on my right cheek as I clean it off with my gloved hand.

My eyes shift to the bloody dagger in my hand, then shift back to her corpse.

I am a bit saddened that I had to take her life away, but what's done is done, and I don't want to disappoint my queen's orders.

But at least she will be reunited with her family in the afterlife, for she is too kind and pure-hearted to learn that the world is cruel. People like me are cruel and selfish, and the prince whom she met with is no different either. I do not trust him.

I began to harvest her heart with my dagger and placed it inside the box. All I need to do now is to hide her and the evidence, and fortunately, I'm really good at it. That way, no one will know what happened to her as I ride back to the castle.

Her death will be passed off as nothing more than sickness tomorrow.

I entered the throne room and knelt down, raising the box to show her that I have succeeded in my task.

Y/n: "Here is the heart of Snow White that you wished for, Your Highness."

Queen Grimhilde smiled as she rose from her throne and walked towards me gracefully. She grabbed the box from my hands and placed her hand on my head, caressing my hair as she spoke.

Evil Queen: "Thank you, my dear faithful servant."

After hearing that, I smile up at her.

Y/n: "Of course, it is my duty to serve you, Your Highness."

She nodded and gestured with her hand for me to rise up and follow her behind. We went to another room where the Magic Mirror is.

She showed the box to it and spoke.

Evil Queen: "Magic Mirror on the wall, who is now the fairest one of all?"

Magic Mirror: "Snow White is the fairest one of all, for even in death, she remains the most beautiful one of all."

I gasp silently when she throws the box towards the mirror, shattering it into pieces. Queen Grimhilde glares at the now broken mirror, with hatred and rage filling her eyes as her hands fold into fists while she grits her teeth in frustration.

Evil Queen: "Even when she's gone, I'm still not as beautiful as her..."

I went up beside her and told her this.

Y/n: "Do not listen to what that mirror said, Your Highness. Even if what it said was true, it did not hold true for me, for I have always believed that you're the most beautiful one among the rest."

I gave her a smile and waited for her to respond. Queen Grimhilde turned to look at me in silence, and she too smiled at my words.

Evil Queen: "I am glad that I have you, my dear faithful servant."

At least, in her mind, there is someone who believes what she always believes - herself to be the most beautiful one of all.

[The End]