#wind dies at sea before even making it to the new land

[cakerybakery]

Got an interesting autocorrect and needed to write the story out.

-

In the kingdom of Eden they took their worship of their gods seriously.

They followed the divine family. Lucifer the Father God of ducks and sex. Lilith the Mother Goddess of life and death. And Charlotte/Charlie the Child God/Goddess of forgiveness and duality.

Ducks were the great symbol of the divine family and the kingdom of Eden for they were beings of all of three core elements of the world. They flew through the air, swam and ate from the water, and walked and had their families on the Earth.

King Adam and Queen Eve had tried for many years to produce heirs for their kingdom to no avail.

They knew if Adam had no heir of his own he would be forced to pass the kingdom on to his younger half sister, Emily when he passed.

Adam had no harsh feelings towards her. She was a delightful young woman but he feared her rule would be tarnished by her father, Alastor.

There were no kind feelings for his stepfather the fifth or so prince of a far off kingdom his mother had married after Adam ascended the throne.

He knew Alastor wished to rule Eden by proxy through Emily. Their mother, Sera passed when Emily a mere toddler, and through Adam was only twenty years her senior, she was raised more by him and Eve than by her real father.

Were it not for the possibility of Alastor becoming regent if something were to happen to Adam, they would happy make Emily heir to the throne.

So Adam made a desperate bid to the divine family for an heir to his throne.

He stood before the marble statues of their gods and lay a nest at the feet of their gods. From a basket he placed several eggs gathered from as different breeds of ducks as they could find.

The multicoloured eggs were beautiful. Their hues ranging from white to blue to green to brown and even black.

Adam let one of the royal ducks, the broodiest one in the flock, sit upon the eggs.

Then he could do nothing but pray.

The duck squawked and stood up confused. All of her eggs were gone.

Before Adam the statues turned to him.

The Godling Charlie smiled and stepped from her statue. “Hello Adam. You have come to wish for a child?”

Adam nodded. Although he believed, he never thought the gods would come to him personally.

Lilith stepped through the empty nest on her way down the marble stairs to join Charlie before him. Her ghostly foot didn’t disturb it at all. She frowned. “Death clings to you like a cloak. You must shed the taint of death before you might have a child.”

He looked to the statue of Lucifer. He was inspecting his new duck eggs.

Lucifer looked up only when his wife and child cleared their throats for his attention.

“Hmm? Oh yes. These are very nice. We will grant you your wish for an heir. After you complete three tasks.”

“Journey to the edge of the city where the wall meets the shore.” Charlie spoke. “It is there, where the land, the sea, and the air meet, where people and the wilds touch, that you will seek your father’s forgiveness for his death.”

“Then come to where my temple resides and barter with me.” Lilith the cryptic had no formal temple nor did she say what he would need to barter for or to. Adam would have to figure it out.

“And when you are done. I will find you.” Lucifer was even more unclear than his wife about the task he would need to complete for an heir.

But he did as instructed.

In the morning he set out. Eve kissed both his cheeks and forehead, as was the custom of Eden, and bid him good luck.

The first task was the easiest to complete. Adam rode from the high mountain castle through the winding city on parade. Waving to his people as they went.

Fanfare died down as Adam rode farther and farther to the outskirts of the city. They rode until the beach was under hoof and Adam dismounted.

Leaving his guards, Adam walked along the wall until he made it to the crumbling edge. Where the city met the wild, and the land, sea, and air mixed.

Adam wasn’t sure how to ask his father’s forgiveness. It was his arrow that slayed the man.

They had been hunting. It was much too foggy but they had been on the trail of a buck. A large one too if they read the hoof prints correctly.

In the fog they had become separated and, thinking he saw the buck, Adam shot his bow. The arrow flew true but it had been his father on his horse that Adam saw in the hazy.

In the last twelve years he has begged forgiveness many times.

With the gods’ help perhaps he would finally find it.

Adam fell to his hands and knees. He touched his head to the sand and water’s edge, to the bit of broken wall. “Father in the lands of Lilith’s shadow. I beg of you to forgive me for your death. Truly I did not know it was you.”

The wind whispered over the broken bits of brick stirring sand and sea. A voice from the shadows spoke. His father’s voice.

“I cannot forgive what you did not cause my son. In the shadows I have seen the truth.”

Adam snapped his up. He saw from his father’s eyes the truth in the shadows.

Alastor. A man of magic. His voice controlling the wind and water to turn the forest into fog. Taking the form of the Earth, a beautiful large red stag. The one they hunted that day. He tricked them apart. Calling each in each other’s voices until across a glen they stood, unaware the other was there.

As Adam’s arrow flew toward Alastor he changed back into a man and the arrow soared over his head, striking the king.

There was a commotion by his guards and he saw his men fighting black devils. Creatures from Lilith’s Shadow. Monsters that lived in death. They should not be in the land of Lilith’s body, in life. Devils had no power to cross over without being born just as the living could not move on to the shadows without dying.

Adam ran back to help. As a demon blade nearly came down upon Husk’s head, Adam stopped it with his divine sword. A gift from the Godling Charlie upon his birth.

A rarity to receive such a gift.

The devil was slain as his holy weapon pieced its shadowy body.

Demon by demon, Adam killed the beasts until at last his guards were all safe.

He raised his sword once more. “Come out, magic man.” Adam spat on the ground.

Alastor appeared from the shadows to taunt him but before Alastor could Adam lunged.

Parring with a cane of shadows Alastor knocked the blade from Adam’s hands.

He didn’t expect the metal clad fist though as Adam let the sword go to leave Alastor open to a more physical attack.

Screaming, Alastor covered his face. Blood poured down his broken nose and he tried to fight back with magic.

The guards pelted him with rocks and he couldn’t complete a spell. Giving Adam enough time to grab his sword, say a small prayer for the goddess Lilith to bless his blade, and cleanly cut Alastor’s head from his body.

His shocked face rolled to a stop at Lilith’s feet. “You have found my temple.”

Adam stumbled upon it but understood once Lilith had spoken. “Any point between life and death where you are worshiped becomes your temple.”

Her normally solemn face brightened and she looked more like her husband and child. “And I see you have something which to barter.”

Alastor’s eyes still blinked. His mouth moved but without his voice box he could not speak.

“A soul that had crossed the borders between my lands many times. Just what I have been looking for. In return,” she pulled from the air a small golden egg, “I give you this. Eat it and my husband shall find you.”

Adam took the egg and Lilith picked Alastor’s head up by the hair. “Let’s put you somewhere you can’t cause trouble again.” She vanished with the head and Adam ordered the body burned to ash and scattered to the winds so that even if Alastor’s head figures out how to escape death once more, he will have no body to control.

Once the job was done, Adam went home. He kissed his wife and went to the temple to prepare himself.

Lucifer was the god of ducks and sex. Adam was not sure what would happen or what his task would be.

Taking the tiny grape sized golden egg in hand, he prayed to Lucifer to work, and swallowed the egg whole.

It warmed him on the way down and he felt strange.

“What a lovely job you did.” Lucifer cheered from behind him and Adam jumped in surprise.

Lucifer’s hands touched Adam’s naked body and Lucifer smiled up at him in approval.

“You found the temple which the Godling of duality resides and prayed for forgiveness across from life into death and found truth past the lies. You bartered with the Goddess of life and death at her temple with the life and death of a murder she had been trying to capture for centuries.”

A hand went to Adam’s shoulder and he was guided down to a soft mat on the floor that had not been there before.

“You have brought me a pretty golden duck egg to fertilize with my seed.” Lucifer ran his hands over Adam’s hard chest and they became softer, tender, and swelled a little. They ran down his body and between his legs. Fingers caressing an entrance that had not been there before.

Moving between Adam’s legs Lucifer waited expectantly.

It took only a moment to realize what was needed. “I pray for an heir, oh great Lucifer.”

“Just Lucifer is fine. Especially from the soon to be mother of my child.” Lucifer winked and teased Adam softly with his fingers until Adam was moaned and wet.

It felt amazing when Lucifer’s dick filled him. He knew sex was great for him before, but fuck, this felt great too.

He held on to the god’s shoulders as Lucifer bottomed out inside of him. Adam cried out the god’s name in pleasure as he was fucked.

Lucifer kissed Adam’s swollen teats. His fingers sent electricity up Adam’s spine and his head got bubbly.

Adam spasmed around Lucifer’s cock and moaned.

He felt the small god release inside him and gave a giddy laugh. Adam was going to have his heir.

“Our son shall be born first and ascend your throne. Never again will the kingdom of Eden be threatened for a descendant of the gods will sit forever as ruler.” Lucifer pulled out of him and Adam inside thighs were coated in a mixture of their joining. “Go to your wife tonight and you will give the boy in your womb a half twin. He will be all mortal and beloved by our son. No harm will fall upon your mortal children.”

Lucifer got up but before he left he winked at Adam, “and if you shall desire another child with your wife, pray at my temple. Spread yourself wide and ask me to fill you with my seed. You and your wife will bear your young together.”

He vanished and as he tried to leave on shaky legs, the god’s cum still dripping down his thighs, the Goddess Lilith appeared.

“Emily has her father’s magic but your mother’s heart. Perhaps the kingdom could use their own court magician.” She vanished and Adam continued on to Eve.

Adam told her what happened and she was very pleased. “How wonderful. You will have an heir for the throne and we will have children! Rest dear husband. The God Lucifer must have tired you out. Rest and tonight we shall give our heir a sibling.”

Eve was very pleased indeed.

Over the months as their bellies both grew, as they shared similar aches, pains, and joys, he and Eve grew even closer. While they could not officially adopt Emily, the young girl barely even noticed her father’s death as he had barely been in her life.

Instead she focused on her studies. Not just with the magic tutors Adam had brought in for her, but the divine family took her under their wings as well.

She was quite skilled even by the time Adam’s waters broke and he birthed his first child, Cain.

Within hours of his birth Eve went into labour and had their son Abel.

They boys would be raised like twins, even if they and the kingdom knew who sired Cain.

Even and Adam would have many twins that way.

Lucifer wasn’t the god of ducks and sex for nothing.

[el-jarado]

Turning some Epic AUs over in my head, and one that's appealed to me is Odysseus and the boys actually succeeding in the wind bag trial only to fail to make it home anyway because Odysseus has not yet learned you don't win god games, you play them helplessly until the god decides they're done with you.

Odysseus listens when Aeolus presents their game; the bag is a tool, not the game itself. He's being challenged to a battle of wits; he boasted mere moments earlier to his shaken men that he led 600 men to battle and none of them died there, but he's lost men since then. Is he a good enough captain to know how the men he has left will act when besieged by rumor?

And Odysseus rises to the challenge, greeting the difficulties with open arms like Polities would but remembering to use his wits. He has Eurylochus assemble a team to guard the bag; as the good man he wants to be, he soothes a moment of doubt with a gesture of trust, setting to work mending the cracks in his friendship with his brother. As the cunning man he is, he sends a message to any other doubters in the crew that he and Eurylochus are on the same page, and everyone else should be following their lead. He keeps his eyes on the men Eurylochus trusts with the task; they have been honored by his gesture, and so have motivation to deserve it...and quietly, Odysseus makes sure he knows who's guarding the bag and when, and they know he knows. Anyone who betrays them will be found out swiftly, and Odysseus sleeps soundly knowing his men will want to live up to his faith in their loyalty, and fear carrying the blame and facing the consequences if they don't.

The whispers on the wind are wily, but Odysseus is wilier, and bit by bit he stokes optimism in his shaken crew. Morale improves as they get closer and closer to Ithaca, and maybe Odysseus's assurance teeters on hubris; he does not correct the men when they start to laugh and joke again, saying to each other their Captain can even outwit the gods. He needs them to believe that; not forever, just for a few days. Just until he gets them home.

Odysseus lives up to his new ideals, and leads from the heart even as his guile tries to make sure of things. He plays Aeolus's game and wins, but as Ithaca approaches, Eurylochus's words ring true; don't forget how dangerous the gods are. As Ithaca comes into sight, Aeolus's business with Odysseus and his men is finished.

Poseidon's, however, has just begun.

Amusing the wind god for ten days has done nothing to calm the fury of the sea god, and Odysseus suddenly finds himself on the losing end of a game he didn't even know he was playing. Poseidon sent the storm to crush them and block their path, and when Odysseus's scheme stilled it, Poseidon lay in wait should the storm win free. Had it been released, he was ready to drown Odysseus's fleet wherever it landed, but with the storm still trapped, Poseidon watches and waits until Odysseus is in Ithican waters before rising from the sea to have his reckoning with the man who blinded his son. Odysseus won the god game, but Athena is not watching over him and Aeolus has neither the power nor the inclination to stay Poseidon's hand. Odysseus's only prize for winning the game is that all of his subjects can watch Poseidon make an example of him and his fleet.

Odysseus has let his men believe he can outwit even the weather, even the gods themselves; he had to, to make sure they would not be led astray by rumor on the wind. Now, however, the truth is laid bare; Odysseus floats in waters he has long considered his, only to find they owe their true loyalty to the angry god tossing the fleet about like toys. There is no strategy that can calm or trick Poseidon, no attack that can drive him away, no way to evade him. Odysseus stares at the shores of Ithaca; he could swim there if the waters were calm, but with Poseidon's will set against him, his home might as well be on the moon for all he can reach it. Somewhere, he knows, Penelope and Telemachus are rushing to the shoreline, and he has no way to escape the doom that has found him there.

No way, except one. No way, except for the winds he was warned would blow him halfway across the world if he let them free.

Odysseus looks at the god looming above, taking his time in the role of executioner; he looks at the bag that is his only way out. He looks at the shores he has thought about every day for the last ten years.

"Please don't make me do this, don't make me do this."

[radiance1]

Fuck it, I can't find the post so I can't link it here but who bloody cares.

Ahem.

This is bouncing off my other two posts about Danny and Vlad being turned into stuffed toys, wherein one Billy Batson kinda adopted them as friends, and the other being where Sam's soul was taken after she died and molded by Undergrowth into a lesser deity.

--

So, Sam, being a giant plant goddess lady (think Te Fiti from Moana) is just chilling on her island, minding her own business doing her dues, helping followers, making the island flourish.

Until one day, something was stolen from her island while she was busy elsewhere, a priceless 'artifact' that held a linkage to her past, mortal life, as Sam Manson.

Safe to say, she was absolutely livid.

So, she told her followers to not let anyone set foot upon this island, if they let someone on the island than it better be someone who's either utterly helpless or in need of help and even then, don't let them step a foot past the beach.

Then she set off.

She pushed her way through the sea, setting off for where she had a vague feeling was mainland and having the intention of getting back her belongings.

A few days later, the government caught wind of a new potential threat heading for the land, and as such, went out to sea to intercept them.

She ignored them, continuing her march and caring naught for the people around her. If they struck her, she would strike back twice as hard with all the fury of her part over nature.

When they struck at her, she summoned forth vines to bind their aircrafts and boats in vines and continued for the land. This goes on for a bit, before ultimately the Justice League have to be called because of the explosion of plant life spreading all over the city.

So they get to fighting her and is actually causing Sam some trouble here. For one thing, there are more of them than they are of her, another is that they're strong beings (as in Wonder Woman and Superman), another being that she's been out of combat for a while.

So she's rusty, sue her, and it's not like she used her abilities to cause harm instead of aid. Hell, this is the first time she even set foot off of her island when she became a goddess.

So eventually, it gets to a point where she just stops caring about causing mass amounts of collateral damage anymore and starts to use her abilities in order to fling literal buildings at Wonder Woman and Superman.

Then came another, highly powerful being.

Shazam.

She was growing tired of being denied what belonged to her, and she grew bitter about these so called 'heroes' trying to stop her as well, at least until, a certain doll, not even as tall as her fingernail just appeared before her.

Shazam tried to reach for them, thinking she would harm him too but, instead, she just stopped and stood there. Before whispering:

"Danny..?"

[asongofmarvelanddc]

Ties That Bind

PAIRING: Aemond Targaryen X Reader

WORD COUNT: 6707

WARNINGS: canon typical cousin-cest

SUMMARY: After spending most of your childhood in the Red Keep, it’s hard to let go of the bonds you’ve formed even with war on the horizon.

A/N: It's been over a month since HOTD and I'm really rusty with writing so if you see bad writing, pretend you don't xx Please reblog, like, or leave a comment! I love hearing from you guys 💛

You were only two years of age when your mother, Laena Velaryon, and father, Daemon Targaryen, left you in King’s Landing while they went to deal with some business in Driftmark. Looking back, it’s unlikely that they intended for your stay to last longer than a few moons.

The weeks stretched into years, and as you began to serve as your Aunt Alicent’s ward, your parents had more daughters – your sisters, Baela and Rhaena. They visited once, after your cousin Rhaenyra had her son Luke. Your mother had hugged you so tight and for so long that you feared she would never let go. And your father…he couldn’t stop looking at you.

Only a few years after that visit, a raven came to the Red Keep from Pentos. Laena Velaryon was dead. Your Uncle Viserys was gentle enough while delivering the news. He sat by your side, ready to console you if you cried. When you didn’t, he felt safe dismissing you from his chambers.

“She’s in shock.” you heard Alicent whisper as you left the room. Perhaps she was right. Perhaps it would not hit you until you were at the burial.

That was not the case.

Long after Lord Vaemond’s eulogy and everyone returned to the castle, you stood on those cliffs staring out into the sea where your mother’s body now lay. It was a strange feeling knowing that she was gone. You felt the loss in your heart, but there was no grief, no pain…you were not even certain that you would miss her.

A part of you was ashamed to feel that way, which is perhaps the reason why you felt the need to hug your father tightly when you were reunited for the first time in years. You wanted him to believe you mourned her as your sisters did. And you hoped being with your family would help you feel that pain. It was a misguided hope.

You were pulled out of your thoughts by the sound of gravel crunching under approaching feet. It was Aemond.

He walked over and stood beside you, searching the horizon with his eyes to spot whatever it was you were gazing so intently at. With you being a few years older than him, you stood a head taller, but he was growing fast.

Eventually, he realised that you were not looking at any specific thing and turned his gaze to you. He looked at you through squinted eyes due to the gusts of wind blowing his long silver hair into his eyes.

He examined your face for sometime before asking, “Are you sad?”

A simple question it was not. You thought of how you’d feel if your cousins, or Uncle Viserys and Aunt Alicent died and knew that you’d be inconsolable. You would not feel this…numb.

“I don’t know,” you chose to answer as you turned to face him, “She was my mother and I’m sad she’s gone, but…I never knew her really.”

Any grief you felt was over never getting the chance to know your mother.

These were not thoughts you’d share with anyone, but Aemond wasn’t just anyone. With no dragons to claim, you chose each other. He was your closest friend and ally, and you were certain that there was not a single person in the seven kingdoms that knew your heart better.

Aemond slipped his hand into yours and gave it a gentle squeeze. He knew how conflicted you were without the thought being expressed, and he wanted to be your comfort.

You looked down at him and smiled softly, “Thank you. For coming to make sure I was alright.”

“Mother sent me,” he said quickly, sounding flustered. He never liked admitting how much he cared.

“Of course she did,” you chuckled just as a blush coloured his cheeks, “Come, let’s return inside.”

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

You were not sure how late it was. All you knew was that you’d been put to bed a few hours earlier but had chosen to read while your sisters snuck out of the room. That reading was interrupted by chatter and yelling coming from down the hall. You would not describe yourself as a particularly nosy child, but the amount of voices made you curious as to why so many people were awake at this hour.

Following the voices, you approached a room where the noise was loudest and pushed the door open. Your father, Daemon, was standing by it and as you looked around the room, you realised that everyone was here; your sisters, Rhaenyra, her children, Aegon and Aemond, your Aunts Rhaenys and Alicent, Uncle Viserys – there were even members of the Kinsguard present.

Aemond was sitting on a chair facing away from you, his mother standing in front of him. As your father pulled you closer to him, you meekly asked, “What happened?”

“Aemond stole Vhagar!” Baela spat harshly as she glared and pointed at him

You shifted your gaze to Aemond who had slightly turned around at the sound of your voice. As soon as your eyes landed on him, your blood ran cold and the air seemed to leave your lungs. There was a jagged scar running down the left side of his face, and his eye was swollen and stitched shut.

Without thinking, you slipped out of your father’s hold and brushed past your sisters, Rhaenyra and her children to reach Aemond, ignoring the looks from everyone in the room.

Aemond looked hesitant as you raised a hand to his face, your fingers brushing his cheek, but even that was too sensitive and he winced in pain.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and blinked back tears asking, “Vhagar did this?”

He shook his head and looked at his mother. You turned to face her and saw her burning gaze focused directly at Rhaenyra who was bleeding from one arm and shielding Luke with the other.

Realisation dawned on you in that moment. “Luke?” you gasped as the boy cowered behind his mother. You couldn’t believe it. What reason could he possibly have had to hurt Aemond?

“There is no need to start this quarrel up again,” Rhaenys said, “We should get the children cleaned up and put them to bed.”

Everyone nodded, mumbling words of agreement as they started to clear out the room.

“Come, Y/N,” Daemon reached out a hand as he summoned you from across the room.

You stared at him for a moment then looked at Aemond whose eye was still on you.

“Uncle Viserys?” he turned to look at you, an eyebrow raised, “Please may I go with Aemond?”

Viserys looked over your head, no doubt to your father, before letting out a sigh. “Of course, you may,” he cracked a smile, “But don’t stay awake too late.”

You smiled thankfully and returned to Aemond who was being helped out of his chair by Alicent. Almost everyone had left the room now, but Daemon remained by the door, watching you. You took Aemond’s hand in yours as you walked out of the room with Alicent and the Maester trailing behind you.

Alicent allowed you stay with Aemond for the night. She knew that both you and her son needed each other that night. He was laid on his back facing the ceiling, two pillows cradling his head to minimise movement. You climbed into bed beside him when he’d finished his tea and held his hand gently under the blankets.

“Does it hurt terribly?” you whispered after staring at him for a while.

“It did,” he said, “But the Maester’s tea is helping.”

You could see him trying to turn his head to face you completely, but wincing every time he moved it. It broke your heart to see him in so much pain. You didn’t realise when you started to cry.

“I’m so sorry this happened,” you spoke through tears as you squeezed his hand.

Aemond was quiet at first, but then you saw a tear roll out of his eye and disappear into his silver locks. “I thought you would be angry with me.”

“Angry?” you asked, wiping your eyes, “Why would I be angry with you?”

“I thought– Baela and Rhaena said–” he started through sniffles, “I should’ve given you a chance to claim Vhagar before I did.”

He thought he had stolen your chance at having a dragon, and that you would resent him for it.

“Vhagar chose you,” you reassured him, “She wasn’t mine to claim.”

Aemond seemed to blow out a breath of relief as more tears rolled down the side of his face and into his hair.

You decided to change the subject to make him a big happier, "Once I find a dragon, you could teach me how to claim it."

"And then you and I can go flying together," he said, his tone sounding lighter, eager, "We could race each other around King's Landing!"

"We could fly anywhere we want," you said, intertwining your fingers with his, "Just us."

Aemond did his best to look at you properly as a soft smile formed on his lips, "Just us."

You moved up in the bed and hugged him close. He didn't say anything even when your tears surely soaked through his shirt, and so you didn't let go even after he'd fallen asleep. Not even as you drifted off as well.

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It was dawn when you suddenly woke up. The sun was just starting to peek over the horizon. You glanced over at Aemond who was finally sleeping soundly. He'd woken up twice during the night crying in pain. Only milk of the poppy could ease his plight and allow him to return to his slumber.

The Maester said it would remain like that for next few nights. Alicent seemed even more terrified for Aemond, but you didn't care. You were going to stay by his side and help him through it. When he woke during the night, you whispered that promise to him over and over again, and his body seemed to calm.

Carefully, you slipped your hand out of Aemond's and climbed out of the bed. You gave him one last glance to make sure he was still sleeping before tiptoeing out of the room and returning to your own chambers.

As soon as you entered, you came face to face with your handmaiden, May.

"My Lady," she curtseyed, "Your father is expecting you in Princess Rhaneyra's chambers."

It was an odd request, but you went anyway. You noticed that your sisters were not in their beds and assumed they would be with your father as well.

When you finally arrived at Rhaenyra's chambers, Daemon was visibly annoyed. He turned to you, his hands resting on the hilt of his sword.

"Where were you?" he asked, though it sounded more like an accusation.

You nervously glanced at Rhaenyra who was standing beside him before explaining yourself, "Uncle Viserys said I could go with Aemond."

"Yes, to escort him to his chambers, not spend the night," he snapped, eyes burning deep into you.

His anger was unexpected. You and Aemond had practically shared a bedchamber since you were small. He would often climb into your bed late into the night and you into his. After some time, Alicent no longer cared to send you off to separate rooms, knowing come the morning, you would be found curled up next to each other sleeping soundly.

Of course, your father wouldn't know that. He was never there.

"I'm sorry, father," you bowed your head, mostly to avoid his eyes.

"It does not matter," he grunted, "I called you here to tell you that we will be returning to Dragonstone today."

The news was unsurprising considering what happened to Aemond. It was good they would be gone while he recovered.

"I need you to go and pack your things," he continued, "We will be leaving soon."

You froze. He could not be suggesting what you thought.

"Why?"

"Because you are coming with us," Rhaenyra answered. Coming from her lips, it sounded more like a declaration.

You began to panic as you looked between the two. "But…I don't want to," you said as you took a step back, "I wish to return to King's Landing."

They both seemed taken aback by that. Rhaenyra shared a glance with Daemon before stepping closer and taking your hand.

"Y/N, your father is going to Dragonstone. Your sisters too," she smiled encouragingly as she crouched down slightly, "Don't you want to be with them?"

"I want to go home," you snatched your hand away, suddenly terrified of how this situation may unfold. You couldn’t leave. Not now.

Not once did Daemon shift his stance. He just stood there, weight resting on one foot as he stated, "We're your family."

It was true. But your sisters had never needed you, and you questioned whether your father ever did either. What had changed? Why did he want you with him now that your mother was gone and Aemond needed you the most?

"Aemond is family too," you whispered, your gaze never leaving your father's.

Daemon rarely lost composure, but in that moment you saw anger awakened in him. He titled his head and narrowed his eyes before moving closer to you.

"That little cunt stole your mother's dragon," he hissed, "Your dragon."

That set you off. Your fists clenched at your sides and your skin felt like it was burning.

"You cannot steal a dragon," Daemon reacted to that like you had spit in his face, "And I don't want to go to Dragonstone, I don’t want to leave Aemond. I want to return to King’s Landing with Uncle Viserys.”

Daemon was silent as he watched you. He meant to intimidate you, but you were too angry to be affected. Rhaenyra’s eyes were trained on him, seemingly concerned about what he might do.

"I am your father,” he said after a moment’s silence, “You will do as I say."

He brushed past you as he walked out of the room and that was that. Tears began to well in your eyes as you looked down at the ground. You promised Aemond that you would be there for him. You promised…and then you didn’t see him for six years.

***

In some ways, being on Dragonstone had not been the worst thing imaginable. You cherished the opportunity to form relationships with your sisters, and your cousins Jace, Luke and Joffrey. But even as you grew closer to them, they could not replace the people you had lost.

For a time, the relationship with your father was improved. It was only in recent years when his many attempts to have you betrothed had been rejected by you that your relationship soured. You could not provide him with a reason for your rejections despite the suitability of many of the matches, and so he washed his hands off of you.

Your father loved you. You knew he did. But he loved other things – and people – more. It was a reality you came to accept in the years living with him.

When Rhaenyra announced that the family would be travelling to King's Landing on short notice, you could barely contain your excitement. You did not care that it was to go and defend Luke's claim to the Driftwood throne, all that mattered was that you were going to see your family again.

Arriving in King’s Landing on dragon back for the first time was surreal. You did not wait to see the Senryr taken into the dragon pit by the keepers, nor did you wait for your sisters or cousins when you landed. The only thing on your mind was finding Aemond and...well, you did not know what you would do or say yet. But you knew you needed to see him.

Starting at Aemond's old chambers, you were surprised to find Alicent coming out of the room.

"Aunt Alicent," you breathed as she wrapped you in a hug.

She was beaming when she pulled away, even stepping back to take in your appearance. "Y/N," she gasped and cupped your face in her hands, "How you've grown!"

You smiled and looked to your feet as heat rose to your cheeks. "How is Uncle?" you asked, offering a sympathetic smile.

Her face immediately dropped, eyes glazing over as her lip twitched. She didn't have to say it. It was as everyone feared – he did not have long left in him.

"I'm sorry."

She nodded, accepting your condolences before plastering another smile on her face, "Were you looking for Aemond? He'll be on his way to the throne room. For the hearing."

"I'll go there now," you pecked her cheek and hurried down the hall.

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

The sheer amount of people filtering into the throne room was clear indication to the importance of this particular hearing. Rhaenyra was standing with your father at the very front of the room on the right side of the aisle. You bowed your head and briskly walked towards them to stand with your cousins.

On the opposite side of the aisle, you spotted white hair very similar to yours on three heads. One of them was sweet Helaena, and Aegon was more than likely the man standing next to her looking bored. Towering over the both of them was Aemond. His hands were clasped behind his back, long hair cascading over his shoulders. The eye patch gave him away instantly.

You sucked in a sharp breath when you saw him, and as if he’d heard you, he snapped his head in your direction. Even from this distance, you saw the way his eye widened ever so slightly upon making eye contact. Every inch of you wanted to dart across the room and throw yourself into him, but you knew what the consequences of such a public display would be.

Where you were anxious and jittery, Aemond froze at the sight of you. He'd gathered that you were in the Red Keep when he encountered his nephews in the courtyard, and yet he was still so unprepared to see you again. Instantly his walls began to crumble and he found himself scrambling to keep them standing.

You smiled at him and he melted, but he could not let you see that. Instead of returning it, he turned away from you and faced the Iron throne. It was an unexpected action, but it didn't hurt yet. Perhaps he had not actually seen you.

You kept your eyes on him for the rest of the hearing, hoping to gain his attention – to no avail. When the entire farce of a hearing was ended, you tried to call out to Aemond, but he disappeared amongst the crowd of people.

He spent the rest of the day avoiding you, much to your frustration. It is why you were glad to hear that Viserys had requested to have his entire family join him for dinner. Before Aemond could protest or find another place at the table, you occupied the seat next to him, hoping it would force him into acknowledging you.

It did not work.

Despite being sat right beside him, Aemond made no move to speak to you or even look in your direction. He was actively ignoring your presence, and it would be a lie to say it did not cut you deeply.

It remained that way for most of the night. At one point, he actually turned his chair away from you to watch Jace and Helaena dance. It wasn’t until after his toast to your cousins and the scuffle which followed that he acknowledged your existence.

Everyone but you was on their feet, a few guards held Jace and Luke back as Aemond stared your father down. For a brief second he glanced in your direction, a second that felt like a lifetime, then he turned, hummed to himself in annoyance, and strutted out of the room. Without thinking about it, you rose to your feet and followed him out, ignoring the stares of confusion from your father and Rhaenyra.

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

Outside Aemond's room, you raised a hand, intending to knock, but decided against it and pushed the door open. The two of you never knocked in the past, why should it be any different now?

Aemond was sitting in a leather chair by the fireplace, one hand resting on the arm while he cracked the knuckles of his other hand. He paused when you entered and tilted his head slightly to see you with his right eye. Once he confirmed it was you, he turned back to the fireplace, not acknowledging you at all.

You scoffed and looked around the room, spotting a gold chalice and some wine sitting on a high table on the opposite side of the room. You walked over to it and filled the chalice before approaching Aemond. He finally lifted his head to look at you when you held out the cup for him.

“What are you doing here?” the smoothest Valyrian danced off his tongue as he accepted the wine from you.

You smirked and raised a brow. “He speaks,” you said, “I was beginning to fear that you had taken a sacred vow of silence. One that only applies to me, of course.”

He scoffed and took a sip of the wine, ignoring your comment. Despite his attempts to pretend you didn’t exist, you did not miss the way his body tensed as you sat down on the arm of the chair.

“Your Valyrian has improved.” Improved was an understatement. His accent was perfect.

Aemond shook his head and downed the drink before rising to his feet. “‘Tis impolite to enter one’s chambers without first knocking,” he said, his back to you.

The hostility was less amusing now and increasingly annoying. “You’ve grown bitter,” you narrowed your eyes at him from where you were seated.

He turned to face you and cocked his head to the side, “I’d like to think I’ve grown honest.”

“It was unnecessary,” you said, referring to his toast.

He smirked when he caught on to what you were talking about. “It was fun.”

You cracked a smile at that and Aemond’s lip twitched, his eye gleaming. Slowly, you pushed yourself off the chair and walked closer to him. He didn’t even flinch when you came so close that he could feel the warmth radiating off of you.

“You don’t talk as much you used to,” you whispered, your tone sad “You don’t smile either.”

He seemed so…guarded. He was looking at you like you were some kind of predator that he had to protect himself from. You wanted to reach out and touch him, but feared how he might react.

“Much has changed,” he said with the tiniest shrug, “It has been six years.”

Six years of yearning, you wanted to say.

Time had passed, it was true, but that did not explain why he felt so far from you. Or why he’d been ignoring you since you arrived. Bonds like the one you shared are not so easily damaged, nor broken.

“You have changed,” you said, eyeing him in the least discreet way possible.

He too drank you in unashamedly, taking his time from the bottom of your embroidered silk dress, to the top of your silvery-white, curly hair, before finally meeting your gaze. He looked seconds away from saying something, or doing something, but then he caught himself and shook his head.

“As have you,” he chose to say instead. The words came out steady, but when you glanced down, his fists were clenched tight. You reached out to take his hand and he moved back.

"Why are you being like this?" you snapped, though you never raised your voice, "What have I done to upset you?"

He was taken aback by your straightforward question. His plan had been to maintain a wary distance from you until you left again. He did not want to dig into memories of the past...but he couldn't deny you answers when you looked at him with such desperate and confused eyes.

He licked his lips and confessed two words, "You left."

You stepped back in surprise. That was it? Of all the things you may have done to earn such a cold reception from him, leaving him all those years ago never once crossed your mind.

"What?" you practically spluttered.

“You abandoned me,” he reiterated.

“Aemond, you can’t possibly be angry with me over that,” you smiled nervously though you were confused, “You must know I had no intention of leaving you.”

His voice was measured, unemotional. “And yet, you did.”

“I was a child. I could not have prevented them from taking me anymore than you could have.”

He was unconvinced and looked away from you.

“Aemond.”

He didn't respond.

“Aemond, would you look at me.” You grabbed his chin to force him into facing you. With reluctance, he met your gaze.

“My mother had just died. And seeing you hurt that night, pained me more than standing at her funeral,” you whispered it like a dark secret, “That is how deeply I care for you.”

Aemond was stubborn – more so than you – but his features softened at your admission.

The day he woke to find that you had left was the worst pain he had ever felt. He'd been inconsolable for weeks, even attempting to fly Vhagar to Dragonstone and bring you home. But when the tears dried and the irrational thoughts quieted, Aemond came to understand what he had to do to move on. He chose to forget the things he had lost. He chose to forget you.

Despite what you’ve admitted, you do not look away from him shyly, or run away in embarrassment. You keep your gaze steady so that he knows your heart is true.

Your voice trembles slightly as you lower your hand from his chin and ask, “Do you understand?”

He hesitates before nodding slowly. Not once since the day you left had he allowed himself to imagine that you might say anything like that. He spent years hating that you were his weakness. Resenting the fact that years later, he still felt the ache of missing you when he lay in bed at night and you were not there beside him.

And even though he successfully hid his true feelings from everyone else, he could never fool himself.

“I’ve often thought about that night,” he muttered so quietly that it was as if he was speaking to himself, “When I do, this,” he points to his eye patch, “is not the loss I mourn. It is you.”

You sucked in a sharp breath.

“You cared for me?”

“I breathed for you,” he said, then dropped his gaze to the floor in embarrassment, “I fear I still do.”

You let out an exasperated laugh, "Aemond, why would that be something to fear?"

He looked up from the ground and met your eyes with an intensity that made your smile falter. Your heart began to race as he took a step closer, and almost instinctively you moved to him.

He raised a hand to the side of your face and tucked your hair behind your ear. Then he let his hand fall to your cheek where he stroked it gently and lightly brushed your bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. You sighed and leaned into his touch, raising a hand to his and holding it just where he cradled your face.

"I fear it," he started as he looked over your face, committing every detail of it to his memory, "because you will not stay. And you are not mine."

"Now is not then," you whispered, "If you want me, Aemond...then I am yours."

With that, he leaned down, his lips hovering over yours as he paused to take in your scent – sweet and earthy – before capturing them in a kiss. He knew that after this there was no returning to what once was. There would be no 'forgetting' this time. He knew this, and he eagerly accepted it.

His hands gripped your waist. You pulled him closer, wanting – no, needing to disappear into him. His scent, his touch, his kiss. It was dizzying, euphoric, and you fell into him happily.

"We must stop," you breathed between kisses, "Anyone could find us."

Aemond didn't respond as he chased your lips fervently.

"We must stop," you repeated, this time gently pushing away from him. You stopped to gather your thoughts, one hand pressed against his heaving chest. You could not look at him, no. If you did, you feared you would not leave this room again.

"We ought to return to the table," you said as you began walking to the door, "You and I have been gone for too long, they will begin to search for us."

You waited by the door until you heard Aemond's footsteps follow behind you. He stopped beside you, one hand on the door handle.

"You'll stay this time," the familiar lilt at the end of a question being asked was missing, but the hesitance in his voice and the pleading look in his eye showed he was asking.

You slipped your hand into his, just as you had done so many times as children, and with conviction answered, "I promise."

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

By the time you returned to the dinner table, most of the food had already been cleared away. Luke, Jace and your sisters were dressed in their cloaks and being escorted outside by the guards while your father and Rhaenyra spoke to Alicent and Otto.

You shared a confused glance with Aemond before approaching the four.

“What is happening?”

Your father's head snapped up at the sound of your voice. “Come,” he motioned you over, “Your things are already in the carriage outside.”

“In the carriage?” you frowned, “What for? Where are we going?”

Rhaenyra sighed heavily, "Back to Dragonstone."

“But we've only just arrived,” you chuckled, "Why the hurry to leave?"

An answer was not given, but Rhaenyra's quick glance over your shoulder to Aemond said it all.

“We never intended to stay long,” she offered instead.

Your father motioned you over once again, “Say your farewells then go and get Senryr.”

The request came out like a man ordering his pup to fetch his shoe. He had no sympathy for the position he was forcing you into yet again, and did not care to pretend to show compassion to you. His daughter. It did nit make you sad, it made you angry.

“No.”

Daemon reacted as though you had just slapped him across the cheek.

“What?”

You stepped back to stand by Aemond's side. “I said no,” you repeated, jutting out your chin, “You cannot make me leave, Father. Not again.”

He narrowed his eyes at you. “I am not asking, Y/N,” he spoke slowly, “You will do as I say.”

It used to terrify you when he spoke in that intimidating tone, even though you knew your father would never harm you.

Perhaps that knowledge is what gave you the courage to say, “I am not leaving.”

Daemon was not often challenged, especially not by his children. He'd known from a young age that of all his children, you had inherited the worst of his temper. Your defiance was not only aggravating, it was insulting.

He stepped towards you, but before he could take another, Aemond moved in front of you protectively. The bold action stunned everyone in the room — including yourself.

Aemond was a good few decades younger than Daemon and therefore little challenge to your father. His wordless threat only indicated one of three things: stupidity, arrogance, or...

You ignored the suspicious looks thrown between you and Aemond as you placed a hand on his arm and squeezed it gently. He broke his stare down with your father and looked down at you. Upon seeing the pleading look in your eyes, he stepped back to your side but remained close enough that your arm was still brushing against his.

Daemon was seething. He could see what was happening right before his eyes. Many years back when you'd refused to return to Dragonstone, it was because of Aemond. All those proposals you had turned down were because of Aemond. Even your excitement to return to King's Landing – it was because of Aemond.

He'd known all along, but he'd never spoken it aloud, thinking it beneath him to even entertain the idea that his eldest daughter cared for a Hightower – be him Targaryen or not. But how could he ignore it when it was being thrown in his face like this?

"He," he nodded his head to Aemond, "is the reason you want to remain here?"

Rhaenyra quickly stepped in to diffuse the situation. "There is no need for this," she looked directly at you as she spoke before turning to Alicent, "I will see the children back to Dragonstone, then I shall return on dragon back."

That barely seemed to satisfy Daemon. And if Rhaenyra was suggesting that she could return and convince you to leave, she would be in for a surprise. Alicent was the only one who seemed happy with this solution. She embraced Rhaenyra with a regretful smile as Daemon walked towards you.

Your body stiffened as he approached. He glared at Aemond before looking down to address you, "You may not have to choose today, but you will soon."

He gave you a long look before placing his hand on the hilt of Dark Sister and turning to leave the room. Deep down, you knew he was right. Your Uncle was fading fast, and once he was gone, lines would be drawn and sides would have to be chosen. You only hoped that you had some time before then.

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

It was difficult to part with your sisters after growing so close over the years. You would miss not having them around, but you knew they would never stay. They still hated Aemond for what happened that fateful night years ago, and neither could understand why or how you were able to forgive him. You didn't know how to tell them that to you, there had been nothing to forgive.

You remained by Aemond's side as Alicent showed you to your chambers, each of you like the other's shadow. Alicent was walking ahead of you and when she noticed you trailing behind, she stopped and turned to look at you both.

She raised a brow as she looked between you. "Aemond, I believe your room is down the other way," she pointed to the hallway leading in the opposite direction to where you were heading.

Aemond glanced at the hallway, then to you, and back to his mother. He seemed lost.

She ushered him away, "You may have spent your younger years sleeping in each others' beds, but there will be no more of that."

He nodded once and gave you a final look before walking off to his own chambers. You followed Alicent to the end of the hall where you parted ways at your room.

She was barely gone two minutes when you heard a knock at the door. You knew who it was before you even opened it. Aemond stood there under your door frame, his shoulders hunched slightly, no doubt feeling guilty for defying his mother.

You didn't say a word, you simply stepped aside to let him in. He kicked the door closed with his foot and moved closer, his knuckles brushing against the back of your hand.

"I want to sleep here with you. If you'll have me."

You turned and walked to a table at the other end of the room. You removed your bracelets, earrings and necklace and placed them on the table. Brushing your hair to the side, you looked over your shoulder at Aemond.

"Can you help me with these laces?"

He looked unsure at first before following you. His fingers trailed along your hip before finding the two laces and undoing them for you. There was a pause as he debated what to do next, then he stepped away and sat down on your bed just by your pillow.

You chuckled to yourself at his level of restraint and removed the sleeves of your dress, letting it fall to your feet. Stepping out of the dress, you could feel Aemond’s eyes on you as you removed the pins and ties in your hair and placed them on the table by your jewellery. There was no seduction in your actions. You were simply undressing, and he was simply watching you do it.

When you turned to look at Aemond, he had already kicked off his shoes and was now leaning against your headboard. He sat up when he saw you approaching, his gaze never wavering. There was so much love in his eyes, but it didn't make you shy, it made your heart race. You stopped when you were standing between his legs, resting your arms on his shoulders.

“How come you let your hair grow so long?” you asked as you ran your hand through his long, white locks. He didn’t answer, however. His eye was focused on something else.

His hand slid the hem of your slip higher up your thigh as his brow furrowed in concern. “What caused this?” he asked as he traced his fingers over two jagged scars on your knee and up your thigh.

“Senryr,” you sighed at the feeling of his touch, “She clawed me when I went to claim her. Tore my favourite dress to shreds.”

“Why did you go alone?” he asked, tracing higher to the very tip of the scar on your hip, “She could have killed you.”

You smiled as you looked down at him. “You claimed Vhagar alone,” he looked up at you as you gently stroked his jaw with your finger, “Perhaps if you’d been there to teach me, she never would have hurt me.”

He laughed then. A low, quiet one, but a laugh nonetheless. It lit up his entire face and made his eye sparkle. You felt your heart swell at seeing him so happy, so content.

You climbed over him and into the bed, slipping underneath the blanket, "Are you going to undress?"

He shook his head and climbed in after you, "I'm comfortable like this."

He lay facing you, his arm resting on your waist as he drew circles on the small of your back over your satin slip. You raised a hand to his cheek and touched the bottom of his scar.

"It wounded me when you ignored me today," you said to distract yourself from the question you wanted to ask.

Aemond chuckled, "That was the intention when I did it."

You rolled your eyes and giggled, but your gaze returned to his eyepatch. What did it look like under there? Aemond noticed your furrowed brows and understood what was playing on your mind.

Your hand hovered over the eyepatch, "May I?"

After a moment's hesitation, he nodded quickly, and removed it before he could change his mind.

A deep blue gem in the place where his left eye used to be. A sapphire, glimmering in the candlelight.

"Beautiful," you whispered absentmindedly as you stroked his cheek just below the sapphire eye.

He softened and pulled you closer to him, placing a light kiss on your lips. You curled into him and tucked your head under his chin, releasing a deep sigh.

Aemond's hand found yours under the blankets, and he smiled when you threaded your fingers together. There wasn't much he wanted to say. He just needed to be here with you, listening to your quiet breathing and feeling your heartbeat against his chest.

[m1d-45]

the wind knows

summary: a series of haikus to ‘imposter’ reader, wherein kazuha knows the truth

word count: ~600

-> warnings: spoilers for inazuma archon quest / kazuha lore? implied violence? imposter au things- it’s implied reader dies, so……

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yum1x

< masterlist >

many letters were scrapped, left to sit in the trash. when pen finally meets proper page, the sun has long since set. still, the motions are careful and sure, as if it hadn’t taken hours of preparation to bear fruit.

the world has waited

for the brightest star to fall

i have waited too

the faint scent of the sea stains the poem, the wax seal dusted with salt. contained within the envelope is the product of boredom at the docks, impatience vented onto paper.

an ocean between

the trip is bound by man’s speed

you are worth the wait

the high point of the crow’s nest allows for far sight, land appearing on the horizon a precious few moments before anybody below notices. words seem to appear in the mind, bandages staining with ink in the hasty retrieval of paper. once down, it would be transferred to something neater, but that is not the priority.

the geo-filled spires

meet together with crashing water

i hope we meet soon.

words are heard, names are called. even after a day of searching, of following the wind that has never led astray, nothing is found. nobody is found. the captain of the fleet makes a comment that goes unheard, thoughts caught up in new lines. a hand traces them out, even if there’s only air below; it’s never meant to be sent, after all.

liyue is empty

of nothing but what’s needed

where could you have gone?

the next day is just as fruitless, nobody at the docks reporting anything new. the wind brings him a small cluster of torn up pages, the familiar writing of lady ningguang scrawled across them. he can’t catch full phrases, the paper scraps too small, but the very fact that the shredded snow had fallen scares him in a way it shouldn’t. the wind warns, but of what?

rumors cross the streets

the air is taught with tension

please let it rest soon

the harbor bustles with more life than normal. people shout and cry, everybody slowly moving away from the docks and deeper into the city. sailors are confused, having only barely returned, but a flyer hastily shoved into their hands by a vendor makes everything clear. the sharp, commanding voice of the captain reads it out, the letter of execution snatched from her hands as red eyes hope and pray it’s fake.

i hope it’s not you

even as i know it is

how could this happen?

white hair shoves through a crowd, his mind blurred with both the aura of the divine and panic from the jeering people around. bodies press in around him but he forces his way though, managing to catch glimpses of the stage. the tianquan, lazily flipping the pages of her catalyst. the funeral director, star-filled eyes now blank and empty with hatred. and him, him, the one who bears an impossible amount of geo, him who stains the air with ancient names and archaic rituals, him with a spear that shines like pure gold in the sun.

kazuha finally bursts through the crowd, the eyes of the millelith snapping to him as he stumbles on the bricks below. it doesn’t matter. he’s too late.

for the second time, somebody he loved dies at the hands of an unfeeling god.

heretical sin

the world itself cries in pain

how could you leave me?

[moseslikellamas]

♱𖣂 Redfork Menace ♱𖣂 pt.6

Benjicot Blackwood x Bracken!OC

Summary - The day of the Mourning Ceremony has arrived. Shanda has followed through on her promise and gotten her and her two brothers out of attending. They make a trip to the Redfork to conduct their own ceremony.

Warnings - fem!reader, suspense, mentions of injuries, adult language, period typical misogyny, condescension, adult language, complicated family dynamics, feud behavior, benjicot brainrot, Kieran Burton fancast.

Word count - 3.7k

Bit of a chonky chapter. But I’m setting up for some very entertaining scenes and there’s a lot of context to establish first. Per GoT/HotD fashion, no one can ever have too good of a time without something happening. This is very true here.

!MINORSDNI!

Shanda stared out her window, watching the drops of rain run down the glass slowly. Thunder rolled over the castle in waves, the sky a pit of shadows reflecting the somber mood of the day. There was no wind that day, giving the air a stagnant feel and bells rangs in long ominous tones, giving a haunted mood to everything. She was dressed in a long white gown, the sleeves nearly dragging the ground alongside her. A gold belt around her waist was her only accessory, her hair hung in waves around her shoulders. She did not have the heart to look in the mirror, afraid to see her mother’s ghost looking back at her.

Her mother had died in an ambush on the Kings road two years ago while returning from Shipbreaker Bay. Imagine surviving the rough seas in a perilous journey and arriving to die on the “safest” road in the kingdom. There had been little evidence pointing towards the reason for the massacre either. Nothing had been taken from the carriage, no luggage disturbed. Her mother still wore all of her jewelry even. It was strange beyond measure and no one had yet stepped forward with any information. The carriage had been found by a passerby who had notified the nearest neighbor, who had brought news to them.

To say it had been devastating to their family would be an understatement. Her father never truly recovered from it and refused to mention her at all. Royce was worse of all though. He harbored a deep bitter hatred that he couldn’t seem to overcome over the matter. Given the circumstances, Shanda could see why. The mourning ceremony tended to use the deceased as religious symbols for the gods rather than celebrating their lives as individuals. Royce could not stand to hear their mother talked about like a saint.

So despite the oppressive mood hanging around the castle she felt excited still. She had managed to free herself, Royce and Martyn from the ceremony. The Septon had agreed they could just as easily conduct the mourning rites along the Redfork. Her father had insisted Martyn accompany them and that had suited her just fine. She’d get to leave the castle walls and free her brothers from the ceremony. They would share stories of their mother and maybe splash about the river before returning home. The main thing they had to do was wait long enough for the ceremony to end back home.

In the days that had passed since her last outing, the stormy weather had persisted. Some days it was merely a drizzle, others it raged and poured. But they did not see the sun for days and days. It was worrisome that the storms were here so early and so intensely. Late autumn storms weren’t uncommon but typically it would be sticky and hot in the river lands in the late summer. What’s more, the storms here rarely persist this many days. A storm would roll in, rage and then leave. Today’s soft pitter patter was tolerable for an outing.

She had instructed her brothers to meet her at the east gate, wanting to avoid their chances of being held up together before they left the castle. Her father would love to find a reason to delay them if he could. It was still very early and the morning fog covered everything. It was hard to make out which way she was going in the yard and only found her way to the east gate by memory.

“There you are sister, about time.” Royce snapped, clearly already agitated.

Martyn stood stoically beside him looking paler than ever. Okay, maybe her imagining them frockling in the river had been a tad bit optimistic given the day.

“Good to see you too brother. Martyn, are you feeling alright?”

“Fine. Let’s get this over with.” The glassy look in his eyes did not inspire confidence within her.

The three of them exited the eastern gate and Shanda began to lead them towards the river. She took care to lead them further east before cutting north. She wanted to avoid the center of the borderlands where conflict raged between the two houses. Her father had finally bothered to set his own guard in the borderlands, useless as they seemed. She hadn’t seen a single one since they’d set out. Where exactly where they guarding? Their guards seemed to be baited in fights every other day. And they were fights only, not a single death had occurred following the arrest warrant. Reports from the border indicated if they engaged to kill, the Blackwood guards would disarm them before beating their opponents bloody but perfectly alive. There had been a marked increase in broken arms however and that was a disturbing image for her.

They walked for ages, to avoid the Blackwoods, but also because she enjoyed being outside again. Even if one of her brothers looked on the verge of throwing up and the other practically had steam coming out of his ears. The tall grass was swaying softly and the ground wasn’t completely wet, giving them a semi solid surface to walk on. Occasionally a bird would swoop off in the distance, perhaps looking for a dryer spot.

“How long are we going to walk? Shouldn’t we be there?” Royce complained.

“I’ve led us further out, don't want anyone sneaking up on us do we?”

“Why bother? We’ve got Martyn. Right Martyn?”

Royce smacked his arm lightly as if he were jesting but his tone was too angry for it to work. Martyn just kept walking ahead, saying nothing and occasionally swallowing like he had too much spit in his mouth. That didn’t please Royce at all, who was clearly itching to fight someone. She was all the more thankful that she had led them away from the usual haunts of guards if that was the attitude her brother was going to be swinging around. Before he could muster up another snide remark the rushing sound of the river picked up and soon the sight of the blue water could be seen through the tall grass.

“See. Didn’t take us that long after all, Royce. Have some patience.” She said, trying to lighten the mood but he only shoved passed her towards the water.

She took the moment alone with Martyn to talk to him.

“Martyn, what’s wrong? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

If it were possible, he turned even paler at her words.

“It was just a nightmare I had. Don’t worry about me, Shan. We better look after Royce before he tries to fight the river.”

Incredibly skeptical but unwilling to push him on the matter currently, she nodded. They joined Royce beside the river, he was crouched low his hand in the rushing water. He looked deep in thought.

Due to the rocky weather and the sheer amount of rain they’d received lately the river was moving quicker than she had ever seen it. The sound was so relaxing as it streamed downhill, she found herself wishing it would always rush like this.

“Do you want me to start?” She asked when her brother failed to move at all.

He stood abruptly though at the sound of her voice as if he had just remembered she was there.

“No. I’ll go first.” His voice was hoarse.

“Our mother was a great woman. She was kind and fierce and she loved us all. Though she had reason enough not to.”

Shanda smiled at his words. It was the happiest she had heard in him in a while.

“She was the glue that held our family together and I miss her everyday.”

“That’s really beau-“

Royce cut her off, his tone bitter and biting. “I’m not finished.”

Bewildered at his change in mood she motioned for him to continue.

“She was murdered by those filthy barbarians across the river and you keep frockling out here like they aren’t a bunch of bloodthirsty freaks!”

She was so taken aback she stood there for a moment, mouth agape.

“Whoa, hold on now. You asked me to get you out of the ceremony! I did that. You're welcome by the way, it was a lot of work. And I led us out of the way to avoid the Blackwoods. We also don’t know who killed our mother, that’s a serious accusation to make Royce.”

“Oh that’s rich. Are you seriously defending them right now?”

Shanda took a deep breath trying not to let her rising anger get the best of her as he moved closer and closer into her personal space.

“I’m not defending anyone, least of all those idiots. I’m simply pointing out that you can’t go around throwing around accusations of murder without any proof!”

“Their very existence is proof! Our father told you not to come out here and mess with them. And you just couldn’t help yourself. Now our guards come back covered in blood. What about that?” He pushed his finger sharply into her chest at his question and it was the last straw for her.

She pushed him back with a frustrated sigh escaping her. “Bloody and alive baby brother! They come back bloody and alive. Does that sound like the type of person to murder a woman in her carriage while she was defenseless? Just stop and think for a second would you! I came out here to try and help us. I actually want us to get ahead of them. That’s why I’m out here trying to find a way to bring them down. What have you been doing? Besides being a sulking angry little jerk of a child? Hm, what have you contri-“

Royce cut her off again this time screaming at her. “Shut up!” Then he ripped the sword Martyn had been loosely holding away from him and swung at her. She leapt out of the way at the last second, the sword only managing to nick her shoulder. If she’d stayed still he might’ve sliced her head off. That seemed to snap Martyn out of whatever spell he was in as he immediately began fighting Royce for the sword.

Martyn managed to rip the sword away from him, but Royce was bigger and knocked him onto the ground before turning his attention back to Shanda. The river was at her back and Royce approached her looking half crazed.

“You’re a disgrace to our house. And no sister of mine.”

And then he pushed her as hard as he could, sending her tumbling into the rushing river.

The water was colder than she expected. That was her first thought as her head broke the surface and she coughed up water. The current was sweeping her downstream and already she could barely see her brothers in the distance. Her second thought was that her dear brother was starting to get on her last nerve. I mean really, trying to cut her down with a sword? Kinslaying is the most cursed crime among the gods and he would commit it on the day of the mourning ceremony? He was an utterly lost cause.

She tried several times to pull herself out of the river but the current was much stronger than it looked. She was pulled underneath the water many times as the river bent and turned. Luckily Shanda was a pretty fair swimmer and she was always able to pull her head back above the water. She was pulled further than she ever could have dreamed before a fallen tree gave her the opportunity to pull herself out. She grabbed the low hanging branch and used it to pull herself up and out of the water. Her arms were shaking from swimming in the current for so long and she collapsed atop the tree, soaking wet and exhausted.

She lay there for longer than she should have but nowhere near as long as she would have liked. Eventually she forced herself to her feet, she had to find her way back home. She looked around at her surroundings hoping to see a familiar landmark that could help point her in the right direction. The river ran to the west and as she looked around it became clear she had traveled a great deal. She was too far downhill and would need to trek back up the river to have any hope of finding her way back. The trouble was, she had gotten so turned around while in the river, she wasn’t sure which side was the Bracken side. With the current that strong, she wouldn’t easily be able to cross if she happened to be on the wrong side.

She hadn’t brought anything with her. She was with her two brothers, what would she have brought? Royce was hurting that much was clear but his behavior was unacceptable. She was going to their father first thing when she got back. He would be furious with his behavior. Pushing her into the river, what a joke. She walked for a while before she started taking care not to be seen. She felt silly sneaking around in an empty field but it was always better to be cautious. The tall grass hid her well enough but the morning fog had thickened around the river providing her even more cover. Occasionally she would stop crawling to pop her head out and have a look around at her surroundings.

She traveled for what felt like an eternity before finally off in the distance she spotted the familiar copse of trees that marked the familiar territory of her part of the Redfork. She paused for a moment to rest once she spotted the trees. The sky had grown darker in the time it had taken her to come back. And she wondered if her brothers had made it back home yet. Whether her father had sent men out looking for her yet. She wished they would hurry up if they were looking for her. She bit back a yawn and began crawling in the grass again towards the gathering of trees. Wandering through the thick tendrils of grass she couldn’t help but hope she didn’t run into a wolf out here. Wouldn’t that top this day off as the worst one in a year?

Thankfully no wolves appeared and she reached the trees without incident. She carefully crawled inside before rising to her full height. She had done it! Now all she had to do was walk home. That normally would be an easy task but she was so tired and her entire body ached. Her head hurt and her throat was sore from coughing up river water. Her shoulder also burned from where Royce had cut her. It had stopped bleeding though and she considered that a blessing. Slowly and surely she began the grueling walk home. It took her twice as long as usual and she cursed herself for being so slow. She couldn’t will herself to pick up the pace however and settled for admiring the nature around her.

Looking out she saw the same familiar grass and trees stretching out before her and soon she’d see the back watch tower rising in the distance. She couldn’t wait to take a warm bath and crawl into bed. Maybe her brother could wait until tomorrow. Her walk was more of a meandering sway at this point, the fancy slippers she’d worn out here were gone and her feet were cut from stones in the river and sticks in the mud. The bottom of her dress was filthy and she struggled to keep her head up, having to carefully pick her away around the ground.

When she finally looked up again, sure she would see the watchtower, she experienced a nasty shock at the sight that greeted her. It was a watch tower alright, just not hers.

“Oh. Oh.” She said once she realized.

She turned and ran with what little energy she had back the other way. Why hadn’t she seen any guards? Were the Blackwood guards also as useless as the Brackens? Why were they posting all of these guards if they were nowhere to be found? Her run had gradually slowed into a jog simply because she couldn’t keep the pace up. The wind and the rain was starting to pick up again when she ran into them. A group of six or seven Blackwood guards emerged from the trees, they were laughing and talking completely unaware of her. Her first instinct was to freeze, going completely still. Were they shifting changes this early? It couldn’t be later than the afternoon. Or had she been out later than that?

Thankfully her second instinct was to drop to the ground, hiding in the grass and praying they didn’t walk her way. She waited as the group grew closer, their voices getting louder as they did.

“Did you see the look on the lad's face when I took his sword from him?” One called out to roarous laughter.

“The smaller one could hardly be called a warrior at all. He hadn’t even gotten a punch in. All that shiny armor wasted on Bracken filth like him. Still say we should have stripped it off of him.”

Shanda felt a horrible terror grip her. A wash of hot fear went through her at their words. Surely they weren’t talking about Martyn and Royce. Heart pounding in her ears she listened for more.

“No, it would only make you a worse man for having touched it. It’s better that we tossed them.”

Her heart seized up at that. They hadn’t killed anyone right? She waited on pins and needles for them to pass, sure one of them was going to spot her. Or worse, stumble into her in the grass as they walked by. But as the voices gradually grew further away she could have wept for joy. Not wanting to take any chances she kept her head down and continued crawling away through the grass. If she made it out of this unscathed she was truly going to stay inside, the river clearly wasn’t a place of luck for her lately. It was while crawling through the grass that she ran straight into the enemy.

Because she never looked up, she ran right into a straggler from the earlier group of guards. Right into his knees that is. She crashed her head against his knees, falling backwards and just laying there. She hadn’t really expected to make it out of here unseen. She had ventured much too far into enemy territory to come out the otherside unscathed. It was when her enemy leaned over her, casting a shadow that she decided maybe the river lands weren’t cursed. Maybe it was just her. She was too tired to react. This day had it out for her and she was tired of fighting against what seemed to be her fate.

“Hello there little criminal. Come to face your trial after all?”

The smug grin on his face would have made her angry if she could summon the energy. One hand rested on his sword, the other he held out to her.

“Would you believe me if I said I got lost?” She asked, taking his hand and heaving herself up though she did not want to.

“A seasoned warrior like you? I’m well and properly shocked.”

She ignored his mocking tone. There was no chance she got out of this predicament now. She cursed Royce for being such an annoying immature child. She didn’t want to go on trial for attempted murder. The Blackwoods wouldn’t exactly give her a fair trial. Maybe her father would kick up a big enough fuss to get the Tully’s involved.

“I have to insist you send a letter to my father, telling him of my capture.”

Benjicot smiled at her before wrapping a hand around her wrist and leading her back toward Raventree.

“As it is, criminals don’t get to insist on anything. However I’m sure your father already knows. We encountered you brothers earlier looking for you. Only we found them and they didn’t find you.”

Despite her outwardly calm demeanor she was freaking the fuck out. Her thoughts were anxiously spiraling into the worst case scenarios. She had seen the guards that came back half beaten to death by the senseless brutes over here. Martyn had been half mad today already, she couldn’t imagine he could have held his own. And Royce was still so young, he spent his days laying on hay bales for the Mothers sake!

“Are they okay? What did you do to them? Tell me!” She demanded trying to yank her hand out of his grip. Unable to feel his skin on hers for fear of her brother's suffering.

Benjicot just laughed and pulled her closer against him, wrapping his arm around her shoulder.

“They’re fine, silly. We needed them to be able to walk back. How else would your father know you’re going to face justice for being a little sneak? When we told your brother we caught you on our land, spying again in broad daylight. Well, you should’ve seen his expression.”

She stared at him in horror.

“That’s not true. I got lost. And besides you’ve only just found me now!”

The foul man beside her shrugged, still grinning.

“He believed us and it turns out you were actually here committing the crime anyway. It’s all the same thing.”

“It is not the same thing! My brother pushed me in the river, you jackass. I got swept downstream and I couldn’t figure out where I was. I thought I was walking home. Believe me I’ve had a bad enough day without adding you to it.”

He squeezed her shoulder replying, “Aw, you poor baby. Have you not figured out by now you don’t belong out here?”

Her face burned in embarrassment before she snapped back at him. “I was out here for the mourning ceremony. Gods, can we walk back in silence? I’m a prisoner right? You don’t do idle chatter with prisoners do you?”

“No.” He agreed. “But I also don’t let them walk my land. I’m being generous to you, little criminal.”

“I am not a criminal!”

“Are you a prisoner or not? Make up your mind, love.”

“I’m nothing okay! Let’s just get on with it.”

“Okay nothing, are you going to admit to your crimes?”

“I haven’t committed any crimes. The land is neutral anyway. You are insane and should be stripped of your title.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Raventree Hall loomed impressive in front of them and Shanda tried to hide her fear as he led her up the hill.

[livesonthebside]

A couple of months ago, my penpal asked me if I had any favourite poems/quotes that could be read over the graves of men from the FE. He didn’t find any this year, but in honour of Fitzjames, I thought I would post some of my selections:

Terror & Erebus by Gwendolyn McEwan:

This is the end of science.

We left it behind us,

A graph in the snow, a horrible cipher, a desperate code.

And the sun cannot read, and the snow cannot either

Franklin's Passage by David Solway:

We know differently.

Ice is meant to be grappled with,

broken through,

trudged over,

listened to,

died on.

We know this, too.

The Northwest Passage

is where it always was.

It is here right beneath our feet.

Northwest Passage by James Pollock

When you set out to find your Northwest Passage

and cross to an empty region of the map

with a headlong desire to know what lies beyond,

sailing the thundering ice-fields on the ocean,

feeling her power move you from below;

when all summer the sun’s hypnotic eye

won’t blink, and the season slowly passes, an endless

dream in which you’re forever diving into pools,

fame’s image forever rising up to meet you;

when the fall comes, at last, triumphantly,

and you enter Victoria’s narrow frozen Strait,

and your Terror and Erebus freeze in the crushing floes;

in that long winter night among the steeples

of jagged ice, and the infinite, empty plain of wind and snow,

when the sea refuses to be reborn in spring,

three winters pass without a thaw, and the men,

far from their wives and children, far from God,

are murdering one another over cards;

when blue gums, colic, paralysis of the wrists

come creeping indiscriminately among you;

and you leave the ships, and set out on the ice,

dragging the lifeboats behind, loaded

with mirrors and soap, slippers and clocks,

into the starlit body of the night,

with your terrible desire to know what lies beyond;

then, half-mad, snow blind, even then,

before you kill the ones who’ve drawn the fatal lots,

and take your ghastly communion in the snow,

may you stumble at last upon some band of Inuit

hauling their catch of seal across the ice,

and see how foolish you have been:

forcing your way by will across a land

that can’t be forced, but must be understood,

toward a passage just now breaking up within.

Some pro-explorer poetry was On First Looking Into Chapman’s Homer by Keats

Much have I travell'd in the realms of gold,

And many goodly states and kingdoms seen;

Round many western islands have I been

Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold.

Oft of one wide expanse had I been told

That deep-brow'd Homer ruled as his demesne;

Yet did I never breathe its pure serene

Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold:

Then felt I like some watcher of the skies

When a new planet swims into his ken;

Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes

He star'd at the Pacific—and all his men

Look'd at each other with a wild surmise—

Silent, upon a peak in Darien.

and The Imitation of Christ, because it’s the origin of the title of the Edwin Landseer painting:

According to our resolution so is the rate of our progress, and much diligence is needful for him who would make good progress. For if he who resolveth bravely oftentimes falleth short, how shall it be with him who resolveth rarely or feebly? But manifold causes bring about abandonment of our resolution, yet a trivial omission of holy exercises can hardly be made without some loss to us. The resolution of the righteous dependeth more upon the grace of God than upon their own wisdom; for in Him they always put their trust, whatsoever they take in hand. For man proposeth, but God disposeth; and the way of a man is not in himself.

And my personal fave, I'm Going Back to Minnesota Where Sadness Makes Sense by Danez Smith:

Have you ever stood on a frozen lake?

The sun above you, the snow & stalled sea - a field of mirror

all demanding to be the sun too, everything around you

is light & it’s gorgeous & if you stay too long it will kill you

& it’s so sad, you know? You’re the only warm thing for miles

& the only thing that can’t shine.

[tineeericeee]

What Waits Off the Coast of Santa Barbara

Chapter 5: Give and Take, Ask and Answer

Notes: so uhm- eheheh, funny story…

I have added an indeterminable amount of new chapters — chapters I don’t know the amount of because I haven’t even drafted them :’) but if I had to guess, it’d be around upwards of ten extra chapters

*screaming and crying* SOMEBODY FUCKING SEDATE ME-

Sorry for the super late update 

—————

The car ride was silent. A bit awkward, if Shawn was being honest. He fiddled with the uncomfortable seat belt, then his hands, trying to ignore the side-eyes ‘Carlton Lassiter’ was giving him. He wasn’t sure what his deal was with him. Then again, he’d also be suspicious if he was with a weird guy that was previously a weird mermaid. Even so, there was quite a few quick glances.

Shawn hated silence. Even the ocean had the odd whale call every now and then. And besides, sound traveled a lot better through water than it did on land. Without the constant pressure of sea water pushing on his ears, everything felt so much more quiet. All that he could hear right now was the rumble of the car engine and wind whistling outside.

He’d be filling the empty void right now with flirting and witty banter (all of it aimed at the man behind the steering wheel, of course). But he was still working on getting his mouth and tongue to cooperate with him. He’d barely been able to say his name earlier, and the other quips he’d made before that had been just as much a struggle.

He reached out to fiddle with the radio fixed to the dash, the tarp wrapped around him making a swishing sound as he did so. Someone had to substitute the silence for noise, and if Shawn couldn’t fill it with speaking he might as well have something else do it for him.

“-I wanna see you out that door, baby bye bye bye (bye bye!)”

Not even two seconds had passed and it was immediately shut off once more by Carlton. His hand was a blur as it reached towards the dash and pressed the power button. 

Silence reigned once more. 

Shawn hummed a tune under his breath, parts of a whale song he’d heard a few days ago broken with the odd line from the chorus of ‘Everybody Wants to Rule the World’ by Tears for Fears. It mixed horribly, but the only one that was there to judge his humming skills were him and Carlton. 

Fingers drummed against his thighs in tempo, plastic fabric rustling with every tap, head nodding along subconsciously. 

The air was tense, despite Shawn’s best efforts. 

Until Carlton cleared his throat. “So… you uh- you’re…”

“Real?” Shawn finished for him. He mentally patted himself on the back for not fucking up the pronunciation. Even though it was fairly simple. Still, small victories and all that. 

“No- I mean… you’re sitting in my car, I think that’s enough evidence that you’re real.” He took a deep breath. “I was going to say that- that you’re a siren.” 

Hold up, what? This guy thought he was a siren? He had to be joking, pulling his leg. But no, his face, whilst still staring at the road, was dead serious.

Shawn couldn’t help laughing, a sound that was a mix of human laughter along with dolphin chirps and whistles. “Siren? You- thought- those ugly half-vulture ladies? Hell no!” 

Saying it out loud made him laugh harder. At least that was one thing he could still do without struggle. Simply speaking that broken sentence was a battle. But it was one that was slowly getting more and more easy to overcome. 

The car slowed down as they came to a red-light, albeit a bit jerkily. Shawn barely noticed, too busy laughing his ass off, cheeks growing hot. Of all the things he could’ve been called, ‘siren’ wasn’t on the list of things he’d thought of. 

“It’s a valid conclusion, alright?” Carlton’s face went bright red in embarrassment. It was cute, Shawn found, the way his lips pursed as he practically became a tomato. 

He continued, and asked interrogatively, “How else did you make me help you?” 

Shawn’s laughs died down to a couple giggles. “Make you… what?” 

What did that mean? Then Shawn realized that Carlton thought he’d done some kind of voodoo seduction spell and forced him to help get out of the net. 

He let out an involuntary snort, and giggled more. “I can’t do that. That’d be really cool though.” 

But the sight of Carlton’s still serious expression made him come to a full stop. He wasn’t kidding. Oh man, he didn’t really think that, did he? That Shawn could just full-on take over someone and make them do his bidding? That that was why Carlton had helped him in the first place? 

Yeah, getting people to do stuff you wanted them to do could be cool. In theory. But… just the thought of it didn’t really sit right with him. Full control? Probably a little invasive. Definitely a little invasive. 

The light turned green again, and Carlton pressed the gas pedal a little too aggressively. The engine revved as they shot past the traffic light. There wasn’t really anyone around to notice, however. Except for a lone car sitting at the exit of a small parking lot, waiting for the Crown Vic to drive past so it could pull out. 

“Dude, even if I was a siren, I couldn’t make you do anything. They just… sing about what you want most. Draw you towards them, that stuff.” 

Shawn remembered his first — and last — encounter with the nasty creatures. He was grateful he’d paid some attention to the Greek mythology section of eighth grade history. Otherwise he’d have seen that rocky island full of bird women and not thought twice about swimming over and investigating. Of course, he knew what was up the moment he saw the big vultures with human heads surrounded by torn clothing and shredded steel beams. 

Eyes never leaving the road, Carlton drummed his fingers against the wheel. “So, you’re not… in my head? You’re not influencing my judgment?”

“Nope. Not a little bit.” 

He nodded, donning a thoughtful expression. 

And then it was quiet. 

Two minutes passed before Shawn became antsy. 

What to do, what to do, what to do… 

He thought back to when Carlton had opened up his glove compartment earlier to grab the bottle of ibuprofen. Along with the medicine, he’d seen the standard car manual, with a gun sitting comfortably on top. 

Shawn took another quick scan of the car and found a radio in the cup-holder. A closer look at the man behind the wheel told him there was a badge and a pair of handcuffs stuffed in his pockets. 

It was easy enough to piece together that this guy worked with the police. Child’s play, really. He was probably a detective, the setup reminding Shawn of when his own father had made the transition from officer to detective. 

“It’s been a while, but I’m pretty sure that even if you’re a detective it’s still illegal to drive when you’re drunk.” 

The last part was also easy to deduce, the faint scent of alcohol permeating Carlton’s breath. Faint, most likely faded enough to leave him sober. But still there. 

A beat passed. 

“What gave it away?” 

“Well, the radio was a big hint.” He gestured to the aforementioned object still sitting in the cupholder. “Handcuffs sticking out of the back pocket were a dead give away. But I almost missed it. That ass is so distracting. And third: your badge? There’s a perfect outline of it in your other pocket.” 

Shawn could see the look of impression that Carlton was trying to tamp down. “How did you figure I’m a detective, not just a cop?” 

“Let’s just say I… knew someone. Yeah.” He wasn’t ready to really open up about his dad. Not yet. Not to a stranger. Maybe Gus, when he saw him. Besides, he’d rather not have someone who most likely knew Henry professionally be privy to the fact that Shawn was his son. “The setup was a lot like yours.”

It was quiet again, save for the humming engine and the small taps Shawn’s fingernails made against the hard plastic door handle. 

Carlton flicked on his turn signal, pulling into the left turn lane. “What’s with the… just a while ago, on the beach, why were you so…”

So big. The unspoken words reverberated through the car. 

Truth be told, Shawn never really wondered why his human form and his mer form had such a large difference in size. Evolution, maybe? The ‘why’ never bothered him, just grateful for the advantage over all other ocean life. Nothing bothered him when he was that size. 

The only thing bigger than Shawn were whales, who simply allowed him to travel alongside as he pleased, not sensing any danger from him. 

“Not sure. But it’s useful. Easy to hunt, get food.” Shawn stated matter-of-factly.  

Again, Carlton nodded in agreement. “I would assume so.”

Buildings flew by as the car trundled on. The sky had significantly lightened up by now, a small sliver of the sun peeking over the horizon. Outside, Shawn could hear seagulls cawing and birds chirping. It had been a while since he’d heard those. 

“How long?” 

This time, it was Shawn’s turn to look confused. He turned away from the window to look at Carlton, who still had not taken his eyes away from the road. “What?” 

“How long were you underwater, away from land?” 

Shawn’s mouth opened and closed, not unlike a fish out of water (which was technically what he was). 

Noticing his silence, he began to elaborate. “The way you talk, like you used to but haven’t in a long time. That’s how I know.” Carlton pulled onto a smaller road, houses lining both sides of the street. “You figured out I’m a detective, I’m a little surprised you thought I was incompetent. There’s a reason I have this job, and it’s not because I sat on my ass and asked for it.” 

Shawn sighed. He was right about that. Still, it was kind of embarrassing to have it pointed out to him. “What year is it?” 

“2006.” 

“About a decade, then. Give or take a few months.” An idea struck Shawn. “Speaking of which, what’d I miss while I was gone? Did they renew the Breakfast Club? Any new movies with Val Kilmer? Any world changing events like that?” 

Shawn hadn’t expected the flurry of emotions coming from Carlton. When he did speak, his voice was just barely raised a pitch. “Uhm, well, there sure were- but that’s a conversation for later.” 

It was perfect timing. Carlton pulled the Crown Vic in the driveway of an immaculate house. The lawn was neatly trimmed, the home a clean shade of green and void of any dirt or grime. If Shawn didn’t know any better, he would’ve assumed whoever lived there was someone who was boring and worked a nine to five office job. 

But a quick glance inside told him the opposite, as Shawn exited the car, tarp still swishing around him. Sharper than average eyes let him see that there was some kind of corkboard with mugshots pinned in some kind of order, with what were most likely descriptions of the people printed underneath. 

Lassiter dug through his pockets and fished out a set of keys, unlocking the door. “Go on ahead to the bathroom, it’s down the hall second door on the left. I need to find the first aid kit.” 

Inside, Shawn got a better look at the board he’d seen from outside. Now that he was closer, he could actually read the descriptions. It was a wall full of convicted criminals, each one more rough than the last. Save for the one in the top left corner, who appeared to be a dapper gentleman. 

He walked down the hallway, and noticed a room, door wide open so there was no need to do it himself, right across from where he’d been instructed the bathroom was. A desk sat beside the bed, covered in papers and a singular empty file. 

Shawn knew he didn’t have time to really examine them, so from the door he quickly scanned the closest papers to the best of his ability. 

Something something dead astronomer something planetarium…

“Wow, he really puts the ‘home’ in homework.” Shawn muttered under his breath before retreating into the bathroom where he’d been told to go. 

—————

ao3 link

[warlocks-and-phoenixes]

A while ago the discord got me thinking about Vincent. So naturally that concluded in me making a whole shiny new partially-canon-compliant backstory for him

So, to begin, I was previously considering making him East Asian (specifically Korean). I honestly can’t explain why but I feel like it’d be cool if he was, and it’d also be nice to have an asian character who wasn’t a meif’wa. However…all of east asia is in the region of Jin’tal, and geographically, that’d be like having a Mayan character in Eastern Europe in the 12th century. So…how does that happen is a question I had been pondering. But then the beloveds gave me the idea of Vincent being much older. Older enough to…well you’ll see.

Background: meif’wa are from Jin’tal, but they’re in Ru’aun and Tu’la because over the century preceding MCD there was an exodus driven by societal strife. Thousands went across the sea and it became the first time in history that a Jin’tali diaspora settled in the eastern hemisphere. That was a good couple centuries before reliable charting of the globe came to be, and even more before transit and trade between the hemispheres became common.

Okay. There’s some worldbuilding. Now, there’s one exception to this isolation: Kulzak Fucking Aran’ask™️

AKA, the guy with magic that can cause him to disappear for several months and then you find out the man was waltzing around a continent that your whole society didn’t know existed. So…what if, in this time 300 years before the meif’wa exodus, in the equivalent of the 6th century, one of two things happened. Either a force out of their control (such as magic or a very very bad storm) sent the DWs really, really, really far off course, OR Kulzak & Co decided “what could go wrong” and let the Fates take the wheel. No matter how, they wind up in Fantasy Korea.

[note: kulzak’s main magical ability is teleportation, except most of the time, he’s not in control of where he goes. He wanders, and lets the world decide where to take him. And, logically, there’s nothing keeping him within the bounds of what’s known by his own society]

So while these strangely dressed and stranger-looking people are turning heads in the Fantasy Three Kingdoms, they meet a few people who they actually befriend. Two of these were the parents of Kwan Hae-sang. Or, Vincent Kwan. At this time he’s a little kid—as in, no older than 4—and these locals help the Ru’aunians find their way home. Maybe those few dozen Jin’tali were just as adventurous as Kulzak, or maybe they didn’t have much to their names in their homeland, but for whatever reason they went along to the unknown east with strangers. Vincent’s father, Kwan Ri-yeon, specifically had been a fisherman; he knew the ocean of the west better than anyone, and he spent the rest of his own life as Kulzak’s right-hand man.

This small group of strangers who were now in a strange land themselves were one of the reasons the divine warriors decided to erect their own city on a protected island. This island was where Vincent grew up. (His birth name was Hae-sang, but he went by Vincent his whole life to fit in with the melting pot city mostly comprised of european-Ru’aun and mediterranean/arabian-Tu’la.)

As Vincent grew up, his family were always close to the warriors. He joined the city’s elite Guard; the force under Sir Esmound’s command. Around then, or when he’s between 16-18, is when the War of the Magi begins.

In the Guard, Vincent grew close to a man who technically outranked him, but who nevertheless became the brother he’d never had. Esmound’s personal apprentice, Enki’s apprentice’s brother, an admirer of the Six Warriors, and a stranger to this world in his own right. A man named Xavier.

They became like brothers for the rest of Vincent’s life in the grand city. I’m not sure exactly how Vincent dies in this scenario, but it’s after the War of the Magi has ended, meaning he’s now known Xavier for at least 16 years, likely closer to 20. (Also, his mother died because of the war, and that caused Vincent and Ri-yeon to drift apart. The last time they saw each other was when Kulzak and Enki left the island and all of Kulzak’s sailing crew, his first mate included, went with them.)

But, in whatever scenario it was, Xavier was definitely present. Perhaps the still-experimental magic of the resurrection messed with Vincent’s brain and mixed his memories around, making him think it was Xavier who had killed him. OH. Sadder idea. Mercy kill. [in discord at the time we had just previously been talking about this subject]

Then, Vincent became one of the very first Shadow Knights. At this point, the Nether is little more than a barren waste, and the Shadow Lord is still learning the extent of its newfound power over souls lost in transition. Also at this point, the Nether Portal isn’t established, and so there isn’t a way back to the Overworld for the next…let’s say, 100-150ish years. Thus, portal isn’t opened until well after Irene’s departure from the world. There are only two people still alive by then whom she or Vincent knew: Xavier and Hyria. Siblings, and elves, and each left with a duty by Irene.

To Hyria, she gave the staff that would summon her back to their realm; the world could not know this staff existed lest it be used for evil, and so Hyria retired to the forest she and Irene planted, where it would be safe.

To Xavier, meanwhile, Esmound’s apprentice had succeeded him as protector of this city. While the Divine Warriors together were seen as the leaders of the island since its discovery, Irene acted as the city’s de-facto lord. A role she entrusted to Xavier in her absence.

Irene disappeared, Hyria left, Xavier was lord of the grand city, and many decades later Vincent was one of the first Shadow Knights to feel the sun’s light again. With the portal, the Shadow Lord instituted a new law: all Knights had to find whoever their loyalty previously belonged to, and kill them in the name of their new Lord. This was how they proved their loyalty to the SL, and in return earned their place immortally in the army destined for vengeful greatness.

Xavier in his own right did many things of note in the years between Irene and his death, all across Ru’aun. But then Vincent was sent after him. He hunted him down on the island; he believed Xavier had killed him, and he mistook the city’s decline as being caused not by the loss of Irene, but by the gain of him and his lordship; clearly he hadn’t been the man Vincent thought he was. Xavier had murdered him and was now killing their home too.

To Ru’aun, Xavier the Admirer was a Divine Warrior by association; he carried on the Protector’s legacy, solidified Irene’s Lordship and Guard systems, founded the first incarnation of the Jury of Nine, and did his best to lead the island despite its slow dissolution in the absence of the people who’d attracted its inhabitants there. In Vincent’s memory, he was a betrayer who the region falsely remembered for deeds he never saw, and a man who he didn’t have any remorse in killing because he was a corrupt, sorry excuse for their Lady’s successor.

The idea of Shadow Knights was still in its infancy during Vincent’s time. The concept was there, but so were many flaws yet to be ironed out. Vincent still possessed his many good memories of the Divine Warriors, and his small part in fighting the Magi War. The Calling is not as overwhelmingly strong after an SK’s immortality has been earned, because as far as the magic is concerned, they’ve already proven their loyalty. Vincent learned how to deal with the remainder of its pull, and he simply…never returned to the portal.

After the destruction caused by Xavier’s murder, the question of his succession, and other factors against it as well, the city on the island soon became nothing but forgotten ruins. 300 years later, Vincent found himself as a guard of a town named New Meteli.

[sammywolfgirl]

This update is helping me develop my lore for how the flow of life works in the snow queen domain and honestly I’m excited

It’s kind of settled for me I want frost queen and fire spirits areas to be sort of parallels

Both of them have that sort of thing of, cookies die and their life essence goes into the land to make elemental creatures. Though what happens after that differs

For the dragons valley, it’s a self fulfilling cycle. When a cookie dies in the valley their life essence gets added to the valleys reserves, and these sprites can merge to become bigger and more powerful beings, sometimes even dragons, who can leave the valley and die elsewhere. And maybe that spreads life essence around like some bumble bee thing idk I still am trying to get a grip on how the flow of life works in the kingdom universe, but that works for my au atm.

Meanwhile in the frost queen area (idk what the snowy area is called) what matters is if w cookie is born there, cookies born in this area have a chance of getting that frost sickness, and as we’ve seen with sherbet they die and their life essence goes into creating frost spirits and snow creatures. Though things are a bit looser here, In some cases the cookie can become an elemental and not loose their memories, in some cases a cookie outside of this domain can be given a second chance by the snow. And when frost creatures die their life essence goes back into the cookies born here, and it’s more of a give and take. In some rare cases cookies have survived the illness but gotten ice magic because of it, but that’s uncommon at best. Point is the snow is mailable, and frost queens job is to make sure that things stay balanced, she can grant wiggle room if there is any, and if things get off balance she can use the flow of life to readjust the scale. But it’s an issue when thr flow itself is being stolen and that’s why dark enchantress is a problem.

I’m not totaly against the idea that the elemental rebirth thing only happens in the snow place, but it’d make it stand out that only the frost area does the reborn thing.

Other elemental areas have their own versions but are uncommon to rare (ie fire spirits ascension, wind archers creation, that sort of thing)

Plus icicle yeti is a healer! Idk what connections are being made but there sure are!!

Uh related thoughts on other elemental flow of life stuff.

Im going to wait till kingdom gives us wind archer or millennial tree before deciding how the Life cycle works for the forest domain, I got nothing in mind so I’m open to see what I’m given and going from there.

Millennial tree is still proficient in all magic, he’s kind of like the head of the flow of life, wouldn’t be surprised if he started it all those eons ago. So if frost queen is a manager Mille Is like the head manager or something idk. Though he’s not super attentive to it since the other elementals got it covered.

Sea fairys flow of life had to adapt without her when her curse froze her for decades. And when she woke up it became self sufficient, so she can just sorta leave it alone. The only duty she’d need to be directly involved in is the ritual giving gem mermaids their power, but since abyss monarch isn’t creating any new gem mermaids (they’re going through a character arc about stuff) she’s just not needed. I think she’d be open to doing that again but isn’t about to push abyss monarch into starting up gem mermaids creation. Same with heart of the deep sea, basically sea fairy is retired and honestly good for her.

Sugar swan I’ve been thinking about, I’m making them millennial tree’s wife in this au and since she’s like the head of the seasons she probably has a more broad thing on thr flow of life? Like seasons will change on their on without her intervention, (except in the dessert paradise, it’s very reliant on her presence or lack there of) but she makes sure things are running smooth. Winter is lasting too long here? She will cut it off so spring can roll in. Summer is too short here? She will extend it briefly so things can settle over for the next season. She basically makes sure nothing goes completely out of sync. I like to think it’s magic is powerful in its own right in comparison to millennial tree. Because they deserve it.

Moonlight governs dream magic which idk if it has a flow of life exactly but maybe it’s more, dream magic is Inherently linked to the flow of life because only living beings can dream? Idk at the very least she helps out because she’s nice like that. At most dream magic is connected to it so like if thr dream world is getting funky check the flow of life because something might be off. I’ll admit this one is a bit flimsy atm I’m going to brainstorm on that one a bit

So uhhh yeah

[gwaedhannen]

Maedhros & Maglor Week day 6: Respite

WIP of something for @maedhrosmaglorweek that became too long to finish in one day. fem!Maglor/Elwing, Maedhros/Eärendil, background Elwing/Eärendil. Most of this is from the Maglor/Elwing section as that's what I have written so far.

Maglor waits upon the waves for her fall. The houseboat is a compromise, and a convenient method of rules-lawyering. It is not quite in Edhellond, whose lord has little patience for kinslayers but whose lady has a softness for her only remaining cousin on these shores, and not quite on the Outer Lands themselves, where the Doomed may not walk again. But Elwing has never been keen on following the rules of the world before; rules which say she should have died in the cold with her brothers, should have handed her father’s (her father’s) jewel to its rightful owners, should have died on the end of Maglor or her brothers’ blades, should have died in the surf, should have died on strange seas, should have died a mortal in the immortal land. And Maglor may have been a follower all her life, but the world no longer watches her deeds, no longer judges and pities. She may do as she will. Maglor watches the descent from on high, the Evening Star fissioning and a fragment tumbling down to Arda-that-is, resolving from firmamental myth into bone and feather and weight in her arms. Little else can survive the transition, but every time she bears a single strand of red-brown hair, safe in her beak. A promise, a reminder. Payment for catching her. Maglor takes the hair, presses it to her lips, weaves it into the braid with its companions. Elwing slides to the deck, bird into woman, the shift woven from her own dark hair materializing over pale skin. White stars are patterned upon, and a white tree embroidered over the breast. They make their exchanges. Elwing dances as her heart wills while the wind which boosts her leaps threatens to carry her away, and Maglor’s tempo keeps her grounded. Maglor sings laments for the long-shambling corpse of Númenor, and Elwing’s tears wash her scarred palms clean. Elwing offers news from the sky, of strange new continents beyond strange new seas, of mountains high and forests deep, of faces lifted skyward in hope. Maglor offers news from the land, of a distant valley and the young twins who fill it with song, of kingdoms finding their places in a quieter world, of those who still remember Menegroth and its many lanterns. She does not speak of Valinor. She does not speak of childhoods.

Eärendil’s giddy mirth is impressively contagious, and Maedhros almost without realizing it is cackling in laughter alongside him as Vingilótë climbs out of its dive, careening upwards back into the Heavens where the stars gleam with laughter of their own. The Mariner drags him down for a fierce kiss (how in the name of Ulmo’s sopping tits did a descendent of Turgon and Galdor Orchal end up so damned short?), and by the Flame Imperishable, Maedhros has never felt so alive.

[ccohanlon]

from my bookshelf

Pytheas of Massalia was a Greek geographer, explorer and astronomer from the ancient Greek colony of Massalia — modern-day Marseille, France. In the late 4th century BC, he voyaged from there to northwestern Europe, but his detailed account of it, On The Ocean, survives only in fragments, quoted — and disputed — by later authors such as Strabo, Pliny and Diodorus of Sicily. The Extraordinary Voyage Of Pytheas the Greek by the noted British historian of ancient maritime Europe, Barry Cunliffe, attempts to draw out the reality of what was an extraordinary sea journey, from the Western Mediterranean north along the Atlantic coast of Europe to the British Isles, then even further north, to the near-mythic land of Thule. Cunliffe makes a strong case for Pytheas being “the first European explorer”, while identifying the most likely locations of Thule, sought so avidly by 19th and early 20th century adventurers and artists.

James Hamilton-Paterson’s Seven-Tenths: The Sea And Its Thresholds, published in 1992, more than two thousand years after Pytheas’s On The Ocean, is an ambitious, expressive exploration of the vast aqueous wilderness that covers three-quarters of our planet by a writer of remarkable literary accomplishment (he was one of Martin Amis’s professors at Oxford). Plumbing humanity’s complex, multi-faceted relationship with the sea, Hamilton-Paterson writes vivid, meditative passages about, well, everything — fishing, piracy, oceanography, cartography, exploration, ecology, the ritual of a burial at sea, poetry, and even his own experiences living for extended periods on a small island in the Philippines.

Tom Neale’s autobiography, An Island To Oneself: Six Years On A Desert Island, describes an altogether smaller, more solitary world: the island of Anchorage, part of the Suwarrow Atoll in the South Pacific. Born in New Zealand in 1902, Neale spent most of his life in Oceania: after leaving the Royal New Zealand Navy, he worked for decades aboard inter-island trading vessels and in various temporary jobs ashore before his first glimpse of his desert island home. He moved to Anchorage in 1952 and over three different periods, lived in hermitic solitude for 16 years, with rare visits from yachtsmen, island traders, and journalists. Among the last was Noel Barber, a close friend of my late father: he gave my father a copy of Neale’s book, in Rome, shortly after it was published in 1966 (I still have it). Neale was taken off his beloved island in 1977 and died not long after of stomach cancer.

The Starship And The Canoe by Kenneth Brower, published in 1978, is an unlikely dual biography of a father and son that draws intriguing parallels between the ambitious ideas of renowned British theoretical physicist and mathematician Freeman Dyson — who, in the early 1970s explored concepts for interstellar travel, settlements on comets, and nuclear rockets that might propel mankind to the outer reaches of the universe — and his wayward son, George, who lived in a self-built tree house 30 metres up a Douglas fir overlooking the Strait Of Georgia, in British Columbia and devised large canoes based on Aleut baidarkas in which to paddle north to the wild, uninhabited littoral of southern Alaska. Brower’s descriptions of long passages with the younger Dyson in the cold, sometimes fierce tidal waters between Vancouver Island and the Canadian mainland are gripping and I have read them again and again. It is, unarguably, my favourite book.

The late, New Zealand-born doctor and sailor, David Lewis, is not as widely known as he was half a century ago, even by avid readers of sea stories, but from his earliest memoirs in the 1960s — of his participation in the first-ever singlehanded trans-Atlantic race (The Ship That would Not Sail Due West), and of incident-prone voyages to far-flung coasts with his young family (Dreamers of the Day, Daughters of the Wind, and Children Of Three Oceans) — to his practical, first-hand studies of instrument-less ocean navigation among South Pacific islanders, (We, The Navigators and The Voyaging Stars) in the 1970s, Dr. Lewis was not only the late 20th century’s most remarkable and intelligent writer on the sea and small-boat voyaging but also one of its most adventurous. My favourite of his several books: Ice Bird, published in 1972, an account of a gruelling, almost fatal voyage from Sydney, Australia, in an ill-prepared, steel, 32-foot yacht to achieve the first singlehanded circumnavigation of Antarctica.

It’s said that spending time anywhere with Lorenzo Ricciardi, late ex-husband of Italian photographer Mirella Ricciardi, was an adventure. A film-maker and former senior advertising executive, once described by a British writer as “a penniless Neapolitan count”, he gambled at roulette to raise enough money to buy an Arab dhow, which, in the 1970s, with little seafaring experience and plenty of mishaps, he sailed from Dubai to the Arabian Gulf, and from there down the Arabian to coast of Africa, where the dhow was shipwrecked among the Comoros Islands. The Voyage Of The Mir El Ah is Lorenzo’s picaresque account (illustrated by Mirella’s photographs). Astoundingly, several years later, Lorenzo and Mirella Ricciardi completed an even more dangerous, 6,000-kilometre voyage across Equatorial Africa in an open boat — and another book, African Rainbow: Across Africa By Boat.

Italian madmen aside, it used to be that you could rely on surfers for poor impulse control and reckless adventures, on the water and off. Back in the late 1990s, Allan Weisbecker sold his home, loaded his dog and a quiver of surfboards onto a truck, and drove south from the Mexican border into Central America to figure out what had happened to an old surfing buddy — in between checking out a few breaks along the way. In Search Of Captain Zero: A Surfer's Road Trip Beyond The End Of The Road is a memoir of a two-year road-trip that reads like a dope-fuelled fiction but feels more real than William Finnegan’s somewhat high-brow (and more successful) Barbarian Days: A Surfing Life.

Which brings me to Dana and Ginger Lamb. In 1933, these newly-weds would certainly have been looked at askance by most of their middle-American peers when they announced that they weren’t ready yet to settle down and instead built a 16-foot hybrid canoe-sailboat and set of on what would turn out to be a 16,000-mile, three year journey down the Pacific coasts of Mexico, Guatemala, Salvador, Nicaragua and Costa Rica to the Panama Canal. Dana’s 415-page book, Enchanted Vagabonds, published in 1938, was an unexpected New York Times best-seller and today is more exciting to read than the ungainly, yawn-inducing books produced by so many, more commercially-minded, 21st century adventurers.

First published in Sirene, No. 17, Italy, 2023.

[sajirah]

The Prison Chapter 4

Faerie Tales

A/N: New chapter is finally here! Keep in mind the rating for this has gone up to E, so if you're not comfortable with that, I'd recommend skipping the last scene of this chapter (starting at the line "That's not a very nice story."). As always, you can read here or on AO3. Enjoy.

-o0o-

For a little while Feyre had no idea what she was looking at. 

She’d spent the last few hours wandering further and further inland, happening upon more houses but strangely, every time she tried to stop and explore them she’d feel the strangest urge to…move on. As if she had some urgent need to be elsewhere. 

And so the homes remained blissfully untouched and she found herself delving deeper and deeper into the forest, pulled by that urgent feeling clenching at her heart. Just a little further, she felt herself think, even though she couldn’t for the life of her figure out why. It wasn’t like she had any idea where she was going. 

And then she began to notice the bones. 

They weren’t glaringly obvious at first. If anything she had mistook them for all the other human detritus she had found, crumbling and buried under a sea of moss and ivy. But then she had stumbled over a claw. A great big claw, as long as her shin. And then she’d seen the other bones, bleached by the sun and hidden under layers of lichen. Some towered over her like oddly shaped trees, while others lay buried under mud and moss. She couldn’t really make heads or tails of what kind of creature it was. It had claws so it clearly wasn’t a whale, but neither was it an elephant or any other large land animal she could think of. It wasn’t until she found the skull that a very different picture began to take hold in her mind. 

At first she’d mistaken it for an automobile under all that green, but then she’d seen the teeth, long and sharp and as long as her arm. The snout was long, the shape almost reptilian. 

It looked…like a dinosaur. 

Or a dragon. 

She stared back at the rest of the skeleton, its long and winding spine curled around trees and half buried under the mud and undergrowth. Whatever this creature had been, it had been huge. But what could kill a creature that big? Perhaps it had simply died of old age. 

Or, at least, she hoped it had. Nothing scarier than imagining a monster of a creature wandering this island…and then being taken out by something even bigger and scarier. 

Feyre shivered. 

Perhaps this was the monster that old man had warned her about. It was certainly large and alien enough to inspire nightmares, let alone whatever strange ghost stories the prisoners had dreamed up. Perhaps they’d found these bones and it had been enough to scare them away from the forest forever more. 

Then again, she thought, thinking of the strange and haunting voice that had woken her last night…perhaps not. 

She pondered those thoughts as she eyed the slowly dipping sun, well below the tree line now. If she circled back now she’d end up stumbling around in the dark long before she ever made it ‘home’. And the last thing she needed was to accidentally walk in the wrong direction and end up back on the beach. At the same time though, she wasn’t exactly thrilled with the idea of sleeping without a roof again. Even less so by the thought of doing so near a giant mysterious skeleton. 

Then again…it was also the only real shelter around. The last house she passed had been at least a couple hours ago and she couldn’t afford to try finding it now. Her eyes were drawn back to the long dead creature. It was hard to look away from it if she were being honest with herself. She felt that almost painful clenching in her chest again and rubbed at it absently. 

“Whelp,” she said to the skeleton, resigned. “It’s a good thing you’re dead. Because now you won’t care if I do this.”

And then she crawled into its rib cage. 

-o0o-

“You’ve come back to me.”

Feyre blinked at the man lounging next to her. His arm was drawn behind her over the back of the sofa and she felt his fingers toying idly with her hair, staring back at her with those uncanny violet eyes. 

“You.” She remembered him this time. Rhys. The same man from her dreams. From all of her dreams since coming to this island. Why had she not remembered him before?

“Because I didn’t want you to,” he replied to her thoughts as easily as if she’d spoken them aloud. “I couldn’t have my mate getting spooked before we’d been properly introduced.”

That was another thing…

You can hear me. In my head. 

“Darling,” Rhys drawled, leaning in until his lips touched the shell of her ear. “All of this is in your head.”

Feyre frowned…and then realized. 

“This is a dream.”

She felt him smile against her ear and couldn’t help but shiver. “So clever, my mate.”

“Why do you keep calling me that?”

“My mate?” His lips were skimming down her throat now. She wouldn’t be surprised if he could feel her thundering pulse. 

“Yes.”

“Because, my darling Feyre, that’s what you are. My mate. Mine. My other half given to me after so many centuries of rotting in this awful world,” he said against her skin, the hand toying with her hair now gripping it possessively as the other came up to wrap around her throat like a collar. “As soon as I felt you wash up on this island I knew you were mine.”

“Felt me…?”

“I feel everything in this place. I am the shadows under the trees and the roots deep under the ground. There isn’t a single piece of this island that I don’t touch.”

“Except…” Feyre interjected, trying to gather her thoughts as Rhys licked a stripe up her neck. “Except the beach!”

She felt him frown and then pull away to look her in the eye, suddenly very serious. 

“Yes,” he admitted, grudgingly. “Except for the beach.”

“Why?”

“Why?” Rhys seemed both amused and confused by the question, as if that wasn’t at all what he’d expected her to say. “Because that’s where the curse ends I suppose.”

“Curse?” She repeated dumbly. She was a bit too old for fairy tales. 

“Oh but that’s what I am Darling.”

“What?”

He leaned close again, a mischievous smile on his face as he whispered into her ear. “A faerie.”

There was a beat of silence as his words settled in and then all Feyre could blurt out was “You mean…like the ones in Ireland?”

Rhys seemed at a loss by this reaction. 

“Can’t say I know where that is.”

“Soooo…you’re not from Ireland?” 

“No,” he said, eyes distant. “No, I wouldn’t say I’m from there at all.”

“So where are you from?”

He glanced back at her with those strange violet eyes of his, and then he said, “Let me tell you a story.”

-o0o-

The story went something like this. 

Once upon a time there was a faerie named Rhysand. 

He grew up in a land called Pythian, a child of a loving mother and a cold High Lord for a father. His was a life of privilege and power. He had friends and family and lovers. And freedom. Though he hadn’t known it at the time, his life had been damn near perfect. 

And then the war had happened. 

Most humans in Prythian were slaves, you see, and the faerie courts who held them weren’t keen on letting them free. And so war broke out. Court against court. A faerie kingdom across the sea joined the fight, siding with the courts who refused to give up their slaves. 

And the war went on for years. 

One by one, the war took his family. First his mother and sister at the hands of his enemy. Then his father, blinded by rage and desire for retribution for his lost mate and child. And so it was at the height of his grief that Rhysand was crowned High Lord. 

And that was when she came for him. 

The king was losing the war, you see, so he grew desperate. He and his generals saw that Rhysand was weak. That he was too distracted by his grief and inability to wrangle his court as a fresh High Lord to see what his enemies were up to. That they had discovered a weapon from their ancestors and planned to use it to their advantage. 

And so Rhysand met them in open battle, not realizing his mistake until it was too late. The king’s general met him on the field, a cunning sorceress wielding the ancient weapon, and when their powers clashed they tore a hole in the world. 

And they fell through. 

And landed on a strange little island. 

But before they could go back from whence they came, the hole closed. And the weapon disappeared. The general was furious. She hadn’t actually known what the weapon would do. Nor that it would leave her stranded on some alien world with her mortal enemy. An enemy, she quickly realized…that was still reeling from what had just happened. 

And so, as Rhysand still lay there, shocked at this strange turn of events, the general stabbed him in the heart. And wove a dark spell so that he wouldn’t heal. So that he would remain trapped wherever his blood spilt. And it was there he died. And there his soul was trapped. 

Forevermore. 

-o0o-

“That’s not a very nice story.”

Rhys shrugged. “I never said it was.”

“So that skeleton I found…” Feyre trailed off. The one she must be sleeping in right now. 

“Yes,” he answered gently. “Even now I cradle you in my heart.”

She grimaced. 

“Oh don’t make that face,” Rhys laughed. “You did that all on your own.”

His smile turned mischievous once more as he pulled her close. 

“In fact, I quite like the thought of you sleeping here,” his fingers rested over her heart before sliding lower. “Safe. Content. Where you belong.”

He whispered the words in her ear as she felt those fingers slip over her belly and then down, down under her skirt and over-

Feyre moaned. 

“That’s it sweet girl.” 

She wasn’t sure if it was the pet name or the feeling of those clever fingers between her legs that made her shiver. 

Probably both if she was being truly honest with herself. 

Distantly, she remembered that this was still a dream. None of this was real…and yet it was hard to focus on that fact when she could hear her blood roaring in her ears and feel her cunt clenching down hard on fingers that slipped inside her like they belonged there. 

And then, between one moment and the next, Rhys was kneeling on the floor and lifting her bare legs over his shoulders. She cried out at the loss and confusion overtook her as she tried to understand why he’d moved. What was he doing?

“Wait-” But Feyre barely had time to realize that her clothes were suddenly gone, let alone try to puzzle out what this man was doing down on the floor, before her self proclaimed mate was licking a long, lewd stripe up her cunt. 

She wasn’t exactly sure what sound it was she made, but whatever it was had Rhys groaning in approval. She couldn’t focus. Heat and pleasure overloaded her senses as Rhys lapped away at her like a cat with a bowl of cream. Was this something men actually did? 

“I’d be more than happy to do this every night to prove that.” Rhys said, gazing up at her from between her thighs, and the sight alone was dizzying. Before she could reply though he went back to feasting on her cunt as if he’d never stopped. She felt the heat at the center of her grow, pulsing in time with her heartbeat. 

“I need,” she gasped, shaking now, not even knowing what it is she was asking for. 

I know what you need. A voice whispered in her mind. 

Two fingers slid inside of her and curled, as if searching for something, before Feyre felt her whole body jolt. A strange feeling overtook her. Her belly clenched. Her legs tensed. She didn’t understand. She’d had sex before. She’d had an orgasm before. 

So what was this feeling?

No you haven’t. That voice snarled in her head. I’ll make you forget you ever gave those bastards the time of day. You deserve this. Every time. Forever. Until the stars goes out. 

And then she was lost to delirium, legs shaking, pulse racing, toes curling. Rhys held her through it all, cradling her to his chest like the most precious thing in the world, whispering in her ear about how beautiful she was, how long he had waited for her, but most especially…

“You’re mine, my love. And I’m never letting you go.”

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Hi M! Can I request Prince Aemon the Dragonknight x Fem. Reader for the prompt: "The first snowfall"? Fluff and a slice of lime please, thank you!

Here you go!

Pairing: Aemon the Dragonknight x Fem. Reader (Established relationship | House Stark | Second person POV)

Themes: Soft | Smut (subtle)

Warnings: Mentions of canon Targaryen marriage: Baelor x Daena | Kissing | Penetrative sex | Cream pie

Wordcount: 1K words

Summary: Winter arrives in King’s Landing, and the first fall of snow is looked forward to.

A/n: I write with the seasons operating on the usual three months, and not years and years.

Rating: 🔥| Minors DNI | 18+ | You are responsible for the media you consume.

Dividerr by @estrelinha-s

When Aemon opened his eyes, it was to a bell ringing out eleven times. He shivered and slipped out of bed. The world outside was quiet, as if a strange hush had enveloped it. He threw back the shutters of his windows and peered into the night sky. It was but an hour before the hour of the bat, and thick, dark clouds dimmed the light of a full moon. 

The seas beyond the tower he called home were as still as a looking glass. There was a strange quality lingering in the air, an otherworldly hush that lay upon the world. The Maesters spoke of this, how it all foreshadowed a changing of the seasons.

Winter is coming, he thought to himself. And it brought a smile to his lips. Those were the words of your House, and now it appeared as if the first snowfall of the year would happen this very night, while the chief of King’s Landing slumbered peacefully. Aemon did not want you to miss it. He returned to bed and shook you gently awake.

“Aemon?” You rubbed the back of your hand over your eyes and drew the pelts to your chin. It was cold, and the fire had died down to smoldering embers. “Has something dreadful happened?”

“Nothing of the sort, my love.” Aemon walked to the hearth and settled onto his haunches. One by one, he threw in fresh logs and started a new fire. As the flames rose, the room grew warmer. It was enough to make you sigh in contentment. “But I believed you would like to see this.”

The pelt was still wrapped tightly around you when you left the bed and made your way to the window. The sea was calm, and uncommonly so. And while Aemon heard nothing, you, on the other hand, heard the low hum only one born to the North would recognize.

“Winter is coming,” you proclaim, then look up into the sky. There was nothing to be seen yet, save for the clouds faintly limned by the light of the moon. “Can we stay here a while? If there is going to be snow tonight, I wish to see it.”

“Of course.”

The first white puff fell just outside the window. Then another joined it, and another, and another, as if the Gods heard your wish, and agreed to answer it. The wind slowly rose, and the snow that came down after was thicker and bigger and fell faster. A bell rang—a different one this time. It was the bell in the Grand Maester’s tower.

“Autumn is finally at an end,” Aemon declared as the chimes echoed clearly around the Red Keep. “And it is getting colder. Come, wife,” he said and closed the shutters. “It is time we returned to our bed.”

The fire burned brighter now, and the bedchamber was warmer for it. Despite this and the late hour, neither of you cared for sleep. There was so much to look forward to, even in such weather. There would be plays and dances and a grand feast on the longest night of the year. Already, the Red Keep was festooned with flags and bunting of black and red, and wreaths of evergreen. Baelor had balked when he saw the latter, and declared them a symbol of false Gods. He demanded they be removed and consigned to the rubbish heap. His queen and council refused to yield, and ever since then, Baelor had ensconced himself in the Red Keep’s Sept, praying and fasting.

It is just as well Daena was delivered of a son, Aemon thought. Father will have less trouble bringing about a regency now.

A great many changes were afoot, and not just with the seasons. Aemon was grateful for it, and silently repeated a prayer of thanks. He pulled up the pelts, content to watch the fire with you.

“Is it true what they say?” Rumors of winter games and other contests abounded. The maids spoke of little else when they brought hot water for your bath. “That there will be a winter tourney?”

“One of Aegon’s notions,” Aemon confided, and he drew you into a loose embrace. “And just jousting in the outer bailey on the day of the feast. It would still be a good diversion, I think. Now enough talk of that, wife. Tell me if I kissed you today.”

“You have not, sir. I am quite wounded.”

“Tis a mistake I aim to correct. Come here.”

His kiss was a reflection of his mood—light and jubilant. Aemon shivered when you wound your arms around his shoulders and made yourself comfortable beneath him. He showered you with half-whispered endearments and with languid caresses that set every nerve of yours afire. The bedchamber began to feel uncommonly warm, and Aemon pushed the pelts to one side, claiming it was too hot with them, and they were in his way. Goosebumps prickled all over your skin, though not from the cold air. He reveled in your sharp, shallow breaths and grew drunk on your shameless pleas. Then he propped himself on his elbow and slipped his other arm under your back to hold you.

The two of you lost yourselves in each other’s flesh. Tenderness slowly gave way to passion that was deep and ardent and all consuming. You felt like you were drowning. Dizzy himself, Aemon willingly surrendered to the maelstrom of sensations that flowed through him in a rush. He drowned with you, grunting softly when he took you to the edge of the cliff and over it. Aemon then shuddered, and two of you lay still.

An icy chill flowed in from the outside, and the room grew cool again. Aemon moved onto his side, taking you with him when he did so. He stroked your back, your hair, then looked toward the windows.

“On the morrow, the city would be covered in a blanket of white,” he noted. “What do you say to a sleigh ride after we break our fast?”

The prospect alone was enough to fill you with giddy anticipation. “I would like that very much indeed,” you decided, then flushed when Aemon pressed a kiss against your nose.

[kiraavi]

Dies Irae - Chapter III

Note : Sorry for my absence but I've finally gotten around to finishing this chapter. Yay!

This one includes descriptions violence and bloodshed.

Next chapter I'm hoping to begin building more of a bond between Miguel and reader and basically just dive into character stuff

Summary : Your brother has been dead for a year now, victim of this cruel and exploitative world; silenced by those of a much greater standing than him, and you've known no greater agony than the bloodlust and thirst for revenge that has since consumed you.

You've got nothing to your name, only the clothes on your back and a valuable family heirloom. When you hear whispers of the Sanguine Blade, a infamous mercenary, frequenting a tavern in the capital, you decide to offer up all you have left for a stab at vengeance. You only have one condition, you join him on the job.

Word Count : 2652

Ao3 link :

New Crest is a far cry from the slums of Ftheos that you had spent years roaming. It looks like a different city. Stilted manors and mansions neatly line the winding streets that crawl up the hill the neighborhood rests on. From where you stand, wide eyed as Miguel continues to trudge up the incline, you can see the whole city sprawling out before you and the wide blue expanse of ocean that lies beyond it. Buildings stacked precariously upon each other; a mesh of ancient and modern Malanthian architecture clashing between the capital's different districts. The dazzling sight of the flickering lights from their windows dotting the structure's silhouettes. Down by the harbour dozens of boats are moored pierside for the night, creaking atop rippling waters, their billowing linen sails lowered and furled. So that's what an active harbour looks like. Completely unlike the abandoned wharf by the slums that clings desperately to the land, the wooden docks half sunken and rotten away with loose planks that dip an inch or two beneath the water when you step on them.

"Didn't come up all this way just to sightsee," Miguel calls out, drawing your attention. He stands a couple feet up the hill, appearing even taller than he already is. You cast one last look to the vista, your gaze sweeping over the city and back to the surrounding neighborhood, the perfectly trimmed topiary and vibrant rose bushes; the evenly cut limestone and marble unruptured by overgrown trees or tenacious vines. What it would be like to live in such a place... you can't even begin to imagine it.

"I know," you utter, your words barely audible as a breeze brushes past you, carrying in the salty scent of the sea. He lowers his head, drawing nearer with his hands resting on his hips.

"Your upbringing may not have been a pretty one, but you're better for it," he says after a moment, gesturing a gloved hand to your surroundings, "these people... they are not very grounded in reality."

"Aren't you going to be recognized?" You ask suddenly, not so subtly changing the subject. Your hands curl around the edges of your fraying, threadbare cloak. His gaze catches the movement and he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, reaching into his satchel and retrieving two small bottles. He hands one to you.

The liquid inside is black and a bit viscous, reflecting none of the light of the setting sun; the darkest of darks like pure abyss captured in a bottle.

"A transformation potion," he says as he uncorks the bottle with a hiss. Magic and potions are the sort of thing you have stayed away from. Few can afford to indulge in it and the majority of the population is born without any significant affinity for the arcane. Only enough to help with little things, to occasionally ease a day to day task like lighting a fire or making a heavy object a bit lighter. You know that you possess some amount of intramural magic; the kind that allows you to connect with the objects and people around you. If enough magic has gathered at a specific point or within an object you can see memories or information tied to it when you make contact. It's rarely useful and quite frightening at times, being thrust into, often unpleasant, memories and recollections, so you've never paid much attention to your powers, nor attempted to hone them.

Your dismay must be evident by the vague look of disgust across your face as you hold the bottle. Muttering something under his breath he reaches out, wrapping his hand over yours and uses his thumb to pop the cork of your bottle.

"Bebelo todo," he says, moving his hand to tap the bottom of the bottle. You raise the bottle to your nose and inhale, an action you instantly regret. The smell is putrid, like sour fish and spoiled fruit followed by a bitter undertone. You nearly gag on the thick stench that floats from the uncorked bottle.

"No fucking way," you scoff out a laugh, and shake your head, "Is this your way of trying to off me?" He almost smiles at that, the corner of his lip twitching as he crosses his arms over his chest.

"Poison's not really my style," he says, jutting his chin towards the sheathed sword attached at his hip, "If I wanted you dead I'd give you the honor of a death by my blade."

"Right... cause that's very comforting, thank you."

He says nothing in response, instead lifting the bottle in his hand to his lips and tipping it back, downing it one go. His reaction to the taste is far more subdued than you suspect yours will be, only a slight furrow of his brow. A few seconds pass as you stare at him expectantly before the potion begins doing its job.

His body begins to shift and morph. His stature shortens and his hair grows, his dark curls unfurling and darkening further. The lines, creases, and scars smooth over and the harsh ridges of his face soften a bit. Before long a completely different man stands in front of you, the sight and its implications are startling. The idea that anyone around you could possibly be using one of these transformation potions. Your eyes flick down to his attire which has shifted along with him, he’s now dressed in a clean and crisp suit.

“How… convenient,” you mutter, “how does that even work?”

“You’re asking the wrong person about the inner workings of magic and potion making, ñina.” His voice has completely changed, his faded Askaini accent swapped for that of a Malanthian nobleman. You exhale sharply and follow suit, bringing the bottle to your mouth and gulping it down as fast as you can. The liquid burns the back of your throat as it slides down, leaving your mouth tingling. You cough as the taste settles on your tongue, struggling to keep the potion from coming back up. The tingling begins spreading throughout your entire body and for a minute you think you’re going to pass out but then your body begins to shift. It’s a sensation unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. It feels completely wrong. You close your eyes, taking a deep breath before reopening them and examining yourself. You clench and unclench your hands and inspect your clothes. You’re dressed to the nines, no longer swamped in the same tattered rags you’ve worn for weeks.

“You okay?” Miguel asks, catching your gaze. Nodding, you swallow the lump in your throat.

“Let’s finish this.”

—-

Perhaps it was a step down the wayward path; maybe it was some sort of desperate, convoluted, last ditch effort to find purpose in life. A purpose that may very well lead to an early grave, but maybe that was the end goal. Bark curled away from the tree’s trunk and a layer of frost encased the words etched into its wood. Wind whistled through the naked branches overhead, and for a moment you felt at peace. For a single fleeting second you were able to close your eyes and not see devastation, but whatever you saw in that moment flared up and turned to ash. The crisp winter air filtered through your matted hair and a shiver crept down your spine. When your eyes opened your gaze fell upon your brother’s name scrawled on the tree. You felt your body crumple. The ground rushed up to meet your knees. Still, the sting of scraped skin didn’t compare to the soaring ache beneath your ribcage; the soul crushing, suffocating grief that tore through your very being, stealing your breath right from your lungs.

—

The party is certainly grand. Glossy marble floors and intricate glass chandeliers glitter under floating lights. It's vain display of magic. Noblemen and women draped in expensive fabrics and silks dance under ivory arches and pillars while a small orchestra plays sweet melodies into the night. Your arm is looped with Miguel's as you step into the room and become one with the crowd, your heart pounding wildly against your ribcage.

The last year of your life has been spent struggling and failing to keep anger and grief from swallowing you whole but the truth is, you're not the same person. It did swallow you, or at least a part of you. It's still eating at you, even as you continue you walk further into the ballroom. Like a parasite, it feeds and lives off of the goodness in you.

Halfway down the grand staircase is where he stands, a level above the rest of the guests. His piercing gaze sweeps the room and your blood runs cold when it seemingly pauses on you for a split second. Silken strands of golden hair cascade past his shoulders like rays of sunlight, and frame his sharp and angular facial features. His willowy frame is decorated with an excessive amount of riches and jewelry. Sotiro Cordero isn't a good man by any stretch of the imagination. You remind yourself of this over and over even as your mind conjures up wicked images of his death and all the pain you want to inflict on him. There's a flicker of anger that sparks into a roaring fire of rage that rolls off you in waves. Miguel must sense it because he leans down to whisper in your ear.

"Tranquila, niña."

His words do nothing to quell your emotions, even as he tugs you closer, as though he's afraid that you'll dart away the moment he unloops his arm with yours. Part of you believes that assumption to be correct. Your fingers twitch for the dagger hidden on your person. Miguel nixed the idea of you bringing a weapon but you refused to come unprepared.

Sotiro’s lips curl into a sinister smile, his golden eyes landing directly on Miguel. He shifts, one hand raising his chalice into the air in a silent toast.

"I must say," the man begins, lowering the chalice to his lips and taking a sip, "I didn't expect the Sanguine Blade to be in attendance."

Miguel stiffens at your side, his reaction must be obvious because Sotiro begins to laugh, his eyes crinkling as he throws his head back in a sick amusement. Everyone's attention is drawn to him and the crowd breaks out into whispers. Their eyes dart around in hopes of catching a glimpse of the famed mercenary. How does he know? You glance at Miguel, his disguise is still intact. Your gaze returns to Sotiro just in time to see his aureate eyes glint and gleam, his attention flicking between you and Miguel. Your body warms and your transformation potion fails.

Miguel grunts, struggling against whatever magic is forcing the potions effects to recede. You wince uncomfortably as your body's forced back into its original form. The guests around you gasp, stumbling back in horror at the sight. You look to Miguel for guidance only to be met with the sight of him doubled over on the ballroom floor, writhing in pain. Sotiro remains across the room, his glowing gaze locked onto the mercenary. Panic seizes any sense of reason. Grabbing the dagger from your boot, you push through the crowd, making a beeline for Sotiro.

You lunge at him, the curve of your dagger slicing through thin air as he dodges your attack. The spell is broken and you hear Miguel shout your name from somewhere behind you. People shout and scream. The ballroom erupts into pure chaos.

Sotiro grabs your arm in a bruising grip, twisting it in a way it shouldn't be able to bend. A yelp escapes you and the dagger chatters to the floor, sliding down the staircase and away from you.

"Since when does the Sanguine Blade work with amateurs?" His lips brush against your ear, his warm breath wafting past you, tinged with the stench of alcohol. You shudder, struggling in his hold, but his grip is unrelenting even as he focuses on the dagger, levitating it up and bringing it into his hand. Within the next moment the cool metal of the blade is pressed to your throat, threatening to slit the flesh there.

"Tell me, Sanguine," Sotiro starts, the dagger beginning to bear down on your neck, just enough to draw a sliver of blood, "who hired you to kill me?"

Miguel looks on with an indifference that frightens you. He stumbles to his feet, recovering from whatever spell Sotiro had cast on him moments ago. His eyes purposely avoid your pleading gaze as he dusts off his clothes with an air of nonchalance.

"My clients' information is confidential," he says, his piercing crimson eyes giving away nothing, but his hand hovers over the hilt of his blade. A figure emerges from the crowd, sword in hand as they spring forward. You watch the arc of their sword cut through the air, barely managing to choke out a sound of warning before it makes contact. You blink and there's the hiss of a blade followed by a viscous splatter. Suddenly, you're released from Sotiro's hold and sent tumbling down the marble staircase. Your hands meet the glossy floor, grappling against a puddle of something warm and wet. You cry out as you open your eyes. You're met with the sight of blood and viscera strewn across the ballroom floor. Screams echo through the wide open space.

You sit up, ripping your hands from the floor as though it had scorched your palms. Is Miguel alive? You whip your head around in search of the merc, and can't help the relief you feel when you see him standing in front of Sotiro, alive, blood dripping from his blade.

Miguel lifts his sword and brings it down but it halts against nothing, the metal shivering and threatening to snap as Sotiro stares down the end of the blade. More guards emerge from the crowd, making their way toward you. Miguel's gaze flits to you.

"Go, get out of here," he rasps, his body shaking as he struggles against the invisible force keeping his sword trapped mid swing, "Now!"

You’re about to protest when an axe comes down on you. You narrowly dodge the strike, rolling to the side and dragging your body through the blood and carnage that litters the floor. The steel scrapes against the floor as your attacker drags it back and lifts it again, preparing to take another swing at you. Your feet slide against the floor as you scramble to stand. The axe comes flying at you, grazing your shoulder. Your skin burns and your nerves flare up, but the adrenaline pumping through your veins keeps you moving.

You can hear your attacker snarl as they come at you with a series of wild slashes, aiming to tear you limb from limb. The crowd thins around you as you shove your way through throngs of panicked guests running and crying out in terror. A hand snags the hem of your cloak, tugging you backwards. You stumble back, turning to face your intruder moments before a blade pierces his throat, the tip of it just barely coming short of your chin. The man makes a horrible gurgling sound as he chokes on his own blood before falling to the floor in front of you, revealing Miguel who still stands on the staircase. His chest heaves and his arm is still outstretched from throwing his sword. The move saved you but has left him completely vulnerable, and yet his expression still begs you to run, even as Sotiro moves in to attack him.

You turn on your heel and run, merging yourself into the crowd as you pull the hood of your cloak over your head. He'll be fine. He has to be fine. He's the Sanguine Blade afterall.

[anoseforrottenapples]

[ ANGEL ] for Mary (with Thomas, ofc!)

“Come on Thomas,” Mary carefully wrapped a scarf around her son’s head and face, important protection against the brisk wind that had been blowing in off the sea all morning. The last of her preparations completed, likely to Thomas’s great relief, she allowed him to trot out the front door and into the snowy expanse of their farm. With White Hall now firmly in the hands of Richard’s cousins, they were gracious enough to help Mary regain possession of Abraham’s farm. Of course, the property needed a good deal of work, and she swore that she would never grow cabbages again. With the help of friends, and Richard’s cousins, she got the house back up before winter returned. That was a relief—she had no wish to live in the root cellar where Abraham had died for the long season. In the spring, she intended to plant apple trees and carrots, putting her faith in new crops that might fit this land better. In the meantime, she made a respectable living doing embroidery work for her neighbors, and baking. Sympathy earned a woman a good many favors in this world, and the fact she was actually good at her tasks earned her repeating business. Thomas was running around, laughing and throwing snowballs at a few ravens investing the landscape for anything interesting to eat. The black blots on the landscape took to the sky when Mary came closer, cawing scoldingly at the humans. “Come on Thomas—don’t torment the birds. It’s not nice.” She scolded lightly. “Here, let me show you something my siblings and I did when we were young.” Dropping down in the snow, she began moving her arms and legs in an arc, shoving snow aside with each pass. Thomas laughed and, not waiting for an explanation from his mother or to see what she was making, dropped down beside her. He quickly started mimicking her actions, even if his own flailing limbs were not nearly as assured as her movements.

Mary paused and propped herself up on her elbows when she heard a horse approach. Apprehension melted away when she recognized the visitor.  “Benjamin! This is a pleasant surprise!” She made no move to get up though, reluctant to ruin her angel more than she already had. “To what do we owe this visit?”