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daniellewritesfr · 7 months

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𝐀𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐈𝐜𝐞 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐒𝐧𝐨𝐰

Chapter one

Paring: Robb Stark x f!Reader

Summary: After coming to fight for house Stark after Ned Stark is killed, you're caught off guard while in the middle of battle causing an unexpected encounter with The King of the North.

Warnings: Description of death, violence.

Word count: 1.3k

A/N: Find series master list here

Watching men die was horrifying, never really thinking that you’d witness such a thing, being told from a young age that war was no place for a lady. But here you were fighting alongside men you barely knew, for a man you’d never met. The King of the North.

You were snapped back to reality when an arrow flew past your head missing you by mere inches, embedding itself in some poor soul behind you. Panic starting to set in, clashing sounds of steel fill the air. Turning quickly, lifting your shield, taking a blow from an axe, the force almost bringing you to your knees. You sweep your sword hitting the legs of the soldier, he falls, screaming in pain before you plunge your sword through his throat ending his life. Blood splattering across your face breathing heavily, you look amongst the destruction surrounding you, the sounds of dying men filling your ears, you turn to face another man dodging a blow then disarming him bringing him down. You didn’t have the chance to land the final strike, the sound of a horn stopping you in your tracks, the sound of victory.

Distracted, giving the Lannister soldier time to strike. Slamming you in the temple with a rock, knocking you off balance. This time you fall to the ground clutching your head, your sword lay by your side. Looking up at the man who has now retrieved his weapon, you can only assume that the fear in your eyes is evident, lifting his sword with both hands plunging it down, but before he can land the fatal blow a sword rips through his chest, a grunt leaves his throat fallowed by blood a small stream of blood spilling from his mouth, his limp body falls to the ground. You look up, wanting to know your savior only to find Robb Stark gazing down upon you.

Reaching his hand out, you take it pulling you to your feet. The fighting ceased as the king's soldiers began taking prisoners and finishing off the men that had yet to die.

“My king” you say attempting to bow only to stagger. His hands grab your shoulders to steady you.

“Are you alright?” he questions his eyes searching your face.

“Yes” you pause, beginning to hear a slight ringing in your ears. “Yes, I think so.”

You attempt to pick up your sword only to lose your footing, He catches you by the arm holding you up, you pull away from his grasp not wanting to seem weak.

“I’m alright” you say “truly”

He nods hesitantly, reaching down picking up your sword handing it to you with a sympathetic smile. You return the small smile sheathing your sword before speaking.

“Thank you your grace, I will forever be in your debt.” Bowing once more this time maintaining your balance.

He looks at you, a soft smile still playing at his lips.

“I’d hope you’d do the same for me if the time came.”

“Without hesitation, your grace.”

“Good” he says, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword.

He began to say something else but he was interrupted by the call of his name, he excused himself before quickly walking off.

That was the first time you’d ever spoken to Robb Stark, it would not be the last.

Days had passed since the battle, your head still tender to the touch. Luckily the ringing in your ears had stopped within the first few hours, but the throbbing pain still lingered. You developed a terrible dark bruise along your temple that surrounded a small cut. However it wasn’t your health that had you concerned, it was the amount of men you lost that day, over half of whom you brought had fallen to Lannister forces. Some of which you’ve known since you were a child.

“It’s a small price to pay for victory.” is what they’d told you, not thinking about the weight those words carried. How could they be so thoughtless? Tossing men's lives aside as if they were nothing, just mere pawns in their game. You were too lost in your own mind to realize Robb’s fixed gaze.

He was standing not more than twenty yards away a couple of men gathered around him talking, however he heard none of it as his eyes were set on you. He noticed you’d chosen to sit alone, isolating yourself from the rest of the world. He felt sorry for you, he truly did. After the battle had ended he learned the number of men that had perished, most of them pledged to your house. He could see the way their deaths had taken a toll on you, and if there was one thing Robb understood well it was grief. “Know the men who follow you and let them know you. Don't ask your men to die for a stranger." The words his father once told him rang through his head, he may not have known those men but he could know you.

The sound of footsteps pull you from your thoughts, looking up from the crackling fire to see Robb Stark looming over you, immediately you stand.

“Your grace” you bow your head greeting him

“Sit please” he says gesturing back to your previous seat by the fire.

You obey, your eyes never leaving him as he takes a seat facing you, his elbows resting on his knees.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?” you question slightly tilting your head

“For the men you’ve lost.”

Hearing his words, you sit up straighter. You didn’t understand why his words angered you so. If anything they should bring you a sense of comfort but they didn’t. There was nothing anyone could say that would bring you the comfort you so longed for.

“There is no need m’lord, apologies don’t bring back the dead.” you say bluntly looking back to the fire.

Your words surprised him. A tinge of anger rose in Robb before he realized how right you were and how little his words did to bring you solace.

“No.” He states in a soft tone of voice “they do not.” he kept his words short, not sure if conversation was what you wanted.

But it was. You longed for someone, anyone to talk to. Having no one since you left home even there the conversations were scarce seeing as your the last of your name your family long dead. You barely remember your own mother’s voice, as she died shortly before your eighth name day during the birth of your younger brother who hadn’t survived the week. Your father’s voice however was ingrained in your memory, the yelling, the scolding, the words of hate that spilled from his mouth, You tried over the years to understand the reason for his hatred before deciding it was the wine that he drowned himself in to hide his sorrows.

Robb cleared his throat drawing you from your thoughts once more, you turn to face him, his eyes searching yours. You let out a small laugh, your hands covering your eyes. It wasn’t funny, nothing about this situation was funny, but you’d been yanked back into reality having to face the fact that your men were going to die and there was nothing you could do to prevent that. You hadn’t even noticed the tears as they began to fall, afraid of what your king might think, you stand beginning to walk away turning your back on him. But before you get too far you’re pulled back a hand wrapped around your arm, now face to face with him.

“There is no shame in tears m’lady” he speaks softly

Oh but there was.

“You are a fool to believe that your grace” your tone a mere whisper

“Why?” He asks

“It makes you weak”

“Weak” he repeats “now, that I can’t agree with.”

His grip on your arm loosened but you didn’t pull away his face mere inches from your own. Suddenly you were aware of what this must look like, the feeling of eyes on your back making you squirm. You pull your arm free from his grasp turning your back on him once more.

That was the first time Robb Stark truly saw you.

#game of thrones x reader #robb stark #house stark #robb stark x reader #jon snow #jon snow x reader #ned stark #sansa stark #game of thrones #robb stark x you #robb stark x y/n

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redisaid · 4 months

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Strangers - Part 1 of ??

A very special shoutout to @jujoobedoodling for their amazing art, and for sharing this neat little idea with me when I asked if there's any sort of fics they'd like to see.

So, fellas, is it gay to make Sylvaina fall in love over prison letters, in a nutshell? I dunno. Let's find out.

5146 Words

Read it on Ao3!

“I wasn’t expecting company.”

Jaina wants to assure her she didn't come to stare at her like she's some sabercat in a cage—teeth dulled on the bars, roar hoarse and failing. Only she realizes now that this is exactly why she's come. A wave of shame threatens to crash over her, but she dismisses it. She came to deliver Veressa’s letter, and to banish the notion that Sylvanas Windrunner truly was a stranger to her.

Staring at Sylvanas, waiting for her to rattle the bars of her would be cage, would do neither of those things for her.

“Certainly not you,” Sylvanas continues, drawling out the last word with her high, nasally elven accent, still chiming in a banshee double-tone.

They stand now in the Maw, where Jaina had been asked by her friend to draw an interdimensional portal to deliver a letter to her sister as only she and a handful of other mages on Azeroth could. Jaina had been reluctant to agree. She had refused at first, of course.

But here she was, all the same.

You, with that drawl and sneer and the arrow still aimed between her eyes, was about all that Jaina deserved from this woman. After all, Vereesa was right—at best, they were strangers.

“What is it you’ve come for? To deliver more demands from Tyrande? To report to her? To make sure I am completing my penance? Or did you come to gloat?”

The accusations pile up. Jaina lets them. She scans the tangle of strange and unnatural rocks jutting from the charcoal earth of this literal hell. It doesn’t take her long to realize she’s stumbled upon Sylvanas’ camp. Her home here in the Maw, simple, but well lived-in. The undead have no need for food or sleep and suffer minimally from lack of shelter, and while Jaina knows this, she still observes a makeshift bedroll, the embers of a dying fire, clustered close to a lean-to made mostly of chunks of dull grey metal, once the armor of some great beast or terrible construct long since vanished after its master’s defeat.

It has been a year on Azeroth. Jaina knows time stretches in the Shadowlands, but not by a factor of how much. She wonders how long it has been since Sylvanas has seen another person. Two years? A decade? A century?

The woman herself is little better than her camp. Her armor sits beside the fire, mostly shrugged off in rest, and while it looks well-kept, it is still worn. The dark leathers she wears beneath it, and now exclusively, are much the same. At first glance, they do not look so different as when she lay in Oribos after her own defeat, as Uther bade them to wait for her to wake and explain her actions. However, Jaina’s keen eyes find the rips and the tears, the mending that has been executed with scraps of grey cloth and grey metal and grey leather fashioned from the skin of a grey, doubly dead beast. Everything here is grey. Hell is devoid of color, but Sylvanas’ eyes burn into her, bright and blue, demanding an answer.

So she gives it, “None of those are my reason. Your sister, my friend…Vereesa asked me to come.”

Truly, Vereesa’s choices were limited. Only those who had walked the Maw, of their volition or Sylvanas’, could safely find it again. Only fewer of the great mages of Azeroth were capable of entering it without going through Oribos, or asking permission from the entities that ruled there. Jaina, Khadgar, and a few heroic Mawwalkers perhaps were the only ones who could have delivered this letter. And while Jaina had been reluctant, she was not about to offer Khadgar the excuse to use this place as another of his many distractions if Vereesa were to ask him instead.

At least, that was another one of her reasons for accepting.

Only now does the arrow lower, and the bow with it. At the mention of her sister’s name, Sylvanas gives up her fight.

“How can I trust her not to tear me apart, if we’re to be alone there?” Jaina had asked the youngest Windrunner sister, back in her office in Boralus, days ago.

“I suppose you can’t,” had been Vereesa’s answer. “You don’t know her.”

Jaina holds out the letter. It is folded neatly and sealed and she has done her best to resist the temptation to read it or even scry upon it with magic. Such is her trust for Vereesa. Her sister, not so much.

Perhaps this will be the end of it, then. She’ll deliver her letter. She’ll make arrangements for a response. She’ll leave. Sylvanas will go back to gathering souls, living even though she does not live, in this ramshackle camp—this prison of her own making. Jaina will have done something good and satisfied her curiosity. The sabercat will wither in her cage, having gained only further shame from her observation.

Jaina isn’t sure why she expects anything more than that, but she does.

“She wrote you a letter,” she explains. “I’m not able to bring her here like this for her to deliver it herself. Perhaps something can be arranged for her to visit by other means, if you’re interested.”

Sylvanas hesitates. Jaina watches her think.

She watches her closely, waiting for the muscles in her broad shoulders to twitch and aid in pointing her bow upward again. She finds more rends in her leathers, more attempts at mending. She watches, and finds a woman determined, though for what she isn’t certain.

Sylvanas Windrunner as she is now is a stranger to her. Once, her eyes burned red with rage and hatred and it was easy enough to say that Jaina had known her as an enemy. She and her Forsaken whispered, “Death to the living,” though they were of the same people Jaina had once led in Theramore—survivors of Lordaeron, as it were. Scarred in different ways by the same man.

Yet as before, even when Uther, dead and scarred by the same hand, bid Jaina to see reason and work with Sylvanas to defeat the Jailer, she cannot help but to fall into old habits. Magic pulses at her fingertips, waiting. She is ready for Sylvanas to attack her. She is ready to know her as an enemy once again.

This woman burned Teldrassil. She’d resurrected Derek to use against her. She’d blighted her own city in a rage rather than give it to the Alliance, to Jaina specifically, who had turned that battle in their favor.

Jaina is certain that this is still what she is—a burner and blighter, a screaming banshee that knows only hatred—and she’s ready for her.

She is not ready for Sylvanas to put down her bow and the arrow knocked within it, and begin to walk over to meet her.

She’s not ready for the soft muttering that follows, and the wry chuckle that comes with it, “I doubt Tyrande would allow me such a luxury as a visit from my sister.”

This is no banshee, no formless enemy. No, Sylvanas is an elf, still undead and still much unchanged from the last time Jaina saw her, but now walking toward her with purpose. She moves like Alleria, proud and powerful. She smirks a little, the same way as Vereesa does when she thinks no one is looking. Her hair, though dull and ashen in death, is a shade between Alleria’s honey gold and Vereesa’s cool silver.

“You’re so certain she’s changed?” Jaina had asked Vereesa before she’d left. “You were only allowed to speak with her for a few minutes.”

“I know my sister, Jaina,” Vereesa had replied, head tilted upward, smiling. “I know that I have her back, or I will, should she ever be allowed to return home.”

Where is home, Jaina wonders, holding out the letter, to a woman who died for her country, and razed the one she built out of the ashes of a nation everyone else abandoned?

If and when she completes her penance, who will want Sylvanas Windrunner, burner of trees, blighter of cities? Manipulated or not, she did these things. No amount of souls ferried to better places can change that. And while Vereesa claims much, she cannot move the inevitable mountains that will stand in her way if she chooses to defend her sister, to make a home for her in Azeroth again one day.

The dip of Sylvanas’ head upon her graceful neck seems to say to Jaina that she knows this. The way she holds up her hands, bare and long-fingered without any gloves or gauntlets to cover them, tells Jaina she knows what she is to her—an enemy still. A problem unwanted, surely.

But still, Jaina had agreed to come here. She is determined to make sure that the reason for it all was not as simple as gawking at a toothless beast, though Sylvanas doesn’t seem as though she will bite.

She takes the letter from her. She looks to her. She waits.

“I can’t speak for Tyrande, or any authority Oribos and its contingent might have on the matter,” Jaina tells her. “But I can deliver a reply, if you want.”

Now this close to her, Jaina can tell Sylvanas is taller than her sisters. More broad-shouldered like Alleria than slight as Vereesa is, bordering between both of them with the elder’s wildness and Vereesa’s well-manicured elven beauty. She is neither and both, but seems to have maintained some semblance of grooming, despite having no one to look nice for. Her hair is combed and neat. She is clean, with only the barest hint of the grey dust and ash that swirls in the air of this place clinging to her skin.

That grey, at least, is warm in nature, and Sylvanas’ is cold, more toward purple. Their meeting is an interesting contrast of hues.

“Very well,” she answers, one long finger tracing the seal on the letter as she eyes it. “I would offer you tea while you wait, but I have no such thing.”

While she waits. Jaina hadn’t assumed she’d be allowed to, asked to, or really anything but run off with sneers and insults at best, arrows at worst.

She supposes that if she hadn’t seen another person in a year, she too would want them to stay a while, no matter who they were. But has it been longer? The state of Sylvanas’ clothes says yes.

Jaina endeavors to break any falling of awkward silence to seek the answer, “It has been a year or so, on Azeroth, since I returned from the Shadowlands. Has it been the same for you?”

She stiffens, recalling who it was who brought her here the first time, though she saw little of Sylvanas then. Only the Mawsworn that were meant to hold her captive, and keep her from escaping Torghast, though she managed to do so several times. Jaina knows now that her purpose in doing so was just to keep her out of the way—to keep her from interfering with what was to be done with Anduin.

Anduin, another reason for her to come here. Yet she did not find him. The Maw is but one of many possible places the boy could have gone, though he’s hardly a boy anymore. Jaina knows what he did and was made to do weighs heavily on him. She’d thought that maybe he too would seek penance, and wouldn’t care if it was his own to seek, yet there is no sign of him here. This camp is meant only for one.

“There is no day or night here for me to know,” Sylvanas tells her as she slides a sharp-looking fingernail beneath the wax seal and opens the letter. “One could keep track by counting the hours, I suppose, but trust me, it is a dull pastime. It has been a long time. A very long time.”

A long time, Jaina thinks, to wear the same clothes and see no one but lost souls.

A spectral fluttering of wings catches her eye and reminds her that Sylvanas does have one other companion besides the souls she ferries. Dori’thur’s wide eyes catch Jaina’s as she looks up into the canopy formed by this tangle of rock, ironically almost nest-like. The owl spirit makes no motion to acknowledge her, so carefully does she watch her charge instead. Doomed or honored to be her warden, Jaina can’t decide. The owl, it seems, does not care either way. She just watches.

Sylvanas follows her gaze, and a little smile creaks its way into lips that seem to forget how to bend that way. “Don’t mind the owl. It loves to stare.”

“She. Dori’thur,” Jaina corrects.

Sylvanas’ blue eyes are wide for a moment, drinking in the information in a way that shows it is clearly new to her. No one bothered to tell her the name of her warden, really?

“I didn’t know,” Sylvanas confesses. “And here I’ve just been calling you owl this whole time,” she calls up at the spire of twisted stone that Dori’thur perches on.

The spirit cocks her head just slightly at Sylvanas, the first and only acknowledgement she gives.

Jaina stands for a moment, maybe two. She looks around at the humble camp, the spectral owl, the once fearsome undead elf in her ragged leathers, reading her letter with blue eyes that look strange on her.

Sylvanas looks up once Jaina’s gaze comes to rest on her. Her long brows furrow briefly, simmering in the awkwardness, the wrongness of this.

They have never met, despite all the things they both share and do not share, in a way that allowed them the luxury of quiet conversation. And despite the nagging curiosity that dragged her here, the continued insistence by Vereesa that she did not know her, or least as anything but an enemy, Jaina does not know what to say to her.

So instead, she offers, “I can go, and return after a time to allow you your privacy.”

Sylvanas nearly drops the letter. She takes a step toward her. She catches herself and does not take a second. She reaches out a bare and empty hand to Jaina, then drops it to her side immediately upon realizing what she’s done.

“No. No,” she says, trying to make the words come out not as a plea, but anything else. “A while for you is longer for me. I would—I would rather be as prompt as possible, you understand. I have my penance to work on, still more souls to guide. I don’t have time to wait around for you to return here.”

It is a poor excuse, and they both know it. They know it in the silence between the ask Sylvanas isn’t actually asking and the reply Jaina struggles to give. They know it in the way Sylvanas reaches for her, a woman she does not know in any other way but an enemy, and apparent friend to her younger sister and her owl warden, because she and her letter and her excuses for delivering it are the only reason she’s had any contact with something remotely like herself in a long, long time.

Jaina is living and breathing and human and annoyed, but curious. She is not undead and newly made whole of soul again, though she supposes that’s not so new anymore. She knows, though, that she cannot possibly understand what it is Sylvanas is thinking as she reaches for her. But still, she reaches.

Jaina does not leave. “I will wait then.”

Where she will wait is the question, really, and she sees Sylvanas ask it of herself too as she looks back toward her camp. Still, she gestures for Jaina to follow her.

It is a strange time she lives in, Jaina thinks, as she does.

And this is how she ends up seated on a stool of chipped rock, across the dying fire from where Sylvanas sits on her bed roll, reading her letter.

Sylvanas is undead and does not need a bed or a stool or a fire. Her owl warden is a spirit of nature and needs no comforts as well. Yet Sylvanas has made them, and taken the time to make them. She reads and sits cross-legged like a child. Jaina’s eyes pick at her leathers still, finding more wear and tear as she reads, counting the patches and stitches. It irks her. For some reason, of all the things, the state of her clothes bothers Jaina the most.

She’s never seen Sylvanas in anything other than fine armor, meant to intimidate as much as it was to impress. And while she still has fine armor, stacked neatly by the fire in her rest, Jaina can see that too is worn.

“Do you want new things?” Jaina eventually asks. She can’t stand the silence any longer, though from the rustling of the second of four pages, she knows Sylvanas isn’t done reading.

Sylvanas looks up. Her blue eyes dart from Jaina to her armor and herself. To the contrast of warm grey dust and cool grey skin. The mended rips and tears of her leathers match the similar state of her skin. Scars abound as little pale points and lines, streaking across her like stars in the night sky. Just barely visible at the tip of her sternum, beneath the dark leather, a gnarled and twisting point belies the deep scar where Frostmourne rent her and stole her soul, for the first time.

Sylvanas seems disturbed by the question, or perhaps by her own appearance. Maybe both. “I have done the best I could to maintain what I was given.”

“I didn’t mean to criticize,” Jaina tells her immediately, because this is the line she must draw and draw right away, regardless of how many cities this woman may have burned, or under whose influence she burned them. “It’s just—well, with Vereesa’s help, I’m sure, we could get you new things.”

“She has not mentioned this in her letter thus far,” Sylvanas says, holding up the paper as if it were the armor she so desperately seems to want to hide within now.

“She has not seen you,” Jaina tells her.

And I do not know you, she tells herself.

Jaina does not know her, but she knows the scars that form the map of the stars that make up her skin. She knows which is Frostmourne, which is the line under her eye from Saurfang’s ax at the Mak’gora. She knows there’s another from an ice lance she’s thrown, yes there, near her left elbow where there was a gap in her old skull armor.

She can feel that Sylvanas wants to shrink under her gaze, to disappear. But she does not. She sits up a little, chest out, daring Jaina to say something else.

“Then I’ll draft a list in my reply, and trust that you’ll explain the reasoning behind it,” Sylvanas offers in challenge.

“I will.”

Dori’thur, thankfully, chooses this time to swoop down and alight herself onto the top of Sylvanas’ lean-to, rather than leave them to simmer in silence again.

The owl looks between them, then at the paper in Sylvanas’ hands. Sylvanas, having gone back to reading, simply says, “Not for you, owl.”

“Dori’thur,” Jaina reminds.

“Not for you, Dori’thur. What an odd name,” Sylvanas notes, but says nothing else.

“Does she leave you to report to Tyrande?” Jaina wonders, watching both the owl and her charge now.

“That would require her to stop watching me, so no. I do not know how or if Tyrande knows what she sees. Frankly, it matters little to me. I have said that I will do what was asked of me. I do not need a babysitter to ensure that I do,” Sylvanas tells her.

Though Jaina catches something in the middle of her words. A brief dashing of blue eyes. Another little smirk, elven and wry and lopsided in such a way that’s distinctly Windrunner. She wonders who was the first to hold it. Alleria? Their mother or father? Or a Windrunner before them? An elf so ancient Jaina struggles with the numbers.

All she knows is that Sylvanas seems to enjoy the company of her warden, in a way. And that her little secret smile is something Jaina never thought she’d see on that face.

Objectively, dead and haunted and guilty as she is, she’s beautiful still. All the Windrunners are, after all.

Sylvanas is looking up at her again, expecting Jaina to challenge that notion. She’s probably expecting her to question this camp, this fire, these small comforts. The time she takes to mend her ragged clothes. The rest she dares to seek from time to time, though there are no days or nights here in the Maw to track it by.

Jaina clears her throat. “How goes it then, your work?” she asks, and nearly immediately regrets it for how silly that sounds.

How goes it, rounding up the souls you doomed to an eternity of torture? How goes it, making up for decisions that were not entirely yours, but still part and parcel wishes of your own? How goes it, living in the prison of your own failures, alone save for an owl that does nothing but stare at you?

There is a justice in this, yes. Jaina wants to sink into that and never leave. It is easier to feel like this is justice in action she’s seeing. The tedium and wear of it all are things Sylvanas deserves to endure. She deserves worse, depending on who is asking.

But the woman in front of her looks tired. She is as worn as her clothing, body as stiff and rigid as her defensive words.

Jaina will not deny her the comfort a fire and a rest might bring, now and then, though she doesn’t understand why Sylvanas seeks them. Either way, demanding she go without is a cruelty beyond necessity.

“It goes,” Sylvanas answers. “There are still many more for me to find. Torghast alone will take countless more visits to empty. The Beast Warrens are a maze I’ve still yet to properly map and account for, among other such haunts in this hellish place.”

She does not say more. She reads. Jaina watches. Dori’thur too. Sylvanas sneaks a glance at her every now and then, blue eyes flitting fast over the edge of the parchment, then back below it.

Jaina waits, as she said she would.

Sylvanas Windrunner is a stranger to her, but invited her to what home she had here all the same.

“I miss her,” Vereesa had told her, before she left. “I thought the sister I knew was gone, but I know now that she’s still herself, or is now, at least. I had mourned her, Jaina. I had mourned her for years, but now I can say that I miss her. She’s not gone, she’s just not here. And I don’t know when she’ll be back. You can’t blame me for trying.”

Jaina didn’t blame her.

Flipping to page three of Vereesa’s loopy handwriting, Sylvanas says, “I must look a sight to you, for you to say something about the state of my gear.”

Jaina corrects herself. She does not know Sylvanas, but she knew one thing about her, well, about who she once was. She was notoriously vain, and though Vereesa claimed this was exaggerated, she was known to repeatedly tell a story about how Sylvanas had screamed at her once for getting mud on her dress right as she was headed out the door for a Ranger ball, like she thought it was the funniest thing in the world.

And Jaina has just come here to her prison, the first other person she’s seen in gods know how long, handed her a letter, and told she looked a mess.

“It just seems to have been some time, that’s all,” Jaina assures her.

Sylvanas huffs a laugh she hides behind parchment, just like the odd blue of her eyes. Jaina struggles to replace it with the red of her memories.

“If there’s anything else you want, such that I could carry with me through a portal, then ask it,” Jaina offers, perhaps out of guilt.

Perhaps out of curiosity again, for what this woman might ask for. What comforts she might crave.

Sylvanas eyes her at this statement. It seems this is the first time she really takes Jaina in, perhaps to assess her intentions, or perhaps to assess how much she can carry. Jaina isn’t sure. But she knows she now feels like that sabercat in the cage. She wonders if Sylvanas still thinks she has her teeth.

She thinks, perhaps, that she doesn’t want the judgment of a virtually immortal and beautiful elf. Undead though she is, scarred and worn, she thinks Sylvanas might have plenty of criticisms to offer over her messy braid, the prudish nature and drab colors of her Kul Tiran garb, or the crows feat that have begun to claw in earnest at the dull blue of Jaina’s eyes, which only glow when she shows her real teeth.

Instead of worrying about that, Jaina wonders what she might ask for, if she were to spend potential centuries in hell doing penance. Something to pass the time. Playing cards, perhaps? Though Solitaire would get old quickly, and Dori’thur doesn’t look like she’d be much competition at Hearthstone. An instrument to play? Surely those nimble fingers of Sylvanas’ would be clever on a lute or lyre or something elven and haughty and old. Jaina had never learned to play anything with proficiency in all of her thirty-eight years of life, but might come out of such a situation fairly talented at the fiddle or flute. Her brothers would be impressed, surely.

But what would Sylvanas do, to pass the time, in her idle moments? Would she fletch arrows for game that didn’t exist, and flesh she didn’t need to eat, enemies already defeated? Would she sharpen the shortsword Jaina could see resting in its scabbard beside the fire on a whetstone until it was honed and wicked, only to have nothing to plunge it into?

Would Jaina ever be able to consider anything but war-like interests for her, even as she saw Sylvanas considering her from her bedroll, shoulders bare, hair loose, clearly not ready for any sort of battle?

“Paper,” she answers. “Ink and a few quills too, if you’d be so generous.”

Paper was not anywhere close to the answer Jaina thought she’d give.

Sylvanas holds the letter up again as her armor, her shield, her weapon. “Vereesa has asked me to reply, for us to continue to correspond. I wish to write her back.”

“Right, that’s easy enough,” Jaina agrees.

“What was that hesitation? Afraid I’ll draw up plans for world domination upon my eventual return? I’m not interested, truly. Believe me, Proudmoore, it’s not worth it,” Sylvanas assures her.

There is mischief in those secret smiles. A spark in glowing blue eyes that dares Jaina to challenge it, but in the way a child challenges her friend to a foot race. A craving for competition, maybe, in any form, or companionship on the barest of levels.

“Jaina,” she corrects her. “If I am to continue to deliver said letters, as it were, you might as well call me Jaina. And I didn’t think you had your sights set so lofty, but thanks for clarifying.”

Sylvanas nods to this. “So many names have I earned today. Though I’ll still call Dori’thur ‘owl’. Osa is the Thalassian word. It has more punch, right, osa?”

Dori’thur cocks her head just slightly at the term, then slowly blinks her large eyes.

“Very astute, thank you for adding so much to the conversation, as always,” Sylvanas sighs.

Jaina supposes that she too, would talk to a silent owl, if she were left alone for so long. She would probably go insane long before her clothes began to wear out, if it were her.

“Either way, I’ll continue to deliver your letters,” Jaina assures her. “I hadn’t realized this was a more than once sort of favor I’m doing, but I suppose I should have.”

“I’d say Vereesa is lucky to befriend such a powerful mage and be able to make such inane requests of her, but she always did like mages,” Sylvanas notes, going back to reading and flipping to the final page of Vereesa’s letter.

This time, though, the smile stays on her face too long to be a secret. Long enough for Jaina to watch her get lost in a memory, maybe two, and still come out smiling.

Smiling at her sister, a fondness beyond ages and time and dimensions and death—and the reason, perhaps, why Vereesa felt compelled to write to her, and send her friend to check on her.

“Tea,” Sylvanas mutters, eyes still glued to the parchment.

“Padron?”

“Bring tea when you come back,” Sylvanas tells her.

“What kind do you like?” Jaina asks, uncertain. She didn’t think undead drank.

Even if they did, she wouldn’t know the answer. Vereesa likes chamomile, sometimes. She doesn’t really drink tea. Alleria, well, Jaina has never seen Alleria drink anything but alcohol and would be afraid to ask if had any other preferences for more sober sorts of beverages.

“Whatever kind you like. It’s not for me,” Sylvanas says.

“Are you telling me that you’d like me to bring tea for myself when I come back?” Jaina asks, needing desperately for something about this request to be clear to her.

Sylvanas laughs her little laugh. It sounds like it’s been sanded down, worn like the caged sabercat’s teeth, like tattered leathers.

“I suppose I am. I don’t want to be a bad host, but I’m afraid all I have to offer here are rocks and broken war machines and wandering souls. None of these are fit to drink, or to give to company.”

Company. Jaina hadn’t expected to be company to her. She hadn’t expected the hidden smiles and weary laughs and how Sylvanas had tried to cover the desperation in the way she reached out after her. She hadn’t expected to find her nestled in a little camp, forging a mockery of a life that had long been stolen from her and the comforts of living she no longer needed, but clearly still craved.

Jaina isn’t sure. She doesn’t know anymore. She didn’t, even as she first cast the portal spell this morning that would take her to the Maw. She was curious. She still is.

But company, she supposes, is a thing she can try to be.

#sylvaina #sylvanas windrunner #jaina proudmoore #fanfic #count me surprised to be this intrigued by a post-shadowlands premise but ok here we go

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simpingland · 10 months

Note

Ok so what abt…

lucerys with a knight!reader and hes like whipped and things their the coolest person ever but gets all nervous when he sees them training or talks to them

idk I think it’s cute 🙏😽

Trust // Lucerys Velaryon x neutral!Knignt!Reader

Summary: Luke is enchanted by a new young Knight. He is so desperate to impress his crush that he put himself in embarrasing situations.

A/N: Loved this request, but I had a headache trying to decide the pronouns!!!!!! But I sorted it out, thanks for reaching, hope you like it!<3

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

Being a knight had never been Prince Lucerys Velaryon's dream. He had enough work trying to come to terms with being lord of Driftmark. But seeing you made him question many things. Your uniform of armor was one of a thousand things that had caught his eye. It had been Rhaenyra who had placed you close to all her family, you were one of the finest knights, young and respectable, though not of noble birth. Your primary duty was to protect the princes, and this was something Luke appreciated. His interest in learning to fight grew, and he used to pester Jace to spend more time with the sword, which he himself didn't like. But no one understood, and Luke carried it very quietly, knowing that his chance with you was nil. That didn't stop him from getting up early to watch you train, with that thin layer of sweat making you shine. He couldn't even feel jealous when some other knight made you smile, for he loved to see you in the comfort of being out of work.

It took him a long time to summon up the courage to speak to you, and as he had feared it went terribly wrong. He approached you with the intention of demonstrating how good he was at archery, which he was certainly better at than the sword. He deliberately positioned himself close to where you were resting, with a feigned air of confidence, and pretended to watch the arrows with precision.

"They are all the same, my Prince," you told him.

He instantly turned red.

"That's what I was checking."

He tried not to pretend he saw your smile, but it wasn't malicious either, the Prince looked very tender with that focused face. The first arrow was just a little off the centre of the target, and the court nobles applauded Luke falsely. Not you, you just stood and watched as Luke sighed in dissatisfaction. The second arrow missed completely and caused something of a commotion. When the third missed again, the laughter of the crowd was impossible to hide. That was the moment when Luke disappeared, with the excuse that he had to go back to his Valyrian lessons.

You would have liked to follow him, to tell him to ignore the people, but it was not appropriate. So the next day you made an effort to talk to him. You were walking along the beach, on your way to visit Arrax. The young prince kept his head down, looking everywhere and avoiding your face.

"The good thing about arrows, my Prince, is that during battle it doesn't matter how well you aim them, the important thing is that they hit the enemy, and they always go in masses."

You saw him smile sheepishly.

"The worst of it is that I am better at it than the sword," he replied.

"It is more important that you have a sharp mind than a knife. We'll take care of the rest.

"I know, it's just…I just…" you could see him try to say it, but he couldn't and you decided to change the subject.

"When I was little, I didn't have anything in the house except sticks and knives. No dolls, no books… I spent all day fighting with my siblings. But honestly, I wish I had had a lot more at my fingertips. I like knowing that I protect you and your family, my Prince, I just don't like the idea of going into battle. And knowing how to handle a sword or bow is not so reassuring. So don't be in a hurry to learn."

Luke didn't know how to tell you that he wasn't in a hurry to battle, he was in a hurry to impress you, of course that made him even more nervous. When Arrax appeared before you, the dragon, who was getting bigger every day, roared with joy at the sight of his rider. Then Luke forgot his nervousness, happy also to see his dearest friend. He could sense your nervousness, as you tried to move away from the creature, which, though beautiful, was still fierce.

"Arrax is very calm, you shouldn't be afraid of him" Luke tried to convince you.

"Well, your majesty, luckily I'm not the one who has to ride him."

"Do you…do you want to pet him?" He twisted his cloak in his hands.

"I don't want to risk losing my hands, Prince."

Maybe it was your fear, or maybe it was because Arrax's presence always made him feel better, but Luke started to get a little too confident. He turned to Arrax and whispered words in Valyrian that you did not understand. Then he took your hand, which was a little tense, and looked you in the eye.

"You are the bravest knight at court. And that Arrax knows." He watched as you smirked.

"And how does a dragon know that?"

"Well, because I told him."

When you laughed, Luke felt a stupid pride, and noticed how you squeezed his hand, still resisting.

"Are you sure he's not going to devour me? This armour must look pretty crunchy to him…"

"That armour to him is like a diamond to us, small, nice and shiny. Come on, trust me."

You looked into his eyes for a few seconds, he seemed to be begging for it.

Then you finally let him guide your hand, and slowly, he raised it for Arrax to sniff. You could see how it took him a few seconds before he finally rested his entire muzzle on your palm, and you felt a purr that was much louder than a cat's, but quite tender. Soon you could move your hand to stroke his face, neck and wings, the dragon circled around, making it clear that he liked you. And Luke kept his distance, watching you and admiring you. This stupid infatuation…he was never going to get over it at this pace.

Over the next few days, you could feel Luke's confidence to talk to you and smile at you grow. On the other hand, his desire to train had waned, and it was probably because of the humiliation he had recently endured.You could only watch the brothers from afar as they continued their lessons. Besides, Jace was a lousy learning partner, quick to get impatient and unable to understand that what Luke needed was a little patience. It wasn't your job to comfort him, so you had to hold back the urge to hug him and tell him how great he was without the need for swords. And the smiles you gave him only made him blush, though he always returned them, full of gratitude.

One of the many nights Luke couldn't sleep, he wandered around the castle aimlessly. And when he found you standing guard on the beach, he felt it was fate, though anything reminded him of you, for there was nothing else on his mind but you. The gentle breeze put those curls of his in front of his face, making him feel awkward, yet the breeze moved your hair in a poetic, almost dreamy way.

"Are you on night watch?" he asked, unable to think of anything else.

"Yes, my Prince. One of the knights has taken ill and owed me a favour."

"I hope it won't take long."

"Don't worry, I find it hard to rest so I like to be doing something at night…like you, I suppose."

"I couldn't sleep," Luke regretted his words instantly, for something in common you'd found and he's going to correct you. "Aren't you bored?"

"I'd like to tell you that the views are so beautiful that this is a pleasure…but the truth is that after three hours it gets repetitive."

Luke laughed as you smiled, glad to see him so relaxed. He stayed a while longer keeping you company, talking to you about the things he had done with Jace that day. He also asked you about your life before the Kingsguard, listening intently, entranced by your every word.

"Your parents must be proud of you," Luke said, picking up and throwing sand in his hands.

"They would have been happier if I had given them grandchildren, but the armour impressed them quite a bit too. Yours must be proud too. Everyone knows how clever you are."

"But it's no use. My father was able to fight at the Battle of Stepstones. I can't even hold a sword properly." His sad tone touched you and made you impatient in equal measure.

"I think you should put an end to that attitude once and for all. Come, let's practice!" Your enthusiasm caught him by surprise.

"Right now?"

"Yes! We have the whole beach to ourselves, we can take the swords from the cupboard. I think it's time you gain some confidence."

He followed you, somewhat confused and nervous, but your smile managed to reassure him. In the quiet of the beach, you guided Luke through every move. Being patient, clear and concise. And even though Luke was hesitant, he followed your instructions well and gained confidence by the minute."You're doing great, my Prince. But I think it's time you try to surprise me. Attac."

"What if I hurt you?" he asked unsure, though Luke thought he sounded arrogant.

"That's the whole idea of this…"

"I mean if I'm so clumsy that I end up hurting you without meaning to." The boy knew what he meant, and it took you a moment to remember that one time he pull out his uncle's eye as a kid.

"You'd rather practice with the bow?"Luke preferred to practice other things, but even thinking that already made him nervous, so he agreed to switch weapons. With torches illuminating the target, you walked a considerable distance. Luke knew the theory inside out, but it still made him tense, and even more so knowing you were watching him."You need to relax a bit," you pointed out. His arm was dislocated. When you placed your hands on his sleeve, Luke swallowed, letting you lead him on. "A little higher… let go."

When he shooted he missed. He couldn't hold back the insults, directing them at no one in particular. He kicked as you picked up the only arrow available.

"I should stop wasting your time…" he apologised dejectedly, handing the bow back to you.

"No, please!" You stopped him before he even turned around. "I don't want you to leave…not like this."

He sighed, looking you in the eyes and flattered, you wanted him to stay with you…you didn't want to see him sad, you genuinely care about him and Luke now knew that. He let you reposition his whole posture again.

"It's just that I always do something wrong…and I don't know what it is," confessed the Prince.

"It's not something you do, it's something you don't do. And it's being patient, being calm. And to do that you have to believe in yourself." Your voice caressed his face, his pulse quickening.

"What if I never get to believe in myself because I never achieve anything? It would be a hellish cycle." The arrow was still tense, he couldn't look at you.

"Then think of me. I trusted you, and I got to touch a dragon. How many knights can say that?"

He could see your beautiful smile, as encouraging as ever, and Luke caught his breath. You were so close to him that you could feel him stand up straight and seem to grow taller by the second, as if he was becoming a true Lord in front of you. When he finally released the arrow, it hit the centre of the bullseye. A clean and beautiful sound, as well as his smile full of joy. You gave him a hug on impulse, unaware that you were on duty or that it was the Prince. He didn't seem bothered though, returning your embrace with some surprise but full of affection. When you pulled apart, you looked at that sweet face and were at a loss for words.Luke couldn't find any appropriate ones either, nor was he able to keep his hands off your shoulders. It was strangely pleasant, and it took you quite a while to come out of your trance.

"I told you you could," you said, giving him a loving punch that pushed him away. The celebration went on for a while longer, with arrows still hitting the target, jokes and more silly anecdotes. As the sun began to appear, your turn was about to end. You walked together to the castle.

"I have to say I'm going to 'roll' into my bed," you were already starting to unbutton some of your armour, but first you had to escort Luke to his room.

"You make me envious, I'm due for Valyrian lessons in a bit."

"By the gods, I'm so sorry. I should have made you go back to bed, my Prince," you felt terrible, though Luke blushed at your dismay for him.

"No, no, no…it's not your fault. I'd trade a hundred hours of sleep to be able to spend even one awake with you."

The confession came as a surprise, and Luke knew it had sounded just as he felt it, because your eyes shone differently. If he could he would have run, but the warmth you radiated made him hold out a little hope. And the confession was repaid when you took his hand, gave him a little bow and planted a kiss on his knuckles.

There was no need to answer him, Luke could see you for the rest of the days, in your shining armour, and he could hear your voice whenever he needed to confide in him. He never told you, but it became obvious, that the night he roamed the castle he couldn't sleep because you were in his thoughts, remembering the touch of your hand on his. And now, he achived not only a kiss, but your love and trust.

#house of the dragon fanfiction #lucerys velaryon x reader #lucerys velaryon x you #lucerys velaryon fanfic #lucerys velaryon x neutral!reader #lucerys velaryon x male!reader #lucerys velaryon x female!reader #lucerys velaryon #lucerys targaryen #lucerys valeryon #house of the dragon #elliot grihault #game of thrones fanfiction

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dragonologist-phd · 12 days

Text

weird fun facts about your oc(s)

rules: share some fun facts about your oc(s). they don't have to be relevant to their story, perhaps even better if they aren't. the weird ones are the best!

tagged by @solas-backpack-mug! thanks for the tag! now, since i've been in a pillars mood lately:

Desta of the Kind Wayfarers

When she was young and still trying to find a place in Galawain's temple, she did make a genuine attempt at being a hunter...but she was pretty terrible at it. The poor girl's got no stealth at all!

Her very long hair can be a bit of a hassle at times, but she's given up on trying to control it- every time she cuts it, it grows back almost immediately

Her very high strength means she's great at picking up the party's squishy wizard and carrying him to safety every time he gets hurt in a fight. Her very low insight means she has no idea how flustered this makes him

Rudi Xavell

For the most part, she doesn't have any strong feelings about the gods. She just does what she thinks is practical, like giving offerings to Galawain before and after a hunt. Of all my Watchers, she's the least bothered about holy philosophy- if it works, it works, and it doesn't really matter if it's 'real' or not

Her favorite color is red, to the point where red capes and red-accented clothing becomes her signature look as ruler of Caed Nua

She makes her own arrows! With the focus required, she finds it to be a very meditative activity and it helps her clear her mind

Miervaldis Ygdin

He's really good at knitting and sewing! He learned this from his oldest sister, who was a tailor, and homemade blankets have become his go-to gift for friends and family (i imagine quilts especially to have a big significance in the White That Wends, and he gave his parents a special quilt as a going away gesture when he left home)

He uses he/him pronouns, but honestly he's very indifferent to the concept of gender in general

He has one (1) level in druid, purely because ice spells fit his aesthetic and i wanted an excuse to give him some

no-pressure tagging:

@bugdotpng @dujour13 @camelliagwerm @mordred9971 @orime-stories

@transprincecaspian @miseryscrowned @bladesmitten @big-cheesy-productions @arendaes

@bezelusbubulez @starlightcleric @vigilskept @thesolemnhour @ampleappleamble

@herequeerexitentialfear @rollofleaf @adozentothedawn @undyingembers

tag list here!

#thanks for the tag!#ch: desta #ch: rudi #ch: miervaldis

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raparopa · 1 year

Note

Helllllooo ☺️

I'm so glad I somehow got you to watch TLK and more you love it! I hope to read TLK from you and i have so many ideas but I don't want to annoy you, so just one request: maybe more if you allow. I Love your writing💓

Sihtric x F!Reader

Both still live with Kjartan, Reader is the healer or something and is almost always treated well. However, Sven has his eye 👁️ on her. (She don't like him) Sihtric is mean to her because he doesn't want to tell his feelings about her. He protects her, but even with small things. With a good end? Oh wait No ... A Bad end? Aaaah i leave it to you 😫

a/n: I tried to put all my work into it, but I didn't really like it. I hope you will have a different opinion and you will like it, because I rarely write such great works BUT feel free to ask more

@popcorn1989

warnings: Sihtric acting like a little shit, understatement, Sven

pairing: Sihtric x fem!reader (interactions)

fool and coward

Life has taught Y/N to be attentive. The way and where she lived made her grow eyes on the back of her head, as every step of the people around her could become fatal for her. Even though she was worth her weight in gold here, it would be foolish not to be afraid.

Y/N did not know how to handle a sword, fought absolutely terribly and generally preferred quiet walks to noisy feasts. But on the other hand, it was she who pulled out arrows and fragments of swords from the warriors of Kjarton, healed deep wounds and cuts, set dislocated limbs and prepared drugs for the wild hangover that ale brought on the warriors.

It was difficult to find a good healer, but Kjarton succeeded, and he was ready to take care of this girl like hundreds of chests of silver. Like the apple of an eye.

And the healer Y/N enjoyed respect and even some reverence, which seemed to be shared by everyone except Sven.

x x x

Y/N sat at a table in the darkest corner, while the hall and people were drowning in a feast. With her head propped on her hand, she examined the shiny apple, thinking about whether to bite into it or throw it at someone's head.

- Such a holiday, and the little healer is sitting alone, - someone plopped down next to her on the bench, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. -Instead of having a good time.

-Sven,- Y/N turned, clenching her teeth and clenching an apple in her hands. - Fuck off, okay? I'm not in the mood to have fun.

-What about entertaining? For example, me? - Sven grinned nastily, moving closer so that his blond beard tickled her cheek. Y/N twitched, trying to wriggle out of his grip, but it didn't work. But this action made Sven laugh a lot.

-Come on, Y/N, - Sven whispered. - You're so beautiful, so cold... I just want to warm you up a little.

From this phrase Y/N wanted to die on the spot from horror and disgust.

-Go, take a dip in a barrel of water, you drunken pig.- A metallic voice came from opposite.

Opposite, resting his hands on the table, and hanging like a kite over his prey, stood Sihtric. From his look and tone, he clearly wasn't saying this in a friendly manner, rather he was waiting for an excuse from Sven to use his knife.

-Find yourself another girl, you bastard,- Sven waved him off. Y/N twitched even harder, feeling anger rising in her throat.

- You, piece of shit, told you to get lost. Otherwise, the feast in honor of the holiday will turn into a feast in honor of the funeral. Sihtric jerked sharply towards Sven, causing him to cowardly recoil from the girl.

- That's it, I understand. - He raised his hands, got up from the table, looking at Y/N for the last time and silently left.

Y/N also jumped up from the bench, dropping an apple on the table.

-Thank you, Sihtric.- She thanked.

He didn't answer, only nodding his head, still glaring at the healer with hostility.

- Will you walk me to my room? If it's not difficult for you?

He immediately nodded without thinking for a second, and Y/N and Sihtric strode down the empty corridors to the healer's room. Sitric was silent.

- Sven is an idiot. - said Y/ N, quietly. Sihtric made a strange sound.

-He wouldn’t have climbed to you if you had made more efforts not to see him next to you.- The warrior replied low.

Hearing these words, Y/N stopped.

-What are you talking about? -She was indignant. -Do you want to say that it's my fault?

-I said something else, you just...

-I'll go by myself. And I will think about how to make more efforts in order to save my life from drunken freaks. - Y/ N twitched away from Sihtric, feeling like she wants to cry at his unfair words.

-Y/N, wait.- Sihtric breathed heavily, remaining standing in the corridor, realizing how big he screwed up.

x x x

-Hurry up, Y/N! - the maid was dragging her along the corridor by the sleeve.

-Yes, what is it, Oda, what's the hurry?

- Sven sent me for you. He received some serious injury, a healer is indispensable.

Y/N rolled her eyes, but tightened her grip on her supply bundle.

They went downstairs to the main hall, where several of Kjarton's men were sitting.

-What happened? -Y/N frowned, going up to Sven, putting his things next to him.

- Call to Eir, healer, - Sven's voice was so feigned that I wanted to cry. - It seems... It seems that my arm was broken, and the pain pierces my body. Save me, beautiful maiden!-He grabbed Y/N by the waist.

-Don't talk nonsense,- Sihtric approached them, slapping Sven on the shoulder, which supposedly hurt. - You just tripped over a root and fell into the hole like a bag of shit. Go, Y/n, you are not needed here.

Y/N's eyebrows twitched. She turned slowly to Sihtric, burning him with her eyes. He looked anywhere but at her.

- No, Y/N, don't go. I didn't let you go.- Sven grumbled.

- I have patients with more serious problems than lying in a hole, Sven. I'm really leaving, thanks for the tip, Sihtric. -Y/N gathered her things and hid in the doorway.

The first snow fell from the sky, it was cool. Y/N twitched her nose at the smell of frost.

-Wait,- Sihtric caught up with her.

-Wait.-Y/N stopped abruptly, turning to face him. -What to expect? So that you say something nice again, how can you?

Sihtric rolled his eyes.

-I just want to say that you see how Sven behaves. Can you just...just not give in to his provocations? You're a smart girl, but you're acting like a little fool who doesn't understand what's going on.

-Since when do you worry so much about this?- Y/N chuckled.

Sihtric rolled his eyes.

-Apparently, you really are a fool, Y/N. - He spat sharply, turning around and leaving.

The blood boiled in the veins of Y/N. Why has he been acting like this lately? What's going on with Sihtric?

- Sihtric!

x x x

Y/N hasn't seen Sihtric for several days. But she saw Sven perfectly every time she left her room. And every time the Gods sent Y/N more and more fears, the soul told her that something was brewing.

Y/N looked out the window. The snow was falling even harder, turning into a snowfall. The trembling made its way to the very bones, the frost pinched the skin, I wanted to sleep.

-You will freeze and die.- Sihtric said as he approached her.

- Yes ... it’s sad to die a complete fool. - Y/N answered.

Sihtric exhaled noisily.

-Come on, tell me that everywhere and everywhere I am to blame, Sihtric. And tell Sven the only time he can hit on me is when I learn how to kick him in the balls.

-I was rude to you...

-That's putting it mildly! -Y/N turned to face him. -All you've been telling me for the last month is that I'm a fool who is to blame for the fact that my master's son, a one-eyed bastard, wants to turn me into a comfort rag doll. Thank you Sihtric, I've heard that from you before.

-I got excited.

-Thanks for acknowledging. I will comfort myself with this.

Sihtric opened his mouth as if about to say something. He tightly gripped his ax in his hands, looking at Y/N's face.

- We'll talk later, Y/N. I still have things to do.” He lowered his head as he said it low.

-But…-Y/N's shoulders slumped, and her eyes widened in disappointment, as if expecting what Sihtric hadn't told her. -But I…

But Sihtric had already left, burning with the desire to open his chest from his own stupidity, tear out the heart and present it to her. Instead of a thousand words.

#sihtric #sihtric x reader #sihtric imagine #the last kingdom #the last kingdom imagine #the last kingdom x reader #tlk #tlk x reader #tlk imagine

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siren-serenity · 1 year

Text

ingame voicelines

what would they say about you? would they murmur sweet compliments or chuckle at your silly mistakes? in which yuu asks these strange students of night raven college about you: and is surprised to find out that they have lovers?

characters: riddle rosehearts, leona kingscholar, azul ashengrotto, rook hunt, gn!reader warnings: reader is not yuu! a/n: feedback is appreciated!

"have you seen y/n around? they promised me that they would have tea with me around this time...oh? they had to stay back to help professor crewel? *chuckle* i always knew my king of hearts was very studious but still..."

"no! yuu, don't sit there! rule 29 of the queen of hearts, only the king of hearts can sit on the right side of the queen! phew, you almost broke a rule. i didn't want to have your head, not during the unbirthday party."

"oh, hello yuu! 'why am i smiling?' you asked? well, *blushes* my king just came to wish me good luck for my riding competition before pinning their good-luck brooch onto my outfit. i'm so blessed to have them..."

"grrr, hey. herbivore. if you see y/n around, tell them to come to their king. i can't sleep without them.....why are you laughing?"

"hm? you asked why did i ask ruggie to get me two sandwiches instead of one? y/n's joining me today to play a round of chess. they've been insisting on spending quality time as a couple, tch. they're so sweet........you heard me? no, you didn't."

"*sigh* the one time i actually want to go to class and i'm being hounded by a curious herbivore...what do you want, yuu? *listens* hmm? i'm gonna go to class because y/n's in it. now, move. they're waiting for me and i have no intentions of keeping them waiting."

"who is y/n? oh, they were someone who i made a deal with in the past. why do you look so worried, yuu? do not fear, i hold y/n too close in my heart to hurt them."

"terribly sorry but i cannot permit you to sit there...why? my beloved adores sitting there, staring into mostro's aquarium while doing their homework is one of their favorites...i cannot allow anyone else to take away their happiness."

"when did i meet y/n? let's see...it was during our childhood. we grew up together; y/n always defended me from my bullies like my knight in shining armor. i still cannot believe that they stayed with me through everything even going as far to joining me at the surface and enrolling in night raven college together. *lovesick smile* oh, what did i do to deserve them?"

"yuu! what a glorious day it is today- hmm? what does 'amour de ma vie' mean? *snickers* your pronunciation is so cute, but needs some work, mon ami! amour de ma vie means love of my life..."

"what do i love about them? why, i could go on for centuries! their smile is like the sun; it gives me life and reasons to live. i could never go a day without seeing their beautiful face caressed by the morning dawn nor could i go a day without seeing their peaceful expression as they slumber into the evening night. *sees yuu's taken-aback expression and laughs* apologies, yuu. i could never shut up when it comes to mon amour."

"excuse me, yuu! please step aside for a moment. *prepares his bow and arrow to fire* don't fear! i'm simply sending an arrow of love to mon amour...*fires before smiling at a shocked yuu* don't worry, the arrow is enchanted to not hurt them, it's a spell of protection from their beloved hunter...*smiles dreamily* i wonder how they shall reply! *arrow fires back, nearly hitting yuu but rests in a grinning rook's hand. he reads it before dashing away but not before shouting over his shoulder* goodbye, mon ami! mon cheri awaits me!"

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chaifootsteps · 7 months

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I still think it’s an absolute joke that viv thinks ANY of her fanficy yaoi abuse writing no deeper than a piss puddle on the pavement is comparable to Bojack Horseman at all, and I feel like Stella vs Beatrice is the perfect example of that.

In Bojack, it’s established early on that Beatrice was/is a horrible mother to Bojack, the two best examples imo being her telling Bojack as a child that he ruined her beauty and that he better make up for that sometime soon, and her phone call telling him as an adult that he was born broken. But later on in the show, with the episodes The Old Sugarman Place and especially Time’s Arrow, we learn Beatrice suffered a terrible life too, one might argue even worse than Bojack’s, and that makes us sympathize with her. It’s obviously no excuse for what she’s done, especially since she was still actively making people’s lives worse with what she pulled with Hollyhock, we understand why she became the person she is. Time’s Arrow has such a cathartic and powerful ending, I’m never going to forget Bojack choosing to end the cycle of abuse that plagued his family for decades by giving his mother, with her final semblance of lucidity, by comforting her and making her think of fond memories.

Meanwhile in Helluva Shitshow we know jack and shit about Stella other than “i ENjoY tOrMEntiNG yOu” which is just, such a dogshit line. What were her parents like? What was her childhood like? What does she think about her brother? What is her personal life like outside of her family? What are her accomplishments? Interests? Goals outside of murdering the rapey owl bastard? We’re well into season 2 and we STILL haven’t gotten even ONE interaction between Stella and Octavia, mother and daughter, like are you kidding me? I cannot prepare for Hazbin if it’s supposed to be female focused while THIS is how a female writer writes her female characters, unacceptable is it what it is.

So yea, TLDR Beatrice solos Stella and viv should’ve never written for Helluva, things people are already well aware of. Sorry for the long winded rant but I had to get this off my chest after making an essay in my head about this in the shower. Hope you’re having a good day Chai, I’m now reminded of the absolute banger that is Hi-Fi Rush because of your username, thank you

This, this, this.

Beatrice was a masterpiece of a character. It's established very early on that she's absolutely awful, sometimes comically so and sometimes tragically, and also that she and Butterscotch are both miserable characters in a desperately unhappy marriage, and it just builds and builds from there into some of the most powerful writing on the show.

Stella is a character that's not only paper thin, but Vivzie will mock you on twitter if you like her or even attempt to sympathize with her.

#Anonymous #helluva boss critical #vivziepop critical #actual blog post

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smartycvnt · 4 months

Text

Title: Star City Crossed

Pairing: Nyssa al Ghul x Reader

Prompt: N/A

Word Count: 1537

Nyssa felt terribly uncomfortable inside of the police station. Laurel, however, was insistent that they come here after dinner. Nyssa had kept her head out of trouble while helping Laurel, so there was no real reason for Nyssa to tell Laurel no. However, that didn't mean Nyssa was suspicious of Laurel's excitement.

"Laurel, I feel like they're staring," Nyssa whispered through grit teeth. Laurel just shrugged their looks off. She knew better than most that cops were gossips. They were probably trying to figure out whether or not Nyssa and Laurel were a thing.

"Don't worry about them," Laurel reassured Nyssa. She opted for keeping a little distance between them as she approached Ash's desk. The last thing that Laurel wanted was for Ash to think that Nyssa was Laurel's girlfriend. If Laurel's plan was going to work, Ash had to know for sure that Nyssa was also very single. "Detective Lovett, do you have a moment?"

"For the captain's daughter? I have a few," Ash said with a smile. Nyssa seemed to stiffen a little behind Laurel, which Laurel took as a bad sign. If Nyssa thought Ash liked Laurel, she'd never make a move.

"Do you have more time if I tell you that there's a sandwich from Creek's in it for you?" Laurel asked. Ash seemed to really perk up at that. She hadn't eaten all day, and even just the thought of food made Ash's mouth water. "Attagirl. This is Nyssa. She needs your help with something, and my father can't know about any of it."

"It's one of those things, got it." Ash tapped the side of her head as she put her city issued gun in her desk drawer. "Let's head upstairs. I could use a breather."

"Good idea," Laurel said. Nyssa followed the two women up to the roof of the police station. It was a place that Nyssa had been before, not that she'd admit it with the police officer standing right there.

"Alright, what do you need from me?" Ash asked. She was one of the few people who had never waivered in her support of the Arrow. It had been the cause of a lot of arguments between Ash and Quentin, but Laurel thought that it was noble for Ash to stick to her guns. There were rumors about Ash having done some vigilante work before joining the force, but if those reports ever existed, they had been sealed shut.

Laurel looked over towards Nyssa, and it was then that Nyssa realized that Laurel expected her to do the talking. "I believe that there is a great threat lurking in your city. A few old associates of mine are out for revenge."

"There's nothing I can really do about that, not now at least. I don't know what you want from me," Ash said.

"Come on, I've heard the rumors. Ash, please," Laurel begged. Ash clenched her jaw as she tried to think of an excuse that wouldn't give her past away. The misspent years of her youth running around the Glades had been constantly following her around. Everybody whispered about the things that she had done. The speculation about why Captain Lance had helped her out and continued to do so.

"I am already on probation Laurel. I can't even begin to think about doing what you've asked of me," Ash sighed. "I'm sorry, but I can't give up everything."

"I won't ask you to do that then, but please for the love of god, spend some time with Nyssa. Let her show you how to protect yourself. These people, they've got body counts bigger than anyone else." Laurel grabbed onto Ash's hands. It wasn't fair, but Laurel rarely ever played it fair with Ash. They were more like sisters than either woman was willing to admit, and Ash had promised Quentin that she'd be there for Laurel if he couldn't.

"Alright, and I'll find other ways to help you. I promise," Ash said.

Laurel seemed content with that. She let Ash get back to work. Star City was a restless city, which meant a lot of late night calls. Ash was lucky enough not to be on patrols anymore, so she only had to answer specialized calls. Generally, she had worked homicide, but Quentin had moved her around to the vigilante task force once that was off the ground. As the police department's relationship with the vigilantes changed, Ash's job description had as well.

She had several quiet nights in a row, which opened up her days to meeting Laurel's friend at a gym downtown. Nyssa's training exceeded Ash's weekend MMA league by far. Ash was a quick study, especially whenever Laurel joined them. Ash knew that Laurel was out helping the city as Black Canary, and it made Ash feel a bit better about allowing that to happen knowing that Laurel could really protect herself.

"There was a body found the other night," Ash said casually as she helped Nyssa put the mats up one night. Nyssa's warning had stuck with Ash for the weeks after that night on the rooftop. The supposed big bad hadn't reared their heads, but there were subtle signs. Bodies that were dropping in ways that didn't add up to anything someone already in the city could do.

"That isn't uncommon for this city," Nyssa pointed out.

"True enough, but a clean decapitation is. Your old associates, did they do things like this?" Ash asked. Nyssa didn't like talking about her old life. Star City was supposed to be her second chance. She had lost a lot, but loss was something that Star City knew better than any other place in the world. Sometimes it felt like nobody got a happy ending.

"One them, yes. Who was killed?" Nyssa asked. Ash could hear the little spike in her voice. Whoever these people were, they made Nyssa nervous. Ash didn't like the idea of someone who could make a former assassin nervous.

"This gang leader. It's not exactly a huge loss, but this is the fourth person I knew who has been targeted. It's just a little bit of an odd coincidence, that's all," Ash said. Nyssa's eyes narrowed and she dropped the matt down a little harder than she meant to. "What?"

"You knew the other murder victims?"

"Of course, they were all from my old neighborhood. One way or another, back when I was hellbent on screwing up my future, I wanted to take them down. This last one got me arrested," Ash laughed.

"Come on, I'm taking you home tonight," Nyssa said quickly. Ash wasn't a fan of being rushed out, but she welcomed the extra bit of time with Nyssa. Ash wouldn't admit it, especially not to Laurel, but she was starting to develop feelings for Nyssa. The woman was awkward in an endearing way. Ash wanted to spend as much time with Nyssa as she could teaching her the ways of normal life.

Ash stayed silent on the walk to her apartment. Nyssa kept her head on a swivel. Nothing seemed to be up, not until they entered Ash's apartment building. They had barely gotten a few feet into the building when the first arrow whizzed through the air and nearly cut through Ash's neck.

"Fuck!" Ash shouted as she ducked down. Nyssa's eyes followed the trajectory back and she rushed outside. Ash watched several bodies drop down. Nyssa was good, but the numbers were against her. Ash knew that it was stupid, so she didn't just rush out there. She watched Nyssa from afar.

Not a single one of Nyssa's adversaries turned their attention towards Ash. They had all seen Ash drop after the arrow had been fired. Nyssa ran out in such a rush that they took it for anger. Ash crawled over towards the still open door and lined up to take her shots. Marksmanship had always been one of Ash's strong suits, so she had no issues firing.

Nyssa's head whipped over to where Ash was laying on the ground after the first body dropped. The remaining two tried to scatter, but Ash managed to incapacitate them. Nyssa ran over to Ash, who began to push herself up off of the ground.

"How did you know that you wouldn't shoot me?" Nyssa asked. Ash brushed the dirt off of her jacket as she shrugged.

"I don't miss." Ash smirked. Nyssa punched Ash's shoulder, but all Ash cared about was the relieved look on Nyssa's face. "Are you okay?"

"You're the one who was just almost killed. Shouldn't I be asking you that question?"

"It's not the first time I've been shot at," Ash said. Nyssa could tell that she was being overly casual to lighten the mood. Nyssa hesitantly reached towards Ash, who sort of leaned into the touch. Nyssa wasn't great with comforting people, but she knew that tonight Ash needed her.

"Come on, it should be safe now." Nyssa led Ash inside without letting her look back on the mess on the street. They had the morning to worry about that, and if things didn't go their way, Nyssa knew she could get Ash out of the city quietly.

Tag List: @thepalaceofmelanie

#dc x reader #my writing #one shot #dc comics x reader #arrowverse x reader #arrow x reader #dc #dc comics #arrowverse #arrow #nyssa al ghul x reader #nyssa al ghul

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countsmoon · 2 years

Text

under the fire-lit sky

lucerys velaryon x reader

Summary: yn and lucerys decide to watch the dragon fire together.

Warnings: absolutely none except my terrible writing :)

Author notes: listen, it was firework night yeserday and people were going crazy out here in the UK so I decided to make up a quick firework-night-esque fic about pretty boy lucerys because I'm not accepting the fact he died. And yes I know that there is probs no event like this in HotD or GoT but who cares, its a fanfic 😊 this is also my first published fic so like, bear with me people.

You wished the night would never end.

In all your years, you had never seen the sky so bright. Fire lit up the sky as dragons soared high above the walls of King’s Landing. It was as though it was a mere dream, a feverously gorgeous dream.

Sparks were dancing in the black abyss, sparkling into nothingness soon after. It was a cold night, one that sent chills down your spine as you stood on the balcony of your room in your nightdress. However, you felt nothing but warmth. Before you were sent to the Red Keep, you lived in the North with your family. It was so cold there that you could barely move without two entire bear furs covering you during the colder months. It was only the stories of blazing dragon fire-lit skies that helped you gain warmth then – watching it now in all its glory was a hundred times better than dreaming of it.

Your hair flew rapidly around you, flying into your eyes constantly. Brushing it back seemed futile but it had to be done – it was that or get hair in your eyes. How you so desperately wished you could see your friend flying. It was just too dark to see the dragons if they weren't blowing fire! Huffing and blaming it on terrible eyesight, a loud screech sounded from above you. At first, you thought it was just Caraxes and Daemon tempting fate by flying so close to the castle roof but you were quickly proved wrong when you saw a Caraxes-like figure fly through some fire far into the distance. It also didn't help that you could hear breathing from behind you.

What the actual fuck was behind you.

It could just be the wind playing a trick on your ears like it did at home in the North but it sounded more real than anything you'd been tricked into hearing before. No, something was definitely behind you. Deciding to be brave, slowly you turned only to be met with the face of Arrax beside you. Oh, it’s just Arrax, you thought, reaching a hand out to scratch under his chin to which he purred in contentment.

Wait.

Looking further up, your eyes locked onto the eyes of your dear friend, now sheepish whilst still holding a mischievous grin on his face. Sighing, you continued to stare at him, praying you held the what the fuck look you wanted to convey. Arrax was unaware of the arrows your eyes were shooting into his rider, still drunk off your scratches. “So..,” Lucerys nervously giggled, his dark hair lit up by some of the candlelight that managed to reach him.

“So.”

“Do you uh, want to watch the dragon fire with me?”

“I was already watching it. Besides, you told me you'd be participating.” You spoke matter-of-factly, still very unamused. It wasn't as though you hadn't wished to watch the dragon fire with him, quite on the contrary. However, Lucerys had told you to watch the sky specifically to see him and Arrax blow fire. “Well, aha, I may have uh,” he grew more sheepish, his grin of mischief now a small uncertain smile, “May have lied..?”

Sighing and breathing, you kept composed. Lucerys was ready for you to climb Arrax to beat him yourself yet that vanished when a chuckle left you and your eyes read playfulness. “The roof.”

“Excuse me?”

“The roof, we shall watch from up there.” You smiled.

That was how you and Lucerys ended up on the roof, Arrax laying behind you asleep. Your head rested against his shoulder, his body heat bringing you comfort. Your hands were entwined, his thumb rubbing your knuckles soothingly. It was peaceful, serine even – watching the fire sparkle with the dragon roars and the shouts of the excited people below. A shiver ran down your body, goosebumps appearing upon your arms.

As you let go of Lucerys' hand to rub your arms, your breathe became clear as you continued to shiver. You had forgotten you were in your nightdress, the only warmth you were receiving was Lucerys and Arrax's body heat. Lucerys saw your shiver and began to unclasp his cape without another thought. He draped it over you as he would with a blanket, tucking you in. You stared as he did this, watching him intently.

When he was sure you'd be atleast a little warmer, he retracted his hands. Lucerys caught your stare, looking back into yours. Neither could decipher whether the redness of their cheeks was due to the cold. "Will you not be cold?" You asked, eyes flashing downwards and then back up. He smiled and leaned forward, "No, I believe I'll be alright, but there is something you could do to boost the odds."

"And what is that, my prince?"

"By doing this."

With that his hand went up to your cheek and pulled you close, his lips brushing yours. His eyes held an unspoken question to which you answered by putting one hand on his cheek and the other into his hair, pulling him forward to finally kiss. It was slow and inexperienced, but so full of love and adoration that it swelled your heart when he placed one hand on the small of your back. You released not by choice, but by the lack of air.

Leaning your foreheads against eachother, Lucerys continued to stroke your cheek. "I've dreamed of this," He whispered to you, eyes closed with a smile on this face. "So have I," you agreed. Suddenly a loud roar came of the skies alongside the largest fire you'd seen that night. Leaning back onto his shoulder with his hand playing with your hair, you both turned to gaze back into the dark abyss, lit up with dragon-fire and shining stars.

#lucerys velaryon x reader #lucerys targaryen x reader #house of the dragon x reader #house of the dragon #hotd x reader #hotd #hotd fluff #my fics :]

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lacrimosathedark · 2 years

Text

I have made quite clear how much I adore Jason Peter Todd, despite how frequently he is written terribly. RHATO is Not Good, but pre-Flashpoint was...chaotic for his characterization to say the least.

HOWEVER!

I wish to give my fellow Jaybird lovers some stable ground if they’re looking for decent and consistent Red Hood characterization post-resurrection.

[Fuck you Battle For the Cowl that was a shitshow]

Most people cite the Under the Hood storyline as the best work about Jason. That story was written by Judd Winick. So, here’s a list of stories involving The Boy written by Judd Winick, with short summaries so you know what you’re getting into! And some images because I can’t not.

Batman Vol 1 629: This is not actually Jason, but a Scarecrow hallucination Bruce has, but it still characterizes both Bruce and Tim’s thoughts about Jason and his potential return. It takes place pretty smack-dab between Hush and Under the Hood.

I appreciate the Hush outfit with the white streak. Excellent.

(also Tim looks like a baby and I just want to give him hugs)

Batman Vol 1 635-641 aka Under the Hood Vol 1 Batman Vol 1 645-650 and Annual 25 aka Under the Hood Vol 2 No description necessary; if you know Jason, you know how this goes.

Green Arrow Vol 3 69-72: Red Hood comes to Star City and decides to have a talk with current Speedy, Green Arrow’s sidekick, Mia Dearden.

Contains this gem:

I love him so much he’s such a dramatic bitch.

He changed the scoreboards what the fuck--

And this oof

Outsiders Vol 3 44-46 and Annual 1: Jason provides the Outsiders, specifically Dick and Roy, with intel exonerating Black Lightning/Jefferson Pierce from murder he thought he committed. Jason’s not the center of this story, but I like it a lot.

For my fellow Harper family lovers, 45 has a lot of cute Roy and Lian too, including this part that rips my heart out.

Lian is my angel and I would die for her.

For my fellow Gays, these also have the start of the relationship between Anissa Pierce and Grace Choi

also includes this dumbfuckery:

He’s a dork and I love him.

Batman and Robin (2009) Vol 1 23-25: Red Hood reluctantly teams up with Dickie-Batman and Brat Wonder Robin to save his kidnapped former sidekick, Scarlet.

Please excuse some of the art bullshit; yes, it has ginger Jason, and yes the covers use the dumb pill helmet design. But for the record, he doesn’t actually wear the pill helmet thank fuck, and the hair thing was more for continuity. They were established during Grant Morrison’s run as writer because they don’t do their goddamn homework enough to know ginger Jay is not canon Post-Crisis! Or that even then he chose to dye his hair black! (Yes I’m bitter that’s how they fucked over Talia too UGH)

At least his costume is fixed; it combines the dumb supervillain-y costume with his old biker-y look, and tbh I think it’s really cool. Aside from the bright red guns that look like toys.

Not that that lasts because this is one of if not the last appearance of Jay before the reboot! Thanks, Barry.

[small edit cuz I just can’t with this man]

He’s also a little shit throughout the whole thing. It is his mission to annoy Dick and Damian and it’s great.

BOI--

[end small edit!]

He also gets stripped for...reasons. If you’re interested. I wasn’t, but I know some of yall are nasties (/affectionate) so here’s that.

Red Hood: The Lost Days: Goes more into detail about Jason’s experience between his death and his big return to Gotham. So! Much! Trauma!

Also where this image comes from:

He really said that. So uh...yeah.

He has always been a snarky dorky bastard and I love him very much.

[EDIT ADDITION Thank you @someoneimsure]

Robin 80th Anniversary 100 Page Super Spectacular: Jason’s story is called “More Time”, which is a story with Robin Jason and Red Hood Jason have a parallel story giving Bruce a gift on his birthday. Specifically, fixing his father’s old watch.

I love him. LOOK AT THIS BABY

(He’s talking about the watch but that literally could be said about Jason and ow my fucking HEART--)

Look at this. God I just...sometimes Jason just fills my heart with love and it’s too much. He’s a good boy!

Unfortunately, he and Steph share the space of only having one story which is bullshit. Timmy and Dami both get two, which is totally fair. But Dickie gets four. Rude. Sharing is caring, Dickiebird.

[END EDIT Thank you :33]

FOR NOTE

Things with Jason NOT written by Judd Winick Pre-Flashpoint that are major (but personally I think kinda suck) are Battle for the Cowl, Countdown, and his weird murdery Nightwing phase.

Jason Todd, everybody.

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just-late-roman-republic-things · 10 months

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So I just saw the first episode of Imperium: Augustus.

Thanks to the terrible interface for Amazon Prime, which also renamed the show and put it next to the documentaries, my family and I mistook this for a documentary until it was too late. And that’s unfortunate, because if you go in expecting historical accuracy you’re gonna be frustrated.

You may enjoy it if you just want to watch a fun drama set in ancient Rome. It’s cool to see most of the characters played by actual Italians, and Agrippa and Maecenas get the prominent roles they deserve. Livia even states at one point that Augustus “loved [Agrippa] more than any woman.”

I do wish they hadn’t made Maecenas’ sexuality a joke. He’s a stereotypical effeminate queer here, rather than a full character who happens to be queer, likes the arts, and makes jokes sometimes. And I don’t like that they portrayed Livia as a cold-blooded murderess. Most of the other inaccuracies can be excused for drama purposes, but those bits bug me.

That said, the show did make me laugh several times:

At one point Augustus says Julia has given him “two wonderful grandsons.” Which becomes a subtle diss if you know that Julia had three sons, and the third, Agrippa Postumus, was a Huge Disappointment and never appears in the show. He was so bad they wrote him out!

Octavian saves Livia from a gang of thugs when they’re teenagers, and she starts flirting with him until she hears he’s Caesar’s nephew, whereupon she slams the door in his face.

Caesar: “You’re ill, you shouldn’t shovel a trench with the soldiers.” Octavian: “No! I want to!” [He grabs a shovel. Scene immediately cuts to Octavian passed out in a tent.]

Caesar directs Octavian’s attention to a view of Rome from the balcony, a vista that is very obviously a painting.

Caesar gets murdered in the Curia Julia, which A) has his name on it and B) did not exist at this time.

Decimus Brutus is a murderer of Caesar, enemy of Antony and critical to the plot after Caesar’s death, yet never appears onscreen. He’s a ghost!

Maecenas: “The three of us will rule the world. Octavius is the politician. Agrippa is the soldier.” Agrippa: “And what are you?” Maecenas: “I’m the mouth.” [wiggles eyebrows]

Honestly, everything Maecenas says and does is hilarious, even if he is a stereotype. At one point he’s interrupted while shaving his legs and gives Octavian first aid while in only a loincloth. Even better when you know this was a (probably false) accusation lobbed at Octavian.

Octavian skips the complex five-way political maneuvering in 44-43 BCE by straight-up bringing the Macedonian legion into the Senate house and forcing them to make him consul. Yes, the whole legion. It is never explained where the legion came from.

Caesar’s plan at the battle of Munda is apparently “charge Sextus Pompeius’ fort.” No artillery, no tactical plans, nothing. The first line of troops is immediately slaughtered by a rain of arrows from the defenders and we get a rather awkward shot of the second line of legions staring at a field full of the dead. Caesar reacts by removing his helmet, charging the fort himself, and making everyone follow head-on again. The Pompeians, for no apparent reason, leave their highly advantageous fort and get slaughtered.

Anyway, the show isn’t what I’m looking for, but if you just want a good drama (or enjoy poking fun at inaccuracies) you may like it.

#imperium augustus #octavian #livia #julius caesar #historical drama #homophobia mention #jlrrt speaks #jlrrt watches

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silvertonguelover · 1 year

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@witcher-bows-and-arrows

Day 4 NSFW: Silk

I tried I really did....Jask in a silk robe. Geralt having fun disrobing him. UwU💖😂

I really have forgotten how to draw normal sized people after drawing only Chibis for months.💀 Excuse my terrible anatomy. 😭🙏

#jaskier #the witcher #geraskier #geralt of rivia #witcher bows and arrows #bows and arrows 2 #witcher valentines

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windblume-wishes · 2 years

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Perfect The Way You Are - A Genshin Impact Story

Based on the fanart drawn by @art_broskev on Twitter. Permission was granted by the artist to write this story. Please follow them!

It was October, a perfect time for harvesting the remaining grapes of the vineyard, there was still much work to be done to prepare the Dawn Winery’s signature wine for the coming winter and fall festivities. As the workers worked hard in the vineyard, Kaeya and Diluc also lended a helping hand to get the work done faster while still finding time to play.

“Diluc! I think my basket is fuller than yours!” Kaeya smirked, finding the grape collecting a game.

“Really? Because I think your tummy is even fuller than your basket! Haha!” Commented the red head boy, pointing out the obvious grape stains on Kaeya’s face.

“Well- uh- I was hungry! My tummy was rumbling and the grapes said ‘Oh kaeya! Eat us! Eat us’!” It wasn’t true, but it made for good humor, Diluc only rolled his eyes with a laugh as he cleaned Kaeya’s face with his shirt.

“Oh! That reminds me! Could you go get the grapes from the first row? I got this little row but I see a few still over there.” Diluc pointed and Kaeya nodded in reply, running over to the row in front of Diluc, leaving his basket by his brother.

Kaeya began to pick the grapes happily, stuffing them in a makeshift basket with his shirt, once it was full enough he proceeded to walk back to his brother, but suddenly there was an old, angry looking man standing tall before him. His cane making aggressive taps in the dirt and his cold grey eyes stared like daggers into his blue eyes. Kaeya froze, he was scared, he had never seen this old man before at the winery.

“Hey! Who are you, kid?” Kaeya remained silent in fear, the man only continued to yell at him. “I haven’t seen you here before, are you even a local?”

Kaeya could only nod, his body still shaking in absolute fear. His eyes began to sting with the formation of tears.

“And- Those are Master Crepus’ grapes!” He grabbed Kaeya by the ear, harshly dragging the little boy who struggled in his grasp, sniffling and letting out small sobs.

“You are coming with me, little theif! You will apologize to Master Crepus and return everything you have stolen!”

“I-I’m not a theif! Diluc!!”

Diluc heard his brother’s cry, something was terribly wrong, he poked his head from the vines and saw it, an older man was dragging his baby brother by the ear to be scolded for simply helping. He felt his face grow heated and red with anger, running to the rescue. Diluc whipped out a small fist and punched the old man’s arm, releasing Kaeya who fell to the ground.

“You let my brother go!” He yelled, absolutely livid, his eyes burned like an angry flame as he shielded his little brother who sat on the ground still frightened and shaken.

“Excuse me?” The old man glared at the Ragnvindr boy as if daring him to try and talk back.

“I said to leave my little brother alone!” He growled, helping Kaeya up and dusting him off. “Come on, Kae, let’s get that knee patched up…”

Diluc dragged his brother away from the man, Kaeya looked back to see the old man staring with disgust at him, he shielded his face and cried a bit.

“But… he does not even look like a Ragnvinder at all!”He yelled at the two boys. “He’s too dark to be one of you!”

Those words struck Kaeya in the heart worse than any arrow or sword ever could. Did he truly need to look like them to fully be a Ragnvinder? Was he not fit to be one even after all he had been through? Were the adoption papers nothing….? Kaeya did not know, he just looked back with absolute heartbreak, such words are like stabs to an adopted child’s heart, Kaeya knew that now. His heart ached and he just wanted to be alone.

“Kae? You still with me?” Came a soft yet sweet voice, it was Diluc, looking at him with worried eyes.

“Y-yeah…” he sniffled, wiping his eye with a small fist.

“I just patched up your knee, you are gonna be okay now, I’ll tell father what happened. You just go sit down and relax, okay?” Diluc spoke softly, hugging kaeya close, gently petting his hair.

When Diluc let him go, Kaeya walked quietly up the stairs to the nursery and sat down in his bed, looking over to the craft drawer, he remembered the red paint. If he did not look like his new family, he would have to at least try too. Kaeya sighed, hopping off the bed and over to the craft drawer. He opened it and found the can of red paint, perfect, this should be the right amount.

Kaeya looked over to the mirror, picturing himself with red hair, in his imagination, he looked rather stunning, however the results of that would have to be seen before he could judge. He quickly opened up the paint can and sat on the stool, taking a deep breath in, he counted down.

3…

2…

1…

The paint poured over his beautiful dark blue hair, covering it with the same colour as his brother and father. Now he could finally look like the rest of his adoptive family, he would no longer be an outcast, at least he hoped he would not.

“He’s too dark!”

That was right, he was darker than his family, but did that really, truly matter? Kaeya felt his heart sink at the thought invading his mind again, hot tears flooding from his eyes as he sat there.

“Kaeya? Kaeya, are you- oh my!” It was Crepus, Kaeya jumped and stared at him with a hint of fear. “Now what have we here?”

There was no harshness or disappointment in the man’s voice, it was soft and loving. He felt a towel atop his head and his father’s hands rubbing his head, the paint coming off his hair.

“Why would you even do that, silly boy?” He smiled, wiping the last of the paint out of the hair, Kaeya only sniffled and wiped away some of his tears.

“C-‘Cause I don’t look like you and Diluc… the old man said I wasn’t a Ragnvinder at all… I don’t look like you…” Kaeya wailed, his body now being pressed against Crepus’ broad frame.

“Oh Kaeya… you do not have to look like us to be a part of our family, kid. You know that right?”

“B-but the old man said it too dark to be one of y-you…”

Crepus stared at Kaeya in shock, he felt his blood boil at those words. Never in the past year that he had Kaeya as his son was there ever a soul that dared comment about the colour of his son. Kaeya could sense Crepus’ anger rising, clinging to him shaking in fear. Did he say something wrong? Did he do something bad?

“F-father…? A-are you m-mad at me? Did I-I say somethin’ bad…..?” Kaeya shuddered against his frame, hoping to Barbatos that was not the case.

“Archons, no! You did NOTHING wrong, I’m just angry at whoever dared speak such filth to my son!” Crepus said, trying to hide his anger. “Who said it? What did they look like?”

“W-well…”

—————

Later that day Diluc successfully pointed out the man who harassed his little brother while Kaeya remained in the nursery the rest of the day to take a well deserved break. Crepus dealt with the man immediately, a firm and much deserved talk was given and he was immediately fired. Kaeya was happy the man was gone, and admittedly so was the rest of the winery staff. Adelinde eventually carried Kaeya downstairs so he could be with Crepus and Diluc who enveloped him into a tight hug.

“Kaeya, I want you to know that no matter what happens, or whoever says otherwise, you are perfect the way you are.” Crepus cupped Kaeya’s face in his hands, planting a small kiss on his head. “Do not ever forget that, you too Diluc, you both are perfect the way you are. Do not let anyone say otherwise.”

Let it be forever known that the colour of one’s skin, eyes or hair does not dictate what makes a family, the bonds are stronger than the blood that runs through the veins.

Love has no bounds, ever…

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