#prompt: exile | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

Visit Blog

Explore Tumblr blogs with no restrictions, modern design and the best experience.

Fun Fact

In Q3 of 2020, 31% of US users access the Tumblr app daily.

lucienweekofficial · 7 months

Text

🍂 Exile

An homage to the courts Lucien has been a part of, and his pain at never quite being able to call any of them home.

Comissioned by @separatist-apologist, @the-lonelybarricade, @areyoudreaminof, @stickyelectrons, @octobers-veryown, @wilde-knight, and @labellefleur-sauvage from the wonderfully talented artist @/Julpers.

🚫 Posted with comissioner's permission. Please do not repost.

#Lucien Vanserra #lucienweek2023 #prompt: exile #Lucien fanart #pro Lucien Vanserra #acotar fanart

1K notes · View notes

foxybananaaaz · 7 months

Text

For those who are just as impatient about Lucien learning about his patentage as me. This is for you.

Read A New Life On

• Tumblr • Archive Of Our Own • FanFiction.Net • Wattpad •

Written For

Lucien V. Appreciation Week

@lucienweekofficial

• Rounded Word Counts •

Starting Over :: 2k ● Adjustments :: 2k ● Masquerade :: 2k ● Acting Tough :: 1k ● Falling Apart :: 2k ● Coming Together :: 3k ● In The Afternoon 1k

Total Word Count :: 14k

#Lucien Vanserra #Lucien Week 2023 #Elain Archeron #Elucien #The Sunflower Couple #LucienWeek2023 #Covering ALL fanfic reading sites #so everyone can read on their preferred platform #prompt: exile #prompt: style #prompt: masks #prompt: Courtier & Emissary #prompt: family #prompt: romance #prompt: free day

11 notes · View notes

cathyac · 7 months

Text

Lucien WIP! Day 1: Exile

I wanted to do a fox for Day 1 for Lucien Week (Exile) but I wasn’t able to finish and I know it wouldn’t be what I wanted it to be if I rushed it tonight, but I did get through the intro of it. (Sorry @lucienweekofficial) TW: d*ath, grief, mentions of puking, bl*od, m*rder, the Jesminda situation, minor swearing

Word Count: 333

Tamlin and Lucien walked through the silent and dark manor. Lucien’s eyes kept to the long pink carpet that stretched on and on down the hall. Tamlin’s riding boots were stained with mud and blood. His brother’s blood. Lucien should’ve been mortified, should’ve been tearing Tamlin apart, but he was no better, for his other brother’s blood stained him as well. A murderer. Just like his father. Just like his whole damn family.

Tamlin stopped abruptly. Lucien looked to his left. From the times he had stayed at Tamlin’s manor prior to…everything…he remembered that the guest rooms of the manor were in a different wing. Now he stood in the hall of Tamlin’s family’s rooms.

“The room hasn’t been touched in years,” Tamlin said as he opened the door. “It should suffice, though.”

A few fae lights lit up the large room. Curtains covered the windows on the wall in front of him. The bed to his left had its blankets and pillows already made, there was a layer of dust on them. In fact, there was a layer of dust everywhere—on the desk, on the drawers, on the bed stand, on the shelves. However, the possessions of whomever used to sleep here were still there. Lucien swallowed as he stepped inside.

Tamlin sighed, “It’s Atherton’s room. I haven’t…taken out anything, but it’s yours now.”

Lucien nodded. He knew he should’ve thanked Tamlin profusely for taking him in, for giving him a room, for protecting him, but nothing came out. By the Mother, he couldn’t even look Tamlin in the eye. He was a coward.

“There’s a bathroom connected to this room, and there should be some clean clothes in the drawers.”

Another nod.

Tamlin quietly walked to the door. Still, Lucien didn’t look up and stared at the floor.

“You should get some rest, Lucien,” he said gently.

Another nod.

“Goodnight.”

Just as Tamlin closed the door, and Lucien was sure he was gone, he rushed to the bathroom and threw up.

#Lucienweek2023 #lucien vanserra #lucien acotar #a court of thorns and roses #tamlin #acotar #prompt: exile #lucien vanserra fanfiction #lucien vanserra fanfic #lucien fanfic #my wip #wip #my writing #acotar fanfiction

18 notes · View notes

romionemicrofic · 9 months

Text

Our second prompt is a song! Exile by Taylor Swift ft. Bon Iver.

Song | Lyrics.

You can get inspired by the music, the lyrics or maybe just the title!

Remember to rate the story if pertinent, mention us as @romionemicrofic and tag us as romione microfic so we can reblog your story and creations.

Guidelines, rating format, nsfw policy and more HERE.

Also, if you want to help us reblogging this so it can reach more people it would help us a lot!

#romione #romione microfic #hermione granger #ron weasley #prompts #august 2023 #prompt: exile

8 notes · View notes

save-the-villainous-cat · 29 days

Note

Could you do uh some story about villain who betrayed hero but then regretted it, and hero hates his guts for it? I just want to see the world burn.

If u don't want to , that's fine, love ur writing, keep shining queen

“You…” The tears in the hero’s eyes blurred their vision and their mind alike. Their hand shook around the blade as they tried to let their own weight the work, instead of actively pushing it into the villain’s chest.

But the villain was just as determined as always, just as strong. None of them were happy about the situation. The hero saw it in their eyes.

Why did it have to come to this?

“I’m sorry,” the villain whispered and the hero could feel how their resistance weakened. Their weapon was already slicing up the villain’s suit.

For the first time, the hero didn’t have a plan. Their mind was full of rage and urged them to finish the job.

With the villain out of the picture, these feelings would go away. They would be able to sleep at night, they would be able to move on and get into a relationship. They wouldn’t dread the hours.

But they couldn’t. They couldn’t kill them, no matter how intense their pain was. They couldn’t kill this person who had shared a bed with them. Who had cared for them. Who had loved them.

Right before the blade could cut through flesh, the hero cursed and tossed it away. Tears of rage and grief ran down their cheeks and they could barely form any words as they sat on top of the villain and broke down into a million pieces.

Their tears fell onto the villain’s chest as their trembling fingers clawed at the villain’s suit. They wanted to make them suffer, they wanted to make them feel the kind of pain that they had experienced, that they were still going through.

But the hero knew violence wouldn’t ease their mind.

“Leave,” the hero said eventually. Their voice was shaking. “You have to leave.”

“Please, I am sorry. I didn’t lie about my feelings for you.” The villain’s voice was calm and calculated as so often but the hero could hear the little bit of desperation that came through.

“No, you have to leave.” The hero dried their tears with their sleeves. It was as if their heartstrings snapped. That kind of pain was completely different from all the wounds the hero was used to. Torn flesh and broken bones — all of that didn’t even come close to what they were feeling now.

“I am sorry, okay? I am sorry for lying. I’ve fallen for you, I cannot help it. I wasn’t supposed to but I did and I — I think about you and I miss you and it wasn’t supposed to be like this, okay!?” The hero shook their head.

“Leave the city,” they said. They had no other choice.

“No,” the villain said. Their eyes widened and instead of their calm demeanour, they panicked. They sat up and the hero stood up, ready to go. For the umpteenth time, their heart squeezed together until blood dropped. “I won’t leave you a second time. I don’t care if you stab me to death or poison me or beat me. I don’t care if you torture me. I won’t go. I will stay with you this time. I will make it up to you. Whatever you want. Tell me what to do and I will obey.”

“I don’t want you here,” the hero answered. “If you love me, you’ll be gone by tomorrow. You will never come back.”

“No, please.” The villain stood up and reached for the hero. Their hands found the hero’s forearms and for a second, the hero was back in their bedroom, waking up next to them. They were stitching up each other’s wounds. They were kissing at the kitchen table.

The hero pushed them away.

“You’re not welcome here anymore.”

“You know as well as I that we belong together,” the villain said. Despite the shock in their eyes, they seemingly tried to keep it together. To use reason instead of emotions. The hero cursed themselves. Even when they hated them, they knew them. They knew every single habit, every single detail. “This will haunt you.”

“You already do.” The hero paused and took one last look at the villain. “Don’t you ever come back.”

#kinda hate this but wtvr #BAM EXILED #writing snippet #heroxvillain prompt #heroxvillain snippet #heroes and villains #hero #villain #hero x villain #heroxvillain #an answer for an ask #request #angst

171 notes · View notes

elliemarchetti · 8 months

Text

the alphabet of flowers prompt list

Maybe one day I'll write down all the great ideas behind this list, but for now I'll leave it here, at the mercy of Tumblr users. Feel free to request any flower, combo or bouquet for all the characters, ships and fandoms you find in the tags and of course let me know if something sparks your imagination!

Edit: adding a link to every prompt I complete as we speak

a. Agapanthus – Love Letter

b. Basil – Hate

c. Cactus – Passionate Love [blackinnon]

d. Daphne - I Wouldn't Want You Any Other Way

e. Echinacea – Strength and Health

f. Fern – Sincerity

g. Gardenia – Sophistication

h. Hibiscus – Delicate Beauty

i. Iberid – Indifference

j. Jasmine – Amiability [elucien]

k. Kalanchoe – Persistence and Eternal Love

l. Lantana – Strictness

m. Magnolia – Dignity [elriel]

n. Narcissus – New Beginnings

o. Orchid – Refined Beauty

p. Peony – Anger

q. Quince – Perseverance During Adversity

r. Rose – Love

s. Sage – Good Health and Long Life

t. Trillium – Modest Beauty

u. Ursinia – Trickery

v. Vervain – Pray For Me

w. Waterlily – Birth and Resurrection

x. Xeranthemum – Eternity and Immortality

y. Yellow Bell – Rebirth

z. Zinnia – Lasting Affection

89 notes · View notes

soledadcatalina · 1 year

Note

e2 arum rilla? if youre still doing bouquet, that is 💖💐

[id: rilla and arum from the penumbra podcast. rilla, seated at her desk, reading and mid-dictation into her handheld recorder is interrupted by arum gently cradling her head with his upper pair of hands, with the lower set resting on her shoulders, and presses his snout against her nose.]

i did this art meme like a couple years ago and did rilla and damien in this pose, but swapped positions. (oh god the march of time)

feel free to send some requests in!

#the penumbra podcast #second citadel #rad bouquet #amaryllis of exile #lord arum #accessible fanart #image description #casetrippy does art #im ngl my back just started hurting like hell so. i might have to finish prompts later but feel free to request away

115 notes · View notes

radioactivepeasant · 4 months

Text

Snippets: Free Day Thursday

Warnings for this oneshot: some blood/gore/horror elements, implied unethical experiments, brief description of a panic attack. The ----- line will mark the end of that scene. TWs will be tagged below.

(Also I stole some fake swear words from Star Wars because they still roll off the tongue well)

"Awww crap. No no no no-"

Jak looked away from the arguing Samoses to see Daxter peering up at the next level of the prison. The one he'd been trying not to think about.

"What?"

Daxter looked back at him with a terrible expression. "...Praxis doesn't have the kid, right? He'd be bragging all over the city about it if he had the kid."

Jak swallowed, but it felt like there was a rock in his throat. "He'd never shut up about it if he'd hurt Mar."

His own voice was shaky a Daxter's fear spread to him.

Not the kid, not Mar, please please, anything but that-!

"Then he got somebody else's kid. Or something else's kid." Daxter climbed up to the pipes between floors and pointed to a sickly glow. "And uh...it didn't like the guards much."

Jak was through the hole in seconds, even as every cell in his body told him that he didn't want to look. Didn't want to know what couldn't be unknown. He gagged as the stench of blood and meat hit him like a wall. This...this wasn't the sweaty antiseptic smell of the Chair.

Two dead KG lay crumpled on the floor, barely recognizable as human beneath the clotted gore obscuring what little remained of their faces. Deep furrows had been clawed into the skin, deep enough to expose bone. The stench of offal did not quite cover the acid pulse of dark eco. Jak could guess what kind of being had inflicted these wounds.

Had Praxis continued the experiment after he'd escaped? Had he finally been successful?

Jak’s stomach lurched as he recognized a third body -- or the uniform and rank insignia hanging in tatters, at least -- slumped against an open tank of some kind. Ignoring the whispered shouts of Samos down below, Jak gingerly stepped over the corpses to examine the tank.

Subject 0401-B its label read, 304 days gestation.

Bile burned in Jak’s throat.

0401 was the number they'd applied to him in the DWP. What was 0401-B? What had they started growing ten months ago?

Wet, smacking noises drew his eyes unwillingly to the dark space beneath an examination table. A trail of dark blood painted a streak all the way to...something's...hiding place. In and out of the mess, tiny footprints peppered the floor. They were no bigger than the Kid's.

Jak coughed and gagged, desperately holding back what little was in his stomach. He didn't want to look, but he did.

Something was hunched over beneath the table, covered in the leathery scales of a metalhead. A long, spiked tail twitched restlessly as shark-black eyes stared back at Jak emotionlessly. The figure had the proportions of a small child, almost like Mar -- thick, stubby limbs, a large head with soft, round cheeks -- but there the similarities ended. Ghost-white hide peeked out beneath cracked and flaking red-brown stains that covered the majority of 0401-B's face and torso. It cocked its head like a little bird, examining Jak, and slit nostrils flared.

"Oh my gods," Jak heard himself whisper, as if from miles away. "No no no no-"

The thing made an ungainly hop towards Jak, coming further into the light. A mane of pale gray hair, matted and tangled, fell across a narrow back, and an all too familiar pair of tiny black horns rose from the thing's head.

It was Dark Jak. It was a monster. A demon.

It was a child.

"What the hell?" Daxter croaked, skittering back towards the hole they'd come up from.

"Hell" was putting it mildly.

The dark eco creature's long ears twitched -- notched ears, Jak’s ears -- and it chirped. Carelessly, it dropped the half eaten head of what had once been Commander Errol and took a tentative step into the light.

It was -- he was -- naked, digitigrade. A hybrid of a human and a Centurion metalhead. In place of a skull gem, his horns pulsed with whatever eco he'd consumed from his prey.

Jak felt lightheaded.

"Prrp?"

The little monster dropped to a crouch, and hopped closer, balanced on tiptoe and fat clawed fingers. He sniffed at Jak, and a disturbingly innocent smile spread across his face.

There were a lot of fangs in that smile.

"What do we do?"

Daxter's voice echoed strangely.

"What do we- ohboy. Jak? Jak, stay with me. Don't look at the evil baby. Look at me. Look at me, pal."

Too late.

"I ca- I can't," Jak gasped, "I can't breathe-"

He curled into a protective ball as dark eco rushed to fill his skin like a protective layer, broadening his shoulders with the crack of joints. It didn't completely cancel the pain of growing a foot taller and a pair of horns in the span of three seconds, but it mitigated it somewhat. Now as pale as the...the not-Jak, he huddled with his hands over his ears. Block out the noise. Block out the lights. Focus on something small. Breathe, breathe, breathe-

"Urr?"

The creature looked different through Dark Jak’s eyes. He would have expected it -- him -- to register as a threat the way other metalheads did. To activate his hunting instincts. But the experiment just felt...familiar. Like someone he'd seen before but didn't really know. He also was very clearly not a threat. Not to Jak.

The child reached up with bloodied hands, instinct driving him to seek comfort. Trembling violently, Dark Jak lowered his arms and let the child use them to climb up to his chest and settle there. Blank-faced and hollow-eyed, he was motionless.

What had Praxis done?

What had he done?!

"Oh kriff, is that Errol?"

Daxter began to retch as he lifted a paw to avoid stepping on...well, he couldn't readily identify the body part anymore, but it certainly wasn't attached to its owner.

"Or...was, I guess."

He didn't feel too badly about vomiting on it.

______________________________________

"Jak? What's happening up there? We have to go! Now! What did you-"

Tess shrieked and jumped back when Jak dropped through the ceiling with something covered in blood in his arms. He was pale, pupils larger than they should've been. Tess knew that meant something up there had made him transform. And it probably had to do with the thing squirming in his arms.

"What is that?!"

"It's a kid."

Jak tucked the scarf closer around the child, hoping against hope no one would notice the tail -- the dead giveaway that the poor thing was part metalhead. "Praxis...he t- he tried to make another Dark Warrior. We have to get him out of here."

His voice was flat. Almost expressionless. There was a lot going on behind those eyes.

"And the guards?" Tess asked, eyeing the gap in the ceiling.

It was Daxter who answered in Jak’s stead, in a colder voice than any of them had ever heard.

"Errol will never hurt my pal again. He'll never hurt anyone again."

Ohhh. Oh that was going to shake up the Baron’s plans. Errol was both his meanest guard dog and his designated racing champion to keep the nobles pacified. Without the useless nobleman scion, he'd already lost control of the races. The Krimzon Guard would break down in organization too. Or at least, they would if Tess had anything to say about it.

"Good," she breathed, "Good. Thank the Precursors. Did he- did he hurt the- the baby?"

A tiny spark of life kindled in Jak’s eyes.

"It didn't end well for him," he rasped, and fell silent again.

Samos the Elder tiptoed to look at the toddler's face, then immediately began to howl about dark eco contamination. Samos the Younger simply looked uncomfortable with the presence of a child. Neither of them were going to be of any use in a crisis, clearly.

Tess sprang into action.

"Okay! Here's what we're going to do! Daxter, get Jak and this poor baby to Safehouse 8. I'll take these two back to HQ and deal with Torn. Check the kid for injuries, and we'll figure out what to do from there. Okay? Okay. Let's move, people."

Daxter sighed dreamily as he climbed up onto Jak’s shoulder. "Gods, I love a woman who takes charge in a crisis," he cooed.

It was almost enough to distract him from the extreme amount of blood covering the too-small kid with Jak's ears.

Nobody wanted to think about how he'd come to be.

If Jak was more violent than usual on the way out of the prison, Daxter didn't point it out. All he did was stay out of the way when Dark Jak came out to get hands-on with the idiot guarding their exit. The monster kid got very excited when Jak transformed the second time, chirping and squealing like a possessed bird.

When they'd broken out once more, pelting through the streets in pouring rain, they didn't stop to think. Jak knew if he pondered this little...person's...existence beyond cursory knowledge, it would shatter the pieces of himself he'd managed to put back together so far. So he just wouldn't think about it.

It was a kid. Errol hurt it. It killed Errol. End of story.

"Hang on kid. We're out of here."

A glance down revealed the beginnings of a far less sinister face as the rain finally began to break through the blood caked on the child’s skin. He blinked up at Jak with wide eyes.

"It's- it's not your fault. Okay? No matter- whatever people say, it isn't your fault," Jak croaked as they ran. "You didn't choose this. You're just a kid. It's not your fault."

He wasn't sure if he was talking to the kid, or to himself.

___[Three Hours Later, in the safe house]___

"Eep?"

"Wha- no! No, you can't eat that!"

Jak dropped his gun and dove for the kid, snatching a Scattergun cartridge from his chubby fingers.

The child looked at him with complete betrayal, opened his wide little mouth, and began to scream.

The boys looked at each other in panic. Someone was bound to hear that racket.

"Just let him have it!" Daxter yelped, covering his ears, "Metalheads eat eco, don't they?!"

"I don't know how much of him is metalhead!" Jak argued, "I don't want him to get hurt- Ow!"

The demon baby had decided to lodge a complaint with management in the form of locking his jaws around Jak’s forearm. He couldn’t penetrate the gauntlet fully, but there would definitely be bruises.

Without stopping to think, Jak grabbed the tot's cheeks and squeezed.

"Getoff!"

The demon baby growled at him.

"Let go, you little croc!" Jak increased the pressure. "Knock it off, or I'll bite you! See how you like it!'

He had absolutely no idea if the kid could understand a word he said. He certainly didn't act like he was listening.

So he shrugged and bit the kid's finger.

It wasn't hard. It didn't even dent the skin! But the kid yowled and fell back like he'd been struck a mortal blow. He wailed, holding up the afflicted finger to Jak.

"Well that's what happens," Jak scoffed. "You bite me, I'll bite you right back. Don't like it? Keep your teeth to yourself!"

The toddler sniffled, and in spite of himself, Jak softened. He groaned and gingerly lifted the kid under the armpits to set him on the cot beside him.

"Look. Just don't do it again, okay, Croc?"

"Ah," said the hybrid solemnly. The gurgling sound almost mimicked speech, as if he were copying Jak.

"Huh. You're kind of cold. Are you supposed to be that temperature?" Jak frowned.

He had absolutely no idea what counted as "normal" for something that had probably never existed before. Mar was always a little space heater-

Jak stubbornly buried thoughts of the kid deep in his mind. Not now. He needed to focus, and be able to keep his mind in the fight. He could let the "what-ifs" paralyze him later.

"Uh...here. I guess we should give you something to wear," Jak finally decided, "You are pretty naked. You...probably don't know what that means, though."

Daxter grimaced and slowly took his fingers out of his ears. "I am not babyproofing this safe house without coffee and financial compensation," he announced, "But if you can keep the little chomper busy for a couple minutes, I can see what passes for the sacred bean juice around here."

In the five minutes it took Daxter to brew some burnt, dark roast sludge, Jak had come up with a solution for the toddler's temperature.

It was not the solution Daxter had hoped for.

"No. Absolutely not. We have to find some clothes for him."

Daxter slammed a fist into his palm the second he put the foam coffee cups down. "One involuntary nudist in this family is bad enough! And he doesn't have strategic fur like I do!"

"What's wrong with what he's wearing?" Jak groused.

Daxter stared at him until his left eye began to twitch.

"What's wrong with-? HE'S WEARING A PILLOWCASE!"

The newly named Croc paused in his endless game of trying to catch his own tail to chirp questioningly. His limbs stuck haphazardly out of the pillowcase Jak had cut holes in, but it was more than he'd worn in the lab.

Daxter dropped his face into his palm. "Do you think that little menace is potty-trained? Do you? Because I can almost guarantee he is not!"

That hadn't occurred to Jak. He cringed and glanced at the hybrid. "Uh...how...do you potty-train a kid? Mar already knows how to go by himself, I think. But he's not. Like. A baby...thing."

Daxter huffed and began digging through drawers. "Short answer? You don't. Not in the middle of a war you don't. We're gonna need diapers. So many diapers. Do they make diapers with tail holes? Probably not. Oh- and wipes. I don't know if scaly butts get rashes but I don't wanna find out."

Jak groaned. "I don't know how to take care of a kid this little! We are kids!"

"Well do you wanna leave him with the Underground after their stellar show of babysitting skills thus far?" asked Daxter sarcastically.

"Kriff no!" Jak spat. He dragged grimy fingers down his cheeks and growled in frustration. "Can't ask Sig, he'd probably think the kid was a metalhead and try to hunt him or something."

"Eep! Ooooo!" Croc gathered himself, tail lashing, then made a leap for the bed.

He hit the edge and bounced off with an indignant squeak.

"Well," Jak said after examining him for a second, "He's durable, at least."

Far less angsty Croc Shenanigans to follow later this afternoon

#fic prompts #writing prompts #jak and daxter #praxis started making Stitch i mean Croc when Jak kept showing no changes #jak and daxter au #free day thursday #jnd croc #tw gore #tw blood #tw panic mention #Croc is basically Stitch but he eats people. but only Krimzon Guard. he doesn't know the armor isnt a crunchy shell #tw horror #Errol met a very gruesome end and he deserved it #Jak had absolutely no idea what to do with a toddler and it shows #angst with a happy ending #will be dadmas once they all get exiled

24 notes · View notes

lucienweekofficial · 7 months

Text

Guidelines 🦊 Prompts 🦊 Instagram

October 8: Exile Masterlist

October 9: Style Masterlist

October 10: Masks Masterlist

October 11: Courtier & Emissary Masterlist

October 12: Family Masterlist

October 13: Romance Masterlist

October 14: Free Day Masterlist

🎨: ellyness5

#Lucienweek2023 #prompt: exile #prompt: style #prompt: masks #prompt: courtier & emissary #prompt: family #prompt: romance #prompt: free day #Pro Lucien Vanserra #Lucien Vanserra #Lucien fanart #Lucien fanfiction #Lucien headcannon #Lucien edit

28 notes · View notes

sadcatjae · 1 year

Note

Whumpee who is actually a conditioned cold-blooded villain and a dangerous obedient weapon, discarded like a broken toy, so they live the rest of their lonesome life in agony and delirium. And Caretaker, who actually wants to survive the encounter with “Whumpee”, but also desperately trying to help and save them 🥺🥺🥺

Ahhh yesyesyesyes so much yes that i actually wrote a thing?????? What the--

Erm and it's awkwardly written and has too much lore but i wrote a thing and I'm very happy that I wrote AT ALL so yay! Thank you for your amazing prompt!! And sorry I didn't respond until now ;u; <;3

Also - I knoooow Kasin is like, caring for someone who literally tried to kill him one second ago, but he's a himbo and a Good Boy (tm) and has no idea if Mercy is legit dying or what sooooooo V_V

CW: Mentions of murder/hanging, PTSD/flashbacks, panic attack, dissociation, scarring, mentions of torture, self harm, knife wounds, dehydration.

“You picked a helluva time to sign up, mulch,” is the first thing Senior Officer Tophel says when they meet.

“How do you figure?” Kasin grins, taking the proffered sword and admiring the Blue Guards’ sigil in the glinting silver hilt.

The older man glances over his new recruit’s perfectly pressed uniform and gives a begrudging nod of approval. “Mercy’s coming to Everlost.”

“Mercy?”

“Ain’t you ever heard of Mercy? The Emperor’s Arbiter and Royal Steward. Apparently he got himself exiled. Though for what, I ain’t privy to. All I know is he’s coming here.” Tophel huffs and shakes his head, fingers twisting the ends of his walrus moustache. “Fact that his head’s not on a pike is no small wonder.”

Kasin twists his mouth to the side as he sheathes his new sword. “What did this Mercy do, to warrant such a gruesome end?”

Tophel sweeps up the loose papers on his desk into a neat pile, his expression one of sheer disdain. “No-one visited by Mercy is left intact. That’s all you have to know. Just keep out of his way and if you can’t - aim to kill, because there won’t be anything left by the time he’s done with you.”

The younger man frowns, uncertain how much one civilian can do against an armed guard. Then again, bluebloods in the Imperial City are known to be well versed in combat, having the best training from a young age. Maybe Kasin should err on the side of caution. Just this once.

“I assume you’re telling me about this man for a reason,” Kasin says, raising a brow.

“Looks like we have ourselves a mulch with brains,” Tophel scoffs, sticking his pipe into the corner of his mouth. “It’s what the Captain wants. A simple assignment to watch over our newest resident. No contact, no interference. Just watch. You’ll be on a rotating twelve hour shift with Dazer and you’ll both be assessed for other duties in a month. Any questions, mulch?”

“Why ‘mulch’?” Kasin isn’t stupid, but he asks anyway. Tophel’s greying at his temples. He’s sun weathered and rigid; got a mean, stubborn lock to his jaw. He doesn’t look like he enjoys challenging the status quo - so it’s probably best if Kasin plays his part.

“It’s what you’re gonna be by summer’s end. If you don’t like it, then prove me wrong. Anything else?”

“Am I to disguise myself while on assignment?”

Tophel smiles around his pipe, but it’s more like a leer. “No. Captain wants you in full uniform and full view at all times.”

Mercy’s place of residence could only be described as a hovel. It’s a shack on the edge of the forest, with swathes of spoiled land on either side. The nearest neighbour is the Sudbury Farm to the east and the dumping grounds to the west. The trees here grow black and twisted. By all rights, they shouldn’t be growing at all - but the roots have stubbornly taken hold of the arid land and the branches contort upwards, greedily drinking in every drop of rain and glimmer of sun to feed their wasted bodies.

The biggest and ugliest of these trees grows in front of Mercy’s shack, not thirty feet away. This is where Kasin stations himself, standing in his sky blue uniform, just under the gnarled black branches. He stands out in this desolate landscape, like a vibrant drop of paint on a blank white canvas. The restless movement in the dust-caked windows attests to his bold presence.

Mercy is nervous. Aware. He peeks out the window every few minutes, but never lingers long enough for Kasin to get a proper look.

Mercy is just a flitting shadow. No more than a ghost.

It’s like this for three days. From morning to dusk, Kasin stands under that black tree, dutifully watching those grimy windows. Nervous shadows and obscured motions greet him like clockwork. And then Dazer, the other new recruit, shambles up (long past dusk) to take his shift.

On the fourth day, he arrives to an angry crowd of civilians swarming Dazer with a variety of makeshift weapons in hand.

“We want him gone, Dazer!” One of them shakes his pitchfork at the hassled guard. “I know in my gut that he’s the one stealing my chickens and cured meats!”

Dazer laughs nervously and pats the air. “Now, now, Mister Sudbury. I don’t have any say in his stayin’ or leavin’–”

“I caught him going through my trash!” another shrills, red-faced like her equally enraged comrades. “I don’t care if he’s a toff from the Imperial City, I want him out of my town!”

“Miss Daisy, going through trash isn’t technically against the law–”

“Oh, Jim's told me all about that ghastly beast you're defending. He's killed hundreds of innocent people to sate his perverse cravings, and hides behind His Majesty's goodwill."

Another voice shrieks, "He’s a demon that wears the skin of man!”

The crowd surges in volume and fury, inundating poor Dazer until Kasin finally reaches his side. The townsfolk pause for a moment, recognising this young man who has, in his twenty-five years, garnered a strong reputation in Everlost as a reliable, kind, and moral character.

“If anyone has grievances to be heard, please send a missive to Captain Locke,” Kasin announces over the discontented grumble. “Dazer and I have been ordered to keep watch of the situation. You can be rest assured that nothing will elude our attention - so please. Return to your fields and businesses and homes. Should there be any cause for concern, you will be informed.”

For a moment, Kasin’s reassurances seem to have worked. The townsfolk relax, their makeshift weapons drop to their sides, and they consider his words. But then Sudbury, always the inciter, raises his pitchfork and bullrushes the shack, hollering, “DEATH TO THE DEMON OF MIDOTHAL!”

Two other burly men split off from the re-ignited crowd, following Sudbury to the front door. Before Kasin can even react, they’ve kicked down the flimsy wood and dragged out a hooded figure from the gloomy interior.

One word comes to Kasin’s mind when he lays eyes upon the fearsome Mercy for the very first time.

Fragile.

The figure enshrouded by a tattered grey cloak isn’t by any means frail. In fact, they are imposingly tall and there is evidence of a wiry, athletic figure. However, Mercy stands stooped over like his crooked black trees, hooded head cast down, and his limbs shaking as though it were mid-winter instead of summer.

His bare feet, filthy and as grey as his cloak, stumble every second step. Kasin suspects that if he weren’t being dragged by Sudbury’s men, he would have collapsed not one foot out the door.

Kasin yanks his sheathed sword free from his belt and rushes to Mercy’s side. The latter’s thrown to the dirt, crumpled and silent.

“Stand down Powle, Richard, Bolt.” The young guard points his sheathed sword at the three men in turn. His oaken stare, intense and penetrating. Something in his eyes has them hesitating, their righteous anger withering to dust. “While we may know each other as well as family, I will not hesitate to arrest you should you enact your own justice. This is a land of law. Which means we abide by the law and entrust the administration of justice by the court of law. As a citizen of Everlost, this is the contract you have agreed to.” Kasin pauses, gaze sharpening. “Do you agree?”

The three men exchange wary glances and begrudgingly respond.

“Aye.”

“Yes.”

“I s’pose it is.”

“Very well,” Kasin says, his stern expression relaxing. Though he does smile, his gaze remain severe. “It is not our place to question His Majesty’s decision to exile this man to our humble town. Nor is it our place to judge this man. Return to your lives and invest your concerns in your own matters. In this drought, there will be many, I’m sure.”

He doesn’t lower his sword until the last fires of outrage are doused. Only reluctant acquiescence remains, and eventually, the crowd disperses in terse clumps. Sudbury and his men are the last to leave, and they don’t do so without parting words. Words that promise later retribution.

“I better report this to Tophel,” Dazer sighs, wiping sweat from his brow. “Thanks for saving my ass, Kasin. I really thought I’d have run old Daisy through for a moment there.”

Kasin sends him a wry smile. “I think she would have run you through first.”

“Eh. You’re probably right.”

Kasin watches Dazer set off in a trot up the dirt road before turning his attention to Mercy.

The hooded figure picks himself up unsteadily, legs quaking from the effort. Now that they are alone, Mercy finally raises his head. There’s a glimmer of pale skin and well defined features - a sharp jawline sweeping into the shadow of the hood, and a pair of cracked, bloodless lips pressed into a tight grimace. Odd marks mar the pallid skin, but it’s difficult to tell from this distance.

Kasin, who had always considered himself to be quite tall, feels a little intimidated by the other’s imposing height. Mercy must stand at least a foot above, and the young guard has to angle his head back a tad to address him.

“Mister Mercy, I presume?” Kasin says, politely. “I must apologise. They aren’t normally this…angry. They are all good people, truly. I promise you this was an anomalous event that will never happen again. You are safe here. I will ensure it.”

Mercy’s lips twitch into a faint sneer. “How.” His voice is hoarse, grating, as though unused for many months.

The guard blinks. “I am an officer of the Blue Guards. It is my duty to ensure your safety as a resident of Everlost. And - as you are well aware by now - I have been ordered to keep watch over you. Along with Officer Dazer. Between the two of us, we will prevent any future aggressions.”

Mercy is silent for a time. Kasin has the distinct feeling that he’s being stared at. So he stares into the shade of the hood, directly where he assumes the other’s eyes are.

Eventually, Mercy turns his head to the side. “You are not watching me for my safety,” he says, impassively.

“I don’t know my Captain’s intent,” Kasin says, evenly. “But I can tell you that I care for the wellbeing of all townsfolk. Exiled or not.” There’s a teasing lilt to the last three words which seems to agitate the other man.

Without another word, Mercy unsteadily returns to his shack. Kasin slips his sheathed sword back into his belt, uncertain whether to follow him or not. His decision is made for him when Mercy trips over the broken pieces of his door and staggers into something with a tremendous crash.

Mercy seethes and kicks the broken cot into the wall. And just like that, he’s lost his bed. His cot was the only comfort he’d bought for himself with the little coin he’d had left. And now it’s gone.

Just like everything else.

‘Exile’ means being exiled in all sense of the word. Meaning, he was exiled not only from his home, his work, his title, but also his land and wealth. Whatever coin he’d had on his person when he was informed of his new status, is all he was allowed to carry into his next life.

The ex-Arbiter clutches his throbbing leg, allowing himself a moment of weakness, before Kasin appears in his doorway like an irritating gnat. He straightens up, every muscle tensing as his abode is so rudely trespassed.

“Ah…your door…” The guard crouches down and picks up a large piece of broken wood. He gives Mercy a guileless smile. “Sorry about that. I’m a pretty good carpenter if you’d like me to fix it up for you.”

“Leave,” is all Mercy can spit out. His heart’s pounding near out of his chest and his hands are shaking, shaking, because this creature is in his house. He’s touching his things. He’s talking to him. He’s smiling, smiling like Mercy’s just another person, just another townsfolk who has a face and a future.

But Kasin isn’t listening. He’s walking further into his house, looking at his meagre possessions, casually commenting on the state of his broken furniture. “I can fix this too - no problem. But is this cot big enough for you? With your height, I’d imagine it’s quite a squeeze every night. Maybe I could extend the end a bit, so that you can stretch out? I have a lot wood back home that’s going to waste. And there’ll be no charge - consider it compensation for today–”

Mercy feels it. The Hollow. It slithers in like a snake, starving for prey, and sending venom straight into his veins. It unfurls, uncoils, until he’s no longer in possession of himself. There’s only the Hollow that knows only consumption. He loses himself to blissful domination and there’s its voice, its cloying voice, which commands him to do what he does best.

The broken halves of the cot drop to his feet in a clatter. Kasin freezes. Hands gone numb. His eyes staring blindly at the swollen, mouldy wall in front of him.

The sharp prick in his back is unmistakable.

“What are you doing, Mister Mercy?” He keeps his tone calm, friendly even, but his insides tumble about like loose rocks.

The prick turns to real pain. He feels his skin snap and flesh give. Blood wells. It’s only an inch, but it’s enough to make Mercy’s intent clear.

“Mister Mercy? Did I say something wrong?”

“Yes.”

Kasin feels a chill run down his spine. That voice is void of emotion. Near inhuman. Is this man really a killer?

“Ah. I apologise. I tend to speak without thinking. It’s a terrible habit, really. Can’t seem to shake it. Look, I'll apologise properly, but you'll need to lower your weapon. Can you do that for me, Mister Mercy?”

“No.”

Kasin’s heart sinks. He pulls in a shallow breath. Tries again. “I understand. You wish to protect yourself, but you must know that I mean you no harm–”

There’s a steely grip on his shoulder which tightens and jerks him around. It plants a blow on his chest, sending him staggering back into the wall. The cot cracks and splinters further under his clumsy feet.

A dagger of beautiful yet simplistic design, pokes a new shallow hole in his stomach. He winces but maintains his smile. Even when he finally lays eyes on Mercy’s face.

The hood must have fallen away at some point, for the mien before him is exposed to his scrutiny. Mercy’s features are sharp and handsome - his eyes shaped like petals, delicate and soft, if not for the flint-like coldness they hold. Not a flicker of recognisable emotion or thought can be seen in these callous eyes, and unlike his name, they speak of no mercy.

Black, greasy hair, matted with dirt and perhaps dried blood, gathers upon his shoulders, overgrown and impossibly tangled. But the most striking feature of Mercy’s visage are the heavy scores etched deep into his flesh.

At first, they appear to be freshly scarred wounds from random slashes of a knife. Reminisce of a clawed attack from a bear. But then, as eyes adjust, one can see a single word taking shape - carved into the entirety of Mercy’s face, from forehead to jaw, in big vicious letters: AMOS.

Amos. As in, Crown Prince Amos, the Emperor’s eldest son.

Bile surges up Kasin’s gullet which he swallows with difficulty. As frightened he is of the knife sticking into his gut, he’s also greatly pained by the man’s scars. What kind of torture had Mercy been subjected to? Kasin suspects that there’s more to see beyond those cruel letters.

A part of him is in disbelief. The Crown Prince is known for his heroic and generous deeds. Many espouse his virtues and compare him to his father, Emperor Midothal who ends wars without ever raising his sword. After all, isn’t Mercy’s exile proof of his forgiving nature? If Mercy is truly a deviant, indulging in his wicked appetite behind the docile mask of Midothal’s loyal Arbiter and Steward, then he by all rights should be sentenced to death. However, His Majesty had instead chosen to spare Mercy’s life and exile him instead. Why would he do such a thing, if he was the type of man to allow this torture?

Kasin licks his dry lips, nervously. Never mind all that, he thinks. There’s a knife pointed at his stomach - that should take first priority. “Mister Mercy,” he begins, slowly, amicably. “I can see that you are not quite yourself. Perhaps a conversation between friends could ease your burdens? How about a shared meal? There's a tavern close by that does a wonderful meat pie. Come, friend. There need be no bloodshed today.”

The taller man simply stares at him, hollow eyed, detached. His shaking has dissipated entirely. And his stance is lean and centered. Kasin knows that whoever this is, it’s not the same man from moments ago.

There’s no getting out of this. Not with words alone.

Kasin lets his training kick in. In one fast motion, he simultaneously grabs the blade and Mercy’s wrist, and twists the latter to a painful degree. The knife, he wrenches free and tosses to the side.

There’s no reaction to the sprained wrist. Mercy whips into action, attacking the guard with a flurry of perfectly executed blows. Kasin meets them with his own, and they fight like this for many minutes, neither tiring or relenting to the other. Not once does Kasin pull his sword. It’s not his intention to kill this man after all - despite Tophel’s warning.

Finally, Mercy sweeps Kasin’s legs from under him and pins him to the ground with his foot, pushing his weight into that single crushing point. His other foot pins down the guard’s right hand, preventing him from going for his sword.

Kasin groans and chokes, agony spreading through his upper trunk like spilled lava. “Mer…cy…!” He’s not sure if he’s asking for mercy or calling his name, but it’s fruitless either way.

The man simply isn’t here.

Kasin flails. He strikes. He yanks and pulls and kicks. But Mercy’s like a steel column, unyielding, unmoving.

With every compounding inch of pressure upon Kasin’s chest, the less air he’s able to suck in. His vision begins to darken around the edges. His ribs are on the verge of snapping. He knows he has only a few precious seconds of consciousness left. If he doesn’t do anything - he will die.

So as he squints up at the stony, impassive face looming overhead - he takes one final shot in the dark. “A…mos..!”

The pressure stops. A sliver of air seeps through.

He squeezes the word out again. “Amos–!”

Suddenly, as though struck by a powerful force, Mercy violently recoils. His body crashes into the wall, causing the entire structure to judder. Clawed hands desperately scrabble at his hood, attempting to cover his head - or rather, his face.

Kasin raises himself upright, clutching his aching chest and gasping for air. He feels the creeping fingers of regret upon seeing Mercy’s powerful reaction, but for now, he’s alive - and regret momentarily takes a backseat.

Amos.

Mercy clutches the side of his head, dragging the hood further down. Darkness sweeps him up into its comforting embrace - but he’s yet to feel at all assured.

Pants seep through clenched teeth as he slams his head into the wall, trying to knock the scattered fragments of his mind back into place. The swirling, discordant noise knocks him askew. He’s both here and there and nowhere at all, and it takes every shred of his cognisance to keep from falling apart.

Amos burns.

It burns like he’s sinking into him again. Like he’s back in that place, that dark and enduring place, and he bites down on his hand to keep from crying out. This pain is real. Grounding. But the burn is soul-deep. Impossible to ignore.

“Mister Mercy?”

A voice. Firm. Concerned. It reminds him of the dusk.

“Leave.” He’s enough mind to utter a single word. Not a demand. Not a suggestion. A plea.

Please. Please leave. Leave so I can stop fighting. Leave so I can rest.

“Please.” Another plea. Not his own. “Please, Mister Mercy. Tell me what ails you. Is there anything I can do? Are you in pain?”

“Leave–!” The word cracks midway. Wavers. Mercy claws at the wall, smashes himself into it like he can phase right through. He’s shaking now, and chilled right to the bone despite the summer heat. He can smell metal. Copper. His face burns.

Amos burns.

“Mercy. Tell me what’s wrong.” There’s a hand now, touching his face. Gentle fingers pushing his matted hair to the side. Sunlight sneaks in as his hood’s nudged back. He panics.

He’s touching him. He’s pulling off his hood. He’s here, he’s here, he’s here–

Mercy scrambles to his feet, holding onto the wall for support. He holds out a trembling hand, ready to shove Kasin away should he venture too close. But the guard keeps his distance.

Mercy pants through his panic, his eyes wild and face a shock-white. The world spins, lurches, and his legs buckle and bow. The noise reaches an agonising crescendo, drowning out every scattered thought in his brain.

Kasin steps forward, reaching out, alarmed. This time, Mercy relinquishes. He accepts. He exchanges the wall for the guard and collapses into his sturdy arms. All sense of self-preservation dissipates. He’s purely in survival mode. There’s desperation for an end to this suffering, this chaos, like a primal keen.

Amos burns.

Kasin lowers him to the ground and kneels beside him, keeping a firm grasp of his upper arms. “Keep still. Don’t try to move. Here, have some water.”

A flask’s brought to his lips, but he can’t do more than wet his cracked lips. He’s breathing too hard, too fast, rocking in the guard’s arms like he’s trying to escape his own skin - but he can’t, he’s trapped, so he just rocks.

And all the while, his face burns.

Kasin presses his palm against Mercy’s forehead. It’s a light touch but the latter flinches like he’s been scorched.

“Sorry, sorry–” the guard hastily apologises. “But you’re hot, like you’ve a fever, and you're not sweating. When’s the last time you drank water?”

“Burns…” Mercy rasps, on the edge of delirium.

“What does?”

“Amos…Amos burns…”

Somewhere far away, or maybe not far at all, Mercy hears the trickle of water. Murmured words, not quite for his ears. And then a cool, damp cloth pressed gently upon his forehead. The burn lulls. Subsides. The damp cloth dabs across his brow, to his left temple, down his cheek. In the wake of Kasin’s ministrative touch, Mercy - impossibly - finds relief.

His panicked breath slows, lightens. The noise quietens in his head. Mercy sits there, eyes closed, swaying and trembling, as the young guard, this stranger, dabs his burning wounds. These ugly, jagged scars that laid waste to his flesh. Like a soothing rain dousing the blazing, destructive wildfire, Mercy finds a kind of peace in that touch.

Another’s touch is never good. But this touch…this touch is good.

An anomalous event that will never happen again.

When Mercy finally comes to, Kasin has once more doused the cloth - his handkerchief - with water from his flask. The guard’s propped Mercy against the wall to free his hands, and he’s crouched before him, brows furrowed deeply in concern.

Kasin raises the handkerchief to Mercy’s temple, and stills. Oaken eyes, swirling with deep, unfathomable emotion, lock onto a hazy coal-black stare.

“Mercy? Have you returned to your senses?”

Mercy feels drained. Hollowed out like a gutted animal carcass. He wants nothing more than to curl up on his - broken - cot and sleep the day out of existence.

He grabs Kasin’s wrist and yanks it from his face. The guard loses his balance and falls onto his rear.

“Don’t touch me,” Mercy croaks. Should this guard return with a platoon to have him hanged, then so be it. He’s tired of fighting. “I need…” Mercy pauses. Shivers. He feels raw. Weak. And in truth, he is. It only took a single touch to draw out the Hollow. And a single word to break him. “I need you to leave.”

For once, the young guard doesn’t protest. He simply nods, climbs to his feet, and brushes himself off. He leaves his flask and handkerchief on the only standing piece of furniture in the shack - a rickety table salvaged from the dumping ground.

“Try to drink some water,” Kasin says, quietly. “I’ll be outside, keeping watch, so call out if you need anything. I'll...keep your dagger safe. For the moment. A fair exchange, I think, for almost taking my life.” He turns to leave. A pause in the doorway. “I am sorry about what I said. I shouldn't have...I didn't realise you would--" He bites his tongue. Smiles tightly. "I’ll fix you a new door and bring it by tomorrow.” And then he’s gone, off to take up his usual post under the gnarled black tree, with the dagger tucked securely in his belt.

Mercy doesn’t move. He just stares at the naked doorway, lost in the memory of another doorless cell, and the utter incomprehension of simply leaving.

Part 2

#whump #whump writing #whump prompt #villain whump #hero caretaker #villain whumpee #hero x villain #psychological conditioning #mercy is short for mercury btw #kasin doesnt know anything about trauma or panic attacks or mental health things #all he knows is how to fix doors and water the exiled assassin #lord help us all #likely be another part but only after ive updated everything else lol #its 4am so there will be many mistakes #asksadcatjae

165 notes · View notes

sadbeautifulttragic · 7 months

Text

drawtober day 16: exile | @taylortober | shop prints

and it took you five whole minutes to pack us up and leave me with it. holding all this love out here in the hall…

#taylor swift #taylorswift #tswiftedit #my edits #my paintings #drawtober #prompts #exile #procreate #q

31 notes · View notes

villainsandheroes · 8 months

Text

Exiled

Hero sat quietly as their family made a bonfire. He wished he could be closer, be among the warmth of the flames and family.

They spoke amongst each other. Family get together like this happened once a year. Always on this day. Even when it had rained they came out here.

Hero watched.

They sang songs together, loudly and off key. Some people sang duets and when the chorus came everyone would join in.

Hero watched.

They laughed and laughed and laughed. There was so much laughter. So much laughing. So much-

Hero watched. And a singular tear ran down their cheek.

They wiped it. Standing. They couldn’t be near them. Not since their family had found out.

They thought… well… they thought their family would be proud?

They weren’t.

The stinging words and yelling tones still echoed in their head, pressing on that button of pain in their heart.

They turned and ran straight into a large firm chest. An arm swooped out and held them before they tottered over and fell.

“Who knew the little Hero was such a stalker.” Villain whispered, sounding giddy with intrigue.

Hero swallowed thickly. “I’m not a stalker.” They growled through clenched teeth. Trying to pull away, but of course Villain held all the tighter. Chuckling as Hero yanked before an animalistic growl left them. “Let go.”

“Why are you watching them.”

Hero’s head reeled as they pulled again. If Villain found out about them-

“Tell me.”

Hero thrashed. Hard and vicious as his brain kicked into fighting mode. But Villian was stronger. Slamming him down on the building as he smiled at Hero’s pained expression. “Do you know them Hero?” He asked, almost gently.

“Leave me alone.”

“Oh no. This is much too fascinating.” Villain smirked.

part 2

38 notes · View notes

some-messed-up-writing-for-you · 2 years

Text

Short Prompt #984

CW: exile.

You grip the makeshift bag hanging over your shoulder, anxiety clawing up your spine as the giant doors fall closed behind you. You take a look behind you and take in the massive city walls looming over you for what is probably the last time.

The cursed forest stands before you, unseen monsters silently staring you down as you walk forward into the shadows.

Your exile begins now.

#writing #writeblr #prompt #short prompt #writing prompt #writing community #smuwfy #some messed up writing for you #tw: exile

168 notes · View notes

sailorshadzter · 1 year

Text

Taylor Swift Lyrics That Convince Me She's a Jonsa

feel free to send as writing prompts <3

The rest of the world was black and white, but we were in screaming color

We were built to fall apart, then fall back together

When the sun came up, you were lookin' at me

Long night, with your hands up in my hair, echoes of your footsteps on the stairs

And you should think about the consequence of you touching my hand in a darkened room

I feel like I might sink and drown and die

My love had been frozen, deep blue, but you painted me golden

You said there was nothing in the world that could stop it

I loved you in spite of deep fears that the world would divide us

He built a fire just to keep me warm

Trust him like a brother, yeah, you know I did one thing right

Starry eyes sparking up my darkest night

Slowly I said, "You don't need to save me, but would you run away with me?"

I'm always waiting for you to be waiting below

Said, "I'm fine," but it wasn't true, I don't wanna keep secrets just to keep you

And I snuck in through the garden gate, every night that summer just to seal my fate

Have I known you twenty seconds or twenty years?

Can I go where you go?

Can we always be this close forever and ever?

My heart's been borrowed and yours has been blue

All's well that ends well to end up with you

Help me hold on to you

I search for your dark side

I wake in the night, I pace like a ghost

It's you and me, there's nothing like this

And I hope I never lose you, hope it never ends

I see you everywhere

Tryna find a part of me that you didn't touch

Quiet my fears with the touch of your hand

I know heaven's a thing, I go there when you touch me, honey

I don't wanna look at anything else now that I saw you

I've been sleeping so long in a twenty-year dark night

I wounded the good and I trusted the wicked

Maybe you ran with the wolves and refused to settle down

I once believed love would be (black and white), but it's golden (golden)

You drew stars around my scars, but now I'm bleeding

Marked me like a bloodstain, I knew you

But I knew you'd linger like a tattoo kiss

I knew you'd haunt all of my what-ifs

And I knew you'd come back to me

I think I've seen this film before and I didn't like the ending

Like you'd get your knuckles bloody for me

Those eyes add insult to injury

There is no amount of cryin' I can do for you

All this time, we always walked a very thin line

And if I'm on fire, you'll be made of ashes, too

And I can go anywhere I want, anywhere I want, just not home

And I still talk to you when I'm screaming at the sky

I know they said the end is near

I'm still a believer but I don't know why

I'm still trying everything to keep you looking at me

Whispers of "Are you sure?" "Never have I ever before"

With you, I fall down

But you dream of some epiphany, just one single glimpse of relief to make some sense of what you've seen

But I'm a fire and I'll keep your brittle heart warm

I am ash from your fire

You knew it still hurts underneath my scars

Wherever you stray, I follow

Head on the pillow, I could feel you sneaking in

Show me the places where the others gave you scars

Your touch brought forth an incandescent glow

My pain fits in the palm of your freezing hand

Your opal eyes are all I wish to see

My house of stone, your ivy grows and now I'm covered in you

It's a goddamn blaze in the dark and you started it

It's the goddamn fight of my life and you started it

I see you every day now

I feel you, no matter what

And I wake with your memory over me

And time can't stop me quite like you did

My hand was the one you reached for

And maybe it's the past that's talking

#jonsa #actuallyjonsa #jon x sansa #writing prompts #taylor swift sentence starters #taylor swift is a jonsa #lets not even begin about lover #or how the archer is entirely a song about sansa stark #it all fits #i will die on this hill #we wont talk about exile #definitely will not talk about exile

61 notes · View notes

outofangband · 8 months

Note

🧶 for Aerin and Morwen for the prompts please?

Also, related to that if you have any hcs about Finrod’s clothing and how it changed after he met the Bëorians I would love to hear it <3

THANK YOU! I love them so much…

From this headcanon ask game here still accepting them

I will make a separate post for Finrod if that’s ok!

Morwen

-Morwen wears primarily solid colors, sometimes with subtle embroidery especially on the sleeves or hem. She is very precise and determined which gives her skill in embroidery.

-There are distinctions in common patterns and techniques in embroidery and other textile arts between Dorthonion and Hithlum. Wherever she can, Morwen rigidly maintains the styles and techniques she grew up with however this is not always possible because of differences in materials. (I think I have a separate post about this, link later)

-She has a very distinct appearance but I don’t think she particularly enjoys dressing up both because she doesn’t particularly enjoy most public events and because of the process itself.

-Post Nírnaeth her clothes become more and more patched and worn. She almost never has the material to make more. Pretty much all of Niënor’s clothing is either hers or Húrin’s.

-She gets new clothing in Doriath, of course. It’s the first time she’s worn easily comfortable clothing she doesn’t have to worry about wearing out or mending in years. I think she dislikes wearing these visible signs of what she’s accepted even if she’s grateful on a practical level. This goes into a lot of things that I’m at risk of rambling for paragraphs about so I will leave it here for now, but yeah, I think about that a lot. Morwen actually gives up so much going to Doriath even if she’s safer there. I’ll link another recent ramble so I can end here.

I had a semi recent post about textiles in Dorthonion here

Aerin

-Pre Nírnaeth a lot of her clothes are practical, for riding and working with horses. Simple dresses, leggings and boots mainly.

-. She enjoys wearing fancy dresses for masquerade type events and that sort of performative in a fun way dress.

-When she would take her horses out to graze, she would sometimes pick flowers for her hair.

-Her favorite colors are summer colors; sky blue, the yellow and greens of the grasses, the purple and whites of the wild flowers that grew among them. Blue dyes are rare, but she has owned a few things, mostly gifts, that were dyed this color, and they’re very important to her

Putting the rest under a cut for discussion of abuse and captivity

Post Nírnaeth she largely wears what she’s told to.. It’s not a battle she wants to fight, not after the first few times. It’s another aspect of her comfort and identity that is taken over. She’s not allowed to be with the horses under most circumstances so she wears indoor dresses and whatever Brodda thinks is fitting Sometimes when she makes her own clothing, as she was still tasked with when conditions were harsh, Aerin would embroider on the inner sleeves, where no one could see. It was something she would be punished for if they found out and sometimes the fear of this would be so great that she tears out the stitches.

#the silmarillion #the children of húrin #morwen #Aerin #musing and meta #cw abuse #not my most interesting Morwen thoughts :(#but I got a second prompt for her so #actually not my best work in general:(#houseless for exiles #occupation of hithlum #summer

12 notes · View notes

Last Seen Blogs

filmy-seriale-newsy

Filmy, seriale, premiery. Newsy i ładne obrazki

2015mai24

Wonach mir der Sinn ist

dagmarschwz

Peep

ylskai

kai

fylakas-aggelos

Send dogpics,not dickpics