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#Rebellion runs on thoughts and prayers

mayawakening · 1 month

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I love that it shows in-canon that Kallus gets to co-pilot the Ghost with Hera a couple times. He even argues about whether he or Rex should pilot as though he was excited to do so.

But the first few times he was in the ship post-Atollon must have been....an experience.

He's so used to seeing the Ghost from the other side, through the viewport of a star destroyer and through the front of the tiny ship as it swooshes by.

He's studied the layout and engineering manual of this one ship that has caused him so many headaches so often that he should be able to rebuild it from memory.

But there were always things that didnt make sense like, why does it make that sound, why does it seem to jolt slightly when it turns to starboard, and what is that thing he keeps seeing in the cockpit viewport?

And then, oh and then..

He finally gets to inspect the ship from the inside, without threat of being knocked out by a suspiciously quiet lasat. (Hi Zeb)

And wishes he hadn't.

He realizes, to his growing horror, that the ship jolts because half the parts are second, third, even fourth hand, made for models of ships that no longer exist and welded in at odd angles.

The odd THING he always saw through the transparisteel was a chunk of a plastoid armor piece wedged into the stolen acceleration control in order to keep it from falling right out of the console.

And the sound, he sees upon opening an access panel, is one of the engines held in place by a well-packed layer of MILK CARTONS.

-----

Hera: You okay Kal? You've been really quiet.

Kallus: *sheet white and holding co-pilot steering in a death grip*

#Rebellion runs on thoughts and prayers #alexsandr kallus #star wars rebels #star wars #kallus #star wars kallus #rebel kallus #kallus my beloved #The Ghost #sw rebels #swr

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oh-snapperss · 4 months

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creature comfort

“We won’t win today,” Cleo says, and Etho knows she’s right. Knows their time has been running out since the first secret was whispered to them in voices all too familiar, has known that this day was coming, has known that all this time, it’s not been a question of if–it’s been a question of when.

They’re going to die today. Distantly, Etho wonders if the domesticity they’ve worked for will die with them, or if it will follow them back home.

Will his home ever be a physical place again? Home is where the hearth is, where the warmth is, where the world is shut out and it’s just the three of them.

Home is where Cleo is.

“That’s alright,” Etho smiles instead of voicing all of that, wishing, of all things, that he didn’t still have that awful cough that Cleo had insisted he rest over for a few days. “We’ll be alright.”

They’ll be dead–and what are the dead, if not alright? The dead don’t have coughs, or pain, or fear. They’re just dead. Etho thinks he might not mind it so much, this time. He’s finally learned to spend his time wisely, and he’s built a home no flaming arrow could ever take down.

Just by the cow pen, there’s a stupid little porch Etho had built a while back. They’re nowhere near it now, but every night he and Cleo had watched the sunset, drank a final cup of tea, and turned in to sleep over gossip and giggles only they could draw from each other this time ‘round. Before, Bdubs had made him laugh like that–now, Etho wonders how long before there’s a sword at his throat.

Even so, while Cleo laughs and watches him set Scar’s porch on fire, Etho hopes he might have the privilege of watching the sunset from the porch one last time. He’d survive the day, if only for another sunset with Cleo.

BANG.

Tango’s gone–Etho knows it in his heart. Surely he should feel an ache for him, should ask how he went. Instead, it’s easy to accept it.

The wardens are fun. That’s all they are, now. Before, they had been terrors, then the answer to a desperate prayer he and Grian had made. The carnage of those terrifying beasts feel muted compared to before, but with the wind flying through his hair, the elated cries of Cleo in front of him, Etho can’t care. Not this time. They lead two clear to the middle of the server before they’ve decided to finish having their fun, and Cleo’s just stepping up some rocks when she says it.

“You’re my favorite, you know that? You’ve always been my favorite.”

He does know, he does know now. He’d guessed it that first sunset, when Cleo sat down with a giddy smile to recount their day. He’d thought it, when she’d wrapped a blanket around his shoulders after his failures and rested her head on his shoulder without a word. He’d lived it, when she had shouted that she would kill him if he tried to kill her–but was reassured otherwise that night on the porch again, with the curse ebbing from his bones.

Today, he knows it in the blatant rebellion against what’s supposed to be the end, the dread, the fear.

“You’re mine too.” Etho grins back, and knows that they’ll see his smile even through the mask–knows they’ve come to recognize it in his tone and way his eyebrows scrunch together. .

They wind up in the sky base with Grian–Grian, who hasn’t quite reached the same conclusion they have. Etho knows by the shadows under his eyes he won’t give up, that he’ll fight clear to the end. Once upon a season, Etho had been the same.

Not this time. Never this time.

Around ten minutes to sunset, Etho and Cleo set down their dripstone and bows, and sit on the edge of the cobblestone wall.

“I don’t think we’re gonna make it back to our base for it this time,” Etho jokes, nudging his shoulder into Cleo’s. Cleo laughs, a carefree thing, and wrinkles her nose.

“I don’t think we’re gonna make it back for it any time, if we’re being honest.” She leans back, one hand half behind her to support her weight.

“I know,” Etho says. He brings his leg up to his chest, wrapping his arms around it. Behind them, cobblestone is placed–Grian, ever the survivor. “It was nice, though.”

“It was nice!” Cleo beams. “Are you alright with this?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Etho hums. “‘s not so bad. Dying with a friend.”

“It won’t be,” Cleo agrees.

Because that’s just it, isn’t it? Etho’s never died like this–he’s died at the flames of an arrow shot while protecting his king, he’s died in fights after his allies were killed. Hell, he’s died hand in hand with a soulmate hellbent on killing him now–but he’d been in a frenzy then, a rage-induced thing meant to burn up the place that had never been a true home to them.

He thinks he won’t mind dying with someone.

The sun sets in brilliant hues of orange and pink, and they sit together, this final tradition not lost in the face of inevitability. Just as the first star twinkles, Grian comes over, hoisting them back to their feet.

“They’re coming,” he says.

It’s time.

They shoot a few arrows, break some dripstone, all to no avail–but that’s alright, he’s got Cleo, and they’ve got him.

But oh, the games are never kind, are they? Etho slips, his foot landing weird somehow–and he’s whistling through the air towards the ground at a speed too fast. It knocks the breath from his lungs when he lands–does he hit the clutch? Stars, he doesn’t actually know, because there’s arrows shot at him, shouts of glee from the hunters, and suddenly Etho’s not Etho, he’s just prey–and prey only know to do one thing.

Run.

Etho flies forward, dragging his sword out. There’s not many safe spaces left on the server–stars, Grian had even mentioned their base was but a crater in the hill.

But the porch… the porch was intact. Supposedly.

He enderpearls, and enderpearls again, and it’s still not enough. The screams behind him are closer, and closer, and then further–and oh, Etho knows it’s time. He’s dead, he’s gone, he’ll be but a wisp of the wind in a few minutes whether he likes it or not.

And he won’t die by Cleo.

Cleo, Cleo, Cleo. Oh, he’d not meant it to be like this. He’d meant to die with a smile, right by her side–just as they were meant to die by his. This wasn’t the plan, this wasn’t the plan. A sob claws its way up his throat, the beginnings of the blind panic he’d never meant to feel tonight. He’s going to die, alone, without the comfort of his Cleo.

Home. He wants to go home.

Home is in the air, a hundred blocks above him. He’ll never make it–but he can make it back to the porch, the one place of peace. Now, he can feel the twinge of something broken in his ankles, probably from the fall–and the cuts, the bruises, the blood scent thick in his nose. He’s so tired.

He wants to die at home, he wants to die at home.

“Oh, he sounds like a wounded animal… let’s put him out of his misery.” A voice said. Cold fear grips Etho’s heart, and he stumbles forward–the porch is in sight!

Let him die at home. Let him die at home.

A shadow fills his vision, and Etho’s not even had time to lift his shield before blinding pain fills his stomach, and it’s over.

He’s not allowed that creature comfort of dying at home.

#secret life #secret life smp #ethoslab #zombiecleo #cletho #secret life spoilers #my fics #tw death #I don't have an explanation at all for this #Is this cohesive?? i wrote it in a daze. in under thirty minutes #if it's not great OH WELL #this is how i am coping #god i'm never gonna feel okay again about them #never ever #i'm fucking insane #bursts into tears

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munchmemes · 3 months

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HARI KONDABOLU: WARN YOUR RELATIVES

because i was a fool and deleted the original post + updated a bit

❛ how is 800 not significant? ❜ ❛ you have to weave through a capitalist obstacle course. ❜ ❛ hey, [NAME], why did you miss your flight? ❜ ❛ i just bought a 40 pound Toblerone for no reason. ❜ ❛ hey, you look nervous. why do you look so nervous? ❜ ❛ how do little bottles keep us safer? ❜ ❛ what i think is happening is that the government is in cahoots with the little bottle people. ❜ ❛ then you walk through another machine that swipes right to left like this and steals your thoughts. ❜ ❛ it’s a little suspicious. it’s a little SUSPICIOUS! ❜ ❛ yes, pay respect to your silent masters. ❜ ❛ what does that tell you!? what does that tell you!? ❜ ❛ that tells me you're on the internet too much. ❜ ❛ this is a depression beard. i’m depressed right now. ❜ ❛ i'm depressed right now. i am just a threat to myself. you have nothing to worry about. ❜ ❛ but if you’re there, then who’s - ❜ ❛ if you're the expert on being harassed, it's time you do the harassing, right? ❜ ❛ who brought the asshole with the microphone? ❜ ❛ why [is he] yelling so much? ❜ ❛ it was a delightful diminishment of my life's work. ❜ ❛ you need to keep it simple. elementary, my dear watson. elementary. ❜ ❛ look at you! look at what you look like! ❜ ❛ i look like a Muppet getting a PhD. ❜ ❛ i'm talking really loudly 'cause i want everyone to hear. ❜ ❛ Kid Rock, right? ❜ ❛ and also: WHAT THE FUCK? ❜ ❛ Kid Rock? you confused me with Kid Rock? ❜ ❛ maybe [they] saw the K and the I and ignored all the other letters. which is weird because that's not how reading works. ❜ ❛ that's the saddest shit in the world! ❜ ❛ but [they] felt bad. and i felt better so it was a win-win situation. ❜ ❛ well, you could’ve fooled me. ❜ ❛ i clearly fooled you! you were fooled! ❜ ❛ i don’t know what the fuck that means! ❜ ❛ i don’t know why you do this to us! ❜ ❛ well, now i know how to end the show, great. ❜ ❛ fucking snowflake. ❜ ❛ you don’t know me! i was an athlete! yes, chess is a sport! ❜ ❛ i’ve never heard of that technology. ❜ ❛ why are you blatantly lying to us? ❜ ❛ i figured it out. what they are doing is using the philosophy which is held within the song "it wasn't me" by Shaggy. ❜ ❛ things are so bad. they’re just really fucking awful. ❜ ❛ everything feels like the end of a Kurt Vonnegut novel. ❜ ❛ it's not good. it's just better than nothing, right? ❜ ❛ health insurance might as well be run by casinos at this point. ❜ ❛ it goes through the system, gets negotiated back and forth and you end up with far less than you want. ❜ ❛ what do we have now? like, echinacea, prayer and a hug. and [they're} trying to take the hug away. ❜ ❛ no, i don't know what those words mean. but i saw Rocky IV. ❜ ❛ my proposal wasn't about a redistribution of wealth. my healthcare proposal was about a redistribution of organs. ❜ ❛ after rich people die - i mean, after we kill them - ❜ ❛ we kill these rich people and we take the organs from them. ❜ ❛ and we'd feast. we’d eat a little meal i call justice. ❜ ❛ now, you might be thinking 'well, [NAME], that sounds so unreasonable.' yes! it is! ❜

❛ i can’t believe [they] won though. i mean, seriously?! ❜ ❛ i don't wanna put my values on you but i was always told not to do that. honestly, i wasn't even told. i just kind of knew. ❜ ❛ i love my mom, man. my mom is my favourite person. ❜ ❛ my mom is the reason why i’m funny. ❜ ❛ my dad is the reason i have anxiety. ❜ ❛ half of your genes were an obstacle to overcome. ❜ ❛ don’t have children. only stupid people have children. ❜ ❛ my mom was Grindr before there was Grindr. ❜ ❛ ultimately, that’s what this is about. change hearts and minds. ❜ ❛ homosexuality is not an open rebellion against God. do you know what an open rebellion against God is? NASA. ❜ ❛ not now, [NAME]! ❜ ❛ that joke was about divinity! about identity! it was about the nature of power! ❜ ❛ so, i was licking this girl’s asshole … ❜ ❛ man, i fucking hate firefighters. ❜ ❛ who hates firefighters? what are you, the fucking Human Torch? ❜ ❛ what is this, the 1980s? or the Midwest now? ❜ ❛ it’s too spicy. what is it? ❜ ❛ it’s water. ❜ ❛ it’s a lemon. ❜ ❛ can i put ketchup on it? i wanna put ketchup. i wanna put ketchup on everything! ❜ ❛ that is the glorious taste of something. you’re tasting something. ❜ ❛ the story is, the mango was very juicy. that's the whole story. ❜ ❛ can you tell me the mango story again? ❜ ❛ it’s because that mango is that GOOD! ❜ ❛ it’s a good mango. ❜ ❛ i fucking love mangoes!! ❜ ❛ i would start a mango podcast if i could. ❜ ❛ this is why you need to cut your high school friends from Facebook. ❜ ❛ why does the devil need an advocate? he's the devil! why does the prince of darkness need your help exactly? ❜ ❛ that’s interesting. have you thought about selling your soul to the devil? ❜ ❛ you know, if you'd like to live forever, you could sell your soul to the devil. ❜ ❛ that’s all the devil wants! ❜ ❛ and i said 'yes' even though i had no idea what this meant. ❜ ❛ oh, shit! acting! ❜ ❛ oh, shit! he’s pretending this is real or something. ❜ ❛ this shit is wild. ❜ ❛ and then … HE PUNCHED ME IN THE CHEST. ❜ ❛ this is acting? i hate acting. ❜ ❛ oh, it’s okay. i have that joke. ❜ ❛ if you think i’m talking about you, then yes, i’m definitely talking about you, yes. ❜ ❛ we're gonna snapchat the revolution. ❜ ❛ you can't ask me where i'm from and not know geography. ❜ ❛ where's your white guilt? ❜ ❛ i'm not looking for a lot of white guilt, just enough where you apologize even if you don't mean it. ❜ ❛ i was vexed. i was fuming. i had had it up to here. ❜ ❛ there's no time for symbolism! ❜ ❛ what’s the deal with that old dude? ❜

#ope this got so fucking long lmaooo.#but i rewatched and had to add a bunch of stuff okay.#rp meme #rp starters #sentence starters #roleplay meme #ask meme #tag memes

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fallenwhumpee · 5 months

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For the prompt, I have an idea ig.. Maybe public humiliation? Like being strung up, for the public to see, their hero or maybe their rebel leader along with two teammates, just how much power the oppressive force has and show the people what happens to people who try to rebel but they dont back down and maybe the rest of team rescues them? And right before leaving the three who were caught and tortured for the public to see let them know that the resistance never quits?

Hehe lemme know what you think!🐈‍⬛💜💜

Ooh this is awesome. I love it. So, here, have my try <3

The Show

• Masterlist •

Warnings: Public torture, humiliation, forced to watch, restrains, multiple whumpees, mentioned execution, mentioned past torture, open ending.

It wasn't supposed to end like this.

Fear was hardening their every muscle, their hands behind the stretching the metal cuffs digging into their skin. But the source of fear wasn't about the execution scheduled.

It was about the two lifes they were locked up with, and many more they were going to leave behind.

A part of them told that this was a sacrifice. The much needed trigger to finally make the public know about the torment people lived through outside of the capital. But that part was also angry that the people were too blind to see, blind enough to come and watch their execution like watching a movie.

That part was being overwhelmed by their grief. Grief of many deaths at the hand of the government.

All of that was still not enough to take over their fear.

They feared that the rebellion would suffer through this. They feared that the idea they fought for would be lost. They feared that people would obsess with it and become extremists— just as the resistance before them had become after losing their leader.

It would cost them the little sympathy they had. It would cost their— their family's sanity.

Right Hand would mock them forever for going soft if they had learned Leader called them a family.

But they no longer had the energy to lie to themselves. They no longer needed to protect themselves from the heartbreak that would come with the death of their close circle. They were dying before them. Their prayers for not seeing any of their team's death was accepted.

They tried the cuffs once more, a hand stopping them.

"You tried," Rebel One whispered. "Don't hurt yourself. It won't work."

"If I ever gave up when it—"

A guard shoved them to the wall, cutting their muttering.

"Don't speak."

"What about trying this after opening my binds?" They snarled.

"Leader!" Rebel Two hissed.

"And get a hole on my forehead like you? Thank you, but I value my life."

They couldn't hold back a laughter, the other two eyeing them with worry.

"And we're being run over by the government because of the fools like you. Have you ever thought that you shouldn't fear while you're doing your job?" they countered as their laughter died down.

The guard grew silent, and Leader turned to the other two.

"I think I can open your cuffs," they whispered.

Leader would die to protect the lit on the duo's eyes. They reminded Leader much of themselves with their sibling.

Their sibling, who was their trigger for standing up

They didn't want to think about that open wound, placing themselves in front of Rebel One as they reached to the cuffs. At least the duo had their hands at front, so it looked like they were just bundling up together.

One last time, Leader thought. They would get the duo out, but they weren't so sure about themselves.

It wasn't important.

It was hard to lift the plate covering the lock mechanism, but Leader's was determined. The two clicks were enough to assure Leader, the duo smiling as they placed the cuffs back like nothing happened.

"I want you to run when we get out of the vehicle."

"We're not—

"We're in no position to argue. And we all know the cuffs have a tracker inside. I won't risk your rescue."

"Still, we're not leaving you. You're our leader."

"And as your leader, I order you to run when you find the chance."

They still looked ready to protest, but Leader shot them a harsh look.

"Good."

The vehicle stopped soon after, the guard outside opening their cell and the one in targeting their weapon to Leader's back.

It would be a huge mistake if Leader didn't have their hands tied.

They sighed and motioned the others with a nod.

As soon as they stepped down to the concrete floor, they slammed their elbow to one of the guardians' stomach, the other motioning to them.

It was a mistake when there were multiple captives.

Keeping the attention on themselves, they managed to slam their head and break the nose of the guard that slammed them to the wall before. They were brought to their knees as a gun was slammed to their neck, their vision blurring for a moment.

"Did you really think that we wouldn't have a security around here? You only annoyed us more," Whumper chirped, throwing the two right in front of Leader.

A hitched breath escaped their lips.

"One would think a rat like you wouldn't have feelings. Where were they as you bombed and killed dozens of my people?"

No. Leader didn't attack to mere places. And people who weren't in mere places weren't very innocent.

Whumper pulled Leader from their collar. Leader was a lot shorter than them, and they were soon standing on their tips.

"I will enjoy the show you'll put up."

Leader could only snarl as they were dragged to somewhere else, the grunts of the duo following them. Their struggle was useless, their starved and unused body failing them in mere seconds.

"No one should realise that the nuisance they're dealing is just a mosquito buzzing at dark. Where's that sharp tongue of yours? You were more fun when we were gambling with the lives of our little pawns."

Their veins flared with anger as Whumper taunted them until they were brought to their knees under blinding lights. They squinted their burning eyes, their bones aching as Whumper pressed them down.

"Today I present you the murderer of many of our soldiers."

The crowd roared. Leader watched Whumper enjoy the attention before demanding silence with raising their hand. They turned to Leader, a wide and disgusting smile on their face.

"Your little rebellion dies with you tonight."

Leader's eyes finally succeeded to see the faces in the crowd, seeking a glimmer of understanding or empathy. Instead, they were met with cold stares and eager anticipation. The realization hit them like a physical blow—alone, vulnerable, and surrounded by the people either too afraid or brainwashed.

"You can kill me, but you can't shut the voices of reason," they just stared at Whumper. Whumper leaned on them a little, chuckling a little.

"I wish you had a microphone, but I couldn't risk you spreading your plague. Now tell it again."

"I said," they raised their voice but Whumper didn't let them finish, punching their face and sending them to the floor.

Leader spat blood onto the cold concrete, tasting the metallic bitterness. The crowd gasped, witnessing this for the first time.

Leader could perhaps go along with the show if they could show who actually was holding the strings of the government. And they had quite an image to destroy, Whumper's media experts were the best. But they didn't get much chance to do that.

Whumper didn't stop with a punch.

Kicks and hits targeted their openings, pain clouding their thoughts as their bones ached with each hit.

Whumper leaned in, whispering but spatting every word, "Your words mean nothing. You'll be forgotten, and your rebellion will die with you. Like a body with no head, it will crumble, and I will burn it down to ashes."

"They stood without me before," Leader wheezed as Whumper pulled them back to their knees.

"I was too busy with having fun with you that time. But without you in the frame, they will get all the attention. They deserve, don't they?"

"You don't dare."

"I'll enjoy every second of it."

With their body fueled by anger, they slammed their head to Whumper's mouth, causing them to stumble.

"You're weak," Leader panted as they stood. "You are nothing without the fear. And I don't fear you."

As the crowd watched in stunned silence, Whumper regained composure, wiping away the blood from their mouth.

"I dragged this out long enough," Whumper growled, drawing a dagger. "The sentence for disobedience is death. And your death will be an example for many."

Two guards forced them down, bending their arm and bowing their head.

"Severing your head would be kindness," Whumper came closer, stopping for a moment before striking with the dagger.

Leader gasped, unable to pull back as pain dug deeper.

Protests rose, the noise blending into the chaos of their own consciousness fading. But pain and shouts and tears and everything meant nothing.

Because they knew rebellion would move on, with Right Hand rushing to the stage and Rebel One disarming the guard holding them.

It was a good show. And Leader believed that the show would go on.

"They aren't taking you alive."

They felt the dagger crush their ribs as Whumper twisted it up, their breaths dying and body crumbling while Whumper pulled it back.

Their eyes closed with a smile on their face.

#🐈‍⬛ anon #ask #whump #whump writing #leader whumpee #leader whump #multiple whumpee #restrains #public torture #mentioned execution #mentioned past torture #open ending

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destieltaggedfic · 1 year

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Feel Good Fic - Part 4

Yet more of the fics that I read when I need nice things. Not necessarily 100% fluff, but they just have a good energy to them.

Not Part of the Plan ‘verse – Annie D Ao3

AU. Castiel is in The Republic for an arranged marriage to help relations between 2 countries. On his last night of freedom before meeting his betrothed he goes out to lose his virginity in an act of rebellion. He meets Dean who offers to take care of him. Imagine the surprise the next day when meeting Sam Winchester his intended, that Cas already knows his brother! When Sam runs away, his parents offer Dean instead for the marriage. Once they are married, cue misunderstandings while getting to know each other all the while both of them insisting that its best to keep things impersonal. Despite that they fall in love, such a shame that both their countries are using their marriage for political intrigue to try and start a war… 8 works in the series

Word Count: 338k Graphic Sexual Acts

5 Times Dean's Friends Thought He Was Single – SeashellDestihell Ao3

AU. Dean and Cas have been together for years. They live together. Why are all of his friends introducing him to single people all of a sudden?

Word Count: 4k No Sex

Après – imogenbynight Ao3

Set S9 AU. The angels have fallen like Anna, with grace sprouting everywhere and all are going to be born as humans in 9 months. Cas however has been dumped on Earth in France and Dean braves an international flight to get his friend, but before they come home they spend a few days in the City of Love.

Word Count: 24k Graphic Sexual Acts

perchance to dream – braezenkitty

Set S12. While the Winchesters are in prison, during the day Dean’s soul screams prayers towards him and at night Cas attempts to enter Dean’s dreams to find out how he is. But when in the dreamscape Dean is affectionate, Cas can’t bring himself to tell him he’s really there. Turns out Dean knows its him anyway.

Word Count: 4k No Sex

When Cas Drinks Too Much – thewinchesterfromhell Ao3

Nonspecific timeframe. Any time Cas gets drunk he likes to write Enochian messages on Dean and each time Dean pours him into bed, Cas begs Dean to stay with him. It’s a shame he never remembers.

Word Count: 5k No Sex

#destiel #fic recs #feel good

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lunarmoonanons · 1 year

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Yandere Baelor Breakspear

🌕 🌖 🌗 🌘 🌑 🌒 🌓 🌔 🌕

Yandere Baelor Breakspear x Reader. Who is happy that he died so she is now finally free to return home to the Iron Isles. At least she hoped so.

🌕 🌖 🌗 🌘 🌑 🌒 🌓 🌔 🌕

Masterlist

YN had been away from her home islands ever since she was 17.

She was on the continent of Westeros with her father who was trading salt from his ship to merchants in Kingslanding, when she caught the eye of the Prince of Dragonstone.

For him it was love at first sight. She was a beauty from the Iron Islands, strong and lovely, Baelor had decided she was to be his.

With a swift order, her father was arrested on false claims and she was claimed as a prize for the prince.

She fought hard against the guards that tried to pull her to the keep. Scratching and kicking, but they were larger than her and they dragged the girl to the rooms of the prince.

As the first child of the king he had special privileges that allowed him what he wanted. He promised to give her what she wanted, but all the girl desired was to go home.

YN did not get along with the people at the court.

They thought her brash and cold, she thought them to be weak and frivolous.

YN longed for the smell of the sea and the swaying of ships.

No matter how many things Baelor tried to shower her with, she was still miserable around him.

Eventually he grew not to care about her misery. As long as he held her he would be content.

When the first blackfyre rebellion broke out and Baelor led the dornish and the stormlands force to battle he prayed to the gods for victory so that he may return to his precious islander.

As he prayed for victory, YN prayed everyday to the drowned god for her freedom. For the death of her captor.

Her captor had a habit of touching. Never seeming to respect her boundaries and always keeping a hand to the back of her neck in a threatening demeanor.

He decided to take her to the tourney at Ashford as a “gift” for her. YN was happy to be out of the castle and in the open air. She wanted to soak up as much sun as possible, praying to the drowned god that her freedom would last.

It seemed her prayers were answered that day, when she witnessed the death of her captor at the hands of his brother.

With a blow to the head, the 39 year old prince fell to the ground and died.

YN was frozen for a moment, her stomach fluttering with a strange feeling. But as the crowds gathered around the area she began to step back and slip away.

Soon she found herself running, ripping the ends of her dress she ran faster and faster away from the tourney.

It took months of bartering, working, and thievery, but she was finally finally able to make it back to the Iron Islands. Her mother was old, but still alive and still remembered her.

For the last months of her mother’s life, YN was back home. She settled and was happy, even with the seed of Baelor growing in her womb.

When her mother past, and her stomach grew swollen YN felt a peace grow over her.

A peace that was interrupted one day by a knock on her door.

Baelor was at her door.

#house targaryen #yandere targaryen #yandere targaryens #baelor targaryen #baelor breakspear #yandere baelor #ASoIaF #asoiaf x reader

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snwpcktz · 9 months

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A GAME OF CRUELTY (pt. 1, teaser)

PAIRING: jay x fem!reader (ft. heeseung)

GENRE: hunger games au (pre second rebellion), neighbors to friends to lovers, angst

SYNOPSIS: after years of praying to not get picked for the reaping, the odds end up not being in y/n’s favor and she is chosen as district 7’s female tribute. she plans to simply sacrifice herself early, since it would be nearly impossible for her to beat all the other tributes and make it back safely to her now ex-boyfriend, ethan. but her perspective of the games change when her next door neighbor, jay, is chosen as the male tribute—and maybe her feelings towards him will change, too.

WARNINGS: mature themes (violence, death), major character death, descriptions of violence and injuries, love triangle, swearing, reader uses she/her pronouns, use of the binary genders to refer to the reaping tributes

WC: 1.4k (teaser)

NOTE: hello!! this fic is set in the year before katniss and peeta's events, so there's not a lot of information for me to base this off of. there might be inaccuracies, but i try my best to keep things true to the story!! i hope to release the full pt. 1 sometime this week or next week, but pt. 2 will probably take longer. if you'd like to be added to the taglist, please reply to this post and i will add you!! thank you and please enjoy this teaser :)

rows of teenagers stood in front of the hall of justice, surrounded by members of the capitol with cameras and film equipment. peacekeepers had already flooded the district, running identification checks and bordering the area for the reaping. y/n could still feel her finger throbbing from the prick she received mere minutes ago as she stood in line.

the large screens next to the stage had already began running, displaying the various members of district 7. y/n could spot a pixelated version of herself, clad in a modest white sundress and matching white ballet flats. she turned her head to the left, spotting ethan standing in his row in no time.

but he wasn't looking at her. he kept his head forward, a solemn gaze on his face. y/n turned her head back around, letting out a pained sigh. she knew that whatever emotions he was feeling at the moment could never be experienced by her, a girl who lived in an only child household in a moderately well off neighborhood. but she couldn't help but feel selfish, desperately wanting ethan to be spared from the cruel hands of the reaping.

so she prayed. she clasped her hands together and lowered her head. please, she thought. please don't pick ethan. please let the odds be in his favor, just this once.

the sounds of footsteps coming to a stop and doors opening caused y/n to raise her head, eyes now fixated on the marble building in the front. members of the district government and previous victors of district 7 entered the stage, followed by a woman with a bright smile on her face.

luxurious, velvety, emerald green clothing adorned her body along with a matching sun hat and dozens of gold jewelry. her heels clicked on the wooden stage as she made her way towards the podium, perfectly glossed lips framing her pearly smile.

"welcome! welcome, welcome," she announced, her cheery voice echoing throughout the area. "once again, i am your district escort, tiffany young! happy hunger games! and may the odds be ever in your favor."

tiffany cleared her throat before continuing, "now! before we begin, we have a very special film brought to you all the way from the capitol!"

she raised her glove-clothed arm towards the screen as a video began playing. "war. terrible war," president snow's voice boomed from the speakers.

y/n noticed several girls around her rolling their eyes. she couldn't blame them. it was boring having to watch the same video every single year, especially when it did barely any justification for the games.

she turned her head to look behind her at the crowd of parents. she spotted her mom, head down and whispering words, most likely prayers for her daughter. her father was next to her, a comforting arm wrapped around his wife as he stoically gazed at the screen.

it was just like every year. what was there to worry about?

y/n glanced at ethan. he had the same expression as her father, but she could see that he was chewing on the inside of his cheek. a soft sigh left her lips. there was one thing to worry about--ethan.

she decided to pray once more, lowering her head and squeezing her eyes shut.

please, pick anyone but ethan. i beg for you to spare him.

"this is how we remember our past," the voice of president snow stated. "this is how we safeguard our future."

"what a remarkable film!" tiffany gushed as the music began to quiet. "now, the time has come for us to select one courageous young man and woman for the honor of representing district 7 in the 73rd annual hunger games."

y/n felt her heartbeat quicken as she watched the escort's smile grow. "as usual, ladies first."

tiffany walked to the reaping bowl with poise, heels echoing in the silence that overwhelmed the district. she reached a gloved hand in, fishing for an entry slip. she gently selected one, returning to the podium elegantly.

tiffany took the liberty to clear her throat as she undid the delicate tape on the paper slip. she glanced at the crowd before announcing the name with a smile.

"y/n l/n."

the world stopped for a moment. y/n couldn't prevent the ringing in her ears as her lips parted in shock. the pounding in her chest increased to a ridiculous speed as the girls around her turned, isolating her from the crowd. her hands grew clammy as tiffany laid her eyes on her, the smile on her face appearing more sinister than before.

"come on up, dear!" the escort called, her voice sounding sickly sweet in y/n's ears.

y/n's feet moved slowly, dragging against the gravel on the ground as she passed by her fellow civilians. she didn't dare to look up from her pathway, shrinking at the feeling of thousands of eyes on her.

she could feel the peacekeepers behind her place their hands on her back, guiding her to the stage. her eyes were shaking, losing sight of each step she was taking.

she grasped onto the railing of the stairs, barely feeling the soles of her feet. she could see tiffany at the top of the stairs, reaching a hand out to her. "come, come!" she said to y/n, gesturing to her with her hand.

y/n gratefully took it, allowing the texture of her velvet gloves to bring her back to reality. tiffany placed her other hand on her shoulder, gently leading her to the left side of the podium.

"well, let's have a big hand for our first tribute, y/n l/n!" tiffany declared into the microphone.

the weak applause clouded y/n's head, contrasting the striking speed her heart was thumping at. she used the last of her strength and consciousness to lift her head, searching the crowd in front of her.

she could spot her mother's face, frozen with shock and panic. her father's mouth was open, completely bewildered and in disbelief. y/n moved her eyes to the crowd of teen boys, where she found ethan already staring straight at her, a fresh tear sliding down his cheek.

y/n swallowed thickly, not breaking the eye contact. here she was, standing on a stage that she never thought she would be standing on. her lips quivered as she gained the strength to mouth an "i love you", triggering a rush of tears to ethan's eyes.

she chose to cut the eye contact after that, unable to watch her ex-lover cry. she stared straight at the wooden floor, biting her bottom lip in an attempt to hold back the tears in her eyes.

"and now for the boys!" tiffany stated.

the escort walked to the reaping bowl on the opposite end of the stage, quickly plucking a slip from its depths and returning to the podium. she let out a small hum before unfolding the slip.

"jay park."

y/n raised her head to look at the crowd. the boys had distanced themselves from the said person, who looked just as surprised as y/n was when she was chosen.

y/n recognized him. he was her next door neighbor, a boy known for being respectful and hard-working. at just a year older than y/n, he was preparing to enter the workforce full-time, learning the ups and downs of his family's lumber business. he was known to be skilled with axes and saws, his muscular arms and broad chest proof of it all.

he wore a white dress shirt and black slacks, dark hair slicked with gel and neatly combed. the peacekeepers guided him to the stage, his dress shoes sounding every step he took up the wooden stairs. he stood on the other side of the podium, observing the crowd from his new perspective.

y/n turned to ethan, a part of her relieved that he wasn't picked. but he clearly did not feel the same, his eyes now red and cheeks stained with tears. he looked at y/n so hopelessly, it made her feel ashamed for feeling even a bit of relief.

"shake hands, you two!" tiffany's voice said, snapping y/n out of her trance.

she glanced at jay, whose eyes were already on her. they quickly joined hands, jay's large one wrapping around y/n's shaking one.

"happy hunger games!" tiffany announced, her smile brighter than before. "and may the odds be ever in your favor."

taglist: @kpopstanmeg

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checkoutmybookshelf · 5 months

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Lady Whistledown Returns: Epilogue

Endings and beginnings are complicated, and Penelope knows that all too well.

Need to catch up? Previous chapters and workds are on AO3.

Content Warning: Major character death

Dearest Gentle Reader,

It is with great sadness and genuine regrets that this author—at the request of the Prince Regent—must inform you that Heaven’s Halls of English Queens and Queen Consorts has a new denizen. This author’s sorrows and prayers are extended to His Majesty, King George III, His Highness George, Prince of Wales and Prince Regent, and the entire royal family. For a family to lose their matriarch is to create an emotional wound that is years in the healing—particularly if petty matters of inheritance and bequeathments are dragged out unnecessarily in court.

Yes, dear reader, after 57 years and 70 days serving England as its queen, Charlotte of Mecklenburg-Strelitz has died.

You know, dear reader, that this author is not given to flights of fancy, but on this most unusual of occasions, I am sure you will indulge a brief reflection on the swirl of thoughts and emotions of this day. Endings and beginnings in real life are rarely as clear-cut as they are in a piece of writing. The end of the life of Queen Charlotte does not end England, does not end the monarchy, does not even end the regency. And yet, this end feels like the beginning of an autumn. It feels as though we are in the final few pages of a book, preparing to close it.

Such a feeling is not new to Queen Charlotte’s reign. As queen, she endured the loss of the American Colonies, rebellions in France, Bonaparte’s bid for emperorship of the world, her husband’s dear health, her son’s regency, and the introduction of the Christmas tree to the British Empire. It is truly sad that she will not see them this year, and yet I believe that like the Christmas tree, Queen Charlotte’s legacy will survive this vortex of endings and beginnings. Whatever is to follow, dear readers, you may rest assured in the knowledge that Lady Whistledown will be here to report it.

Lady Whistledown’s Society Papers, 18 November 1818

The bell above the door of Abernathy’s Print Shop interrupted the melody of women’s voices, creaking press, and thumping ink balls that had accompanied Penelope’s trance as she watched snowflakes flutter past the window of her office on the second floor of the building. She was meant to be writing, but the ink had dried on her pen four times before she surrendered and allowed herself to become mesmerized by the gently falling snow.

A sudden increase in the volume of the noise from downstairs followed by thudding footsteps on the stairs brought Pen fully out of her reverie in time to see Colin, wrapped in his favorite traveling coat and red-cheeked with cold, close the door behind himself. He was in his stocking feet, making Penelope smile.

“So you’ll avoid tracking mud through Mrs. Abernathy’s domain, but you make our maids at home do triple the work in winter?” she asked.

“Mrs. Abernathy is more frightening than you are,” Colin retorted, leaning down for a kiss before falling into the well-loved armchair to one side of Penelope’s desk.

It was true; since Penelope had taken control of the print shop and offered Mrs. Abernathy and her adult daughter the daily running of it, the woman had proven herself to be more effective and authoritative than any general on any field of battle. She had staffed the shop with only the best, and made a point of taking in promising young women who showed interest or skill, particularly if they lacked other prospects.

One young lady had been cast out of her genteel family home for sneaking into the Royal Academy of Art a few too many times, and Benedict had brought her to Mrs. Abernathy. Miss Euphemia had taken it upon herself to spearhead a branch of the business that focused on printing invitations and dance cards for ton parties. Violet Bridgerton had debuted the first run of Miss Euphemia’s designs at her annual Hearts and Flowers Ball, and within a single season that branch of the business had paid for the shop’s overhead costs for six months. Mrs. Abernathy was confident that it would do even better the next season, and that they might need to expand the shop and purchase a third printing press to keep up with the anticipated volume.

Under her mother’s direction, Miss Abernathy had cultivated a bevy of world-class delivery boys who were well-paid and well-fed. The particularly promising ones were also given extra training, and they were well-spoken enough and sufficiently trusted to make deliveries to the great houses of Mayfair and even the palace. On particularly enterprising young man had suggested that they be hired out to other print shops to make deliveries, and that part of the business was also thriving.

With Penelope’s enthusiastic blessing and assistance, Mrs. Abernathy had also begun reaching out to women writers. In the year or so that the shop had been overseen by the Whistledowns, columns, pamphlets, chapbooks, and even a couple of novels had been published and distributed. Penelope had personally reached out to Mary Shelley, who had agreed to an anonymous publication of her novel at the beginning of 1818. Mrs. Abernathy and Penelope were in the process of convincing her to bless a second edition in which Mary was credited as the author.

“You look pensive,” Colin said, interrupting the reverie Penelope had slid back into. “Are you worried about your latest issue? It’s been extremely well received. Not that I think you could write anything the Prince Regent did not receive well.” Prince George had taken to requesting signed editions of Lady Whistledown’s Society Papers and sending purses in appreciation of particular favorite issues.

“I’m not worried, necessarily,” she said. “But there’s an odd feeling in the air, and I cannot frame it satisfactorily.”

“It could be the snow,” suggested Colin, unconsciously rubbing his elbows. They still ached in inclement weather, despite his protestations that they were fine.

“I rather think the snow is muffling the feelings, gentling them, so that we may take our time adjusting to them rather than being overwhelmed.” She was silent for long moments.

“I think it finally feels over. And it feels like something else is beginning.” Penelope picked up a pen, dipped it in ink, and the sound of quill scratching over paper filled the room.

#polin #bridgerton #the polin fic #polin fic #polin fanfic #polin fanfiction #colin bridgerton and penelope feathertington #colin x penelope #colin bridgerton #penelope bridgerton #penelope featherington

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gatekeeper-watchman · 2 months

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Daily Devotionals for March 5, 2024

Proverbs: God's Wisdom for Daily Living

Devotional Scripture:

Proverbs 10:22-26: 22 The blessing of the LORD, it maketh rich, and he addeth no sorrow with it. 23 It is as a sport to a fool to do mischief: but a man of understanding hath wisdom. 24 The fear of the wicked, it shall come upon him: but the desire of the righteous shall be granted. 25 As the whirlwind passeth, so is the wicked no more: but the righteous is an everlasting foundation. 26 As vinegar to the teeth, and as smoke to the eyes, so is the sluggard to them that send him.

Thought for the Day

Verse 22 - God grants prosperity without sorrow to those who obey Him. Rich people who fail to share their wealth find sorrow attached to it, for they fear losing it. Fear has torment and is a form of sorrow. So is loneliness. The rich are surrounded by many people, but few friends. Their money attracts swindlers and those looking for a free ride. They often buy friends, and their wealth can replace God in their hearts. It then becomes a curse, robbing them of peace and joy.

Verse 23 - Some time ago, my friend and and I visited a coastal city under a hurricane warning. We stayed indoors and turned on the television. News reporters tracking the storm interviewed a crowd of people drinking and having a "hurricane party" on a nearby island. Everyone was warned to leave the island since the hurricane was expected to strike there before hitting the mainland. One drunken young man-made sport of the situation. Scoffing at the warnings, he boasted that he was not afraid of a windstorm. One reporter stayed on the island and filmed the terrifying effects of the hurricane as it hit the hotel. Large windows facing the ocean were suddenly blown in by fierce winds. The explosion of glass and water sent the partygoers and the reporter running to the basement for cover. In the last shots filmed, I noticed the young man who had dismissed the storm, running in terror. The thing he had scoffed at had become a reality that he could not control. He was the epitome of a self-confident fool. A worse predicament than that young man's awaits those who mock God. Eventually, they will face His wrath, and not the fury of a mere hurricane. God warns man to leave his sin before he is judged for it, just as the people were warned to leave the island before the hurricane struck. The wise will submit to God now.

Verses 24-26 - To walk in rebellion is to walk in Satan's territory and make ourselves easy targets. God is not punishing us when things go wrong; it is the result of our walking away from His protection. To step back under it, we must repent, but even then, fear may torment us. If we submit to God and resist the devil, then he must flee, and we can walk in God's grace (James 4:7-8). As a tornado destroys everything in its path, Satan destroys the wicked. The righteous, however, will stand through life's storms because Jesus Christ is their firm foundation (Romans 6:23). No one wants to send a sluggard (lazy person) to do a job. God does not choose such a person for His work either. If we desire to be used by God, we must learn how to work well for people. God commissions faithful people who do not shirk responsibility.

Prayer Devotional for the Day

Dear Father, thank you for giving us such good advice in the Bible. Give us the grace to heed it. Lord, help me to do a good job at each task that is before me. I want the works of my hands to glorify You. Lord, I ask You to keep Your hand of protection on me and my family and my loved ones. I pray for all who read this devotional that You will also protect and guide them. Reveal Yourself to them in a deeper way. Touch and heal them and bless each of them this very day. Give us all the grace to overcome the things in our lives that are not pleasing to You. You are so good to us, Lord. I am very thankful for all You are doing in my life and the wonderful work You are doing in the lives of Your people all over the world. In Jesus' name, I pray. Amen. From: Steven P. Miller@ParkermillerQ, gatekeeperwatchman.org Founder of Gatekeeper-Watchman International Groups, Tuesday, March 5, 2024, Jacksonville, Florida., USA. X ... @ParkermillerQ #GWIG, #GWIN, #GWINGO, #Ephraim1, #IAM, #Sparkermiller, #Eldermiller1981 Founder on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/groups/Sparkermiller.JAX.FL.USA

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lostsunlight · 10 months

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CHAPTER 2 - BLOOD IN THE WATER

childe x reader, wc: 4.3k, masterlist, Ao3

cw: blood and gore, nsfw

The dawn brought dread this morning. You barely slept on the small, hard bed you had claimed as yours all those years ago. Peering across the room Marianne was still asleep, navy hair spilling over her pillow.

You had come back late last night to find her worried, you had shared a room with her for nearly 13 years now, she was the closest thing you had to a friend here, one of the only things that made you want to stay.

After hastily washing up and getting dresses you shook Marrianne awake

“Marianne, We’ll be late to morning prayer” She groaned a little but got up “You didn’t come back last night, What happened?” He normally silky voice rough

“I ran into a stray hilichurl while picking calla lilies by Starfell Lake” You turned to give her some privacy to get dressed.

“I was worried about you” You felt warm at that, a small smile involuntarily tugged at your lips “I broke curfew, I have to see The Deaconess after morning prayer for my punishment”

You heard a sharp breath from her behind you, she tapped your shoulder to let you know you could turn around

“You know what happened to me when I got my punishment from The Deaconess” Her voice flat, emotionless

Your voice constricted “5 lashes”

You could still remember being forced to watch her back being flayed open. A Sister holding your shoulders in a punishing grip forcing you to watch through your tears. After that you had healed her the best you could, hands shaking so badly you couldn't even fill the bowl with water. 2 scars stretched across her back, a harsh reminder.

She sat down on the bed and you took a place behind her. Hands running through her long locks. An unspoken agreement between the two of you. You looked at the sun, you didn't have long, prayer began just after dawn. You decided on a simple hairstyle twisting her locks to leave half of it down, two braids wound across the side of her head meeting in the middle to join as one.

The two of you switched places, her doing the same to you, but instead of braiding your hair she twisted it.

“I don't know if I'll see you for a while” You bit out, fear burning low in your stomach

“I know, We can only pray for the best” Her voice shook a bit. Of course she believed a prayer to the absent god would help.

The two of you stood up, one you left this room it was over. She gripped your hand tightly, you squeezed back. Without thinking you threw your hands around her neck. “I'll be OK” You looked at her, gazes even. You touched her forehead to yours

“I promise” Fear morphing into guilt. You had contemplated telling her your plan, your deal with Childe. You didn't want to hurt her but she would never leave The Church. She was now loyal to The Order, she had taken her vows candidly at the age of 18, you beside her mouthing the same vows, refusing to let the words actually pass your lips.

As a child you had wondered how The Sisters became so cruel, you had thought they were born that way. Until you had started to see fragments of them in Marianne. After her punishment she had changed. She didn’t question The Church privately to you like she used to. She was almost cruel, showing no love to some of the younger Sisters under her training. It had dawned a while ago on you that it didn't happen at one, it was slow. The colour would fade out of her like the others, she will conform, become like the others in the fear that she will be punished again.

You didn’t know what you were to each other, a few years ago you had stolen a bottle of church wine and kissed. You had never talked about that night with her again. You had kissed her in an act of rebellion and love subconsciously coming closer. As she had become more cruel your love for her faded, she was changing, becoming the very thing you hated.

The only glint of hope you had was her relationship with you, whatever it was, With every day you could feel her growing more and more distant. You knew the sisters disapproved of your companionship, maybe she was slowly pulling away, afraid of being punished again. You refused to think deeper after she began to change, wanting to hold onto one last thing.

✧

You make your way downstairs for morning prayer. The Deaconess Barabara stood tall despite her short stature, blonde curls cascading down her back, blue eyes scanning the room. Despite her easy going presence there lay a sharp cunning woman lurking just underneath the surface ready to strike at any time. Beside her stood a tall woman, Sister Rosaria. Unlike Barbara she was cold, you had never seen her pray nor smile. Aside from Barabra she was the only Sister to wield a weapon. Sometimes you would sneak out to the roof to watch her practice with her polearm. Her strong precise strikes fascinating you.

You joined the other Sisters to kneel at the pews while Marianne moved her way to the large harp. This is how it went every morning. The Deaconess would lead The Sisters in prayer to Barbatos, part spoken and part sung in song. Barbara smiled brightly and began her sermon, her honeyed voice telling the tale of an old noble, how he saved Mondstadt from foreign invaders with the help of Barbatos with his cunning trickery. You only half listened, having heard this tale many times before.

After the sermon had ended Barbara began prayer, singing praises, voice echoing through the cathedrals high ceilings. Marrianes music accompanied her. You had always admired Marianne’s ability to play the harp effortlessly. Fingers moving along the strings with practised control, a fine balance between flowing hands and harsh plucks. It was one of the only things that made you enjoy morning prayer, usually you could focus on the sound of the harp and drown out Deaconess Barabara’s voice.

Today however, you could only focus on Barbara’s sweet voice, each line you murmured after her filled you with fear for what was going to come. Morning prayer seemed to last longer than it usually did.

The Sisters got up and moved to do their respective duties. Normally you would go to the infirmary with the other healers but this time you headed to the Sanctuary, down the stairs to your doom. The Knight that stood guard out her door only tilted his head, letting you know she was in.

You lightly knocked on The Deaconesses door. A soft ‘Come in” came from behind the door.

You entered the lavish office, white walls decorated with paintings by the old masters. In the centre a large ornate desk with neatly stacked items. You were drawn to her Catalyst which lay upon a copy ‘Barbatos’s Law’, the law all sisters followed.

You curtsied deeply “Deaconess Barbara”.

She guestired for you to sit down, you promptly did. Your chest was so tight that you could barely breathe. She looked at you, you met her calm stare bile rising in your throat.

“Sister Y/N, I understand you broke curfew last night” Her voice, although soft, had a sinister quality to it, barely there just ghosting the edge of her words.

“Yes Deaconess” You said barely able to get the words out

“You broke a rule, that comes with a punishment” Her stare was piercing, looking into every secret your soul held, laying out the obvious before her. “Yes Deaconess” You started to feel dizzy

“For your punishment” She leaned forward ever so slightly “You shall spend 7 days in penance with only bread and water, your privilege of travelling outside of the church will be stripped until I deem otherwise”

“Y-Yes Deaconess” you now looked at the floor, trying to breathe

“You will serve your penance in the Sunlight Room reflecting on what you have done, you shall speak to nobody, write to nobody, see nobody” A small smile gracing her lips as she began to move a heavy book infront of her.

“Yes, Deaconess”

The Sunlight Room, It lay in the top room of the South Tower. It was no surprise that you were being sent there. 7 days, you were meeting with Childe in 6 days panic carves deep into your chest. Shit.

“You may begin your penance now, Sister Y/N” She was looking down at what was presumably The Churchers ledger. She gave you a wave of dismissal

You stood up and curtsied to The Deaconess, taking your leave. 7 days of penance was not the worst, you could put up with that. You were lucky it wasn't a lashing, but this did throw a wrench into your plans. If he showed up and you weren’t there waiting for him, your chance at freedom rapidly slipping between your fingers”

The guard that stood outside Barbara’s door escorted you up the narrow winding stairs to the Sunlight Room. You noted he did not shove you inside like you had expected. He looked at you, sympathy edged his words

“Im sorry, Sister” With that he closed the small wooden door, you heard the familiar click of a lock, you were trapped, you heard his heavy footsteps leaving you truly alone.

You took in your surroundings, scanning the small room. Cobblestone walls and floor, a worn rug haphazardly thrown on the stone. There was a small desk, a shelf full of religious texts and histories of several of the noble families of Mondstadt decorated the shelf. There was a small hard bed tucked away in the corner, only a thin blanket to keep the cold out.

You turned to the large window facing the back of The Church, it was arched and made of the same stained glass every other window was. A painting of splotched colours shone through the window, carrying a whisper of the sun.

You approached the window, shocked to find that it swung open. You looked down over the roof. Understanding all of a sudden why it was unlocked. The drop was deadly, the cobble too smooth to climb down, eroded by the winds. You spotted the bell tower, You leaned out the window. Maybe, just maybe you could catch the Harbinger’s attention from up here.

You could only cling onto the small shards of hope you had left. It was the only thing that might keep you sane during your penance.

✧

The days passed slowly, you had caved from boredom quickly picking up a large tomb on the history of the Lawrence Clan. The once tyrannical clan was overthrown by the Gunnhildrs with the assistance of The Lionfang Knight long ago. They had rebuilt their power with their wealth, forming an alliance with the Gunnhildrs, they would supply their wealth and their own daughter to the knights in exchange for their status to be restored.

The dry tome was dull, giving nothing but praise and sympathy for the tyrants that caused the deaths of innocent people for their own spectacle. You snapped the book closed, placing it back on the shelf. Even the books couldn't quell your boredom. At first you tried to sleep through it, but at one point or another your body wouldn't allow it.

Turning around to see the sunset you added another tally to the underside of the wooden desk. 6 days, It was nearly time only a few more hours to go.

You leaned against the wall, thinking of the deal you had so quickly accepted. You didn’t feel the regret you had convinced yourself would taint your thoughts. A deal with one of Teyvats most dangerous men. When you had met him you almost didn't believe he was a pure instrument of war. You didn't fear him, you should but the spark that lit the burning fire never came.

You resigned to continue reading, checking the moon every few minutes, just before its peak you lit a candle, staring for a second at the flickering flame, controlled it was life sustaining but untamed it could destroy cities, unstoppable. You peered out the window, nearly midnight. You could only hold your breath until The Harbinger came. You kept your eyes trained on the bell tower, in the darkness you saw the sliver of a shadow. You leaned as far out as you could, one hand tightly gripping the windowsill the other holding the candle high.

At the base of the tower you saw the shadow flicker again, a few seconds later the tall redheads hands were clinging to the wooden windowsill. You moved back allowing him to haul himself into your room.

“Impressive” You laughed a little, keeping your voice low, face too close to his for your comfort. You pressed a finger to your lips, jerking your head towards the door.

You pull his collar down so you can whisper in his ear “We're here to discuss the deal, but not here”

He gives you a nod murmuring “Do you trust me?”

“No” you breathed out

“I told you to trust me” He replied, so quiet you could barely hear him.

He moves to the window, instead of climbing down he climbs up. He looks down at you and you take a deep breath, you climbed out the window grasping onto his waiting hand, he pulls you up

Reaching the green tiled spire, you took a second to admire the city below. Houses lit up with a soft golden glow, windmills slowly turning in the breeze. You could almost imagine a life for yourself untainted by The Church in the city below. You could hear the cheers from Angels Share all the way up here. Cider lake surrounded the city, calm blue waters stretching endlessly. The thick walls surrounding the city kept the people safe inside.

“Are you ready?”

You nodded, the wings of his glider attached to his back flaring out, catching onto his plan you cautioned “Avoid the battlements, there are knights stationed. Head North-East to Brightcrown Canyon, we should be safe there.

You turned so your back was facing him, he wrapped one arm around your waist, the other around your chest. Your hands clung on to him for dear life.

“OK I’m ready”

Without warning he jumped from the spire, wings catching the updraft effortlessly gliding past the walls and above Cider Like. You were no stranger to gliding with someone else, you didn't exactly have a licence. One of the knights would fly you to Starfell lake before you got your Vision and could access the waypoints.

You felt the cool wind in your face as he tilted North, heading for the hills above the canyon. Thrill ran through you, this was your first taste of freedom, your first true defiance of The Church.

He landed softly on the grass near an abandoned encampment. He stalked towards it hydro blades manifesting without half a thought. He searched through the encampment and motioned you over.

“It's clear”

You sat down on the ground next to him.

“Why the tower this time?” he asked

“I’m paying my penance, I didn't have much choice” your eyes shifted to his chest “Hows that wound coming along?”

“Fine, no infections or anything, you did well”

You lean a hand on your chin

“I'm glad to hear. Anyways, We're here to discuss a deal, contract if you will”

“A deal that you already accepted”

You nod, “We need to lay the dandelion seeds, we need to make The Knights believe you might have killed me”

“And you plan to do that how exactly?” He looks at you sceptically

“That's what we're here to figure out”

He considers your words and looks at you abruptly “Who are you loyal to?”

You look up at him sharply “I am loyal to nobody” you reply on instinct, pushing the flicker of Marianne’s face far back in your mind “Why do you ask?” You knew every question you asked had a reason behind it.

“I ask because when you work for me I will want your loyalty to me”

“Who are you loyal to Harbinger?”

“You know the answer to that Y/N”

You hum “You are hers to use” repeating his words from earlier.

“I am willing to go to the ends of her, I will cross every line” He pauses looking directly at you “My question is, how far are you willing to go Y/N? Are you not loyal to your fight for freedom?”

You think for a moment “I’ve already crossed many lines, I’ve already betrayed The Church and Knights, sought forbidden knowledge, plotted with the Fatui. The only line I will not cross is murder”

“That’s as far as you’ll fight? Tell me can you fight at all?”

“I thought I told you, it's forbidden for a sister to even hold a weapon let alone wield one. As for the metaphorical fight” Your eyes flit away, “It's hard to fight against an organisation who has you crushed under their heel from the day you were left at their doorstep”

He looks you up and down manifesting a sword, the metal coming together in golden flakes. He tosses it towards you

“If you plan to work for me you have to learn to fight” You startle, once again not expecting the abrupt shift in tone again.

“Why now?” You question

He shrugs “Why not now?” Did battle truly invade his every thought so much that he would teach you how to fight?

“This is sacrilege” you mumble under your breath. Picking up the sword letting your fingers skim along the leather handle, down to the cool steel to the point. You stood up gauging its weight. Childe’s hands move to yours adjusting your grip.

You saw a smile ghosting hips lips “Now swing it” You conjure the memories of Sister Rosaria fighting, you quietly watching her from the rooftop. Stepping forward you swung the sword in a broad stroke, not aiming for anything in particular.

He hear him walk towards you, possessing dual blades made out of hydro

“If you think I’ll fight you Harbinger then you’re mistaken”

He laughs loudly “I'll go easy” He launches at you and you bring the sword up to block him just in the nick of time. His attacks are relentless, you move back in defence trying to get a hit in swinging the sword blindly. He quickly bests you, his speed and agility no match for your inexperience.

He takes the first opening he sees and jabs his blade at your chest. You're panting and he's standing there with a grin on his face.

“That's what you call going easy?” You stare at him

“I am, I'm not even using my vision. Again.”

After beating you in seconds again, he dissipates his blades. He strolls towards you. “You’re too stiff, you need to be more fluid to dodge my attacks” He adjusts your grip in your sword again “Your grip is too tight, you to let your sword lead you”

You hum at his advice

He looks at you his eyes were now gleaming “Let's see if you’re listening to me”

He moves into attack again. You step back and turn, letting yourself dance around him. This time you last a few seconds longer.

He pulls back, “So you are listening”

You pant “I still can't understand why you enjoy this, what do you feel when you fight?”

He smirks “Lust” he breathes

You pause “Lust… I thought it would be wrath” you replied without thinking

His eyes narrowed “You'd better watch that pretty mouth of yours Y/N” you cocked your head and twired the sword

“Or what, you’ll kill me?” you teased, walking on thin ice

“Even after all that you still don't fear me?”

You begin to circle him, feeling bolder by the second. You had wanted to do this since you had met him, you needed to know what you were truly getting into

“Show me why your feared Tartaglia, show me why they call you a weapon of war”

He grinned, “Are you sure?”

“There's a Ruin Guard not far from here, down in the canyon by the ruins”

“A Ruin Guard, don't you think that's a bit beneath me?” he scoffs

You shrugged, starting to walk towards the canyon, Stormterrors lair glowing in the distance. The column of wind encasing the ancient capital. The Knights had officially declared that nobody was to go near it a few months ago, after sightings of Stormterror had been reported by a few outriders. The dragon had attacked a few small villages on the outskirts of Mondstadt but now he was becoming bolder with every passing day.

The two of you reach the edge and glide down. Childe left you on top of an old arch high above from the conflict.

He jumped down to the deactivated Ruin Guard, its copper body sitting limp on the ground, small white branches dotted with blue leaves grew from its back. The sisters told you that they were reminemts from a nation named Khaenri'ah. A nation built by the hands of prideful humans only to be destroyed by the gods, remnants remaining as the Abyss Order, slowly rotting the world.

You had always been fascinated by Khaenri'ah, the nation without gods. The Church used it as an example of what would happen to godless people, destroyed under the might of gods. They had failed to mention how many gods themselves had perished in the Cataclysm. The Knights library was truly a blessing, even if you had to sneak in the dead of night you mused.

He strolled up to it circling the Ruin Guard. The Ruin Guard began to glow and shake, waking up from its endless slumber.

Childe moved back, manifesting, much to your surprise, a bow. He shoots a sequence of arrows aimed at the Ruin Guards head, the last one he throws. It hits the Ruin Guard directly in the eye, it stops for a moment and he spits his bow in two of the familiar hydro blades. He moves closer to the Ruin Guard slashing with pure precision. Streams of glowing water coming off the blades as he strikes.

The guard begins to move again and he bolts back, bow manifesting. The Ruin Guard began to spin, lumbering towards Childe creating a small vortex of dust. He runs to avoid the attack, a deep mechanical voice emits from the Ruin Guard. If you strained your ears you could almost make out the words “Help me”

The Ruin Guard places its arms on the ground, chest pointing upwards. Fiery bullets launch from its chest. Childe effortlessly avoids them , aiming his bow once again he strikes the head and dashes around to the back hitting the second glowing eye. He follows his strategy from before but instead with a polearm. Moving in to slash at the guard with his blades it lets out another mechanical cry. Stumbling back, its arms briefly glowed before clapping together, completely missing Childe.

From on top of the ruin you could see that he was made for battle, his body moving effortlessly without a thought. It was his expression that had struck fear into you for the first time. An unhinged smile, pupils blown wide. He was enjoying this, this is who he truly was. Not the easy going Childe but the deadly Tartaglia. Who was this man truly?

You sat down, legs dangling off the edge of the crumbling arch. This isn't even close to what he was capable of. He had said this would be easy work and now you believed him. You sucked in a breath, trying to control the fear that was quickly quelling.

He moves his glowing bow down activating an elemental burst of energy. In an instant the bow transforms into a polearm. He swings his polearm in a wide arch, a trail of water following the tip of the polearm. The Ruin Guard is knocked back, dissipating into black smoke tinges with red sparks.

He spins the polearm dissipating, he effortlessly climbs back up to meet you, not even out of breath.

“Do you fear me now”

“That's just a hint of your prowess, ist it?”

“So you do fear me now”

“I never said that” “I can see it in your eyes, your breath”

You sighed, turning your head looking at Storm Terror's lair at the end of the canyon.

“I suppose you could even take down Stormterror”

“Why don't we find out?” You laughed, looking up at the last remaining moon, her light bathing the canyon. “Dawn is coming soon and I need to get back to the cathedral before they notice I'm missing”

“Then let's head to the waypoint”.

“No, it's a Friday, people will be around. Especially the Cavalry Captain” You paused eyes glinting

“This could be out chance” you said excitedly

Childe tilted his head, “Our chance you say?”

“Listen, I teleport into the city square looking terrified and dishevelled and run to the nearest Knights, begging for their help. You teleport in a few moments later, make sure to be seen by one of the knights. Your Fatui so they’ll instantly suspect you even if you haven't done anything”

“That is… not a bad idea. They’ll question you however, what will you say” “I will refuse to speak, I’ve seen some of the Knights after a rough mission. I know how to act well enough that I can pull it off. If you seem like your not looking for anything rather just returning from a mission that will give the knights enough reason to suspect you but not enough to accuse you” You quickly say, the plan stitching together in your head

“They wouldn’t accuse a Fatui Harbinger without solid proof, less they risk an incident” He smirks

“Let's go put this plan into action”

“Saisir l'aube” you reply.

“Поймать рассвет”

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ertrunkenerwassergeist · 1 year

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Can we get Regis' reaction when he's first told Noctis run away? Or Clarus and Cor, if Regis is too spoilery?

3. 31. 751 ME Insomnia, The Citadel Kingdom of Lucis

If one were to ask Regis what he would remember best from that day, he would gain that far away look in his eyes Clarus and Cor hated with a passion, and remember the thundering sound of a door slamming shut.

It had been such a good day, too. The weather had been nice, if cool, and preparations for the night market had been in full swing. His meetings had passed in a timely manner, so he had thought to spend some time with his son.

A son who was no longer there.

Had run away like the daemons themselves had been snapping at his feet. Regis stoodin his living room and felt his knees grow weak, the sound of the door slamming shut reverberated in his ears.

"Regis!"

At once Clarus was there to guide him to his favourite armchair. It was an old thing with stains where Noctis would climb up as a child, hands sticky with chocolate or some other sweat and-

"Noctis." The name left Regis's lips like a strangled prayer. "Clarus, my son. He-"

"I know, my friend. I know."

"Why?"

The corners of Clarus's mouth twisted downward. That was the question, wasn't it?

"We will ask him once we have found him, Regis. And we will find him. Cor will not stop until Noctis is safely back here."

Regis barely heard the words. In his mind's eye he saw his son's face, so young and yet so angry. He had thought it teenage rebellion, something every child went through, learning to assert themselves. What had their argument even been about? The time Noctis spent in the royal archive? Was it so bad to have a son who liked to read and history more then fighting lessons?

Of course not.

But that had been their argument, hadn't it? And now he was gone. His baby was gone.

In his imagination he heard the door slam shut yet again. The sound rang with the tune of finality. He shuddered.

Please, he begged in the roaring silence of his mind, please com back.

#ask #raven-6-10 #ffxv #white mage!noctis au #dreams of our past #snippet #I've been sitting on this for years now #this is a theoretical scene for chapter 40 #or 41 #not sure if it'll make it into the story #what with the re write #but it exists #hope you like it!#snippet for a question #:D #geist writes #regis lucis caelum

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amaranthhiding · 1 year

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Empty Earth

by Hiding Amaranth

I'm posting two excerpts under the cut, one for Destiel, one for Samwena. Words: 85,707 (WIP) Rating: not rated yet Relationships: Castiel/Dean, Rowena/Sam, Jack & Dean, Jack & Crowley Tags: Canon Universe, Post-Ep 15x18, Epic, Plotty, Angst with Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Action, Adventure, Humor, Romance, Slow Burn, Rowena/Sam First Kiss, Consensual Possession, Angel True Forms, Empty Rescue, Witch Sam Winchester, Queen of Hell Rowena, Rebellion in Hell, Caring Rowena, Caring Crowley, Team Free Will 3.0 Point-of-View Characters: Dean, Sam, Jack, Castiel, Rowena, Crowley, Naomi, Michael, Kevin, Balthazar Summary: After Castiel's confession, Dean carries a spark of hope telling him this can't be the end. This spark is the strongest weapon for Dean, Sam and Jack in this final war. The enemy is God. The battlefield is an Earth devoid of humans, a Hell in rebellion, and a Heaven betrayed by its creator. And the stakes are everything and everyone they have ever cared about.

Cover created by the author

Excerpt from Chapter 7 Dean POV Dean turned around, his hand on the hilt of his own useless angel blade in his jacket, but he couldn't see the rift between realms anymore that had brought him here. Nothing but blackness. He clenched his jaw, had to trust that Sam would find a way out of that situation, that he and Jack were alive and safe. They had to be. Sam was the best damn hunter he knew, so if anyone could manage, it was him.

Cas. The thought electrified his body, sufficed to set it into motion on its own. He ran over a floor so smooth under his soles that it reminded him of marble. Keeping his balance at this speed without seeing anything took some getting used to, but the sheer energy pulsing through him kept him from stumbling.

"Cas!" he yelled, but found that he couldn't hear a single sound in the Empty. His throat formed the shape of the name again, with the same result. Screw it. They didn't need words, never had. Cas! A prayer. A summoning.

The deepest, darkest basin of his mind had kept Cas' last words to him out of reach, but now it all came back to him, dragged to the surface forcefully. It was a gasping, thrashing thing that had been close to suffocating. Never before had hope burned like acid in his lungs.

He couldn't breathe, had to fight off a ripple of panic at the thought that there wasn't enough air in this place. Dark, everything was so fucking dark. He should have been lost, but something drenched him in an impossible certainty about where to go, carried him forward like an invisible compass.

CASTIEL! his mind cried out with everything he had. The wordless answering call ran through him like an earthquake, rocking him from inside in a familiar sensation that burned strongest in his left shoulder.

There had never been any doubt about the way, but what had been a mere sense of direction now changed into his gravity in this unplace. He couldn't have resisted the pull even if he had wanted to. The muscles in his legs strained in what felt like the fastest he had ever run. He stopped abruptly when he sensed rather than saw a shift in front of him in a realm that had no use for human eyes.

Excerpt from Chapter 13 Sam POV The clattering of a skull rolling over the wet stone tore Sam out of his haze. He'd accidentally kicked it with the tip of his boot, tripping in his exhaustion. He stopped, lifting his head up into the drizzle of rain from a non-sky in perpetual darkness. His lips parted, letting the raindrops run down over them, but it did nothing against the parched feeling in his throat. A hand touched his left shoulder, the uninjured one.

"Sam, you have to take a break. Even I am starting to feel this in my bones, and I'm dead."

Trying to catch his breath, he used the illumination from one of Limbo's constant lightning flashes to look back the way they had come from. The palace was nothing but a barely recognizable shadow somewhere at the horizon, across a vast plain of uneven rock. Sam nodded and let himself be dragged to the side. They hadn't quite reached the cliffs yet, but outcrops had begun to line their path.

He pressed a hand to his forehead in a sudden dizziness. Rowena's grip on his arm tightened, steadying him as she led him into the opening to a shallow cave. He stumbled over to the far wall. As soon as he reached it, his knees just gave in and he sank down, leaning his back against the rock and closing his eyes.

"Sam?" she asked, her voice soft again in that way that was so unlike her. It sounded smaller than the person she was.

"I'm...," he said, then stopped when he realized what a miserable croaking sound had just escaped his mouth instead of an actual word. He cleared his throat before trying again. "I'm fine." He opened his eyes to give her a look that he hoped was reassuring, though it probably ended up as more of a grimace.

The sparse light from the exit behind her outlined her form as she stood there in the middle of the cave, balancing on shoes that were barely functional without their heels, her clothing and hair clinging to her in wet disarray.

"Liar," she said and the hint of a smile flitted over a face darkened by bruises and smeared mascara.

"Takes one to know one," he shot back, the corners of his mouth twitching weakly.

"I won't deny I am a woman of certain talents, and persuasion happens to be one of them."

Sam snorted softly at that and leaned his head back against the wall. They spent a moment in silence and his eyes shut again on their own accord. "I just... just need a minute," he murmured, each word a sting in his sore throat. Read Empty Earth on AO3

Text Trailer for Empty Earth

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aj-the-terrible · 6 months

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Bitter : One {Aro x Fem!Reader}

Author's Note: This is my first real writing for a long time so PLEASE give me feedback. Tell me if I need to add more detail, if the characters seem kind of OOC, if the world building needs some more work. I will not be offended. This is the first part so it's main objective is to give background on the story so feel free to give suggestions or thoughts on what might happen next. Please enjoy!

Side Note: I felt a Fem!reader suited more for what I had in mind for the story, but if you would like a more variety of pronouns, please pair it with any suggestions you make.

Please Enjoy!

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I like to think that God heard my prayers that day, but I know I was saved by the Devil himself, and I will forever be his servant.

It was my big day. The sun was setting gorgeously along the horizon. Italy at this time of day was my favorite. It was when everybody turned in for the night, dreaming of tomorrow. It was a shame I was here under horrible circumstances. A soft knock at my door pulled me from my thoughts.

“It’s time," rang the voice. No joy or excitement could be heard from their voice. A sad ballet played in the atmosphere of the building.

I wore a red wedding gown, the last sign of my rebellion against my family. Red was my favorite color, always has been, and forever will be. It was in the style I had always wanted. A floor-length ball gown with intricate embroidery and lace on the bodice The lacey sleeves flowed down past my wrists. The finishing touch of my red veil flowed behind me as I walked the aisle.

Silent tears rolled down my face as the music chimed in my ears and I stepped through the ceremonial doors. Getting married to a man I did not love or even like was going to be my undoing. I had dreamed of doing so much more with my life, but now I would only be a trophy wife.

It was my “in-laws” fault. They had heard me, the daughter of the largest stockholder in the area and a world-class violinist, had slept with their son, Marc, and an evil plan had been formulated. They spread rumors and even showed evidence to Marc that I was pregnant. He insisted we get married, and my family did too. I had never seen my aunt Judy turn that shade of red before. Nobody believed me when I told them the truth. Marc’s family spouted lie after lie. But I just didn't care anymore about how I got to this point.

The tears were gone when I made it to the altar. I was irritated; I just wanted everything to go back to how it was. I wanted my freedom back. I wanted my choice back.

I looked up to the man, who was oblivious to all the wrongs he was doing to me, and stared resentfully into his eyes. He didn't seem phased by my dried tears or sour expression. I turned to look back at the guests and became even more bitter.

I wanted a grand wedding one day, one filled with the people I loved. Now I was stuck with my freedom in another person’s hands. Andin a room with everybody who wanted to either marry me off or cause me emotional, and maybe even physical, harm

I had tried to run away, but they caught me, and there hasn’t been another opening in a long time. I was so stupid getting caught; I should have waited longer. And now, here I am in front of our families and maybe some of Marc’s friends, about to become a shell of myself for the rest of my life. Anyone who didn’t agree with the wedding was not welcome at the wedding, which included the people I cared about most.

I didn't realize how close my life was to being officially over until the priest said "Speak now or forever hold your piece". The tears started up again. I was going to be bonded forever to somebody so blind and a family so vile. What more could they do to me?

"I object." Someone, whom I hoped was my savior, spoke. Everybody turned towards the church entrance, and there stood a group of eight people clad in black cloaks. Even from that distance, I could tell exactly what color their eyes were. Red. Blood Red.

My mother stood from her seat up front and turned to sneer, "And who are you to object!?"

Like lightning, the whole group was suddenly standing between the altar and the guests that sat in the church rows.

"Someone who thinks the bride and groom are not fit for each other." The man had porcelain skin and black hair that was slightly past his shoulders. A wicked smile spread across his face as he slowly turned and looked at everyone in the room. When his eyes stopped on me, I couldn’t help but feel fear creep through my body. His eyes were wild, almost animalistic. He was more dangerous than anyone I had ever met before. His stare made my need to run even higher.

I merely blinked before I saw, out of the corner of my eye, a hand wrap around Marc’s throat. A face was in his neck, and then I heard him scream. The whole room was filled with screams and blood within a few seconds. I was frozen in fear as chaos erupted around me.

I then saw the black-haired man, who spoke before slowly creeping his way towards me. With the way he looked at me, I was sure he was a cannibal, and from the way I saw the blurs of his comrades out the corner of my eye, it seemed like a cannibal with superhuman abilities.

My body filled with adrenaline as I turned my head to run and was slammed on my back. I couldn't even take my first step to try and escape. A hand around my throat squeezed tightly. A pair of familiar blood-red eyes stared into my soul. His black hair hung gracefully like a curtain on the sides of our heads as he moved his face closer to my ear.

"Always a bridesmaid, but never a bride," he whispered in my ear before I felt him bite into my neck. My scream got stuck in my throat. I tried to claw out of his grasp, but it was like prying a stone from brick from a wall.

I didn’t know how much worse my wedding day could go until the cannibal began to suck out the blood in my neck. The pain of being drained like a blood bag was excruciating; it felt like I could faint from the pain alone. It didn’t last long, thankfully.

The cannibal man threw himself away from me and began gagging on the blood he had taken from me. He looked like he ate a bitter fruit. He even started coughing.

I coughed and my lungs to finally having oxygen again and quickly applied pressure to my bloodied neck. This was my chance to try and run again.

‘Fuck everybody else in the room; I need to get away.’ I stood up and ran about three steps before I was grabbed from behind. I couldn’t tell who it was. Another set of fangs entered my body; this time they were along my shoulder. My scream filled the room this time. My body throbbed in pain, but then I heard a gasp, and I was let go again. I stumbled before running again; I wasn't going to stop now. I had to keep going.

As I was about to get down the altar step, a hand wrapped around my throat and lifted me straight into the air. The lack of oxygen was going to put me into a coma if this continued. I heard a deep growl.

"Who are you?" It was the same cannibal man that bit me the first time.

I struggled as he squeezed my throat tighter. I couldn’t tell him my name if I wanted to. I began to fade un and out of consciousness. The black dots were dancing along my vision. I couldn't hear the screams of my wedding attendees anymore, and then I felt like I was being watched by more than one human-eating creature now.

"What happened?" A strawberry-blonde man glared at me. The black-haired creature stared at me, frustrated, before dropping me on the cold, hard floor. I gasped for air, like a fish out of water. I felt weak: my hands seemed to shake from trying to hold myself up.

"This one is a frustrating dilemma. She will be taken back with us immediately!” The man with black hair walked angrily away, taking two more creatures with him, leaving me with five pairs of red eyes.

I only stared at the red eyes around me in fear. The blood of the dead around us had certainly been the cause of all their cloaks looking heavy and wet. I didn’t even look around at the bloodless bodies in the church because I knew I would be sick. I can't fathom why it had to come to this. My life only got worse and worse. Why did this have to happen to me?

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Thank you for reading! If you have any feedback, I happily encourage you to tell me what you think!

And as of right now(when this is posted), I believe this fanfiction will be a 4 or 5 part series, so be on the lookout!

#the twilight saga #twilight #twilight fanfiction #writing #the volturi #suggestion #wedding day #blood #death #fem reader

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hell-heron · 1 year

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*inhumane screech* show me the forbidden: -TrisTheon -birthday Thyra -thou counterfeitst a bark, a sea, a wind (bb!Asha y/y???)

Also, what's "snuggles"? :)

Lol you know what the TrisTheon is ahahfh. For everyone else reading: its an AU where Tris goes with Theon to Winterfell, they kinda develop a stressed out fwb relationship there, and Ramsay used that against them when they're captured, lets try to post a slightly less graphic bit:

He doesn't know many prayers - his mother taught him the silent ways of Lonely Light, not those approved by the priests, and Baelor Blacktyde stopped praying to the Drowned God the day his father died.

Those he does remember he says under the whip, and it feels like every word is erased from his mind as soon as it's spoken, until all he can say is <i> What is dead may never die </i>, over and over again. It makes them angrier than anything else he said, even more than when he still had courage to call them mad beasts and turncloaks, but for that it feels like it has power. Every time they take a bit of skin he imagines shedding all his scales, not like a fish but like a snake, leaving a brand new creature beneath, and he can imagine rising again.

Birthday Thyra: that was supposed to be your birthday gift and then to be battleship Word count boss fodder and I could finish It for neither lol. I have about 3k of it and its a classic Theon and Kyra run away from the Dreadfort together thingie. A snippet:

She lets him stew for just a little before she huddles back-to-back to him, the cloak thrown over both as best as can be done. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries not to picture how very easily now, if he hadn’t fucked everything up, she could be wrapped around him and laying her head on his shoulder. He had been ashamed of how much he liked being held by her, back in lord Stark’s fucking bed, musing that the child was there and he was at a point of disgrace where he couldn’t exclude the gods to give him back his voice just in time to gossip about his frailty to the entire North, that the ironborn were used to ships and unaccustomed to knocking. Fully convinced the fucking army at war’s chief concern while he was leading them to their deaths was to pry into his fucking bedchamber.

Any concerns he had conceived when he had all his skin and a warm fireplace feel very far away now and immaterial, regardless of what danger had actually been there. It’s hard to evade the thought that when he was there and could have appreciated it, he should have drawn Kyra’s arms tighter around himself and showered them with kisses and perhaps even wept, though he probably didn’t feel like it then as he does now.

Yeah thou counterfeitst is the baby Asha fic and I don't have any new snippets to give you 😭 it's meant to extend from the very end of the rebellion to about a year later and encompass the whole Tris misadventure + lots of family drama, predictably. I had It so long i probably already put all the interesting parts on the Citadel

Snuggles is just a sequel to this fic where the Montacrew bois get to chill and snuggle after having rescued Romeo from the Capulets lol. V self consciously Italian and i have only disjointed bit.

#op

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yourstruly-sephie · 2 years

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𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐈𝐗

𝐓 𝐡 𝐞 𝐋 𝐚 𝐧 𝐜 𝐞 𝐚 𝐧 𝐝 𝐂 𝐫 𝐨 𝐰 𝐧

𝟐𝟕𝟔 𝐀𝐂 | 𝐂𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐲 𝐑𝐨𝐜𝐤

After his shocking fall on the jousting field, Arthur was immediately cared for by his friends. It was made clear to the Dornish man that Rhaegar and Jon watched in horror from the sidelines as they saw him be unhorsed by a boy from the Reach. They made haste to examine any injury, but Arthur waved them off their attempts, despite his left arm grimacing in pain. He appreciated the concern his friends had, however, it reminded him all too well of the moment before he fell. It brought nothing but disappointment.

Arthur did not know what came over him during the third pass. Everything was laid out in his favor to swoop in another victory under his belt. He should have won there and then, but no. As it seemed faith was more complex than that. Before the tourney, he never got distracted by a trailing thought, he was always in complete control of his senses. However, the thought of Nyrella being with someone else irked him greatly, and almost cost him his chance to move forward in the competition. He has no answers or explanations for his behavior. It rips him from the inside, not knowing why he felt so much contempt for the potential union.

Yet, his internal conundrum could wait. There were pressing matters far more important than his own thoughts and feelings for a certain maiden. It was made aware to him, Rhaegar, and Jon by a sweaty and panicked Ser Barristan that Nyrella had run away.

Arthur’s choice to help was taken away immediately. He was grounded by Rhaegar and Jon to stay behind while the two search for her, along with Ser Barristan.His redheaded friend emphasized to the Dornish man that Nyrella would have wanted him to stay behind and recover from his injuries. He did not appreciate the fact, but understood he was far too weak at the moment to help. So, he had to play the waiting game until the trio found Nyrella’s whereabouts. He hoped to the gods she was okay.

In a couple of hours, Arthur’s prayers were heard. He watched from the gates of Casterly Rock as a party of four approached. But, It was clear as glass, something was off. The party of four looked more like two parties distancing themselves from one another. Nyrella and Barristan were in one group, while Rhaegar and Jon in another. None of them attempted to interact or spare a glance.

It was made apparent, when Nyrella passed without acknowledging him. Her stare glued to the floor, choosing to ignore everything around her. She was cold, closed-off, and radiated hurt. And the same thing could be said about Rhaegar. He, too, passed Arthur without a word or a nod towards his direction. He did not radiate the same air as Nyrella, it was more so shame. Arthur watched the siblings walk into the depths of the castle in a silence that spoke more than words itself.

It was not long until Arthur found out about the argument that ensued between Rhaegar and Nyrella. It was through Jon that he found out about what happened. He felt caught in the middle, just like Jon and Barristan. He was good friend’s with both siblings, and it would not be fair to each of them if he chose a side. Arthur wished he was there, but what would he have done differently? There was risks if he intruded, fearing the situation between the Targaryens would worsen, yet he needed to be there for them to bridge a pathway to mend what was bent.

“The last time I checked, heated arguments between Targaryens don’t end well,” Jon jested as he twirled a dagger in his hands. He comfortably leaned on a chair with his feet inclined on top of a small table.

“And your point?” Barristan challenged as he stood near the post of the bed.

Jon rolled his eyes, “Come on Barristan. You’ve fought in the fifth Blackfyre rebellion.”

“Blackfyres are not Targaryens,” the Kingsguard blatantly responded.

“In the words of legitimacy that is,” Jon said, “It is the closest to relevance, but there are more examples such as the Dance of the Dragons.”

“It will come to that,” Arthur finally broke his silence.

“Ah, I see you’re finished brooding in your corner,” Jon teased as he sheathed his dagger. “I know it will never happen, but it's not impossible. It’s just I never saw Rhaegar and Nyrella at odds with each other in this severity.”

Arthur nodded in agreement. He took a moment to think over the situation. Then, a question floated to his mind. “What specifically happened in the end? What did Rhaegar say to Nyrella?”

“I haven’t a clue. But by the glimpse of Nyrella’s tear stained face, it was not nice at all,” the redhead revisited the moment from a few hours ago. It pinged his chest to see Nyrella in such a state. He could not help but feel responsible as well for hiding the betrothal from her. There was no doubt Nyrella had strong opinions about him along with Rhaegar.

Arthur sighed, leaning his forehead against his folded hands. He had no idea what he should do. Rhaegar and Nyrella had shut themselves in their rooms, a gesture they do not want to be distributed. It has been hours he thought of them, wondering if tomorrow would be the same.

“You two mustn’t put all your strength into this,” Barristan advised, “it is best to give them time to think. There were a lot of hurtful words exchanged between them, and they know it as well.”

“What happens if not?” Arthur blurted out.

Barristan shifted in his stance as he thought of the words. Unlike the two in front of him, Barristan has seen a rare occasion when the Targaryen siblings were in a bad place with each other. It took awhile for them to make amends, but they eventually did. There was still a lingering chance, if the betrothal were to come true, seeking atonement would be difficult.

“Then, it would not be so bad if you two talk to them,” the older knight said, “bring them to see eye to eye. But I must warn you to not do more than that. A single flame is able to spread.”

“That is fine with me. I will talk to Rhaegar, knock some sense into that fool of a prince,” Jon declared as he pushed himself up from his chair. He stretched out his aching muscles, “Which means, you, Arthur, need to do the same with our Princess.”

Jon walked towards the door of the common room, “Where are you going?” Arthur questioned turning around to his friend.

“To talk to Rhaegar before I join the feast,” Jon answered plainly as he quickly exited out of the room without another word or glance.

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose with a deep exhale. The Dornish man was still processing that he was the one to talk to Nyrella. There was no problem with the assignment, but it made his brain work twice as hard to know how he would approach her.

.・゜゜・♛・゜゜・.

Because of yesterday’s events, Nyrella decided that night that she would not attend the third day of the tourney. She made the general excuse that she was not feeling very well. Most people believed her, accepting the fact and passing along wishes for her fast recovery. But, the people that knew the truth of the situation, knew that she was avoiding Rhaegar. She was all the same since last night, basking in hurt and betrayal. She did not want anything to do with him, or anything that dealt with him. So, it was easier for her to lock herself all-day in her quarters to disassociate from everything.

Yet, it was lonely. She had no one to talk to for the entire day except for her handmaiden that came by every few hours. Other than that, she really had no company. It was her and her mind only. Even if someone were to come to her, she knew she would turn them away in an instant. It was better this way, she kept repeating to herself over and over. But she could not help but think of the spectacular day her friends had. She missed them.

Nyrella watched from her balcony as the ball of fire slowly dripped towards the horizon. Sunset was coming very soon. However, the sky was still a beautiful shade of aquamarine and the temperature was feverish enough to tan the skin. She stared into the distance with longing and sadness as the seconds passed by. Maybe not everything was lost. She blinked as the sun hit her eyes. There was still sunlight. Just enough for her to compensate for the lost time cooped inside the four walls of the room.

Without another thought, Nyrella settled on riding to the outskirts of Casterly Rock. An endeavor she has been meaning to do. She slipped out of her quarters carefully. She looked around her surroundings ever so frequently, not wanting to cause a fuss that she had run off again. Despite the rapid beat of her heart that matched the rhythm of her steps, she walked through the halls determined.

There were not many people walking around the halls during this time. Nyrella saw the occasional servant here and there, but not once did she bump into a lord or lady. Not that she was complaining. The jousting tourney ended not so long ago, which meant most of the attendees had retreated to their stays to either rest or ready themselves for the later feast. And that brought another issue down the road, but it was not any of her concerns at the moment. She will figure something out once it happens, for now she needs to focus on the horse stables, where Ladyfyre resided.

As she continued to walk, Nyrella briefly looked down at her hands. She tried to put on her riding gloves. Due to the humidity, the leather had shrunk, making it difficult for her hand to fit comfortably. Nyrella’s solely was focused on the matter in hand. She failed to notice another figure walking towards her, who was just as oblivious as her.

However, it was a little too late for them. As Nyrella turned the corner, she collided straight into the person. They equally let go a gasp in surprise. The force made Nyrella lose her footing, causing her to wobble backwards. She was disoriented to notice the pair of hands quickly grabbed her upper arm to stabilize her. She muttered a few lines of curses underneath her breath as she soothed the pain lingering at her forehead.

“Nyrella are you okay?” A concerned voice questioned.

“Arthur?” Nyrella blinked her eyes repeatedly to clear her vision.

“Are you hurt? I could bring you to the Maesters or I-,” Arthur continued worriedly. He crouched down to the level, observing any damage he had caused.

“No, no, I’m fine,” Nyrella waved off. “I am all right, but thank you.”

Arthur sighed in relief. He loosen his grip on Nyrella’s arms, letting them fall back to his side. However, he kept his deep violet eyes on her. “I am sorry for bumping into, if I would have know-“

“Arthur, it’s all right. You do not have to apologize for bumping into me. I am more of a culprit than you are,” Nyrella assured the Kingsguard with a small smile.

There was a pause between them. Awkwardness filled the void of their conversation. Nyrella distracted herself by putting on her leather gloves again. She could not bring herself to look up at Arthur. She had nothing against him, but it was the fact that he reminded her of Rhaegar made her itch to move away from him.

“Are you well?” Arthur broke the silence.

Nyrella gave him a nod, “Yes, I am, thank you.”

Another pause.

Arthur knew she was ignoring his gaze. He wished she could look at him once, just once. He wanted to tell her without words that she could trust him with whatever she was going through. He was not only friends with Rhaegar, but with her as well. He cared for her immensely. He thought about her constantly, and even more so when he did not see her at all today until right now. Arthur wanted her to see him.

“I need to speak with you—“

“I really need to go—“

The pair talked over each other. A faint blush creeped onto their cheeks at the interaction.

Nyrella pointed at Arthur, “You can go first.”

Despite her not looking, Arthur gave her a smile, “I need to speak with you about yesterday.”

“What about yesterday?”

“Rhaegar didn’t—“

“Stop,” Nyrella said harshly. Her hands formed into fits at the mention of her brother. She knew what this conversation was going to, and she did not like it in the slightest.

“Nyrella, please you have to listen. He did not—“ Arthur tired, but Nyrella raised her hand to stop him.

“No Arthur,” she took a breath, “You do not understand how much he has hurt me.”

“Then help me understand. Talk to me, please. I only want to help. Nyrella, please, talk to me.”

“You wouldn’t understand, so stop it.”

“Nyrella, I won’t stop. I care about you.”

“Then stop.”

She sidestepped over Arthur, and without another word walked past him. She took deep breaths to keep her body from shaking at her heightened nerves. The built-up emotions were threatening to seep out, and it took everything not to explode. Her words were harsh and unforgiving, but she could not let him see her weak or vulnerable.

“Nyrella,” Arthur called out through the halls.

She ignored him. Her pace fastened towards the horse stables.

“Nyrella please,” he called out to her again, but this time he started to walk after her.

Nyrella muffled out his voice. She was almost to the stables, and in a matter of seconds she would be gone, far away from her problems.

Arthur shook his head. It was useless for him to continue calling out to her to talk to him, however, it did not deter him from trying to get her to open up. No matter how hard it would be, he was determined. He put a good distance between them as they walked through the halls of the castle. He noted rather quickly they were walking towards the stables, where all the royal horses were kept at.

He recalled that Nyrella loved horseback riding. She declined to travel by carriage from King’s Landing to Casterly Rock, insisting to ride her mare. She had once mentioned to him that it helped clear her mind from things. There was no doubt it helped that she was a skilled rider. In contrast, he was not but mediocre on horse. He let Ashara take the reins of being the excellent rider in their family, while he excelled in combat.

The sounds of horse neighing filled the air. They arrived promptly at the stables. Arthur watched as Nyrella gravitated towards the far left of the stables, where her horse was kept. She gently touched her mare with gentle fingers, and a soft smile graced her face. He observed how she muttered a few words to her horse, which caused the mare to neigh in delight. It was a moment Arthur did not want to ruin, so he just watched at a safe distance.

Once Ladyfyre was comfortable, Nyrella slipped the reins and saddle of the mare. She made quick work to secure the straps, making sure they were not too tight or too loose.

“Good Lady,” Nyrella praised with a few pats. Ladyfrye neighed loudly at the words, nuzzling her head at her owner.

Nyrella gripped the reins, using them to lead the mare outside of the stables and into the open courtyard. She continued to stroke the side of Ladyfyre’s head to comfort the beautiful creature. Nyrella placed her foot at the loop of the saddle, and with a firm push from the ground, she was on her horse. She flattened out her gown to even drape around her horse in order to not cause any problems while she rode. Her fingers wrapped tightly around the reins to keep Ladyfyre in a steady stance.

“It will be dark soon,” Arthur called out as he walked towards Nyrella.

The silver maiden scoffed, “Like I’m afraid of the dark.”

“It’s not the dark but what comes with it,” there was a warning in Arthur’s voice.

“You’re welcome to join Ser…” Nyrella paused to look Arthur in the eyes, “…if you could catch up.”

“Nyrella, please, listen I-“

Nyrella tugged the leather reins towards the exit of the castle. She squeezed her legs close to the body of the horse, this pressure cued Ladyfrye to a run. The pair dashed out of the castle courtyard leaving nothing but a trail of dust.

“Nyrella!” Arthur yelled as he tried to run after her. His eyes watched as the pair ran down the cobbled pathway at a fast steady pace. He swore to himself, quickly running to the nearest horse available. He placed the necessary materials on the stallion, securing the saddle and reins, before he got up and rode after the maiden. From where he was, Arthur was far behind from where she was. It would take a miracle for him to catch up to her.

To compensate for the full throttle, Nyrella stood up from her stirrups, leaning forward slightly towards the nape of the horse. She did not want to interfere with the rapid movement of the horse underneath her. She felt lightweight like a feather floating in the air. The position of her body adjusted to the continuous momentum of Ladyfyre’s shifting weight from her front and back legs. Nyrella could feel the muscles of her mare bunch and release rhythmically against the rolling plains. The sounds of hooves thundering along were hypotonic and oddly comforting. Ladyefyre was just as alive as Nyrella was. There was trust in their relationship seen and felt through each stride. Their bodies synchronized and at one with each other.

The incredible power of the wind deafened her ability to hear, and the ability to clearly visualize anything around her. Her eyes were constantly watery from the wind’s force. They fell over her flushed cheeks, acting as a cooling sensation as she moved. She heavily relied on her other senses to keep her from falling over her horse.

Regardless of the danger that lay with galloping as fast as she was going, Nyrella felt sentient and free. She indulged the warm bubbling feeling of the wind against her hair and the rush of adrenaline coursing through her entire body. Her breath was taken away by the fast-pace gallop, making it almost difficult to get enough oxygen in her lungs. She imagined this was what her ancestors felt, riding their dragons into the indefinite skies. It was an experience like no other.

Nyrella and Ladyfyre traversed into the open plains off the main road from Lannisport. The scenery was greener, more natural, and peaceful. There were only miles and miles of empty land to gallop freely. The topography was mostly flat with the occasional highlands, hills, and gradients spread out sparsely. The forests were a distance away guarding the base of the various cliffs and mountain ranges. Rivers and lakes cut through the empty plains beyond the series of highlands. The region was reminiscent of a giant slab of a peridot gemstone.

After a while, Ladyfyre’s thundering gallop gradually got slower, and her breathing was heavier. Nyrella listened to her horse’s condition, fully understanding Ladyfyre had blown through all of her energy. She loosen her grip on the reins which cued the mare to slow down.

“Easy now, easy there Lady,” Nyrella said. It was a difficult maneuver to slow into a smooth stop. Ladyfyre’s gait was bumpy and tense. Nyrella used her strength to try not to thump harshly on the back of her horse. She continued to reassure Ladyfyre until they transitioned into a slower, steady pace.

“Good job, Lady,” Nyrella praised her horse by gently rubbing her neck. Ladyfyre responded by pawing the ground with her front legs, along with a soft neigh.

Nyrella took a moment to settle her own heartbeat and the lack of breath from the ride. She peered behind her to observe what she had left behind. Casterly Rock was the same, standing high and mighty. Yet, now that she was miles away from the castle, she could see its entire beauty, the bigger picture. She lingered on the image a minute more until she heard a distant thundering of hooves.

Clicking her tongue, she cued Ladyfyre to a steady trot towards the forest line. There was a clearing that led to a pathway up towards a cliff. Nyrella carefully watched where Ladyfyre was stepping on, worried that something might frighten the horse into another gallop. They crossed over a stream, walked around a couple of oaks and birches, and climbed over a few rotten logs to finally reach the base of the cliff.

Noticing Ladyfyre’s exhaustion, Nyrella dismounted from her saddle. She firmly grasped the reins in her left hand as she led the mare up the incline. The walk was slow due to the steep slope, but the walk itself was short. At the peak of the cliff, Nyrella gaped at the view.

She could see everything from where she stood. To her west was the Sunset Seas, where the sun was about to set. To the east were the mountains, open fields, and the forests. To the north was more of the Westerland topography. Finally, to her south, it was Casterly Rock in all of its glory and the great city of Lannisport. She could see the beaches below the castle to the very tip of the highest tower of the Rock.

Nyrella picked up the sound of hooves and feet close behind her, she didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. She continued to look at the view while gently soothing her horse.

“It took you long enough,” Nyrella said amusingly.

Arthur and his horse stopped next to Nyrella and Ladyfyre. He let out a much needed exhale as he caught his breath. “I’m out of practice,” was all he answered in a husky tone.

There was a pause, but this time it was comforting. The evening breeze blew past them, less viciously than when they rode their horses. Nyrella glanced at Arthur, remembering what had occurred between earlier. She wondered why he came after her in spite of her rudeness and the things she said.

“Have you finished your sketch?” Arthur changed the topic.

Nyrella averted back to the castle, “yeah. I did.”

“Inspiration for a new sketch then?” He gestured to the scenery.

“Yes and no.”

“Care to explain?”

“Not for a new sketch, but inspiration to paint the one I have already drawn out.”

Arthur chuckled, “so this is why you came all the way here?”

“And I would have gone farther,” Nyrella joined along the amusement.

The Sword of the Morning turned away from the view to look at Nyrella. “I am sorry Nyrella,” he let out.

It was Nyrella’s turn to turn to him. He got all of her attention now. Arthur continued on, “I know now that it was wrong for me to bring up Rhaegar, when you weren’t ready to talk. I was selfish for intruding, and I am guilty for keeping my knowledge of the betrothal away from you. I am truly sorry for my actions.”

Nyrella sighed and reached out to grasp Arthur’s hand in her’s. “I forgive you, Arthur. I know you have only the best of intentions to mend things. And the betrothal… it is not your fault,” she took a breath, “I am at fault too. I take responsibility for what I said and did earlier. I realize that I took a part of my anger off on you. It was wrong for me to treat you like that. I am sorry,” Nyrella apologized.

“All is forgiven,” Arthur responded as he gently squeezed her hand in return.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Nyrella smiled. She slipped her hand away from Arthur’s grasp, and laid it adjacent to her body.

Arthur’s mouth parted slightly at the loss of her warmth. A part of him yearned for her touch again. “Same here,” he agreed with a small smile.

At that moment, Nyrella did not know what to say. She was completely enamored by Arthur’s presence. There was just something about him that was magnetic that pulled her into him. All she wanted to do was stare at him, observe every detail on his face.

“Why did you come after me even though I treated you poorly?” Nyrella found herself blurted out.

Arthur tilted his head a little to the left. He looked deep into her eyes as if he tried to find the answer in them. “Because…” he took a brief pause. “I…” another pause. Arthur cleared his throat, breaking his eye contact with Nyrella. He turned his body towards the castle, taking a breath. Nyrella lowered her head, and mirrored his action.

“I had to because I’m sworn to look after you and protect you,” Arthur responded.

“Oh,” Nyrella let out. “Of course, what a silly question for me to ask,” she played off, trying to hide the embarrassment with a smile.

“No, no, it’s not,” the Dornish man assured. He took the opportunity to change the topic. “You were greatly missed at the tourney,” he confessed.

“Was I? I hardly know anyone that would,” she said amusingly with a bit of sarcasm.

“Yes, immensely. Jon would not stop talking about you. Lukas asked about you. Barristan said he missed your company, and I agree with him. And Rhaegar… he missed you the most.”

Nyrella hummed sadly, “That’s nice to hear. I wished I had attended the tourney because I missed everyone as well…even my brother.”

“I do not know much of what he said to you, but I know that he regrets what he did along with keeping the betrothal away from you. He is no less a fool, and he cares for you with all of his soul.”

“I know. Thank you, Arthur.”

Nyrella listened to Arthur this time. Every word held truth in them. It was what she was afraid of. She knew better, but a part of her wanted to stay mad at him. She wanted him to know how much he hurt her. She wanted to make him feel bad. Yet, wishing these made her more of the villain than he was. It is a fault she has, and it is something she needed to work.

“I owe you my congratulations,” Nyrella swerved the conversation, “you are the final competitor for the joust.”

Arthur smiled widely at the thought, “How did you know?”

“I have my sources, which is, my handmaiden,” Nyrella responded with much more joy in her voice.

“Are you planning to attend tomorrow’s joust?”

“Why wouldn’t I? I am your greatest support, am I not?”

“Of course, what a silly question for me to ask.”

Nyrella chuckled at the reference, “Mocking me now are we?”

“No never! I would not do you the dishonor,” Arthur joked with an exaggeration.

“And a lie? I expected more from an honorable knight like yourself. I must think of an appropriate punishment,” Nyrella played along.

“And what would that be?” Arthur leaned closer with a daring brow raised.

“Losing another race against me,” she grinned with a fire of mischief behind her eyes. Nyrella quickly hoisted herself up onto Ladyfyre, grabbing the reins tightly into her hands. She turned the mare towards the descending slope, and jolted away.

Arthur shook his head with a wide smile. He directed his head towards the orange sky, closing his eyes as he took a deep breath. He listened to the wind that carried Nyrella’s laughter along. He took a minute to gather his thoughts before he hoisted himself on his horse and purse after the girl that had captured his affections.

.・゜゜・♛・゜゜・.

“Slow down, your Grace,” Ser Barristan echoed in exhaustion. It was a difficult task for the Kingsguard to chase after Nyrella’s quick steps, while he wore his heavy armor under the mercy of the scorching sun. He was drenched with large amounts of sweat making him glisten like the surface of the ocean. Furthermore, he had trouble catching his breath and he felt if he continued any longer, he would suffocate.

“How many times have you lectured you not to call me that? And you should not worry any longer, we are almost there, just hold out a little more!” Nyrella shouted over her shoulder. She felt guilty for putting her friend under a stressful situation without prior knowledge. She would have to apologize and atone with a barrel of wine and favorite meal.

Her lavender eyes saw her destination ahead. The royal pavilion was a minute or less away. Nyrella grabbed another bunch of fabric from either side of her gown. She fastened her pace, dodging and turning from any obstacles in her way. She muttered a string of apologies or curses along the way, which earned her a few unsettled expressions from bystanders. Yet, she did not care at the moment. She could not waste another second.

The guards at the foot of the royal pavilion noticed the rushing princess hurtling towards them. They gladly stepped aside for her entrance to the stands, and bowed their respects. Nyrella conveyed her gratitude through sparse and mumbled words as she passed them. Her eyes were glued to the wooden steps that her feet were on. She carefully tried not to trip over herself ascending up the steps of the pavilion with each beat of her racing heartbeat.

And only did her mania stop when she reached the seating platforms. She placed her hand over her stomach as she took deep needed breaths. Her eyes scanned the people in attendance in the pavilion. All of them were dressed up in their best attires for today’s joust. Yet, she spotted a familiar blonde and redhead sat at the front of the pavilion. Nyrella marched over to them while straightening up her appearance.

Lukas sat at the first row of the seating, close to the wooden barrier separating the field from the stands. While Jon sat in the second row behind Lukas. The two lords did not notice her presence until Nyrella spoke. “Lukas, Jon, mind if I sit?” She smiled at them as their eyes opened wide seeing her. Lukas abruptly stood up from his seat and bowed to Nyrella. He gestured for her to take a seat before him, which Nyrella gladly thanked him for.

“Nyrella I thought you weren’t joining,” Lukas immediately said as he took the seat next to her. He was surprised, but extremely content that she was here. He was afraid he would have to put up another day with Jon’s snarky remarks.

“Am I really that late?” Nyrella breathed out with an amused smile.

“No, I thought you were angry with me,” Lukas confessed. He kept eye contact, fearing it was a dream.

“I am not mad at you, I have no reason to be,” she assured with a lip tight smile. Lukas smiled back.

“To answer your question, you are completely late,” Jon interrupted the sappy moment. His remark was much to the blonde’s discretion earning him a glare.

Nyrella turned her head to Jon with a glare in her eyes. “Thank you Jon, just the answer I was looking for,” sarcasm dripped from her words.

“You’re welcome. Now, could you tell us why you’re late?” Jon was not hesitant to ask.

“She’s not late,” Lukas answered, “she came at a perfect time. You shouldn’t worry, Nyrella, the joust won’t start until everyone is settled down.”

Jon rolled his eyes at the sweetness Lukas was giving Nyrella. “You’re an ass kisser aren’t you Maryn?”

“And you’re a rude bastard Connington.”

“Alright that’s enough childish bickering from the two of you,” Nyrella interrupted the pair before the conversation turned even more sour. The two lords continued to glare at one another, trying their hardest to conceal the annoyance behind their gaze. It was a shock to her that they were still alive and well since the pair had all the time in the world to kill each other while she was gone.

“Jaime, Cersei, what a sight to see you two. Have you come to say hello to your cousin?,” Lukas remarked as he noticed the two Lannister children walking towards them.

In their midst, the twin children of Tywin Lannister stood before them. Nyrella had remarked earlier during her arrival to Casterly Rock of how much Cersei and Jaime looked alike. Even more so as they stood next to one another dressed in the same textile which was a light shade of green that was vaguely reminiscent of the greenery Nyrella saw on yesterday’s ride. Cersei wore a gown that wrapped around her body, emphasizing the structure of her posture. The gown in particular had bell-shaped sleeves that dangled past her hands. While Jaime wore a doublet in which the sleeves slouched down slightly passed his shoulders. His attire was toned down compared to his sister’s, a conscious decision..

Cersei plastered a smile with false sweetness, “Unfortunately not cousin. We came to greet Princess Nyrella at the behest of father.” The girl of ten turned to Nyrella with an acknowledging bow. Nyrella could tell all this was forced and ingenuine, but she decided to ignore it for now.

“That’s very thoughtful,” Nyrella responded.

“And are you well your Grace? I heard you were not feeling well yesterday,” Jaime added on.

Nyrella could not look at the twin. He did nothing to her nor did he ever speak an ill word her way, but it reminded her of what was in sight for her in the future. And by the intonation of his voice, he knew about it too or more of it. It was not fair for the both of them to be talked about in rumors, especially for something so significant and life changing.

“I am well Jaime, thank you. Are you and your sister well?” Nyrella returned a faint smile, just enough to assure the young lord that she meant every word. She could feel many pairs of eyes burning through her skin, watching the interaction between the two. The attention gnaws on her senses making her unable to think straight. Even in her own skin, she squirmed uncomfortably.

“Yes, your Grace. Cersei and I are excited for the joust,” the young lord gestures towards the empty field.

“And who are you two cheering for?”

“Ser Arthur, of course. Cersei is cheering for Prince Rhaegar. I suspect you are cheering for your brother to win?”

Nyrella breathed out a chuckle, “I am cheering for Ser Arthur. My brother already has too many supporters, I would only be adding onto his vanity.”

“Is that not improper to be cheering for someone else other than your blood?” Cersei remarked with a critical eye. She was disgusted that the Princess would go against her own brother, when it was clear that Rhaegar was a far superior competitor.

“It might be my lady, but do tell me if you cheered for your uncle when he competed against Rhaegar,” Nyrella plastered an innocent grin.

Jaime pursed his lips shut to contain the amusement that had bubbles up. It was a sight to see Cersei caught in her own hypocrisy. Cersei, on the other hand, was beet red and she glared at Jaime for even thinking it was a laughing matter. However, it was clear that it amused the whole circle of people around her, making her feel embarrassed.

Cersei stomped her foot on the ground, and walked away with a trail of fury behind her. Jaime knew he had to go after his sister before she became angrier at her, but he stayed where he was a few moments more. “Princess Nyrella,” he attracted the attention of the silver maiden, “Are you coming to the feast tonight?”

“Yes,” she replied without careful thought. There was no escaping her future now, despite the nauseous feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Suddenly the horns blew into the air, announcing that the joust was about to begin. Jamie took it as his cue to leave the group to be with his family on the upper stands. They all have their appropriate farewells to the boy, then turning their focus on the joust.

In spite of the scorching sun beating down, the weather was ideal compared to a cold, frigid day. The breeze was light enough not to cause a disturbance, but enough to refresh the sweat on the body. There were a few sparse clouds in the brilliant blue sky providing an overcast over the location. Crowds among crowds of attendees were cheering as loudly as possible. It was a sight to behold. There was unity among the people despite the divide on who would be champion of the joust.

Seconds later, both competitors appeared on the grand field in their armor and on the backs of their stallions. The crowd went feral as they laid their eyes on the two young, handsome challengers. Their Prince, Rhaegar, wore the same obsidian armor he had always worn throughout the joust, however, this one in particular excluded the cape in place for embellishments with the brightest rubies. He trotted proudly across the field waving to the crowd and his long silver-blonde hair floating behind him.

On the opposing side, the Sword of the Morning, Ser Arthur, wore the sterling silver armor, however, on top of the armor he wore a surcoat. One that perfectly depicted House Dayne. At the center of the surcoat was the sigil of the House, a white sword and a falling star over a lilac field. Then, as the surcoat trails to the bottom, it was an image of a rising sun from the corner, in honor of his title. There were no less cheers for the Kingsguard as he rode along the field. He looked every ounce of the honorable, chivalrous knight he sworn himself to be.

Both challengers stopped in front of the royal pavilion. They acknowledged each other with a nod. Then, they turned their focus back to the King, who sat at the very top and center of the pavilion. Rhaegar and Arthur bowed their heads as deeply as they could on horseback. They lifted their heads back up to see Aerys waving his hand to dismiss them. However, just as Arthur was about to trot to his side of the barrier, he caught Nyrella’s eyeline. He gave her a smile filled with genuine and true feelings, one that only people show when reunited with someone they missed for a long time. Nyrella returned the sentiment, waving her hand to show him that he had all of her attention.

Rhaegar and Arthur eased their way into their positions adjacent to the barrier. They were given their helmets. Both securely strapped the helm to their heads. Then, their squires gave them their shields with their sigil engraved on top. They slipped their left arm into the straps behind the shield, and used their right hand to adjust the firmness against their left. Lastly, Rhaegar and Arthur were given their lances. The pair took the long piece of wood, and dropped it horizontally to their bodies. They eyed each other from the opposing side, ready and determined to defeat one another. They play the waiting game for the horns to sound.

Jousting was more than a physical battle, it was also a mental one. Both opponents on the field had the strength in both to come out as victors. Nyrella could not say at that moment who had the upper hand or who would win, it was anyone’s game to win. For the time being, she counted her blessings and prayers for the two men on the field.

Promptly, the horns blew loudly. Both men took off from their positions, charging towards each other at full speed. Their lances dipped lower towards their intended target. Arthur held his lance steadily close to his body as the distance between him and Rhaegar lessened.

CRACK.

The first pass was over in seconds. The crowd rejoiced as they saw Arthur’s lance splinter into chucks. The two challengers slow their momentum into a steady trot. Arthur discarded his lance, and gladly retrieved another from his squire. The crowd’s cheers thrived vibrantly until the pair of competitors ready themselves for the second pass.

Nyrella clapped her hands in delight. It was a promising start for Arthur. She crossed her heart that his luck continued on. She held her breath once again, seeing the two opponents take their stance.

Suddenly, the horn blew again. Rhaegar and Arthur lunged at each other into a full gallop. As they got closer and closer they tensed their legs to move faster. On the stands, Nyrella was at the edge of her seat, holding her breath just until they collided twice today.

CRACK.

In a fury of wooden fragments scattering in the air, the people stood on their seats to see who won. However, it was a draw. People still cheered, but they felt cheated on by a double lance break. The coronel of Rhaegar and Arthur’s lances made an impact with each other, meaning it was a draw between the two.

“The gods are playing with us,” Jon leaned between Lukas and Nyrella. His hot breath made the two separate and turned to glare at the redhead.

“Is that so?” Nyrella rolled her eyes, clearly not amused by Jon’s antics.

“Yes, and watch,” Jon pointed to the field.

Nyrella watched as both horses on either side made the arching action of striking the ground with their hooves. It meant that both of their riders were ready for the third pass. They retrieved another set of lances, bringing down the piece of hollow wood to their side.

And with that, the horns blew for the third time. The horses dug their hooves into the dry dirt as they and their riders rushed towards each other. Arthur tilted his lance lower, targeting the shield at an angle. Rhaegar caught on to Arthur’s technique. He countered the maneuver by pointing his lance on the opposite angle, while he leaned his body weight forward.

CRACK.

Rhaegar had struck Arthur. The crowd stood up cheering for their Prince, praising him with shouts and cries. The pair discarded their lances, and made their turn around the barrier. It was an even match between the Prince of Dragonstone and The Sword of the Morning.

At the stands, Nyrella applauded for Rhaegar. It was less enthusiastic compared to Arthur, but she did it anyway. Her chest felt heavier at the score from anxiety and excitement. She did not want to admit it but Jon was right. The gods were playing with them. It made everyone on the edge of their seats. Suspense and tension growing between the two challengers on the field. She could not see their eyes, but she predicted it was a pure look of competitiveness and ambition.

Arthur drew a breath through the small gap of his helmet. His body was aching from Rhaegar’s hit. He did not fully heal from the previous rounds, and it started to show. He glanced over at Nyrella. In a sea of people, he could spot her instantly by the way she glowed. She was an encouragement for him to persevere through the difficulty and pain. Arthur took another breath. He was calm, concentrated, and most of all ready.

For the last time, the horns blew through the wind. Arthur tightly grasped the reins of his horse as he cued his stallion into a full gallop. The two competitors stormed their way towards each other, lances on the ready to strike. The hooves of their stallions thundered loudly around the field. Arthur braced himself as he held his lance firmly close to his body, and used all his weight to create a massive blow. It was a gamble with faith. He either was going to fail or succeed.

CRACK.

It was the latter. Arthur’s lance shattered as it collided dead center of Rhaegar’s shield. The hit was so powerful, it nearly unhorsed the dragon Prince. Arthur threw his lance to the ground as relief washed over him. He quickly took off his helmet, throwing the metal thing next to his broken lance. He did it.

The crowd applauded at the victory. Everyone stood up in their seats to cheer, praise, and shout congratulations to the Kingsguard. People threw various things at the field from flower petals to various colored ribbons.

The moment Arthur broke his lance, Nyrella was the first to celebrate his accomplishment. It brought the biggest smile to her face as he paraded his victory around the field. Her hands were getting sore from applauding, but she did not care because she was relishing in her happiness for Arthur. He deserved this win.

Arthur rode towards his friend. Rhaegar and him exchanged a handshake with one another, showing their sportsmanship and strong bond as friends. “Congratulations Arthur, you have bested me this time,” a wide smile spread across Rhaegar’s handsome face.

“And I cannot wait to best you another time,” Arthur responded with gleeful eyes.

Rhaegar chuckled. He pulled his friend closer until he was close enough to whisper into his ear. “I do not mean to ruin your moment, but the people are waiting for you to dedicate your win,” Rhaegar said as his eyes landed on his sister, who was smiling brightly at the pavilion.

Arthur retracted, nodding to the Prince, “I will see you and Jon at the feast.” The two exchanged their farewells. Rhaegar waved to the crowd as he exited towards the tents, while Arthur rode towards the center of the field to meet with Lord Tywin.

The Hand of the King and Lord of Casterly Rock acknowledged the Kingsgaurd with praise for his achievement. He informed Arthur that the prize, a hefty purse of gold, would be delivered to him later on by Lord Kevan. Arthur did not care much for the coin, but he nodded in understanding. Then Lord Tywin signaled a servant boy, who held something that was covered by a sheet of fabric. He lifted the cover to reveal a crown of purple flowers.

The wreath brought a fond smile to Arthur’s bow-shaped lips. He held the flowers gently in his hands, trying his best not to crush the petals. He used one hand to grab the reins, and directed his horse towards the stands. There were many highborn ladies batting their eyes at him, but it was useless when he already knew who he wanted to dedicate his victory to. The people watched intently as Arthur rode towards the royal pavilion.

A silence fell over the spectators as Arthur stopped in front of Nyrella. He extended his hand out, holding the wreath of purple flowers. “Nyrella,” he muttered under his breath, lowly enough for her to only hear. “I crown you my queen of love and beauty.”

Nyrella dreamt of this day. She never imagined it would happen, but it seemed faith had laid out all the right cards for this moment to happen. She leaned over the wooden barrier to reach for the crown of flowers. Her fingers lightly graze against Arthur’s, making her gasp at the touch. It was over in seconds but she could feel the lingering sensation. She successfully retrieved the flowers, holding them in her hands.

“Arthur I-“

“It's okay Nyrella. You do not have to say anything for now,” Arthur gave her a toothy smile.

Nyrella blushed as she rubbed her thumbs against the soft petals, “later tonight then?”

“Save me a dance,”

“Of course,”

Arthur nodded, taking one last look of Nyrella before he had to go back to the training camps. It brought him happiness to see her smile because it was him who made her. He pulled the reins of the horse, riding off towards the exit.

The interaction between them was short, but Nyrella knew that they had all night to be in each other’s company. She stared off to the distance as he rode away along with her heart.

.・゜゜・♛・゜゜・.

It was custom for highborn participants attending a feast or a banquet of sorts to refresh themselves with a new attire. Nyrella was an avid supporter of the custom, yet she could not wear her jousting gown just once, when it went so well with her crown of purple flowers.

The gown was a shade of lavender, many shades lighter than Nyrella’s irises, unmistakably complimenting her unique features. The floor length gown hit the ground perfectly to minimize the delicate chiffon snagging against the ground. Various layers of the light textile were used to create an effortless depth in the movement of the fabric. The gown cinched at the waist, and the bodice was a sweetheart neckline that transitioned into off-the shoulder sleeves, the same material as the skirt. There were, also, two thin straps on the bodice to hold the sleeves in the perfect position. To finish off, the gown throughout had crystal embellishments that gleamed when light refracted on the surface.

The gown was not as extravagant and heavily embellished as some of the ladies attending the feast, however the simplicity of the gown was more than enough to enhance Nyrella’s loveliness and desirable beauty. Onlookers, who had the chance to see the Princess, could not stop staring with the lack of words to comprehend their rush of emotions. Some may say she’s more beautiful than her ancestor, Rhaenyra, who was called “The Realm’s Delight”, at her age. Yet, no matter what was said about her beauty, it was unanimously agreed on that she was a beauty like no other and in her own right.

Nyrella sat at the head of the royal table alongside House Lannister. It gave her unwelcoming flashbacks of the feast prior nights ago. She hoped Lord Gerion would not dare to ask her for another dance. It would save them embarrassment. To her luck, he was nowhere to be. And so was Ser Arthur.

The Great Hall of Casterly Rock was brimming with lively loud instruments from the hand-picked musicians. They sang their heart’s desire at their own composed songs filled with sorrow or adventure. It was a massive hit with the crowd of attendees as they swayed their bodies to the tunes or belt along with the occasional drink from their chalice. The many lords and ladies had taken off to the center of the Great Hall to dance to the rhythm.

Nyrella observed the happy smiles and laughter from the oblivious dancers. It was her entertainment to see the unspoken competition between the various pairs of lords and ladies. They all sneak glances at one another to improve their dancing skills. Some would lead to couples bickering or falling into a heap of hysterics.

“Princess Nyrella, would you do me the honor for a dance?” Nyrella clocked her head to the right. Her vision was occupied by an image of a young man with dark curly hair and hazel green eyes. Henry Tyrell. He was not in his garb of armor, but instead in a formal doublet of gold and green.

“And what if I refuse the honor Ser?” Princess raised her brow, testing the young man. Henry chuckled at her words, picking up the tease. He formed into a big smile, and bowed half of his body.

“Then, I must respect your answer and sunken in the corner of this beautiful hall,” Henry said as he stood up straight.

Nyrella shook her head in shyness. She looked back at the rest of the Great Hall. Henry followed her gaze, acknowledging that she was searching for someone in the crowd. “I will take my leave, princess. I see you are waiting for someone else ,” Henry softly spoke.

“Oh no, please don’t,” Nyrella was quick to reply back. “I do not mean to be rude and deny you a dance, Ser Henry. I would love to dance,” she stood up from her chair, and presented the latter with her hand.

Henry took her hand in his, leading Nyrella into the middle of the room. He bowed once again. He placed his left hand below her shoulder blades while Nyrella dropped her left on his arm. Their right hands clasped together. Then, they synced themselves to the rhythm of the tune, following the lead of the other couples dancing. The two complimented each other's style of dancing once they had a good feel of being in each other’s arms. Other than that, the pair conversed in a simple conversation to learn more about each other. One of things Nyrella learned was that Henry is bestowed the title, “The Rose Knight.” She thought it was very fitting for him.

When the song ended, Henry and Nyrella shared pleasantries and a goodbye. Nyrella was eager to go back to her seat on the royal table, however, she felt someone clasp her right hand. She pivoted off her heel to see the familiar blonde hair of Lukas. The Lord of Riptide looked every inch of a lord in his prim and pressed attire. Without any words, the two of them positioned themselves on the dance floor.

“I hope I am a better dancer than the Tyrell boy,” Lukas inquired as he took the pleasure of leading the dance. His steps were assertive, radiating confidence. Nyrella had no problem following his lead and matching his steps with her’s.

“Take my word, you two are very similar. You could make a good friend out of him,” Nyrella eyes the Tyrell, who was occupied with small talk with another lord from the Reach.

Lukas hummed as he thought about it, “Sounds annoying. I would not want to be friends with a person so similar to me.”

“I guess that is why you prefer to be in the company of your uncle,” Nyrella deadpanned.

“Perhaps, or maybe it’s because he is family,” Lukas smiled down at Nyrella as he twirled her around. It boggled her mind how a sweet person like Lukas could socialize with a man like Lord Tywin so frequently. Lord Tywin treated Lukas more like a brother than he did with Gerion or Tygett, which says a lot about the relationship.

“Nyrella?”

The silver princess hummed.

“I am leaving later tonight. I plan to go back to Essos.”

Nyrella blinked her eyes at him in confusion. “Why are you telling me now? I thought you were done traveling,” disbelief in her voice.

“It was a last minute decision,” Lukas spoke.

“But why? Aren’t you happy here?”

“Nyrella, I am happy. To be here with you. But, I cannot be the man I hoped to be if I stay.”

Nyrella knew Lukas was telling the truth. It pained her heart that he was leaving so suddenly. It was hard enough that he was gone for so long, and for him to leave again just tore her. But she could not be selfish. Nyrella laid her head against Lukas’s chest. She tried her best to hide her sullen mood.

“Please be safe, Lukas.”

“For you… always.”

The two swayed until the song concluded. Nyrella gave Lukas her final wishes before they departed. The empty space of where Lukas was just seconds ago made her heart sink to the ground. It was hard to cope that she might never see him again for a very long time.

Suddenly at her peripheral vision, she saw an outstretched hand extending towards her. “May I have this dance, Ny?” Rhaegar intervened.

Nyrella froze. She stared at Rhaegar, noticing the plea in his eyes for her to take his hand. She was hesitant, shifting her gaze between his hand and his face. The confrontation was bound to happen along with the thick tension of unresolved conflict looming over.

“Please Nyrella,” Rhaegar begged, inching his hand closer to her. His chest grew heavy every moment he stood there waiting for her answer. He tried to fight the intense stare he received from Nyrella’s judgement. Even if he was turned away, he hoped she saw that be tried.

Nyrella swallowed the fear in her throat. She slowly placed her hand on top of Rhaegar’s palm. “Just one dance,” she mumbled as they took their positions.

“One dance is all I need,” Rhaegar gave her a delicate smile, but Nyrella averted her eyes somewhere else other than his face.

The two of them swayed to the slow melody of the musician’s instruments. They preferred to keep to themselves, listening to the ambient sounds around them. However, long enough into the ballads, one of them had to say something eventually. Listening was easy, but it meant that forming words would get harder.

It was Rhaegar that broke the silence. He could not waste the opportunity because he knew would never get another. “Are you all right? You seemed sad after your dance with Lukas,” Rhaegar questioned with concern.

“Why should I tell you? It is none of your business to know,” Nyrella said with a vacant stare over his shoulders. She still would not look at him.

Rhaegar hummed, then he sighed deeply. “I’m sorry Nyrella…for everything. I’m sorry I did not tell you about the betrothal, the terrible apology, and the harmful words I used during our altercation at the beach. I did more than hurt you… I betrayed you. It took me long enough to realize I was wrong. I’m sorry.”

Nyrella took a few moments to reflect on his apology. Rhaegar anticipated her lack of response. He did not expect anything from her. He would wait until the end of the world for her.

“I…I cannot forgive you so easily,” Nyrella spoke, yet she slowly turned to look at Rhaegar. “You hurt me, and it will take time to heal. But… I hear you and thank you.”

Rhaegar caught her gaze. He gave her an assuring smile, “That is more than I deserve. I promise I will do better, Ny.”

Nyrella returned a faint smile. “I’m sorry too Rhaegar. I feel ashamed for slapping you and my rudeness. I was wrong to treat you like that. I know now that I need to work on my anger. I am sorry.”

“All is forgiven. I deserved that slap. I was acting like an ass. I appreciate your apology,” The Prince of Dragon sighed in relief which he followed with a wide smile.

There was a brief silence that came after. It was not tense or dreadful as if it was before, but comfortable as if a weight had lifted off their chest.

“Lukas is leaving tonight,” Nyrella spoke up. The sudden sadness washed over her again. Inside, she felt something was off with Lukas leaving. It was so sudden and did not give enough room for thinking.

“Is that why you're sad?” Rhaegar inquired as he effortlessly led Nyrella around the dance floor. He was light on his feet, knowing every step of the dance they performed. He was almost as good at dancing than Nyrella.

“He’s my best friend, of course I am. It’s just why he decided to leave so soon?” Nyrella pondered.

Rhaegar twirled Nyrella around, “I would not think so deeply about it if he gave you an answer. Did he?”

Nyrella hummed.

“Then I would not worry… unless.”

“Unless?”

Rhaegar shrugged his shoulders, “It’s about the betrothal.”

“Oh,” Nyrella quickly silenced herself.

Rhaegar knew the feelings Lukas held for his sister. It was plainly obvious at the way he looked at her and how he only smiled for her. He would not be surprised if Lukas hid his true feelings of resentment and jealousy underneath his signature grin.

“About the betrothal,” Rhaegar changed the topic, “I talked to father about it and…”

“And what? What did he say?” Nyrella hanged at Rhaegar’s words. The mention of the betrothal made her unease with the feeling of wanting to know more while not at the same time.

“Nothing. I said nothing. We have to wait until the final feast for an announcement or not. To make you feel better, Lord Tywin is also making a match between his daughter to me,” he offered a faint smile.

“Cersei?”

“That’s the name.”

“Jon would not be pleased to hear such news. It will make his blood boil again,” Nyrella commented as a wide grin graced her face.

“Agreeable,” the Prince of Dragonstone nodded. “I’m sorry I could not change anything about the betrothal.”

“Don’t be Rhaegar. I know you tried and I’m thankful,” Nyrella squeezed Rhaegar’s hand to assure him.

The dance ended soon after their conversation. Meeting as foes, the pair ended as siblings once again. Rhaegar bowed to Nyrella, then he left a chaste peck over her knuckles. Nyrella returned the courtesy with a curtsy. Before they departed separate ways, Rhaegar leaned in to whisper into her ear.

“You should not thank me just yet,” he retracted revealing a smirk on his face. Nyrella furrowed her eyebrows together at the ominous comment. Suddenly, Rhaegar gripped Nyrella’s shoulders and pushed her back with great force.

Nyrella tried to grab Rhaegar but she ended up tripping over her gown causing her to fall faster for the ground. She closed her eyes, waiting for the impact of the ground and the pain that followed. Yet, it never came. Instead, she landed against a surface much softer than the cobblestone floor and colder to the touch. She fluttered her eyes open to be welcomed with a kind face.

“Careful, princess. You still owe me a dance,” Arthur grinned as he looked down into Nyrella’s unsuspecting eyes.

“Arthur,” Nyrella said breathlessly, “you came.”

“You seemed surprised,” the Kingsguard said as he helped Nyrella onto her feet.

“I did not see you at the start of the feast. I was worried my father had stolen your way like last time,” she responded as her hands moved up to her head to straighten up the flower crown.

“Almost, if not for Ser Gwayne,” Arthur recounted as his fellow sworn brother offered to take Arthur’s shift. The older Kingsguard remarked how Arthur needed to celebrate his win and enjoy himself at the feast. Arthur could not be more in debt to the Gaunt, he truly was grateful.

“Well, I'm glad you’re here now,” Nyrella sighed into a smile.

Arthur nodded. He bowed his head, extending his hand forward. “May I have this dance, your Grace?”

Nyrella lifted the sides of her dress as she crusty, “I would be honored to, Ser.” She placed her soft hands into his callous ones.

The pair instinctively molded into their positions. Arthur laid his hand behind the small of her back, while Nyrella placed her left on top of his shoulder. Their other hand cupped into each other on the verge of being intertwined. They fell in step to the slow tempo of the music, letting the rhythm control the movement of their bodies.

“I must warn you, I am not the best dancer in this room,” Arthur leaned slightly for only Nyrella to hear.

Nyrella chuckled because she noticed the way he was careful with his steps as soon as they danced. He was solely focused on trying not to step on her feet. She agrees that he is not the best dancer in the room, but he was better than most and seeing that he tried to put effort meant more to her than an excellent dance. “Follow my lead then,” Nyrella assured the Kingsguard.

Arthur observed Nyrella’s movements. He trailed after her steps to compliment her’s. “Now that it’s just the two of us, care to tell me the name of the pretty flowers on top of your head?” he gestured using his eyes.

“Lilacs,” Nyrella responded fondly.

Arthur hummed. His gaze lingered on the multiple clusters of the small four-petalled flower. They were light purple colors similar to Nyrella’s eyes but slightly warmer and were pinker. They gave off a distinct strong smell of sweetness, sweeter than rose with hints of nectar. The scent clings to the air. “Any reason why they are your favorite?”

“Every summertime, Rhaegar and I would travel to the ruins of Summerhall. Lilacs would grow in the masses there. The first time I saw them, I fell in love. They are a remainder of my fondest memories,” she smiled at the recall.

“Are you and Rhaegar on good terms now?” Arthur followed up.

“You can say so,” Nyrella paused, “You had a hand to play in this, so thank you.”

“I cannot take all the credit. Jon helped as well to put sense into your brother’s actions,” he said while he spun Nyrella with one hand.

She let out a laugh as she did. “And you said you didn’t know how to dance,” Nyrella amused.

Arthur pulled Nyrella closer into this chest. He smiled down at his petite partner, admiring her beauty. “I don’t, but I do have a few tricks up my sleeve,” he offered her.

“I would love to see them,” Nyrella brightened.

“Only if you’ll dance with me a second time,” Arthur asked hopefully as the music played the closing note.

“I would-“

“Princess Nyrella-“

Arthur and Nyrella in unison snapped their attention to the intruder. Their eyes landed on a young lanky boy with recognizable golden hair and gem eyes. Jaime stood awkwardly in the middle of the hall looking out of place and nervous.

Nyrella kindly smiled at him, “Hello Jaime, are you here to ask me for a dance?” Nyrella knew the Lannister boy’s motives, also knowing it was his father that sent him here. It was weird to be around Jaime and to interact with him, yet, she continued to treat him kindly. He was still young, and it must have been a heavier burden on his end.

Jaime nodded his head, “Yes but I underst-“

“Please, it is okay,” Nyrella assured the boy. “You came all this way for a dance, so you will.”

Jaime bowed his head, “Thank you.”

“Of course, but let me have a few words with Ser Arthur until the musicians play another tune?” Nyrella requested.

The Lannister vigorously nodded, “Yes, I can wait.”

Nyrella muttered her gratitude to the boy of ten namedays then watched as he walked back to his seat. She sighed, turning back to Arthur, who was quiet the whole interaction. His expression was unreadable, but not the same as when she got distracted.

“How do you feel?” He inquired looking at the Lannister table.

“About Jaime and the betrothal?” Nyrella clarified. The Kingsguard hummed a reply. “I hope it doesn’t go through,” she sighed, “he’s a nice boy but I don’t think we would be happy.”

“Is that what you want…to be happy?” Arthur’s deep violet eyes staring down into Nyrella’s lavender ones.

“Everyone wants that, don't they? But it’s unrealistic in a world like ours,” she sadly frowned.

Arthur could not agree more with her. “What was your answer before we were interrupted?” He decided to change the topic of conversation. He did not want to leave Nyrella in low spirits.

“That,” a hint of blush covering her cheeks. “Do you really need to know?”

“Enlighten me,” The Dornishman grinned.

“I think you already know the answer,” she refused to say it, stalling as much as she could.

“I do, but I want to hear it from you,” Arthur persisted, showing her a toothy grin filled with charm.

Nyrella tried to resist, but the way he smiled at her made her walls crumble. “I said that I would love to dance with you a second time.”

.・゜゜・♛・゜゜・.

Nyrella’s feet stood at the edge of the ledge. Her eyes closed to the feeling of the strong pulls of fresh winds coming from the unknown west. The overwhelming moment brought out the inner dragon within her, the sudden taste of danger. The scent of Casterly Rock’s salty seas held vibrancy and pureness. Waves beneath the tall cliff glowed iridescently while they crashed towards the golden specks of sand on the beaches. Nyrella wished this moment could last longer.

“Nyrella! Get down there!” Rhaegar yelled through the powerful winds.

Nyrella opened her eyes, then turned to her brother, “You have to come up here! I feel like Rhaenys riding on the back of Meraxes!” Her arms were outstretched feeling the air surrounding her, a smile plastered on her face.

“Has the madness gotten into you! If you don’t come down here, you will be Rhaenys!” Rhaegar yelled again.

Nyrella rolled her eyes, “Fine!” She sidewalked her way towards the ladder, keeping herself balanced on the thin ledge. Once she reached the ladder, she carefully descended on foot at at time until both feet were on the same ground Rhaegar stood.

Rhaegar walked over to his sister with relief written all over his face. “Thank goodness,” he sighed deeply, “you cannot run off like that.”

“I had too,” Nyrella offered her brother a grin.

“Ny, just because there wasn't an announcement about the betrothal during the final banquet, does not mean the offer is gone,” Rhaegar explained as both siblings started to walk towards the direction of the courtyard, where their entourage waited.

Nyrella nodded, “I know but it’s a huge relief. I had to get it out of my system before we left for King’s Landing.” A few days after the final joust, Nyrella lived in fear as she counted the days of the final banquet. However, last night was the final banquet, and there was no announcement or remark of any betrothal. Nyrella did not know why but she was thankful.

“You could have been the mistress of this castle, had all the gold and jewels to yourself, and your children could have had beautiful golden hair,” the Prince of Dragonstone remarked as he scanned around the castle.

“Are you implying something?” Nyrella inquired, not so pleased with Rhaegar’s comment.

“Yes and no,” he began, “I’m not implying for you to marry Jaime, but he was the strongest candidate for a suitor. Who could vanquish a Lannister for your hand in marriage?”

“Let’s not talk about this Reg,” Nyrella crossed her arms over her chest with furrowed brows.

“I’m being realistic, Ny. Sooner or later-“

“When it comes, I will make that decision and do my duty,” Nyrella sighed. “For now, I just want to live as I am now free from the future’s burdens.”

Rhaegar nodded his head in understanding. He linked his arm with Nyrella, “Of course, we must cherish the time we have at the moment.”

As the siblings walked away, they left behind Casterly Rock in their memories. It was time for the Targaryens to leave and go back to their home in King’s Landing, where their future lies.

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laudsimogen · 1 year

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This Hunger, It Isn't You (Ch. 10)

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Imogen shifted her focus back to the Plague as Laudna disappeared, and she subconsciously took a step back. She hadn’t realized how much more confidence Laudna’s presence had given her.

She tamped down the urge to run. If the Plague were going to kill her, she’d be moving faster, wouldn’t she? This could still work.

“Do you speak my language?” Imogen said hesitantly as the tall woman reached the top of the staircase. “I heard you say something before, but I don’t know how much you understand. I’m sorry I don’t know yours.”

“It was foolish of you to come here, little one,” the Plague said, her voice rough and punctuated by coughs. “The Entity is busy now, but it will still know you were here. I cannot let you leave.”

Imogen took another step back, her heart pounding. This was fine. It would suck, but it would be fine.

“That’s all right,” Imogen said. “You can kill me. But can we talk first?”

The Plague paused. “If I speak with you, you would submit without a fight?”

Imogen nodded. “Yes,” she said. “What’s your name?”

“I no longer have a name.”

“Well, do you remember what your name used to be, then? My name is Imogen.”

The killer sighed. “There is no point in exchanging pleasantries,” she said, “but if you must insist, you may call me Adiris.”

“Okay,” Imogen said. “Thank you. I just have a few questions; it won’t take long.”

Adiris nodded and gestured for Imogen to continue.

“How long have you been here?” Imogen asked. “Do you know?”

“No,” Adiris said. “But it has been a very, very long time. Centuries. Perhaps even millennia.”

Shit. This was already more than Imogen had bargained for. “It doesn’t seem like you enjoy killing us,” she said. “Is the Entity the only reason you do it?”

Adiris gave a dissatisfied hum. “It is now. But it was not always the only reason. It had offered salvation for my people, and for many years, I believed my actions here were keeping my people alive there. But it was not the case. It fooled me, and now I must punish others for my own naivety.”

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” Imogen said. “Did you ever try rebelling against the Entity?”

“No.” Adiris’s expression had not changed much, but now it took on a darker tone. “Rebellion is futile. I have seen others attempt it. Most are no longer here. Those who are can be likened to beasts. They have no sapience, only prey drive.” She paused. “I did consider it once, to bring an end to my pain. But I would only be replaced with someone new if I were disposed of. At least, as I am, I can kill quickly and with little suffering for the victims.”

Imogen began to feel sick as she processed the new information. “How many of you are still yourselves? How many could be reasoned with?”

“Very few,” Adiris said. “The one you came here with and the one your people call the Wraith. Perhaps the huntress I share these woods with, or the two children, but those may already be too far gone. Time takes its toll. I have been very careful to keep my soul. Others have not the same level of constitution.”

“So, that’s it,” Imogen murmured. “Three of you. It’s not enough.”

“No.”

“Okay.” Okay. So, the killers couldn’t do anything, not without the Entity breaking them. Imogen had thought more of them than not would still have retained their humanity, but if that wasn’t the case, then…then, there was nothing. There was nothing the survivors could do, and there was nothing the killers could do.

“I am sorry,” Adiris said. “It is time for you to go. I will make it fast.”

“Okay,” Imogen said again. She felt numb as Adiris took her head between her hands, uttered another prayer, and twisted.

Imogen woke, as expected, at the campfire. What she didn’t expect was Ashton standing over her, arms crossed, frowning down at her.

“Good,” they said. “Wasn’t sure you would wake up. What the hell were you thinking?”

Imogen furrowed her brow and sat up. She felt great compared to how she usually did after resurrection; this time, she just had a sore neck. “What are you talking about?”

“Going to see the Plague? I thought you were just sticking to the one killer. Insane is one thing, Imogen; stupid is another.”

“What the hell is your problem?” Ashton wasn’t usually one to scold people, and Imogen had never seen them this pissed, at least not at one of their friends. “It’s fine. If you mean gettin’ myself killed, I let her do it. How did you even know where I was?”

“I had a trial with Laudna,” Ashton said. “She told me. And she let us all escape, so that was nice, but it’s beside the point. You died out there.”

Imogen sighed. She didn’t understand the point Ashton was trying to make, and frankly, she was too tired to try. “And?”

“And I just had to drag your body back here.”

Imogen’s heart dropped. “Oh,” she said. “I’m sorry, I—I didn’t know.”

Ashton sighed, and some of the tension left their body. “I know,” they said. “Honestly, neither did I; I just…I was afraid you were gone.” They glanced over at their sleeping group of friends. “I didn’t tell the others. Didn’t want them to worry.”

“I didn’t think…I mean, I guess I just assumed it would be like dying in the trials,” Imogen murmured. “Thank you. For bringing me back.”

“Yeah, well, I kinda have this thing where I like having my friends around,” Ashton said.

“I’ll be more careful,” Imogen said. “I don’t need to go back out there, anyway; I’m sure Laudna wouldn’t mind talkin’ to me here.” If she still wants to talk to me after I tell her what I learned, Imogen thought. It wasn’t as if she could find any way to help the other woman escape this place now, and while she hoped they could stay in contact, she wouldn’t blame Laudna if she wanted to keep her distance from someone she would end up having to hunt for the rest of time. She couldn’t expect Laudna to go easy on her every time, not with the…the punishments…

“Wait,” Imogen said. “You said Laudna let you escape? All of you?”

Ashton shrugged. “Yeah. She said she was tired of killing. Wish all of them were like that, right?”

“Oh, no.” Imogen’s stomach turned. “Why would she do that? She knows she’ll get hurt.”

“I’m sure she’s all right,” Ashton said. “I mean, she did mention punishment, but…she said she’ll be fine. I’m guessing she’s been through it before.”

“I’m gonna go wait for her,” Imogen said. “If she’s not already around, maybe she will be soon.”

“Do you want company?”

Imogen nodded, and Ashton held out their hand to help her up. Then, they stood together at the edge of the light.

“Laudna?” Imogen called. “Are you there?”

She all but held her breath waiting for an a reply, but only silence answered her. She sat down with Ashton and halfheartedly talked about meaningless, trivial things with them, constantly looking back into the trees and hoping to see movement, until Ashton left to sleep.

She did not sleep. She sat and stared into the shadows, anxiously plucking grass and breaking fallen leaves to occupy her hands. Surely Laudna would have come to hear about her conversation with Adiris by now if everything were fine.

But maybe she just needed rest. Maybe she just needed time to recuperate from whatever punishment she was dealt. Maybe she’d come tomorrow, or the next day.

Imogen spent every waking moment waiting for Laudna, but she never came. It was on the third day that she couldn’t take it anymore, couldn’t take not knowing what had come of her friend and whether she was even still alive.

“I have to go,” Imogen murmured to Ashton. “I know it’s dangerous. I’ll be as careful as I can. But I have to help her if she’s not okay.” She couldn’t meet their eyes. “Don’t come after me if I don’t come back. I don’t want to put you in danger, too.”

“Yeah, that’s not happening,” Ashton said. “I’m not gonna stop you, but you can’t stop me comin’ after you if you’re dead, so.”

“Ashton…”

“I’ll bring the others with me if it comes to that,” they said. “If they want to come. But they will.”

Imogen sighed. “All right,” she said. “Just…give me a while. I don’t know how long it’ll take me to get there and back, especially without Laudna leading me.”

“I will,” Ashton said. “Good luck. I hope you find her.”

“Me, too,” Imogen said, and she stepped into the woods.

It was easier to find Laudna’s realm now that she had been there a couple times. She cut straight through Adiris’s land, confident that the priestess was still holed up in her temple, and she made it to Laudna’s cabin without a hitch.

But something wasn’t right. She’d known it probably wouldn’t be, but she’d still held out some hope that she’d find Laudna relaxing at home, surprised to see her, saying something like “I was just about to come fetch you.”

Imogen could hear movement inside the cabin. Creaking, shuffling, thudding. If she listened closely, she could hear whispers echoing in the wooden walls, but she couldn’t make out the words. It didn’t matter. It was Laudna’s voice, but it wasn’t Laudna’s usual dripping, saccharine tone. It was her, but it wasn’t her.

Imogen couldn’t help herself. She snuck around to the window facing the hearth and peered in through the broken panes of glass. Nothing could have prepared her for what she saw.

Laudna sat hunched on the floor in her form of dread, her head tucked between her knees and her long, spindly fingers clutching at her hair near the roots. All of the skin Imogen could see was covered in new scarring, and she twitched like a horse plagued by flies. The whispers were interrupted by quiet weeping.

Imogen couldn’t breathe for a moment, and when she finally did, she couldn’t suppress her soft cry of horror.

Laudna’s head snapped up at the sound and her eyes, usually so deep but now devoid of the spark that usually shone through them, bored into Imogen. They faced each other, frozen for a heartbeat, before Laudna lunged.

She ran on all fours, limbs bent at odd angles, and Imogen fell back off of the porch as Laudna crawled through the window, breaking and cutting herself on what was left of the glass, leaving black ichor in her wake.

Imogen scrambled back in the grass, desperately trying to find enough purchase to get to her feet and run. She couldn’t break her gaze away from Laudna’s face, from her unhinged jaw and sagging cheeks. Those empty eyes, just black pits in her face now.

Imogen had no hope of escape. She knew that, and she accepted it quickly, but she resolved to use what little time she had left to try.

“Laudna,” she said, “I know you’re in there. It’s me! It’s Imogen. You don’t wanna hurt me.”

Laudna didn’t break her stride as Imogen spoke, tears falling silently down her face. But she kept going even as Laudna pinned her down with a thin, claw-like hand on her chest, her heart hammering into Laudna’s palm. The nails dug into her skin, and she cried as the other hand tore into her face, then wrapped around her throat.

“Please,” Imogen continued, her voice muffled by the blood running into her mouth and the pressure on her windpipe. The hand on her chest pierced her deeper, and Laudna leaned over, her dripping face just inches away. Imogen tried to make eye contact, but her vision was already swimming. She couldn’t focus.

“Laudna, it’s me,” she choked out. “Please. This isn’t you.”

Laudna hesitated. What little consciousness Imogen had left filled with hope, even as she realized she was going to die regardless. Laudna’s nails were in her heart now, but she was back, or at least part of her. That beautiful spark had returned to her eyes. Imogen took comfort in it, and she reached out to touch Laudna’s mind one last time before she faded.

#critical role #imodna #imogen temult #laudna #my writing #this hunger it isn't you #LISTEN i was GOING to save this until tomorrow. but i couldn't stop writing and now it's 6 am so #oops

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