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atsucry · 3 months ago

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Beyond The Thorn Vines

𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝐈𝐈.

𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝐈.

Malleus Draconia x gn!reader

warnings: heavily ooc malleus and does not exactly follow his cannon backstory. Everything is in favour for the ff plot. Also probably ooc lillia just to make sure. I have absolutely no idea how malleus's magic works so I jst winged some stuff so...

content: Angst.

It was just like any other day. Home lessons from Lillia and spending most of his time in his room, long curtains that drape over equally tall windows, caging his room in black. Though at least he had something to look forward to today. Meeting up back at that river after sunset to play the little games you've planned with him.

He moved quietly across the room, peeling back the gossamer curtains to take a peek at the time of day. And would you look at that? It's almost sundown. The sea of trees stretched out into the distance, the rest was covered by fog. The monotonous routine was not for the young boy.

He followed the same steps to sneak out of the castle and avoid the attention of the supervisors of the castle, he followed the same route he took to escape yesterday, only hoping that the schedule had remained unchanged.

He slipped through the corridor from his room to the lower hall, being careful to not creak the door as much when he closed it. his small feet pitter-pattering on the polished tile, so shiny that it reflected the darkly painted walls that always showed Malleus an indifference towards him. Though, the nooks and crannies of the carvings in them didn't match that cleanliness of the floor beneath his feet…for some reason.

He ducked behind large antiques or pillars if he ever saw the guards patrolling whatever room he was in, careful not to accidentally be caught under their gaze.

After passing through many rooms—He finally stood at the front of the dungeon. This was how he managed to find an alternative escape—through pure curiosity. He peeled the door open to reveal a spiral staircase that only led down. He navigated through the almost labyrinth like dungeon, occasionally tripping over some fell over prison bars and chains but never injuring or scraping himself.

He wondered if he forgot the path he took to that small breach in the cell walls. Everything was starting to look the same, that or he simply didn't pay attention last time he did go through here.

A rat came through, though. He darted his eyes to where the little rodent came from, and lucky him it just so happened to be the exit he was looking for. He quickly turned back to the rat. "Thank you, but I'm sure the guards will beat you for invading such lavish property."

He squeezed his body through the bars of the cell like last time. It has gotten much easier.

He had to mentally prepare himself to go through the crawlspace again, he sucked in a breath before wriggling himself through. He felt like a worm, he crawled up the tunnel that led up. The scent of wet soil filled his senses, almost as if it had just recently rained. His eyes landed on a familiar gravel course.

Rising up, he swiped off the dust and dirt that had collected on his palms and in between his fingers. As he tread along the path, he made sure to be mindful this time about the little loose rocks that could easily trip him.

You arrived at the river a little too early, so you resorted to skipping rocks and pebbles you picked up from the river bed—or even going in yourself to see if there was any addition to the place, of course there was none but you had somehow expected better. Other than a few flatworms, there was nothing much to be seen. You could only entertain yourself by collecting all of the most 'colourful' pebbles you could find and fit them in your hand. Perhaps this could be something new to present to your play partner.

You raised your head out of the water. "This sucks…I'm bored out of my mind." pouting at yourself, looking 'round to find anything else that was interesting.

You remembered the times you would sometimes perform songs by yourself—or to the little water critters. The wind chimed as it passed by, the tree branches waving down at you.

You reached out to the edge of the land, folding your arms to pillow and rest your head upon it, sighing out of boredom. You pour out all the things you collected in front of you.

Out of the corner of your eye, a water shrew had made an appearance before you. "An interesting fellow" you think to yourself. It scurried away before you could take a second glance at it.

The sound of moving gravel caught your attention, you whipped your head up at the origin of the noise, you squinted your eyes just to see those recognizable horns jogging closer, sitting atop a breathless boy.

"How was the journey, hm?" You said in a playful manner. "You look like you had to outrun a boar." You pointed out the sweat trickling down his forehead. "What's got you in a rush?"

He came to a full stop before you, placing his hands on his knees and bowing his head to catch his breath—huffing and puffing a little.

"I haven't the faintest idea. I suppose I was just eager to meet up again."

You raised your brow slightly at that.

"You know, for someone the same age as me, you sure do talk very fancy."

"No, just a bit formally."

"Formally it is then."

Malleus caught up to his breath, finally. When he looked down to glance at you, you had quickly collected back all the small rocks in your hand and held it up to him.

"Which one is the prettiest to you?" You suddenly asked.

He paused before ultimately deciding to play along with whatever you had planned. He carefully inspected the pile of stones before picking up a green coloured one at random. rolling it around in his fingers.

"This one is the prettiest."

Your eyes lit up at his answer, it wasn't much but at least he participated.

"Is it cause it matches your eyes or what?"

An immediate silence overcame the both of you. His mouth slightly parted.

You blinked, it felt as if you've made a terrible mistake of the kind. You slowly set the pile of pebbles back in front of you to continue to observe his face. Crickets sung in the background and it made almost everything worse.

"Matches my eyes…?" He repeated, his voice a murmur. It's almost as if he was saying it to himself rather than to you. He broke out of his frozen state to continue examining the stone. "I suppose it does." He pocketed the stone. "I haven't given things like these much thought."

You tilted your head at him, puzzled. “You’ve never thought about what’s pretty?”

He shook his head slowly. “There hasn’t been much need for it. The castle is… functional, not beautiful. And I’ve been taught to value strength, wisdom, and power—things that are useful.”

"Useful things can be beautiful too." You said it like it was the obvious, which was true, by the way.

“Perhaps,” he finally said, his voice softer now. “But it’s not something I’ve been taught to see.”

"Well…I'll teach you what I know, You'll teach me what you know!" You said enthusiastically. He seemed to nod, a genuine smile now forming on his face. "That sounds like a plan."

The two of you spent the rest of the evening by the river, sharing stories, playing games, and finding beauty in the small things around you. Exposing him to the activities and games you played with the other nymphs.

This continued on for months; honestly, Malleus was surprised no one had caught on yet. He was glad that no one had. Because these meetups became the highlight of his day. He learned how to do outdoor games, like skipping stones, all that stuff. You taught him how to dance one time, which was fun.

On the eighth month of this routine, you'd have finally become friends. Each Other's first friends.

Today was just like any other ordinary day, you tried switching it up every now and then to keep things interesting. Although, today, Malleus had something else planned for the activities.

You were recalling all the events that happened to you today to Malleus before he spoke up, "Would you like to see my unique magic?"

"...Unique magic? Ah, so…magic you made up on your own, I'm assuming?"

"Exactly. You pick up on things fast." His face turned into a look of uncertainty, "Though… I am aware of its capabilities. It can be... intimidating. But I have control over it."

"Alright…show me." You said, Nodding.

"Very well, follow me. I need more space to perform it."

He took your hand in his before leading you to who knows where. "...You do know where we're going, correct?" He said, looking back at you. "Of course I do…I think. But you can trust my sense of direction."

You eventually made it to a forest clearing, your companion hummed in satisfaction as he let go of your hand, making his way to the centre to conduct his magic.

"...just to be sure, you DO think this is a safe idea?"

"...Safe enough."

Malleus’s eyes gleamed with an intensity you hadn’t seen before. He took a step back, lifting his hand towards the sky. You could feel the air grow heavier, charged with a kind of energy that made the hairs on your neck stand on end.

"Just a little warning im giving you, this will put you in a deep sleep until I end the spell."

It was only now that the realisation hit you that maybe this wasn't the greatest idea. But maybe it was too late, he was already mid-incantation. You could perhaps try interrupting the entire thing—

By then it was already too late. "Spinning wheel of fate," He started, "keep pulling the thread of disaster. As king of the abyss, I shall bestow this upon you—"

"Hey—! Don't you think it's too dangerous to perform a spell that you aren't that familiar with—"

"Fae of Maleficence."

The air seemed to freeze in place as Malleus completed the incantation. Dark, green thorn vines shot up from the ground, the earth beneath you almost crumbled due to the force.

You barely had time to react as the first vine shot toward you, then several more followed after.

In such a short notice, your world turned black.

Where were you?

Though, as time went on, you slowly stopped caring. It was tranquil; you accepted the deep slumber, you welcomed the serenity.

Malleus stood in the clearing, his eyes wide as he saw you encased within the thorny sphere. A wave of unease passed over him, but he quickly brushed it off.

He approached the spherical, thorny prison, running his fingers along the cracks of the vines. Taking a deep breath, he began to focus on the spell’s reversal. His voice was steady, filled with the confidence that his magic would undo the spell without any harm. “Fate’s thread, rewind... Release the one I hold in this abyss.”

The vines slowly retracted, revealing you bit by bit as you softly fell onto the grass, your body limp. He still felt that stomach dropping feeling, but he just ignored it again. He was so sure that this was just temporary.

"Psst, wake up." He whispered. "How was that for magic?" At this point he looked stupid for trying to have a conversation with an unconscious person. That was when everything started to settle in.

He quickly tried shaking your body, hoping that you made some movement, even in your sleep. You were breathing, but you gave him no response. Surely he made no mistake in the spell.

"Please wake up…" He begged, kneeling down beside your body and examining your state. "Wake up…" He pleaded once more. Trying again one more time. "Wake…up…—?"

A cold hand suddenly grabbed his shoulder, peeling him away from your body. He was flung backward, landing with a painful thud. Curling up from the shock, he looked up to see a group of Naiads surrounding you. Their presence was ominous, and he knew he was in deep trouble. These were your family, or at least, people close to you.

They knelt down to observe your condition, cradling you in their arms before turning to him. Their gaze was cold, but at the same time held a fiery rage.

"You must leave." A voice emitted from the heart of the circle.

"Leave and never walk alongside our kind again." Rising to her feet, with you in her arms. As he looked at her more, it seemed that she was your mother. His eyes widened at the realisation.

"You cretin! Magic like this isn’t for children to play with!" Another voice rang out, filled with righteous anger.

Malleus had to be careful where he tread with his words. He wanted for everything to work out, he wanted it all to be okay. Though, he knows he is the only one responsible for such a disgrace. "Please! I apologise! I didn't mean for this to be the outcome but if you allowed me more time I could potentially reverse it—!"

"You've done enough here." The mother said. "Leave." She repeated one last time. "Leave while you still have feet,"

Her voice was stern. She threatened the young boy one last time before all the others slowly got up on their feet too. Vanishing into the forest. Along with you, too.

It hit him that he missed the opportunity to defend himself just a bit more, that he could do something to fix it. To return you to your original state.

The mage finally collected himself before stumbling through the forest, luckily having left some foot tracks and backtracking it. pathetic sniffles and whines echoed throughout the trees. But even they seemed to bend and shriek away from him. The very energy that fueled his magic, feared him.

He ran, occasionally tripping over but immediately picking himself back up.

That's when he saw the river you and he used to play together at. The spot where you introduced yourself so cautiously, the second time he decided to meet you, months of building up your bond till you finally offered to be his friend. But when he got closer to just sit and reminisce for a while more, the water had suddenly flowed harsher. Almost to bat him away from itself.

He gave up.

What more could he do?

Was he really meant to be feared? all alone? It was hard enough making friends. But it’s how it goes. Living things take such time to grow and to bloom, but it could easily be destroyed by one wrong step from a careless person to crumple its beauty.

He was sick and tired. He marched his way home, back to the cold embrace. Each step carried weight that was heavier than the world of magic itself.

This time he didn't take the secret hole in the wall to sneak back in. He was too frustrated to go through all of it. He walked up the steps to the large gate and screamed for the guards to let him inside.

They obeyed fearfully. Even if he was just a child, he still held such great power over most.

His stomps echoed throughout the entire property, like a large beast was the one causing it. As he walked, he bumped into his guardian in the middle of the hallway.

"Ah! Malleus! ah…how dishevelled you are…where have you been?" Lillia asked,concern was evident in his voice.

"...Out."

"Yea…Where, exactly?"

"In the forest…"

Lillia wore a deadpanned face as he put his hands on the boy's shoulder. "Your details are lacking."

Malleus couldn't hold it back much more. A river of tears streamed down his face, It was rare for him to see malleus in such a state.

Snow then started falling from the sky.

"I just wanted to show them something interesting, I didn't know that the magic that I created—could—oh…I don't know…"

Lillia of course did not let that slip, who has Malleus been seeing?

"...Who, exactly, did you show your ability to?" He bit his lips in anticipation. What if the prince got into a tangle with some evil being—no—well that didn't follow logical sense. He wouldn't cry over hurting someone who wished harm upon him. Perhaps a little friend.

"...a kid named (Y/N)." At the mention of a name, Lillia quickly shot Malleus with an almost terrified expression. If they introduced themselves to Malleus, Malleus must've done the same. "Have you told them your name too?!?"

"Of course I have…Why wouldn't I—?"

"You can't just go around telling strangers your name! As fae, when we tell people our names that means we give them power over us!" He informed the naive boy.

Malleus recoiled slightly at Lillia's words, his tear-streaked face showing confusion and a hint of fear. The realisation of what he might have done—what he had given away—sank into him with the weight of it.

"But... Lillia, (Y/N) isn't like that," Malleus protested, his voice trembling. "They're my friend…Used to be. But they would never use my name to hurt me." Malleus felt a sting in his heart when he said the last sentence, his thoughts cruising back to what he'd done.

Lillia's stern expression softened. He knelt down to be at eye level with Malleus, his hands still resting on the boy's shoulders. "Malleus, it's not about trust. It's about understanding the consequences of your actions. Even if (Y/N) doesn't mean harm, others might. Your name is a powerful thing—our names are tied to our very essence."

Malleus sniffled, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. "But I didn't know... I just wanted to share something special with them. I wanted them to see what I could do, to know that I'm not just someone to be feared," He tried explaining. "But it just did the exact thing that I was clearly avoiding!"

He could see the turmoil in Malleus's eyes, the desperation to connect with someone.

"Oh Malleus…What to do with you…"

The young boy continued to wallow away in his room, bitter walls were the only embrace he could get other than the comfort of his own coverlet, he no longer found sunrise and sundown to be something he'd look forward to other than just another passing of time.

Decades have followed, Malleus only had to focus on improving his skill, ability, and magic. He'd known very little about the changes in the outside world other than watching hundreds of seasons pass by everyday till He'd almost fully matured. Being accepted into Night Raven College was as easy as breathing for him, being the top student and the housewarden was no easy feat for any normal individual.

In between those years, he'd eventually have forgotten about you. Although, the nuisance of feeling a strangely empty space around him bothered him to no end. He'd blame it on just lacking friends. But even then, he'd still harbour that sense of emptiness even if he was surrounded by his closest dorm mates.

Note: AGEHHAHA I finished this at 9:30. ALSO APOLOGIES AGAIN FOR ANY WRITING MISTAKES I MAY HAVE MADE😶

thank you for reading though❗️❗️💯 I WILL EDIT ALL ERRORS TOMORROW.

#malleus draconia x reader #malleus draconia #disney twst #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twst x you #malleus draconia x you #slightly inaccurate lore #slight ooc

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yourtypicalfangirl23 · 3 months ago

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Youth.

and watching the three of them felt like, the cheap, corner-store shop picture frames expanded into real life. From the stale walls of his bedroom to the reds and oranges of an early autumn sunset where the screams of cicadas echoed through the gold-painted, tar highways. It was desolate, the countryside was dying, and no one except their shadows and them were present.

In his eyes.

Two boys, one girl. Three of them. The end of summer, he recalled, always brought upon a gut-wrenching dread.

It was always two boys, one girl. Three of them. end of summer.

Always the three of them, when they were too young to be heroes, still ridding the innocence of their adolescence, learning life, finding themselves. Tugging at their uniforms, one button always abandoned, shirt untucked in some parts. Far more comfortable in band shirts and ripped jeans, a zip-up hoodie always unzipped, sweats, always the sweats. Instead of the tightly fitted armor of jujitsu high, too young to be in soldiers' uniforms.

Uncleaned chalkboards, wooden floors, and large paneled windows where the curtain slowly drifted with the summer winds. Three chairs, three desks, and space. Barracks disguised as classrooms. It was always, almost normal. Always, almost kids in high school- until they see the phantom red on their hands, on each other. Until they're afraid of death, until they question if their friends will come back.

High school kids shouldn't worry about carrying their friends' corpses back, shouldn't be worrying about the infinite space that will be left from a desk taken away, two would be an awful number.

Sometimes though, when the skies were especially clear, the sun blinding enough that the classrooms felt like saunas and they had no choice but to take their lessons outside, it truly did feel like high school. On the grass, below a mighty tree, ancient with thick roots, winding with mossy branches, and rings of bark carrying the passage of time, they would laugh, too warm to sit still, too warm to listen.

The tree still stands there, to this day, though mightier in size. It holds now, his dearest memories and a neverending ache, as his eyes linger on the the three of them.

“Your eyes remind me of the sky,” he said.

Flat on his back, his head to the side, his eyes showed galaxies as they bore through his own. Two hands behind his head, as if he hadn’t a care in the world, as if he had forgotten the blood that was smeared on his hands just yesterday.

“They aren’t though, Suguru” he had said back.

Suguru. Suguru was the boy who had constellations in the creases of his irises, eyelashes saturated with stars, and long, long hair, silky strands that looked like ink from the poems in kanji, he had read as a child.

Suguru looked back at him. He was beautiful, so very beautiful. Suguru had called his eyes the heavens, the seven seas, the world, and at some point his home.

His eyes were a source of power and hierarchy. His eyes brought fear, he had been born with these eyes as a man, never a boy, never a child. A soldier through-and-through, a born weapon for jujitsu society, the name of the Gojo clan. His eyes were for humanity, as a hero, as a savior, and as a god. His eyes brought him a military routine, always a house, never a home. He had no parents, he belonged to no one but humanity and jujitsu society. His eyes were treacherous storms and lashes of waves, raging tsunamis.

But this boy with the soft voice and planetary systems as eyes had called him his. With Suguru, he would be Satarou, a boy in high school, with eyes that looked like a clear summer’s sky. They would be Suguru and Satarou doing whatever high schoolers would do.

A scoff from Satarous’ side broke the trance and Suguru looked back.

Shoko huffs out a soft chuckle, an unsmoked cigarette hanging from her smirking lips. Her eyes had deep bags under them but they still managed to sparkle as she rolled her eyes at them. One hand under her splayed brown hair, the other fiddling in her pockets certainly reaching for a lighter. After a few moments of rustling and-

“Honestly it's sexist, we can’t wear normal fucking pants with normal fucking pockets, fucking skirts”

She lit her cigarette with one hand, her other, now removed from under her head had reached out to Suguru to offer him one, and as always he would hesitate, and then after a second, the roll would easily slip away from her slim fingers to his. Shoko had tried with Satarou but he was never as easy as Suguru, he could still remember the days when Suguru would snatch the roll away from her lips and offer her a strawberry Chup Chups instead. She had scowled at him but never complained. When days were easy, no caskets and no disappearing friends. Before, their eyes looked darker, before the eyebags, before. Before he took cigarettes so easily.

It would be the three of them then, on the ground, splayed out on the grass until the sky turned golden, the occasional breeze, drifting leaves down on them, the smell of tobacco thick in the air, and laughter. Fits of laughter, uncontrollable and untameable, wheezing and breathless. Until all three of them would be coughing, Shoko clutching her stomach and Suguru on his side, laughter echoing through the desolate land that was Jujitsu high, and Satarou in the middle, smiling the biggest he’s ever smiled. Brimming happiness at a place that was so riddled with blood and tragedy.

They would be messy and noisy as teenagers would be, tangled up together, talking shit about teachers, cursing and complaining. Talking about unresolved crushes as their cheeks bloomed with a rosy blush, kicking their feet and twirling their hair or whatever people in love do. Gossiping about the parties they have and haven't been to, talking about that new cafe that opened downtown or that new clothing shop, the one that's biased about their sizes, they don’t even sell the right color nail polish, black, because they had a personal style under these uniforms they were trapped in.

When they had nothing else to talk about (finally) and the laughter had died down to comforting silences and content sighs with heads on shoulders, fingers intertwined, legs overlapping each others’, eyes slowly beginning to close after a lazy summer's day.

“Up, you dickheads”

Shoko would drag them up, a lazy smile on her face and two outstretched hands, the sky had passed its golden hour and a light purple welcomed dusk. Their cigarettes were finished now, on the grass, giving out the last of its smoke, the lights from the windows were just starting to flicker on, and the three of them would escape, leaving the formidable fortresses of jujitsu high. Leaving the echoes of bloodshed and death into a normal life, just for a second, where they would pretend to have calculus and The Great Gatsby as the biggest worries in life.

The street lamps lit the sidewalk, a few moths dancing along its light, where one lamp, as they proceeded along the path, would never function, it never had. An occasional rumble from an old car or a noisy neighborhood kid with a bicycle would break the silence. Shoko and Satarou would skip, hands held together like preschoolers while Suguru trudged along them, complaining with a smile on his lips. They would take the first right and walk by the few abandoned appliance stores, local grocery stores, and the house with the odd chimney and even weirder garden gnomes. They would pass by the small store that rented all sorts of manga, which would be surely closed by now but still had a myriad of fairy lights at the entrance that looked quite like fireflies this late and into a nook, the only store open this late, at the outskirts of Tokyo, up on the mountains, a lone corner store which sold everything from cigarettes to the most outrageous sodas. Where an old man, as fragile as china, looking as if he would crumble at a mere touch sat on a dainty, rickety, wooden chair. Every single time. He would smile expectedly, never speaking a word, as Shoko brought the cheapest cans of beer to the counter and would wave goodbye every time they left, without fail.

Who knew that such an old face could muster up that bright of a smile?

The three of them would locate the too-small bench at the back of the store, where there would be a mess of weeds and moss, an unkept backyard. They would manage to squeeze together, Shoko in the middle, and put their feet on the circular, metallic, rather rusty, rather large table in front of them. It was too warm for that but they didn’t care as they passed along the cans of beer, awfully bitter and terrible to the taste but good enough for their high school taste buds, until they were all completed and only the metallic cans were left rustling on the ground.

If they were drunk enough Shoko would slowly take off her hair clips and toss them on the metallic table which would land with a loud clang, normally waking Satarou from his drunken daze. Then she would lay her head on either of their shoulders and for a good old while, the three of them would lie there until Suguru would slowly coax the both of them from their slumber into the long way back.

And the times when even alcohol couldn’t lay their minds to rest, squeezed upon the bench, Suguru would bring out his collection of nail polish or Shoko would pull out a small speaker. They would paint their nails and listen to whatever indie music Shoko was into and they would stall because they were still too sober, even after the ten or so cans of beer passed along them.

Either way, they would always end up in Satarou’s room, on his bed, or on the floor, all three of them close together, sticky with sweat and alcohol, still in their uniforms, now horribly disheveled, hair sticking out from all places, soft limbs, looking like a bunch of troubled teenagers, like they should have been.

That would be their summer, their youth.

At present, the area around them has grown quite a lot, changed just like they had. More appliance stores, more grocery stores, though the house had gone now, replaced with a small cozy apartment building, the lamps all functioned, no manga store, that too had been replaced with a modern tourist office. The one thing that did remain though was that lone corner shop, the old man he heard, had died a few years back.

But the store remained where it stood, nothing had changed about it.

Youth, he recalled .

Youth.

#satosugu #gojo satoru #shoko ieiri #geto suguru #fanfiction #jjk fanfic #words #jujitsu kaisen #ao3 #I wrote this at like 1am and finished it at like 5 am #literature

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thepromptswhisperer · 1 year ago

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Beach Prompts

Sand Prompts

1. The sand burns hot and A offers to carry B because of that.

2. A brushes the sand off of B’s feet/clothes/etc.

3. A and B are both sand sculptors and rivals in sand sculpting competitions. (Yet, A can’t help but feel that they could be more than that./C uses that knowledge to play them off against another.)

4. The feeling of sand underneath their feet is something A used to dream about. Now, for the first time, A visits the (sand) beach.

5. A is hungry, but their sandy hands are making the eating process difficult.

6. A (and B) slide(s)/run(s) down a sand dune.

7. A writes/draws something into the sand.

8. Sand flies in A’s direction when B shakes out their beach towel.

9. A does not like sand. At all.

10. A and B build a sandcastle/etc. together.

11. A discovers that their beach now has beach wheelchairs. They plan to bring B there soon, so that they too can enjoy the beach (again).

12. A leans on B to keep their balance while brushing the sand off of their feet/pouring the sand out of their shoe(s).

13. A is a judge in a sand sculpting competition. Something about B’s work deeply touches them.

14. A and B play Tic-Tac-Toe in the sand.

15. A loves the feeling of sand underneath their feet so much that they think about covering their apartment/etc. floor with sand.

16. A walks in B’s foot-/shoeprints in the sand.

17. A buries B in the sand (and shapes the sand around them into a merperson/octopus/etc).

18. A thought they had left the sand at the beach. The shower/floor/etc. at home/the hotel/etc. paints a different picture.

Waterbody

19. A watches B grimace upon having swallowed a bit of the sea water.

20. A has their legs wrapped around B as they float together.

21. A asks stranger B to please watch their belongings while they take a quick dip in the ocean.

22. A, who has been in the water and is wet, hugs B, who has been enjoying the warm sun, lying on the beach.

23. A takes surfing lessons and develops a crush on their teacher/fellow trainee B.

24. A gets scared when something (e.g. a fish, seaweed) brushes against their skin.

25. A and B dance in the shallow water of the ocean.

26. A ‘conquers’ B’s board.

27. A and B sit/lie together where the shore meets the ocean, waves occasionally enveloping them.

28. A has lost something in the ocean and B dives for it.

29. A is afraid of the ocean.

30. A splashes some water at B.

31. A and B race each other to the ocean.

32. A (and B)’s belongings (including their clothes) were stolen while they were taking a dip in the ocean.

Other

33. A and B use the beach shower together, unable to keep their hands off of each other.

34. A and B watch the stars and moon illuminating the ocean.

35. A (and B)’s beach umbrella/ball/etc. gets blown away by the wind.

36. A and B play catch-up/tag on the beach, annoying a few other visitors.

37. A shows B the sea shell/rock they just found.

38. A struggles to open/close their (and B’s) beach chair(s).

39. A applies sunscreen on B’s back/etc.

40. A and B have a private beach all to themselves. Judging by A’s look, they have an idea on how to use it.

41. A positions themselves just so that B is in their shadow.

42. A organizes/has organized a picnic/candlelit dinner for them and B at the beach.

43. A and B play a version of truth or dare that involves other visitors of the beach.

44. A and B watch the sunrise/sunset at the beach.

45. A and B find a hammock on the beach.

46. A (constantly) reminds B to stay hydrated.

47. A likes to be prepared – or overprepared as B notices (once more) when seeing what A wants to bring with them to the beach.

48. To make some (additional) money, A sells ice cream/coconuts/etc. at the beach. (B sees them struggling to transport it all and offers their help.)

49. A and B go to a beach party.

50. A invites stranger/their crush/their rival/etc. B to play beach volleyball/frisbee/etc. with them (and their friends).

51. The wind tousles A’s hair, making it impossible for them to see anything. B has a solution for the problem.

52. A owns a beach chair rental shop/is responsible for the beach chairs of the resort/etc. This season, beach chairs suddenly start to go missing/etc. and A investigates the issue.

53. A steals B’s sunglasses and uses them themselves.

54. A and B/their friend group/etc. have a bonfire at the beach.

55. A and B both fall asleep on the beach.

56. A is a member of an Ocean/Coastal Conservatory group. When they see B leaving behind their trash at the beach, they confront them.

57. A has planned a treasure hunt for B that involves the beach.

58. A has placed a towel/hat/etc. over their face as they lie in the sun. To be able to talk to B, they lift it a little.

59. When an ice cream trolley is in sight, A jumps up to get them and B some ice cream.

60. A has always wanted to do horseback riding at the beach. B makes their dream come true.

61. A and B camp on the beach.

62. A teaches B how to fly a kite.

63. A and B set up/fold up their beach shelter/windbreak.

64. A and B relax on one towel together, not minding the additional warmth.

➔ Ocean (Coast) Prompts

#writing prompts #writing inspiration #beach prompts #ocean prompts #coast prompts #writing ideas #prompt list #summer prompts #activity prompts #person a and person b

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amaretigris · 7 months ago

Text

Toe the Line

Taglist: @luna2034 @notagreekgal28 @hopeisrising @mylittlemermaid221 @freyagallileaevans @daydreamerwithnohobbies @justagirlthatlovedtoread

𖠳 ᐝ ꕀ𖠳 ᐝ ꕀ𖠳 ᐝ ꕀ𖠳 ᐝ ꕀ𖠳 ᐝ ꕀ𖠳 ᐝ ꕀ𖠳 ᐝ ꕀ𖠳 ᐝ ꕀ𖠳 ᐝ ꕀ

Ch. 2 | 1k words | Fluff

𖠳 ᐝ ꕀ𖠳 ᐝ ꕀ𖠳 ᐝ ꕀ𖠳 ᐝ ꕀ𖠳 ᐝ ꕀ𖠳 ᐝ ꕀ𖠳 ᐝ ꕀ𖠳 ᐝ ꕀ𖠳 ᐝ ꕀ

The melodic chirping of birds carried by the sea breeze blew through your hair, and settled in your ears. You climbed out of bed, and giddily readied yourself for the day. Looking more closely at your simple dress you wore as a palace uniform, you decided to add a belt of blue ribbon on it today. Smoothing down the creases in the fabric, you moved to the mirror to examine your work. The events of last night replayed in your mind.

𖠳 ᐝ ꕀ𖠳 ᐝ ꕀ𖠳 ᐝ ꕀ

"You've never been taught how to dance?"

Eric seemed bemused.

"No sir. There's never been reason for me to learn, I suppose."

Eric scoffed at that.

"There is no reason that the world should deprive a young woman such as yourself of the experience of a ball. Service or not. We will teach you how to dance, (Y/N). Don't worry," he nodded in determination.

You felt a blush color your cheeks. We?

"Thank you, Your Majesty. This is all too kind of you," you bowed your head instead of curtseying.

"Nonsense. No one who works alongside my family should miss out on such opportunities," Eric smiled.

His smile reminded you of a bright and beautiful sunset, and it was adorned with the pair of dimples that you'd heard whispers of in the palace halls.

"Well, now that that's sorted, I'm sure you're ready to retire for the night. Lashana and I are as well. Good night, (Y/N)."

Once you bowed and had scurried away, Lashana approached the prince.

"What's this? The spirit of generosity with the Queen's new handmaiden, sire?"

Eric shrugged.

"I would do it for anyone," he excused.

Lashana smirked.

"Okay," she acquiesced. "This is simply the first I've heard mention of a ball or a dress."

𖠳 ᐝ ꕀ𖠳 ᐝ ꕀ𖠳 ᐝ ꕀ

A smile that could split your cheeks contorted your features through the next day. This evening, you were to have your first lesson of ballroom dancing. Never in your life would you have imagined that you would be taking lessons, in the palace no less. The change of pace was welcome. You were accustomed to the life of service, but it often grew grey with monotony.

You managed to finish your chores early today. You were even able to retrieve a fresh bouquet of flowers from the palace gardener, and arrange them neatly in the Queen's quarters.

Practically skipping down the halls, you soon wandered to the elegant ballroom that you'd seen for the first time in all it's beauty and whimsy the night before. Slowing your steps as you padded to the entrance, you reached out, and delicately opened the door. Your eased inside, and let your eyes dance among the lights and crystal chandeliers. You turned round and round, observing the turquoise and gold accents of the room. It was a bright explosion of color and warmth.

It wasn't until you'd gotten halfway through the large hall that you noticed a form standing at the back. With a tall stature and broad, wide shoulders, you immediately recognized the prince. Your eyes found his, and the smile displayed within them.

"Beautiful, isn't it? I've always thought that this ballroom is the fanciest room of the castle," he observed with his arms crossed over his chest.

His eyes looked to the painted ceilings as he spoke. You nodded, watching him for a moment. He was leaning on something against the wall. He looked back to you, and noticed your inquisitive gaze. He stood upright, turning to show you.

"Ah, this is our gramophone. This will be playing the music for us while we practice," Eric explained, motioning his arms toward the machine.

You'd never seen anything like it.

"We?"

You questioned aloud; the same question that had crossed your mind the night before.

"Yes, we."

Eric turned to you with a puzzled look.

"I apologize, sire. I was under the impression that Lashana would be giving me most of my lessons."

You ducked your head, and your gaze hopped around the room as if Lashana would suddenly appear. Eric took a step towards you, admiring, and taking hold of an end of the light blue ribbon wrapped around your waist.

"There is no need to apologize. I know that you address my mother this way, but you don't have to be so formal with me. Lashana is a wonderful teacher, but I believe it's time I try. You will be my first student, (Y/N)."

Your chest was heaving: both from the proximity of the prince, and his revelation. You tried to steady your breath.

"Oh," you managed. "Thank you, Your Grace. I never would have guessed that someone of your status would have time for such silly endeavors as teaching a maid to dance."

Eric gently released the ribbon from his grasp, but kept his gaze settled on the fabric as it dropped back below your waist.

"As I told you, the pleasantries aren't necessary. And it's not silly. You should be taught to dance. It is one of the few pleasures in life."

"One of the few, such as sailing?"

Eric eyed you curiously. He turned back to the music machine.

"Sailing isn't for everyone. Some backward minded people find it barbaric. I find it freeing."

"I am inclined to agree with you," you spoke softly.

Eric's gaze found yours again.

"Really? Have you ever been sailing?"

"No, but I should like to try one day."

Eric squinted his eyes, analyzing you for a moment.

"You know, there are many here who believe my interests to be eccentric. They'd give anything to hear less about them," Eric sighed, leaning his arms on the table that held the gramophone.

"One shouldn't let others determine their interests. Your interests and your passion to pursue them are wonderful."

Eric's eyes reconnected with yours as he stood to his full stature.

"Yours are wonderful, too. That's why everyone should be given the opportunity to dance. You can't know that you like it if you don't try."

Looking back to the music box, Eric turned it on. Smooth, ethereal music flowed through the air. You closed your eyes and listened for a moment. When you opened them, Eric's hand was extended for you to take.

"Let's give it a whirl. Shall we?"

#the little mermaid 2023 #jonah hauer king #prince eric #prince eric x reader #prince eric fanfiction #prince eric imagine #prince eric x y/n #prince eric x you #prince eric x fem!reader #my stuff

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nocturnal-nexu · 3 months ago

Text

Finding Balance

Chapter 2 : Cupcakes and Questions

(For @ninjago-fic-fest)

Chapter 1 - Chapter 3

Summary: After he is retrieved from the lighthouse by his brother and new friends, Echo must adjust to his new life. Even though his new home and family are amazing, it's still so different from what he's used to. Maybe a walk in the city will help clear his mind.

Chapter 2

Cupcakes and Questions

Over the next couple of weeks, Echo was showered with affection from the whole team, as they tried to make him feel at home.

First things first Zane took his brother down to the workshop underneath the monastery. There Echo met P.I.X.A.L.; another android, like him and Zane. She had seemed very confused upon seeing him, but after hearing Zane’s explanation of the situation, she got right to work. She sanded down Echo’s rusty arms and legs until his metal coverings were once again shiny. She carefully applied oil to his joints and even fixed that rouge gear in his chest that always seemed to slip out of place. P.I.X.A.L didn’t say much while she worked, but her smile was warm and kind.

“Let me know if that gear gives you anymore trouble, okay?” she had told him once his repairs were finished.

Jay introduced him to video games, which he picked up pretty easily. It was funny to see Jay’s overly animated fake outburst when Echo won. He also gave him some soda to try, but Echo found it felt funny on his taste sensors.

Nya showed him the art of painting. Echo ended up painting a sunset over an ocean view. It was nice to be off the island, but he found himself missing the sea sometimes. Nya seemed to understand that a bit, and showed him some water tricks she could do with her element. She floated shiny orbs of water in the air and swirling streams all around the room.

He got to help Cole bake his very own “Welcome Home” cake. It turned out a little dry, but Cole didn’t seem to mind. Echo really enjoyed frosting it too. They both ended up on the floor covered in frosting and laughing their heads off by the end of it.

Kai gifted him a pair of sunglasses and then tried to teach him some cool looking Spinjitsu moves. Echo had to reattach his arm multiple times during Kai’s crazy lesson but he had a lot of fun nonetheless. Kai also told him that having siblings was totally awesome, and that Echo was going to love it.

Lloyd showed him the obstacle course and how you could hang upside down from the rings. He also gave him his old Fritz Donnagen comic books. He then proceeded to go on a rant about easter eggs and plot inconsistencies and other stuff that Echo didn’t understand. But seeing Lloyd excited got him excited too. And it felt nice to just listen when he couldn’t think of much to talk about himself.

Master Wu was very glad to have another member added to the family. He welcomed Echo with open arms showing him around the monastery and gifting him a large pile of books from the library. When Echo asked if he should put them back when he had finished reading them, Wu smiled and said that they were his to keep.

Zane always seemed to be hovering near him. He followed him around, asking if he wanted anything, and he always seemed to be offering him food for some reason. Being a “nindroid” as Echo now knew he was called, he didn’t necessarily need food to survive, but he supposed the extra energy he got from it was nice. Not that he was complaining. Zane’s food was always delicious, especially since the only thing he had in the lighthouse after Dr. Julien had left was a bit of tea now and then.

It seemed to Echo, that Zane was worried about him. He wasn’t quite sure why though. He was quite happy here. Kai told him it was an older brother thing.

“Older brothers worry about their little siblings. It’s just something that we do,” he had reassured him.

But he didn’t really elaborate beyond that.

After a few weeks, things had settled into kind of a new normal. Everyone went about their daily tasks as usual, and even Zane had started to be a bit less clingy.

But even though everything was calming down, Echo was feeling a little claustrophobic. As big as the monastery was, he always ran into someone. There always seemed to be someone there.

He found himself spending more and more time in his room away from the common areas. He would turn the corner when he saw someone coming down the hall, and he was much quieter during mealtimes.

Sometimes, it felt like he was trapped. Like he was stuck in a new, albeit different, prison. But that didn’t make any sense.

This was all he ever wanted. To have a family, to be around people again. He loved his brother and his new friends. They were all so nice to him. So why did he have the sudden urge to hide away?

Maybe Zane could help him.

Echo found him in the kitchen stirring batter in a bowl.

“Hi Zane. What are you cooking?” Echo asked.

“Oh, hello, brother!”, Zane turned to him, “I’m making cupcakes. Would you like to join me?”

“Maybe not today. But I do have a question.”

“Fire away.”

Echo took a deep breath.

“Do you enjoy living with so many people?”, he said slowly.

Zane looked thoughtful. He set the bowl of batter on the counter and turned to Echo.

“The ninja are my friends, my family. I cannot imagine life without them,” he said.

“Ah, yes. Of course,” Echo turned to look at the bowl of cupcake batter, not wanting to meet his brother’s eyes.

But then he felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up to see Zane smiling down at him.

“But I know how you feel Echo,”

“Huh?”

“Sometimes they can be a little much for me too,”

Echo stared quizzically at Zane, who winked at him knowingly.

Oh.

Echo felt a mite embarrassed. He thought he had been hiding his feelings pretty well.

“Oh. Um you noticed then huh?”

“Of course I noticed. You’re my little brother!” Zane said in mock exasperation, before pulling Echo into a tight hug. “Now, how can I help,”

“I just don’t understand it,” Echo sighed, as Zane released him. “I didn’t like living alone on the island. So why do I want to be alone now?”

Zane hummed in thought before answering, “Spending time around people is good, but it’s also important to spend time by yourself. It’s a balance. You can’t have too much of one without the other,”

Zane grabbed the spoon out of the bowl of batter and proceeded to balance it lengthwise on his index finger. It wobbled a bit as Zane tried to keep it balanced, stumbling forward to follow the movement of the spoon.

Echo was laughing hard as Zane circled the kitchen, swaying this way and that with the spoon, almost tripping a few times before he finally plopped it back in the bowl, splattering chocolate batter on the kitchen wall.

Zane smiled warmly when he saw that his antics had had their intended effect. “Just like that!” he laughed.

When Echo had let out his last chuckle, his brother slung an arm over his shoulder and pulled him close.

“It’s okay to want some alone time, Echo. Being around a lot of people is new for you. It’s normal for you to feel this way,” Zane said softly.

Echo nodded to show he understood.

“You know what I do when I need some time to myself?”

“What?”

“I go on a walk. Sometimes in the park in Ninjago City, sometimes just around the monastery. It helps clear my mind.”

Echo thought a walk sounded nice. And he would love to explore Ninjago City. Yes. That’s what he’d do, he decided.

But then again, Echo thought, he hadn’t really left the monastery since arriving two weeks ago. And he had the distinct feeling that his brother wouldn’t be too comfortable with him exploring a huge city all by himself.

Well, the only thing to do was ask him, he supposed.

“Can I go on a walk in the city?” Echo asked his brother tentatively.

Zane seemed a bit startled by the question and his face suddenly tensed. There was that worried look of his again, Echo noticed.

“Um, well, I mean I figured, just around the monastery would be…”

“Oh! Please don’t worry, brother!” Echo pleaded. He was so tired of being cooped up in the monastery. “I’ll be really careful, I mean it!”

Zane walked over to the kitchen counter, picked up the mixing bowl, and continued to stir the batter. He tapped his foot for a few seconds, apparently trying to make up his mind.

He let out a long sigh, “Ok, you can go,”

“On one condition,” Zane amended with a smile.

“Yes! Thank you, Zane!”, Echo rushed forward to give his brother the biggest hug he could.

#ninjago #lego ninjago #ninjago lego #ninjago echo #echo zane #ninjago fan fiction #nexu's writing #fanfics #my writing #creative writing #fanfiction #fanfic

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lunardragon00 · 9 months ago

Text

The Heir (Choi San x OC)

Masterlist

Genre: Fantasy , Lord!San x Princess!OC

Words: 6774

Warning: funeral scene // suggestive themes // character deaths

Authors Note: Back with another update, it is finally the moment I have been waiting to release. I hope you guys enjoy this chapter as much as I did writing it.

Chapter Six --> Chapter Seven --> Chapter Nine

ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔈𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱: 𝔈𝔪𝔟𝔢𝔯𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔄𝔪𝔟𝔦𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫

The sky is painted with vibrant hues of orange and pink, casting a warm glow over the landscape. As the sun dips below the horizon, its fading light creates a breathtaking spectacle, illuminating the clouds with fiery colors. Amidst the tranquil beauty of the sunset, the rhythmic sound of waves crashing against the rocky shores echoes through the air. Each wave carries with it a sense of timeless power, a reminder of the enduring force of nature against the backdrop of the majestic castle perched atop the cliffs.

Hana stood above her father's body, her husband Wooyoung by her side, a solemn expression etched on both their faces as they gazed down at the form of the once-mighty king who now lay in peaceful repose. Hana reached out, her hand trembling slightly as she brushed a lock of hair away from her father's forehead. She felt a rush of memories flood her mind—moments shared, lessons learned, the bond between father and daughter that had weathered the trials of time.

Wooyoung placed a comforting hand on Hana's shoulder, offering silent support as they stood together in quiet contemplation, honoring the memory of the king who had shaped their lives in ways both profound and lasting. Her brothers dragon, Valarys, stood off in the corner. Next to him was her own dragon Noctis. The dragons exhibited signs of restlessness, their instincts attuned to the emotional turmoil of their riders. Despite their formidable presence, they couldn't help but mirror the unease that permeated the air. Their towering forms shifted subtly, their eyes darting with a mix of concern and vigilance, a silent acknowledgment of the somber moment unfolding around them.

There were speeches given about the King, many applauding his peaceful reign and how it saddened them that he was gone. Lords and Ladies from all over shared their condolences, Hana heard them all but did not care to truly listen. As the closing prayers came from the maestor, she knew it was time. Hongjoong stepped forward, leaving his wife and sons side and ordered Valarys to approach. With a gentle squeeze of her hand, Wooyoung offered Hana the silent support she needed in that moment of profound loss. His touch was a lifeline amidst the sea of emotions that threatened to engulf her, a reminder that she was not alone in her grief.

"You do not have to watch." He whispered to her. Hana turned to meet Wooyoung's gaze, his words cutting through the solemn atmosphere like a gentle breeze. In his eyes, she found a flicker of understanding, a silent reassurance that she was not obligated to endure the weight of their sorrow alone. With a grateful nod, Hana acknowledged his offer, her heart swelling with gratitude for his unwavering support. Though the sight of Valarys and the solemn rituals of farewell tugged at her heartstrings, she knew that she did not have to bear the burden of her grief alone. "Valarys" She heard Hongjoong command, watching his dragon approach her father's body.

"drakarys" As the command echoed through the somber air, Hana felt the weight of impending farewell pressing down upon her. The word, sharp and resolute, sliced through the silence, heralding the final departure of her father's spirit to the realm beyond. Feeling the warmth of Wooyoung's embrace enveloping her, Hana sought refuge in his comforting presence, seeking solace amidst the tumult of emotions that threatened to overwhelm her fragile resolve. She buried her face against his chest, seeking refuge from the heart-wrenching sight unfolding before them. With each breath, each gentle stroke of his hand against her back, she found a lifeline amidst the tempest of grief, a silent reassurance that she was not alone in her sorrow.

As Valarys obeyed his master's command, unleashing a torrent of flame that consumed the physical vessel of her father, Hana closed her eyes, shutting out the sight of devastation as tears mingled with the silent whispers of farewell. In the midst of her overwhelming sorrow, Hana felt as though the weight of the world had descended upon her shoulders, crushing her beneath the burden of her grief. The loss of her father, a towering figure in her life, echoed the ache of previous wounds, reopening the scars left by the absence of her mother.

As tears streamed down her cheeks, each droplet a testament to the depth of her anguish, Hana found herself adrift in a sea of memories, each one a poignant reminder of the love she had lost. The echoes of her parents' laughter, the warmth of their embrace, lingered like ghosts in the corridors of her heart, haunting her with their bittersweet presence.

Amidst the tempest of her emotions, Hana clung to the fragments of her shattered resolve, seeking solace in the embrace of her husband's unwavering support. In his embrace, she heard footsteps approach them, boots heavy as they touched the ground. Wooyoung lifted his head, acknowledging the approaching figure, while Hana remained lost in her grief, unaware of the presence drawing near.

Sensing the solemnity of the moment, Wooyoung intercepted the newcomer with a subtle shake of his head, a silent signal that now was not the time. The figure acquiesced, retreating with a heaviness in each step. Unaware of the identity of the visitor or the exchange that had transpired, Hana remained cocooned in her sorrow, her tears a silent testament to the depth of her loss. In the embrace of her husband's comforting arms, she found solace from the tumult of emotions swirling around her, finding refuge in the warmth of their shared sorrow.

---------------

As Hongjoong stood alongside Arya and their young son Joon, the weight of grief bore down upon him like a leaden cloak. Each passing moment seemed to stretch into eternity as they awaited their esteemed guests, all gathered to pay their final respects to his father. In the quiet moments between, Hongjoong's mind raced with a torrent of questions and uncertainties. What would happen next, now that his father was gone? How long would he have to mourn before the weight of kingship fell upon his shoulders? Despite the tumult of thoughts that swirled within him, he found solace in the presence of his cherished family, their unwavering support a beacon of light amidst the darkness of his grief.

As Seonghwa approached, a comforting presence amidst the somber gathering, Hongjoong felt a sense of relief wash over him. Among their circle of friends, Seonghwa had always been a steadfast companion, a source of strength and support during the most trying of times. Seonghwa hailed from House Park of Rosethorn, a place of unparalleled beauty and natural splendor. The lush greenery that adorned the landscape, the vibrant fields of blooming flowers—it was a sight to behold, a testament to the bounty of nature that flourished within the fertile lands of Rosethorn. Despite the allure of its picturesque surroundings, Hongjoong couldn't deny his discomfort with the region's humid climate. While he appreciated the beauty of Rosethorn, the oppressive humidity proved to be a challenge for him, limiting his visits to shorter durations.

"My prince-" He bowed. Hongjoong bowed his head as well, a sign of respect between the two men.

"Lord Seonghwa, thank you for coming."

"Of course, my deepest condolences your grace. Your father was truly a remarkable man. His reign was a peaceful one, every land in the realm grew stronger during his rule. May yours be just as good." Seonghwa stated.

"Thank you my friend, your words move me deeply. While you are here, there is a matter I wish to discuss with you." Hongjoong removed himself from his wifes side.

"Why don't you go find Hana, I'm sure she and her husband are under the tent." Arya nodded and lifted Joon to carry him away, giving her husband privacy.

As Hongjoong and Seonghwa walked through the quiet grounds of Dragonspire, the weight of impending responsibilities hung heavy in the air. The breeze carried a somber tone, echoing the gravity of their conversation.

"My father has passed, Seonghwa," Hongjoong began, his voice tinged with a mixture of solemnity and apprehension. "He named me as his heir."

Seonghwa nodded, his expression reflecting the understanding of the weighty burden placed upon his friend's shoulders. "Yes, your grace," he replied softly, his mind racing. Hongjoong continued, his gaze steady.

"During my Father's reign, your uncle Takashi served as his hand. I fear me and him never got along," Hongjoong admitted, his voice tinged with a hint of regret. "He was a self-interested man, always testing the boundaries of respect and decorum." In Hongjoong's younger years, Takashi was very harsh to him. At times, he would cross the line of how one should behave when in the presence of the Kings son. He was a self interested man, but Hongjoongs father always found a way to put in back in his place. Takashi knew how to push his buttons, he knew what would make Hongjoong act irrationally. He had almost made Hongjoong draw his sword after a comment was made when Arya and his engagement was originally proposed.

Seonghwa listened attentively, his heart heavy with empathy for his friend's struggles. He understood the significance of the decision weighing on Hongjoong's mind, the delicate balance between duty and personal convictions.

"So you plan on taking a new Hand?" Seonghwa inquired, his tone gentle yet probing, seeking clarity amidst the uncertainty. Hongjoong nodded solemnly.

"Yes, and I request your council on the matter," he affirmed, his voice steady with resolve. "You have been a steadfast friend and advisor, Seonghwa. Your wisdom and loyalty are qualities I hold in high regard." With a sense of anticipation, Hongjoong reached into his coat pocket, retrieving a finely crafted pin bearing the emblem of the Hand of the King. Its intricate design spoke of authority and trust, a symbol of the profound responsibilities entrusted to its bearer.

"Lord Seonghwa of House Park," Hongjoong spoke with unwavering conviction, his gaze meeting Seonghwa's with unwavering resolve. "If you accept this offer, I would like you to take on the position." Seonghwa's heart swelled with a profound sense of honor and duty, his mind racing with the weight of the decision before him. In that solemn moment, he understood the significance of the trust placed in him, the gravity of the role he was being asked to fulfill. With a steady hand and a heart full of determination, Seonghwa accepted the pin, his voice resonating with unwavering commitment.

"I accept this honor with humility and unwavering loyalty, my prince," he declared, his gaze meeting Hongjoong's with steadfast resolve. "I will serve you and our kingdom with integrity, wisdom, and unwavering dedication." Hongjoong's smile softened, a flicker of relief dancing in his eyes as he beheld the unwavering commitment in Seonghwa's gaze.

"I trust that you will, my friend," Hongjoong echoed.

Under the canopy in Dragonspire's courtyard, Princess Hana and Prince Wooyoung stood alongside Wooyoung's brother, Yeosang. The atmosphere was heavy with grief as they engaged in polite but subdued conversation. Hana's usually vibrant demeanor was muted, her eyes betraying the depth of her sorrow despite her efforts to conceal it. Wooyoung, too, felt the weight of the loss, his concern evident as he exchanged words with his brother and wife. The somber air enveloped them like a shroud, casting a pall over their surroundings as they struggled to navigate the aftermath of King Kang-Dae's passing.

"How has Sunseth been?" Wooyoung asks, wanting to hear about his childhood home.

"The same as always, father has taken a trip to Essos to see the Unsullied." Yeosang stated. The Unsullied was an army of trained young men. The slave masters of that region mold them into killing machines, teaching them to be fearless and hold no emotion, they were experts in the field of battle.

"I've always wanted to see what they're like. You hear so many stories of them and their ruthlessness." Wooyoung replied.

"Yes, perhaps you and Hana can visit some time. The architecture is truly a sight worth seeing." Yeosang says. In Astapor, every structure in the city- the walls, the streets, and even the great stepped pyramids that dominate the bay shore- are all constructed of the same red brick, hence its moniker "the Red City". An old saying describing the city runs; "Bricks and blood built Astapor, and bricks and blood her people".

"We were discussing of taking a trip to essos sometime within the year. It would be- " Wooyoung is quickly cut off by his wife.

"I have no interest in seeing slaves." She states. Both men look at her, shocked at her abrupt interruption. Done with the conversation, she quickly steps away and decides to walk the beach. Wooyoung looks out to her, worry etches his face.

"She's not taking it well, is she?" A new voice pulls him out of his gaze. Before him and his brother stood Lord Jongho and Lord Yunho. "Her father just died, how do you think she should handle it?" Asked Yunho.

Wooyoung's brow furrowed with concern as he watched his wife's retreating figure, her abrupt departure leaving a palpable tension in the air. He exchanged a troubled glance with his brother Yeosang, both sharing a silent acknowledgment of Hana's evident distress. Yeosang's gaze shifted to where Hana walked along the beach, her steps heavy with the weight of her grief.

"She's struggling," he admitted softly, his voice tinged with concern. "She's always been close to him," he murmured, his voice heavy with sorrow. "His passing has left a void in her heart that I fear may never truly heal."

Lord Jongho's voice carried a note of understanding as he addressed Wooyoung's worry. "Grief is a heavy burden to bear," he remarked solemnly, his eyes reflecting empathy. "And each person carries it differently." Yunho's gaze lingered on Hana's solitary figure by the shore, his expression tinged with compassion.

"She will need time," he said softly, his voice laden with wisdom. "Time to mourn, time to heal." Wooyoung nodded in agreement, a silent vow echoing in his heart. "I will be there for her," he vowed quietly, determination coloring his words. "No matter how long it takes."

Hana walked along the shore, the rhythmic sound of the waves crashing against the sand providing a soothing backdrop to her thoughts. The salty breeze tousled her hair as she strolled, her gaze fixed on the endless expanse of the sea stretching out before her.

With each step, she tried to clear her mind, to find solace in the tranquility of the coastline. Memories of her father flooded her thoughts, his laughter echoing in the recesses of her mind, his wisdom a guiding beacon in her life. But now, he was gone, his presence a void she struggled to fill. The weight of her grief pressed down upon her, a heavy burden she carried with each footfall along the shore.

Lost in her thoughts, Hana wandered further along the beach, the soft sand shifting beneath her feet. The sun dipped lower on the horizon, casting hues of gold and crimson across the sky, a poignant reminder of the fleeting nature of time. As she walked, Hana found herself drawn to the water's edge, the gentle lapping of the waves beckoning her closer.

"I hope you don't plan on walking out there." Hana turned, startled by the unexpected voice, and saw Lord San standing before her, his figure stark against the backdrop of the beach. His presence caught her off guard, disrupting the solitude she had sought along the shore.

"I didn't mean to startle you," San said, his voice soft with concern as he approached her. "I saw you walking along the beach and thought I'd join you, if you don't mind."

Hana's gaze lingered on him for a moment, uncertainty flickering in her eyes. She hadn't anticipated encountering him here, not in this moment of solitude when she sought refuge from the weight of her grief.

"It's fine," she replied, her voice carrying a hint of hesitation. "I was just... trying to clear my mind."

San nodded understandingly, his expression sympathetic. "Losing a loved one is never easy," he remarked, his tone gentle. "If there's anything I can do to help, please don't hesitate to ask."

Hana studied him for a moment, noting the sincerity in his words. Despite their past differences, she couldn't deny the genuine concern in his demeanor.

"Thank you, San," she said quietly, her voice tinged with gratitude. "I appreciate your offer." They stood together on the shore, the waves crashing against the sand. The rhythmic sound of the waves provided a backdrop to their silence, filling the air with a sense of tranquility. After a moment of quiet contemplation, San spoke, his voice carrying a gentle cadence.

"The ocean has always held a special place in my heart," he began, his gaze fixed on the horizon where the sun dipped low, casting hues of gold and crimson across the sky.

"The sea has a way of soothing the soul, don't you think?" Hana nodded, her gaze drifting out to the endless expanse of the ocean. "Yes, it does," she replied softly, the weight of her sorrow lifting ever so slightly in the presence of the serene landscape. "There's a certain peace here, amidst the chaos of our lives."

After another moment of silence, Hana decides to speak again. "I hear you are to be married. To Lord Mingi's sister, correct?" She asks, San nodded his head.

"Yes, but the wedding will not be for a while." He responds, before prompting another question. "And how is your marriage to Wooyoung? Going well I hope." Hana's gaze softened as she considered San's question.

"Our marriage... it has its challenges," she admitted, her voice tinged with a mixture of reflection and uncertainty. "But we manage, as best we can." San sensed the weight behind her words, the unspoken truths lingering in the air between them.

"We're both trying," she replied, her voice gentle yet resolute. "In the end, that's all we can do, isn't it?"

"Yes, I suppose." He responds, the two continue to walk the beach. The sun dipped lower and lower, the sky darkening as it went. San decides to break the silence once more. "How are you feeling?" Hana's steps slowed as San's question pierced through the quietude of the beach. She cast her gaze out to the horizon.

"It's... difficult," she confessed softly, her voice carrying the weight of her grief. "Losing my father... it's like a part of me has been torn away." San nodded in understanding, his expression reflecting the depth of her sorrow.

"I can't begin to fathom the pain you must be feeling," he murmured, his tone filled with empathy.

"It's a wound that will take time to heal," Hana replied, her voice steady despite the tremor of emotion that lingered beneath the surface. "But I will carry his memory with me always."

As they walked in the fading light, the rhythmic sound of the waves serving as a somber backdrop to their conversation.

"I remember when my mother passed, how I felt during that time. It was similar to this, except-" She stops walking, eyes meeting San's. "this time, it is almost worse." she says, eyes watering.

"San....I don't have my parents anymore. The two people who helped mold me into who I am, the people I looked up to the most are just.....gone." Her voice breaks towards the end. San listened in solemn silence as Hana opened up about her profound loss, her words heavy with the weight of her grief. He could see the raw pain etched in her eyes, feel the weight of her sorrow pressing in on him like the crashing waves against the shore.

"I can't imagine the depth of your sorrow, Hana," he murmured softly, his voice filled with compassion. "Losing both of your parents... it's a pain no one should have to endure."

He reached out a hand, offering her silent support and understanding as she grappled with the enormity of her loss. In the fading light of the evening, amidst the gentle lull of the ocean, they stood together.

"Your parents may be gone, but their love and guidance will always remain with you," San said, his voice a gentle reassurance in the midst of her anguish. "And you are not alone, Hana. You have friends who will stand by you, who will help carry the weight of your sorrow." As tears filled her eyes and her vision blurred, San pulled her into his arms. Hana held him tightly, trying to quiet her sobs. He tried soothing her, petting her long hair and stoked her back in comfort.

"I wish I could be there for you, seeing the pain you are in now. Knowing you never fully healed from the loss." He said, regret filling his heart. Although it had been years since their last encounter, his desire to comfort her, to be with her was still as strong as ever. In the embrace of San's comforting arms, Hana felt a surge of gratitude mingled with sorrow. His words, spoken with such genuine concern, touched her heart in ways she couldn't fully express. Despite the passage of time and the distance between them, his presence offered a semblance of solace in her time of need.

"I appreciate your kindness, San," Hana whispered, her voice tinged with emotion. "Your concern means more to me than words can say. And though the pain may never fully fade, knowing that you're here for me brings a measure of comfort I can't describe."

In that moment, as the waves crashed against the shore and the evening breeze whispered through the air, Hana found herself drawn to the quiet strength of their shared bond. In San's arms, she found a sanctuary from the storms of grief, a refuge where she could let down her walls and allow herself to be vulnerable. As he held her, she calmed down. Sobs turned to sniffles, until they eventually stopped all together. She missed him, she missed the feeling she got when he was present. It had been so long, she had almost forgotten the tranquility he offered.

The tumult of emotions that had gripped her heart slowly began to subside, replaced by a quiet serenity born of their shared connection. As she nestled against him, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, Hana allowed herself to bask in the warmth of his presence, savoring the familiar comfort that enveloped her like a protective cloak. In that moment, the weight of her grief felt lighter, as if lifted by the gentle touch of his understanding. Memories of their shared past flooded her mind, reminding her of the laughter they had shared, the secrets they had whispered beneath the starlit sky. Despite the passage of time and the trials they had faced, the bond between them remained steadfast. Realizing how long they have been gone, she pulls back.

"I am sorry, I've ruined your shirt." She says, a small laugh in her voice. He chuckles, "It is alright, I do not mind." They stood close, too close to be appropriate for their stature.

"Thank you, San," she said, her words imbued with sincerity. "For being here, for understanding." San offered her a warm smile,

"Of course, you will always hold a special place in my heart princess." That statement, it reminded her of the one he had said so long ago. 'I will always love you, never forget that' It was what he said before leaving that day. The immense pain it caused her, a pain that to this day never quite healed. As she gazed into San's eyes, she found herself caught between the past and the present, grappling with the weight of what could have been and the reality of what was.

"We should head back, I wouldn't want them to worry about you." San started to turn back, but when Hana wouldn't follow him, he stopped. "Princess?" Hana, with newfound confidence, decided to confront him about what happened so long ago.

"I have been alone....." she looks to him, "You abandoned me." she continued.

"I didn't abandon you Hana, you were to be married." He says, confused on where this conversation was heading.

"Yes, I was to be married." she paused, "And look at what my life became without you." She scoffed when he didn't respond, throwing her arms up like a child before turning to walk away. "Trapped in a marriage, a drool tragedy." Before she could get far, San grabbed her arm, yanking her back to him.

"Oh, and I wonder what you think of mine by comparison." They stared at one another, caught in a standoff. "I know little of it." She admits. Caught in the charged atmosphere between them, San's grip on Hana's arm loosened slightly as he took in her words. His expression softened, a mixture of understanding and regret flickering in his eyes. Hana met his gaze, her eyes reflecting a tumult of emotions—pain, anger, and a longing for understanding. She had carried the weight of her unspoken grievances for so long, trapped in the shadow of what might have been, unable to voice the depths of her heartache.

"Do you love her?" She questioned. San keeps his gaze on her, debating on how to answer without further upseting her. "She makes me happy enough." He admits. She nods, face revealing a mix of emotions.

"Well....that in itself is a great achievement." She looks down at the sand, seeking it as a distraction. Hana shook her head before looking up to him again. This won't get us anywhere.

"I am sorry." It is now San who shakes his own head. "Don't be, you have every right to be upset with me." He says. Once again, they're both stuck looking at one another, neither knowing what to do now. Hana removes her arm from his hold, reaching her hand to rest on his cheek. When he doesn't move to push her away, she takes a step closer.

"Hana," he whispers. "You're not thinking clearly." She strokes his cheek, looking into the dark and familiar eyes she grew so fondly of.

"I am no longer a child..." She says. She moves her hand to the back of his neck, pulling him closer. A rush of conflicting emotions surged within him. He felt the weight of their shared history, the tangled web of regret and longing that bound them together. In that fleeting moment, as their gazes locked and their breaths mingled, San found himself teetering on the edge of a precipice. For Hana, the touch of his skin beneath her fingertips reignited a flame long suppressed—a whisper of longing that lingered in the depths of her heart, beckoning her closer to the man she had once loved. In the quiet intimacy of their shared space, she yearned to bridge the chasm that had grown between them, to reclaim a fragment of the connection they had lost.

San's heart ached with the weight of his commitments, his duties as a lord and soon-to-be husband bearing down upon him like an unyielding burden. Hana's touch stirred a tempest of emotions within him, threatening to unravel the carefully constructed facade he had built to shield his heart from the pain of the past. Their lips hovered just inches apart, a voice echoed in the depths of San's soul—a silent plea for redemption, a whispered prayer for forgiveness.

San closed the gap between their lips, surrendering to the intoxicating allure of their shared connection. In that tender embrace, he felt the weight of his burdens lift, replaced by a profound sense of liberation and belonging. For Hana, the touch of San's lips against hers ignited a firestorm of emotion, consuming the barriers that had kept them apart for so long. She cast aside the expectations and obligations that had bound her, embracing instead the undeniable truth of her heart's desire. As they parted, breathless and exhilarated, a newfound clarity settled over them—a shared understanding that their love was worth any sacrifice, any hardship that lay ahead.

"I want you" She whispered against his lips, holding him tightly, fearing he could disappear. "I choose you." He held her face and brought her to him once again. As their lips met, it was as if the world around them faded into insignificance, leaving only the electrifying sensation of their union. Hana's soft breath mingled with San's, creating a delicate symphony of longing and desire in the space between them. The kiss was gentle yet passionate, a tender exploration of the depths of their shared connection.

With each brush of their lips, they exchanged a language of love that transcended words, speaking volumes in the silent communion of their souls. Their hearts beat in unison, a rhythmic cadence that echoed the intensity of their emotions. San's hands enveloped Hana's waist, lifting her effortlessly as a joyous laugh bubbled from her lips. In that fleeting moment of pure, unbridled happiness, their laughter echoed across the shoreline, carried by the gentle breeze that danced through the air. Hana's heart soared as she gazed into San's eyes, finding within them a reflection of the boundless love and affection that enveloped them both.

As he set her back down, she pulled his neck to connect their lips once more. Hana's fingers curled around the nape of San's neck, drawing him closer as their lips melded in a dance of desire and devotion. In the sweet ecstasy of the moment, they lost themselves in each other, their souls intertwining amidst the symphony of their shared affection. Once parted, they leaned their foreheads together, not wanting to separate from one another.

"Tell me this is real." San's voice broke the tender silence, his words echoing with a mixture of longing and uncertainty. Hana gazed up at him, her eyes alight with unwavering determination and boundless love.

"It's real, my love," she reassured him, her voice a gentle whisper that echoed the depth of her commitment. With each tender caress, she sought to convey the magnitude of her devotion, a steadfast vow to stand by his side through every trial and tribulation. San's concerns lingered like shadows in the night, casting doubt upon the path they had chosen.

"What of Wooyoung? What of Alora?" he questioned, his voice tinged with apprehension.

"We will find a way," Hana declared, her voice resolute and unwavering. In that moment, she embodied the essence of their shared resolve, her unwavering faith a beacon of hope in the face of uncertainty. "All will be resolved."

--------------------

The vast library of Dragonspire, a sanctuary of knowledge and reflection. The shelves are lined with ancient tomes and scrolls, their weathered spines bearing witness to the passage of time. In the soft glow of lamplight, Prince Wooyoung sits at a mahogany desk, poring over a collection of maps and parchments spread out before him. His brow furrowed in concentration, he traces the lines and symbols with careful deliberation, lost in the intricacies of strategy and diplomacy.

Across the room, Princess Hana steps in. Noticing her presence, Wooyoung sits up straight. "Hana, did you need something?" He asks. Hana looks behind her before stepping forward.

"There is a matter I wish to discuss with you." Wooyoung sets a scroll down, standing from his chair and approaching her. "Yes, what is it my dear?"

Hana meets Wooyoung's gaze, her expression serious yet resolute. "It's about us, Wooyoung," she begins, her voice steady despite the weight of her words. "I've been doing a lot of thinking lately, about our future, about where we stand."

Wooyoung's brow furrows with concern, sensing the gravity of her tone. "Go on, Hana. Whatever it is, you can tell me," he urges, his voice laced with both curiosity and apprehension. Taking a deep breath, Hana gathers her thoughts before continuing.

"I... I feel as though we've drifted apart, Wooyoung," she admits, her words tinged with sadness. "Our marriage.....we've become bound by duty rather than love."

Wooyoung's expression softens, his eyes reflecting a mixture of understanding and empathy. "I've felt it too," he confesses, his voice gentle yet tinged with sorrow. "The weight of our responsibilities, they've pulled us in different directions. But that doesn't mean we can't find our way to each other."

Hana nods, her heart heavy with emotion yet hopeful for the future. "I want to believe that, Wooyoung," she says earnestly, her voice tinged with determination. "But it has been five years, we need to be honest with ourselves, with each other. We can't continue pretending that everything is fine when it's not."

Wooyoung reaches out, his hand finding hers in a gesture of solidarity and support. "You're right." he agrees, his gaze unwavering as he meets her eyes. "The court will not take this kindly, how do you propose we go about this?" He asks.

Hana considers Wooyoung's question carefully, knowing the challenges that lie ahead. "We must approach this with caution and diplomacy," she replies, her voice measured yet resolute. "We cannot disregard the expectations of the court, but we also cannot ignore the truth of our own hearts."

Wooyoung nods in agreement, his expression thoughtful. "We'll need to be strategic in how we navigate this," he acknowledges, his tone echoing her sentiments. "We must tread carefully." Hana places a reassuring hand on Wooyoung's arm, her touch a silent affirmation of their unity in the face of adversity.

"Together, we will find a way forward," she assures him, her eyes reflecting unwavering determination.

"Wooyoung...we may have to take drastic measures." Hana states, hesitant to approach such a topic. Wooyoung looks at her quizzically, before finding understanding. "How would we do it?" He asks.

"We would have help, if we are to do such a thing, we will need an audience." She says. "It's a risk, but one we must take if we are to forge our own path."

Wooyoung's gaze softens, "I see," he murmurs, his tone thoughtful. "It won't be easy, but if it means securing our future together, then I'm willing to face whatever challenges come our way."

Hana smiles, a mixture of relief and determination coloring her features. "Thank you, Wooyoung," she says, gratitude evident in her voice.

In the dimly lit corridors of Dragonspire, Lord Yunho walks with purpose. Each step echoes against the stone walls. Lost in thought, Yunho rounds a corner and nearly collides with Lord Jongho, who wears a troubled expression.

"Yunho, there you are," Jongho says, his voice tense with urgency. "There's something you need to know."

Caught off guard by Jongho's demeanor, Yunho braces himself for whatever news awaits him. "What is it?" he asks, his tone edged with concern.

"It's Wooyoung-" Yunho waits for him to continue, but when he doesn't, he urges him to continue.

"Wooyoung? What about Wooyoung, has something happened?" Jongho swallows hard, he shakes his head before urging Yunho to follow him. The two men race to Dragonspire's throne room, when they enter, every working person and court members still present crowded the room. Confusion filled him, hearing some people chatter, some sobbing made him feel uneasy. A loud voice boomed throughout the room, startling almost everyone.

"WHO DID THIS? REVEAL YOURSELF." It demanded. The air crackled with tension, every eye fixed on the source of the commanding voice. They pushed through the crowd, their hearts pounding in their chests as they sought answers amidst the chaos. Before them, Dragonspire's throne stood empty, the courtiers whispered amongst themselves, their voices a symphony of confusion and fear. In the center of the room, Prince Yeosang, stood with fury etched across his features. His gaze bore into the assembled crowd, demanding accountability for the turmoil that had shaken the kingdom to its core.

"Who dared to betray the prince?" Yeosang's voice thundered, resonating through the cavernous hall with a fierce intensity. His words hung in the air, a challenge to those who dared harbor secrets in the shadows. Mingi stood next to Jongho, posture stiff and eyes on alert.

"What's going on?" Yunho asks him, hoping to gain some insight as to what took place. Mingi made eye contact with him, he opened his mouth to respond when the throne room doors burst open, Princess Hana rushing through them. Mingi was quick to act, running to her and stopping her from going further. "What is the meaning of this?" She demanded.

As Mingi intercepted Hana, the tension in the throne room surged to new heights, every eye fixed on the unfolding confrontation. Yunho's heart quickened with apprehension, his gaze darting between Mingi and Hana, his mind racing to grasp the gravity of the situation. Mingi's voice rang out with authority, his tone firm yet tempered with concern.

"Princess, you must remain calm," he urged, his words a plea for restraint amidst the chaos that threatened to consume them all.

Hana's eyes blazed with determination, her resolve unyielding in the face of uncertainty. "I demand answers, Lord Mingi," she declared, her voice echoing with a steely resolve that brooked no opposition.

"Prince Wooyoung......he's dead." Upon hearing this, Hana collapsed. Mingi tried supporting her to stand, but her legs gave out. The words hung heavy in the air, each syllable a dagger piercing the hearts of those who heard them. Mingi's expression darkened with sorrow, his features drawn tight with grief for the loss that had befallen them all. Hana's anguished cries echoed through the throne room, a haunting lament for the shattered dreams and fractured promises that now lay scattered at their feet. Yunho moved forward, his steps heavy with reluctance, a silent offering of solace in the face of unbearable sorrow. As Mingi attempted to support her, Hana's grief consumed her, her cries wrenching at the hearts of all who bore witness to her pain.

"We will find the man who did this...this....act of treason." Yeosang's declaration cut through the somber air, his words ringing with a steely resolve that echoed the collective determination of those gathered in the throne room. His voice, filled with righteous fury and unwavering conviction.

"Come princess, you should not have to witness this." A serving carefully took her out of Mingi's hold, leading her back to her chambers. Once inside, the serving girl was quick to run a bath.

"Here princess, let me help you-" Hana swatted her away, refusing her touch and demanding she be left alone. The girl bowed and announced she would be back with hot tea once Hana was done. When the girl leaves, Hana forced her tears to stop. She quickly wiped them away, stripping herself of the nightgown she had worn. 'Might as well take advantage' she thought. She laid herself in the tub, the heated water warming her body. Footsteps could be heard behind the room's door, moving quietly as to not make noise. The door opens and shuts quickly and softly, before the person makes an appearance before her, kneeling to be eye level.

"Is it done?" She asks, he nods. "Yes, he should arrive in Essos by tomorrow." She gives a hum of approval before leaning back. "You made quite a performance my love." Hana felt his hand stroke her hair and looks back to him.

"Good, we have them right where we want them." Their eyes meet, a shared understanding passing between them in the dimly lit chamber. As they bask in the aftermath of their meticulously orchestrated deception, a sense of triumph courses through their veins, fueling their resolve to see their plans through to fruition.

"We must remain vigilant," he cautions, his voice a whispered reminder of the dangers that lurk in the shadows. Hana nods in silent agreement, her gaze fixed on the flickering candlelight that dances across the room.

"The game is far from over," she murmurs, her words a solemn vow to see their ambitions realized. "But for now, let us savor the sweet taste of victory." With a tantalizing grace, she leans towards her lover, her eyes aflame with a mixture of desire and triumph. The ambient light casts a soft glow on her features as she pulls him in for a kiss.

Hana's lips, soft and inviting, meld seamlessly into San's. The warmth of the embrace ignites a firestorm of sensation that courses through every fiber of their beings. The world around them fades into the background, leaving only the intoxicating exchange of passion. As their lips part, a shared understanding passes between them, reflected in the soft smiles that paint their faces.

With a playful glint in her eye, Hana drags a teasing finger under San's chin. The gesture is laden with unspoken promises, a silent acknowledgment of the clandestine victories they've achieved together. "Strip for me," she whispers, her voice a sultry invitation to revel in the pleasures that follow their triumphs.

#ateez #choi san #park seonghwa #kim hongjoong #jeong yunho #kang yeosang #song mingi #jung wooyoung #choi jongho #ateez imagine #ateez x reader #choi san x reader #choi san x OC #GOT #game of thrones #house of the dragon #hotd #TheHeir

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mymothershumility · 2 years ago

Text

neverflownwithme asked: “Are you alright?”

past transmissions || { always accepting }

{ Part 1 } & { Part 2 } & { Part 3 } & { Part 4 } & { Part 5 }

{ Part 6 } & { Part 7 } & { Part 8 } & { Part 9 } & { Part 10 }

{ Part 11 } & { Part 12 }

{ @neverflownwithme }

The air within her solar grows ominously warm.

From where she stands, Laira can hear only the crackling of the fire within the hearth and the sound of her own heart thudding loudly in her ears. Her fingers shift, first about her sword’s grip and then about the scabbard still clutched in her opposite hand. Ahead of her, a half dozen paces from where she stands, the Red Priestess shifts before the hearth.

And, then, high above the castle, Laira hears the cracking of wings and a thundering roar. The ire that she can sense in her dragonmount is as stifling as the heat now emanating through the small space about her.

“Peace, Queen Laira,” the woman speaks, her High Valyrian melodic. Slowly, she begins to shift, body turning until she faces the Queen. “I mean you no harm.”

For a brief moment, Laira’s hold strengthens all the more about Dark Sister’s grip. Recognition slowly descends upon her as she stares across the solar at the other woman, the other’s raven hair and emerald eyes a stark contrast to her pale skin. It has been a time since she has seen the woman. Over a year, in fact, if Laira is remembering correctly. Such an encounter had first occurred only days before Drogon had spirited Daenerys away from the sands of The Great Pit of Daznak in Meereen.

She had encountered the Red Priestess another time as well, though, mere hours before Laira had freed Viserion and Rhaegal from the pit beneath the Great Pyramid and abandoned Meereen on Viserion’s back to search for Daenerys.

“Kinvara,” she finally acknowledges, the name of the other rising quickly in her mind. Her fingers begin to slacken around Dark Sister’s handle. The sword still remains in hand. Familiarity does not mean an absence of threat, after all. Laira has learned such a lesson in the most horrific of ways in recent moons.

The priestess inclines her head, a brief smile tugging at the edges of her burgundy painted mouth. “Your Grace,” Kinvara returns, lapsing into the Common Tongue of Westeros. Her hands fold themselves at her middle, fingers steepling together as the sleeves of her robes slip to cover them. “I offer my sincerest apologies for startling you as I have.”

Such fright and such distrust is well deserved, Kinvara knows. Her Lord has shown her all that has awaited the Dragon Queens since they departed the Cities of the East and landed upon the shores of the Sunset Kingdoms. Deceit and betrayal has befallen each of them in some manner, expertly crafted and executed by the most devilish of mummers.

It is such treachery that has sent Kinvara across the Narrow Seas to these very shores.

“Had you presented yourself to my maids, such an occurrence would not have happened,” Laira points out. High above the castle, she hears another snap of wings and Viserion’s wrothful sounding roar. To hear such a sound from the dragoness is not uncommon about the island. Viserion does not circle so low about the castle often, though. Only to land within the gardens or when she is catching the wind to ascend over the Dragonmont.

Such behavior would alert her husband, and the rest of the castle staff, that there was something amiss.

And Hal, in his protective nature, would come seeking her.

“You are correct, Your Grace,” Kinvara relents. “I assure you my intentions were pure.” Her voice is solemn as she speaks, the corners of her mouth turning down at its corners. “I regret to say that the occupants of this castle and those upon the island hold little favor for the Lord of Light and his servants.”

The tale is not a new one. Laira has heard the whispers among the halls and down among the occupants of the village since she first landed upon the island. Stannis Baratheon had once kept a Red Priestess among his court. The woman had garnered a dark reputation in the time that she had spent upon the island, burning men alive to appease the Red God and to bring favor to the man she had thought to be the Realm’s rightful King.

None upon the island held any favor for her. Most, in fact, feared her and dared not even utter the Red Woman’s name.

“A raven would have sufficed to announce your arrival,” Laira returns. Dark Sister is raised as she speaks and slipped back into the safety of her scabbard. Still, Laira keeps the sword in hand. “I would have known to expect you, then, and would have properly prepared the members of my staff for your arrival.” Better ways were available to her than the one that Kinvara had chosen to use. There is little to be done about it now. The woman is within her walls. Laira cannot very well send her away for an unorthodox arrival.

She cannot say the same for her husband, though. He will not be pleased when he learns of Kinvara’s presence or the manner in which she obtained her audience with Laira. It will take a great deal of convincing to allow the other woman to linger if that is her desire.

“Ravens can be intercepted, Your Grace,” Kinvara reminds. “Given the betrayal that has tormented you and your sisters, I thought it best to keep my journeys well guarded. There are those who would sow seeds of distrust among the High Lords of Westeros if they knew you were holding audience with a Priestess of R’hllor.”

There is no rebuttal that Laira can offer to such an answer… not when the other’s words ring with such utter truth. Betrayal had met Daenerys and her at every turn when they resided within the walls of Meereen.

“As you say,” Laira murmurs. She begins to move, making to circle around the edge of her desk. Her amethyst eyes are ever watchful. Kinvara’s own emerald gaze is much the same, though her eyes seem to crinkle at their corners with some underlying amusement. “You stated that there was much in need of discussing,” Laira continues, referencing the cryptic greeting the other had given when Laira had appeared within the doorway of the solar.

She does not reference the moniker that Kinvara has only just referred to her by.

It is not the first time that Laira has heard the name Daughter of Death. It is the first time that another has referred to her as such, though. The name had been whispered to Daenerys while in the House of the Undying within the famed walls of Qarth. That was what her sister had told her. The name means nothing to her.

“Much and more, Your Grace,” Kinvara concedes, offering another dip of her head. “Would you care to wait for your lord husband?” the priestess asks.

“How do you know of my husband?” the Queen asks. The question is quick and more demand than inquiry. Unease suddenly begins to beat wildly within her heart, fanning out into her limbs and settling deep within her bones.

Upon Dragonstone, her marriage is well known. The staff among the castle down to the occupants of the village know who Hal is and how wholly he is linked to Laira and all that she is. She has never shied away from proclaiming the man for what he is. Her husband. Prince Consort of Dragonstone, much to his chagrin. Protector of the Realm. Warden of the North and Lord of Winterfell. The small nature of Dragonstone is different from the intricate politics of court among the walls of the Red Keep and beyond, though. And, it is in such delicate settings that both she and her husband have guarded the secret far more.

Not well enough, it seems, when viewed behind the treachery and betrayal they have endured.

All the same, there should have been no whispers of her marriage across the Narrow Sea. Not when she and Hal married amid Winterfell’s godswood with only a septon and young Sansa and Helen as witnesses. And, not when the Spider had seen his own end when Daenerys had ascended her rightful throne.

“The Lord of Light reveals all in his own time,” Kinvara says, turning to cast a look back into the flames dancing within the solar’s hearth. The fire momentarily sweeps upward, thin tendrils of flame reaching out to swirl at the hem of the priestess’s robes. “History has shown that the Wolf always finds his way back to you, Your Grace. The trials and the challenges that await you both always means little to him.”

Her Lord is always certain that his will is done, weaving threads of destiny into a tapestry that even Kinvara herself has yet to be able to decipher. Kinvara has ever served her Lord, though, faithful and devout through the destruction of empires and the darkness of the first Long Night.

And, yet, the meeting of Dragon and Wolf has been an ever constant thread, recurring time and time again in her Lord’s woven work.

Emerald eyes glance about the solar, settling for a moment on the Queen and the Valyrian blade still clasped in her palm. Her gaze moves just as easily, looking to the chests and trunks stacked along the solar’s walls. She has already looked through one of the journals upon the Queen’s desk. The Lyseni craftsmanship is as intricate and as lovely as she remembered it being a century before when it had been freshly crafted.

Even in her youth, the Star of the Sea had always possessed immaculate tastes.

Something in the priestess’s words strikes her as odd, lingers over her in a way that she cannot immediately place. There is a familiarity to them… as if she has heard them before.

“A peculiar thing to say,” Laira murmurs, her amethyst gaze following the priestess’s own about the room. Her eyes linger upon the portrait that had started all of this searching, the very one that still seems to Laira more mirror than painting. Though half hidden by a cotton sheet and cast in heavy shadow, Laira can still spy the likeness of Visenya Targaryen and little Saera looking back at her.

“To some,” Kinvara agrees. Now, she steps, moving around the far edges of the Queen’s desk. She leaves the other ample space, head bowed in quiet thought and hands clasped gently at her front. Her Lord has shown her all she needs to know of this Dragon Queen. She is a stark contrast to her Velaryon and Targaryen half sisters, with her height, her olive skin, and her Jaydian accent. Perhaps mannerisms separate her the most, however. Quiet and reserved where her sisters are not. As lethal on foot with Valyrian steel as she is high among the clouds mounted upon her dragoness.

She is dangerous in the most obvious --and subtle-- of ways. Kinvara knows it is wise to not forget such a thing.

“Perhaps it is presumptuous of me, Your Grace, yet you do not seem bothered by such a peculiar statement,” Kinvara comments, pausing before one of the armchairs that are set before the Queen’s desk.

Laira maintains her own position, eyes still observing the path that Kinvara chooses to take. “It is not the first time another has spoken in such a peculiar manner to me,” she says. There is still something that is lingering over her, something that is now tugging gently at the back of her mind. Some forgotten conversation, perhaps… or a memory. “The City of the Harpy was filled with riddlers and silver tongued wretches alike. They all flocked to my sister’s court, spinning tales to endear themselves to Daenerys and to condemn those that had been stricken from bondage.”

More had come to Daenerys long before then, when her sister had dwelt among the walls of Qarth and before even then among the walls of Illyrio Mopatis’ manse in Pentos. The Pentoshi Magister, Daenerys had once told her, had been the most dangerous of them all. Laira had never doubted her sister’s word regarding such a thing. After all, the Magister had been linked to the Usurper’s Spider, a willing collaborator to see Daenerys slain and some bastard born boy seated upon the Iron Throne in her place. That they had attempted such a ploy under the claim that the boy was Rhaegar’s son, Aegon, had been all the crueler. Nothing good had ever come from the poison and the chaos that Varys and his little birds had spun so deftly among the residents of the Red Keep. Nothing good had ever come from Illyrio’s honeyed words and false promises. Daenerys had been right to see them both ended for their treachery.

“Indeed,” Kinvara relents. “Yet, what need would I have for sweet words or riddles in your presence, Your Grace?” she questions.

“What better way to seek favor from me? What better way to gain something that you desire?” Laira is not fool enough to believe that Kinvara has traveled so long a way to seek nothing of her. Little is done in their world without the desire for compensation.

Someone always desires something in return.

Someone always seeks more.

“And yet, Your Grace, there is nothing that I desire.”

“Everyone desires something, Kinvara,” Laira reminds. “From a Queen, such a thing is all the more true.”

Not even servants to R’hllor are immune from the siren song of greed.

“Of some, such a thing is true.” Kinvara cannot deny such a bitter truth. Their world has been built upon the greed of others. Kinvara has long been a witness to it, an observer since even before the fall of the Great Empire of the Dawn and the first Long Night. The nature of men has only worsened over the centuries, will only worsen until such nature is put to heel by another. Such a chance shall not be granted until the Queens’ enemies are vanquished. It is that very reason that has brought Kinvara to this island of storm, smoke, and salt. “I swear this to you, Your Grace,” she continues, hands unfolding from their place across her middle, “there is nothing that I desire from you. I wish to only see my Lord’s will done, to pass the knowledge that he has gifted to me on to you.”

“And nothing more?”

“Nothing more,” Kinvara answers. “I am a humble servant. Yours to command as you see fit, Your Grace.”

“And these matters that you wish to discuss,” Laira begins, stepping nearer to her desk. Dark Sister is leaned against the wood, still well within reach should the blade be needed. “Do they pertain to Visenya Targaryen and Torrhen Stark?” she asks. “Or Rhaena of Pentos and Corwyn Corbray?” she continues. Beyond the walls of her solar, Laira catches the sudden shift of shadow as something passes before the hearth within her apartments. There comes additional movement out beyond her doors, the sound of booted feet rushing down the stone lined hallway. “Perhaps Shiera Seastar and Donnor Stark?”

As she speaks, she notes the shifting of Kinvara’s expression. Still one of amusement and, yet, one of practical relief as well. Laira has little time to dwell upon such a thing, has little time to dwell upon some sort of vague understanding that continues to take shape inside her own mind. Before Kinvara can offer her own answer to her inquiries, there comes a growl from the doorway of her solar.

Moone appears but a moment later, hackles on end and teeth bared in a rare show of aggression. Her mismatched eyes find Kinvara, her form stalking into the room. There is a gnash of teeth in the Red Priestess’ direction, the she-wolf moving until she is standing between Laira and the other woman. Moone’s head rises to brush at Laira’s middle, her fur damp from where she has been washed and rinsed out among the gardens. Laira can feel the dampness beginning to soak through the fabric of her dress, can smell the soft scent of lemon and lavender upon the air from the soap that has been used to bathe her.

“The Amethyst Empress and the Last Hero,” Kinvara continues, eyes never abandoning the she-wolf that has prowled her way into the solar or the woman that she now stands before as a living shield. It is a show of protectiveness that Kinvara has seen time and time again during the course of her long life. It will be one that she will no doubt continue to see so long as this thread within her Lord’s tapestry continues to repeat. She will welcome it whenever she is granted the opportunity to see it. “As I said, Your Grace. Much and more.”

The names that Kinvara utters mean little to her – more mythological and legendary in their utterance than historical. Or, rather, the Last Hero means little to her. Laira knows them both, knows them as well as she knows the ancient deities of Old Valyria and those of Jayd. Though the Last Hero means little to her in this fleeting moment, Laira cannot say the same in regards to the Amethyst Empress.

Fragments of the journals and tomes she has read as of late spring to the forefront of her mind with Kinvara’s words, pieces that were of little matter on their own now resonating with some new found understanding.

The Five Forts.

The Great Empire of the Dawn.

The Blood Betrayal.

The Long Night.

There comes a sudden moment of clarity, one that strikes Laira just as she hears the rushing of booted feet entering her apartments. She knows, now… Knows the identity of the individual who penned a number of the journals she had skimmed that very morning before she, her husband, and their charges had departed for the coast just below the cliffs of the castle.

The Amethyst Empress. The last true ruler of the Great Empire of the Dawn. She is the one responsible for the recounts of the Great Empire and those of the Dragonlords in Valyria.

Laira knows… though cannot determine how the fabled Empress plays a role in the chaos and the betrayal that has erupted all about her, her husband, and her sisters in recent moons. In all her nightmares and in all of her dreams, the Amethyst Empress has never once played a part within any of them. Neither has the Last Hero.

“Laira!”

Her hand rises just as one of the doors to her solar is slammed all the more open, the wood and metal of it knocking loudly against the polished stone of the wall behind it. Though there had been no panic within her husband’s voice when he called for her, Laira can see the remnants of it in the square of his shoulders and in the clench of his jaw. She can see it in the way his hand has already settled upon the grip of Vigilance. She watches the way his eyes dart from her, to Moone, and then over to Kinvara, still standing quietly before her desk, before coming back to her and her growling guard.

“Hal,” she softly utters, drawing his attention fully to her, his eyes darting up to meet her own as her arm falls back to her side.

Laira does not miss the way that Kinvara’s mouth quirks into a knowing smile at such a reaction… as if the exchange she is observing is one she has been witness to a hundred times over. Perhaps she has. Would such a thing be beyond the realm of possibility given all that has happened and all that remains unknown before them?

“I am unharmed,” she goes on. Though she can see some of the tension leave his face, the line of his shoulders does not lessen nor does his grip upon the sword at his side. “Kinvara served Daenerys and myself in Meereen. She is no threat to me.” A lie, if Laira is truthful with herself. Perhaps Kinvara is no threat to Laira or to her husband in that moment, yet she is dangerous all the same.

Whether a dangerous enemy or a dangerous ally remained to be seen.

Kinvara inclines her head to the Lord of Winterfell as he steps fully into the solar, emerald eyes watching him as carefully as she has the Queen and her direwolf protector. Though the Queen’s temper has always been a difficult thing to rouse in all its fury, the Wolf Lord has ever been quick to anger and even quicker to react. Putting his lady in the way of any perceived danger has always provoked him all the more.

“Your Grace,” the Priestess greets. “As I have already told Her Grace, I apologize for alarming you as I have with my presence.”

“Were we aware of her arrival?” Hal asks, the inquiry aimed to Laira. He knows the answer before she even begins to speak the question. Had Kinvara been an expected guest upon Dragonstone’s shores, his wife would have told him. Given Viserion’s reaction high above the castle, and Moone’s as well out among the gardens and there within his wife’s solar, he knows that Laira was as surprised to find the woman among the walls of their apartments as he is.

“She came unannounced.” Laira will not lie over such a thing. Had Kinvara sent a raven announcing her travels to the island, Laira would have been certain to inform Hal of her coming. There had been no such correspondence, though… a matter that Kinvara has already readily admitted to in her earlier conversation. “The residents of the island and the staff among the castle have a fear of the Priestesses of R’hllor. She thought it best to limit the knowledge of her arrival.”

Once more, the words are anything but a lie. And although Laira can understand Kinvara’s reasoning behind her actions, she still does not agree with them. She can tell by her husband’s expression that he shares her discontent as well.

“Yet stealing into the apartments of the Crown Princess of Dragonstone and her husband is believed to be the more honorable path,” Hal returns, moving so he is able to stand at his wife’s side. He watches her as he draws closer, looking for any obivous signs of harm as he goes. For now, his search comes up empty. And, he sees no immediate signs of distress upon her face. “Such actions can be considered treasonous upon these shores.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Kinvara agrees, her voice solemn as she offers another incline of her head. There is still the ghost of a smile crinkling the corners of her mouth, though, and the faintest hints of amusement reflected in her stare. “I have no defense beyond those Her Grace has already volunteered. Though it may not seem so, my actions were for the good of the occupants of this island and for Her Grace as well.” She turns her gaze to the Queen and then to the Lord of Winterfell. “I saw no need to add additional strife to that which you have both already weathered because of the Golden Roses taking root and overrunning King’s Landing.”

As quickly as the solar had grown warm, bitter cold seems to invade just as quickly. Laira reaches for her husband’s arm at Kinvara’s words, feels the way that his muscles have bunched beneath the fabric of his tunic. The tension in his face has returned, jaw clenched and brows pinching together as he stares down the Red Priestess across from the two of them.

Laira has seen such a look from him before, though only once and in the midst of war. Ramsay Bolton had made the dire mistake of threatening her while outside the walls of Winterfell. When given the opportunity, Hal had taken his head for the threat and for all the other horrors the man had inflicted upon the members of his family. Laira sees the very same look in him now, knows that if given the opportunity Kinvara could very well lose her head for daring to speak of the Tyrells and their plots within the capital.

When Kinvara had mentioned betrayal to her earlier in their exchange, Laira had thought her words were referencing Meereen… had thought she meant the Sons of the Harpy and the shadow games that had been played among the streets and high atop the pyramids of the Great Masters.

How wrong she had been, it seems.

“And what do you know of the Tyrells?” Laira questions, stepping into Hal’s side when he beckons her closer with a hand to her opposite hip. Perhaps the true question she should ask is how Kinvara knows of them.

Once more, there is the faintest hint of a smile upon Kinvara’s face when she begins speaking. “I believe such a question would be better answered among the course of our other discussion, Your Grace.” As she takes in the Dragon Queen and her Wolf Lord, she releases a soft hum. “Perhaps such a conversation would be better suited for the coming day,” she continues. “Your Graces will likely wish to speak with one another and to rest of your day among the shore.”

“Leave us then,” Hal orders, all the patience gone from his voice. There is more that he might say, more that he might order, yet he quiets when Laira murmurs softly up to him.

“I will have Mira prepare rooms for you,” Laira speaks, her thumb ghosting over the line of her husband’s forearm. She hopes that the action will help to soothe some of the anger that is raging just beneath his surface. “We can discuss these matters you have mentioned come morning.”

“I have no need for chambers, Your Grace,” Kinvara assures, offering one last incline of her head before making for the solar’s doors. “I will make myself at home within the library where I am less likely to be discovered by your staff. It has been a time since I have dwelt among its walls.”

When the Priestess is gone, there is only a beat of silence before Hal is turning to Laira. His hands go immediately to her face, palm settling against her cheeks as he looks over her for what feels like the hundredth time. Between them, Moone nudges her head against Laira’s stomach, growling softly.

“Are you alright?” he asks, thumb tracing along the line of her cheek. “Truly?”

Laira nods, smiling weakly up at him. “I am unharmed,” she promises, reaching to set her hand down across Moone’s muzzle. “Where are the girls?”

“Down in the kitchens with Mira and Ser Aeron.”

“Good,” she sighs, reaching to press her palms against her husband’s own. “Kinvara knows about what we have seen,” she says, eyes glancing to the journals and scrolls upon her desk. “She knows.”

“It could be a trick,” Hal reminds. “Some sort of treachery.”

Laira had thought similar things, had thought that the Priestess’ words were meant to gain some sort of favor or to deceive her in some manner. And yet… “I do not believe that it is.”

The remainder of their evening passes slowly, Kinvara’s arrival hanging over the two of them like a brewing winter storm. Laira searches through Shiera Seastar’s favored journal, searching for the desperately desired answers that she and Hal are in need of. Hal begins a task of his own, opening a number of the trunks that they had taken from the room that morning and searching through them. There are no true answers to be found with their searching, only more questions.

“We will try again in the morning,” Hal promises, passing a chalice of mulled wine across the back of the couch to his wife. He is more at ease now than he was hours earlier, much of the tension having faded from him.

“There is still much that we have not looked through,” Laira says, sipping her wine as she thumbs through a journal she can only believe once belonged to the Amethyst Empress. The fire within the sitting room of their apartments has been stoked, the flames dancing among the dark stones of the hearth. Mira had brought both she and Hal a tray from the kitchens a number of hours before, though their food remains largely untouched. Above them, the dark rumblings of thunder can be heard as lightning cuts across the sky and a storm begins to bear down upon the island.

“In time,” Hal murmurs, moving to sit with her on their couch. He leans and hooks his hand beneath her ankles where she’s stretched across the couch, lifting her legs to take the spot on the cushions next to her. “There is still the matter of the Priestess as well,” he mutters, settling her legs across his lap.

“I will send her away if you wish it.” Kinvara’s choice of arrival could be reason enough to see her sent back to Essos. She will not allow her to linger if it is going to make her husband more uneasy than he already is.

“Do you believe her intentions for being here are true?” he questions, leaning to steal the chalice from his wife’s hand. He ignores the scolding, yet amused, glare that Laira casts back at him for his theft.

“I believe that she knows far more than she divulged in our earlier conversation.”

“Do you trust her?” he asked, offering her chalice of wine back to her.

Laira is quick to answer such a question, leaning forward to take her wine back. “After all that has happened to us in recent moons, there are few that I trust any longer.”

There is more that she wishes to say, more that lingers upon her tongue. Yet, her words stall as a resounding crack echoes through their apartments and the entirety of Dragonstone seems to quake beneath them. The chalice in Laira’s hand is dropped, shattering where it strikes the floor. Then, there comes a pair of screams from only two doors away from their own, Helen and Sansa screaming out for both she and Hal. Their cries are soon drowned out by another resounding crack and the shuddering of stone.

She and Hal make for the doors of their apartments, tossing them open just as Sansa and Helen come running down the hall towards them. Beyond the walls of Dragonstone, Laira can see the arch of flaming projectiles as they are launched inland from the water. Through the darkness and the rain, she can barely make out the silhouettes of ships out among the waves.

When a sharp streak of lightning brightens the sky, she glimpses the sails of the ships that have descended upon the island under the cover of night.

The green fields.

The golden roses.

The sigil of House Tyrell is unmistakable.

{ @truetargaryen & @fullrangeofemotions & @thequeenmaker & @xcoatlicuex & @hisvipereyes & @viperparamour & @nolongerhispawn & @shewhoisironborn & @adornishviper & @anunfailingkindness & @ialwayswasthebest & @iveneverbeenagoodgirl & @aladyofwinterfell & @therosesofhighgarden & @arisiarrxb & @alionessroars & @zaldrizo & @fairytalesandstars & @queeniolande & @yrracynrxl & @scaleddoe & @scraniknatu }

[[ I meant to have this out way sooner than now, however I’ve been having some issues with severe anxiety as well as depression over the last several months. Every day is different and some are far better than others. The last few days have been rough, but I’m doing okay. And, I’m very excited for the next few parts of this series. They’re the ones that inspired this whole thing :) ]]

#neverflownwithme #;transmissions #v; fire cannot kill a dragon #otp; you are the light in the dark #gv ;; the dragon must have three heads

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bollosa-02 · 10 months ago

Text

PERFORMANCE TASK in CREATIVE WRITING

Kelsy Charm C. Bollosa

12- Gas C

Hello, I'm Kelsy Charm Bollosa, a 17-year-old who finds joy in the fast-paced world of volleyball. Whether on the court or off, I'm always up for the thrill of the game.Embracing the warmth of the color yellow, finding serenity by the sea, and cherishing the beauty of sunsets – these are the hues that paint the canvas of my passions.

POEM

Childhood Trauma

Deep inside i wounded my heart

Lies the memory of childhood start

Aching that pain won't let go

Ghost of memories that I never forget

Every day I feel disgusting

Every day I feel depressed

Darkness that shadowing the hope

Echos of voices that surrounded

The past may left it's mark

But it won't define a life that's plain

A bright future can still form

A new chapter can be born

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NARRATIVE ESSAY

Beauty of Mindoro

One fine day, my aunt planned a trip to Puerto Galera. We don't have any idea that my aunt planned all of this; she packed our things, and we're going to Mindoro. We are all so excited because of the beautiful beach and island that we are going to.

We stay at the White Beach Resort, which has a nice and clean villa. Perhaps along the way to Mindoro we are so exhausted because we need to go first to Batangas Port to ride a boat or a small ship to Mindoro. But when we arrived in Mindoro, the exhaustion that we felt was gone because of the beauty of Mindoro.

In conclusion the beaches and islands in Mindoro are so fine and relaxing to the eye. The ocean was clean, and the sand was very thin and white. There are a lot of beaches and islands that we visit, and every island is amazing because of the unique form of the mountain and the different kinds of sand that are there.

‌

DESCRIPTIVE ESSAY

Sunset above, Sandbelow,peace within

During the sunset phase, a magical moment takes place that brings a strange feeling to our hearts. The sun's waning glow lays bare the coming night, but with each passing moment, it reveals the richness of its beauty that gives mystery and color to our world.

As his descent progressed, the sky was perfumed with colors like red, orange, and yellow. The sun's rays play on the clouds, and whatever their whip creates creates the echo of the secret kingdom. The giant clouds become the fabric of pantheons of art in the sky, cursing the genius of creation with each phase of the sun's descent.

As it travels toward the edge of the ocean, it fades away like a loose and complex legend. Watching it is like climbing above a realm full of mystery. Each step of the sun seems to be a statement of the promise of hope for the future, as its warmth envelops the atmosphere of love and peace.

ARGUMENTATIVE ESSAY

Unity Against Harassment for Respectful society

Harassment is a bad habit that often happens in our society. It causes fear and pain for its victims. This may take place in various ways, such as through humiliation, oppression, or humiliation. In the online world, this is made even worse by the lack of personal connection and the digging that can be done without seeing the victim's face. It is important for society to work together to fight harassment, promote education and campaigns to give voice to the oppressed, and have policies and laws that address this issue.

To prevent harassment, the role of education and campaigning is important.together to give each other the right knowledge and understanding about the importance of respect and equality. Harassment must not only be stopped but must also serve as a voice for the oppressed. In addition, policies and laws are also needed that will put strong protections on victims and teach a lesson to harassers. In this way, we can curb harassment and build a more orderly and respectful society.

In conclusion, harassment is a serious issue that we must focus on and fight against. Not only does it cause temporary pain, but it can also have a lasting impact on the victim's emotional health. With the advancement of technology, the need for education and campaigns to provide adequate knowledge and understanding to everyone about the importance of respect and equality becomes more critical. It is important for society to work together, including legislators and government agencies, to set thorough policies and laws that will provide protection to victims and send a clear message against harassment. With unity and thorough action, we can overcome this challenge and promote a society full of respect, love, and progress

EXPOSITORY ESSAY

Mental health awareness against Cyberbullying

Nowadays, cyberbullying is becoming more widespread and causes complex effects on the health of the victims. Bullying, bullying, and digital bullying not only result in emotional harm but can also have long-term effects on the mental health of those being bullied. In the first paragraph, we will highlight the importance of promoting legal sanctions against cyberbullying. Having clear and strong laws will help not only in targeting the perpetrators but also in providing protection to the victims.

The government need for strict implementation of legal punishment against cyberbullying will be shown. Focusing on the legal aspect paves the way for a thorough investigation and prosecution of offenders. The role of education in schools about the effects of cyberbullying and the corresponding laws should also be highlighted. Through the proper implementation of legal punishment, the number of cases of cyberbullying can decrease and there will be clearer boundaries in the online community.

Ultimately, promoting legal sanctions against cyberbullying is a step towards a safer and more orderly online environment. Coordinated efforts by government, institutions, and communities are essential to address the effects of cyberbullying and emphasize the need for respect and security in the online space.

THANK YOU FOR READING:)

I wanted to extend my heartfelt gratitude Ma'am Vadeth for Your kindness meant a great deal to me. I truly appreciate your time, and it has made a positive impact on my life and knowledge. And again I'm Keldy Charm C. Bollosa from 12- GAS C.

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spookyspaghettisundae · 1 year ago

Text

Sing to Me, Leviathan

Ocean waves gleamed in bright red sunlight, a sea of shattered crystals in perpetual ebb and flow. The first sun had already set. This planet’s second sun followed its descent behind the horizon.

A monumental event, inviting two people on a rusty old vessel to watch and wait for dusk’s arrival.

Old woman, young woman, they stood, together alone, upon the windswept deck. Clad in armor both scuffed and polished, worn from excessive use, and ready for yet another dive.

Waves crashed and lapped at the sturdy hull of their huge nautical vehicle. Against the crimson seas and skies around them, these two people looked tiny by comparison. Yet they stood tall and proud and confident against the vast watery infinity around them, impervious to the crushing emptiness above the surface, and the teeming wildlife that lurked in the darkness beneath the waves.

They awaited the sunset, sharp harpoons in hand, attached to chains and powerful winches. The blue paint of their vessel had mixed its vibrant color with the orange of rust. The chains between harpoons and winches, on the other hand were new. Even more polished than their battered sets of armor. Sterling chains, taken fresh from the Swimming City, hundreds of narels away from their current location.

Darkness scarcely draped itself over the endless aquatic realm of this world.

And whenever it did, the Leviathan rose from its depths.

For now, only the crimson orb in the sky reflected off the opaque surfaces of their helmet goggles.

These sunsets were as breathtaking as the dark clouds roiling across the skies in their wake.

A storm was coming. A storm they expected.

A warning. Of rain on the water, and the coming season. Of the living monolith that would rise from the depths.

The young woman burned to finally see the Leviathan with her own eyes, and earn herself a name by carving a scale from the beast’s shell.

The old woman had long earned her name, but cared little about it. She stared into the horizon, feeling that it reflected the dusk of her own life. She bore an exhaustion that no slumber could ever lessen. The lessons of a long life, the lessons of a sea hunter, the lessons of loss; of all those who had been dragged into the undertow, and devoured by the creatures of the dark. She hoped to bring back bounty, but part of her expected this to be the last time she saw the sunset.

She had been lucky every time. That luck, she believed, was about to run dry.

The clouds, inky-black, devoured all light from the crimson sky, and the ocean waves fell dark.

The young woman sensed that strange calm from the older one. The young woman’s vigor and enthusiasm mixed with a growing sense of insecurity.

The longer the older woman stayed quiet, the more it eroded the younger one’s confidence.

“Are you afraid?” asked the younger.

The older woman chewed on that question like it was a tasty morsel. She swallowed it with any pride and pursed her chapped lips before responding.

“Of course. One should always be afraid. Fear is like fire. A terrible master, but a guide in the dark. Like the lighthouses of the Swimming City. You understand?”

The younger woman let those words sink in. She swallowed then, eating away at her confidence and permitting some fear to join it on the surface.

Her armored shoulders sagged and her grip around the harpoon tightened.

“I understand,” she finally replied.

The older woman stood stalwart. She no longer feared death.

The dark clouds rumbled with a deep, growling thunder, and flashed with bright bolts of lightning. Strong winds howled across the vessel’s deck, and first rain began to pelt them. The rain would soon turn to a downpour.

Both women clicked their helmet’s lower sections shut, and slapped the red button on their armor, activating the oxygen supply.

Another flash of lightning illuminated a monolithic shadow beneath the sea—moving, slicing through the water, rising to the surface.

That giant. Leviathan.

As much as the sea made the women’s vessel look small, and they looked smaller yet upon its mighty deck, the Leviathan’s shadow made their ship look like a speck of dust on the ocean.

According to their tales, star travelers could even see its mighty shadow from the blazing skies.

“Remember,” warned the old woman. “It is not your voice you hear in your own mind.”

“I remember,” protested the young woman. “You and others told me so many, many times before.”

“Resist. Resist temptation to join it. The Leviathan summons all, and those who follow its call are lost.”

The young woman nodded. She swallowed again, and twisted the dial on her armor. The song of their ancestors began to play into her helmet, directly into her ears. The best way they knew to fight the voice of the Leviathan in their heads.

No more time for talk.

The older woman mirrored her motion, twisting the dial, and sighing upon hearing their ancestral song.

Lightning flashed again to reveal the shadow, no longer shadow, risen to the surface of the sea. Stormy waves parted, and the ridged titan body of the Leviathan broke through the surface.

They gripped their harpoon-cannons and waited. Braced themselves.

A tidal wave spawned by the Leviathan rolled towards their vessel. A growing wall of water, a dark and rolling thunder of its own, soon towering over them as it neared.

Tiny red lights flashed on deck, encased in metal grids, blinking in visual warning to signal what they could no longer hear over the songs of their ancestors. The klaxons of alarm, of the tidal waves, ready to crash upon them. The colossal wall of water engulfed everything in sight.

The younger hunter gripped her harpoon with all her life and awaited impact.

The vessel’s computer compensated, and the ship sliced through the tidal wave as the song reached its first crescendo. The front guard on the deck shielded them from the brunt of impact. Torrents of incredible force washed over them. Teeming with displaced aquatic life.

The chains attached to their armor and deck held. Tentacled things and fish remained stuck upon the surface of their vessel after the first tidal wave, flopping helplessly as they recovered.

The shadow now towered over them like the tidal wave. Another lightning bolt revealed it to be the living monolith itself. A wall of sharp scales, gleaming in every flash of light, slippering with the slick wet of water.

Close enough now.

Both older and younger woman readied their harpoons and fired. The tools belched jets of steam from their muzzles and the sleek bladed spears shot forth to that shadowy body. Lights flared on, bright green upon their harpoon cannon, signaling contact, and barbs having extended from the harpoons.

In unison, they engaged the cannons to the harnesses on their armor, clicked the release, and slapped each of the big yellow buttons on their belts.

The wheels on their belts whined with rage. The two hunters flew along the chain between winch and harpoon, hurtling towards the Leviathan. Like the vessel had sliced through the tidal wave, they cut through the waves and the gushing foam.

Hitting the side of the beast was like crashing into a wall, dampened by their body armor. It knocked the wind from their lungs.

The old woman’s impact also left her seeing stars, as her luck had run out. She had hit the side of the Leviathan in an unfortunate. She saw sparks flying inside the claustrophobic space of her helmet, and the song of their ancestors fizzled out.

The younger hunter saw how the older one’s helmet had been deformed from the crash.

Through the mayhem of waves and rolling thunder, the younger hunter yelled out to the older one, though the helmet and cacophony of the stormy ocean, all conspiring to swallow her every word. The older woman heard nothing, for her helmet transmitted no more sound.

Out came the elder’s blades, for such opportunities were rare. Out of all the hunting vessels that left the Swimming City to meet the Leviathan on that stormy night, they were the ones. And they needed its scales. To cleave from the Leviathan’s carapace, new shell for the Swimming City.

To the older woman, it was not about names, or honor, or even pride. If not her, then who else?

The Leviathan dove again. The titan sank beneath the waves, and the waves engulfed them as the Leviathan took the two women underwater. The harpoons in its shell rattled, and the chain-link between them and the ship quaked. They had to act fast, before it dragged them too far, and the pull from the vessel broke the harpoons from the shell.

Voices descended upon them. Even through all the noise, and the storm, and the confusion, and then the dive underwater. Whispers first, then a song. A song more enticing than the song of their ancestors.

The younger woman heard it only faintly, muted by the singing in her ears.

The older woman heard the singing, the lure of the depths, but drove her hook-blade into the carapace, commencing their cutting without fail, hacking away with routine and precision.

Yelling would no longer reach her. The younger woman still pleaded with the older one to hit her release button and return to the vessel. But the older woman either no longer heard or, or ignored her altogether.

Even so, she mimicked her mentor and hacked into the shell, cutting at the boat-sized scale.

Torrents of powerful water washed past them, turning every swing of their blade into a monumental struggle. The spiraling torrents of water around the Leviathan’s body swept up schools of fish in their all-devouring stream. Fish flurried all around them in scintillating colors.

Underwater, the Leviathan’s song only intensified, swelling slowly to match the volume of the song in the younger woman’s helmet.

Still, they held on. Armored, clawed gauntlets gripped to support what the harpoons did to hold them in place.

And they swung, defying the power of water, and the Leviathan’s speed. They hacked, and the cut. And cut. And cut.

They almost carved off the scale they were working.

And the shadow dove deeper, past toothy maws of the shark-like hunters in the sea, swept up in the Leviathan’s maelstrom, and swept away by its gigantic body, and the vortex of torrents that it delivered.

The Leviathan’s song eclipsed the song of the ancestors. A beautiful tale, of a city beneath the seas, harbor to secret lights, and a secret people. A song of those who joined the Leviathan in the darkness below, from whence all life once came.

The song, the song, so enticing.

The younger woman struggled to focus, so little it would take to remove the scale completely—just one more cut, and to pull with all her might—but she struggled to make that last stab. Hesitating. She yelled, no longer at the older woman, but at herself, to not listen to the song, and to only listen to the song of their ancestors. Just one more stab, then—

The older one cleaved the penultimate part free, and the force of the torrent pushed the scale off the Leviathan’s body. The heavy blast collided into the younger woman, denting her helmet, and sparks sprayed inside her field of vision now.

The song, louder than before, eclipsed all.

The depths, the depths, swim together to the depths. The shadow, the sweet embrace of shadow, the release all yearned for, right within grasp.

The older woman clawed at her helmet, then the oxygen tube on her armor. The bladed gauntlet sliced and severed its target.

A gushing stream of bubbles shot past the younger woman, who still struggled to make the final stab and cut, that last tangle of sinewy substance upon which the boat-sized Leviathan scale still hung.

Just one more cut, then to hit the buttons, and cause those winches to rewind, and pull them all back in, and—

The older woman sliced it free. She tore her belt apart. Severed from her lifeline to the vessel.

The younger woman screamed at her, and darkness quickly swallowed them both.

But the older woman, she only heard the song, and held onto the Leviathan’s exposed flesh. Her gauntlet’s blades sank into the flesh where she gripped, and held with all her might. To ride the Leviathan all the way down, to see the depths, and to reach that hidden city in the dark.

The younger woman, unable to stop her, screamed more until she had no more voice to scream with.

She resigned herself to their respective fates. Some part of her wanted to join the older woman, to oblivion with her name. The song of their ancestors sounded weak, and feeble, drowning in the song of the Leviathan and its secret city.

But her pride, her will to live, it all won out. She pressed the button on her belt in a torrent of crushing despair. Her neck almost snapped from the sudden yanking motion as the harpoons and the scale and she were all dragged back to the vessel, shooting past the schools of scintillating fish, and tentacles, and brushing past—

She shot onto deck, tumbling with the scale, skidding towards the winches, where alarm lights kept flashing on and off bright red.

The speakers in her helmet fizzled, and warbles warped the song of their ancestors.

As the living shadow gained distance, so did its song grow quieter in the younger woman’s mind.

Despite the storm, and the crashing waves, she ripped off the lower part of her helmet to gasp for fresh air.

She fought to catch her breath in the downpour and waves of saltwater upon deck

All the while, the klaxons blared while the storm remained, and the Leviathan sank deeper.

They had succeeded. Another scale for the Swimming City.

All the while, she wondered.

Was that city in the depths real?

Would she ever see the older woman again?

Sing to me, Leviathan, sang the ancestors. Sing to me that I may yearn but never see.