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1morefairytale · 5 years ago

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LFRP – Saachi Medvyed

A cheerful, naive, runaway noble on a mission to become a hero. Saachi has spent so much of her life tucked away from the world by an over-protective (and incredibly shady) father figure that, now that she’s run away, she intends to see the world for what it is and for what it one day -could- be with her help.

THE BASICS –––

Name: Saachi Medvyed

Age: 22

Nameday: 3rd Sun of the 4th Umbral Moon

Race: Raen, Au’ra

Gender: Female

Alignment: Neutral Good/Chaotic Good

Marital Status: Smitten with a guy in a big @dumb-hat. Certainly not married.

Server: Balmung

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE –––

Hair: Saachi’s natural hair color is a vibrant forest green. It is long, straight, and often pulled back into a braid (or down with multiple braids woven through it) or clasped with pretty bows.

Eyes: Saachi’s eyes are a dark yellow/gold with a lighter, brighter yellow limbral ring around them.

Height: 62.4 inches (5′2″)

Build: On first glance, Saachi might look deceptively frail. While tall for a female au’ra, she is still petite. She wears very feminine dresses, skirts and blouses that, while very pretty, hide that beneath the delicate fabrics, big skirts, and puffy sleeves she’s actually quite strong. Saachi believes very strongly in hard work and discipline and her toned, muscular body shows this.

Common Accessories: Saachi is always wearing some kind of jewelry (usually gold): rings, necklaces, hair combs, anything she finds pretty. She carries a traveling bag with her with medicine kits inside, a good book to read (fairytales and adventure stories with plenty of drama and romance are her favorite), something to snack on, and usually flowers that she’s gathered or toys that she’s purchased from vendors to give to children she encounters. She also carries either a staff or a wand with her for conjury purposes. She is learning to swordfight and, being intensely dedicated to anything she chooses to pursue, it is likely she will start carrying a sword with her as well.

PERSONAL –––

Profession: Saachi currently helps run a daycare in the Mist and also volunteers her time as a midwife and healer for refugees that do not have access to city doctors. She will say that being a ‘hero in training’ is also her profession, but it is usually greeted with polite chuckles and pats on the head rather than being taken seriously (she takes it very seriously).

Hobbies: Daydreaming, reading, playing harp, working on a book she hopes to one day publish about Eorzean folklore, researching this book by looking into any reports of any peculiar monsters or beasts to verify if they are real (and fight them if they are causing problems), offering her assistance to anyone in need, building sand castles on the beach, flying kites in windy weather, dancing barefoot in the grass. The usual.

Languages: Common

Residence: She currently lives in a free company based out of The Mist that serves as a healing clinic and daycare.

Birthplace: She doesn’t know where she was born, but she was raised in Ul’dah by a politician/money lender named Aban. She has also run away from him and he’ll most certainly be trying to get her back.

Patron Deity: Oschon, the Wanderer. Saachi intends to see and explore every last bit of this world.

RELATIONSHIPS –––

Spouse: Saachi has hardly had a boyfriend for that long; she is not thinking about marriage

Children: None of her own; she just helps care for ones in the daycare when she is there.

Parents: Her real parents are a mystery to her but she was raised by an over-protective, emotionally abusive, shady adoptive father figure.

Siblings: None that she knows of.

Other Relatives: Unknown.

Pets: She has a pet rabbit named Nym

TRAITS –––

* Bold your character’s answer.

Extroverted / In Between / Introverted

Disorganized / In Between / Organized

Close Minded / In Between / Open Minded

Calm / In Between / Anxious

Disagreeable / In Between / Agreeable

Cautious / In Between / Reckless

Patient / In Between / Impatient

Outspoken / In Between / Reserved

Leader / In Between / Follower

Empathetic / In Between / Apathetic

Optimistic / In Between / Pessimistic

Traditional / In Between / Modern

Hard working / In Between / Lazy

Cultured / In Between / Uncultured

Loyal / In Between / Disloyal

ADDITIONAL INFORMATION –––

Smoking Habit: Nah

Drugs: Nah

Alcohol: Sure!

RP HOOKS –––

Naive runaway: Saachi had a very controlling father when she was younger. She wasn't allowed to go anywhere unaccompanied, she had no close friends, she went nowhere dangerous. 5 years ago she ran away and she's learned a lot since then, but 5 years is still not very long in the grand scheme of things. She trusts extraordinarily easily and does not always immediately recognize signs of danger or cons.

Hero worship: While she didn't have many friends as a child, she did have a great deal of books. Her father let her read as many fairytales and myths as she wanted and it became the blueprint for what she'd begin to think of the world: It's a place full of dangers and people who need help. She wants to be that help! She'll recklessly throw herself into danger if it means being a hero.

Protector of children: Since discovering that she did not have the childhood she should have, she has made it a life's mission to make sure that other children do. She runs a daycare near the beach and her mission is to give the children there as much space to build their imaginations, creativity, and selves as they need. If a child is in need, Saachi is going to do everything she can to help that child.

Midwife: Saachi has been under the tutelage of Stillglade Fane since she ran away from home. She's a practicing conjurer and while she's always looking for an opportunity to protect allies in battle with her spells, she spends just as much time caring for pregnant refugees who do not have the access or funds to established doctors. She provides this service for free as she finds the opportunity to help those in need more meaningful to her than gil. If someone really wants to offer payment, she accepts donations to Stillglade Fane or to the daycare.

Law? What law?: Saachi does what she thinks is right no matter the consequences. And she tends to it in the most dramatic manner possible (that's what they'd do in books, after all). If local authority has laws in place that get in the way of her helping someone, she will ignore that law. If it's in the way of helping, it shouldn't be a law anyway, right? This often puts her at odds with local governments and with the Fane.

CONTACT INFORMATION –––

Contacting me here on tumblr or finding me in game is the best bet. If you see Saachi out in the world, please say hi!

I do have a Discord and I do RP on it. I don’t give that information out right away though. I’d like to interact in game or through tumblr a few times before I feel comfortable giving that information out.

I have craaaazy work hours. I work the night shift M-F. That means that I’m on very early in the morning and sometimes in the late afternoon/early evening. I’m usually not on very late unless it’s a weekend.

Notes –––

Saachi will be excited to meet new people… and I will too! Nym (her bunny) will be timid and wary, but he’ll get over it. Follows come from @luck-and-larceny- a character blog for a thief character of mine named Malika. I also have an alt at @matter-of-a-pinion named Livana (Liv). They both have LFRP and Carrds pinned to their pages so feel free to check them out too if you like!

#FFXIV #LFRP #lfrp balmung #lfrp crystal #Saachi #FFXIV LFRP

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venusandromedadjarin · 4 years ago

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The Veil

Ch. 2, Supercollide

TW: blood, broken glass, stitches, angst

The door swings behind Tonks as she enters the kitchen, a frown on her face as she looks towards me and her husband, who is currently pulling shards of glass out of my hand via his wand. Remus’ face is screwed up in concentration, making his scars twist at odd angles as he leans closer to my palm. I hiss as an extra large piece is slowly extracted, eyeing it as it clinks into the bottom of the dish next to us.

“They’ve all gone home,” my best friend announces as she grabs a bottle of Fire Whiskey from the cabinet. I wave my hand towards the shelves, where three ornate glasses fly off the wood and float over to the table. Remus shakes his head towards his wife as she begins to pour the liquid, still concentrated on my palm which is now being stitched together under his wand.

“Good.” I try to hide the trembling of my left hand as I lift the glass to my lips, but she notices anyways and lets out a low hum. My eyes flicker to her, the anger from earlier still crackling in my veins. There is only four people who don’t - or didn’t - shrink away from me when grief and anger cloud my face, her included. “Spit it out, Nym,” I sigh, holding back a flinch as the last stitch tightens on my hand. Remus starts to wrap it without magic, looking between the two of us as he does so.

“You’re a right twat, you know that Venus?” She tries to harden her face into a scowl but the resulting look makes me snort. Tonks pushes ahead anyways, ignoring my disdain, “It’s not Hermione’s fault that nothing has worked. Even Harry can see that. Throwing everyone out of here? Not to mention breaking that bloody glass in your fist. It’s all a bit of an overreaction, innit?”

She glares at me until I finally make eye contact, lowering my glass to the table in a deathly calm manner, “And Remus? Do you have anything to add?”

The man looks at Tonks, before looking at me, knowing this is a conversation between the three of us. As best friends, not two versus one. He clears his throat, grabbing for his glass and pouring liquid into it before leaning back into his chair. “Quite honestly,” his voice is quiet but firm, “I think that had I been holding a glass, I would have had quite the same reaction myself.”

Tonks throws her hands up, making to leave the table before he interrupts her.

“However, I agree that it isn’t Hermione’s fault. But she needs to learn to read the room. Always been a problem for that one, running headfirst into things with the excitement of a child.”

I sigh, rubbing at my face. By the smug smile on Tonks’ face, I know she senses my defeat, “You lot are right. It’s unfair to take it out on her, and the rest of them.” Shaking my head, I avoid eye contact, trying to keep the defeat from clouding my face completely. “Harry asked me if I think it’s a waste of time.”

Remus pinches the bridge of his nose, standing up and taking his glass to the other room. Tonks follows almost immediately and I’m close behind, grabbing the bottle on the way. We’re silent for a few moments, watching as he leans against the mantle, staring into the flames. “What did you say to him?”

“I told him he didn’t mean it,” I shrug before turning on Tonks. “By the way, you also acted like a twat towards her. Don’t blame it all on me.”

She opens her mouth to respond but instead just lets out a laugh, “I did, didn’t I? For fuck’s sake. We’re the bloody worst.”

“Dora, stop that,” Remus looks at his wife, his eyes silvery in the low light. “I-I think that Hermione and Draco wanted to talk to you both first, but you intercepted her. They showed me the models, the data…”

“And you didn’t think to mention it to us?” I watch as my best friend’s cheeks flush, the only sign of how angry she is at this news.

“Neither of you gave me the bloody time. Had I known it was going to be a screaming match, I wouldn’t have let her go up to get you both. Harry wasn’t supposed to know right away, now the boy’s gone and told her he would be there when she sends the team in.” He turns on me, frowning, “No. Before you even say it. You are not going to run in there and force him to stay out of this. It’s his choice, let him make it.”

I shrink into the couch, ashamed that the thought was so obvious on my face. My throat feels as if a pixie is clawing at it from the inside, but I manage to croak out, “When?”

Remus sighs once more, turning back to the flames, “Tomorrow.”

Tonks and I both look up at that, my eyes betraying me as the rush of hope fills my chest before abandoning me and leaving me to feel deflated. She notices the silver rimming them and comes to sit on the couch, pulling me into her. Her voice sounds a thousand kilometers away as she asks the one question I can’t fathom voicing, “What if it doesn’t work, love?”

“She’s reached the end of the written history on the Veil. This is it.”

Later that night, after finishing off the bottle by myself after they’d left, I scribble a note to everyone, apologizing for the outburst and deranged behavior. The enchanted parchment that Hermione developed takes in the ink, the letters disappearing as they appear on the matching pieces of parchment that the other’s own. Ginny responds quickly, stating her and Harry understand completely and apologies are unnecessary. The rest of the responses are much of the same, all ending with varying degrees of goodnights. Hermione’s comes last, quickly stating that Draco found the bit where I smashed a glass with my fist to be quite impressive, but he hopes my hand is good enough for the weekly game of quidditch on Sunday. I smile, waiting for more. A few minutes go by before Hermione writes again,

Tomorrow, Harry will accompany us to the Death Chamber. A team of my researchers will enter the Veil to rescue anyone we can before it collapses. My sincere hope is that we find Sirius. You’ll know as soon as I can get a message to you.

Love, Granger

Writing back, I scribble out my message multiple times, afraid of giving too much away, hoping too much or hurting her more. Deep down, I know Hermione doesn’t blame me for the anger. Ever since Tonks brought me to the Christmas celebration nine years ago, the girl had been like a sister. Many nights had been spent gossiping with the girl and Tonks, later joined by Astoria and Ginny, and usually some of the other females in the Order. I had a soft spot in my heart for the witch, though sometimes she drove me mad. After all, it had been her to find the spell that I’d been using on the family tree, slowly silencing the wizards and witches until only Sirius’ mother remained, with her shrill voice. We’d finally gotten her to shut up just a few weeks ago. Hermione had spent hours helping, though sometimes she would end up yelling back at the Black family members, making me deepen my swigs from whatever bottle we had commandeered for the evening.

I finally settle on a quick thank you, signing it with “xx, V” and watch as it disappears before leaving the study. Afraid of the demons I might summon if I fall asleep while my mind reels, I wander through the house, the grandfather clock chiming 1a.m.

12 Grimmauld Place had been left abandoned when Sirius fell into the Veil, the front door locked and forgotten until I decided to move in and renovate it three years ago. The cobwebs had multiplied in the four years it stood empty, and I shudder at the thought of the dust that kicked up when I walked through the door that first time. I immediately enlisted Draco and Remus’ help with dealing with the hexes, as the two of them together proved more experienced than I would ever be. As I don’t carry the Black name, we realized that Sirius had laid most of those spells to rest when he lived here, but without a proper owner, they all came rearing their ugly heads. With the large amount of hidden pranks, hexes and the occasional curse, it took them months before any of us could walk through the house without worry. That’s when I named it the official meeting place of the Order again. Following all of that, I began brightening the walls, cleaning the original wood floors and replacing the burnt carpet. The light fixtures are the same gothic pieces that Sirius grew up with, but I spelled them to be slightly brighter, pushing many of the dark shadows away for good.

The first time I’d worked on the Black family tree, scrubbing at the black burn mark covering Sirius’ face, was miserable. His mother, and most of his cousins, screamed at me the entire time. Luckily, Hermione found the silencing spell quickly. As soon as I had gotten the black mark off the wallpaper, I repaired it as best I could before adding Sirius back to the tree. At around the same time, Hermione silenced his mother for good. Thank Circe for that. I still have some work to do in the study, and I idly remind myself to put time into it tomorrow. If anything, it’d keep my mind off of the other things going on.

Or so I hope.

Tired of wandering, my head pounding from all the Fire Whiskey, I finally stumble to my room. It’s not as large as Sirius’ and it sits at the opposite end of the hall. I stare at his door for a moment, imagining him opening it and smiling down the hall at me. Shaking my head, I ignore the daydream and close my door behind me, flicking my wand toward the bathroom to start the shower. Steam immediately leaks out and I strip off my clothes, throwing them onto a chair in the corner. The pile of laundry is becoming tall, and I sigh, knowing I can’t put it off any longer.

Instead of Order members appearing in the Chamber, Dementors twist around the three of us. Everyone else is dead, their glassy eyes staring up at us from the ground where they lay in heaps, their limbs twisted in odd angles.

Harry shakily wields his wand behind us, his Patronus gallivanting around the room, weaving in and out of mine and Sirius’ as the three animals twist between our attackers.

The black shapes speed towards us, too fast for me to even lift an arm to defend myself, but they blow right past me, instead swirling around the boy behind me and the man beside me. Their Patronuses flicker in the air near us, my fox nudging at each of them before the dog and stag disappear.

Harry screams, his face being pulled up for a Dementor’s kiss.

Sirius slumps, his body going lax as multiple Dementors feed off of him, a strange shimmer in the air as his soul leaves him.

I try to aid them, try to scream, try to do anything, something. But my arms are being held behind me by a woman with dark curls and a man with white hair.

All I can do is watch as both of them drop to the floor, their eyes like small mirrors as they stare up at me from the grounds, their chests stilled on an inhale for breath.

Then the faceless figures clothed in shadow turn towards me-

I wake up panting, seconds later my stomach roils and I lunge out of bed for the bathroom. Once I’ve coughed up everything, the Fire Whiskey burning my throat, I lean against the bath tup, the cold edge cooling my flushed neck.

——-————————————-

Hours later, Hermione Granger stands between her childhood best friend and husband. She gives Harry’s arm a squeeze, before smiling at Ron and stepping forward. Draco stands back, letting her work but prepared to step into help. Her team crowds around the Veil, waiting for instructions or a speech. She indulges them in both.

“As you know, the research into the Veil has been ongoing and the conclusion is that the arch has become unstable. I have hypotheses of why this may be happening, but none of them matter today. Today,” she takes a breath, making eye contact with as many of her team as possible, “is about rescuing those inside. The history claims that the Veil is an antechamber to Death itself, meaning beyond it is a room full of those who are waiting. I hypothesize that many will be inside, wanting to come home. All of you have done the needed research to know which people have been sent beyond the illusion by accident, versus those whose punishment needs to be carried out. You will have two hours inside the Veil once you take these potions,” she sweeps her hand to the side, directing the doctors to come forward. “If you have not exited by then, bringing as many people with you that you can, you will be stuck.” Hermione watches for any anxiousness among the team, but upon seeing none, carries on. “I’m extremely grateful for your handwork and the sacrifice you are making to see this through. Good luck.”

One after the other, her teams drinks the vials handed to them, and the four of them watch as six men and four women enter the billowing smoke that is the Veil.

———————————————

I eye the enchanted parchment on my desk, waiting for ink to spread across it. Throughly disappointed that there’s no change since the last time I checked two minutes ago, I turn back to the wallpaper I’m scrubbing. Downstairs, a bell chimes, and I drop the brush I’m holding into the bucket. Four spelled brushes continuing their scrubbing as I leave the room, glancing at the parchment one more time. Nothing.

Remus apparates into the living room as I reach the landing, yanking open the laundry room door as I greet him. I wave my wand and magically drain the water in the bin, waiting a second before covering it with a lid. With a flick of my wrist, the clothes start tumbling in the magic dryer. The washboard floats to its designated spot on the wall, little droplets of soapy water running down the metal.

Wandering into the kitchen, I see Tonks has joined him as he heats up a kettle of water on the stove. He tries to hide his shaky voice, “Have you heard anything?”

“Absolute rubbish,” I say, shaking my head as I sit down and lean on the table, my forehead resting in my palm.

“Neither have we. Got a bit panicky and figured we’d come by for tea,” Tonks ruffles Teddy’s hair as the boy fusses in her arms. Trying to lighten the mood, she starts conjuring biscuits and cake. “This calls for some sweets.”

“Blimey, Nym,” a chuckle escapes my lips, even though my stomach flips just looking at all of the food. Remus sets down the tea pot after removing the whistling item from the heat, tea cups flying towards the table before lazily landing in front of the three of us. The silence stretches, only interrupted by the clank of dishes as Tonks eats her weight in cake, her son following suit.

The fireplace suddenly crackles, followed by a few chuckles and a stream of curses that can only be from a Weasley twin’s mouth. Remus calls for the lot to join us and flicks his wand for more tea cups before enlarging the tea kettle.

Fred’s eyes are wide as him and Katie enter the room, the latter wiping soot from her face, “Did you hear?” He flops down in a chair, pulling her to sit with him. His twin and Angelina are quick to enter behind them, the fireplace crackling again a few more times. Footsteps echo as multiple pairs of feet make their way into the kitchen.

“Hear what?” I eye everyone as they pile in, noticing the the Potters, Malfoys and Ron are missing. My heart flutters with anxiety.

“You haf not been by thee parch-ment?” Viktor asks, his broken English far better than when I first met him. Daphne elegantly sits down in front of him, his large hands rubbing her shoulders. She’s incredibly tiny next to him.

“Obviously not if I’m confused as to why the entire Order is in my kitchen at 3 o’clock on a Saturday.” I resist the urge to roll my eyes as I wait to hear another crackle from the living room, but nothing happens.

Remus steps up, noting my anxiousness and impatience, “Were they successful?” Tonks grabs his hand, and I notice she squeezes it harder than usual as her eyes dart between us.

No one answers, and my heart begins to sink, wondering if they’ve all just come to drink due to another failure. Another pair of footsteps comes from down the hall as I get up to retrieve bottles of something harder than tea, my back turned to whoever it is that comes in the room. There’s whispering and I turn slightly to see Severus bent near Remus, whose face is pale. At this point, just about everyone is here. The only people missing are the aforementioned five, Ron’s shag buddy of the month, Bill and Fleur, and the other children. I can hear McGonagall and the older Order members talking in the living room. Molly ducks out of the back of the room, followed by her husband and finally, Remus. I turn back to the counter, suddenly hyper ventilating and trying to disguise my heaving sobs, when I feel hands on my shoulders. Whoever it is is much too tall to be Tonks, and I hear her light footsteps leave the room a moment later.

“Take a breath,” it’s Severus and I’m overly aware that everyone else seems to still be crowded into the long room. “Venus, take a breath.” He speaks low, and I try to breath through my nose but it just burns as I feel the tears falling down my face. This time he’s louder as he turns to call over his shoulder, “Clear out, we’ll get you when it’s time.” The sound of footsteps shuffle through the room and a moment later, I hear most of them pounding up the stairs to the libraries.

“Time for what, Severus?” I try, but my voice cracks as he continues applying pressure to my shoulders, trying to calm me. “If it didn’t work, just tell me. Did they get others out at least?”

“They did.”

The crackle of the fireplace is almost covered by his voice, and I jump when it registers that others are coming through the Floo Network.

“Venus?” Harry calls, his voice making me jump again, bumping into Severus this time. I lean heavily against the counter feeling as if I might pass out, and vaguely hear him tell me to breath again.

The kitchen door swings open, excited whispers flowing through from the living room as Severus quickly steps away from me, telling me in a low voice he’s going to get the others. Whoever it is that’s entered the kitchen, probably Harry, remains silent as I try to get my breathing under control. I grip the counter so hard that my knuckles turn white.

Slow and deliberate steps thud behind me, and I call out, “Harry, just give me a second, I’m sorry. I’m not going to be a great comfort to you right this moment. Bloody hell.” I let out a shaky laugh, ready to tell him I’ll be better momentarily.

“Years ago, I remember being told to watch my language around Harry, and now here you are, cursing in front of the boy,” a low voice says from directly over my shoulder. I whirl towards the man behind me, feeling my knees give out at the exact same time his hands reach out to catch my waist, my next curse getting caught in my throat as I stare at the handsome face in front of me. He pulls me to his chest, his grey eyes lined with silver as a new wave of tears splash down my face. As I clutch at his dark jacket, the same dark jacket he wore the last time I felt him, he nuzzles his face into the crook of my neck and into my hair. He breathes a sigh so deep, I’d think it was the first breath he’s ever taken, before he whispers, “Hello, darling.”

#sirius black lives #sirius black x oc #sirius black angst #sirius black smut #harry potter au

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sleepless-in-starbucks · 5 years ago

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The Aftermath

Part two of the Subverted Expectations AU (aka the shy!remy + confident!logan au) (ty @notveryglittery for being able to think of names when I can’t) Part one here

Summary: Never trust a disaster queer to make good choices- aka, Remy runs from the cutie Content: Lots of swearing, reference to a bad relationship, Remy being a disaster queer for a lot of reasons, nb!Remy, agender!Logan, and polygender!Virgil Pairings: Sibling sleepxiety, future romantic losleep (these pairings apply for the whole au) Notes: This one-shot may not be super exciting a read, since I’m focusing more on plot/world building in this one, but I have a lot of one-shots lined up to follow, so... yeah. that’s a thing.

Remy wasn’t sure how many more words were spoken between vim and Logan before vy ran, but vy was pretty sure it wasn’t many. As soon as Logan had flashed that fucking smirk and called vim pretty, vy was well aware that if vy didn’t take preventive measures, vy was going to die right there, on some random lawn with party music blaring in the background.

So, as soon as vy trusted vimself to stand, Remy got up and sprinted away as fast as vir legs would take vim. Vy was pretty sure vy heard Logan call after vim, but vy didn’t care. Vy knew what ne wanted: vir death. Vy refused to let nym take vir life. Remy planned to lose that thing via a caffeine overdose.

Vy spotted vir house soon enough, Remy more than glad for the fact that the party vy had been pulled to was only a few blocks away from vir house. Normally, vy’d have to convince Roman to drive vim home, and given how utterly hopeless of a romantic Roman was, Remy knew that wouldn’t have worked out in vir favor.

Key already in hand, Remy had the door open only a few seconds after vy came to it, quickly slamming it shut and throwing the deadbolt once vy was properly inside. Finished, vy turned and pressed vir back against the door, sliding down it and letting out a relieved breath.

“Alright, motherfucker, I’ve got a bat and I’m not afraid to- Remy?”

Remy looked up at Virgil, raising an eyebrow at them. She was welding a wooden baseball bat, which he was now lowering upon realizing it was only Remy.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to announce your approach.” Remy snarked.

“I figured it was just some drunk kid about to make a mistake.” Virgil responded, letting the top of the bat rest against the carpet as they leaned her weight on it. “Looks like I wasn’t too far off.”

“Hey! I’m not drunk!” Remy exclaimed, offended as vy glared at Virgil (though the action was pointless given Remy’s sunglasses hid vir annoyed gaze). “I’m stupid, not an idiot.”

“And yet you’re slamming doors at eleven o’clock at night!” Virgil yelled back, more exasperated than angry. “Why the hell are you doing that?”

Remy crossed vir arms and slumped further against the door. “I was running away from someone.”

Virgil’s eyes widened. “Were they trying to hurt you?” He asked, beginning to lift the bat back up.

“Worse- they were trying to KILL me!”

Virgil lowered the bat. “Oh. You saw someone cute.”

“No!” Remy protested, although as soon as vy spoke vy knew vir tone was too adamant for Virgil to believe vim. “I wouldn’t- I don’t run away from cuties, Virge, I run towards them.”

“Bullshit.” Virgil replied. “I know how much of a disaster queer you are. Though normally you just hide off in some corner or another, not run all the way home.”

“Yeah, well, if home’s close-”

“No, that’s not it.” Virgil cut vim off, looking thoughtful. Before they could hazard a guess as to the real answer, however, there was a set of three clean, precise knocks on the front door. Remy froze.

“Ne followed me home.” Remy said, going pale. “Fuck.”

Virgil raised an amused eyebrow. “What did you expect to happen? You were probably in the middle of talking to whoever this is and ne got worried when you suddenly sprinted off.”

“I expected nym to let me flee in embarrassment and be done with it!” Remy exclaimed, ignoring when another set of knocks echoed out. “It would’ve been the polite thing to do, anyways.”

Virgil’s face broke out into a wide grin. “Well ne’s here now…”

Remy’s mouth dropped open. “You wouldn’t dare.”

Virgil’s grin only grew as she called out, loud enough for the person outside the door to hear, “Just a moment!”

“I hate you.” Remy hissed as vy got up and pushed past Virgil, moving to hide in the living room. Vy could’ve tried to remain in front of the door, blocking Virgil, but vy knew the chance that Virgil would just shove vim out of the way and open the door while Remy was still in sight was too high. Virgil just chuckled and pulled open the front door.

Though Remy didn’t dare risk peeking around the corner of the room to watch the exchange, vy knew that it was Logan Virgil opened the door to before their conversation had even begun.

“Good evening, Mx…?”

“Just call me Virgil. Pronouns on the necklace.” Virgil answered, and Remy didn’t need to see him to know they were tapping her pronoun necklace, currently bearing his he-she-they charms. “And you are?”

“Logan Raven, ne-nym-nir pronouns, non-gendered terms.” Logan introduced nymself politely, which Remy considered very rude and misleading given that Logan was only here to further murder Remy.

“Well then, Mx. Raven, how can I help you?”

“I’m looking for someone- I believe vy ran into this house?” Logan said, prompting Remy to shrink further into the living room in a weak attempt to hide vimself even more. “Vy’s a high school senior, goes by Remy?”

Holy shit the fuck why the hell does ne know my name-

“You know vir name?” Virgil asked, also sounding surprised- though not nearly as surprised as Remy felt while vy was having a small crisis of identity over why one of the most popular kids would know vir name.

“Of course. I make it my business to know the name of the prettiest student in school.”

Remy was going to die. This was illegal, vy was pretty sure, to compliment-kill someone while they weren’t even around. Not to mention the fact that it was a lie- had Logan seen nymself? Ne already knew the name of the prettiest student in school because ne had been born with it.

“We’re also in two of the same classes.”

Now, Remy frowned. Two of the same classes? Vy was fairly sure vy’d remember if Mx. Logan Raven was in vir classes-

Oh fuck.

“I like that reason better. Less creepy.” Virgil said, their and Logan’s conversation continuing despite the realizations and breakdowns Remy was having. “And Remy might live here. Can I ask what you want with vim?”

“Just to make sure vy was safe. Suddenly running away from someone is a bit worrying for the other person, after all.” Logan said, and Remy really hoped vy was imagining the hint of genuine worry in nir tone. “Oh, and to give vim this.”

Remy heard a slight rustle that must have been Logan pulling something out of nir pocket before silence as ne (presumably) handed whatever it was over to Virgil.

“Is this… a business card?” Virgil asked, sounding confused.

“I normally hand them out to bigots who claim it’s too hard to use my pronouns.” Logan explained. “But I wrote my cell phone number on the back of this one- so Remy can call me, whenever vy wants.”

“I see.” Virgil said. “Would you like to give this to vim personally?”

“No thank you.” Logan responded, and Remy had never been happier to hear those words. “I know how to respect a boundary when I see one. Besides, I will be seeing vim at school tomorrow either way.”

Virgil chuckled in a way that Remy knew meant she was laughing at vir expense. “That you will.”

“It has been a pleasure speaking to you, Virgil. I hope you have a lovely rest of your night.” Logan said respectfully, pausing for a moment before adding, “And you as well, Remy.”

Though Remy was well aware Logan couldn’t actually see vim- ne had likely just guessed that Remy would be listening into the conversation- vy still froze in place, as if by holding still vy could make vimself disappear. Vy remained stock-still until the sound of receding footsteps was replaced by the door closing and Virgil approaching vim.

“So,” Virgil said as he came to stand in front of Remy, offering vim a small rectangle that Remy assumed was Logan’s ‘business card’, “that’s the kid who’s trying to kill you? Because ne doesn’t really seem like a killer.”

Remy snatched the card away from Virgil vy replied, “Then your first impression of nym wasn’t a very good one.”

Virgil laughed while Remy studied the card. The front of it was simplistic, the cardstock tinted a dark blue while black letters spelled out ‘Logan R.’, nir pronouns written beneath nir name. Flipping it over, Remy found the promised number- written out in a neat, blocky font, with a heart added to the end of it. The heart was small, and drawn with sharper edges than a heart ought to have, but it was still a heart, and it still brought a blush to Remy’s cheeks.

“I’m going to burn this.” Vy vowed.

“Why?” Virgil asked, tone a mix of amusement and bewilderment. “Ne’s a pretty kid and you both clearly have an interest in each other. This can’t be the worst thing to happen to you.”

“It’s not just that.” Remy said, moving past Virgil so that vy could start pacing the room, still fiddling with the business card in hand. “Logan’s one of the most popular kids in the entire school, Virge- I didn’t even know ne knew I existed!”

“You guys are in classes together.” Virgil pointed out as they moved to sit on the couch, watching Remy pace.

“I sit in the back! I try to pretend the room’s empty! I don’t notice who else is there!” Remy exclaimed. “And even then, why does Logan care? Why would ne notice me?!”

“Because you’re pretty?” Virgil answered mockingly, only getting a half-hearted glare from Remy in return before vy returned to vir frantic pacing. Virgil sighed. “Okay, come on. Something about this has you really bothered, and it’s nothing you’ve said so far. What’s so wrong about having a cool cutie like you?”

Remy glanced at Virgil, briefly stopping vir pace, before starting again, not answering. The silence stretched for a moment before Remy said, abruptly, “Ne’s my soulmate.”

“...So the cool cutie is also your soulmate, thereby allowing you to love nym without even having to worry about society trying to beat you upside the head because of it.” Virgil said, looking at Remy like vy was acting funny. “I still don’t see the problem.”

“Well, problem A, I’m a queer disaster who can’t look at nym without blushing, so honestly, rude of the universe to pair us together.” Remy said, letting out a dry laugh at vir own words. When vy glanced at Virgil, however, she only raised an eyebrow, waiting for the part Remy wasn’t saying. Remy sighed, finally stopping in vir pacing to fall onto an armchair. “Problem B, our family’s view of soulmates isn’t exactly the norm. Most people think that if you’re soulmates, you have to be meant for each other. Logan barely knows me and yet ne’s calling me pretty and giving me nir number and I just-”

“You don’t want nym chasing after nir soulmate and not you?” Virgil finished, and Remy nodded, looking down at the card vy kept folding and unfolding.

“I don’t want to end up like mom and dad.” Remy admitted quietly.

“Mom and dad are fucked up.” Virgil replied, getting a laugh from Remy. “You’d have to mess up pretty badly to end up like them. And I don’t think Logan’s as bad as you’re making nym out to be.”

“Ne’s a murderer, Virge, and I’m nir new victim.” Remy said, waving Logan’s card at Virgil. “Ne’s popular, and confident, and fucking gorgeous as hell, and way too smart to be in my classes, and ne’s focusing all of nir charm on me, just like a murderer-”

“Sounds like someone’s been obsessing.” Virgil interrupted, smirking when Remy flushed. “I’m just saying.”

“This is why I hate you.” Remy said, though there was no heat in vir words, only in vir cheeks. Virgil laughed as Remy got up, heading towards vir room. “I’m going to go to bed and pretend neither you nor Logan exist.”

“You know you have to face nym tomorrow, right?”

“Considering I’m currently in denial, no.” Remy answered as vy headed down the hall, ignoring the rest of Virgil’s laughter as vy entered vir room and shut the door behind vim. Vy leaned against the door for a moment, letting out a sigh as vy once more examined Logan’s card and nir number and that damned little heart.

Vy glanced at the trashcan sitting next to vir dresser. Vy really should just throw it away. The only thing the card was doing was making vim feel flustered for no good reason. Pushing vimself off the door, Remy headed over to vir trash can, holding the card over it…

...before tossing it onto vir dresser instead. After all, it was always important to have a reference to someone’s pronouns on hand. That was why vy was keeping it. Definitely. No other reason.

Remy sighed, pushing vir hands up under vir sunglasses and pressing the palms against vir eyes. Instead of the thoughtless darkness vy had been hoping for, however, blocking out all the light simply sharpened the image of a cocky, smirking Logan in vir mind, which was the opposite of what vy was going for. Remy groaned as vy removed vir hands from vir eyes, going back to turn off the lights before half-stumbling to vir bed.

Vy dropped vir sunglasses unceremoniously on top of vir night table before vy fell on top of vir bed, unconcerned by the fact that vy was sleeping in vir clothes. Remy had more important things to be concerned with, after all- like how vy was going to survive almost an entire school year avoiding Logan. All vy had to do was become invisible. Or drop-out of school. Or punch Logan and make nym hate vim.

Remy’d figure out something. It couldn’t be that hard to avoid the coolest kid in school who was in some of your classes and knew where you lived, right?

Drowning in denial, Remy fell asleep.

#losleep #platonic sleepxiety #sibling sleepxiety #ts logan #ts sleep #ts remy #ts virgil #the cryptid speaks #fanfic #fanfiction #ts sides #sanders sides #subverted expectations #SE au #nb!remy #nb!logan #nb!virgil #those general tags are easier to track than the exacts shdfcbhsjd #anyways i have a LOT of ideas for this au so i hope y'all like it sbhfcdjs

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you-are-my-neverland · 5 years ago

Photo

“That’s a shame,” Professor Laurier said. “If I may give you a word of advice, Ms. Beaulieu, I would say that you need to figure out what you want, not what you think you need to.”

- F I V E

[ a/n: and we’re officially on november 20th, 2/3rds of the way through with national novel writing month twenty twenty. this novel remains unnamed, but my word count is, as of the 20th, 43.5k, which is a bit insane. i attempted to actually make this post nice to look at. we’ll see what happens ]

songs i one hour looped to.

sleep thru ur alarms by lontalius

it’s not love by lontalius

wings by birdy

grace by lewis capaldi

nym by phlux

praying by kesha

girls by girl in red

writing thoughts.

i’m really proud to have kept up my average so far, especially since the middle is usually really lagging. i wrote almost four more chapters and half of it is literally just like pages of prose, thoughts, character introspection, and generally filler dives into the mind, but while i am a bit frustrated that it feels like this wip is really dragging it’s feet, i have been enjoying myself immensely. right now, it’s really just setting the stage and starting to build the bones of bare character dynamics/relationships that will all develop later on - necessary (i mean probably not 40k worth, but yeah...) but lengthy.

as excited as i am to get to some action, like even just the first teeny tiny start of the mountain, i am having a lot of fun fleshing out my characters. i feel like i’m really getting to know them (and also finding out that i am projecting onto ophelia and eden hard lol, geez). of course, i have a really large cast for this wip that will be of varying importance throughout at least this book, but that also is a bit messy, because i’m trying to weave them all together and make sure they get set up for later arcs.

on that note, i still want to call this wip these violent ends, but considering it’s technically the first of a trilogy idk how that would work out...i’m really attached to that title though lol.

anyways, here are some favorite lines - tried to pick some out, might like chapter six a bit too much..

some favorite lines.

three.

“So I’m throwing a fucking party,” Thaleia added. “And we’re all going to have so much fucking fun.”

four.

Ophelia opened it to find Sebastian methodically lacing up his tennis shoes, which looked too ordinary to be real against the soft white of his clothing, as if a medieval peasant had walked into a Nike shop and simply selected a pair of sleek shoes that matched.

“I love your dress, by the way,” the other girl added. “Red looks good on you.” “You, too,” Ophelia said, and then flushed, correcting, “I mean your dress looks good on you. It’s very pretty.”

five.

Ophelia hadn’t thought that he was the type to like to disappear, but then she had thought about it more, at a night when she’d missed home a little too much, and realized that not everyone wanted to disappear in the same way, that not everyone was like her brother to a T.

They had been six or seven or eight when the Red Revolution had started, and like their parents remembered how it had started in waves, they had been raised in a changing world and tumultuous times. She remembered the air raids, the practice lockdowns and the sheets that had come in the mail, demonstrating what to do in an emergency, or if they had to suddenly evacuate. Wanted posters, with constantly changing pictures. Missing posters—and those had been the worst. Ophelia remembered one coming in of a little girl her age, with pigtails and gap teeth. She couldn’t recall much from that period before eight—a few scattered memories of the Revolution, Des and Tian and her, but more emotions attached to events, short in her mind—but she remembered that girl on the missing person’s poster. They’d found her body a week later.

Ophelia blinked, at a loss for words. “I do belong with my brother,” she said, finally. “There’s no situation where I wouldn’t actively choose to be with my brother.” “And does your brother, Sebastian, was it, feel the same way?”

six.

But Vincent was dirt poor and used to empty cabinets and red numbers on unopened bills, so he had stopped worrying about why his mother had left and died in the first place—all that mattered was that he was alone, now. He couldn’t hide the aura that surrounded him, that showed itself in his old clothes and his broken shoes and his undernourished body, in the bloodshot eyes and the slight tremble of his eyes and the smell of smoke that accompanied him wherever he went.

Well, his teachers back home probably thought his life would not amount to anything more than dying early as a drug addict, and Vincent wanting to do something more than that was seen as just daydreaming. It was funny, how they told kids like him they could be anything and then turned tail and said that they were shooting too high by wanting to ever get out of that town or their poverty line lifestyles. He was getting out of that town. He would never live at the poverty line again.

“No,” Asriel cut in. His voice was calm and smooth as glass. “What was the government doing that was so wrong that some Mages felt the need to overthrow it in the first place?”

Happiness and warmth gave Vincent as much power as the other side to the coin, the wrath and the chaos that came after the smile, or the laugh. For Asriel, he thought smiling might be a bit of a death sentence, because when Asriel smiled, it gave the impression that he had given something up, taken down a bit of his walls, in order to do so, and that was dangerous.

Even if their ghosts didn’t remain, the memories mired in the streets he walked daily held him with bony fingers, reminding him of the pasts so many people had lived. Pieces of soul left behind, ghostly forms that stayed behind on scraps of emotion: vengefulness, anger, sadness, and regret; nobody died without one of them left behind. For all the brave stories Sebastian had read about soldiers or people who had died ready for it, embraced it with open arms, he had yet to meet a ghost that had been ready to leave.

They told him to hate the ghosts, and so by sheer power of will, Sebastian loved them instead.

taglist > @semblanche

if you think this wip is cool and would like sporadic updates, express your interest explicitly, please!

#writers on tumblr #my writing #writing #nanowrimo 2020 #nano 2020 #wip: nano 2020 #11.20/21.2020 #also my spotify was getting hacked but i think i fixed it lol #okay maybe i write vincent & asriel and go a bit crazy #then five pages of sebastian thinking about death because why not #we love siblings who have an unhealthy codependency on each other lol #:D i love that canva edit lowkey

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7deadlycinderellas · 5 years ago

Text

No more math and history, ch6

Ao3 link

BIG TW in this chapter for discussion of an incident of religiously motivated child abuse. Please read responsibly.

Halfway through second session, Sansa’s halfway through reading a letter when she suddenly starts slapping the side of Arya’s arm, making her drop her sandwich.

“You’re never going to believe this!” she gushes, pushing the folded letter at Arya. She takes it and scans the words quickly.

Gendry has paused eating his soup.

“What is it?”

Arya can barely believe her eyes. There’s a polaroid photo included and Arya runs her finger over it.

“Robb wrote that Nymeria came home. Gods, it’s been six years, I figured…”

She doesn’t say. There are still wolves in the north. She stares at the photo, at Nym’s blue eyes, at her gray markings. She wonders if she will even remember her.

It’s nice for a letter to bring good news this time.

She’s sick of Ygritte being so distant, so between her and Sansa, they decide to ambush her during the next rest period.

They both approach her on her cot with arms crossed.

“OK, Ygritte, we’re not leaving until you tell us what’s wrong.”

She tries to stare them down, but Arya and Sansa are better at it than her. With a deep sigh, she reaches into her trunk at the end of her bunk and pulls out a folded, battered letter.

Arya scans the back before turning it over. Sansa hunches over her shoulder so they both can read at the same time.

“You didn’t tell us you heard from Jon,” she says, miffed, “He hasn’t written any of us yet.”

Sansa’s still reading while Arya talks and gets to the middle of the letter first. She clamps her hands over her mouth to stifle a squeal.

Ygritte looks at them both, and mutters, helpfully, as though they hadn’t just read the letter.

“He asked me to marry him.”

Sansa squeals and her hands fly to her mouth. After she’s calmed down, she asks.

“Don’t you want to be part of our family?”

Arya rolls her eyes.

“Don’t mind her, she’s as big a romantic moron as Jon has always been. Also-”

Arya runs her finger along one line in the letter.

“He asked you, ‘how you would feel about getting married’, pretty sure that’s as indirect as Jon can get. He’s probably terrified of what you’ll say.”

Ygritte looks at Arya dubiously.

“So what should I tell him?”

Arya shrugs.

“Tell him how you do feel about getting married. Which, I might ask, is what?”

Ygritte sighs and pulls her knees up to her chest.

“It’s not that I never want to get married, but seven hells, I’m only twenty. I see half the girls who leave school up north at sixteen and get married immediately. They’re my age and half of them already have kids and the other half work shit waitressing jobs while their husband’s run sheep and drink, and it’s just- Forever is such a long, long time to think about...”

Arya rolls her eyes.

“Then tell him that.”

“Isn’t that a little-”

Arya rolls them again, and sits at the end of Ygritte’s bunk.

“Ygritte, you’re the only serious girlfriend Jon’s ever had. You’ve been together for like, five years, and he never even looks at other girls. I’m pretty sure telling him you’re scared to get married so young won’t be a deal breaker.”

“It’s also sort of a cliche for young soldiers to marry immediately upon enlistment, then come home and discover their wives were unfaithful, might want to remind Jon of that,” Sansa comments. Arya snorts. Sansa watches far too many sappy made for TV movies. She’s heard Robb’s friend Theon make a couple of cracks at Jon to make sure he doesn’t get himself tied to a “dependapotamus” too. Arya had lashed out at Theon for being insensitive as usual, but on his rare phone calls, Jon hadn’t seemed to think the other recruits were bastions of rational decision making.

“Just,” Arya adds before she leaves with Sansa, “Don’t panic and make a decision you’ll regret later.” She should write Jon and remind him to keep that in mind too. She’ll go get some stationary at the tuck shop later. “Take your time. That’s one of the benefits of only being able to get snail mail out here.”

Marriage, Arya can barely believe it. It’s such a grown up concern, out here in the woods. She thinks of Jon, off with the Air Force, standing and marching, and wonders if he wishes he were here, even when he is also thinking of marriage.

Later that week, Gendry comes to breakfast whistling. When Arya eyes him, he rolls up his shirt sleeve.

“Made it twenty-four hours without a patch. I now declare myself free of nicotine’s power over my mind and my wallet.”

Arya gives him a high-five and Shireen follows up.

“Shireen was the one who really pushed me to quit,” Gendry confides in Arya. “She really doesn’t like fire, and is apparently invested in me living to old age.”

Gendry’s so pleased with himself that Arya hates reminding him that the canoe races start today. He slumps over when she does. Gendry’s really not suited to a counselor role, he’s far too anti-social, but he’s quite good at enforcing rules and enforcing them fairly. But the races bring out the most rambunctious and the most competitive among the campers and there are frequently tears and occasionally blood. He spends the days of the races even more sullen than normal.

The day of the semi-final races, Tommen Baratheon flips out of his canoe and doesn’t come back up. A blow of the whistle, and it’s the first actual rescue Arya’s seen happen at camp in years. The air is thick with anticipation, as everyone stays still, buddy arms up, watching the water.

The canoes are still sitting idle when Gendry jumps in and pulls Tommen from the water. He’s limp and pale, and Gendry lays him on the shore, and checks his airway. He hasn’t even had a chance to check his pulse when Tommen coughs and the air thins and everyone can breathe again.

“That was fucking terrifying,” he admits to Arya, “but...sort of exhilarating too.”

“It was exhilarating to watch,” Arya tells him. It’s true, she rarely gets to see him so confident and self-assured. It’s like watching a great athlete play, but Gendry’s never really been able to give half a hoot about competition when they played anything. It’s such a huge change, to see him so... sure of himself. It’s nice, really.

But even afterwards, he’s tense through the end of the races, a tiny bit shaken up by the save.

The night the races end, he looks incredibly relieved. That’s the same night that Shireen whispers to Arya.

“My cabin’s doing a snack raid tonight. You should bring Gendry and help him cheer up.”

That Arya can definitely handle, she’d been so disappointed at the end of first session when Hot Pie hadn’t managed to tell them when any of these were planned.

After campfire, Arya grabs his hand.

“Snack orgy tonight with Shireen’s cabin, give me five minutes to change into my stretchy trousers.”

Snack raids were always an exciting event as a camper. Despite this, Arya is still a bit disappointed in herself that she never realized how carefully they were planned. They not only never got caught, but they always seemed to happen right when there were two or three of the big ten gallon ice cream drums close to their expiration dates. And somehow, the kitchen staff never locked up or put the toppings away.

Not that any of this knowledge stops Arya from loading up her sundae with crushed pineapple and whipped cream.

Shireen’s cabin is young enough that snack raids are an entirely new concept, so thankfully they are too excited by the ice cream to truly cause any real mischief, and keeping an eye on them in the kitchen is easy.

“Y’know, the first time we did this, Sansa was completely convinced we were going to get kicked out if we were caught,” Arya whispers to Shireen while Gendry squirts the can of whipped cream into a camper’s open mouth.

“She always was the rule abiding type,” Gendry adds.

Shireen slumps a bit, her cheeks red.

“I’ve always been like that too.”

The whole group is quiet for a bit, when one of the younger girls approaches with her spoon.

“Will the cold make your face stop hurting?”

Shireen smiles.

“Thank you for thinking of me, Lily, but it’s just scar tissue, it doesn’t hurt.”

Shireen’s eyes drift downward as the girl pads away, and Arya forces her mouth to stay closed but the words start tumbling from Shireen’s mouth regardless.

“Arya, you said you thought the Lord of Light was from Essos, did you ever hear about his followers affinity for fire?”

Arya is frozen, her eyes trailing towards Gendry, who is nearly as still as she is.

“No, no I can’t say I have.”

Shireen’s tilting forward, her bowl of strawberry ice cream sitting at her chin, untouched.

“That’s his follower’s favorite topic, cleansing and blessing by fire. When I was young and my father first started making me go to services with mum, it was all they talked about. Then a new priestess came to Dragonstone, all the way from Asshai. She was different. She didn’t just like talking about it. No matter how short a sermon was, there was always a fire on the altar.”

Next to her, Arya watches Gendry stiffen.

“After that, we had to go to chapel every night, not just on Sundays. We weren’t supposed to do anything else at all it seemed. And her sermons were longer, and bigger. She made people stand up and profess things...and they burned things. At first it was just books and things she insisted were wrong, but then…”

Arya’s mind is racing. She knows the sort of thing Shireen was describing. In history class a few years they’d learned the word. A cult. Arya darts her eyes around trying to see if anyone else is listening, but thankfully the younger girls are chattering away.

Shireen reaches up and touches the side of her face.

“I had chicken pox bad as a kid, it left some nasty scars. My mum used to try and cover it up, but it always stuck out.”

Arya nods.

“I was so upset they got the vaccination like, a year, after I had it.”

She’s desperately trying to lighten the mood. She knows sometimes when people ask about her parents and her past, her words could get sort of heavy. It went with the territory, but Arya’s actually almost frightened of where this goes.

“This priestess, her name was Melisandre. I don’t know if that was her first or last name. She sort of fixated on my scars. Kept saying she would purify me of them.”

Arya’s beginning to shake as she thinks of what could be coming.

“I’d seen her...the chapel had a fire of hot coals. Standing over them was said to purify your breath. She would sometimes call people to the front of the congregation and have them lay their hands on the coals, for what she said was ‘spiritual healing’”.

Shireen’s hugging her middle with both arms now.

“She used to take my father aside and talk to him, and he always came away angry, until one day he didn’t. One day, Melisandre spoke to him, and he led me to the front. I don’t remember thinking anything was strange, until she held the coal to my face.”

Arya’s stomach churns. It’s taking near all her power to keep her sundae down.

“I don’t really remember it that well. I think I must have screamed, but all the rest I remember is the smell. Like cooked meat.”

“That must have been when Mr Davos called emergency services,” Gendry interrupts. Arya frowns slightly, somehow still being able to express further confusion at his response.

Shireen nods.

“I was in hospital for a while, then I went straight into care. The nurses kept going on about how lucky I was not to lose my eye…”

“They like to do that,” Arya interrupts. She has to interrupt. Shireen’s eyes are shining like she’s going to cry and if she cries, Arya won’t be able to stop herself and they’ll have a mess hall full of curious pre-pubescent girls who have magically managed to not hear this terrible story. “When Bran was in hospital after his accident, he said they wouldn’t stop talking about how much worse it could have been.”

Shireen chuckles grimly, but otherwise stays quiet, her eyes squeezed shut. Arya and Gendry both lean forward at about the same time and each hug about half of her. It feels so strange that Arya already knows how to do this with so much grace.

When they walk back, Arya asks Gendry quietly,

“You knew all of this?”

He nods.

“Mr Davos took us in at the same time, he used to be close to her father. He hardly spoke at all when he brought her home from hospital. We had to take her in for appointments regularly after that, for nearly a year. She had to have skin grafts and all that jazz.”

Arya stays silent for a bit.

“How is she dealing with it?”

Gendry pinches his nose and squeezes his eyes shut.

“I don’t think she is. She doesn’t say a word, and last time her parents had supervised visitation, she went completely stony faced for a week, and for another week after the visit. I used to think it was just to deal with the media- there was a fair amount for about a week on TV down in the Crownlands about the ‘mad rich people cult’ down in Dragonstone before something else took over. That’s why I let her keep going, because she never talks at all about it.”

Arya sighs. She knows that too well, sucking all your feelings in and keeping them inside until they threaten to explode.

“I should tell her to talk to Bran,” Arya says, thinking, “He was always the only one of us who was good at feelings, I think his cabin’s up for archery rankings in a few days, I’ll have to ask him while we’re at that.”

Arya chuckles. And if talking doesn’t help, shooting things might, even if it involves sacrificing one of her precious days off.

Arya has hardly seen Meera this past week because she’s been setting things up. The Mormont girl who’s her junior this year looks the same as every other Mormont. Arya has missed archery a lot, it’s not something she can exactly practice at home.

For added fun, it turns out Bran can still draw and shoot even without dropping the arm of his chair.

Bran tells her he’s spoken with Shireen a bit at meals and when their cabins share activities. Arya asks him if Shireen has talked to him at all about her past.

“Just little bits here and there, I never wanted to pry.”

“I’m not telling you to pry but...Gendry says he thinks she really needs to talk to someone.”

“Y’know of all the things I thought would be different after the accident, I never thought that it would make people talk to me about everything. At this point they should just give me a therapist’s license.”

Arya feels a smile quirk at the corners of her mouth.

“It’s because they know you can’t run away.”

There’s a brief lull when Meera pauses to announce the current rankings. Arya watches Bran’s eyes linger a bit on her and can’t resist the urge to tease.

“Still?” she asks.

Bran sighs.

“Still.”

The summer before the Starks had first come to Camp Durrandon, Meera and her brother Jojen had both spent the summer up north with them, their father having been an old friend of Ned’s.

“At least we don’t have to fight over her attention anymore.” Arya comments. Not that they’d ever really wanted the same sort of attention from Meera. Being twelve to Arya’s ten and Bran’s nine, she hadn’t paid either of them any mind that year, choosing instead to spend the summer trying to climb every tree on the grounds of Winterfell, and very nearly succeeding.

Something pricks at the back of Arya’s mind and she asks.

“Has she been being kind of distant lately or is it just me?”

Bran turns and cocks his head in Arya’s direction, his face disbelieving.

“Well it is her last summer here, I think it would be pretty normal to be a little sad.”

Arya’s eyebrows fly up into her hairline. Her mind had somehow skipped over that fact.

“I don’t think I even processed that. Her not being here with us will be so strange.”

Bran shrugs.

“Well it’s not like the conservation corps have summer holidays. It’ll be three years until she returns to civilization full time.”

Bran’s ears are a little pink, and it suddenly hits Arya that he and Meera are only one year further apart than her and Gendry.

“You ever think of telling her?”

“I don’t know what good it would do, especially now. Maybe I’ll tell when she gets back.”

“Do you think you’ll still feel that way after three whole years?”

Bran’s eyes get the strange, old look they get sometimes when he’s thinking hard. Mum had once laughed and said Bran seemingly had a soul a thousand years older than him.

“I mean, I didn’t think I would still feel this way now. I thought I would grow up and my feelings would fade. That’s the way it always goes in films. But I haven’t.”

Arya smiles, and pats Bran on the shoulder.

“You see? Things like this are why I say you’re better at feelings than me.”

It doesn’t take much prodding for Bran to agree to talk to Shireen more when their cabins do activities together, and by the end of the rankings, Arya places rather well considering she hasn’t shot in years.

That night, in their cabin, Arya ambushes Meera with a hug. Ygritte’s gone to the tuck shop to buy some more paper, but she hasn’t mentioned if she’d written Jon back yet. Regardless, it leaves Arya and Meera alone.

“M’sorry, I didn’t even realize you might not be coming back next summer.”

Meera still, but laughs.

“It’s okay. I’ve not tried to think about it too much either. It’s all so big...no more summer holidays, no more exams, no more uniforms with skirts and ties.”

Arya chuckles and tries not to be glad that the system in Winterfell didn’t require uniforms after junior school.

“I think that’s part of the reason I always liked coming here so much. It’s like all the rest of the world disappears for three months.”

And Arya realizes that’s so much of the reason why she loves it here too.

And she realizes the next day at the kickball tournament that second session is one day away from ending.

She’s in the stands with most of the camp, watching Shireen’s cabin going against Myrcella Baratheon’s, and only half paying attention when she realizes Ygritte and Sansa to her side are spiritedly debating as to the baseball euphemisms.

“I’m just saying,” Sansa starts, “Doesn’t it basically imply that lesbians can never hit a home run?”

Arya snorts.

“Well I didn’t come up with the thing,” Ygritte responds, “You like girls, make your own metaphor.”

“Maybe that means that you can still go to Mum’s church on Maiden’s Day with a clear conscience,” Arya teases Sansa, “Since according to this bit of common knowledge you have no way of not being a virgin.”

Sansa huffs.

“The bases are sort of vague,” Arya continues, “especially since I’ve only ever heard them described as second being above the waist and third being below.”

“True,” Ygritte agrees, “I mean, a fella touching your chest through your sweater isn’t quite the same as being stripped to the waist and him sucking your chest full of love bites.”

The back of Arya’s neck goes pink, and later that night when her and Gendry are on the ground behind the equipment shed again.

A few nights ago, he’d snaked one hand up her shirt and gently begun to tug on her nipples. Tonight it only takes a little convincing to make him duck his head and experimentally take one between his lips.

Second base, head first, Arya thinks with a giggle. Looking up at her, Gendry’s eyes have a mischievous twinkle, one she hasn’t seen on him a lot.

“Something gotten into you tonight?”

Arya reaches out and runs her hand along the side of his face, fingers catching on the slight hint of a beard he doesn’t bother shaving out here.

“Just thinking about some things.”

“Good things?”

Arya tugs on his ear to pull him up into a kiss before responding.

“Mostly.”

She’s thinking about how good this feels, how nice Gendry looks in the moonlight. She’s thinking of sports euphemisms and the hide and seek game tomorrow. She is pointedly not thinking of Ygritte’s letter and Meera’s job. And she is definitely not thinking about summer being almost over.

#game of thrones #A Song of Ice and Fire #gendrya #summer camp au #fic

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soraavalon · 6 years ago

Note

Vastrun!Nym bc i love her so much what a good bean: 1, 3, 8, 20, 30, 31, 43, A, E, G, H

Vastrun!Nym bc i love her so much what a good bean:

Nym is a good bean. A good chaotic bean. XD

1. What’s the maximum amount of time your character can sit still with nothing to do?

… Not very long. Give it a couple of minutes and she’s turning something a different color/pattern with Prestidigitation.

3. How do they put themselves to bed at night (reading, singing, thinking?)

Nym usually takes a long hot bath and reads the current trashy romance she’s reading for at least three or four chapters, then it’s time for bed.

8. What were they told to stop/start doing most often as a child

She was often told to not practice tightrope walking unsupervised as a child.

But she was also encouraged to try new things, but that isn’t to say that her father had an easy time getting Nym to eat her vegetables, that was always an uphill battle.

20. If they were asked to explain the difference between romantic and platonic or familial love, how would they do so?

“Well platonic love is like you love your friend, but not in the ‘boyfriend/girlfriend’ kind of way. There isn’t any kissing, or physical contact that leads to something more. Romantic love is like you’re with a person or persons and being all 'That’s my girlfriend/boyfriend/partner’ and being physically intimate like kissing or being sensual.”

30. Who do they most regret meeting?

Lord Cain Bastian of Everguarde.

If Nym had a Wish spell, she would try to go back in time and tell herself to not meet with him, to take his letter and burn it regardless of how rude it is, and be done with it.

31. Who are they the most glad to have met?

The people of Cirque du Spirit. They’re like an extended family that she is glad to have met.

43. If someone asked them to explain their sexuality, how would they do so?

“Well, I’m attracted to both guys and girls equally, but here’s the thing; I don’t really feel comfortable with sleeping with someone I just met. I want to get to know the person before having sex.”

A. Why are you excited about this character?

Because I get to play my girl again! You have no idea how much I missed Nym. Even though this Nym is different than who she used to be, I’m happy to explore her new character.

E. Are they someone you would get along with? Would they get along with you?

I think I would get along with Nym after I’ve had time to get to really know her. I think she would get along with me after coaxing me out of my shell, I think we kinda balance each other out or can tip into the random wacky side of the spectrum. But I do know that we would have a disagreement about the books we like.

G. What trait of theirs bothers you the most?

Her optimism. Out of everything that’s currently happening, she’s still trying to be optimistic that Mayor Pinedale can maintain his place and continue to try helping the city. She hopes that what she and her friends are doing can help even though it seems that it’s not going to help change his view on the situation with the city and the governor.

H. What trait do you admire most?

Her willingness to try new things at least once. I’ve only recently been doing with with food and that’s a thing that happens rarely.

#D&D Character Asks #Vastrun!Nymera

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mira-gilastorm · 7 years ago

Text

Fear Cuts Deeper Than Swords

Chapter 1: Brace for the Cold

Winterfell was bustling with activity like it hadn't in months. Something about the King travelling north with his whole family. Sansa chattered on and on about it to her ladies. Arya was just excited to see real-life knights and it was Clary's job to keep up with Arya. She was, so far, the only one who could other than Jon. And the Septa seemed to prefer a lady-in-waiting do it. It had made her mother uncomfortable to see her bonding with the Stark girl, but Jocelyn wasn't really in any position to refuse the Wardens of the North. Besides, it wasn't like she ever let Clary have friends. Arya was fun - a kindred spirit. She was wild and didn't care to play by the rules of her gender. She would train and fight with her brother Jon when no one but Clary was there to see and it was endearing. But not today, today the Stark men had gone off to behead a deserter from the Watch and everyone else was preoccupied with readying the great Keep for a royal visit.

"What do you think they'll be like?"

"Who, m'lady?"

Arya gave her a frustrated glare. "All of them. Any of them. Just, what do you think they will be like?"

Clary turned the corners of her mouth down. They were sitting at a railing above the training yard, watching Arya's littlest brother train in archery. He was barely a tot and using what amounted to a toy bow - it was almost comical. The younger sister could shoot circles around her brother if they'd give her half a chance. Coming from a family that allowed her to train in secret, it angered Clary. "I know the Queen is said to be a beauty unparalleled. She has the Lannister gold hair and emerald eyes and her twin brother, Ser Jaime of the Kingsguard, is as handsome as she is beautiful. They call him Kingslayer and Oathbreaker for killing the Mad King he was sworn to protect."

The little wolf scoffed. "Like any sane person would have done otherwise. The man was going to burn the whole world to the ground if someone didn't stop him."

Clary watched her charge for a moment, considering. Arya was barely ten and one, not yet a woman grown. But she spoke like a warrior beyond her years. "Even still, I heard the cooks saying all three of the children are coming as well. They're all supposed to share in their mother's beauty." Arya's face darkened again. That was a sore subject. Her sister, Sansa, was the spitting image of their lovely mother - with the red Tully hair and bright blue eyes. But Arya was a Stark, through and through, with gray eyes and flat brown hair that did what it wanted, no matter how many times Clary attempted to tame it. It didn't help that Jon was always ruffling it like she was some kind of pup.

"Are you two supposed to be up here? Wasn't Septa looking for you, little one?" Lord Stark's voice was husky from the cold. His sons and ward trailed after him, carrying awkward bulks. Clary lowered her eyes and curtsyed as her mother had taught her.

"We're watching Rickon and the others try to hit targets. They're miserable archers, Father. I'm much better than the lot of them!" She turned her gray eyes to Clary for confirmation.

Clary could see the Stark boys smirk at her knowingly. She nodded in deference to Eddard Stark. "It's true, m'lord. Your daughter is an unparalleled archer. With proper instruction, she would be a valuable asset to the North."

Arya beamed at her lady's words. "See, Father? Even Clary knows! Although she's more talented than she lets on herself. You should see her spar with a dagger and short sword. She's a natural!"

That got the Lord's attention more than the praise of his youngest daughter. "What's this about you girls sparring?"

"Arya has not been sparring, m'lord. I train with my mother regularly. I didn't know she was aware of my skills." She averted her eyes from the retinue of soldiers where she knew her stepfather was watching with a glare.

Robb, the oldest Stark boy, barely six and ten, stepped forward. "And what business does your mother have knowing how to handle a blade, much less teaching my sister's lady-in-waiting how to wield one?"

Jocelyn had warned her daughter that this might happen when she was chosen to be close to the Starks, and she told her there was always one thing to say that would help explain any out-of-ordinary family traditions that northerners sometimes took to protect themselves. "It is family tradition for all of us to be able to fight, daughters or sons." She raised her face to meet the steel gray stare of Lord Eddard Stark. "Winter is Coming, m'lord."

He nodded stiffly. "Indeed it is, Miss Rivers." He motioned behind him to his boys and the men standing at attention behind them. Jon Snow, his own bastard son, brought up an armful of the largest wolf pups Clary had ever seen. Arya squealed in delight. Bran and Robb were already holding pups of their own, and Theon looked to be carrying two others. Clary's eyes drifted to her stepfather, a Dornishman who had taken her in and treated her as his own daughter when he married her mother. He gave her a brief nod of approval. She had handled the questions well. Luke Garroway was the captain of Eddard Stark's personal forces. They had fought together in King Robert's Rebellion, she knew, and it was why she was trusted to be Arya's lady, despite having no name or true-born father to speak of.

Arya had picked out her wolf. "Clary! What should I name her?"

She moved to her Lady's side, admiring the pup she had cuddled to her chest. "Something fierce, like yourself, m'lady."

Some of the men snickered at her comment but Arya's eyes shone. "Nymeria, then. Her name is Nymeria."

* * *

"Two months on this bloody road, Jace. Two months." His brother was miserable. He hated dealing with anyone outside of the downworld.

Alec, Isabelle, and Jace all rode with the king's convoy. It had been mother's idea - to ride with the mundanes. The Institute generally operated outside of the workings of the common humans, especially these Westerosi nobles, but Jace was enjoying himself. His golden hair wasn't out of place with the queen's Lannister family so he was assumed to be a cousin of some kind.

"You could try not to be so pleased with the situation." Alec brought his horse alongside Jace's.

He flashed his brother a charming grin. "And where's the fun in that? How often do we get to actually enjoy ourselves?" Alec glowered, refusing to answer. "Besides, I've never been north. I'm interested to see what this warlock is on about."

"You didn't read the letter." It wasn't a question. Jace rarely stopped to do anything other than train and ready his weapons.

His nose scrunched up in distaste. "Nah, that's what I have you and Iz for." At the mention of their sister, they both glanced over their shoulders at the collection of carriages and wagons they were travelling with. "How do you think she's fairing with the other ladies?"

Alec rolled his eyes. "If she isn't astonishing them with tales of long forgotten battles that we probably fought last week, then I'd say she's miserable listening to their idle castle gossip."

That was likely true. Their sister had drawn the short straw, as a female, and was in a carriage with several of the Princess Myrcella's ladies-in-waiting. The Lightwood name got them far in King's Landing, so it wasn't hard to join the party northward. But it came with the strings of playing by the mundanes' rules.

"This warlock claims mundanes are starting to report seeing wolves and ice demons. Sounds like the north is overdue for a visit from the Clave." Alec was recounting details of the mundanes' sightings as someone called a halt ahead of them. The brothers exchanged a glance and both urged their horses to the front of the caravan where they could see the impressive walls of Winterfell. The gates opened and a line of well-trained soldiers filed out, marking the road in honor of the king's entrance. Jace and Alec led the way in, followed by the Kingsguard and royal carriage. A line of nobles waited to meet the king. Jace and Alec paid them no mind. They weren't here for the royal visit or whatever other mundane concerns brought King Robert all the way to the North.

"Mother said we would likely find the warlock near the library. He apparently poses as a partially trained Maester, some sort of apothecary and librarian now."

Isabelle bounded up, clutching at the cumbersome skirts. "Sounds like a good guise for a warlock." Her dark hair and hazel eyes stood out in the cool air of the north.

"Glad to see you survived the ladies, Iz." Jace quirked a brow at her.

She scoffed. "Honestly, I think I've met shax demons that had more brains than those girls. All they wanted to talk about was how many sons this Lord Stark has and whether Princess Myrcella will end up betrothed to one. The poor girl is seven, Jace, and all they can talk about are these Stark boys-"

Alec held up a hand to stop her before she started listing off the Stark boys and reasons they would make good suitors for the princess. "We're all here. Glamour, but remember we don't know how many downworlders live here. And we've all heard the stories about the blood of the First Men giving the Sight. Behave as if you can be seen." All three nephilim pulled out their steles and activated their glamour runes.

They moved quickly, watching closely to see if any eyes followed them or noticed them at all. Jace thought he saw one of the Stark's soldiers glance at them, a Dornishman, but at second glance he seemed to just be scanning the yard. They made their way up into the main keep without issue. Near the tower steps that should lead them to the library, Jace heard whimpering and shushing.

"Nym, you have to be quiet. Lady Arya will be back as soon as she's finished greeting the royal guests."

A small gasp escaped Izzy's lips as they saw the largest pup imaginable. The pup, Nym, turned at the noise, eyes wild and mischievous. Jace could tell there was no way to fool whatever that beast was. It saw right through his glamour and leaped down several steps to crash into him, dragging a lovely redhead with it.

She stared at him, shocked, before gathering her thoughts much faster than he was able to. "I'm so sorry. She's the Lady Arya's wolf and is just as wild as the little lady. We're still training them, but they're only a few weeks old, so they'll learn."

Her bright green eyes were uncertain, but hiding something and his instincts kicked back in. "You have the Sight?"

"The what?"

"You can see me."

The girl looked him over, in his red and gold - Lannister colors - and decorative sword. "Isn't that the point?"

Alec cut in. "Jace, come on." He held her stare for a moment longer before turning to follow his brother's order. Isabelle stopped ruffling Nym's fur and the three moved past the redhead to continue up the staircase.

"If you're looking for Lord Bane, he won't be up there." They turned to stare down at her where she was peering out a window at the scene down in the yard, which must have been why she was there to begin with. The king and Lord Stark were disappearing down into what looked like some kind of crypt. Strange, but the two had history, and it wasn't his place to get involved in mundane concerns.

Alec was the one speaking up for their group. "And where will we find Lord Bane?"

The girl glared up at them from her place in the window. "Wherever the party is. He has rather," she smiled slightly, as if at a private joke, and Jace found himself wanting to ask her what it was, "extravagant tastes."

Jace shrugged, smirking at his brother. "Looks like we'll be spending time with the royal party after all." He peered briefly over the window's edge to see people filtering in.

"Well, I hope you enjoy yourselves, whoever you are." The redheaded girl pushed herself off from the window and made a clicking noise to the wolf, whose ears perked up immediately. "But I must really return to my duties and make sure Lady Arya doesn't do something crazy like collapse a banner on the Lannister soldiers or the like." She curtsyed deeply and Jace caught a quick glimmer off of something tucked in the folds of her gown, a weapon or maybe - just maybe - a stele. He couldn't be sure. Whatever it was clearly had runes marked on the hilt.

Isabelle descended a few steps to put her finger under his chin, drawing his attention from where the girl had been. "You're drooling, Jace. Over a mundane." She tilted her head in the teasing way only Izzy could before turning to Alec. "So what do we do, big brother? Do we wait for the warlock here, hoping he comes back alone, or do we seek him out in a lovely royal feast?"

Jace snickered, shaking his head. Of course Izzy wanted to go to a party. She was always the center of attention - their perfect distraction on missions. Her beauty, strength, and confidence radiated off of her and it was impossible to overlook. She was all raven hair and honeyed-green hazel eyes, with pale skin that drew eyes from everyone.

Alec relaxed his head against the stone wall he was leaning on, staring at the keep's ceiling as if it might save him. "Fine, but we don't draw attention to ourselves." He glared at Isabelle. She raised her hands in defense. Then he turned his stern gaze on Jace, who had taken to toying with his decorative blade. "Goes for you too. No showing off."

"Me? When have I ever?"

* * *

Daenerys hovered outside the door of Illyrio's sunroom. She'd never seen anyone like the woman who'd come to visit today and couldn't help the curiosity that dragged her to listen at the cracked entrance, as the obvious topic of conversation.

"Has the girl shown any signs? Marks?"

"No, she has no mark, but I'm telling you, there's something different about her. She's not mundane. I would swear my magic on it."

"And what of the boy? Her brother."

"Entirely human. Possibly mad. He's selling her to the Dothraki in return for the promise of Westeros." Dany's heart quickened at this. She was to meet her potential husband soon and the deal was to be struck - a bride for a throne.

"You know the Clave doesn't interfere in mundane affairs. We hardly intervene with downworlders. The Accords must be upheld. The Rebellion nearly cost us everything."

"So you would let the Dothraki possess a girl with the blood of the dragon?"

"What would you have me do, Magister? Whisk her away to Idris? Confine her to the Gard?" A chair scraped the carpeted floor and she could hear the woman pacing.

Illyrio raised his voice from the hushed tones, betraying his frustration as he very rarely did. "I would have you protect her. As you should have protected her forebears - an entire race, gone! And now there are no more dragons. Is that not part of the Accords? Shadowhunters protect downworlders and mundanes alike."

Dany could hear the woman sigh. "If she is what you say she is, I will assign one of my own to her as lady-in-waiting. She is overdue for an assignment abroad anyway. But make no mistake, Magister, we will not intervene, only protect."

"You intend to send a shadowhunter into the Great Grass Sea with an undefeated Khal? Will she remain glamoured?" Dany was becoming more and more aware of how little she knew of what they were talking about.

"Unnecessary. Anyone who knows to question her runes will be silenced or at least treated as a threat to the princess. Aline is the best the Volantis Institute has."

"Aline. You would send your own daughter?"

"If this girl is what you say, then there is no one else I would trust. She must be properly watched and trained. There are rumors of remaining Circle members hidden throughout Essos. They would kill for one with her power. You were there. You know how Valentine sought to use their line to end our world. As I said, the Rebellion nearly cost us everything. It will not happen again."

Dany stepped away from the door. The woman had seemed strange when she'd been escorted quickly to Illyrio, dressed in all black leathers, despite the intense heat of Pentos, but the tattoos over her exposed skin had marked her as a kind of woman Dany had never encountered before. A shadowhunter based on what she had just heard, willing to send her own daughter into the horde of Dothraki to keep Dany safe from some threat she had never heard of. Downworlders, Idris, Clave, Valentine, Circle - these were foreign words to Daenerys. But being in danger was not unfamiliar. That was a word that had followed her from the womb.

She took the steps back to her borrowed rooms gracefully, stopping to admire the gardens beneath her. She knew this was all going to be gone soon and she would be living among a people her brother disdainfully called barbarians. She'd gladly read every book in any language Illyrio lent her on the Dothraki. She was bracing herself for a violent wedding and was grateful that she'd learned to ride a horse young. He brother's impatient steps clicked behind her, followed by the Magister's heavily padded shoes.

Dany turned holding her head as she'd been taught, regal and proud, feeling trapped between her door and the group at the foot of the stairs. Her brother joined her on the steps, facing down the Pentoshi and women accompanying him. Viserys grabbed her wrist tightly, lacing her arm over his. She smiled briefly at him, as he would have expected. The two women with Illyrio were both shadowhunters, based on what Dany had learned - the one from before and now one who could have been her sister, dressed in similar black leathers with the same rune tattoos.

Illyrio stopped a few steps below the Targaryen siblings, bowing low in that way that always pleased Viserys. "Your Grace, may I present Mistress Jia Penhallow of Volantis and her daughter Aline." He motioned toward the two women grandly as they bowed like trained soldiers.

Viserys sneered. "In Westeros, our women curtsy to show respect."

Jia's dark, narrow eyes drifted over him as if he were a curiosity. She stood upright, her pitch black hair falling straight down her back. "Forgive me, your grace. It's been quite some time since I spent any time in the company of Westerosi." She spoke the Common Tongue of Westeros flawlessly with only a slight accent.

Dany could feel her brother's rage growing at the woman's insolence and refusal to pay him absolute homage, as he believed he was due. She glanced at the younger shadowhunter. "We are honored to meet you both." She inclined her head to each of them even as her brother pinched her arm. That would leave a bruise. It took all Dany's effort not to sigh.

The Magister gestured again and Aline stepped forward. "Mistress Penhallow has offered her people's support to our cause and offers her daughter, Aline Penhallow, a warrior among their people, as guard and lady-in-waiting for the Princess Daenerys."

Jia locked eyes with Dany. "Please, consider this a gesture of good faith between my people and your own - the beginnings of a new alliance, if you will."

Viserys' eyes lit up at that. He was always plotting with Illyrio, trying to make political arrangements and alliances. But Dany had heard what they said. They weren't interested in her completely human brother, so they must have just been saying what needed to be said to get his approval of the arrangement. She felt slow at having to think through it, but glad that she was learning to play the game. Perhaps Aline could help her learn.

Her brother tugged her arm hard, nearly pulling her off-balance. They were descending the stairs. "We thank you for this show of loyalty and alliance, Mistress Penhallow. And, of course, my sister would be honored to have your daughter as her lady and guard."

Dany extended a hand to Aline who took it and bowed again in deference. "It is an honor, Your Grace."

* * *

"What do you keep staring at?" Simon turned to glance behind him. It was like he looked straight through the strange group she'd met on the library stairway earlier. You can see me, he'd said. Obviously, not everyone could, or the serving girls would be all over him with his Lannister-gold hair and mismatched eyes, like they were with the rest of the royal party.

"Nothing," she turned back to Simon and whatever story he was telling. Apparently, the little Princess Myrcella enjoyed his music and the queen had invited him to play in King's Landing. "I'm so excited for you! It's what you've always wanted, right?"

"Well," he drew out the word, "I don't really want to go without my best friend." Her face fell. She couldn't leave Winterfell - her mother, Luke - Lady Arya. "But it looks like we'll all be travelling south soon, so I don't have to worry about that!" He grinned that ridiculous grin of his.

Clary frowned. "What?"

"Seriously, Rivers, where have you been all day? Not chasing that direwolf around again, I hope. The King wants Lord Stark to be his new Hand and now we're all supposed to go south to King's Landing! I was playing for Sansa and all her ladies and the princess while they were doing their sewing or whatever it is ladies do, and it was all they could talk about. That, and the fact that Sansa is going to be betrothed to the Prince Joffrey. She's going to be queen one day. I thought she was going to fall over from sighing so hard."

Simon did a perfect impression of Lady Sansa and Clary giggled. "How miserable was my poor Lady Arya the whole time?"

"Oh it was like she couldn't get a stitch right. I thought the Septa was going to take her fingers off. She ran off partway through. Did she come find you?"

Clary shook her head. "She must have found Jon." The two looked down their table to the brooding bastard who was feeding his white wolf pup scraps.

He swayed a bit and Simon raised a brow, snapping his fingers. "Jon! You in there?"

Snow swiped his hand out of his face, quick as ever, even drunk on too much ale. "Aye. Just enjoying my time down here with you lot."

"Oh come off it, Jon," Clary snapped. "You could be stuck up there with the Lannisters." She lifted her chin toward the Queen and her brothers, heads held high. "We're much better company."

He glared at her and her musician friend. "I suppose so. A bastard, a minstrel, and my little sister's mysterious lady, who can fight with a short sword and wrangle direwolves. Quite the company indeed."

She scoffed. "Your mood leaves much to be desired, Jon Snow." Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Lord Bane still lounging, surrounded by a group a travelers ready to be regaled by his fanciful stories, not far from where they sat at the lower tables. His mock-Maester's chain hung around his neck ornately, decorative and jewels flashed from each of his fingers as his waved his hands for emphasis in his storytelling.

A drunken roar of laughter echoed from the high table. The King was full of wine and memories. This night was going to go downhill, fast. She decided she was going to ask some questions. She glanced at Simon and Jon. "Excuse me." She ignored the dumbfounded looks on both of their faces as she made her way across the Great Hall. Movement from the other side of the room followed her. So they were watching her too. She had suspected as much.

"Lord Bane, do you mind if I steal you away? I'm afraid we have some guests with urgent need of your guidance." The librarian's eyes focused on her as he halted his story of the time he tamed a fire-breathing cobra in Dorne.

His gaze flicked to the trio who were not far behind her and he smiled sweetly. "For you, Miss Clary, anything." He stood gallantly and motioned almost imperceptibly to the others to follow. They made their way back to the steps of the library tower where he rounded on them all. "Clarissa Rivers, what are you doing involving yourself with shadowhunter business? Surely, Luke and Jocelyn have both warned you about the dangers."

The tall one with dark hair stepped forward, as if to defend his group, but Lord Bane held up a hand, still glaring at Clary. She averted her gaze. "It wasn't like I was trying to get involved in anything. They showed up here. I just kept Nymeria from eating them."

He rolled his eyes dramatically, lowering his hand and acknowledging the shadowhunter, looking him over appreciatively. "Fine, pretty boy, what do you have to say? What were you doing wandering around unglamoured?"

The other two snickered. The girl, now dressed in something much less ornate, put a hand on the other man's shoulder, who seemed at a loss for words. "What my brother means to say is, we were glamoured - completely, not just our runes. She saw straight through it, her and that beast of a pup."

Lord Bane massaged his temples in exasperation. "Of course she did. I almost forgot your nameday had passed, Clary. Damn. So much for that contract."

Clary stared confusedly at the librarian and the three strangers. They seemed to have some kind of understanding that she was clearly missing. "I'm sorry, contract?"

"Yes, with your mother. But we'll discuss that after I've concluded my business with these lovely shadowhunters here. If Luke or Jocelyn find out I've allowed you to be involved in their affairs, I'll be finding myself a new position, far away from Winterfell, and, believe me, this one wasn't so easy to come by." He made a distasteful face, waving his hand like he could snatch another out of thin air, before turning on his heels and storming into his library.

The two dark haired shadowhunters followed quickly, with the golden one, Jace, close after. Clary decided she wanted to know what was happening and started toward the entrance.

Jace blocked her way faster than should have been possible. "You heard the warlock. He'll discuss his contract with your family after he's given us the information we need."

She set her jaw, the same way she did when Lady Arya was being particularly stubborn. "Glamours, runes, shadowhunters, warlock - you keep saying these words like I'm supposed to know what you're talking about, but I don't rightly care. If this discussion deals with the safety of the Stark family or my lady that I protect, I have a right to hear it."

The shadowhunter leaned back on the doorway, eyeing her with a blank expression before shrugging and entering, leaving the door open for her.

"What's she doing in here?"

"She was insistent."

"It's too late now, if we're going, we're going." Lord Bane stood in front of a swirling window of some kind, where Clary could see nothing but snow and trees on the other side. He snapped and waved his hands and they were through.

The three shadowhunters seemed completely unphased by having been transported from the safety of Winterfell to the Seven knew where. But Clary turned, trying to see the keep or a village or anything other than trees or snow for as far as she could see ahead of her. Behind them, however, was something she had only ever heard of in stories. The Wall was taller than she had even imagined. She knew the legends said that Bran the builder used magic to construct it. Based on what she was seeing, she had to believe it.

"You couldn't warn us before dragging us out beyond the Wall?" The girl shadowhunter's raven hair was flecked with snow. "All your letter said was ice demons have been sighted and wolves are getting more bold. The Clave doesn't have any record of any ice demons, up north or otherwise." Her hazel eyes glinted with fury. "If you portaled us out here to freeze our asses off just to make a point to the Clave, you are in for a rude awakening, warlock."

Clary's teeth were chattering. She was still dressed for the feast. The taller shadowhunter noticed her. "Great. Now the mundane is going to freeze to death on our watch. Mother's going to be so pleased."

Bane and the woman were still arguing, but Jace made quick strides over to her, pulling out a metal object from a holster near his thigh. It was like something her mother kept above the hearth in their home, not quite a weapon but something about it radiated a power she felt like she knew. Both she and the other shadowhunter eyed him warily as he approached her with it.

"Jace, don't."

"Trust me, Alec." He grabbed her hand and pushed the sleeve of her dress up gently to press the cool metal to the inside of her forearm. Suddenly there was a searing pain before warmth flooded through her, obscuring any cold from the snow. Her eyes widened as they met his - one blue, one golden brown. He smirked at her, raising his brows in a quick motion, dropping her hand, and flipping the object down into its holster again faster than she could follow.

She stood in obvious shock with words feeling caught in her throat. The tall shadowhunter - Alec, grabbed her wrist and examined it. "How the fuck did you know? You could have killed her!"

His raised voice grabbed the attention of the others. Lord Bane hovered over the shadowhunter's shoulder, strangely close while staring down at Clary. His sister moved to stare at her wrist and then up at her face. "Look at her, big brother, she's in shock. She has no idea what's happening." She tugged Clary's wrist out of her brother's grip and pulled her to her side. "I'm Isabelle. The boys call me Izzy. The grumpy one is Alec and the one who almost just killed you," she shot a pointed glare over her shoulder, "is Jace. It looks like you're one of us. So the question is, Jace, how did you know?"

He shrugged with his arms crossed as the rest turned on him. "I saw her carrying a runed blade earlier. Between that and her ability to see through our glamour, it was a safe bet."

Lord Bane pushed past Alec and grabbed Clary away from Izzy. "Oh, a safe bet? What if she had been a mundane with the Sight? Then, not only would we be beyond the Wall with nothing but the three of you and my magic, but we would also be potentially facing a wight. Something I'm not too keen on right now." He put an arm protectively over her shoulder as he marched her past Jace. "So why don't you save your gambles for the jousts, hmm?" He kept moving through to snow into the treeline. "Come on, pretty boy. Try to keep your siblings in line on our way, will you? Can't have them killing FreeFolk by runing them or something."

Clary heard Izzy laugh and she turned to see Jace and Alec exchange confused looks. Jace raised his hands in surrender, motioning for the others to go ahead of him. The others caught up quickly, giving Clary and Bane a respectable berth.

Alec glanced sideways at them a few times. "Lord Bane, your letter said mundanes. You neglected to mention they were wildlings reporting these things."

"Oh please, you and I both know I'm no lord of anything. It keeps the mundanes from asking too many questions. It's Magnus, please."

Clary was caught under Magnus' arm, between him and the shadowhunter and was forced to look up from one to the other as they spoke. She could see his face and he almost seemed unable to rephrase his question for a moment. She felt the need to blush for him. Bane was always so forward.

"Alright then, Magnus. You neglected to inform the Clave that it was wildlings that were reporting these supposed ice demons and wolves."

Magnus practically glowed with mischief. "If I had told dear Maryse who was making the reports, would she have sent you?" He glared at the siblings. "No. I would have been left to deal with the growing threat with the sparse downworld resources we have in the north. They sent raiders over the wall to reach me, not to pillage or plunder, just to get word to us southerners that the White Walkers are coming. The stories these wildlings could tell-" he broke off. Clary felt him shiver.

Isabelle was holding her skirts as they stepped over branches. "So your saying there're White Walkers out here, ice demons frightening enough to send the wildlings over the wall to you."

Jace piped up from behind them. "I think he's saying he wants us to hear it from them. But what about the wolves?"

"You didn't mean the direwolves? They're only pups! And Luke is helping the Stark children train them." Clary pulled ahead of the rest of the group, turning to face them, though none would meet her glare.

Alec crossed his arms at the delay. "No, not those beasts the Starks call pets. What do the FreeFolk call them? Skin-changers?"

Magnus watched him curiously, but nodded. "Indeed. You see, the FreeFolk are not as closed minded as those south of the Wall. Downworlders often move about openly among them, but an entire pack making an alliance with mundanes... This is unheard of."

Isabelle scoffed, resuming her pace through the trees, deciding they had answered enough of Clary's questions. "This is insanity. You've dragged us up here for superstitious wildling nonsense."

Her brothers followed, but Magnus gave Clary an affronted grimace. "I'm so glad Maryse sent her children. So charming."

She snickered and turned to follow after the trio of shadowhunters, the warlock matching her stride. She nearly ran directly into Jace - again. They'd stopped at the edge of the treeline. Spread out beneath them was a valley full of campfires, warding off the northern cold.

"You didn't say we were walking into a military encampment." Alec shot a glare over his shoulder.

Magnus shrugged. "It's not. It's an evacuation."

* * *

Jon made his way out into the snow, closely followed by Ghost, escaping the noise from the Hall that was echoing in his drunk skull and the humiliation that had been his encounter with his uncle Benjen. He replayed the tripping and falling over his own drunken feet on the way out and groaned again.

"That fun in there, Jon?" he turned to face Lucian Garroway, captain of Winterfell's guard.

He winced. "Oh yeah, a right proper feast, complete with drunken humiliation."

Luke nodded, crouching down and holding out his hand to Ghost. All the other Stark children had allowed his help with training their direwolves, but Jon wanted to train Ghost all on his own. "I take it you and Ghost here weren't up at table with your siblings, then." He made a pleased sound as Ghost shifted closer and allowed him to stroke his snout, not needing Jon's reply.

Jon watched curiously. Ghost seemed to almost like the soldier. "No we sat with Clary and Simon."

He glanced up at the mention of his daughter's name. "Have you seen Clary? I would ask Simon but he had been called upon to play by our very intoxicated King."

They both laughed. "Aye. She went with Lord Bane to discuss something. Interrupted his favorite story about the Dornish snake too."

Lucian stood suddenly. "Was she with anyone?"

Another voice answered from above them. "If you're speaking of the lovely red-head, I believe she was with a trio of our travelling party. Don't ask me their names, though. I couldn't tell you. Light-something, I think. It was a bit of an ordeal when their mother requested they join our group."

Lucian muttered a curse. "You'll have to excuse me. I believe I'm going to have business to attend to." He inclined his head. "M'lord."

Jon watched him stalk away toward the homes built along the walls, likely to tell Clary's mother of what he'd just learned.

"So this is one of the infamous direwolves I've heard so much about. And you must be Ned Stark's bastard." Lord Tyrion Lannister sauntered over to Jon and Ghost awkwardly in the snow. Jon grimaced at his use of the word. "Did I offend you? Sorry, dwarfs don't have to be tactful. You are the bastard, though."

Jon felt himself sober a bit. "Lord Eddard Stark is my father," he admitted stiffly.

Tyrion eyed him as if he were a particular curiosity. "Allow me to give you some counsel, Jon Snow. Never forget what you are - the rest of the world surely won't. Make it your strength," he tilted his head slightly as if remembering something, "and then it can never be your weakness."

The ringing in Jon's head was really and truly gone now. He glared at the Lord standing in front of him and his wolf. "And what would a Lord of Lannister know of being a bastard?"

The dwarf smirked. "All dwarfs are bastards in their father's eyes."

Jon felt his head go fuzzy again and Tyrion turned to go back into the feast. It was then he realized Clary had gone up the steps alone with Bane. Who had Lord Tyrion been talking about?

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fictionalbiographer · 4 years ago

Text

The Inappropriate End to the Story of Jasmine Stratton

At 12 years old Jasmine asked the reason behind why her parents picked to name her after the flower. They answered that it was because the flower meant ‘a gift from God’, her mother liked it, and the fragrance was versatile with the hope that one day she would grow up to be a useful person in society.

She found it funny when her parents told her the reasons that she burst with laughter, her parents all confused in turn asked why.

“You might as well named me Vanilla,” she laughed.

“Well, that’s not nice. We prayed and put a lot of consideration into choosing your name.” Her mother took off her reading glasses to have a better look at her.

“Also vanilla is black and bitter.” Her dad pointed out.

“First of all, it is technically a gift from God, along with everything else. Second, it’s not bitter ‘cause Mom likes to bake with it, she likes it alright. Lastly, the fragrance is ‘versatile’; vanilla muffin, vanilla ice cream, vanilla latte, vanilla perfume, I can go on if you need more proof.” One by one she counted on her fingers, proving her point.

“John.” Her mother looked at Dad as if saying ‘Please deal with your daughter.’

He looked up from his book and turned to Jasmine saying, “You’re in trouble young lady, please go to your room right now.”

Before she went out the door, she turned her head around and said, “You know, I really wouldn’t have minded if I was named Vanilla.”

“I don’t think you’d say that if you were.” Her mom sighed, massaging her temple.

She saw the slight upturn on the corners of her dad’s mouth before she walked out.

Jasmine didn’t like jasmine.

Moreover being associated with this delicate thing. So, she didn’t. When people ask her name she would tell them her family name. She modeled her life after villains in comic books; tormented lonely genius. She had virtually no friends because she thought they couldn’t understand her, all they do were being boy-crazy, making stupidity a quirky quality, and gossip. They were not productive at all.

On the other hand, she read books religiously, considering both her parents were professors, it’s basically a family activity. She was a little pessimistic about the future which made her realistic, and she had only one friend in other word; a side kick.

Villain? Check, check, check.

A specific sequence of knocks could be heard on her door.

“This is John of Stratton who has come a long long way from the drawing room in the north. I bring news of peace, may I be permitted to be in thy presence?”

“Yes, you may Sire John of Stratton. It must have been a long journey. Please take a seat.” She opened her door, her father did a little head bow and so did she, then they each sat on bean bags near the bookshelves corner of her bedroom.

They sat in comfortable silence.

“What are you reading now kiddo?”

“A Little Life. It’s good, there is a tormented soul in there whom I so can relate.”

“Oh, dark as usual.”

“Well, that’s my brand.” She shrugged.

“I see, I might take that up one day after you’re done.”

“I don’t recommend it for you Dad. It’s like hardcore, and you have a tender soul, it’ll scar you for life.”

“Vanilla. You’re dramatic.” Dad reached out to ruffle her hair gently, that nickname had become their inside joke, she smiled. “Your mother is going to stay in Boston this weekend for that conference she’s so excited about these past 3 months.”

“Oh trust me I know. Mom became like a maniac when she’s in the ’zone’.” They shared laughs on that. Mom really can’t be bothered when she is being serious on her work, she debates with herself, suddenly running to write, and books can be found lying open everywhere. It’s a whole thing.

“That means that we are going to spend this weekend together unless you already have plans with your friends?”

“Dad, what are you talking about? You’re my friend.”

“You melt my heart. What do you want?” John put his hand over his left chest and she laughed, talking to her Dad was one of her favorite thing to do. He didn’t patronize her, and his listening made her feel understood.

“I want to go to Frank’s Bar & Grill.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, there’s this open mic thing that a theatrical community hold there this Saturday night for their 5th year anniversary. I want to sign up.”

“I see.” He calculated in his mind, he wanted to make sure she had someone to go to and be open with because all tight restrictions do is make great liars. People are going to do what they want to do anyway. It’d be better that she goes with supervision he thought, rather than not.

“Alright, little vanilla. We have to make this a secret mission if we both still want to live in this house.”

“I won’t tell if you don’t.” she put her fingers up in a ‘V’ form, looking away.

“Roger that, also no alcohol you’re still 15. Over.” Dad talked to his fist near his mouth as if talking with a walkie-talkie.

“Copy that. Over.” She followed suit. John checked his watch.

“For dinner tonight, I can cook us some baked chicken.”

“Oh no Dad, no offense but we shouldn't burn the house before Mom gets home. Let’s just get pizza.”

When they arrived the place was already packed with people, the seats were almost all filled up. Jasmine had signing up as the first order of business so that’s what she did. She said happy anniversary to the founder who stood near the end of the bar, filled up some form, exchanged numbers, the works. She joined her father, he handed her a wine glass filled with red liquor.

“You said that I can’t drink alcohol and yet you’re giving me red wine.” She tried to smell it the way she saw someone in a movie had done but she didn’t know what to look for so she brought the glass to her lips.

“Is the red wine good?” John asked calmly.

“It’s tart and sour. Is this what red wine taste like?” Clicking her tongue in an attempt to decipher the taste. “No, that’s what cranberry juice taste like. Do you like it?” He swirled his own glass, smiling at her.

“Can’t believe I’m fooled,” She made a shocked expression. “But, I’ve never had it in a wine glass before so it’s pretty cool.”

“Good. I am having the same drink because no drunk driving. Do you want to play wine connoisseurs?”

“And snobbishly make ridiculous comments on whatever is on stage? You don’t even have to ask Dad.” She hopped on the barstool. They had a great time drinking fake wine and critiquing really silly stuff.

But her Dad of course couldn’t always be with her all the time, he’s still a professor after all. The theory she had learned when she was in 4th grade: ‘human being is a social being’ punched her in the gut. As her parents became busier, she too busied herself with school to cover up that feeling of loneliness which ate away at her soul. However when she reached 18, running away from it was no longer sustainable, it had caught up to her.

Her body gave opposite signals simultaneously; high level of Ghrelin in her body makes her feel hungry and yet she would want to throw up at the sight of food as if she had food poisoning.

She felt sad for no reason.

Often she cried when she got home from school, on the floor in the bathroom trying to shower, or when she couldn’t sleep for days in a row. The pinnacle of it all is that she didn’t feel pleasure in doing what she loved to do anymore. She couldn’t feel anything anymore. None. Nada. She’s exhausted.

It would be nice to sleep and not wake up she thought.

“Jasmine.” Her mother one day woke her up after a sleepless night. “We’re going to either a doctor or a therapist, you choose. But, we’re going now.”

“I can’t, there are final tests for economics and English today.”

“You can’t keep going on like this.”

“The alternative would be me being dropped out as a senior. What do you think of that?”

“No, the alternative would be worse than that,” Her mother said grimly, Jasmine closed her eyes as her mother continued. “Also it’s not about me. Your hair is falling out in clumps, you feel nauseous often — you can barely sit to eat dinner, let alone stomach a healthy portion — that your weight drops really fast and I notice those blackened bags under your eyes.”

There was a beat of silence, then Jasmine looked into her mother’s almost neutral face and replied “I don’t know this person. Since when do you care Mother?” There was a slight change in her mother’s expression to hurt when she said that, it went as fast as it came but she did catch that. She expected it, she wanted it. It’s cruel she knew, but her mother had mastered the skill of being unaffected that she wanted to extract any reaction from her. She felt a little satisfaction from seeing that.

“I can’t help you if you don’t want to be helped.” Her mother got up from her bed and slowly closed the door.

She sighed. Sure, why not try this. If it didn’t work, she could just jump off a cliff right?

Jasmine is now 25 years old. She still goes to therapy once a week and take anti-depressants, to help balance back those empty feelings that made her world gray to at least decent. She doesn’t live with her parents anymore, she lives in a little apartment in New York, ride those subways with rats moving here and there. Her breakfast consists of bagel and a cup of coffee, her lunch the $1 pizza from the sidewalk pizza parlor. It all started because somehow she finished high school, higher education, and got accepted to work at New York Magazine.

Her relationship with her Mother got better, they meet for dinner once every 3 months although her parents are not together anymore, Dad had retired and chose to move to Netherlands because he wanted to become a painter. And while her mother supports him she didn’t want to move to Rotterdam and so they parted. They remain in good relationship which is all that matters for Jasmine.

If you asked her now as she sits on one of the benches in Central Park on a calm Sunday morning while she waits for her friend, a fellow journalist at NYM.

“How are you still alive?”

She would probably be stunned for a second, and then took another couple seconds to think before saying, “I don’t know.” lightheartedly, then maybe she would add, “My feelings get better, my relationships with other people and my mom got better, my parents split and after all of that somehow I came out okay. I mean I didn’t get my childhood dream to become a great genius villain, but I get to be a journalist at New York Magazine and I think it’s not too shabby.”

She’d pause to ponder a bit more and then she’d shake her head.

“Even though now I live in New York and it’s always noisy, I don’t know. I don’t know how it all happened but I’m okay.” That’s when the friend comes in the picture and she would say that it was nice to meet you, wished you a good day, and walked away.

#2 #fiction #short story

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