#mayhaps just the presence of someone who cares and understands could be enough I think

[eternalergo]

.

[princesskuragina]

In no order whatsoever (actually it's the order I think the pictures look best in lmao) here's the results of my little contest! Full image transcripts under the cut but thank u to @mybeautifulexistentialcrises @morning-and-melancholia @merrilycompany and everyone else who submitted u are now the proud winners of absolutely nothing except my respect. Feel free to brag about this to anyone who will listen.

(honorable mention to the not one but two mutuals that sent me war and peace fanfiction you guys are doing the fucking lord's work)

That's all folks! Editing this post was a nightmare idk how y'all writeblrs do it. If yours didn't get picked, don't worry about it, I'm literally the furthest thing from an authority there is, and besides mayhaps I'll do another one of these in the future? Idk but this was fun. Again there are transcripts under the cut. Thanks again for playing!

[image transcripts]

to love a villain

n.a (mybeautifulexistentialcrises)

The girl is the most beautiful thing 

You have ever seen, oh she gleams like the knife that 

Your dai used to cut up the lambs on eid e ghorban with, would you 

Sacrifice yourself when she asked you to? 

You can remember your grandmother's voice telling you 

Stories older than you will ever be , but remember that the girl is no Abraham, 

And you are not her son, but sometimes you wonder 

How quickly she would agree to give you up for 

Something greater, something more like God,

Is it a crime? She asks you, 

And you don’t have the heart to tell her yes, 

If that is red on the floor then 

Everyday with her is Christmas, you start locking the door 

And checking it, just in case, tell me, 

Do you think she’d stop if you had told her yes? 

Is it not murder to love so deeply, to 

Kill our wants over and over again 

For the smile on someone else’s face?

The longer you spend with her the more you wonder

If you have been the villain all along. 

Is it not a crime to believe so deeply 

That your devotion turns into conditional sin? 

There is red on your hands again & for once 

You can’t explain it to yourself or to them, 

They look back at you with something akin to pity and

You look back at them with defiance in your eyes

Don’t you dare judge me. 

Not for this. 

Not for love. 

Your mother always told you, azizam, it is is not a gift

To care so much for everyone you come across

Your mouth is full of your own heart 

Chewed up and spit back into you.

Do you think it is too late to listen to her now?

The girl is transcendent and she is terrible and she tells you, 

Darling, we’re going to be on top of the world. 

You accept the champagne glass with the same smile 

There is something in her eyes that you’ve only seen in false prophets

And real gods and for a second you understand 

Why the angels in the scripture tell humans 

To be not afraid when they witness their true form, 

You link your arms together,

And your fingers rub over her red knuckles,

Like how your grandmother used to count 

Her rosary. 

You loved a villain. 

  You couldn’t make her good.

You loved a villain 

And the problem with that is 

The hero always wins.

I’ll be your ghost if you want me to.

Tasia Edwards (morning-and-melancholia)

I’ll be the loveliest of ghosts even. My eyes will glow in the dim light of the bar’s hallway and there’ll be something hazy in my transparency. I’ll smile at you, flashing my teeth, and let you borrow a cigarette - the taste of it will be the only thing left of me in the morning. 

Later, you’ll remember the way my laugh echoed through sleepy wet streets and you’ll remember that I was close but never enough to touch. You’ll remember that I was saying something maybe pretentious about poetry or art or philosophy or all of it together. You’ll remember my hair starting to curl from humidity and the flush on my cheeks and that I looked alive. 

But still, you won’t be able to recall my name or the exact features of my face or the tone of my voice. What kind of cigarettes we smoked and what exactly I was saying and what I seemed to think or to feel. You’ll remember many things except one and it will be the only thing that counts. 

You’ll remember the ghost, the character, the idea - but you won’t remember the person.

leaf

em (merrilycompany)

stop for a moment. look down. see the dead leaves? it doesn’t matter what kind or what season or what place. there’s always dead leaves on the sidewalk. people don’t think about them that often. the more ubiquitous a presence, the less it demands to be thought about. but i urge you, think about those leaves. look at them. pick one up. feel the fragility between your fingers, so frail that a single touch could cause it to tear. it’s funny isn’t it? how dead things become stiff, frozen in a single moment, static. take a moment and unfreeze your leaf, imagine how it looked when it was alive. trace the veins and think about water and nutrients and life flowing through them. visualize a whole spectrum of green hues warmed by the light of the sun. conjure the scent of new life growing and new things beginning.

go home. look in the mirror. feel the lines that run down your face. they are there even if you can’t see them. squint and maybe you can see age carving canyons as a river does over millions of years. age is a funny beast. it creeps up lazily on the soul and rests there, content as a cat in a sunbeam. age is unmoving like this. you cannot escape it. age is mobile like this. you cannot escape it. time is inevitable. a somnolence sinks over the mind. slowly the years flow away, leaving nothing but brittle bone. are you so different from the dead leaves lying in the street? look at your reflection again. does the sun still shine behind your eyes? ask yourself, are you dead or alive?

the sun sets to rise again. a leaf dies so a new one can take its place. the cycle continues.

[opensky09]

Jonerys Week/DoS Day 4: Proposal

Sooo, I have written a short thing too, though I’m a day late.

This is the third chapter (just a drabble) of a fic I’ve written two years ago. You can read the first chapter and the second chapter on Ao3 (those two are fully from Jon and Daenerys’ pov).

Sorry for the potential mistakes, this was written in a rush :)

It’s not like wandering around with a flask upon sunrise was a much better way to start the day, but he still decided to attempt a half-hearted laugh as a greeting when he noticed the used-to-be smuggler. “What a fine morning to sit on one of Dragonstone’s many comfortable stairs, isn’t it, Ser Davos?” Right, that sounded pretty lame even to his own ears. I’m really starting to lose my edge, Tyrion thought with a wince.

Still, the old knight chuckled. “Have a seat, Lannister.”

“My pleasure.” He sat down, actually relieved, since his legs had already started to tinge with aching discomfort. Long walks never favoured him. Damn this restlessness. “So do tell! What chases the infamous Onion Knight out of his chambers this early? The sun has barely risen.”

 Davos leaned back, his eyebrows pulled together in a thoughtful manner, “couldn’t sleep.”

 Now that, he could understand for sure. These days he was happy if he slept through half the night, save for when he drank himself into oblivion the evening before. But then he would wake with a headache, for which the only real cure was to drink again. And Queen Daenerys hardly tolerated his presence when he was drunk, so sleepless nights and moderated drinking habits were his constant company.

 He had just enough trouble to deal with, just enough questions and concerns plaguing his mind, yet Jon Snow just had to jump in and make everything more difficult. Tales for children and a defiant rebel king were the last thing he needed. The siege of King’s Landing, food supplements, conflicts between Dothraki tribes. And now Jon Snow, who refuses to bend the knee. Just great. Her Grace’s temper was on the shorter side, to say the least, and he feared that Jon’s refusal to bow would prove to be a major issue. They couldn’t afford a feud with the North, especially while fighting Cersei on another front.

 Tyrion knew he had to step in and do something, but Jon Snow and Daenerys Targaryen were probably the most stubborn people in the realm, so as of now he felt quite helpless. The kind of silent staredown the two had during their first meeting yesterday assured him that making them see through their differences would be an almost impossible feat. Sometimes he felt like worry was eating him alive.

 “I believe I understand that, my friend,” he sighed. As the king’s Hand, the man beside him probably shared that same worry. “My thoughts tend to keep me up as well.”

 “Thoughts?” Davos snorted, then let out a short laugh. “What thoughts? Couldn’ even hear my thoughts. Damn whoever built this keep, the wall’s too thin.” He shook his head, yet smiled with something akin to fondness.

 Tyrion was puzzled. Davos’ room was only connected to Jon’s, but he didn't know the lad to be particularly loud. Was he snoring, mayhap? No, however thin, a faint sound like that wouldn’t go through a stone wall. It would have to be something much louder. He imagined it, surely. Wouldn’t be strange in a castle like this. But even if there was some noise, Ser Seaworth didn't seem as annoyed as his words were probably meant to show; he wouldn’t have that absent-minded smirk on his face if he was frustrated.

 “You look awfully cheerful for someone who claims to have been robbed of a good night’s sleep.”

 Davos chuckled leniently, “Nah, sounded like they were enjoying themselves. What’s an old man’s discomfort compared to the love of youth? Gotta let them be, I don’ need that much of sleep anyway.”

 “Let them be?” Tyrion frowned. Is that what the man heard? Impossible. On the first night? Surely Jon Snow wasn't... “Ser Davos, just who–”

 The sound of approaching footsteps interrupted his question. Soon, the Queen turned the corner, with none other than the King in the North in her heels. A radiant smile graced Daenerys’ lips as she was looking back at Jon, one Tyrion had never seen in the years they had known each other. But the moment the young queen spotted them, she schooled her features immediately into the usual regal sternness. If he didn't know her well enough, he would have missed the momentary flustered expression on her face when she saw them.

 “Oh. Ser Davos. Tyrion.” Rarely anything surprised Tyrion Lannister anymore, but the almost nervous glance that passed between the two royals certainly did. They stood way too close to each other, and somehow they seemed entirely unbothered by each other’s presence, even though they just met yesterday, and that was quite the tense meeting. Daenerys cleared her throat, “Good, good. I just thought about sending for you. Gather the Small Council, we have an announcement to make. With the King in the North.”

 What? What announcement? “Your Grace?” From the corner of his eye, he could see Davos grinning. No, that is madness, he cannot think that it was them–

 “Jon and I, we... We came to an agreement. We are going to marry.”

 Oh. OH.

 Tyrion knew his eyes were probably ridiculously wide, but he could not help it.

 Just what the actual fuck?

 ˜ * ˜ * ˜ * ˜ * ˜

 As their Hands departed, a long sigh escaped her. “I didn't expect to see them before the council meeting.”

 “Aye, you did become a bit flustered there,” Jon grinned, and circled her waist, pulling her to him. “Tyrion’s face was a sight to behold, though. Even I was surprised.”  

 Gods, it was so hard to think when his mouth hovered above hers. “Well, you did propose to me, didn't you?”

 Soft lips traced the line of her jaw, and she had a half mind to drag him back to his chambers. He chuckled, “I did, I just didn't think you would tell them right on sight.” His teeth grazed her earlobe, oh, damn this man and his wicked mouth. She already felt heat blooming between her legs, even though it wasn't even an hour ago that he spent himself inside her.

 Truth be told, she wanted to deliver the news carefully, making it seem like it was a purely political decision, but the surprise of suddenly running into their advisors a few corridors away from where she wrapped herself up in Jon made her slip up.

 “I didn't want to. It just slipped out.” Dany winced, “It probably did sound suspicious.” At his amused expression, she pouted and hit his chest. “Oh, stop that! It shouldn’t even matter, we are a good political match. We are not marrying only for what we have between us. I don’t care if Tyrion knows that I love you, he should be happy for me.”

 “But as far as he knows, we only met yesterday for the first time. The... idea of us together after mere hours of knowing each other would probably be a bit strange to him.”

 Dany giggled, “I bet. I’m probably just overthinking, though. He might not even suspect anything. Not even Missandei knows I went to you last night.”

 Actually, she felt the slightest bit guilty. A marriage alliance out of the blue, without as much as asking her council about it, wasn't something she would have ever done, but with Jon... She just couldn’t help it.

 It was still hard to believe that it was him. The man from her dreams, the person who comforted her so many times even without knowing her name.

 Oh, how she loved him. She never thought she would get the chance to hold him in her arms, yet here he was, embracing her like she was the most precious thing in the world.

 She looked him in the eye, so full of warmth and adoration. But before giving in to the urge to kiss his full lips, something occurred to her, “I wonder why Ser Davos was looking at us like that. Did you notice?”

 “Aye, I did.”

 “He couldn’t have heard us, right?”

 Jon laughed, “You were quite vocal.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead to make her exasperated frown disappear, “But I don’t think so. These are some thick stone walls, I believe we are safe.”

[wickedgamesoyaoya]

Congratulations on 1.2k!! You deserve every single follower and more 💛 however, I see your request but I’ll up you one- let’s see if you can figure out who I am 😈

May I request a male JJK and Haikyuu matchup

Strengths: Adaptable, Resourceful, Quick Witted

Weaknesses: Stubborn, impulsive, tad bit scatterbrained

My usual day: I either sleep 10 hours or 3, there’s no inbetween. I usually work out, have my coffee and some breakfast (and then probably forget to eat again until 10pm) and then proceed to procrastinate on my schoolwork until the last minute by scrolling through social media, singing and dancing along to my music while I clean (seeing a mess stresses me out unless it’s my organized mess) catching up on my anime/tv shows, or focusing on one of my hobbies (drawing, reading, writing, playing the piano). I work from home so tbh if I don’t have a job or school that day, my plans usually revolve around my mood. The only set schedule in my life is the fact that I somehow manage to end up at target 2x a week. Pre-pandemic though, every Friday and Saturday I’d usually end up going out with to a bar/restaurant/club/movies to catch up with a friend(s) but I hate driving and I “drive too fast”according to everyone so I just go with the flow when it comes to the place and time I leave/get home 🦑

What I want from a relationship: reliability (just someone you can depend on yk?), freedom (as in-we can both do our own thing without feeling like we’re holding the other back), playfulness? Ig? (Where it’s effortless and we don’t take life too seriously, we can joke about things as they come, type of thing)

What qualities I look for: loyal, caring (they don’t have to outwardly express it), thick skinned

Extra information: I mayhaps tend to not hold back if I don’t agree on something and i will not hesitate to put someone in their place no matter who they are (unless they’re family because trauma lol) but I’m also the type of person who has and will bring animals home (because they were strays, or they were ‘practically giving them away’) and I will seriously 🥺 my way into getting whatever I want, so I usually tend to gravitate towards guys who have the ability to be assholes, but not to me, unless they need to keep me in check (idk if this helps)

Who I don’t want to be paired with: don’t worry I’m not picky 😌

Again- congrats on 1.2k!! You deserve it!! I’m proud of you!! -🦈

𝙸 𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑....

✨ 𝙵𝚞𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚘 𝙼𝚎𝚐𝚞𝚖𝚒✨

Okay okay, you might be thinking - HUUUH? But I have some real good reasons for picking this cutie!

First, since you’re scatterbrained sometimes, you need someone who will help keep you organized and on task! And Megumi has all the experience with that - look at who he’s surrounded by!

Second, your lifestyles strangely enough match. Due to the nature of his job, the amount of sleep he gets varies too. So it won’t just be you with the very bad sleeping schedule <3 yippie! Taking mid-day naps when you’re both super exhausted is 100% a thing. You never plan it, but you’ll get so comfortable snuggled against him – and BAM, it’s been three hours. Congrats, now you have a sleep hangover!

Your relationship with Megumi is one that is built on mutual trust. You both have your own lives and aspirations, which is fine! You are both supportive and understand that to be together doesn’t mean to be literally together 24/7.

OH, and at first let it be known that Megumi could not deal with your playful attitude. He was actually just confused, but he made it seem like he seriously could not stand you – oops. But then the more time he spent with you, the more you saw him loosening up. You started from a half smile and made your way up to a real laugh!!! CONGRATS G, you really unpeeled the onion <3

Overall, your relationship with him is one that no one will understand except you two (and me LMAO). No one gets your connection, but that’s because what you have with him is rare af!

You both are similar and yet so different. You both are adaptable, which is why you guys can deal with whatever obstacles come in your direction. But you’re the type to sing and dance while cleaning, and he’s the type to watch you with sparkles shimmering in his eyes.

MY POINT IS you both have every quality the other lacks or needs, and that’s what makes it work!

𝙸 𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑....

✨ 𝙾𝚒𝚔𝚊𝚠𝚊 𝚃𝚘𝚘𝚛𝚞 ✨

A relationship between you and Oikawa would be one for the books! 100%. I would LOVE to see it.

You both are stubborn, resourceful, quick witted and a bit scatterbrained. You both value your freedom and have similar interests. One may say you two are too similar, and I would agree in some respects. BUT I think since you are adaptable, you could make the relationship work.

Your relationship would be unexpected, to say the least. Neither of you were searching for a partner, and yet the fairies of fate had brought you two together!

Oikawa’s presence in your life would never be overbearing, since he respects your freedom. When he’s not playing volleyball, he’ll happily settle down beside you as you work from home! He just enjoys being able to catch glimpses of your face as you focus on your tasks! Oh, and when your attention shifts to cleaning?

He will be by your side, dancing along with you and probably singing into a spatula! He’ll always end up accidentally wooing you, because he’s a smooth little shit. But that means getting things done with him around is quite difficult!  

Your friends would absolutely love him too! When they first meet him they’ll probably be like.. oh pretty face, must be dumb af. BUT shocker shocker! Oikawa Tooru is not a big ol’ dummy and he’s quite smart. I mean he better be, to keep up with you!

Whenever you guys choose to go out drinking, he’ll usually be the one to stay sober, since he will nOT have you drive him. NOPE. He refuses. If he can’t handle it when he’s sober, he sure as hell will not handle it drunk!

Overall, your relationship would be one that is fun, and filled with banter. The two of you will be the one couple everyone finds hella amusing. But that means communication will not be a strong suit.

You guys will have some issues with communication, but thankfully that can be fixed! Since you’re not someone to hold back. He’ll need that from you, because sometimes he gets lost in his emotions!

And at the end of the day, it’s worth it ya know? Because he cares so much about you, and you two just kinda work! Who else would accept all the random animals that you bring home, anyway? 😉

A/N: I honestly can’t guess BC I SUCK ;-; your uno reverse card got mee!! 

[floorbed]

i sent these to puck also but. 17 33 53 67 78 for both stupids

>:) Time For Idiots. again i kinda went off hard so this shit under a read more

17. Do they have a best friend? If so, who, and what makes them their best friend?

pen’s best friend growing up from when he was Baybey till he left the palace was mikolai! they were best friends kind of because like. they were rlly close in age and were both born in the palace and were both Boys Who Needed A Buddy Bc They Were Stuck In This Like Very Formal Place All The Time And Wanted To Be Silly Kids. so kind of best buddies by necessity. he was the graf’s son. he was the court jester’s son. can i make it any more obvious etc etc. he was also very much one of those kids who was like My Mom Is My Best Friend <3 also

but now that he’s out of the palace the party r very much his best friends. like. They’ve Seen Him Die. hes fucked up over and over again and they still accept him n believe in him, and hes not used to things being that like... unconditional, u know. if he had to pick one person in arsonparty it Wld be miss telltale but like. he kind of views her as like That One Really Cool Older Sibling Who Can Do No Wrong Who U Look Up To rather than like friend vibes? and at first that manifested for him like. oh i feel protected by her. but now its like . Oh i feel protected by her but Also i want her to understand her self worth and see herself the way i see her bc like i would like her to feel comfortable enough to allow herself to also get taken care of and protected.... but yeah

agni is ! hm! pre brain damage school agni was too busy to form any like. meaningful connections w anyone. that shit was hard as it was on its own and it also just like. Wasnt Top Priority so she didnt put a lot of effort into it bc she was 2 busy stressing over academics. Her Roommate Was Cool but also she felt a little intimidated by her. 

crimesagni has uhhh friendly work acquaintances that she , again, didnt let herself put a lot of stake in but still genuinely enjoyed their presence! But I Mean Like. Seras. Yeah. seras is definitely The Exception Of That. #JustBestFriendThings!! its cool how friendly the.y are . also like. the party is the first time agni’s had a Friend Group before and like people who want to hang out w her..... she rlly enjoys it! turns out things r much more linear n lucid when u have outside ppl as frames of reference. also they are all very kind to her which makes her real happy, n seem to genuinely care abt her wellbeing, and dont mind all of the shit she’s gotten them into w her Work Stuff. 

33. Did they ever dye their hair before? If so, to what colour? Did they like it?

pen hasnt but if he Could he’d dye his hair black >:) little goth boy

agni also hasnt, and i dont think she would care to that much even if given the opportunity! if someone wanted to like, practice on her hair tho, she’d offer it!

53. What is something that they want but can’t have?

pen . lol. he wants the period of his life back before everything went to shit, when he was likeeee 17. he just kinda wants to exist in that little time bubble forever.

agni i think deep down would like to go back before she self-sabotaged her life and was still on track to being a respectable member of society w a good career, just for a little bit n not permanently, to compare her quality of life then w her quality of life now and see if it was worth it.

67. What is something that is simple, but always makes them smile?

pen: when his mom wld dance with him!!! playing hide and seek w mikolai during high mourning when he was a kid!! juniper’s little “ehhhh” moments!! when anybody (but esp ori and juni) laugh at his silly jests >:) going to dinner parties and knowing essactly what to do >:) when his friends let him take care of them, like when juni let him brush his hair!!! 

agni: lavinia reading over her good marks and telling her how proud she is!! edda walking her to the temple when she was really little after dressing her up real pretty and holding her hand the whole time!! the way seras says her full name!! when dendy sings his little songs!!! Amadeus Antics. the fact that cyrus asked for her n elviras help w his home stuff and he thinks shes like. competent enough to be of help!

78. If they had a nightmare, who would they run to?

at home, pen would run to his mom 100%, and just kinda cry for a little bit, and then probably have a sleepover in her room.

w the party, pen would go to ori oops! he wouldnt want to wake her up like, physically, bc he wouldnt want to catch her off guard and have her Burst Into Flames, but probably hover in her doorway and tell her what happened. and ask if he should try to go back to sleep or not, or what he shld do.

now that ori has Unbalanced Humors tho, pen probably would not want to bother her bedrest, so he’d go to juni, jangle on up to his bed and be all stubborn n not leave him alone bc he’d be too scared to try n go back to sleep on his own!! Lots Of Lamenting

back in zadash if agni Could, she wld go to seras (IM SORRY SHES LIKE THIS SHES JUST A CRINGEFAIL WITH ONE (1) FRIEND)... ask if she cld lay on hands her so she cld rule out Brain Chemical Stuff being the culprit, but even if that wasnt the case Ask 2 Be Held. A Little Bit. she usually gets reallyy overstimulated with physical contact and it is Bad but with her It Is Just Good And Nice. yknow.

w the party, agni would probably try to deal w it herself, first and foremost. if she cldnt, she’d either go to cyrus bc he’s very nice to her and ask if she can look at some of his art stuff to calm down, or theo bc she has a very calming voice and is rlly good at thinking things through logically which comforts her, or adaeze bc Mayhaps She Has A Nice Mango Snack Like Last Time Again!!

[faunusrights]

OFFAL HUNT REMASTERED LIVEBLOG // CHAPTER 18

IN THIS EPISODE OF ROBLOX OOF NOISE:

“Yes.” Glynda couldn’t hang up, not without: “I’m—I’m sorry. About what I—”

“It’s alright. I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Okay—” The feed cut. Softly, Glynda said again, “Okay.”

GLYNDA DISCOVERS WHY BEING CINDER FALL SUCKS

do u know how hard it is to wake up and play animal crossing whilst knowing this chapter looms over yr shoulder,

OKAY HERE WE GO

She was fidgety; even Cinder mentioned her pacing, shooting a critical eye her way. Glynda sat, intent on stillness; moments later, Cinder mentioned her bouncing leg.

i LOVE it when a chapter calls me out just right out of the gate hahaha who gave u the right

"Really?" How long had they been doing that? How long ago had Cinder noticed? "Should I stay?"

cinder: maybe i should tell glynda abt that /see glynda pacing a dent into the floor cinder: ooooooor i could. NOT give her an excuse to bully them for something to do,

On her way down the street, Glynda couldn't help but stare at the car, its tinted windows revealing nothing within. As she passed it, she kept glancing over her shoulder, expecting an attack or something. But nothing came of it.

HJGDFSGSDFHKGHJDF GLYNDA,,,,,,,,,,, can u imagine being in the white fang, and sittin in yr fuckin. TINTED WINDOWED like BULLETPROOF CAR and yr sat on yr ass watching out for cinder “dumbass” fall and suddenly glynda goodwitch, The Top Bitch, comes out and starts GLARING YR CAR DOWN,,, like ah. i think she knows we’re here. hrm. hm.

i would just like. drive to mcdonalds and get some nuggies at that point.

She had a clutch of flash-images and a wash of emotions and impressions, the raw materials of memory, stored as-is without refining. She was quite used to that—most of her missions were hazy and rough in her memory, mere sketches of events.

i cant wait for glynda to become a vlogger if only so she can actually have physical proof of whatever the fuck happens whenever she goes out and about. get her a go-pro.

It told her: despite her restlessness, despite the arduous journey here, and despite the way Vale seemed to call for her from somewhere beyond the horizon, she felt quite content to be where she was.

the difference having a gf has huh,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, u got a whole ass home (being cased by the fang) a real nice city to live in (its floating and atlas wants yr number) a bunch of unread msgs (from a [redacted] who [redacted]) and its a nice day!!! its all coming together. but probably not for very long,

(i got very distracted at this point making a line graph for the animal crossing stalk market so here we go, x2 edition,)

That meant the nightlife would soon begin. She had never liked crowds; too many people, too much input at once. It was hard to focus, to be comfortable.

/chefs kiss

autistic glynda did u kno: id die for u,

Since she’d blocked Ozpin’s number, there was no chance of receiving anything directly from him—but there was still a moment of pause each time she checked her Scroll, as if expecting his smiling face to appear somehow.

OH YEAH LMAO SHE DID THAT SHIT HUH,,,,,,,,,, i still cannot BELIEVE that happened. GOD. cant wait for this to bite her entire ass right off her body,

By the time she reached the top landing, Winter had replied: “I wasn’t aware that you had additional support on this mission, Professor. I will need their full name and Hunter’s license number.”

To answer Cinder Fall and she doesn’t have a license, but she does have several warrants for her arrest felt like inviting Winter to question not only her integrity, but her sanity as well.

SDHGJFKSKGHDJFGJHDKF i cant say what makes this funnier because 👈😎👈 but HOHOHOHOOOOO could u imagine the fallout if she did just, say that shit. if we just went and fuckin said it like it was no biggie--

Finally, Glynda let her shoulders relax, exhaling deeply, like she would before rushing a Grimm. She wrote it plainly: “The clearance is for Cinder Fall.”

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

MA’AM WHAT THE F U C K

winter rn:

She’d just have to wriggle her way out of having to talk face-to-face, then return the game to a field she felt slightly more comfortable with: text.

okay this is so funny to me cause i just keep thinking of her sending ‘no reason’ to oz. a MASTER of textual conversion. un fucking PARALLELED in this field, UNRIVALLED,

Glynda tossed a look at the door as well, her mouth pulling into a line; what if Cinder came outside? What if—

Could Winter track her exact position using her Scroll signal? She minimized the projection of Winter’s face and hurried off in a random direction the instant she hit the bottom of the stairs.

i LOVE these two because this is the first time we’ve rly seen glynda like. Actively do smthng to defend cinder in this sort of way? she’s been pretty passivve abt letting cinder take the lead when theyre together but on her own shes thinking of all the contingencies to make sure winter cant find cinder and u know what. thats gay. what will u do for yr not-gf when yr talking to someone who would kick her ass in a hot second,

also im TAKING to grab choice lines here to comment upon but honestly this next section is SO GOOD that im rly struggling to find a line to encapsulate how much i am LOVING this convo. i cant say exactly WHY im loving it because again thats 👈😎👈 BUT KNOW THAT THIS IS VERY GOOD FOOD AND I AM ENJOYING IT. and im also enjoying this line a lot

Winter’s voice was decisive: “Professor, if you hang up on me, I am flying to your location—tonight.”

winter: if y’all dont shut the fuck up back there i am turning this car, city, and continent AROUND,

It was the same thing, over and over: people didn’t understand her and she didn’t understand them. It was an exercise in futility that only gave her grief. In the end, she gave up on trying to explain herself. She resigned to being wrong, to always being wrong, even when she knew she wasn’t.

OOF OKAY WHAT THE HELL IS UP W/ THIS FIC AND CALLOUTS. HUH??? ME BITCH!!! I FEEL THAT!! AND IT SUCKS,

/reads the next bit

oh are we donning our tinfoil hats? we’re donning our tinfoil hats.

It was so easy. Glynda didn’t stumble over her words even once; didn’t waver. She was built for doing harm. Her anger burned hot and clean; it excised all the hurt like a malignant tumor.

Maybe she really had learned something from Cinder—channeling her frustration, her guilt, her pain, all of it into anger like this was something Glynda was new to. But it felt good. She leaned into it, letting it take the reins; the distressing memories vanished like wisps of smoke, vaporized by the heat of her wrath.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSS god this is. SO EXCITING. i also love it when ppl rub off one one another its my FAV thing in the WORLD and this anger is. WOO. this anger is. DANDY. its also a very short-term burst of pleasure glynda so enjoy that hollowed-out whoopsie feeling that i sure get when i Blow Up,

“She butchered my friend!” Winter snarled, the camera shaking as she slapped the desk. “She butchered my friend in the streets like he was cattle! And I have done everything in my power to help you! Everything! To keep her from doing the same to you, and you’ve blown me off or lied or—” Winter’s voice snagged. “And now you tell me—you accuse me—”

It was early evening in Umbraroot, but it must already be night in Atlas. The shadows revealed the unclean angles of Winter’s face: the bruises of exhaustion under her eyes, the lines of stress at the corners of her mouth.

im sorry im just copy-pasting wholesale at this point but OH this is GOOD. i cant rly explain. like. the difference-- because you’d think from the og version this is just a bit more flavouring right? its like getting a bit of hot sauce on yr chicken wings and yr like ‘okay it adds smthng but its not like a side meal’ BUT IT IS A SIDE MEAL this is like a whole basket of fuckin. cheese-baked fries. winter DESERVES this screentime she DESERVES to have presence in this fic and OH does she USE IT im LIVINGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG

Glynda wanted anger. She wanted fire and brimstone. She wanted a fight.

What she got was the glisten of tears on pale lashes. A hand covering Winter’s trembling mouth.

The ashy taste of remorse in her throat.

THERES THAT HOLLOWED-OUT WHOOPSIE FEELING!!!!!!!!!!!!! THERE IT IS RIGHT ON TIME. its like CLOCKWORK,

She didn’t have anything. Nothing against that. The possibility that Winter might truly care what happened to her had been so insignificantly small and easy to trample. She had forgotten about the losses Winter shouldered the moment Cinder had whispered inheritance.

it’s just like clockwork,

also this chapter feels lengthy but maybe its just cause i got distracted with animal crossing so ill have to do a wordcount check at the end

/checks

no its lengthy this is a thicc one,

“I know,” Glynda said. “I know. I know how this sounds. But she’s the only person who makes me feel like—like I make sense.” In her mind, Glynda lay in the darkness of Cinder’s bedroom, watching the glaze of streetlights along her lips as she said you.

you,,,,,,,,, we,,,,,,,,,,,, our,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, its all that gay shit,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

“If I’ve learned anything, it’s that Cinder Fall is a tremendous liar. She could convince you it is raining in Vacuo, given enough time. Two years ago, I was working on the Argus base, where I met her as a client; she told me she was a merchant seeking entrance into Atlas—she had all her documents in order, her entire persona set up, and she sold it perfectly. She was flawless—and all of it was fake. She gave me no reason to doubt her. She was—”

Winter cut herself off, abruptly. Then: “Once I was comfortable and safe, she burned down my office and murdered my friend.”

YES,,, SLOWLY THE LORE PIECES TOGETHER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! winter is once bitten twice shy, but mayhaps we mean,,, once burnt,,,, twice shy,,,,,,,,,, hrmmmm,

Glynda told Winter everything.

OH MAN,,,, we’re really getting this messy fucking trio up in this bitch i am SO excited. i am THRILLED. here! we! go!!!!!!!!!! also i said it before but again im so glad winter gets to Be Here for this. sure this has nothing to do w/ her destiny or w/e but shes here now. shes in the uber. she waiting outside.

The dying potted plant Glynda had spotted last time on the back wall’s shelf had been replaced with a new one; this one’s leaves were beginning to shrivel at the ends.

dsfjhhkljsdf side note: is this like that scene in finding nemo where all the new fish see the niece and go ‘oh no we’re gonna die’ but instead its plants getting taken into winters office? they go ‘im sorry, mate, but once you go into her office, you come out TOTALLY dead,’

okay so this whole convo happened and if i try to pick one section ill end up picking it all AAAAAAAAAAAAAA im dying out here. WINTER BLEASE,,, BELIEVE THAT SOMETIMES CINDER CAN TELL A HALF-LIE. A SORTA-TRUTH. A SEMI-HEMI-DEMI HONESTY,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

How different would that mission have gone? How different would her life have been?

She found herself saying, “He had so many chances to tell me. Instead, he let me think I was reckless. That I was a danger to other people. I stopped working in teams. I didn’t have many people in my life to begin with, but afterwards was worse. He saw to it that he was all I had, and he let me think it was my fault.”

ROBLOXOOFNOISEDISTORTEDWITHDELAY.MP4

OOF!!!!!!! O O F!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! honestly OOF that shit HURTS BITCH!!!!!!! thats BANANAS. WILD. im also loving (hating???) the increase of painful glynda lore and honestly everyone feels like they have So Much More that builds them up and im THRIVING off it. im also suffering for it.

With the video feed closed, Glynda could see she had new notifications. Missed calls. From Cinder.

Glynda’s stomach lurched. She stowed her Scroll before she could think about them.

At the mouth of the alley, she could see the shape of Cinder’s apartment in the distance. She stood there for a long time, staring, uncertain what to do with her hands, unsure what to do with her heart. Her jaw flexed. She remembered the tears on Winter’s lashes. The friend she’d lost.

Glynda took her first step toward the apartment.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA and so the soft domestic shit ends. but nowhere near as explosively as id thought???????? HUH. H U H. must b because we’re gearing up for smthng honk honk honk

ANYWAY!!!!!!!!!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA. this chap was SO good its astonishing (despite the [several] times i got distracted by animal crossing rip me). WINTER!!!!!!!! BABY!!!!!!!!!!!!! i cant believe this disaster trio is coming together. also cant wait for glynda to tell cinder the shit she just pulled. oh no,

(also the wordcount was 5,931. just in case u were curious)

[chrysalispen]

xiv. alive, not vital overmuch;

Of all the things the Carline Canopy’s proprietress would have expected the Council to request of her as part of Gridania’s rebuilding effort, playing hostess to an imperial prisoner of war on a work-release program was not one of them. But looking at the haggard, pale young woman before her, dressed in filthy homespun and absolutely soaking wet from the downpour outside, Miounne realized this woman wasn’t at all what she had feared.

Truth be told, she hadn’t been quite certain what to expect. A cruel mien, or mayhap a pretty one paired with a haughty, dismissive demeanor. She’d spoken to enough adventurers over the years to be passing familiar with stories of the warlike race from far northern Ilsabard – or, perhaps more correctly, the tall tales and gossip. She’d heard that Garleans fancied themselves superior to other races, that they were taller even than Roegadyn, that they had a third eye that allowed them to see in all directions at once, that they were violent and, well.

Rather savage, really, for all that they applied that epithet so freely to Hydaelyn’s other peoples.

This woman - no, girl, Miounne thought, this was just a girl, really - had the so-called third eye and that was all: a small pearlescent jewel resting perhaps an ilm below her hairline. Concealed for the most part, by honey-blonde locks that badly needed washing. She might tower over a Midlander but her height was hardly remarkable. She didn’t appear cruel or sullen or haughty, either, although the hands white-knuckled and fidgeting at her waist clearly betrayed discomfort.

Well, she supposed, one could hardly expect an enemy prisoner to be pleased with their reduced circumstances.

“So, you’re the imperial army chirurgeon who surrendered to the Maelstrom.”

“Correct.” That soft, subdued voice was not what she had expected, either, seeming rather better suited to a lady’s drawing room than a battlefield. It also held the barest hint of a tremor; whether from fear or some other emotion, it was impossible to tell. “I am told you offered your space to the Grand Company on the Seedseer’s behalf. You have my thanks.”

Not trusting herself to respond to that, Miounne pushed the ledger on her desk towards her charge.

“Write your name here,” she said. “I oversee the Adventurers’ Guild here in Gridania. In name at least, you will be entered upon this roster as one of my freelancers. It should keep most people in town from asking inconvenient questions about your presence.”

A humorless smirk tilted the young woman’s mouth – ‘inconvenient for me or for you?’ that look said, plain as day – but whatever her opinion might have been she had apparently elected to keep her own counsel, because her expression smoothed back into a neutral mask almost as soon as it had appeared. She bent studiously over the ledger to write on the page with the quill, paused mid-stroke, wrote something else, and finally put the pen back in its inkpot.

Miounne took the book back, half expecting to see an X or some other scribble indicating a signature. 'Twas not uncommon to encounter foreign adventurers who either couldn’t read Common, couldn’t write it, or both. What she saw was a name scribed in painstakingly neat and perfectly legible Eorzean letters.

“…'Aurelia Laskaris.’ ” She stared down at the bowed golden head; those dark blue eyes would not meet hers. “That’s not some amusing nom de plume, I hope?”

“No, 'tis my name, save for a title to which I can no longer lay claim.”

Oh.

“Anyroad,” Miounne cleared her throat after an uncomfortable pause, “your room is through those doors. It’s hardly what one would call opulent, but you’ll find us Gridanians a very simple lot. Your meal times will be regimented as follows. Breakfast at six bells, luncheon at noon, supper at six past, and per the terms of your sentence you are to make an appearance at the inn for all of them if you are within the city limits.”

“Will that be all?”

“I’m told you will have a companion?”

That wry half-smile returned. “The minder assigned to me by your governing council, you mean?”

“Quite. If you are detained for any reason during a meal hour, you may send them in your stead to explain the situation so that the conditions of your service are met. I don’t expect to have to impose a curfew upon you as though you are a child. I ask only that in turn you will please not abuse my hospitality.”

“I shouldn’t expect there will be an issue,” the woman answered softly. “I do find, however, that my services as you put it are unnecessary at this juncture, and I am fatigued. By your leave?”

Somewhat bemused by the polite dismissal, Miounne nodded. Her gaze lingered for a moment or two upon the tall girl as she limped away from the desk and towards the doors that led to the bedchambers of the Canopy’s patrons without so much as a glance backwards.

To a native Gridanian, an exchange like that ending the way it did would normally have seemed abrupt or impolite. Presumptive, at the very least- but Miounne instead found herself feeling both a sense of consternation and pity. She wasn’t certain what she found more remarkable: the air of quiet melancholy that surrounded the woman, or her pitifully dignified demeanor.

It was like watching a disgraced noble attempt to maintain some shred of self-possession while begging for scraps from strangers, and it made her acutely uncomfortable. She didn’t want to feel pity for a Garlean, especially not one she had not wanted to board.

But there was no help for it now. She’d given her word to the Council that she’d take the girl in, at least until a more permanent arrangement could be made.

Twelve, what have I agreed to…

~*~

Over the course of the night the latest bout of rain had passed, leaving the air still and humid. The sky was still grey and overcast, the ruined city somehow even more wasted in the light of day, blackened and broken. A thin and grimy patina of grey mud seemed to have been slapped over every single surface upon which feet had trod and the Canopy’s deck was no exception.

Aurelia limped towards the steps that led downwards to the main thoroughfare, taking care to watch her footing. A small crowd of people had gathered around the remains of the aetheryte plaza, and she saw no less than a score of men and women bracing the dark and cracked crystal with a mass of ropes and pulleys.

“Move!” a strident voice shouted. “Pull left on my count, one, two–”

As one the work detail hoisted and groaned and dug their heels into the water-loosened soil. The crystal moved perhaps the barest few ilms.

“Left! One! Two!”

She was just about to make her way down the steps when she felt the intrusion into her sphere of perception. Not even a heartbeat later, a gloved hand fell upon her forearm.

“Whoa, now hold on a moment, miss.”

Aurelia tensed, thinking perhaps she’d violated some unspoken rule, but the face she saw was mild-mannered and friendly. It belonged to a Miqo'te man with bronzed skin and fawn-colored hair and soft grey eyes, the pupils large and round in a fresh-looking face. He was wearing the yellow overcoat of what she was quickly starting to realize was the color of Gridania’s Grand Company, the Order of the Twin Adder.

“You don’t want to go out there just yet,” he continued.

“I’m sorry, but I’m expected. The Council was supposed to send someone-”

Without skipping a beat he thrust a hand forward. “That 'someone’ is me, as it happens. The name’s Keveh'to Epocan. I’m supposed to keep an eye on you and make certain you don’t decide to hop the border.”

“I doubt I should get that far,” Aurelia said wryly. “I can barely make it down the blasted stairs without falling.”

“That all that’s stopping you, is it?”

“Hardly. I couldn’t return now even if I wished it.”

“…Ah. Well-” he cleared his throat, “it’s the Conjurer’s Guild that has need of you, actually. But before we’re off… you’ll want to put this on.”

The object he held out to her was a kerchief, made of the same homespun, layered and heavy and obviously meant to be worn on her head. Confusion reigned for a span of seconds before her face paled and she looked away. 

“The third eye,” she said, her voice flat. “Of course.”

“Sorry, Miss Laskaris. It’s just…” He sighed, glanced at the work crew, and his voice dropped to a mutter. “I’m saying you should hide it for your own safety, you understand? People are… sensitive right now. They’re already upset enough knowing the Seedseer agreed to take in some of your fellows. Should they find out a Garlean is in the city, right under their noses…”

Her minder trailed off, watching her stare down at the rough hempen cloth in tense silence. To his credit he had the grace to look at least a little embarrassed, but he didn’t say anything as she arranged the kerchief on her head so that the fold over her brow covered both her third eye and her neatly brushed fringe.

“Most folk will know you’re a prisoner, mind, and they’ll be suspicious but they’re not like to harass you - at least, not any more so than any of the others. We’re for the Fane today, so we’ll just pass this lot by and leave them to their work.” Keveh'to held out his elbow. “Here, hold onto me. The mud’s left the pathways a bit tricky to navigate.”

It was slow going. The wooden-soled pattens had almost no traction to speak of and she slipped several times, her gait made clumsy with her limp. But her minder was patient and quiet, and caught her each time with a friendly smile, and they were able to pass by the crowd around the platform without comment.

The main thoroughfare was another story.

Most of it was a mess of charred wood and ashes, and along with the Miqo'te she had to carefully pick her way about the rubble. Several of the people clearing the debris had stopped to watch them pass, and Aurelia fancied she could feel those stony, hostile stares prickling the gooseflesh on her arms.

“Murderer!” a woman’s voice shouted. “Look at what you’ve done!”

“Keep walking,” came Keveh'to’s murmur at her shoulder. “Pay them no mind.”

A moment later she found herself thankful indeed for her third eye and the perception it granted her. The mud-covered stone had come from the other side of the road, hurled with a surprising speed. Aurelia acted upon instinct, barely cognizant of the attack until after it had happened, and was able to dodge it with relative ease. There was a sharp sting as it grazed her cheek and that was all.

Aurelia’s minder acted instantly. Tugging her arm to position her behind him in case any more thrown stones might be forthcoming, he turned a scowl upon  the small cluster gathered on the far side of the path, his tail lashing against her leg in the restless sort of way Sazha had used to do when he was agitated.

“Tossing about insults is one thing, ladies,” he said sternly, “but I’ll not have you attacking people in the streets.”

“Why is she even here?” the leader of the number scoffed, with an angry lift of her chin. She was pretty in the sort of way Aurelia recognized from personal experience: delicate features, head of glossy golden curls, blue eyes alight with defiance. “Why should we have to tolerate imperials in our own bloody city, the one they destroyed? Why are you defe-”

“Enough, Alyse! This isn’t your concern.”

“Says who?”

“Says the Seedseer. Now you keep your hands - and any thrown projectiles - to yourself in future, or there will be consequences.”

The Hyur’s jaw dropped.

“…Are you threatening me?”

“I’m reminding you that the Twelveswood’s law applies to everyone,” Keveh'to said coolly. “Now you have a choice. You can either disperse or return to your business, but make a decision before I have a mind to press the issue with the Wailers. Your father has enough worries as it is.”

The pair locked gazes for a moment, but Alyse was the first to look away - though she continued to glare daggers at his charge. 

Sullen-faced, the women returned to their work, and the prisoner hurried past with her minder close at her heels. They made their way down winding paths, past more burnt homes and shops and gardens, Aurelia keeping her eyes carefully fixed upon the ground.

“Down this path,” Keveh'to said with a brief gesture. “The Stillglade Fane is just ahead. Home of the Conjurers’ Guild.”

By chance or by design, the glade appeared to have been spared any major damage. The stones beneath her feet were worn smooth, mottled with lichen, and half-overgrown by countless treads along the path, and as she emerged she saw people lying in cots under the open air, sheltered from the sky only by the massively tall canopy of the Shroud that arched gracefully over the clearing. Robed figures moved with an unhurried grace from cot to cot, and a soft, cool breeze rustled the leaves overhead.

At her questioning glance, he confirmed:

“People often bring their ill or injured loved ones to the Fane for healing when matters are particularly dire - though the Hearers say it’s up to the elementals whether those lives be spared or no.”

“ 'Dire matters.’ I suppose there has been quite a bit of that particular circumstance as of late.”

“I’ll not deny it. Most come away with their hopes dashed, these days. Even at their friendliest, the elementals cannot and will not save everyone. This disaster left most of them so addled with rage they will no longer respond even to the Padjal. This way.”

Aurelia followed a few steps before she halted in her tracks, froze in place at the entrance. Even from here she could see the Fane’s interior corridor was dark and almost oppressively quiet, its walls close, barely enough to admit two people. 

No recourse if there was a collapse.

She stared into its depths without blinking, the pupils of her eyes blown wide despite the diffuse light of day, and all but startled out of her skin when the Miqo'te’s hand squeezed her forearm.

“They’re waiting on us, you know- …are you all right?”

“….I’m fine,” she rasped. There was a sharp and acidic taste on her tongue. Bile and burnt ceruleum. “I’m…. fine. I’ll be fine.”

“You look about to faint. Your leg, right? I suppose you’ve overtaxed yourself.”

“I’m-”

“Go sit down over there, I’ll be back in a moment.”

Aurelia opened her mouth to protest but one look at the man’s face told her it would fall on deaf ears. 

She limped towards one of the empty stumps and seated herself, watching him disappear into the recesses of the cavern, and uncurled the hands that had clenched into fists. Two of her nails had broken skin cutting into the meat of her palms and she hadn’t even noticed. The half-moon shapes welled with thin lines of blood.

She pressed the heels of her palms against her thighs - the small sting of those cuts helped her focus, at least a little bit - and took in the cool peace of her surroundings. It was a relief that this place seemed so serene and untouched by the disaster. Most of the city of Gridania had burned to the ground and she couldn’t bring herself to look at any of it. 

She supposed it was cowardice on her own part, at least on some level. It was hard to face what the VIIth had done, to acknowledge as their responsibility both the sheer scale of their folly and the consequences wrought from it. Carteneau had been horrible, but it had also been a battlefield; she could make sense of the ugliness of war in that context.

But as they’d traveled she had seen that it wasn’t confined to Mor Dhona. Bahamut had cut a deep wound into the very land and that included the deepest parts of the Black Shroud. Countless small villages had burned to the ground with no hope of rescue and naught left to salvage. There had been endless piles of deadfall and ancient old-growth trees burnt to hollowed husks, lines of shallow-dug graves peppering the roads around abandoned smallholds and settlements, and the sight of each had placed an invisible stone’s weight upon Aurelia’s stooping shoulders.

And beyond the Shroud was the entire continent of Aldenard, and that made her feel so ill with guilt she had to abandon the attempt.

“Miss Laskaris!”

Keveh'to was waving for her attention.

At his side stood… a boy, one with a pair of horns on his head that made her think of Kan-E-Senna. The smile he wore was not unlike hers had been either, though it felt somewhat more genuine, and as the pair drew nearer Aurelia couldn’t shake the feeling that much like the city’s ruler, this boy was much older than he appeared.

“The Seedseer sent word ahead,” he said. His calm voice was clear and crisp, like the sound of a bell on a cold winter morning. “Well met, Aurelia - it is Aurelia, correct? I am Brother E-Sumi-Yan, master of the Conjurers’ Guild. I trust your journey was quiet?”

“Very wet, but otherwise peaceful, yes." 

Were they really sitting here discussing the weather…?

"Ah, that is good. The elementals have been ever so uneasy, ever since the fires.” As if sensing her underlying confusion, he shifted the simple wooden staff to his other hand. “When Dalamud was destroyed, it unleashed a great and terrible force. One that wreaked havoc upon the realm and will, I fear, continue to do so for some time. 'Twas all my fellow Padjal could do to ease their pain and fury, and large pockets of the forest lie too heavy with woodsin to be safe for any living creature.”

“Aren’t they calling it another Calamity, Brother?” Keveh'to asked. “That’s the rumor making the rounds anyroad.”

His smile faded. “I’m afraid so. At the very least, Calamity or no, Eorzea has been brought to her knees. We were fractious and divided at the best of times beforehand, and this disaster has sundered us nigh beyond hope of recovery. The only silver lining thus far is - if you’ll pardon me, Mistress Laskaris - that the Empire appears to have fared no better than we in the aftermath.”

“No offense taken.”

“But enough of politics; you are here for a reason. Many have been injured, mind and soul as well as body,” he said calmly, “and they are desperate for those who can bring them succor. I am told you have skills that will prove useful when used alongside conjury, and that you have extensive knowledge of reagents and the like as well- though the Seedseer did admit that knowledge is secondhand.”

“I have a kit- a field kit, that I was told accompanied me to the city. With medicine and alchemics and such, and my… my tools, should they be needful.”

“They will be, I am sure.”

“Then I will bring it with me on the morrow.” She felt the fragmented pieces of her composure assemble, then settle, as she fell into her role. It was like shrugging on a comfortable coat - she could take some solace, if naught else, in the fact that she could still be trusted to do her job to the best of her ability. “Or at least, I assume that your Seedseer wishes me to work alongside the Guild in my capacity as a chirurgeon?”

“We certainly do. Tell me, Mistress Laskaris- did your duties in the VIIth Legion include the creation of medicines as well?”

“Most of the medicines were premade and shipped to the various castra from the capitol,” she admitted. “That said, any medicus worth the title should know how to create and use simple potions at the very least, yes. Why?”

“While the ability of a conjurer to heal is absolutely vital to our skillset, it is not all that we will need to weather the coming winter. Many people were lost to this tragedy and we have had refugees coming into the old city from the outskirts for weeks. People are in sore need of food and medicine, and we have fewer in the guild who are skilled in the craft of alchemy than I should like.”

“I am only one woman, I’m afraid, but I shall do my level best with what means are available.”

He beamed at her, with an earnest air that did remind her of a boy, at that moment. “Excellent. Now, I know that you must needs report to Mistress Miounne in short order, so let us discuss what you are to do here.”

She listened to his explanations, nodded when she was supposed to nod, and bid him a cordial farewell with the promise that she’d return anon.

But in the back of her mind Aurelia couldn’t help a certain misgiving, one she knew would nag at her for some time tonight. 

While she most certainly did know how to create medicines, most of the tools and components she would have used to restock her supply were not things one could find in a realm that clearly did not make use of much magitek, nor run upon ceruleum-fueled electric power. If she was careful, the contents of her kit would last for a good while, but it wouldn’t last forever. There wasn’t much to be done for it, she thought uneasily. Not right now. Not today.

Still…  she’d have to figure out a workable solution, and she'd have to do so in short order.

~*~

Aurelia hadn’t had terribly high expectations in the way of Gridanian hospitality, given her cordial yet rather tense exchange with the inn’s owner and operator the night before. Thus it was with considerable and rather pleasant surprise that evening when she returned to her quarters after making use of the communal bath to find a tray with a bowl of porridge, a cup, and a teapot sitting upon the night table by her simple bed.

A few fulms away, next to the table, was a familiar large black carbonweave bag.

As she limped towards the neatly made bed with its fresh linens she saw a change of clothes laid across the coverlet: a shift dress, soft cotton undergarments, and a simple leather corset. The attire was all elezen-sized; the dress would be a bit long on her but that was easy enough to rectify. 

The clothes were also in good repair, she noted, meaning they were either new or in as-new condition. The intent behind them was clear enough. Perhaps Miounne wasn’t a bad sort after all.

The Garlean allowed herself a small smile. She’d have to thank the woman at her next opportunity.

Toweling her hair dry, she slipped the undergarments on and the oversized shift, then sat down on the edge of the bed and unlatched the straps of her bag to have a look inside more out of habit than aught else. The assortment of vials and bottles and the small carbonweave belt with its set of steel tools appeared to be whole and in their proper places, not that she had particularly expected otherwise, but she was relieved to see that none of the bottles appeared to have been cracked or broken.  

An additional surprise lay nestled among the synthetic reagents: a small plain wooden box that was decidedly out of place among the piles of modern medical implements. When she lifted it a piece of half-crumpled scrap paper fluttered out of one of the corners to the bedspread, having been folded and tucked into the crack between the box and its lid with obvious haste.

Frowning faintly, she unfolded the note. The writing took some few minutes to read as the straggling shapes and awkward curves of the Eorzean letters made the words difficult to decipher.

Hello Lass. If your reading this then the Sd Seedseer gave you the feild kit like I asked. Sorry my letters arnt so good. Bryn added something to & says its in the Box.

If your ever in Limsa ask for me at the Winch. Badderon will let me know.

Good luck to you miss Arelia. Hope we meet again Your Frend, Cheerful Sparrow.

The hand holding the paper trembled.

Friend.

How long had it been since she’d dared to think of anyone as a friend, a true friend? She’d had her classmates of course, and her peers in the cohort. But they had been associates, not friends - such a level of intimacy was reserved for people with whom one felt safe sharing secrets and that was just not possible in the Empire, especially not in the capitol amongst her own kind. 

Not when her dreams and inner thoughts had ever ran so counter to that of the people she’d known.

Aurelia took a deep breath and opened the box.

The heavy, engraved silver pendant on its tarnished chain was one she knew all too well. When she slid her thumbnail along the groove to pop the catch that bound the locket shut, she found its contents exactly as they had been the day she had entrusted Sazha with it. 

On the left, the miniature daguerreotype portrait of her mother, safely ensconced beneath glass. On the right, a single pressed flower: the last of the Althyk lavender from her girlhood garden. A bloom she hadn’t seen with her own eyes in years.

It was all she could do just to clear her throat and blink back from her eyes the tears that threatened. He hadn’t forgotten.

Thank you, Sazha. Bryn, Sparrow – all of you. Thank you. Friends, all of them. Somehow, despite everything that had happened, she’d made friends in Eorzea already.

It gave her a small inkling of hope that maybe, just maybe, she had made the right decision after all.

[carbonitekisses]

Unfinished.

Cersei’s fingertips thrum against the table. Her nails click against the dark wood. She is tired of waiting for men. The world would be better off without them, she thinks. They’re all treacherous scum seeking to feed off of the fairer sex. And once their appetite has been satiated they leave in search of something new. 

But a queen? A queen is so much more than a woman. A queen is power. And Cersei will burn anyone who stands in her way.

The Mountain’s towering presence draws her eyes to the door of her solar. Just behind him stands the sorry excuse of a pirate who would call himself her king. As if I would ever suffer another fool by my side. I’ll have the Mountain snap his neck before his breath ever so much as touches me.

“You’re back. Good. Am I to assume you were successful?” 

Euron Greyjoy tries to saunter towards her. He only succeeds in repulsing her. The weeks he spent away have diluted her memory of him. He is fouler than she remembered. The odor of stagnant ocean water can not be masked by the, rather obvious, perfumes he has brought back from across the Narrow Sea. Cersei looks towards her shield.

The Mountain strikes out a thick arm to stop his advances. Greyjoy lifts a dark eyebrow at her but doesn’t move any further. Cersei likes this. Who knew she would one day be able to command men with a simple tilt of her head? The Mountain drops his arm but stays standing next to Euron. 

“Yes, my queen,” his leer is more than evident in his voice, “I’ve brought back the Golden Company just as we agreed. Now, I expect to be properly compensated.” 

Cersei leers back. She is queen, and a lion. She will not be cowed by an irreverent squid. 

“Ah, yes. Your compensation...”

// 

It’s certainly not what I was expecting. Not that I know what I was expecting  to begin with but... Dany accepts Jorah’s hand as he helps her dismount the finicky Northern mare. Her eyes wander to Jon who is looking towards Winterfell. Nevermind that. I’m sure it is more inviting, warmer, on the inside. Much like its former king. 

“It is a sight I did not think I would ever see again. You have made one of my greatest dreams possible, my queen.”

Daenerys turns towards the old bear. She can see true thankfulness in his eyes. It is a homecoming for more than one northerner, today. In the flurry of action she had forgotten that Jorah would most likely be reuniting with family. She is glad one of her oldest supporters will soon fulfill their biggest wish because of her. 

“My dear friend, it has been a long journey but you are finally back home in the north.” She clasps his arm. “Mayhaps the north will become a home of sorts for me as well.” Underneath her hand she can feel him tense at her words. She knows her bear holds no love for the wolf that is slowly, but surely, melting the ice around her heart. Jorah’s jealousy is flattering but she knows what she wants. 

With a smile Daenerys leaves Jorah and walks towards Jon. The white landscape and the cold makes her uncomfortable but she will never admit it. What is a little snow and winter wind to a dragon made of fire? Jon remains facing towards Winterfell when she finally arrives at his side.

“We are almost there. I am eager to meet your family, Jon Snow.”

Jon hums his agreement. 

They’ve stopped to arrange any last minute details before arriving at Winterfell. Her children were sent somewhere close to the keep but far away enough to not cause panic. Jon had insisted. She was loathe to part from them but ultimately yielded. He probably knows the northerners better than she. Tyrion, and Varys are discussing some trivial matters with the Unsullied about what to expect in regards to their welcome. Details, details, details. I’m tired of waiting. 

Daenerys touches Jon and gently turns him away from Winterfell and towards her. He moves stiffly in the cold. I will be sure to warm him up later in his Lord’s chambers. “You have been awfully quiet. More so than usual. Should I be worried?”

Jon’s eyes slowly warm at her words. The corner of his lips upturn in a reassuring smile. No wonder Jorah is jealous. His worry over her is obvious now. In her very rare moments of worry, or anxiety he is always there to reassure her. She is quite sure he is in love with her. She herself doesn’t love him. Yet. I could. I am in danger of it. I feel it.

“No. There is nothing to worry about. I will speak with the Northern lords and make them understand that you are here to fight with us.” He pauses to collect his thoughts. “They will see you for what you are.”

Those words again. Just like before they light a fire within her. He sees her for what she is. A liberator. A savior. A queen.

His queen. 

The breaker of chains looks up at the last King of the North. He looks like he is holding himself back from a great emotion. He must want to hold me now. Daenerys wouldn’t care but he has been adamant in avoiding any kind of public intimacy for fear of repercussion to their political alliance. She admires his patience and fortitude. As mother of dragons she forgets how it must be for the rest of the world. To always have to care what others think or do. To not take without asking. Always waiting for permission. What a bleak existence that must be. 

A shout from behind breaks their tension. It is time to move again. Jon nods at her and leaves to mount his horse.

Daenerys watches his cloak flap behind him like  black wings. Soon she’ll meet his people. His family. Soon she’ll learn more about the king who gave away his kingdom for love. For me. 

//

It’s cold and the days are getting shorter. Gilly is used to it so she doesn’t complain. Everyone is in a frenzy. A horn of some sort is signaling the arrival of Jon Snow and his aunt. Daenerys Targaryen. The name sounds funny to her but what does she know of queens and dragons? 

“Gilly, come! He’s here!” 

Gilly looks at Sam in mild bemusement. He sounds like a child in his excitement. Gilly adjusts Little Sam on her hip and follows him to the railing that overlooks the courtyard. There is so much noise that Little Sam squirms in curiosity but Gilly strengthens her hold. It wouldn’t do for him to leave her arms. Not with soldiers and dragons in their midst. 

“Where are the dragons, Sam?”

His eyes never waver from the action underneath. “Eh, I don’t know. Perhaps they’re waiting somewhere in the Wolfswood?”

Sam’s words do nothing to assuage her concern. She has never seen a dragon. But she has seen creatures of ice. She isn’t sure that creatures of fire are any better. 

There is a change in the air and Gilly focuses on the men and women in the courtyard. There are soldiers in black leather with dark, sun-kissed skin she has never seen before. Exposed skin and no furs? How are they not freezing? Their armor is useless this far north. 

A head of white, yellowish hair stands off by the entrance to the keep. She, for Gilly can see her fair features, is surrounded by guards. That must be the dragon queen. Then where is Jon Snow...

Gilly finds him. His head of black hair is walking towards Sansa Stark. Gilly inhales her surprise. The Lady opens her arms and holds Jon Snow in a welcoming embrace. In the small amount of time Gilly has been in Winterfell she has noted how restrictive Sansa Stark is with her affection and touch. Gilly brushes Litte Sam’s hair back. She doesn’t think she has ever seen the Lady of Winterfell touch someone so intimately before. 

She wonders where Lady Arya is. If Sam is correct, she was the sibling Jon Snow would talk about the most during their time at the Night’s Watch. It seems she is not here to welcome her cousin home. 

“...queen Daenerys Targaryen.”

“Oh.” Sam mutters. “Oh, no.” No one is kneeling in the courtyard. Isn’t it part of their customs? To kneel? She read that somewhere, she is sure of it. But no one is kneeling when Jon Snow introduces his aunt to the people of Winterfell.

Gilly is confused. Is he no longer king?

Little Sam pulls at his father’s cloak until Sam relents and carries him.

Daenerys Targaryen walks towards Jon Snow and Sansa Stark. Unlike her soldiers, the queen is dressed in thick white furs that surely keep her warm. Gilly feels sorry for the men. 

“Winterfell is yours, your grace.” Sansa Stark’s voice carries in the stillness of the moment. 

Gilly doesn’t believe her. She has seen this woman care for her keep like Gilly herself cares for Little Sam. Daenerys Targaryen seems pleased, though. “Is Winterfell no longer the Starks’? What is going on, Sam?”

Sam continues to look at Jon Snow as he leads his aunt to the inside of Winterfell. “I‘m not sure, Gilly. All I know is this complicates everything.” Gilly and Sam watch  how the dragon queen’s eyes follow Jon Snow everywhere he goes. “Jon, what have you done?”

//

“He’s almost here.” Bran says. “Observe and take in as much as  you can. Go.”

//

The serving girl leaves the godswood behind her. She picks up her drab skirts and makes her way toward the courtyard. The king is come back with a Targaryen. Her curiosity makes her run fast and nimble as she weaves her way through the soldiers and serving folk. 

“Watch it, girl. You near ran me over!”

Anis doesn’t stop. Her hazel eyes drink in everything they can. The horses, the people, the carts. She perched herself atop a stack of empty vegetable crates to get a better view. She anxiously awaits for a sign of dragons in the overcast sky. The Lannister imp is here, as is a bald plump man.

Varys. His name is Varys. 

Anis has never met them before. But names are easy to come by. She notices the soldiers are well trained. Even in their poorly made winter garb they show no signs of discomfort. 

That must be the Unsullied. 

There is another kind of soldier in the courtyard. They are quite different and seem to be faring worse than the Unsullied. Dothraki. They are speaking a strange mixture of the common tongue and a language Anis has never heard before. Nevertheless, she listens and understands a few phrases.

“Cold...Khalessi...Snow”

“...Gold...lions...burn”

“...food...food...food...”

Anis turns her attention towards the king. He has finally returned to Winterfell. 

He’s finally here. Will he recognize me after all these years? Do I want him to recognize me?

Anis pushes these strange thoughts away. She is a simple serving girl. She has no ties to the king. She is only here to watch and observe. And so she does.

[ These are little snippets from a s8 fic idea. I don’t know if I’ll ever get around to writing it. But I’ve had it in my drafts for the past couple of months so I might as well post some of it, lol. They haven’t been edited or anything so sorry for any and all weirdness! ]

[mirroredprodigies]

h-hewow my url?

 [ ♛ ] send me a url and i’ll tell you the following; closed !!          

my opinion on;

character in general: What can I say without coming off as an apologist and a fangirl? Sieglinde might be my favorite female character in Kuro, so I’m coming from a place of bias. She’s a refreshing addition to the cast, not because of her gender or her position as Ciel’s potential love interest, but because a presence like hers is needed. When I first encountered her in the manga she left a really strong impression and took me aback, and I struggled with my opinion for a while, thinking of things like “I’m either going to really love or really hate this chararacter.” Obviously I ended up loving her. She is unruly and adorable and just a little bit out there to make the most sensitive viewers doubt their own sense of humor, but what I like most about her is how rapid and obvious her growth as a character is. She mirrors the brooding, aggressive protagonist perfectly by being equally active, but optimistic, hardworking, and clever. A love interest in a story like Kuro might easily take a passive role of a character that simply exists to be there and observe the events (Lizzy stans don’t @ me, we all know that she was redeemed in Campania if not before), but with Sieglinde it truly feels like she has her own story to tell, and she is merely visiting Ciel’s story arc every now and then. She is involved enough for the reader to care, but not so much that she would end up in the crossfire - unless things take a different turn, but that, too, counts as character growth.I like her because for such a small side character and for a girl who can only do that much, she has a very fleshed out character that comes with an appealing mixture of humor and drama. My personal wish is to see her relationship with Ciel develop and for her to turn into one of his few pawns for good.

how they play them: Expectations must be high, since all this is coming from someone who loves the character. Fear not! I think Roxy does an amazing job at portraying her. I have considered roleplaying Sully at times, but I fear that even if I did, my portrayal would still miss that little something Roxy has, and I love her for her effort and passion. I get the feeling that she does not only know, but also understands her muse, and reading her replies is a delight. I don’t know Roxy very well as a person as the only times we have talked have mostly been somewhat roleplay related, but I feel like it’s thanks to her cheeky sense of humor and imagination that her Sieglinde is so wonderful. If possible, her portrayal has made me love Sully even more.

the mun: I must admit I hardly know Roxy. We have several mutual friends and I’ve only heard good things. That combined with my experience of interacting with her I don’t have much to say. I think she seems like a warm, entertaining person with a lot of spunk, a little bit like her muse. However, it must be said that when I found out that she also roleplays Claudia, I was shocked. Perhaps writing style should have been a dead giveaway, but I think Roxy truly has the skill to simply adapt to her muse’s personality and write anything in a fulfilling, believable way.

do i;

follow them: Yesrp with them: Yeswant to rp with them: Yesship their character with mine: Ye... Y... Mayhaps.

what is my;

overall opinion: - Possibly a chameleon- Has a good taste in waifus- Could make an ant a compelling and charming character- Knows how to build a bomb but only to blow up your inbox

@inquisitivewitchy

**Note: Mun’s answer are all to be completely honest. Don’t send url if you don’t want brutal honesty.

[toaquiprashippar]

always there

I hope you guys like it, I decided to post it here since, I posted all my fanfics here, this is the first part, part II is coming and there’ll be a part III. Sorry for the angst, came from the heart. After long nights of me and @porrabett​ talking of how lyanna would watch over jon, it had to be written! Plus, I could never have written this without her! <3

She was always there

Jon could not remember a time where she was not in his dream, or even his nightmares.

He could never fully see her face, but he remember her smile, it was large and full of teeth. Like a she-wolf showing her grace, or a wild animal protecting her babes, watching them from afar.

When Jon was nothing but a child, he and Robb would prank the other children, pretending to be the dead Kings of Winter, rising to scare the others, down the crypts. He could never see anyone, but it was as if someone inhabited the shadows. But he was a brave little boy, and he would never tell such nonsense to his brother, it was enough being a bastard, let alone a mad one.

The night before he left for The Wall, he dreamt of her. He was lost in the crypts, when he heard her cries. It was sad and heartbreaking, a sound to make the Old Gods weep.

What is it, My Lady? What can I do help? He would ask her.

But she would not give him an answer.

She wept, still.

Surely, she could not be crying for him, the ghosts of Winterfell would not care for a bastard.

He could never see the face, but he could see her hair, wild and curly, hiding her tears, in the darkness she lived in.

His friendly ghost, his ghostly friend. At first, she scared him, but after years of her presence, her smell of winter roses had become comforting, a bit like home.

He would miss her at the Wall, so when he prayed at the Godswood, one last time; prayed for his family's safety, for his new life and for his friend to be there somehow.

For a long time, she was not.

He never saw her when he lost hope of finding his uncle, but he felt her presence, when he mourned him, all those cold nights at Castle Black.

He never saw her the night he swore his vows, but he dreamt of a Godswood with blue leaves, and it smelled of his distant friend: winter roses.

He never saw her in the crypts, the night he dreamt of his father, right after his demise; but he knew she was there, in the shadows.

He never saw her when he got the dreadful news of Robb and Lady Catelyn, and he wanted to kill and die. But he knew she was there, somehow, somewhere.

Winterfell, Bran, Rickon. Robb. He was so angry, his pack was dying, he did not know of his she-wolf of a sister, and Sansa was beyond his reach.

When the snows fall and white winds blow, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives.

His pack was either slaughtered or scattered, so die the lone wolf did.

He did see her that night, though, the night he would finally see her face. The night his brothers ended his watch and his ears would hear her voice.

It was cold, but her embrace was nothing but warm.

He remembered everything.

“TRAITOR”, they called him. Yet, they were the ones who stabbed him.

“Oh, my poor boy, what did they do to you?” Her face was beautiful, defiant, yet soft. She reminded him of Arya, with her deep grey eyes. Eyes that mirrored his own.

“They killed me…I am dead, am I not?” He could not believe it. Dead. By the hands of his own brothers. His watch has ended.

“Aye. You are, but not for long.” Her voice was fierce, but sad. She was beautiful, and so familiar.

“Who are you? Are you my shadow friend?” He was asking, but somehow he knew the answer.

“I am.” She smiled. He knew that smile. Cause he had it himself.

“What do you mean ‘not for long’?” Death was permanent; he was supposed to meet his father, his brothers. Probably his little sister, Arya, too. Where were them? Did bastards have no right in the afterlife too? Was he all damned?

“You will soon find out, I promise you.” She smiled.

“Why am I at the crypts? I am not a Stark.” He could not understand how death brought him to the resting place of his Lord Father’s House. “The Kings of Winter do not wish me here, they told me so themselves, in dreams.” He could never forget those dreams, they haunted his memories and it felt like a joke from the Gods, as if Lord Stark’s ancestors hated his bastard as much as his wife did.

“Stark blood run through your veins, if you are here, mayhaps the Gods want you here.” Her soft voice assured him, her face was still sad.

“Are you a Stark?” Only the Starks were welcomed here.

“I am a memory, Jon. A friend. A protector. A guide.” She looked straight into his eyes; her eyes seemed to see right through him. It was unsettling.

“You don’t have to be afraid of me, Sweet Boy.” She turned to his Father statue, staring.

“I know your heart. You are not one easily scared; don’t fear a shadow that only wants to talk.” She looked aside, to smile at him. It was not a sad smile, for once.

“You were always good in scaring people around you, though. You and your brother, Robb. Scaring Sansa with your flour ghosts, playing with the boys and Arya, training with your sword around the castle. Did you ever imagine how often you would need to yield it, years later? How you would see real ghosts and even talk to ‘em at the same crypts you once hide yourself at? Oh, these Gods and their jokes…” The Lady turned to the other side, walking to another statue, his Uncle Brandon.

“You have always been near me, haven’t you, My Lady?” Jon wondered what it probably meant, but he would never say it aloud.

“I saw your oath, in front of that Godswood. I wept with the Gods.” She was crying now, he did not know what to do. But she just continued.

“I saw you giving up everything, getting on a horse, to follow Robb, the winds helped your friends to find you in time to stop you from being a deserter…I would like to think I was always very good in helping the winds.” He remembers that day, maybe if he had gone, Robb would still be alive…Or maybe he would have just died alongside his brother, at the Red Wedding.

“I saw you falling in love with a woman kissed by fire, not because you wanted to, but because you had to, but you did so anyway, but I also saw you losing her, and it breaking your heart, and I am sorry for it. I know all about a broken heart. Although mine have not beaten in decades, I did lose someone I held dear, and nothing made me sadder.” She touched his face, as Catelyn did when Robb was upset.

“I failed my brother. I failed Ygritte. I could have helped both, now they are both gone.” Jon whispered. They were alone, but saying it aloud made it hurt even harder. It just made his guilt even more real.

“No, my Sweetling. You did not. Their lives and journeys were theirs to live. Yours was elsewhere. You love so deep and so fiercely, Jon. That is why men follow you to the ends of the earth, you inspire their loyalty. No legitimacy gives someone that, it comes with their personality, and you have it more than anyone in Westeros.” Hearing this from the outside was like healing a wound that has been hurt in the open for a long time. She was always there, but she was not. She seemed to know everything, and still saw him as a good person, as worthy. Had he ever had that from anyone other than his few friends at the Night’s Watch? From his sister Arya?

Someone was calling to him, it was not the common tongue, but somehow, they both knew it was a summon, meant for Jon.

"You must go now; they are reaching out to you. You inspire admiration and respect, love from people, Jon. No one would ever give up on a person like yourself.  The mysterious woman was holding to him tight, like a she-wolf protecting her pup.

“Nor will I, I will stay in the shadows, but you can always find me.” Her words were comforting and sad, he could not imagine her not being there, but now, having talked to her, he could not imagine not talking to her or having her answer back. He feared what that meant.

“Why? Why won’t you leave, why won’t you give up on me?” He looked into her eyes.

“I don’t think you are ready to listen to this answer yet, Jon. Stop doubting yourself, go south, and get warm. Fight the wars they send your way, you are meant for greatness, you were never ordinary, you were promised.” She touched his face once more.

“I am a man of The Night’s Watch. I can’t fight any King’s War.” He was confused.

“They killed you. Your watch has ended. You can do as you please, and a Long Night approaches, men will need someone to guide them into it.” She still would not let go of him.

“Jon…Just don’t let her fly away.” Before he could answer, she was gone.

“Let who fly away, My Lady?” He asked, but she was no more.

Before he could react, there was light.

Pain was no longer, air filling his lungs, he could not gasp enough.

He was alive.

His watch has ended, but his life was not.

He was back in his old room, back home. After years away from Winterfell, he and Sansa were finally home.

He could not save Rickon, for as fast as he rode, Ramsay’s aim was better. He would always carry that with him. Had he listen to his sister, or mayhaps the Gods just wanted to claim Rickon for themselves, he could not save his baby brother. He now layed with Father and their ancestors.

Their home was once again under Stark protection. The North remembered but House Bolton would become nothing but a faded memory, they were calling that day The Battle of the Bastards. All Jon could remember was Rickon falling, him and his men killing their way into the Bolton army, almost drowning until he heard the song that would save them that day, Sansa and The Knights of The Vale...Running with all his rage and grief after that beast that almost broke his sister and killed his brother; his house that murdered Robb and Lady Catelyn. Wun Wun, the giant, giving his life to give them passage, Ramsay’s face against his bloody knuckles, it came in flashes, with all the pain that filled his lungs.

King in the North, they call me.

Jon remembered the days Robb was in his position, was he ever this overwhelmed? This burdened. Cersei Lannister had sent a letter, not a day prior, demanding them to bend the knee and accept her as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. He would do no such thing, The North was independent now, and he would continue to be so for no southerner cared for their cold and damp lands enough to deserve his knee bent. Tohrren Stark bent his knee to protect his people from Aegon Targaryen, his sisters and his Dragons. Cersei Lannister was no Targaryen and she would know no recognition or love from his people, nor would he show it.

They had been searching for answers; any clues that could help them fight the Walkers, anything that could give them an advantage. How can you fight the Dead? How can you beat the last enemy, the one we shall all meet one day? But they were no ordinary dead, they had been risen by The Night King and stripped off their memories, wishes and any humanity they ever had. They were nothing but vessels of dead and destruction.

Sam had been at the Citadel for months now, studying and looking for anything that could help them, and he had discovered a keep of Dragonglass, hiding under Dragonstone. How would they reach it?

He could not forget the dream he had the night before the raven deliver his friend’s letter. Jon woke up in sweat, looking for his direwolf, only to find him exactly where his dream had shown him.

It was not the first time Ghost’s eyes had been his own, wolf dreams, as Old Nan would say. He didn’t think of himself as a warg, for he could not warg himself into his direwolf whenever he wanted, it was more like a connection they had, called upon whenever needed. That night…It seemed needed.

She was in his chambers, looking upon him. A beautiful, but sad Lady. He knew her, he had seen her before. Her eyes were anything but strange, yet he could not remember where he knew it from. But her face? It felt like a distant memory, one he barely had.

Her presence, though, had been constant all his life. His shadow friend.

When was the last time he had seen her?

He felt her the night before the Battle, her smell was there, at his tend. He felt that same scent when they buried Rickon and Sansa was holding his hand so tightly, she could have broken it.

She turned her back and ran outside. He ran to her, she was fast, he felt his paws heavy and fast, but never fast enough. It was dark outside, and instead of the cold of the snow they fell, it felt warm. Instead of the horses outside or the sounds of the night, his wolf ears heard waves, and saw light.

Winterfell was far from White Harbor, far from Eastwatch by the Sea, no ocean for miles and miles at all directions, yet, the sounds danced in his ears.  

The Lady ran as no human should, let alone a frail looking woman, but Ghost could not reach her. When they reached the Godswood, he was not Ghost anymore, and it was not the North, but the entrance to a cave. His friend was no more, but a shorter woman: long, braided blonde, almost white haired woman. She was dressed in a black dress, with black trousers beneath. He could see she wore a silver chain crossing her chest, and a long fabric in her shoulder. Her chain sparkled in the light of the sun that burned bright in that strange place, just like the stones he could see everywhere in the cave. Chunks of sparkle, if he did not know they were on the floor, he would say she was standing in the sky. She entered the cave, he looked behind him, and he could only see the beach and the stones surrounding him. He followed the woman, but before he could reach her, his friend was behind him, holding him back.

Welcome home, Jon.

The very next day, Sam’s letter arrive, and the news of Dragonstone mountain of Dragonglass. He would not tell anyone about his dream, but it scared him. He did not know who the silver haired Lady was, nor why his ghost friend called it home, but sounded like his shadow friend was more than a shadow and more like a friend.

Jon just prayed for the Old Gods that Sam would find something else, a stronger weapon, a game changer. The winds were getting colder and winter was here, their time was running out.

If dreaming about Dragonglass and receiving Sam’s letter about it the very next day was not strange enough; Jon received another raven, this time from Dragonstone, by Tyrion Lannister, asking him to come to the ancient castle; the same place said Dragonglass was located at; to bend the knee to none other than Daenerys Targaryen, the Mother of three full-grown dragons, with enough fire to change the course of the War and help them beat the Night King and his army. The Lords of The North were not pleased, but they had not chosen him to please them, but to save them.

Sansa was livid, but he was doing it for her too. She would be happier to stay alive. He truly understood where her feelings came from, his sister walked through all seven kinds of hell, and she feared having to suffer it all again, but he would protect her. While she feared the living, he knew the real who was the real enemy now: the dead. If going to Dragonstone would help them defeat them, he would gladly go. That he did, and leaving her as Lady of Winterfell, no one would be a better judge of character of what their home needed.

There must always be a Stark in Winterfell.

King or not, he was a bastard. She was always the only Stark there anyway. She would do well, while he got them as much Dragonglass and support as he possibly could.

For all the days they travelled from White Harbor to Dragonstone, he did not have remember having a single dream, but he always slept to the smell of the sea and winter roses, and the words “don’t let her fly away” were the first thing on his mind every morning, like the wind whispered to him with the break of dawn.

A curious thought and scenery, indeed.

The moment he set foot in Dragonstone; Tyrion Lannister, an old friend, greeted him. He hoped no one would see the astonishment in his face. He had been here before. He knew this place; his shadow friend brought him here that night. He knew that cave must be somewhere near this very shore, the stones were same and the beach had the same dark blue. It was all too similar.

How could Jon Snow dream of Dragonstone, when he had never left The North?

Welcome home, Jon.

He remembered those words, they were distant but he could still hear her voice. Her northern voice in such a southerner land.

He was taken to meet the Queen. Their Dragon Queen. They said she had three dragons. He prayed she really did, for they were ones that could save them all.

She was infuriating, that woman.

She expected him to bend the knee for some blood right when his own father had fought to over throne him. He would not.

He had heard of her beauty, of her strength, of her youth; never of her ignorance. She claimed herself Queen of The Seven Kingdoms, how could she let her people die, just because she believed her claim to the Iron Throne was more important than protect this very kingdom against the Army of the Dead?

Would it really be fair to expect anyone to believe him this fast, though? White Walkers were nothing but horror stories to scare little children and if he had not seen it for himself, would he ever believe anyone who told him about it?

Maybe his sister was right, he was wrong to come. It was as Tyrion had said earlier that day, “Stark men don’t fare well when they travel south”. He should be at home, helping the men and women prepare for the Great War; but the same man also asked him to be reasonable and give him time to speak to Daenerys about him mining Dragonglass and taking it North with him, so mayhaps it was not all for nothing.

Would he dream of that place for no reason? Daenerys was a Targaryen, she had valyrian traits, such as silver blond hair and lilac eyes; he could not see the woman’s eyes, but he was trying hard to ignore the similarities to the Queen’s hair to the woman’s standing in his dream.

However, he was not doing a good job.

You better get to work, Jon Snow

Somehow, Tyrion Lannister proved himself a real good politician and did well on his word. Daenerys gave him permission to mine the Dragonglass.

Her dragons were something out of his childhood dreams or the bedtime histories Old Nan would tell him and Robb. Arya would certainly love the sight of them. They were beasts, gigantic and gorgeous beasts. She watched them, as a mother watched their children, and he could see her as The Mother of Dragons, would she ever want to mother a child? Had she? Maester Aemon should be here, to see his niece and her dragons; somehow, Jon thought he probably was.

She was not the hard, incorrigible, hostile Queen she had been when they first met. Could he blame her for being so? After being through all she told him, would he not act the same towards anyone who could be a possible threat? The world was not a kind, forgiving place to anyone, especially women; his sister Sansa was a living proof of that. But did she have to be so stubborn? Yet, here, with no one around, but her flying sons, she seemed guarded but curious, but especially frustrated. It seemed to be the mood of the island that day. Frustrated or not, he would have the Dragonglass, and he still had time to convince Daenerys to help his cause, their lives depended on it.

Maybe travelling South would be of help, they say dreams are a warning.

I had been warned.

- end of part I - 

so? I hope you guys liked it! I hope to post parts II and III soon, I know part II is ready and III almost done.

You can also find it on AO3. <3

[krakensofpyke]

Among Wolves, Part II

Victarion meets his betrothed.

The walls of Winterfell were great and many, well seasoned with grim guardsmen that stared down at them suspiciously.  They fear us, Victarion tried to assure himself, they have never seen the kraken’s arms stretch so far inland.  He knew it was foolish, though.  It was hard to feel fearsome without his set of plate on his back and his axe on his side.  In any case, they were too far from the sea.  We should not be here, he lamented, this is no place for a son of Pyke.  

The other men felt the same, he could tell.  Fishwhiskers turned his head swiftly and often, as if to keep eyes on all the men at once.  Lord Gorold Goodbrother made a show of acting as though their presence was not reproached, looking straight ahead and making hollow japes with Ser Aladale Wynch.  Only Lord Quellon truly seemed not to care.  His father accepted that the people of the green lands had a healthy mistrust of the Ironborn, but his acceptance of their disdain was more a sign of weakness than a peace offering.  Balon had told him once that the lord of Pyke would have them all play the fool if it meant good relations with the greenlanders.  

The maester of the castle met them as they approached the Great Keep.  He was a small rat of a man, with thin, pale hair and furtive hands that emerged and retracted from their sleeves like moles.  “My Lord Greyjoy,” he mumbled in greeting, “we welcome you and yours to Winterfell.”    Victarion was surprised to see that the man may have actually meant the words.  The advisor’s brow was not furrowed in misgiving, and there was even a thin sort of smile played over his face. 

Pyke had two maesters living within its walls.  Qalen was fine enough; he bothered the young kraken seldom, but was always available if he wanted to look over a map, or if he wished to hear the history of famous battles at sea.  The maester that had accompanied Quellon’s third wife, however, was a nuisance, always forcing his opinion into every matter.  This one before me is a smiling sycophant, to be sure, Victarion ruminated.  When I take the she-wolf back to Pyke with me, he will not be joining her, I will make sure of that.

“It is good to finally meet you in person, Maester Walys,” his father replied.  “Might we be shown to our guest chambers, that we may change into fresh clothes before presenting ourselves to Lord Stark?”

After they swapped their travel wear for more suitable attire, the servants of Winterfell led them through the courtyard toward the Great Hall.  He had donned relatively plain clothes, layered and woolen, but had also chosen two rings from the collection of jewelry that he had paid the Iron price for in the Stepstones.  Quellon shook his head in annoyance upon seeing his appearance, but made no comment.  His father had dressed more finely, in a rich, black doublet embroidered in cloth-of-gold with a great kraken on the breast.  

“Why are you trying so hard to impress the Starks?” he asked, taking care not to color his words with disdain.  He did not want to be slapped in front of his fellow Ironborn, let alone the smallfolk of this foreign castle.  

“The lords of the North take little stock in appearance,” Quellon replied, “but still, one cannot negotiate while looking the part of a beggar.”  He offered Victarion a pointed look.  “Is this the sort of garb you would wear as Lord Captain, when presenting yourself to your brother?”

No, he thought haughtily, I would be clad in steel plate from head to foot.  One day I’ll have a cape made as well to show that I am of the kraken’s blood.  The Starks, he had decided, were not worthy of such an entrance from him, however.

Victarion had expected the air of Winterfell’s Great Hall to be drafty and bitter, as it was in Pyke and Ten Towers.  Upon entering the receiving chamber, however, a rush of warmth greeted him.  It was an inexplicable, almost unnatural sensation for the hearth fires did not appear exceptionally lively, and only half of the sconces held lit torches.  He brooded on that as they approached the high table, feeling much like a fish in an oven.

Lord Rickard Stark was seated in an ancient stone throne, with likenesses of direwolves carved into it.  To his right sat the maester that had greeted them earlier.  Other than the odd servant tending to the hall’s upkeep, no one else was in attendance.  You have no regard for your guests, it would seem, the young man thought sourly.  

“Lord Greyjoy,” the Northman announced in a solemn and serious voice.  “It is good to see that you and yours have made it safely to Winterfell.  I bid you welcome to my home.”  He looked away and gestured, summoning a pair of serving men that held trays of bread and salt.  The lord watched them with intent as each of the Ironborn took a bite, and with it the mutual understanding of guest right.  Victarion could not help but think of the Bloody Keep of Pyke and what had happened to its guests, though even he had to admit that it was foul work on the part of the Black Line.

“Your hospitality is much appreciated,” Quellon responded after they had taken guest right.  “I know that your eldest sons are being fostered at this time, but where are Lyanna and Benjen?”

Rickard’s wintery eyes cast down in a brief show of contrition.  “Forgive me, my lord, for we did not know that you would cross the wolfswood so quickly and, thus, did not properly prepare for your arrival.  Lyanna is out riding currently.”  Victarion found himself wondering yet again why one would climb on the backs of such temperamental beasts for recreation.  

“Benjen is drilling in the yard,” the lord continued.  “Perhaps your son wishes to join him rather than sit and listen to us.”  

Quellon looked to his son.  “He may prefer to listen, since we will be speaking of matters that concern him.”  Victarion shook his head immediately.  I have resigned myself to this, he thought glumly, my presence will not improve my lot.  

The Lord of Winterfell waved over a guard and bade him show the young kraken to the courtyard.  He felt visible relief as soon as they stepped out of the hall.  The cool air seemed to take the weight of his future from his shoulders, and the sounds of steel on steel awakened his interest as they drew nearer.  The Stark boy was practicing at deflecting blows with his sword, though it was clear that he was struggling with the height of Winterfell’s master-at-arms.

"Gods be good,” he heard the lad murmur.  “Who is that? He’s near as big as Hodor!”  The two had stopped, and the young boy was staring at Victarion with wide eyes.  He furrowed his brow, displeased at being gawked at in such a way.  What in the Drowned God’s name is a Hodor...  

“Now, Benjen,” the warrior chided, “that is no way to speak of someone.”  He made eye contact with the kraken.  “You must be Lord Greyjoy’s son, yes?”  It was clear that the man’s defense was a hollow courtesy: his eyes were cool with the same distrust that everyone in the damnable realm seemed to harbor.  He nodded sullenly in response.  

“You are to be our guest, yes?”  He walked up to him, beaming upward.  “It will be good to have another to spar with; it’s been only Ser Rodrik since Ned left for the Eyrie.  Would you like to right now?”

The Ironborn blinked at the boy for a moment.  Benjen’s hurried speech was nearly too much to process, but he knew that the prospect of sparring with him was not enticing.  I would rather test my skill with the Northern knight, not this stripling.  

He had begun to form the words to respond when Cassel spoke up.  “Perhaps not today, young lord,” he suggested.  “Surely our guest is road-worn from his arrival.  He can join us on the morrow, is that meet, my lord of Greyjoy?”

“Surely he wants to,” Benjen replied in Victarion’s stead. “Old Nan has told us many tales of how the ironmen live to fight.  She told me of one man who grew stronger every time he was cut, is he one of your forebears?”

The Greyjoy’s head felt fit to burst.  Mayhaps it would have been better to stay with Father, he lamented.  The alternating bursts of being flooded with questions and being talked of as if he was not there overwhelmed him with the desire to bolt from the castle.  This is truly no place for me, how will I endure living here?

The sound of approaching hooves turned the heads of all three.  A young girl on horseback rode into the courtyard, her tawny hair blown backward like a banner.  She looked fierce atop the courser; almost beautiful if she did not seem so obdurate.  He had no doubt that this was Lyanna Stark  There was a wild grin on her face as she brought the beast to a halt, but it died quickly as she became aware of his presence.  Her eyes bored into him, as grey as the seas of Pyke.  No, he grimaced, they are the granite walls of Winterfell and the slate skies above.  She is of the North.

“Are you my lord husband-to-be?” she asked as she came down from her mount.  The edge in her voice was enough to tell him that the Stark girl thought as highly of the prospect as he did.  When he offered silent affirmation, she clicked her tongue.  “You are just as I imagined,” Lyanna replied, “large and dull.  Perhaps cleaner than most ironmen.”  

“My lady,” the master-at-arms uttered in surprise, “that is no way...” She already had her back to them, though, as she led her horse to the stables.  “Pray, forgive her, the lady Lyanna has been out of sorts.  I am certain she will apologize for her unseemly words.”  The fatigued expression on Ser Rodrik’s face did not inspire confidence in his words.

Victarion simply gazed off, stony and mute.  My betrothed, he sulked.  All to become the Lord Captain.  Drowned God grant me a short stay in this cold hell, and many campaigns at sea, that I need never spend time with this woman...

[amethystbdbrw-blog]

Out Part 2

————–Part 2————

Murh: [having the address, #Jhonni knew where I was and she was going to open the club for the evening. I promised I wouldn’t be long. I had no intentions of staying the entire evening. Didn’t care how bad it looked for business. This male had to understand I had a business to run and I couldn’t be hanging out at some fool’s mansion. I should have told the brothers where I was going. Hindsight would be 20/20. I had no plans form trouble. It just always seemed to follow me, but I could handle my own. It seems lately to being coming with a need of a clean up crew. Good thing the brotherhood was growing.]

[walking up to Onyx’s mansion it was three stories high. A stone structure like all the others in the neighborhood. They all had matching brick stutters in this zip code. This neighborhood was what was left after the raids. Walking up to the huge door, I used the brass knocker to alert the doggen of my presence. Which I’m sure was already known. With a place like this, there was sure to be cameras everywhere. V’s of course would be better.]

[I didn’t have to wait long to be escorted inside. The doggen pretty much swept the floor with his head when he bowed then he lead me into the main room. Letting me know his master would be right down. His ass better be; I hadn’t got all evening. The estate was decorated completely masculine. Not a feminine touch. I took note of each detail, like I was on patrol. Shook my head no to the offer of refreshment and watched the poor man almost cry. It almost made me say yes to a glass of water, but I wasn’t doing anything until the host arrived. I had no idea why he called this meeting or had me over. But, I was already over it.]

[I found myself a seat and continued my peach gaze in every direction. I heard the faint sounds of chains in the distance. Cocking my head to the side I listened. Mayhap I heard wrong. Then Onyx walked in and I stood up to greet my host. Again he was overly happy. It sent up signals. I shouldn’t have come alone.] Onyx. [extending out my hand. We spoke for a few moments about nothing important. It had been a complete waste of my time up to this point. He excused himself saying he’d be right back. The sounds of chains were heard again. What the Scribe had I gotten myself into.] (@AmethystBDBRW)

Am: [I heard people inside of the mansion and I knew without a doubt that this was my time to escape. The problem was that some of the visitors that came to visit Onyx often knew of my existence. They didn’t care that they were making a problem for me. They didn’t care that I was stuck in here and being abused on a regular basis as long as I offered my blood. The thing was though I never offered it willingly. It was always something taken from me. I don’t remember the last time that I did anything of my own free will and that is a problem for me, but There wasn’t much I could do about it. I tugged at my chains hoping that someone upstairs would hear it or Onyx would get angry enough to come face me like the male he should be. He has claimed that I am his, but shouldn’t the affection be on both sides? My wrist was starting to hurt from the force I was using to break free. I glanced up at the wall hoping that the hardware keeping me there was budging, but no such luck. I tried to move my foot to push it against the wall almost as if I was trying to kick myself off of it, but again that attempt failed as well. I was beginning to think I was never going to get out of here and maybe that was the case. I hated the idea of it because no person should be treated like this. I have to do something to get out of here, but the problem is I know no matter what I do that Onyx is going to create a scene or write it off as the place is haunted. I’m hoping that no one is dumb enough to fall for this, but I don’t know at this point. I know that if I don’t feed soon, I’m going to pass out from lack of nutrition which is only going to make Onyx an unbearably evil when he does decide that he needs my services. This is awful and I have no way to break myself free. I need out, but there is no end in sight for me unless Onyx is dead.]

Murh:

[i owned my own haunted place. I also wasn’t easily scared, and I wasn’t about to just sit around. With Onyx out of the room I decided to do a little recon. Following the sounds of the chains. I made my way in the same direction Onyx had taken off in; thankful there were no doggens in my way. I didn’t want to knock any of those helpful fuckers out. At this point I wanted to see what the hell Onyx had doing then get the hell out of here. I’d tell Onyx I had a call and had to skip out. He’d understand. I had a club to run anyways. So sure whatever Onyx had doing, was nothing of importance anyways, but I couldn’t dare leave any stone unturned. Especially with everyone gunning for the throne lately.]

[the hallway seemed never ending. It was then I heard Onyx’s deep angry voice. He was yelling at someone. And the sound of those damn chains could be heard again. What the hell. Peeking through the slightly opened door I saw something I was thankful I hadn’t asked the brother Z to join me, after all. I had to think. Clearly this wasn’t one of the rooms Lassiter makes fun of V for. That girl looked thin. Too thin. Beaten and mistreated. Those chains on her wrists told me she was Onyx’s prisoner, not guest. Shit. What the fuck had I walked into. And why had Onyx asked for my ass to come over here. He knew I couldn’t not report this. Sending a quick text off to the moors who I knew would let the brotherhood know what was doing. I even included a pic for good measure before barging in to play captain save a vampire.]

SorryNotSorry to interrupt. [daggers drawn so Onyx knew I meant business. I put myself between Onyx and the girl. Nearly knocking Onyx on his ass. I would have laughed at his now pitiful sight of a male, when he usually was such a male of worth.] Mind telling me what the actual fuck is doing? Nah, well let me tell you how this is going to go down. Open your fucking mouth unless I tell you and i’ll slit your fucking throat. You both can come with me to the King or just she can. Your choice, but make it fucking quickly before I make the choice for you. [towering over the now trembling male.] and let me remind you I am apart of the brotherhood. Sworn to uphold the laws my King has set. And this goes against those laws. I will be your judge, jury and executioner. [i heard the soft pleas of the girl behind me. Knocking Onyx’s ass out for the moment seemed like the best option. I had to get this girl free from her chains. Fuck. I really had no idea what I was doing. Just that I had to save this girl.] (@AmethystBDBRW)

Am: [I lifted my eyes to the strange male who had entered the room and not Onyx to the floor. I wanted to speak, but I didn’t know if I was going to be welcome to do so. I tried to smile but the effort in doing so actually hurt. I tugged at my wrist once more hoping that the restraint on the wall would break, but no such luck. When I got a good look at the male in front of me I realized who it was. I’ve heard stories of this one, but the last thing I knew he had gone insane. I’m not picky as to who gets me out of here I just want out. My voice comes out a broken whisper as I finally get the urge to speak to him.] Are you the only one? It is unusual for him to only have one male for me to service. [He probably thought I had lost my mind, but Onyx usually had about six other males besides himself for me to take care of a nightly basis. From confused and I don’t really know if I’m safe or the threat to this man. I glanced at his clothes trying to figure out anything about him without upsetting him like I would onyx. I heard my name hissed out of Onyx’s mouth and I froze. I was doing something wrong so I immediately lowered my eyes looking at the floor in my dirty feet. I didn’t like this, but at least someone would see how I was treated every time someone new came in. The problem was that I wasn’t sure if this male was going to save me or just leave me to die. Either way, if you knew who I was maybe that would change things. My name once again has left Onyx’s mouth. I wasn’t doing anything wrong this time I haven’t even met anyone’s eyes yet and still I’m being punished. I don’t understand, but I know one thing is for sure I want to be out of here. If that means Onyx gets killed by this man for myself so be it. I’m done being someone else puppet. I want help and if the only way to get it is to kill Onyx then that’s what’s going to have to happen. His words anger me as soon as I heard them. “You are the daughter of a Bastard do you actually think you’ll survive without me?” I bared my fangs as I found my voice again.] Clearly, you are as dumb as I thought you always have been. Do you have any idea who you brought in here? [I waited for a moment before laughing evilly.] He’s a Brother. Loyal to the King. [I locked eyes with Murhder for the first time.] My apologies, my mahmen told me stories before she sold me. [I wanted to say more, but I didn’t I just waited for the next bomb to drop.]

Murh:

[the exchange went back and forth between the two. I went between wanting to kick the shit out of Onyx to just simply killing him. He came to while I was still working out how to get the girl out of her chains and was about to ask about the keys when she said my name. She knew who I was, so why was it Onyx had no clue. Peach eyes took in the pitiful sight of the male below me. Quick decision, because I needed out of this house. A kick to Onyx’s side and another to roll him on his back. Then a shitkicker to his throat.] Tell me where the keys are or i’ll slowly crush every bone in your body before the next can heal.

[i wasn’t leaving the female alone so thank the Scribe Onyx had a set on him. Bending down I took the keys. Onyx made some comment about the female being his and some other bullshit. Seething, I spit through clenched teeth.] Pretty sure the King would say otherwise. And since you didn’t hear me the first time around when I told you I uphold his laws and his laws only let me make it clear now. [i had what I needed. One of the moors should be on their way. They could help with the pick up with Onyx.] night night, fucker [it was time for Onyx to live up to his name. Lights out as my shit kicker connected to his face again. This time knocking him out for the remainder of my time I had planned of being in this shit hole.]

[turning back to face the female, I apologized.] I so apologize. Here let me help you out of these. [as gentle and quickly as I could, I used the keys to unlock the chains that held the thin wrists of the frail female. She needed help, but the last thing I wanted to do was take her somewhere and force her to stay; against her will at another place. Once we got out, I would see to her feeding then get her truly free.]

Am: [I blinked as I was freed from my chains. I wanted to say something but what could I say that would adequately express how I felt. I knew exactly who this male was and what he was capable of doing, but if you told me he was going to be the one responsible for setting me free I would’ve laughed in your face. I stepped away from the wall almost losing my footing because it had been so long since I was loose.] Thank you, thank you so much. May I borrow that? [I pointed to his dagger that was properly holstered on his hip.] I would like to be the one to finish him off. I’m the blooded daughter of Zypher or at least that’s what I was told. I also know that he is an enemy of the king. I would like to finish him off as well. [I stepped back so that Onyx could no longer touch me as he spat evil words at me. “He would never kill me and neither would you. You’re too dependent on me for that. [I shook my head disgusted at his words looking back at Murhder with such appreciation. My body hurt from being restrained, my stomach ached from lack of food and blood. More importantly I was free to walk out of this room, but first things had to be handled. I edged myself closer to Murhder trying not to get too close, but close enough that it was a sign I was trying to trust him. I rubbed my wrist that was fighting the chains for so long. I wanted to cry at the freedom, but right now I had to make sure this didn’t happen to anyone else. I spoke in a soft voice, but I knew I was heard.] I don’t know if I am the only one. It’s hard to say. [I wanted to run for the door, but I didn’t have anywhere to go. Running from here, the nightmarish hellhole I was stuck in for so long sounded like such a good plan when I first thought of it, but now where do I go. What do I do? I wanted to shower and eat, but my very first instinct was to run and not stop. Was this normal? I winced a little as my body objected to my movements, but I didn’t care I was no longer stuck on that wall, I was no longer a prisoner of Onyx. He would be dead soon and then I could be truly free.] #TBC

Bdbrw

[johnwaterstrike]

Aftermath

The inside of Gogon’s mind is much more turbulent the than his outside visage shows.  Memories scream about like the winds of a hurricane.   Images flit pass in John’s mind eye – a Sultana not of our time in one, a crowd in front of a stage in another.  All giving information, too much information for one person to handle so suddenly.  The sights and sounds and everything else overlaps and crashes against each other until it seem like little more than a blur of colors and a cacophony of sound. John Waterstrike walk briefly forward through each memory,the people in each passing through him as if he were a ghost, which he was in a sense.  He fell forward a little bit more, trying to find something to focus on, anything that would keep him stable for just a little bit.  He covers his ears, trying to close off the sound.  His breathing picking up as he fall pass one memory and into another.  Yet, he had no direction on where to go, were any of these Gogon’s own. It seem an impossibility, to focus on anything amongst this torrential onslaught of memories.  So many, from so many viewpoints, from so many places.  It was more than one person should have, much more.  And it was all swirling about viciously like a whirlpool – around and around and around. John was caught up in the whirlpool, drowning in it, being pulled under it.  He was losing himself in the chaos, losing himself, everything closing in, and passing through him.  He was truly terrified, “Chachan…someone…I don’t know, I’m losing my way.”  The words coming from John both in the memories and the ‘waking’ world.  There was no one there to break contact with Gogon and he continue to drown in the whirlpool of memories.

Just as if was about to overwhelm him, everything snap into sharp clarity.  He found himself on a burning field, Chachan and the others in front of him.  He could feel his own limbs moving outside of his control, words not were not his coming from his mouth.  A deep feeling of fear, of anger, of defiance exuded from this memory.  It was like a shield, the wall that separate the eye of the storm from the terrible winds outside it. Jancis Milburge opened the door quietly as to not disturb the two resting, her own eyes tired from the day of battle and a stomach full.   Her eyes instinctively went to where Gogon lay, expression confused as she noticed John.  Quickly she tried to close the distance between them and figure out what the healer was doing.  “Master John?” John was caught up in this memory.  He couldn’t move, couldn’t find a way to protect the others.  Gods, the others were going to be hurt.   Warren, Chachan,and everyone.  “Don’t do it.  Don’t you see who it is?” he asked, reaching and grabbing those emotion inside himself, the fear, the anger, and the defiance.  “That’s your brother you’re about to attack,” he yelled, shaking the emotions that he held in his hands.   Outwardly, John gives no reaction to Jancis’s question, though his yelling was probably scaring her right about now.  She would be able to see as she drew closer that his eyes were glazed over and the hand that is on Gogon’s face is glowing, shimmering differently than the way that he usually heals. Words impose themselves on John’s mind.  Not said in the memories, but forced in from whatever lay beyond it.  “YOU WILL NOT HAVE ME.  I REFUSE TO FALL, I WILL RETURN TO THEM, AS MYSELF AND NO OTHER.”  Violet eyes burn into John.  See him.  KNOW him.  And he is forced away.  Back through the swirling mass of forceful memories.  Out of Gogonji’s mind… and back into his own head.  The last thing he sees is a few of the memories starting to turn toward him… and then they are gone. Jancis doubles her efforts to closed the short distance as the man yelled, having enough time to realize it was not the semi-familiar geometrics that archny used.  Her hip jarred against the working table as she tried to cut the corner, the table skirting loudly on the wooden floor.  Bravely she reaches for the hand that is on Gogon’s face. John doesn’t have time to reason with ‘words’.  He blown back and into his body.  He jerks up, shaking, and hair soak in sweat from the ordeal.  He only has a moment to try and regain himself, remembers himself, but he already sees Jancis’ hand moving to touch his ungloved one.  His reaction is instant, catching the woman’s hand with his glove one.  “Don’t touch it,” he says, fighting to get his breath back. Jancis is a token resistance, staying put in John’s grip.  She looks over his shiny sweat-streaked self.  “Pray, explain?” Gogonji shifts in his slumber, but settles down once more.  From the outside, one could never tell the effort he’s putting into holding off the torrent of foreign memories that seek to drown him. John looks up, fear starting to form in his eyes.  His eyes lock on her hand that he’s still holding and he quickly lets go of it.  “I’m sorry… I… didn’t hurt you, Lady Jancis?”  He turns as he feels a shift on the bed behind him.  He sighed mentally, knowing that there was nothing more he could do for Chachan’s brother.  He reach out to pick up the glove that still sat at the head of the bed.  Jancis was standing far too close to him to try and flee the room without hurting her in the act.   “There is nothing to explain,” he says, struggling to get the glove back on with shaking hands. “What you just said, is nearly what we all called out to him.  As if you were there bells ago.”  She lean in close to John, her now free hand going to grasp John’s shoulder.  “I am unhurt by you, but Thaliak would frown at such a bluff." John finally gets the glove back on, his head jerking up at her words.   He brings his glove hand up to his forehead, “So that’s what I saw,” he whisper, trying to shift and settle that memory from all the others that he saw.  He bring his hand back down, smiling up at her, and she would see that the fear is growing in his eyes.  “I’m glad I didn’t hurt you Lady Jan…” only to trail off at the rest of Jancis words.  He turns away from her, “I don’t think that Thaliak would care much for one that is cursed.” Jancis watches his expression steadily, soaking in as much of his nuisance movements as what he says. “Cursed is the man who dies, but the evil done by him survives,” she murmur quietly, a hand going to try and look over the wet locks of dark hair.  “I do not believe Gogonji is cursed; a healer must needs be open for anyone to trust with their welfare.  Must I ask again?” John looks back up, ears hanging low in exhaustion.  “He isn’t, Lady Jancis.  He fighting hard to come back to his brother.”  He turns to look over at Gogon.  “It probably won’t be soon but he is going to come back as himself.”  He looks down a this hands again, “I’m the one that is cursed.”  He was just too tired to keep everyone away anymore. Jancis had two different large pieces of information to take in.  She stood there awkwardly for what felt like several minutes.  “Back as himself… the way he spoke before losing consciousness, he did recognize Sir Gegenji… the souls from the stones did not dissipate then… fighting mayhaps… mentally healing…” she thought out loud, murmuring as she brainstormed, “… and this contact caused it?  This curse you speak of?   Mayhaps I can help.”  She still tired from before, but offered nonetheless, and still failed to understand what John meant about the curse he weakly confessed too. John shakes his head no.  “I have been cursed for as long as I can remember.  I thought…” his hands close into fists, “that maybe, just for once, I could do something good with it.” Jancis looks at the fear mixed with exhaustion.  “That is how you saw?   The curse is a vision?  If you saw what he is thinking, then you have given us a boon to know that those souls still wrack his mind.  This knowledge… Thaliak’s grace.  What else did you see?” she asks with ferver, awkwardly close still to keep a steadying hand on John’s shoulder and listen. He blinks as Jancis leans closer.  “What…” he says in confusion.  She wasn’t running away screaming and was in fact asking for more details about what he saw.  “Why… why aren’t you running away in terror?” he ask.  He mentally ground at the hope that was trying to build. Jancis only gives him a confused look.  “This vision that you have.  Can it also guide?  What if Gogonji needs help?” Shinjo Dawnedge enters the room, standing quietly, listening, his eyes examine those recovering from his postion at attention by the door. “Sister said that what I do is wrong.  That seeing memories was invading a person mind.  That the memories are private to the person that they belong too.”  Again he was in a state of confusion.  “I don’t know if I could guide.  I can’t touch anything when I’m ‘Dreaming’.  Like I’m just a ghost but I can feel the emotion within the memories.”  He looks back at Gogon.  “I try to get him to see what he was doing but he ‘threw’ me out.”  He looks back up at Jancis.  “I think he might have realize what was going on… and that I was losing myself in the chaos of his memories.” Jancis look thoughtful at his admission, “If no one else has broken this link, then mayhaps he did realize your presence.”  Her curiosity faded away in concern, “It hurt you, though?  You look exhausted.  Have you felt lost before?” John looked away, “This has been only the second time I’ve done this in eleven years.”  His eyes drift closed, a small smile tugging at his lips.  “Howl…let me see his memories.  I did get a little lost in them… and there was that ‘memory’ that didn’t react like the others do.”  A shiver ran through him.  “A highlander that ‘saw’ me in that memory.”   He look back up at Jancis.  “Gogon’s memories though were like a whirlpool.  I was drowning in them, and I call out for Chachan or anyone to help me.  That’s when I found myself in a ring of fire with Chachan and the others in front of me.” “…were we down the hall as you left.  Why did you not say more?  Sir Shinjo overheard you say an apology.  You should not be alone attempting such.”  Her voice grew with concern, giving her words more emphasis and the worry conveying through the squeezing hand on his shoulder.  Shingo nodding in agreement at her statement. John looks down.  “I was afraid that Chachan would… hate me for invading his brother’s memories,” he said.  “I thought about calling Warren, he knows about this, but he also needs to recover too.  I just didn’t want you and the others to find out.”  He let his eyes close, ears lying flat against his head.  “I didn’t want to lose your friendship,” he whisper, finally speaking his biggest fear. Shinjo moves over to the bed, speaking softly, “John, what I have heard you describe is a gift.  Use it good and for healing and it is an amazing gift.  Imagine the trauma and the mental illnesses you could treat.  You must start seeing it as so and it will become so.”  He bow his head in apology for interrupting. Jancis widen her eyes, empathy filling her expression.  She nods slowly at Shinjo speaks.  “A real friend walks in when the rest of the world walks out.  Should we had left; we would be no friends from the start.” John blinks, turning first to Shinjo and then to Jancis.  His face showing that he never thought about that, never let himself see what was before him.  Had he allow himself to be so blind?  “I… have seen only the darkness of life… have I really not look at the lights that have been before all along?”  A chuckle escapes him, “I have been a fool.” “You’re vision was clouded from early on friend.  Allow us to chase the storm away so that you may see the sun.” “From what you said of your sister; she truly worries.”  She looks up at Shinjo, smiling at his words. John nods.  “The gloves were her idea.  It gave me some peace from the memories that I was always sensing but Sam told me that she was trying to find a better way for me to control it.  But then we lost her on the Flats and… I gave up my hope with her gone.” Jancis look over at Shingo, “Mayhaps someone else can help you train this ability then.  Would not want to find you in such a state again, dare say, or worse.” “Would practicing it in, allow you to gain some measure of control?” John shifts on the bed.  “Haven’t even thought about practicing it.”  He looks thoughtful.  “I wonder if… you think that Titor might be able to help?” he ask.  “He invited me to his home when he checks on Sir Toff.” “I think any amount of use of it will assist in learning the limits.”   He nods.  “Like any skill, I am sure with practice will come competency, and from there great skill.”  He looks over to Gogonji.  “So, how do we help him?” Jancis steps back, leaning against the wall.  “Master Titor is very wise; he has dealt with rareites before.  At the very least he can rule out some avenues on your abilities.” “You looked inside Gogonji’s mind then, John?” Shinjo enquires. Jancis looks up at Shinjo.  “Well, with what Master John has shared about his internal struggle…forgive me I do not know.”  She purses her lips, “Part of me believe with should have Lady Artemis return, and Lady Leanne with those deadened stones.  Or create some kind of beacon for him.  No, we must needs get Sir Gegenji’s counsel first.”  She quiets, letting the two men talk.  She then murmurs something about John not eating before and looks for some leftovers to be brought in so that he can recover his strength, and exits. John runs his hand through drying sticky hair.  “And I’m really not sure I should try this again very soon.”  He still looks exhausted from the ordeal.  “He’s fighting right now, which should be a good sign,” he said to Shinjo.  “I would like to try again, with Cha’s permission and someone as a second.  There might be a chance we could bring him out… or give him a lead back.” Oka knocks at the door.  “Um, can someone please open the door?  I have some more Doman delight for you guys!” “How would someone second you?” Shingo ask. Oka’s voice calls through the door again.  “Alright, I guess no one wants my delicious treats.” John hms to himself.  “If I call out to whoever would be my second or if I’m ‘Dreaming’ too long, they would need to break the contact between myself and whoever I was working with.” Shinjo nods, “I will assist however I can, John.  One moment.”  He moves over and opens to door, allowing Oka to enter the room. She holds a tray of Doman dishes.  “Teehee, thought you guys were hunger, so here you go.” "Thanks you, Oka.  Just set it on the bench there.” John hadn’t realize that someone had been at the door.  At the mention of food though, his stomach growls and a blush stain his face.  “Ah, sorry.” Oka nods as she puts the tray on the nearby bench, doing a Doman bow to the people that are present. “Please John, take the time to eat.  I believe Jancis will bring a meal a meal in later as well.  She went to prepare it.  I will wait for her meal.  I would not want her to come back for no need.” “Hm, where is Jan-san anyway?” John gives Oka a smile.  “Thank you, Lady Oka.”  He stands on shakily legs and moves over to the tray of food. “She went to prepare some food and tend some errands.”  Shinjo reach up to touch the linkpearl at his ear.  “I must respond to an emergency call.  Duty calls.  I will be back soon and perhaps we can formulate a plan to move forward and help our injured friends.” “Oi, Shinjo-san, want an onigiri before you go?” Shinjo nods.  “Thank you, Oka.”  He takes on and quickly makes his way out, strapping on his shield and sword as he runs down the hall. John picks up a rice cake, eyes flickering over to Gogonji.  “I hope the next time we meet, that it will be with you awake, Sir Gogonji.”

{ @jancisstuff​ }