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RP-Meme: These Feelings

Send me ‘Feeling’ and I’ll generate a random number between 1-100 and write a starter in which my muse is feeling… (You can also send me ‘Feeling ⇆’, and my muse will find yours feeling…)

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❝ I want peace between our families… ❞

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Awkwardly, as her body was pressed so tightly against his, she took his face in her hands, angling it downward so she could get a better look at him. So any point she’d make would be clearly understood. So he could see the pain and heartache in her eyes and know she wasserious.

She could not properly express the truth of it — or, she was too frightened by the truth to say it out loud to another person who could judge her for it. The truth that a life without her husband was not worth living. That the suffering she felt was too fucking much, and she could not think of any other way to escape it but the cool point of a blade.

What of your children? Your family? Thoughts begging her to be selfless, to consider the others in her life and not her own sadness. These thoughts only furthered her torment. Made the guilt heavier, the tears come easier.

The truth of her being a terrible, wretched, ugly person.

Looking into the grey eyes of the man that held her ( blue — she missed the blue, like oceans and the morning sky ), she saw a pathetic, WEAK woman staring back. No matter how many times Torrhen spoke of her strength and bravery, a part of Greta knew it to all be false.

“If you won’t do it I will.” She hiccuped suddenly, causing more tears to spill down her cheeks and out of her nose. Body became racked with sobs, a shuddering, shaking mess of bones. Too frail to fight back --- he’d no doubt overpower her if she tried anything. Hand slipped from his cheek to ball into a fist, pounding against his chest in a weak display of force. “It’s not fair. I LOVED him. I LOVED him and it wasn’t ENOUGH.”

“So just give me the knife, Harys. Please.”

As she huddled closer, the man tightened his embrace, listening to her breaths & sobs & feeling the heartbeat of the body so close to him. All those little signs pointed towards her being there, being where he’d be able to protect, to try & help, & that gave him HOPE, something he always clung to to stay sane & something that did help. That must’ve been why such moments, chances to just hold someone he cared about were treasured by Harys over anything else. They meant it still wasn’t over, they meant he could still make a change.

At first, her words didn’t quite form into a legible message in his head, as he busied himself with the slow, light stroking movements, attempts to give comfort; then, out of sudden, her last phrase rang in his head, making him stiffen for a second, blood running cold. 

Hell fucking yes, he understood. Grey eyes snapped open with shock — thankfully, unbeknown to Greta, as he was looking behind her, although feeling the other’s eyes on himself. Harys forced himself to go on petting her upper back, not to give out the feelings this revelation caused him — he didn’t want her to feel like she had scared him ( even if, in reality, she did ).

Things she’s been going through must’ve been worse than expected — just how out of the loop was he regarding Greta lately? THIS, even if just a momentary weakness, was not something to brush off. No other thing in the world was less associated with this cheerful woman for him than such a request, but looks, apparently, lied. Teeth gritted, he took a second to process this whole thing once more, to think of how to act & what to say.

“I understand.” At last, he looked down to meet her eyes, one hand still cupping the back of her head & the other pressed between shoulder blades. Did Greta herself understand what she was asking of him? Whom she was asking to do this? Apparently not, as she didn’t seem realize just how impossible it was for him on so many levels — as her, so he liked to believe, friend; and like that wasn’t bloody enough, as someone who’d loose his head the moment he as much as attempted to do this to lady Whitehilll. “And I appreciate you trusting me.” It took all of his willpower to look at her calmly, to speak as if they were discussing some ordinary thing. “But this isn’t something you can just go & do, right?” His head tilted to the side a bit, studying lady’s expression. Harys didn’t let it show, but this whole thing made his insides churn with sickening worry. He’d need to stay near her, at least for now, there was no telling what she could do to herself if left alone ( ACTUALLY, she made it quite clear WHAT she wanted done to her ).

“I know you feel that way now, but you have to think about this.” His thumb moved rhythmically, stroking soft locks of hair. “Do you need someone to talk to? Some help?” Speaking about this was like trying to avoid a trap hidden in the grass — constant tension & twinges of fear, fear of making a mistake. “If you trust me, talk to me. We can figure this out. You’re going to change your mind, you’ll see.”

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Greta covered her mouth, trying and failing to stifle her giggles at Meghan’s reaction. Mentioning Namond was a sure way to fluster her. She’d met him a few times, and each time Greta could not ignore how he behaved around her friend.

Meghan, however, was quick to change the subject to Rodrik and Elaena — perhaps to avoid more of Greta’s teasing. She made a show of rolling her eyes. “Of course he’d go for her. She’s gorgeous, isn’t she? Rodrik must have a type.”

She put her hands on her hips. “But don’t try to avoid the matter at hand, Lady Brownbarrow. Don’t you notice how Namond’s always showing off? Having us watch him practice his archery, and telling us all about that fight he won against some silly Warrick squire?” Greta fluttered her eyelashes. “He wants to impress you.”

“Still better than anything I do.” Meghan muttered under her breath, as Greta attempted to shy away from the praise. She might have seen the faults in her work, but in comparison to Meghan’s frayed attempts, it was near perfection.

Cheeks flushed with colour at her next words, and she ended up burying her face in her hands, to suppress a groan. “You’re as bad as mother!” she scolded, though her voice betrayed her. Lifting her head from her hands, she started shaking her head.

“And Rodrik would never propose marriage to me.” She was swift to add. “He only has eyes for Elaena.”

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A grave nod as she considered the other’s words. She felt a bit shameful asking such things — some men did not like to revel in their war stories. Some men did not like to share anything from their past. Her father came to mind — a stoic, stone-faced man — and even her own husband who’s childhood she knew next to nothing about. Asking Harys’ friend to divulge information about his past seemed wrong, in a way.

“Well.” She clapped her hands together, her gaze bright and directed right at Owyn. “I’m so happy he had someone like you to keep him company during those times.”

In the kitchen, Wyl was preparing tonight’s dinner. A large man — he’d sired four daughters who could often be found wandering around Highpoint attending to their appointed duties. Even now she spotted one of the younger daughters, Pepper, attempting to peel potatoes in the corner.

“Smells good, doesn’t it?” Greta gently nudged Owyn in the side with a smile. “Is there anything you’d like? Name it and Wyl’ll whip it right up for you. My treat.”

With all his distate for highborns, Owyn could never dream of phrasing it any better than she did to prove his point of view. Wonderful, wasn’t it? ‘The better the story you tell me is — the finer will be the leftovers I’m going to let you have’, all in her chirping little voice. He was somewhat of a funny animal to her, one good for doing tricks & making her feel generous. I’ll let you choose whatever you like to eat, and if he’d lick her boots, would she also allow him to overnight in their keep’s stables?..

“Howd’ya know that, milady?” He chuckled, smirking as if nothing of what she said had affected him in the slightest. Owyn had learned to hide his true thoughts long ago — one could never tell he was displeased if he did not wish for it to be known. “Hary’d always been as tall as a bloody oak! Still grew even biggar since when we’d roamed ��gether. Gods know how he manages ‘hat.”

Her next question made him silent for a brief moment, considering what he could say. Sure, Harys could be to blame for Greta pestering him with questions, but that didn’t mean he’d retaliate by revealing things he most likely didn’t want her to know… Yet. “These adventures might not please lady’s ear.” He operated carefully with his words. “T’was war — a dark times for many.” Not so much for Owyn himself, for Harys though? Even he could tell, for their mutual friend it was so. 

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She should not have mentioned Torrhen — Greta inwardly cursed her stupidity as she saw the flicker of hot white anger in Gryff’s eye. It’d be like someone talking to you about Sig, she scolded herself. Not the best subject of conversation, fool girl.

But at least her mention of Roslin had seemed to calm him. He spoke of meeting her once or twice, but from how Roslin prattled about her uncle, the two got on remarkably well. Once, the girl had shown her every gift Gryff had given to her — a few pretty dresses from Lannisport ( in blue, of course, her favored color ), a hoop to play with, a few wooden blocks, flowers from the garden pressed between the pages of a journal, a small, silver necklace.

She wouldn’t question the inconsistency. Similar to Roslin’s relationship with her grandfather, it was likely allowed, but not welcomed. And Torrhen’s hatred of his brother ran much deeper.

“I’ll admit, Roslin is one of the reasons I’ve come to be here at all.” Torrhen’s affections had surprised her, and it took her a while to believe them, but Roslin had always loved her — even at their first meeting. It came with being a motherless girl, she supposed. “I try to spend as much time with her as possible. Being in a place without any other children must be difficult.”

Fingers gently glided over the bump of her stomach. “She’ll have a brother or sister to play with soon, though. She’s so excited about it, you know. Already has a list of names all written out.”

She attempted another smile. “I’m happy to hear any of your suggestions, Lord Gryff.”

Gryff watched her settle down, something about the lady seeming kind of off to him, although he couldn’t put his finger on what exactly. When young woman’s hands found their way on her middle, the feeling only intensified. There was certainly a small bump there — he couldn’t quite understand why it even attracted his attention or served to make him feel more uncomfortable. Something like a guess nagged in the back of his head, but he kept it there, with little to no wish to think about that right now. 

The way she spoke of Highpoint didn’t sound that affectionate. To that Gryff couldn’t relate — despite all the terrible memories, despite all that’s happened, this was his home; something they’d never be able to take from him. 

( Would you still feel that way if Torrhen was the only thing to tie you to this place? )

For all he knew, Greta could not be that thrilled about being here. It was so much like his brother, to just take whatever the hell he pleased & claim it as his plaything, even if it was a person. The thought made him observe the little woman a tad closely & less coldly. 

Her next words, however, nearly made him growl, & for sure, she’d see the flash of anger in his eye, although he still felt too weak to act upon it. Not now, not when he was that much of a wreck, with no strenght to fight back against him. Fist clenched against his will & Gryff barely contained the wish to slam it against the headboard of the bed he sat on. Swiftly, he looked to the side, taking his eyes off the thread she was busily pestering. Repetitive hectic movements made him sick, adding point to the irritation he barely controlled at this point. He’d never truly escape him, this would never truly end; the sickening, overwhelming thoughts rampaged in his head. 

But then she added something else.

Gryff’s gloomy gaze stopped shifting & went back to her, not exactly angry, but, in a way, distrustful, as if he suspected her of saying that on purpose, for him to let his guard down. Even if Greta did though, it was working. As if by magic, the mention of his niece served to calm the fourthborn, partially soothing the rage the mention of his brother caused.

“… She is.” He agreed in a softer, even if not excessively friendly voice. For a moment, he forgot about the need to stay secretive & innerly cursed himself for that. “I mean, so I’ve been told.” He added quickly. “I, hm, I don’t see her much… I’ve only really met her once or twice.” No matter what, he could hardly trust Torrhen’s wife with this secret — risks of him finding out were too high. “So you’re saying, you two get along?” Gryff tried to make the question sound nonchalant, but the truth was, he wanted to know this, wanted to know if this woman could be trusted with being a stepmother for Roslin — the kind of stepmother she deserved. 

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So many odd things about this man, yet she could not decide which one to focus on first. His eyes, of course, captured her attention, but also the sound of his voice, the language he spoke. She had many questions — knew it’d be rude to ask them all at once.

Instead she worked on taking the cheese out of her basket, unwrapping the stiff brown paper and twine that held it. Next came the paring knife with which she used to cut the cheese into small pieces.

“Greta,” she told him, holding out a bit of the cheese for one of the dogs to take. “It’s good to meet someone so kind.” She paused a moment before asking. “Forgive me, but are you from the North?”

           When she settled, patting the dog on the head and earning a few pleased thumps of his tail, the hound set his wide head on her lap; a loud snuffling sound audible as he sniffed at the basket his nose was now firmly pressed against.

          He chuckled, amusement written clearly across his boyish features, at his hound’s quickly mounting eagerness at the prospect of a treat. The other was not better, his gold form slowly inching it’s way across the floor of leaves. 

          “I am quite content, but it would seem my furry friends are more than happy to take advantage of your generosity.” He set aside his whittling knife, before giving a short command in his native language; a low tone, stern but gentle, that sounded more like the first few chords of a song than orders. The hounds straightened themselves out, no longer attempting to beg from the young woman.           “I am Raleigh, by the way, my lady. May I ask your name, if it is not too bold?” Despite his appearance, clearly a man who had been on the road for long enough to become weather worn, he spoke proper; his accent growing heavier the longer he spoke.

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Was it really? She’d been told so many times ( it’s not your fault, there was nothing you could’ve done ), but each word rang false, each syllable a stab in heart, lungs, gut. Good, warm memories were now replaced with scenarios she’d never be able to play out. All the steps sheshould’ve taken, all the ways she could’ve prevented this. In a way — it was her fault. Her fault for being his WEAKNESS. Her fault for being what he so desperately needed to PROTECT.

She hated Torrhen for doing this to her. Felt guilty about hating him. Let the guilt eat away at her until she was a crumpled, weeping mess who could not leave her bedchamber for anything. Greta had not seen her children in days. Harys — the first person she had touched in what felt like years.

His movements — pulling the furs around her shoulder, stroking her hair — they felt familiar. Comforting. She pressed closer against him, burying herself in the warmth of another human being. How pitiful of her to grow so addicted to something like this — the embrace of another. Now that she was without it, Greta felt she could no longer go on.

“I can’t … I can’t do this anymore.” The thoughts that swirled around her head were finally being thrust into the open. “I want to end it.” 

Watery green eyes looked up at the other, almost pleading. “I trust you, Harys. You know I trust you. And I trust you to do this favor for me.”

Voice became increasingly higher, thick with sobs, but she could not pull away from him. She feared what might happen if she did.

“In the desk drawer — there’s a knife. Y–you just have to find it a-and… do you understand what I’m asking from you?”

He had been there so many times before. 

It was difficult not to recognize a person tormented by a night terror after having experienced them for years now. Through her shaking, chocked giggling & tightly shut eyes Harys could make out a reflection of himself. They affected him in a different way, most times, but that could not fool him, make him confuse them with anything else. 

He still wasn’t decided on what was worse — waking up to deal with the aftermath on your own, or being exposed to the wrong person in such a state. He’d get lucky sometimes, if Gryff was there, & although it terrified the younger man just as much, he was still able to help. More often, it’d happen vice versa, & that’s where the giant of a man got most of his experience from ( although having experienced it first hand played a part as well ). 

His strong arms were wrapped around the other’s miniature trembling frame, slowly pressing her closer, firmly but carefully steadying her & trying to make the viscious shaking subside. He used one hand to rub circles on Greta’s upper back, smooth & rhytmic, as if trying to replace the hectic shaky movements with something soothing, solid. There was a wet spot forming on his shirt where her tears were spilled, & that feeling instantly made him move even closer, lowering his head so that Greta’s blond locks touched the rough facial hair on the side of his face.

“That’s right.” His usual hoarse, steely voice could not seem best-fitting for calming down & comforting, but he had had to lower it & change intonations to something soft & warm so many times it was no longer a challenge. “It was just a bad dream.” The man spoke quietly, but not exactly whispering, right into her ear, as his hand kept on petting the woman’s back. “Everything’s fine now.” Short, simple & legible phrases with brief pauses between them were the best, as they’d be easier for her to perceive right now. “I’m here.”

Continuing to steady Greta with one hand, he quickly moved the other to grab the edge of the blanket & pull it closer, wrapping it around her shoulders. What could be the demons that haunted her in the night? Memories, images & sounds of what? One could think a cheerful young lady would be less likely to have such horrors in her past — the truth was, those who could not protect themselves often have had been through even more than men, that fought their wars with swords & spears, with death accompanying them to the battlefield, always close, always real.

( If someone caught them like this, it was going to be a damn mess — rumors about lady Whitehill & the guard of her brother-in-law sequestering in her bedchambers at night would certainly be fun to deal with. )

“Don’t apologize.” Those thoughts hardly bothered Harys at the moment. Cradling Greta in his arms, he brought one up to stroke her hair, those motions falling into a quiet rhytmic pattern. “You have nothing to apologize for. Nothing of this is your fault.”

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♬

Symbol Meme - Affectionate/Nice Edition | @serpentii​singing to them

If she closed her eyes, shifted her body just right, it felt like being young again. Not a child, but a girl on the cusp of adolescence. A girl who dreamed of summer, of running through meadows barefoot, cartwheeling through the long grass, and never stopping to think of the bleak, grey world left behind.

If she closed her eyes and listened, it felt like being born again.

A soft, satiny song that caressed her like a kiss. Not quite listening to the words, or taking them in. They didn’t matter to her — the voice held more importance. The cadence and lilt of it. How it sounded like honey and the scratch of brambles on your skin all at once.

She smiled lazily, eyelids fluttering, chest rising and falling as slow as lapping tides. Few things left in her life were beautiful, and she counted this as one of them.

“Pretty,” she murmured, head tilting to one side. Blonde hair, loose and tangled, fell in her face, tickling her nose. “Where did you learn that one?” 

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@ofautumnleaves​

She had been talking about Bodkin for several minutes on end now, sat cross-legged on her bed with the cat in question in her lap while her friend was in the bedside hair.

Kyra wasn’t the best with reading expressions, but Winnie seemed to be extremely disinterested. Then again, they had not seen each other in a few months and Kyra had a tendency to forget faces, so there was also the possibility that was just how Winnie’s face was.

“I-I won’t b-bother you with Bodkin any m-more,” she stammered, hiding her face in embarrassment. “I’ll t-talk to Lyanna about it when I see her a-again.”

Winnie didn’t know about Lyanna yet.

Kyra had to change the subject. She didn’t want Winnie to get mad that she had another friend.

“S-so how… are… things… back home? A-are the sheep all right?”

Winnie flinched, as if she’d been struck.

She hadn’t been bothered — she was merely listening, waiting for Kyra to finish what she wanted to say. Certainly, if Winnie had been born with a stutter she’d hate anyone who interrupted her when she tried speaking. And besides — she liked listening to Kyra. The sound of the other’s voice relaxed her, the tone softer and more gentle than Roslin’s which often grated on her nerves.

Kyra mentioning another’s name upset her more. The thought that she’d rather be around someone else, talk to them about Bodkin — this girl who Kyra thought of as a better companion.

Head tilted downward in an effort to hide her expression. The look of hurt in her eyes.

“They’re alright,” came her mumbled response. “My sister treats them like her babies. Talks to them in this annoying voice. She can’t be normal about anything.”

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She giggled as Edie’s arms wrapped around her  — a slightly nervous, tittering noise at being so near another person. Still not completely used to closeness and the meaning of it. Her touch, however, did not bring with it anxiety, but a spark of excitement, warm and lovely and blooming in her abdomen. Greta stroked the other woman’s hair as she’d done for her only moments before — did not think twice about whether or not her actions were appropriate, or welcomed. A part of her knew it was what she should do. The part that resented the ones Edie said would DISAGREE with her about what she deserved. 

“Hm…” Greta made a show of thinking deeply, her smile almost girlish — playfulness reflected in her eyes. “I’m picturing a small little cottage on the coast. With a window you can see the whole ocean from. I can just see you now — with the wind blowing in your hair. The air smelling of salt and rain.”

Smile faltered then, as the words slipped off her tongue, the dreaminess now replaced with something more wistful. “Perhaps you could share it with someone you cared about — have some children, if that’s what you wanted. It’d be a quiet, happy life without any sadness.”

         these moments so full of innocence and love were a rarity. the ever-changing darkness found times were it came and sat draped around her like a heavy shawl, permeated her bones and dragged the worst of thoughts from her. oft it was true that it made her MASK and was the force behind her lies, the acting. yet it held its own curiosity; oh, the things it couldn’t understand – ( she wouldn’t look at me the same ). genuine, her mouth curved and eyes closed, sedated by the peaceful aura. ❛ some would disagree with you, ❜ 

          deserve it ? perhaps. but there was many things that negated such notions. happiness was only a pleasant escape in the end. ❛ but because it’s you, i believe it. ❜ she was caught up in too many plots, she couldn’t afford to be completely so at ease. ( it’s hard to imagine, but one day, you’ll end up like me ). she was no different from her grandmother: alaysha degore. and this thought, it caused her to flinch slightly, as if someone had poured icy water down her back. her arms curled around greta’s waist, pulled her closer as best as she could. physical intimacy, outside of carnality, she often felt deprived of it. ❛ and what exactly do you mean by ‘ good things ‘, hm ? ❜

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@morethanjustwords​

bro im glad you liked my trash u_u  i do indeed love all that heartbreaking sad stuff even though i feel bad making greta cry

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❤ - Hugging them (sorry not sorry) (i've waited for them to hug for too damn long)

Symbol Meme - Affectionate/Nice Edition | @morethanjustwords​

Greta laughed, surprised, as she felt herself gathered into the arms of the taller man. Her giggling continued as she pressed her face against Harys’ tunic --- so startled at the sudden show of affection she could barely say anything coherent. Tears still clung to her eyelashes, leftover from the crying jag she’d gone on only a moment before. Loud, messy sobs that Harys had no doubt heard. 

She’d had it again --- the same nightmare that had haunted her for weeks. The one filled with blood and screaming and her body being ripped in two. A nightmare so real she could feel the loneliness and grief clawing at her insides until she was left ragged like a worn doll. A nightmare that you’re supposed to wake up from --- relieved that it was only just that. 

“Sorry!”  

Voice came out manic, high-pitched. Still giggling. She pressed her face against Harys’ barrel chest, hoping he wouldn’t mind having his clothes stained wet with another woman’s tears. His arms wrapped around the narrow, shaking form of her body, but she kept her own pinned tightly against her, as if she could make herself smaller if she just tried. 

“Dream...” Eyes closed, and if she peered through the darkness, she could make a shape out. Something just out of reach. “It was just a bad dream. I woke up and... no one was there.” 

For a moment fear had struck her --- first an unbearable, choking heat, and then a chill that settled deep in her chest, piercing her lungs. Waking up with no one beside her --- it brought feelings of helplessness back in waves. Loss. She’d experienced it countless times before, but never like this. NEVER. 

“I’m sorry...” Giggling died down to something soft and broken. A hand reached up, fingers curling into the fabric of the man’s shirt. If she kept her eyes shut like this, she could pretend. Pretend that he’d never been taken from her. 

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The Last Five Years

“The Next Ten Minutes”

sorry I just started listening to this again

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i know i just came back and started writing again, but i wanted to let everyone know that nanowrimo is coming up next month so i will focusing on writing that and might not be fast with replies. i apologize!! but i didn’t do nano last year and i want to participate in this one as i have the free time. 

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morethanjustwords replied to your post:when you know you’re a SHIT writer but you keep...

You’re a great writer, one of the best in this fandom, & I enjoy your writing & our threads so, so much.

;-;

thank you for being kind even though i’m being a whiny baby again

i also love our threads and i think that;s because you’re a very good writing partner (i’m also obsessed with your writing so it motivates me)