#northern rock sole

[atopvisenyashill]

there’s a few potential sansa romantic endgames that i think have some textual basis and i think all of them come with a lot of issues wrt sansa being able to publically claim these relationships which is why i think sansa will say her children are “fathered by a wolf” because regardless of Who she’s with or even the legality of it, she’s going to be actively concealing their identity AND YET she needs to have children.

i think especially that even though arya’s love life is guaranteed to be less complicated, sansa will feel obligated to take this “burden” of ensuring their line onto herself; she wants arya to have the freedom to go where she pleases, be with who she pleases, and follow her passions and that is not easy to do if everyone is expecting you to come home and start popping out kids. I consider them a sort of reflection of ned and lyanna in this way in that sansa, second born and not meant to rule, uses her newfound power to let the wild, youngest girl (but not youngest child) in the family follow her passions wherever they may take her.

this is all kind of weird with the nixed time jump but considering that george has talked about writing stories from arya’s pov about her adventures, I think it’s going to be fairly important in story regardless of their ages that arya will attempt to offer to stay home and marry and have children as a way of helping to protect sansa’s very shaky claim on winterfell but that sansa encourages arya to do whatever she wants. to travel, to help shepherd the boatloads of refugees from the various wars to wherever they want to call home, to settle displaced northerners in other parts of westeros as well, to get involved in the lives of the people arya is helping and agree to help them liberate their own homes by using her skills (crucial here that arya is A leader but not the SOLE leader), or to go out into the woods and be a secret not-quite-an-outlaw (bc sansa isn’t outlawing anything that could hurt arya’s lil crusades, probably is helping bankroll arya) to bring justice to the smallfolk, like whatever it is arya wants to do with her life, the point is that she offers to give it up and sansa refuses to take the offer.

and then we have the idea that her kids are fathered by a wolf. not elizabeth-ing herself here exactly because she’s having children but never publicly acknowledging a father or a husband or even a lover.

i think the candidates most likely are jon snow and theon, with both brienne and podrick as like “i’m not saying he’s gonna do it but i am saying they make a lot of sense narratively” and aegon vi as a huge long shot but still undeniable contender. if briensa does go canon everyone owes me five bucks each tho. i think the options other people float are not just wildly unserious they also clearly don’t think sansa will be The Ruling Lady Of Winterfell, but some much more minor or less emotionally resonant title and i just do not vibe with that shit at all. harry the heir, sandor, sweetrobin, tyrion, littlefucker, like never mind sansa never once showing any real interest in these guys and NONE of these dudes being satisfied by the idea of being her secret husband, if sansa says to arya “yeah i’m marrying tyrion” arya is going “blink twice if you’re being held hostage and you need me to kill him” but it’s too late because jon snow is already unsheathing longclaw and bran is attacking with every raven in winterfell. it’s not fucking happening and imo it’s unserious to pretend like it could happen in canon. (and if it DOES happen in canon you will find me rocking up to george’s house in jersey and demanding to know why he’s so weird about teenage girls). i think margaery is a huge long shot here (and not just bc it would make them both canonically on screen gay) because i don’t think she’s gonna live to the ending, and jeyne poole is too traumatized at this point in time for me to feel confident in putting her in the same category as brienne and pod.

(theon’s trauma is WHY i think he’s still a contender - post reek theon is going to struggle a lot with figuring out where he’s supposed to be, who he’s supposed to be, and who he can trust as he puts himself back together, and that lends itself nicely to the idea of a secret husband/lover imo. once again, we are talking extreme trauma bonding here - that’s just the only way i see sansa’s romances going).

if you’re asking “who do you think arya is winding up with” it’s gendry. i don’t doubt that there were some plans for edric dayne, arya, and gendry but i think gendry was always going to be her great love here, that she’s always going to turn down the idea of marriage to him but gendry doesn’t care so long as they are still together. there’s a neon blinking sign over gendry’s head that says “endgame material” and i think it’s unserious to pretend it’s not there too!!

[onlyswan]

summary: in which jungkook is a breath of fresh air and bam loves you.

> fluff / wc: 3.2k

> warnings: jungkook gets his knees scraped and bruised T_T

note: hello :] these are actual events from my dream two nights ago (for the most part) so here you go 😭 feedback is always appreciated ^_^

—

they used to constantly ask you this question in every class: what is your biggest dream or desire in life?

and you still recall many of the answers you’ve heard: to travel the world. to see the northern lights. to climb mount everest. to own a mansion. to build the biggest mall in the country. to build a big happy family. to become an engineer. to become famous. to meet [insert a role model slash life-long inspiration]. to make my family proud. to invent the most accessible flying car the human population has been expecting since the ‘90’s. to marry my soulmate. to discover new species of animals so my name could be in the educational books forever.

everybody in the room has been planning their future around their ultimate dreams. everybody in the room knows what they want and what they must do to achieve them. they are following a process. ticking off the boxes on their list. tracing the footsteps on the map they designed.

everybody.

what is your biggest dream?

to breathe. it sounds tragically ridiculous to think about, much more to say out loud. why would you dream about something so . . . bare minimum? but swear to god, it’s the only thought that forms in your brain when the question is asked. to breathe.

your entire life, you’ve been holding your breath. the black smoke blowing on your face during the morning commute. at school where you’re surrounded by the most lively and lifeless people you’ve ever met. it’s draining and suffocating.

at work. your manager yelling right on your face. you hold your breath in and squeeze your eyes shut. the ride back home. the same black smoke. the fear and exhaustion radiating from the person next to you. a text from an unknown number reflected on their phone screen. pay your debts or i will expose you on social media and file a case.

they sniffle. and you hold in your breath. it’s none of your business. you shouldn’t care. you have your own problems to deal with. you hold in your breath to numb it all down.

“my sweet baby, you work so hard.” jungkook says to you lovingly, tightly embracing you close to his body. he gently rocks you back and forth, soothing the wooziness clouding your head.

with your face nuzzling against his chest, you breathe him in. the fresh smell of laundry. light and floral. it reminds you of youth. ah, and the natural scent of jungkook. milk. honey. faint tangerine from his afternoon snack. your home.

your paradise is jungkook’s embrace. in your head, there are no walls boxing you in. in your head, there is only a field of flowers that has no end in sight. the grass tickles you as the wind softly sweeps over the earth. as if it blows for the sole purpose of caressing your cheeks because the sensation lingers. but you want more. and so you let it carry you off the ground and you walk on the air, skipping through transparent stepping stones.

his lips ghost over your forehead, uttering the words you never thought you needed to hear. “do you want to get away for a little while? with me?”

you pop one eye open, and then the other. bam makes an entrance to the living room, holding a toy between his teeth. being tall enough to do so, he drops the blue dumbbell rubber toy (jungkook obviously chose the design, thought it’d be funny. became bam’s favorite overtime) on your lap. you blink at him, and he blinks back, smiling at you with his tongue hanging out of his mouth.

you look up at your boyfriend with sparkling, pleading eyes.

“and bam? please?”

—

and that’s how you ended up here, five days later. laying on the couch watching sugar rush on netflix. it’s currently 3pm and you finished your first meal of the day not even an hour ago. which is understandable, given that you fell asleep at five in the morning. just like yesterday. and the day before that. you’ve established a new routine since you arrived in the rest house with jungkook and bam three days ago.

wait, house? more like mansion. with a swimming pool. and a basketball slash volleyball court. oh, and how can you forget the gym a few feet away from the kitchen when your boyfriend has been spending a lot of his time in there?

when jungkook said i know a place, you imagined a small cabin. or a resort by the beach. not a beautiful mansion in the middle of nowhere.

not that you’re complaining, though. you’ve been having the time of your life doing absolutely nothing productive.

it was only yesterday afternoon when . . .

jungkook gasped as soon as he entered the house.

“hi.”

“i thought you passed out!”

you turned to your side. with hooded eyes, you looked at him standing infront the glass doors. “i love it here. the floor feels so comfortable.” a sigh of pure delight escaped you. the first one in months. “it’s cold. and clean. and cold.”

his eyes darted to the air conditioner directly blowing on the spot of the floor you’re currently laying on. he approached you with a brief shake of his head, chuckling lightheartedly. “baby, come here. get up. you’ll get sick.”

“that’s just a myth- noooo-” you whined when your body got lifted off the floor, engulfed by the body warmth of your boyfriend who immediately picked you up instead of persuading you further.

“there’s a perfectly comfortable living room, baby. you can lay here, too.” he carefully laid you down the couch, your head perfectly placed over the soft square pillow. your hair formed a halo over your head, and the sight made his heart swell in his chest. he bent down to pull you in for a sweet kiss.

“i was perfectly happy being a starfish instead of a couch potato, you know?” you muttered against his lips.

he bumped his nose against yours with a smile playing on his lips. “how about being a starfish in the pool instead of the floor?”

you pushed his chest lightly with a scoff. “you know i can’t swim.”

“love, it’s only five feet deep.” he laughed, already picking you up to carry you in his arms again.

you grunted, evidently displeased. you were actually getting comfortable on the expensive couch. “are you really just going to keep carrying me to wherever you want to go?”

“ey, come on. bam is waiting for us outside.” upon the mention of his name, you tried to look for him through the big windows as jungkook walked. your eyes caught him laying by the big umbrella beside the pool.

and that’s where bam is again today. except instead of laying down, he’s zooming around the pool and the front yard chasing your boyfriend who made it his daily mission to burn calories while making his beloved dog happy at the same time.

you love playing with bam, too. you’re the lazy parent, though. you sit on the grass and throw a toy as far away as you can, and you wait for him to give it back to you. you make him guess which hand is hiding his special little treat, the left or the right one. on the days when you have more time to spare, you play hide and seek. uh yes, you’re the one hiding.

to be fair, you still exert some energy. as a matter of fact, you also find tug-of-war pretty fun. however, as he’s growing older, you’re scared that you won’t be able to stand a chance against him anymore.

you take a glance at jungkook and bam through the windows every now and then, especially when you hear laughter or barking. you start wondering if this is what peace truly means. usually, when something good happens, you get so overwhelmed with emotions. your heart aches and doubles, triples in weight until you feel it in your stomach. you confuse happiness and sadness, until it strings along guilt because for the love of god, why can’t you just take the fucking win?

but today, your heart feels light as a feather, your body light as air. this is exactly what you needed - to disconnect from reality. to spend special time with your favorite person. and favorite dog. to hear the chirping of the birds and the rustling of the leaves. to inhale fresh oxygen from the trees instead of black smoke from vehicles. to feel that you belong someplace in nature’s design.

but most importantly, to clear your head from the anxieties brought about being a member of the society. at this moment, the only floating thought in your brain is: how the fuck did they do that? referring to the fashion-inspired cakes made by the contestants in the baking show called sugar rush. the first cake shown is a detailed couture dress with intricate beading and carved patterns. on the other side of the kitchen is a gown with beautiful floral designs and bright pastel colors for the marbling of the fondant.

look, you were getting bored of crime documentaries yesterday. you clicked on sugar rush for shit and giggles because of the stark contrast of brutal murder cases with colorful desserts. but you’ve become far too fascinated with the art and science of baking to not finish all four seasons, including the separate christmas edition one.

“LOOOOVE!” jungkook’s whiny voice echoes through the house as soon as he arrives in the living room, bam following him idly with his tail wagging.

“whaaat?” you mimic his tone, eyes still focused on the television.

adamant on getting your attention, he rolls up his pajamas up to his thighs to block your vision with his knees. “i tripped by the pool. i’m bruised and bleeding.” his lips form a pout even while talking, eyebrows furrowed due to annoyance. hurting himself wasn’t exactly in the agenda today.

you immediately sit up on the couch and pause the show, and he waddles closer so you can inspect his injuries. his right knee is bleeding, and a big bruise is forming just a few inches below it. you’d say his left knee is fine, except it looks like the bruise will be worse than the one on the right.

given that your boyfriend is a dancer, seeing his knees with bruises isn’t new. but these bruises didn’t exactly come from dancing, did they?

“baby, wash it with mild soap under running water first while i get the first aid kit.” you tap his hip affectionately, urging him to hurry to avoid infection. his doe eyes watches every movement of your lips before he nods his head obediently.

he leaves for the bathroom while you head to your shared bedroom. bam becomes torn about who to tag along with, but eventually, he catches up to you.

he purposely brushes his fur against your legs to ask for attention. “hi, bamie. did you have fun today?” you scratch his head while your other hand is busy rummaging through your duffel bag.

he leans into your touch, moving closer to rest his cheek on your thigh. “did you get scared when daddy tripped? it must’ve scared you.”

he tilts his head, as if he’s trying his best to understand your words so he can formulate a response. “the both of you, i don’t think you understand your strength. you still lay on our lap like when you were a little baby but you’re almost as tall as me now. ah, and if i try to carry you, i’ll break my spine. i miss carrying you.”

he licks your thigh happily, his own little way of showing affection. for some reason, he really enjoys it when you talk to him.

“thank fuck.” you mutter under your breath when you finally fish out the first aid kit from the depths of your bag.

you continue talking as you and bam walk back to the living room. “and your dad . . . he got scared of himself yesterday when he jumped so hard on the trampoline he almost got thrown out. hah, i know you saw that too.”

you cover your mouth with your hand to stifle your laughter when he barks as a reply. bam is always on your side.

however, your laughter transitions into a betrayed gasp. “how can you watch my show without me?!”

“oops.” jungkook smiles playfully, comfortably laying on the space you previously occupied. and watching the show you were previously watching.

when did it move on to episode 8 if you weren’t even done with episode 7 yet?

“move.” you mumble, lightly bumping your knees against his calves. he folds his legs to allow you some room to sit, then he extends them again over your lap.

“blaque and patty’s dress cake won in the last ep.” he puts you up to speed as compensation. “the first round just started. they need to make coffee flavored cupcakes. i think.”

you hoist his knees closer to your face. “coffee? i don’t really like that flavor.”

upon seeing what you are meant to tend to, you swiftly grab a gauze pad from the small box. with a sigh, you press it firmly on his right knee in an effort to stop the bleeding. “baby, you really scraped it. it won’t stop bleeding.”

he winces, sucking air in between teeth. “fuck, it stings. i haven’t scraped myself in years.”

you frown, not used to seeing him like this. the mere sight of him experiencing minor inconveniences affects you as well most of the time, which is funny because you know every human experiences them. ah, you know it all too well. but it simply feels unjust when it comes to your lover.

you lean down to lightly kiss jungkook on top of the fresh bruises forming on his skin. “i love you. just watch the show.”

your affectionate gesture tug at his heartstrings. if this was an anime, he would have pink fluttering hearts for irises.

he reaches out to tuck the hair covering your face behind your ear. “i love you. i promise i’ll be more careful tomorrow so you won’t have to clean more wounds.”

you roll your eyes, setting aside the used gauze pad on the table. of course he’s still going to run around for the rest of the week. you silently pray that he forgets about the volleyball game you promised him yesterday.

bam perks up from his spot on the floor when he senses your movement, and he jumps on the opportunity (literally) to squeeze himself on the couch. he ends up resting his head on jungkook’s shin as he attentively watches you use a second gauze pad to stop the bleeding.

“atleast only play on the grass so it’s a soft landing.”

your advice makes him laugh out loud. “okay. only on the grass from now on. i’ll be good.”

minutes later, your boyfriend has already invested himself in the silly little baking show you discovered yesterday. he’s most probably making mental notes as he watches the professional bakers work in the kitchen. he does search for recipes in the internet when he cooks, but he mostly just wings the measurements and experiments with adding more spices or ingredients.

“ah, measurements are really important in baking. so many things can go wrong if you don’t follow them.” he says his thoughts out loud, mouth slightly agape in realization.

“i learned that yesterday too.” you giggle. you remove the gauze pad to check if his knee is still bleeding, and you sigh in relief when you see that it has finally stopped.

you and bam make eye contact as you take out the antibiotic ointment from the box. you give him a half smile, and he wags his tail enthusiastically in response.

you carefully spread the ointment on jungkook’s wounded knee using two fingers, briefly looking at his face incase you’re hurting him.

yeah, no. his mind has flown very far away from his hurt knees. he’s far too mesmerized by the magic of the cake land right now.

there’s that spaced out look on his face again. so adorable that you feel so endeared and you want to pinch his cheeks. look, you know he’s almost six feet and super strong. but he has the perfect combination of sharp and soft facial features that just throws you off. there’s his defined jawline contrasted by the supple skin of his rosy cheeks; his perfect eyebrows contrasted by his sparkling bambi eyes. he is so pretty and flawless in your point of view. so much so, there are days you think he can never do anything wrong and then there’s also the days you find him intimidating.

on this day, however, as you tape a gauze pad over his scraped knee, there is only the devotion you have for no other soul in the world but his.

“all done. i’ll just change the gauze again later before we sleep.”

he observes the neatly done treatment of his wound, tilting his head. “hmm, thanks, baby.” he hums appreciatively. “it feels a lot better now.”

“be more careful next time, okay?” you glare at his black slides on the floor. “and stop running wearing those!”

“okay, okay. i promise. when did i ever not listen to you?” he grins, very much used to your ardent scolding. he sits up to gently pull your face close, planting a wet kiss on your lips.

his grin remains when he breaks away, his eyes falling to bam who is quietly giving the both of you a tranquil gaze.

“bam, good boy.” jungkook strokes the dog’s head tenderly, which makes his eyes close in satisfaction.

“you know, bam looks at you as if you hung the moon and the stars in the sky. he loves you.”

bam has occupied a special place in your heart since day one, and you can’t imagine a home without him in it anymore. god, you never knew how much you needed to hear those words until today. you feel the warmth of joy spread to your lips and even to your fingertips.

the next words to escape from jungkook’s lips come to steal the breath from your lungs.

“let’s get married someday.”

he looks down and plays with your fingers, pulling himself together after blurting out the thought that’s been spiraling in his head for months.

“me, and you, and bam. we’re a family now, right?” he gains the courage to meet your eyes, a hopeful look painted on his face.

you nod your head in agreement, swallowing thickly to prevent yourself from bursting into ugly tears.

your voice comes out soft and quiet. “yes, we are. so let’s get married someday.”

he bites his lower lip to contain his happy smile, spitting out another idea he’s been dying to ask you. “so do you think it’s a good idea to add a cat to the family?”

you both look at the big dog comfortably curled up against the corner of the couch, fast asleep after spending most of the day outdoors. “bam is nice, but i also think he is capable of either accidentally laying on the cat or purposely pushing it off the couch.”

his smile drops, replaced by a big pout. “so is that a no?”

you look at him blankly. “yeah, no.”

“huh? yes or no?”

—

taglist! @lolalee24 @alanniys @jjkeverlast @queenofdragonsandcats @i9hyuck @yvesismywife @enhypenslay @cramseys @witchfqllen @virgogentlejk @yoonqki @jeonwiixard @monilyv @bermudaisy @youreyestells-winter

[myfandomprompts]

𝐀𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 | 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐖𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐀𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐌𝐞 - 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟗

Summary: Your House is finally ready to negotiate. Aemond have to make it work if he is to finally have what he desires the most: You.

Warning: Smut, angst Masterlist (Part 18 - Part 20)

You smelled really nice, and Aemond would never be tired of how good you felt against him.

Even though he could not see your face he knew that you were still asleep, your slow breathing making your chest raise up and down against his hand resting on your belly. You were warm, and as he pulled himself out of slumber he could not help but kiss your bare neck softly, tracing his mouth from under your ear to your shoulders.

It did not wake you right away but you shifted a little at the touch, feeling Aemond’s hair tickling your skin. Your eyes blinked as you opened them and you reached for his hand on your stomach, humming in contentment. You felt him smile against you as he kept on kissing you, his breath caressing your skin.

“Good morning,” you said in a sleepy voice.

He only hummed in response, apparently too busy to give you an answer. You tried to turn around in order to enjoy it your way too, but your movement caused you to collide with his manhood and how hard it was, making you halt.

“Aemond-” you warned, unsure of what to do.

He only stopped to bury his nose into the crook on your neck, one of his hands resting on your waist. “What? Do not tell me you never felt it before,” he taunted as he continued to kiss the bruises he had given you yesterday.

To be fair, it wasn’t surprising. He often woke up like this, it was only natural. After pleasuring you right before sleep the night before, his state was to be expected. Now it was simply a matter of if he would do something about it.

Your cheeks turned hot, his mouth and tongue on you not helping the rest of your body to remain still, but you turned your head to meet his mouth nonetheless, enjoying how hungry his lips felt on yours.

“Let me take you,” he breathed. “Right now.”

You agreed, nodding as his hand descended between your thighs to find it already ready for him, his work from last night helpful. He inhaled sharply as you felt him press against your entrance, and as he took you fully, you both moaned loudly.

It was slow, deliciously good and even sweet, as he was holding one of your thighs with his arm as the other roamed against your chest. Aemond could not keep his mouth away from you for a second as he thrust into you, rendering you breathless. You lost track of time until both your bodies went limp, panting and enjoying the sensation you gave each other.

You thought that this sort of morning activity could easily become your favourite thing.

Aemond would fill you in on the situation of the civil war often, mostly because he would be so angry about how it was going that he needed to say it out loud.

The Blacks were slowly gaining more support as the days passed, their armies were marching against the Green’s allies, the latter losing Duskendale days ago, the Bay slowly becoming blacker. The Hightowers armies, one of the most numerous the Green possessed, were regularly attacked in the strongholds from the Reach to the Crownlands and most of the time eradicated, preventing them from aiding King’s Landing if ever it was attacked. Aemond thought it a miracle that Lord Ormund and Lord Redwyne had managed to travel to the city alongside part of their men without being ambushed, but at least separating their armies had had an advantage on protecting the Crown.

In the West, the Greyjoys were sacking the coast and taking castles, claiming them as their own. Tyland Lannister’s twin, the Lord of Casterly Rock, was struggling to maintain order and could not focus entirely on the struggle for the Riverlands, rendering the Brackens as sole opponent against the marching northern armies.

What unnerved him the most was the fact that only two of their dragons were used in battle, Helaena being not fit to fight and Daeron riding Tessarion only when Vhagar could for safety. Although you knew Aemond cared for his little brother, keeping him close even if they had not been raised together. Daeron had been sent away to Oldtown when you were both children and you had good memories of him.

Aemond even joked once about finding you a dragon to ride, saying that your wit and courage would outsmart everyone on the battlefield as no one would expect you. But as he had said that something dark flashed in his eye and he had stopped talking at once, his mood shifting into a sour one that lasted for the rest of the day. He never talked about you flying into battle again.

One day he had gone before the sun was up, flying off with Vhagar along with his brother. Apparently, Cole had suffered an attack in his defence of Tumbleton, and thanks to the closeness of the place words had reached King’s Landing fast enough for Aemond to act. He could not let the enemy draw so close to the capital when the bay was barely holding.

It was the same day that you finally received what you had wished for. A missive from Denys Vance has arrived and Alicent had been thoughtful enough to come and talk to you about it herself.

House Lydden would be ready to negotiate if the Crown proved that you were safe and sound. Alicent seemed surprised when you talked about travelling to Deep Den at once, certainly not willing to let such an asset like you escape them when your father had nothing to offer. You told her that you would advocate for the Greens, that you going there would not make your father demand more, but she remained unconvinced as she left you to attend her business.

When Aemond returned, unharmed and well, as his brother, you shared with him the news, making him arch a brow as he listened to you. He apparently went straight to you upon his arrival, not taking the time to meet with his mother to speak about anything. He considered the news as he read the parchment.

“We will go. As soon as things are settled, we will go. I cannot leave the city with only Tessarion to protect it when the Blacks are getting ever closer.”

“You don’t have to come. I will go and make him see reason. I know he will listen to me,” you replied, confident.

“This is out of the question,” he said, tone definite.

“Aemond, Deep Den is a too easily defensible stronghold, it could take months before House Vance manages to enter inside and you need the men! The sooner I do this, the better.”

He sighed, looking at you, pondering. You were right. “You will not go on your own. We’ll leave under two days, with the utmost secrecy. No one outside the castle can know that I left.”

So you waited until nightfall before taking a seat on Vhagar, in front of Aemond, and taking off under the moonlight, making your way across the Reach and towards the Westerlands. Aemond took care in flying high, not wishing to be spotted as the Blacks were spread from Pinkmaiden to Tumbleton.

The sun had barely risen when you landed on a hill near the castle you were born in. You could see on the neighbouring hill within which the halls of your ancestors were built the few towers of cobblestone rising high above the mountain amidst the fog, unattainable.

There was a reason Deep Den was called as such. The stronghold has been built directly into the mountain, advancing further into the stone through a massive gate that guarded the entrance. The only visible buildings were the towers that harboured the halls of your forefathers and the main courtyards.

The gate represented the only entrance to the castle, protected by surveillance fortifications and a long bridge under which a stream flowed from the great waterfall coming down the hills.

Aemond gazed at the Vances’ green and black tents below, settled at the rim of the stream that circled all of Deep Den’s mountains. He did not make any movement to dismount Vhagar, observing the sea of men that was now gathering to see if the huge dragon was not only a mirage caused by the fog. You put a reassuring hand on his arm as he broke out of his trance, looking at you with a slightly wide eye. Then he helped you dismount and you both made your way down the hill.

The men looked tired, gloomy, obviously unhappy to lay siege to such a fortress without being able to make any strategic move to unlock the situation, Aemond’s order not to harm anyone quite clear. Besides, their reassignment from Duskendale had been a hard blow on them.

The men who had dared to go out of their tents to look at Vhagar perched on the hill were now watching the Prince walk across the camp at your side, certainly surprised to see a woman in this place alongside with their Regent.

Aemond had put his hand on the small of your back as you advanced toward the bigger tent, a soldier having already announced your arrival to his Lord. Dennys Vance looked proud and delighted to see you both as he exited his tent to greet the newcomers, surely relieved that this status quo would finally be put into motion. He invited Aemond and yourself in, offering you something to drink as he took his place on the table where bottles of ink and yellow parchments were placed in a mess.

He only talked to Aemond as he inquired about the plan, asking what terms the Crown was ready to accept for the negotiation. Aemond was rather quiet, only answering with simple phrases, his eye never tiring as he stared at Denys Vance coldly. You, standing up at his side, said nothing as you looked around in impatience, listening to the two men say that parlay would be necessary before agreeing to anything, Lord Vance insisting on the fact that your father had no leverage and had nothing to offer. Aemond stayed silent as he replied nothing to that statement, when another man entered the tent.

Addam Vance was wearing his suit of armour, holding his helm at his side, face a little reddened by the coldness of the morning weather as his eyes landed on you, bowing graciously before making his way towards his father.

Aemond slowly rose up to mirror Addam, placing his hand upon the table to tower it. Of the three men, Aemond was the tallest, and his presence was intimidating right now.

Addam greeted Aemond with respect and settled to listen to the end of the conversation before Aemond spoke, putting an end to the talks. “We will request a meeting with Lord Lydden. I will lead the negotiations and this will be over before noon.”

Lord Vance nodded and Aemond turned to leave, but you softly grabbed his arm. “Aemond let me talk to him alone, he will heed me, it would be easier.”

“No Y/N. I will not risk it,” he flatly said, dragging you along with him outside.

You tried to argue but once in the fresh air you saw Vhagar circle around the towers of the Den and you paused. If your family did not see the Prince arrive, they would now know of his presence, and you feared that panic would take them. You ought to talk to them first, to be part of this no matter what.

“My Lady, this is unwise,” you heard Addam say as he caught up with you, having not missed your conversation with Aemond. “Your father would surely try to keep you and you would find yourself starving under the month. We want to spare you from that fate.”

Aemond was staring daggers at him, clearly irritated by the interruption and you thought that he would strangle him right here and there to have dared talk to you in his presence. But he simply coldly ignored him and took you by the waist protectively, dragging you further toward the stone gate.

You had no time to even throw a sorry look at Addam before a voice was heard high up above the doors, on the ledge of the guard-tour carved into the cliff. A Lydden soldier you did not recognise yelled his wish for Aemond to come forward as his dragon was now threatening them. Aemond let go of you and advanced into view.

“We are ready to negotiate. Send Lord Donnel and we shall speak terms, or my dragon will take care of you.”

You widened your eyes in shock as you looked at Aemond’s back, gazing up at the soldier who disappeared behind the stony fortification. Still you said nothing.

Then someone else appeared, and you recognised your father. Your heart jumped in your chest as you took several hesitating steps toward the bridge.

“As you can see, Lady Lydden is unharmed.” Aemond stated as he heard you approach. “And she will remain this way if you bend the knee. I will show mercy for your betrayal.” Aemond said, his menacing tone resonating throughout the valley.

Silence fell again as every man held their breath, the sound of the waterfall deafening into your ears.

“I wish to speak to her, alone,” your father demanded.

“I will not happen, you will come down and we will talk terms.”

You rushed to his side, taking hold of his arm. “Aemond, let me do this," you said as he looked down to you. “He will not listen otherwise, trust me.”

“I will burn the castle to the ground before I let you go in there. Your father is smart, and I don’t trust him. He will not let you leave this place again. He loves you too much and hates me the same amount.”

“Then trust me .” You put his hand in yours, your eyes pleading. “I promise you I will not fail you, I will come out, whatever it takes. I will convince him, you know I will. Please.”

He watched you for a very long time, looking like he believed you had turned mad. But his gaze landed on your hand, lovingly enveloping his and he sighed.

“I will allow it. But Y/N, if anything happens, if you don’t come back, I will not hesitate.” His dead serious look made you shudder as he turned toward the gate once again and shouted. “I will grant you an audience with your daughter, but I require an exchange. The little lord against her.”

Your heart fell in your chest as you realised Aemond’s game. He had asked for the only male heir, a boy to exit the safety of the castle and into the arms of the enemy. Your brother.

You understood Aemond’s move, you could not step back now.

Your father silently considered it, he was far but you could see how outraged he was. But after a while, he did agree. Lord Lydden would have to trust that Aemond’s affection for you was real.

The gates opened and your brother came out. He was not shaking, a boy barely over ten years of age brave enough to face the Kinslayer as his sister would take his place. As he walked down the bridge you looked up at Aemond, asking for permission to go. He was looking at you with imperceptible hesitation in his eye, unwilling to let you go. You gently squeezed his hand as you made your way toward your brother, feeling his fingers clutching onto you before finally letting you go, his jaw clenching as you walked away from him.

You hugged your brother briefly as you passed by him, promising that everything will be over soon, that he will come back in a few minutes times.

You then watched him go to Aemond who had not moved as he looked straight at you, barely casting a glance at Amory as he was taken away by Addam. So you made your way towards the black gate as Vhagar growled loudly in the sky.

Your father was waiting for you at the foot of the large stairs that led to the halls of Deep Den. As the soldier closed the door behind you Lord Donnel went to hug you tightly, relieved to finally see you.

You reciprocated the affection, glad to see that his exhaustion was not showing as much as you expected a besieged man to be, and as he asked you if you were well treated, you tried not to notice how watery his eyes were, reflecting yours.

He led you to a secluded room to talk more privately, the topic of Sandstone and your missed marriage were quickly approached and put aside, your Lord Father angrily dismissing the fact that the rumours about Aemond kidnapping you were true. You then tried to expose the current situation to him as clearly as possible.

“Father, as much as this castle can resist, you cannot hold like this forever, you will be lacking sooner than you expect! You must pledge to Aegon, think of Amory. Think of mother,” you pleaded, seeing your father cold demeanour surface again.

“I won’t. This negotiation will not go as the Prince wishes. I have found a way.”

“What way? There is nothing to do. I know you have tried, but you have underestimated them, as did I. They will not rest until you declare for the Greens.”

“My child, we only need to be patient. The Greyjoys are taking as theirs many holds of the coast, and the Blacks are advancing on the lands. We will wait for them to arrive. Soon the Greens will have no use of their men here and they will depart. We have nothing to offer them that would be valuable to their eyes.”

“It will not be enough, I won’t stand for this to be enough. Even if you did not declare for Rhaenyra officially, Aegon is not blind. Otto is not blind.”

“Rhaenyra and Daemon know where my heart truly lies. They will remember it in time.”

“They are not coming father. The Blacks are not coming to save you, surely you realise this!” you yelled now. “The Greyjoys are miles from here, and the Lannisters are strongly holding the land. All of the Blacks’ eyes are turned toward King’s Landing, and you know it. They will not come for you.”

He looked at you, his eye twitching, within it a mix of irritation and sadness.

“The way I see it, dear daughter, is that the demise of our House is due to the actions of one man only. The one who stands before our gate at this very moment, the one who holds you captive, and as of now, your brother," he said loudly. “If not for him, you would be safe, in Dorne. If not for him, I would not be forced to choose between the sake of my House, or the life of my daughter.”

His words were severely true, and you could not do otherwise but take a moment to come up with a retort. 

“Father, this is this very man who had saved you from the very first day, convincing you to not declare for Rhaenyra as Otto would have had your head. This is this man who is right now sparing this very castle, and sparing all of our lives when he could just order his dragon to put an end to our legacy in one blow.”

You paused, taking a breath, your father’s face draining of all colours. “I cannot atone for everything he has done,” you continued, lips trembling. “But you must hear me when I tell you to negotiate. I will go back to court with him, and I will vouch for you. I will guarantee your safety and that you are to be let in peace, but you must accept the terms. You must accept what Aemond is offering you.”

Your father looked at you with pity, taking your hand. “This is exactly what I don’t want, Y/N. You cannot go back with him. You don’t have to obey him, to indulge him. You can free yourself from him.” he pleaded, but you only felt sorrow take hold of you.

“No I cannot,” you said, your eyes filling with tears. “I cannot because I love him.”

It was the first time that you had admitted it. Thought it, even.

Saying it out loud made you feel so lost, but at the same time so relieved that you began to shake, your emotions pouring down inside your chest and overwhelming you.

Tears rolled down on your cheek as your father watched you, disconcerted at your words but soon he was embracing you.

“Oh my sweet, sweet girl,” he spoke as he hugged you tightly, caressing your hair affectionately. As you wept you realised that your love had been there for a very long time, battling against yourself to come out. Now you allowed it to be free, and it hurt.

Still in your father’s arms you told him how sorry you were, how you wished things had been different, but that you know that it will be alright for you. You just knew because Aemond would be there.

“But does he love you as well?” he asked.

Lord Donnel already knew the answer. No man would ever act like Aemond had if love was not involved. He had known this for a while now, only dreading it, fearing for you. You wiped your tears as he broke the embrace to look at you.

“I-, I don’t know. Maybe, he never really said,” you stuttered as you dismissed the possibility of your love not being reciprocated.

Your father stared at you at length, then he nodded to himself, agreeing with his own thoughts. However, he said nothing else.

“Please, father…”

“Tell me,” Donnel said after a while. “Do you find Aegon legitimate?”

You paused, thinking about it.

“He is not fit to rule, we all know it. Nonetheless he will prevail. His family will make sure of it.”

Determined, you now looked at your father with hope before asking:

“So, what will you do?”

Aemond was pacing at the edge of the stone bridge, unable to steel himself. Now and then he would glance at the high fortifications your father had appeared in, but only a thin-looking soldier was staring back at him.

He thought himself close to madness before the gates opened and he sighted you beside your father. You made a few steps before stopping, your father demanding his son to return.

Amory came out from behind him and traced his step back, entering the castle as you spoke to him once more and reached Aemond on the bridge. He managed to remain as unaffectionate toward you as he could, hands laced between his back as he arched a brow at you, silently inquiring about what you have learnt, hiding his glee at your return.

“He accepts to negotiate, and I already know of his terms,” you announced as you saw both Vances come closer. “First he accepts to grant you half of his forces to fight, for he knows that you need them.”

Aemond’s brow went higher. “He is offering me his feeble troops? As few as they are, they will never accept to follow me.”

“They won’t have to follow you,” you replied mysteriously, and you saw Addam and his father exchange a confused look. “Secondly, he refuses to answer for his actions before the court, as he deems that he did nothing wrong. He asks to remain here, and be let at peace, his legacy and honour intact.”

Aemond clicked his tongue in annoyance, an angry glare passing through his eye. “He is a fool if he believes-”

“And he wants to talk to you,” you interrupted.

Aemond stopped talking, looking at you appalled. He narrowed his eye before glancing at the gates, still open, Lord Donnel, standing with his hands behind his back, staring at him from across the bridge.

You followed his gaze before nodding to him.

After a pause, Aemond hummed and made his way to the gate.

Aemond had always admired your father. He had the mind of the best of thinkers, and was a brilliant strategist. The only explanation he would find at his late desperate and foolish attempts to make a stand was his love for you, and his will to keep you safe. He liked that in him, even if it impeded Aemond himself. When he talked, he could see the eloquence and the wits he found in you .

But you did not have his eyes, Aemond thought as he was now levelling with Lord Donnel Lydden in the middle of the bridge, staring at each other as if in a staring contest. As he advanced, Aemond was the first to talk, his voice covered by the loud noise of the waterfall, preventing anyone but both men to hear what was said.

“I see you did not wait for me to negotiate the terms of your surrender," Aemond spoke coolly.

“My daughter is perfectly capable of conducting negotiations herself.”

“I know she is.”

A knowing look passed between the two men, a silent understanding.

“You, my Prince, have been the main obstacle to any of my efforts,” began Donnel. “Constantly interfering with my family’s business, and do not believe that I don’t know the reason for these interferences.”

Aemond was confused, however he let nothing appear. “The only efforts you ever made of late was against my family, even if only planned. You are bold to assume that I will take less than all of your men.”

“But you cannot take my honour my Prince, can you not? Because you wish to take something else from me.”

Aemond clenched his jaw in impatience. He was not playing this game. He would have answers. “Tell me what you mean by that, Lord, for I very much would like to know why your honour would be safe from me, when you have already dishonoured yourself in betrayal.”

“Because you cannot wed a Lady from a fallen family. It would not be accepted by the Crown. Or even you, I would guess.”

Aemond froze. Lord Donnel was indeed a smart man, and a fine thinker to be sure. Aemond did not expect him to see things so clearly, and yet, his words hit him hard, more than Aemond had thought they would.

It was true. The only thing that had stopped him from marrying you as soon as he brought you back from Sandstone was the awful choice your father had made of departing without a word, making him a traitor. After that, Aemond had been so angered at the Lord for rendering his wish more difficult than he had sent House Vance to punish him. But it had not relieved him in any way. He would make you a woman worthy of being a Queen, he would not let you suffer the dishonour of your family. He would not be the cause of their death either, and he would put things right, put everything in order, as it should be.

“If you wish it, and I believe you do, I will grant you her hand,” Lord Donnel continued, making Aemond’s heart beat faster despite himself. “But I want guarantees. Guarantees that we will be left in peace. Guarantees that she will come into no harm and that you would do anything to protect her. And I want your promise that she will be allowed to visit her home whenever she wants.”

Aemond was not easily taken by surprise, and Lord Lydden had just managed that. Staring at him with intensity, Aemond considered insulting him, telling him that he did not need his approval to marry you, that he would have done so nonetheless, his desire stronger than anything else. But he only narrowed his eye warily at him, pondering his terms with interest.

“You have my word,” he finally stated, words poised.

Lord Lydden took a sharp breath in relief and agreement, his eye briefly darting at your form over the bridge, then he extended a hand to Aemond to shake, and both men came to an understanding.

“I expect your men to be gone tonight. As for mine, Y/N will be leading them to King’s Landing as soon as you fulfil that last demand.”

Aemond did not have time to process what he heard before Lord Lydden disappeared behind the thick black door of the Den. Vhagar landed on a close hill with a thud, finally resting.

-0- Part 20

@let-love-bleeds-red @crazylokonugget @jeyramarie @ephemeralninon @mrswhitethornbelikov @dudfahsn @missusnora @queenofterrasen418 @honeytrapsblogp-graham @heathclifftragedyy @discowizard88 @ivartheblessed @xceafh @bubbletae7 @omgkatherine97 @tzipora-art @signyvenetia @ml0103 @nsainmoonchild @lonadane @skythighs @bietchz @samnblack @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @projectcampbell @ripdragonbeans @caribbeangal @polireader @zillahvathek @moni-cah @literishdegree99 @a-beaverhausen @thekinslayer @maniccrystalhippie @princessofdarkwinter @isaxbella749

[cydanite]

Swamp Duo AU: Part 8

8/9 - (FIRST) (<PREV<) (>NEXT>) (AU MASTERPOST)

(Ao3 LINK)

"Well," Pix starts, shuffling the many books and papers bundled in his arms. Shelby quickly places a table of wood planks over the mud, upon which Pix hefts the academic mass onto with a heavy thump. Shaking the strain out of his arms, he carefully begins organizing them, setting most of the articles to the side. What remains in the center is a maroon colored tome, not especially thick but fitted with large pages. Imprinted on its cover, the words "Art of the Pre-Ruinous and Ruinous Eras: a Documentation of Historical Works."

"Shelby I’m not sure how much you know about the Old Continent’s empires. Where the northern region of the Seareach Peninsula is now, on its western coast. That is where the Codlands once was.”

“A kingdom built into the swamps and salt marshes, home to slime farmers and fishermen. Curiously, the majority of its citizens were not human, but are referred as cod in most documentation. There is evidence of massive aqueducts throughout the Codland’s capital through which aquatic life theoretically could traverse the city. It brings the question though, why would cod desire to build a governed kingdom, on land no less? And how could they have constructed it?”

“The answer, as hypothesized today, is that there was some kind of influence that drew the cod to that area. An offspring of an ancient leviathan, said to have walked out from the tide and built a kingdom upon the marshes. So if my suspicions are correct…" Shelby follows his gaze upwards, from the book's art onto Jimmy's pale face.

"Codfather, Emperor of the Codlands, one of 12 Emperors of the Old Continent. That's you, right?”

The two of them stare at Jimmy, who opens and closes his moth like a, well... like a fish.

"N- no."

"No?" Pix challenged. "But-"

“No I’m not, right?" He shrinks in on himself, no longer meeting their eyes. "The Codlands doesn’t exist anymore. I don’t steward the land, I've lost my connection to it. So no, I'm not an Emperor.”

The air goes quiet. Even without knowing what kingdoms made up the old empire, she of course knows how they fell. She knows about The Rapture. A miles-wide nuclear explosion at the heart of the continent, the kingdom it was detonated in leveled to the ground in seconds. Outwards the shock wave spread, shattering the earth in all directions. The ground gave way to chasms, molten rock erupted from the core, and the rivers and ocean receded. Crops burnt, buildings toppled, the sky was blotted in ash, and the Kingdoms of the Old Continent, only having started to recover from blight, fell one by one to pestilence and ruin.

She knows about The Rapture, everyone does. Even those who didn't pay attention in history class usually tuned in for this chapter. If not for the destruction, then for how it started. Following the imprisonment of a demonic threat to all the land, a ceasefire between two warring nations is cautiously left instated. One nation is a center of industry, powered by smoke and redstone and led by a genius inventor. The other a small seaside kingdom, their leader a punching bag with little power over the fate of his nation. The underdog leader meets in his enemy's capital, hoping to establish peace after decades of war. The inventor agrees, enthusiastic to stop the fighting. After much discussion and debate, the two are seemingly ready to finalize the decision. In an act of trust, the inventor leads the underdog into the heart of his city, where an impossible reactor pulses with the energy to power the whole of the nation. The doors close behind the two and... only minutes pass before it all ends.

She knows about The Rapture. Twelve whole nations brought to ruin, all because of the cowardly Seaside King who wanted just once to be the sole arbiter of fate.

Wait a minute.

Shelby takes a step back, the tension making it feel like she's walking on a wire. There's no way, right? She didn't just have tea with the man who caused the apocalypse? Pix watches her connect the dots in her head and follows her suit, stepping away from the fish man.

"No, you're not an emperor anymore. None of your fellow emperors were in power for long after that day. The Rapture ended your era in minutes. The Old Continent was devastated. And before us, Shelby, is the very man who pushed the button."

She watches Pix take another step back, eyes focused on The Codfather. His left hand slowly reaches behind his back, hiding a splash potion being pulled from his inventory. His right hand at his side, but readied to reach for the sword in his inventory. Oh no. She turns back to Jimmy. He's bristling, shoulders heaving with heavy breaths. Oh no. This just got very dangerous, didn't it. Pix is speaking to her in a low voice now, and she can hear the fear he'd been suppressing.

"Get ready to cast something or run."

Shelby tries to think of what she could do, what she should do. Things were moving too fast. Her stomach starts to go sour. Pix has quickly raises his voice again, shouting now. "Why did you do it? Why did you destroy all you had, just for the chance to feel power beyond your fellow rulers?”

In a split second, a lot of things happen. The Codfather, now shaking, makes a sudden move towards them. Pix launches the fizzing potion and jumps back, preparing for the worst. And Shelby, in a moment of pure stress, pulls out her wand and casts the first spell she can think of. Two bubbles, shimmering iridescent, form around both The Codfather and her and Pix. The thin glass of the potion shatters against the opposing bubble's outer edge, dull purple vapors dissipating harmlessly. The two stop and stare at Jimmy, who'd fallen forward on his knees. It takes a second for them to realize. He's crying.

Shelby dissipates the spell. She takes a step forwards, despite Pix's nervous stare. One more step, then another, until she is crouched before the Ancient Cod King, tears making soft plaps upon the mud. He doesn't take notice, wide eyes staring at the dead air in front of him. His breaths are quick and shallow, with each one making his chest shudder. Oh no, this is bad for different reasons now. Quietly, cautiously, she starts talking.

"Hey Jimmy? This is Shelby, your friend. I need you to take a deep breath in, okay? Just one long breath"

It takes a moment, and she isn't sure Jimmy heard her at first, but the short shallow breaths are eventually replaced by a single, clumsy inhale.

"Good. Now try and breath out, slow and steady."

The exhale is wheezed out, snotty and gross. But calmer. They go through the exercise a few more times. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale, until the steady breaths no longer need instruction. Jimmy is still crying but his eyes have focused again, now looking at the ground beneath him. Shelby is suddenly aware of the freezing-cold mud soaking through the knees of her overalls. Jimmy gives a shaky breath.

"...I- I can't remember. Which one of us pressed that button? I didn't- I... neither of us wanted what..." His arms wrap around his head. "We thought we had really reached peace. That we were all headed for an age of prosperity.... that's all I wanted."

The two of them sit in silence, save for the soft pitter of tears and the buzzing of mayflies deeper in the swamp. There's a squelch of mud behind them as Pix walks over, a water bottle and towel in his hands. Jimmy takes the towel, tissue sized in his hand, and starts to wipe his face. Pix, unsure how to start, kneels into the mud as well.

"I'm... sorry how that happened. That must've been awful to live through. I... I suppose history isn't fair to those not there to write it."

He stops there. History remembering Jimmy as a monster isn't the issue at hand right now. Instead they let Jimmy cry as much as he needs to. Shelby thinks about it, how accidentally being involved in the ending of the world would feel. She thinks about the old ruins in the forest by her hometown, the ravines carved into the earth just outside the Witch's Academy's campus. She thinks about her blunder with her potions hut, how she had ended a tiny part of the world right there.

She thinks if she survived causing the apocalypse, she would crawl into a hole and sleep forever as well.

After a few minutes, the tears are all out of Jimmy's system. He sniffles, wiping his eyes with the towel one last time.

"M' sorry about that. I, um..."

"Hey, it's okay. You, uh, really seemed like you needed that cry, huh?" Shelby stands up, offering Jimmy her hand. He takes it, but gets up on his own since she's too short to offer leverage.

"I think... that's probably enough stress for today." Pix pulls out a shulker box, carefully packaging his books and papers now that he has ample time to. "How about we go someplace with a bit more room and a bit less mud? I'll be honest, I had Joel on stand-by in case things got too out of hand." He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. "I... I seriously thought there was no possible way it could be you, but I called Joel just to calm my nerves. I didn't want the situation to get dangerous." The shulker closes with a click.

"With that aside, Stratos should be spacious and comfy enough to accommodate you until we can build you a proper house. How's that sound?"

Joel's empire was, in fact, spacious and warm and much less muddy. And while the god was at first annoyed that "back-up" meant offering a room to the potential murderous fishman he was warned about, he soon determined the situation wasn't anything worth worrying about to him.

For the first night in many, many nights, Jimmy slept in a bed instead of a hole in the ground. And though he didn't let himself dream yet, he had to admit it was a lot more comfy up here.

[dougdimmadodo]

Ghost Bat (Macroderma gigas)

Family: False Vampire Bat family (Megadermatidae) 

IUCN Conservation Status: Vulnerable

Most bat species feed either on small, flying insects or on the fruits of trees, but this relatively large microbat, named for its pale coloration, is unusual in that it feeds largely on vertebrates (mainly birds, lizards, frogs and small mammals, including smaller bats.) Found in scattered populations across northern Australia, Ghost Bats spend the day roosting in small colonies within caves, mines and cavities in rocks, and emerge at night to hunt (typically in wooded areas, ranging from arid woodlands to rainforests.) They hunt in a manner more akin to an owl than to a typical predatory bat: after arriving at a suitable hunting site they position themselves on an elevated tree branch and wait for signs of prey, which they detect using echolocation, an acute sense of hearing and sensitive eyes. They subdue their prey with their teeth; airborne prey (which may be as large as Bar-Shouldered Doves, which are only slightly smaller than a Feral Pigeon) is brought to the ground by a series of powerful bites to the head and neck, while terrestrial animals are pinned to the ground by a specialized claw on the bat’s thumb and then torn apart by its jaws. As they typically breed deep in caves almost nothing is known about the reproduction of this species except for the fact that they typically produce only a single pup at a time, and that said pup clings to its mother constantly until it is mature enough to hunt on its own - when its mother flies, the pup is able to ride on her belly by clinging onto her fur as well as one of a pair of non-functional “false nipples” that seem to serve the sole purpose of allowing the pup to maintain its grip. The Ghost Bat is threatened by the destruction of roosting sites used by colonies, and by the abandoning of otherwise suitable roosting sites following disturbances by human activity (it has been reported that after being scared away from a roosting site members of this species may not return for months or even years, and without a safe roosting site they are vulnerable to predation during that day.) One of the largest and most important colonies of Ghost Bats is found in the Mount Etna Caves National Park in eastern Queensland.

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Image Source:https://www.inaturalist.org/taxa/41326-Macroderma-gigas

Happy Halloween!

[violettduchess]

Heyy can i please request clavis x fem reader with the prompt nightmare?

A/N: And we're back to angst. Hi @aceuuuuu here you go! I hope you like it 💜Thank you for the request!

Clavis x f! reader

Word Count: circa 1600

Sleep found you easily that night, rocking you in its arms until you fell into a deep and peaceful slumber. What dreams found you were pleasant, drifting in and out of your mind like iridescent bubbles following a light breeze. At the moment, your mind has taken you to a far-away beach. White sand is warm under your bare feet. The salty air tickles your nose. The gentle lapping of the waves soothes your body as you sink slowly into the deeper, darker parts of sleep.......except there, off in the distance, something is pulling at the threads of your peaceful dreaming. You try to ignore it but it is insistent. A tugging at your sleeve. A knocking at a door. A chime that won’t stop ringing. The beach fades away, despite your desperate desire to stay in that warm, safe place. The tugging is more insistent. The knocking grows louder. The chiming fills your mind until you are jerked completely out of sleep’s embrace......to the fitful sounds of your lover in crisis.

Clavis Lelouch

When royalty marries, there are no limits. The already beautiful palace is transformed into something out of a dream: soft, romantic garlands made from only the most perfectly formed pink and white roses are hung from every archway. White drapery, sheer as a fairy’s wings and just as delicate, bedeck the walls. Everyone is gathered in the ballroom, now full of plush, navy blue and gold chairs for its guests. The ornate walls with their silken tapestries are illuminated by hundreds of white taper candles. The nobility is dressed in its very finest, a sea of sumptuous satin, soft velvet, and glittering jewels. Clavis spots the dark, hunter green of Jade. The stormy black of Obsidian. The sea blue of Benitoite. And even more exotic gems and nobles: the sunset orange of Tanzanite. The deep, cobalt blue of Ionite. The world has gathered to witness this event.

Chevalier stands under the arched trellis covered in blood-red roses. He is resplendent in crisp white and blue. His sword hangs at his side, but it will go thirsty today. It is there in an ornamental nature only. His expression is neutral. One who does not know him might even say he looks bored. But Clavis notices the way his white-gloved fingers clench and unclench, minute movements lost on the crowd. He also notes the quick, subtle glances at the ornate double-doors. 

And when those doors finally open, when the figure adorned in swathes of white silk and that heavily embroidered floral veil steps through and into the ballroom, he notices how Chevalier’s shoulders straighten even more. His hawk-like attention is solely focused on the woman in white gliding towards him. Some of the nobility holds its breath, some sigh at the romance of it all. But with each step she takes, Clavis feels his stomach twist. Could it be.....No.....you said you loved him. It can’t be....

She arrives at Chevalier’s side, taking his arm. That scent, the familiar mixture of lavender and roses, hits Clavis’s nose and nausea blossoms within his stomach. No. It can’t be. No. The wedding officiant speaks, unaware of the storm tearing through him, the wild winds of despair and disbelief ripping his rice-paper heart to shreds as Chevalier slowly lifts the opaque veil to reveal YOU. Your beloved face, flushed pink with pleasure, your bright eyes full of stars because they are fixed on him. Your smile, the Northern star guiding him to your boundless well of love and acceptance and desire. His hands take yours in his, his thumbs running lightly over your bare skin. 

The officiant’s words have no shape, no coherent form. Clavis barely registers what is being said as his brother’s face takes on a foreign softness, his head tilting down to gaze into the springtime of your smile. You continue to beam up at the king. Nausea overwhelms the third prince as the remains of his heart are tempest-tossed within his heaving chest. 

Music, discordant and jarring, begins playing as Chevalier leans down and you lean up and time seems to accelerate, everything rushing forward at breakneck speed: You are wrapping your arms around his neck and he’s pulling you against his body and your mouths are pressed together, opening and closing passionately as you kiss each other hungrily and his hands slide down, pulling you harder against him and you are gasping and eager and ready and not at all bothered that you are in front of a crowd that cheers and hollers and claps as if it is normal for the groom to begin ravishing his bride right then and there, his hands impatiently pulling on your dress to your excited, encouraging gasps, his mouth leaving a trail of rose-colored kisses as it travels down your neck, down your collarbones, down to the neckline of your dress which is falling with each passing second—

“Clavis....Clavis!” You repeat his name, hands on his shoulders to keep him from thrashing any further. You try his name one more time, this time louder than before, worry surpassing the concern of being too loud in the quiet of the midnight hour. His eyes fly open, his breath ragged as he adjusts from the shock of his dreams to the reality of your bedroom, enveloped in night’s shadows. You wait, your hands still on his shoulders, anchoring him. He blinks and then pulls away from you, rising and stumbling from your bed. His name is a question whispered to the dark but he does not answer. He makes his way to one of the large windows, reaching over and then flings it open, allowing in a burst of cool air. It is a balm to his overheated skin, to the wild drumming of his heart which feels like it may burst from his chest if he does not manage to claim a few steady lungsful of air.

Frowning, you reach for your dressing gown, wrapping the soft lavender velvet around yourself before walking over to where he is standing, bracing himself on the window sill. “Clavis?” Your voice sounds small even to your own ears. “Are you ok?” His eyes are closed. He’s breathing slowly. Normally he would turn, paint a smile on his face and ask why ever would you be concerned about someone as clever as him? But not this time. He is shaken. His hands tremble as they push his soft hair, damp with sweat, out of his face. You watch the muscles of his abdomen rise and fall with each tremulous breath, the play of soft moonlight over his skin, the way it adds a silvery sheen to his midnight hair. It feels like it is caressing him too, trying to comfort the man you love as much as you want to.

Finally his eyes open, seeking out the night sky. He has not turned to look at you yet. When he speaks, his voice sounds tight, as if there is an invisible hand wrapped around his throat, slowly squeezing. “You.....want this, right? Us?” The shock of his words stings, as if you have been slapped without a moment to brace yourself. Your feet are carrying you toward him before you can think about it. You reach out, taking his hands and turn him away from the window and towards you. Your grip is firm, forcing his mind to focus on it. On you. “Why would you even ask me that?” Shadows have chased the light from his eyes and your heart sinks as he lowers his gaze. He looks ashamed. He looks scared. “I dreamt.....you married the king.” He doesn’t need to say his name. Or what the weight of that kind of dream would have, and the way it would crush his heart.

You swallow hard against the instinct to say that that would never happen. That it was only a dream. Instead you gently use your grip on him to pull him closer. You release his hands only because yours slide around his waist, palms coming to rest against the small of his back. Your head is tilted up to look at him, refusing to look away until he finally meets your gaze.

“Where am I?” you ask quietly. He seems rather caught off guard, but even in his darkest moments, an intriguing question manages to snag his attention. “Your room,” he answers slowly. You nod encouragingly. “What time is it?” He now glances at the small wooden clock on your desk. “Half past one.” Again you nod, adjusting your embrace so that you can step even closer. “And who is in my arms?” He meets your gaze, his brilliant eyes so beautiful even in shadow. “I am,” he whispers. You nod once more. “That’s right. You are. You and only you. Right now. And ever more.” 

There is sunrise in his gaze, a light slowly returning as your words sink in, soothing the scratches across his heart, calming its panicked beat. Your hands slide over the bare skin of his back, warm and comforting and tender. Your gaze never leaves him. You hold him there, physically with your arms, emotionally with the echo of your words, the open love in your soft expression. Time is suspended, the space between the twinkle of stars, and then he leans down, gathering you against him, hoarsely whispering your name before he kisses you. You yield to his roughness, his urgency, your body curving into his, your lips parting. Anything he needs, he can take from you. You would give him the very breath from your lungs, the beat of your heart, if he asked for it. 

Anything, you think as you stumble with him back toward the bed, locked in his impassioned, desperate embrace, anything for the man you love.

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @alixennial @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @ikemen-writer @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @redheadkittys @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @kpop-and-otome @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @otomefoxystar @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @queen-dahlia @scorchieart @bubblexly

[yandere-toons]

A Fool's Mistake 3: Taking the Black | Platonic Scenario

Yandere!Cersei Lannister, Jaime Lannister, Tyrion Lannister, Joffrey Baratheon, Ramsay Bolton

WARNING: abuse of power, morally ambiguous reader, reality warping, strong and bloody violence, mentions of physical torture.

WORD COUNT: 7.825

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 (You are here)

The silhouettes of free folk dashed between trees and rocks in the silverish light of the full moon. They were clothed in the skins of woodland animals, and they wielded with much dexterity a combination of bows, axes and spears crafted from the forest.

Droves of the free folk had begun to scale the Wall at yesterday's sunset and, from midnight to daybreak, had reached the point where falling meant certain death. Despite enough time passing for the sun to peek over the mountaintop, the space that surrounded the free folk remained dark as night.

The sky was black but held no stars as if drapes had been thrown over the earth. The top of the Wall, a summit that appeared taller than the clouds, was covered in impenetrable darkness. Glimmers of sunlight skirted the darkness, and the scarce light traced the shape of a bubble around the free folk who dared to rise.

The ground was no longer visible to those who looked down in the hope of descending the Wall and testing the climb another day. The ice wall in front of them and the makeshift tools used to hook it was all that met their eyes beyond the shadows.

Whispers seeped into the ears of the free folk, whispers that resembled the faint voices of the people climbing with them. The voices asked for the location of the other free folk, asked after their health and encouraged them to resume the climb.

Once the first ragged antler and stake impaled the ice at the top of the Wall, the free folk realised that their vision had been dulling. In the final moments of heaving oneself onto the Wall, each member of the expedition noted themselves to be the only living thing there.

The sight that greeted them flashed back and forth between the bodies of their fellow free folk and an empty stretch of ice. The shadows warped their eye and seemed to drill into their heads before the darkness took them to the ground far below.

When no birds sang and the air became colder than the depths of a northern pond, you watched for creatures with blue eyes and ghostly skin.

Except for the occasional lash of shadows at the base of snowy trees, the woods lay motionless and free of dark magic on this hour. The current flowing from the distant Bay of Seals was tumultuous and churned as if locked in a storm, but it carried nothing more than the rare howl and rush of icy breath.

* * *

With his wrists bound to the back of a chair and his ankles tied to the wood legs, the sole mercenary to survive the recent battle at the Dreadfort sat in his own sweat. A mob of Bolton soldiers encircled him with their swords raised and their eyes locked on whichever part of him they were most inclined to cut.

The large door to the dining hall creaked open in an outward swing of metal and bending joints. Ramsay Bolton stormed into the room, his fingers playing with a gore-drenched knife.

After a moment of examining the mercenary, the immediate wrath flaring on his face waned and evolved into morbid curiosity. “I remember you.” Ramsay tilted his head and scanned the man's visible wounds and foul odour to confirm his suspicion.

It was then that the mercenary's stomach dropped to bottomless depths, and he began to whisper prayers for the mercy of the Mother.

Unlike the frantic turns and agitated stomps of earlier, Ramsay's next movements were slower and dominated by quiet steps that struck a greater panic in the heart of the mercenary each time. “You took a long look at them.”

From his pocket came the glint of a knife, prompting the mercenary to squirm against the ropes and expel a whimper. Ramsay twirled the weapon in his right hand and conveyed a taste of future pain with unrepentant eye contact. “Just before you tried to kill them.”

Before the tip of the steel could blind the mercenary, the harsh voice of Roose Bolton echoed in the dining hall and overpowered any wails spilling out of the mercenary. “Ramsay!”

The sound was little more than a growl, and Ramsay paused with his knife hovering just in front of the mercenary's eyeball.

The violent shake gripping his arm did not cease, spreading to his lips and upper body as he stared into the mercenary's terror with bubbling insanity that flailed against the bridle he was compelled to put on it. Ramsay vented slivers of his untapped rage through the tremulous breaths whipping past his bared teeth.

While the soldiers beside him kept a tight hold on their swords, Roose did not allow his voice to waver: “We need this one alive.”

The blade was so close that the mercenary's eyelashes brushed it every time he blinked. It quivered with the threat of twitching too far and impaling his skull before he could release a full scream, but Ramsay seemed to find enough delight in his father's command that he turned his head away.

“Oh, he'll live.”

Just as the knife reeled back and then plunged forward, a booming announcement sounded from Roose. “We're going on a diplomatic mission to White Harbor.”

Ramsay listened to his father with a distracted mind plagued by runaway thoughts and bits of emotion he could not manage, his eyes flitting between Roose and the nearest objects while his fingers twitched with ideas of what pain to inflict on the captured mercenary. “When will you return?”

Roose looked upon his struggle with amusement and indifference. “You should know. You're coming with me.”

As if Roose had revoked his legitimacy as the heir, Ramsay raised his head and widened his eyes. The tension clenching his shoulders and jaw shifted to confused glances, and his lips moved to search for the appropriate response that changed with each surge of dissatisfaction and the sense of a goal stepping out of his reach.

“My place is here. I have rallied the men.”

Roose began to approach the main entrance to the fortress and did not slow his stride. “Your place is where I say it is.”

Ramsay stopped walking, but Roose ignored the vicious stare drilling into the back of his head. “Father,” murmured Ramsay, and his next words were spoken through gritted teeth. “I need to find them.”

Roose took a final, definitive step forward and turned, the bottom of his cloak gliding across the floor. “There will be a time for that. Right now, what you need to do is mount a horse and ride with me to White Harbor.”

* * *

The chambers of Tyrion Lannister stank of wine on most nights, but the scent was especially potent on this night. An empty flagon sat at the foot of a luxurious chair, which Tyrion used to rest his legs while he put his mouth to the work of downing every glass he could fill.

With his knuckles pressed underneath his chin, Tyrion observed the half-full goblet with a curious glint in his eye. He laid his hand over the top of it and waited in silence for many a second.

When he retracted his hand and peeked into the cup, a foolish part of him hoped that it would be full again. A layer of wine at the bottom was all that greeted him. Tyrion hurled the goblet at the wall, and a thick wave of blackberry wine exploded onto the stone.

The glass clattered to the floor and rolled into the leg of a chair, streaks of reddish-purple cascading down the rock and draining into the crevices. Droplets continued to seep from the rim of the cup as trails of the dark liquor mixed with the red of a Lannister banner and fell behind a dresser.

As the door slammed behind him, Tyrion stamped past the duo of guards protecting his chambers and snapped his fingers. “With me.”

The guards lifted their shields from the floor and hurried to follow.

Tyrion marched down the corridor with a palace guard on his left and his right. Flanked by the men, he rounded a corner and leaned forward to place his hands upon an ornate set of double doors.

He pushed open the door to Cersei's chambers and found her sitting at the table beside the balcony, a glass in her hand and red wine on her lips. The rattles of the guards' swords and armour must have been loud in the silent halls, for she was facing the entrance without a lick of surprise.

She lowered the glass and eyed him as if he were an insect that had crawled into her bedroom from a hole in the wall. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Tyrion widened his eyes and removed his hands from the door, allowing it to shut at his back. “I was concerned,” he lied, feigning fear in an exaggerated, deliberately obvious manner. “Just the other day, a man had his throat slit for sleeping.”

Cersei kept her voice low as though others were in danger of listening. “I believe that to be the work of our mutual friend.” She placed distinct acrimony on the word “friend,” her lip curling.

As her gaze drifted off to the cityscape outside her balcony, Tyrion wondered if the bitterness came from her belief that the word was untrue or the implication that the two of them could ever share a companion. “Don't tell that to the king. He was quite upset at having his prized day interrupted.”

The hand that held onto the wine glass began to shake, and Cersei refrained from looking at her brother. “Joffrey won't see me.” A heaviness existed in her words, a quiet misery that she was attempting to drown in wine.

Tyrion kept his frown level. “Oh, yes. Not since you promised the sorcerer would find their own way back to him, a promise that has yet to be fulfilled.” He tilted his head upon saying the second bit.

Cersei shut her eyes and clenched her teeth slightly, refusing to let the posh smile on her lips fall. She opened her eyes and glanced in his direction when the soft thuds of footsteps came near the table.

A chair squealed as it was pulled from under the table, and Tyrion plopped on it with his hands resting close to Cersei's. “If I say it, I would be branded an enemy of the crown and lose my head within the hour. Perhaps Jaime?”

She turned farther away and fixed her eye on the open doors to the balcony. “Joffrey's working him like a dog.”

A slight sigh rolled out of him, and Tyrion closed his eyes for a pensive instant before opening them with a degree of sympathy. “If Jaime could be here with you, he would be.” He unfurled his arms, turned his palms to the ceiling, and gestured to the bedroom.

Lifting the glass, Cersei took another sip. “I'm not so sure.”

* * *

The courtyard of the Red Keep smelt of pollen as a medley of berry bushes and wildflowers bloomed in the light of day. The leafy grass was green as the coat of arms from House Tyrell of Highgarden, and it swayed in a cool breeze that was welcomed by the lords and ladies dilly-dallying in the sun.

From the generous lengths of the surrounding corridors, Varys and Petyr Baelish strolled into the small garden. Each one moved in tandem with the other just enough to keep up the illusion of leisure and signify that the interaction would not end until one of them deviated from the path.

“The Boltons are a minute settlement thousands of miles away in the North with one fiefdom no larger than my biggest brothel,” said Petyr.

A slight nod of the head came from Varys. “Yes, but some of my little birds have flown north for the summer.”

“And what songs do they sing?” asked Petyr, his lips casting the shadow of a smile as he walked past a servant girl consorting with a visiting lord.

Varys spotted similar goings-on in a corner of the garden ahead, and he cast his gaze in the direction of the man beside him. “They sing that the Bolton's youngest is unbalanced yet terribly ambitious. Certainly one to watch.”

Petyr slowed to a stop and turned on the heels of his boots. He blinked slowly and released a modest sigh, his eyes flickering to his surroundings while his voice quieted. “He's one man with neither the stomach nor the mind for the South.”

Varys looked askance, tilted his head, and raised his shoulders a bit as if considering Petyr's words. “One man nearly toppled the realm not so long ago,” he replied.

The subtlest chuckle—no more than an audible exhale—slipped out of Petyr. His neck bent towards the ground slightly, and his attention remained on the cobblestone patterns flowing beneath him for a contemplative instant. “Indeed,” he conceded. “I have to go.”

Varys bowed his head. “Ah, very well.” He lifted his eyes to catch sight of Petyr slinking to the edge of the garden. “Perhaps we can speak again soon, Lord Baelish.”

As the shadow cast by the arch of the Red Keep fell over him, Petyr turned and offered a glib smile. “Perhaps we can, Lord Varys.”

* * *

Every man atop the Wall was struck by an unearthly coldness that night.

No matter how thick the coats around their shoulders were, the wind sliced their face and nipped any exposed skin with its frosty claws. The cold dove into their bones and seemed to chill them from the inside out.

Despite being rekindled every other minute, the light of the torches was dimmer here. The fog of the night was murkier than the bottom of a bog. The fires were short-lived, swept away into simmering embers by sudden and isolated gusts.

The same light that would have illuminated your body was extinguished by the wind. The brother in charge of relighting it swore under his breath. When he peered at you in wonderment of your apparent resistance to the frigid weather, a shiver ran through him as if he had been stuck with a frost-tipped spear.

It killed the words on his tongue.

The dark around you seemed deeper and more foreboding than any cave, unaffected by light even as the moon beamed down upon it. The brother saw the outline of you hidden in the darkness, and it was all he needed to see to decide that the remainder of his watch was someone else's responsibility for the night.

In the ensuing calm, your head surveyed one end of the forest below to the other.

No figures had crept out of the woods yet.

The clanks and grinds of the lift rising to the top of the Wall sounded from behind, and Samwell Tarly stepped off it into the snow. The soft, pearly white material was crushed under his heavy boots. After a brief pause, his footsteps approached you and stopped at your side.

Your head slowly turned, which allowed you to catch Sam peeking in your direction. He glanced downwards and released a bashful chuckle upon being caught, but a look of childish excitement soon washed over his full face. “Jon says you're a wizard!”

The snow crunched as Sam shuffled his feet, his gaze darting from his shoes to you. “I've never seen a real wizard before!” He shifted again and failed to restrain the huge grin breaking out across his lips. “Only read about them in books,” he added, somewhat lowering his voice.

Sam leaned forward and looked up and down at your iron mask and dark robes. “Do you all dress like that?” He outstretched his arms to push his cloak back and looked at his own black coat and armour. “Maybe we're more alike than I thought!” What escaped him next was a quick, “Ha!”

He turned his head back to you and kept his mouth open slightly as if expecting you to agree, but your continued silence prompted his smile to falter.

As his eyes searched the snowy darkness that lay in front of him, Sam shook his head. “My father detests wizards. Thinks magic's for nellies who don't want to fight.” There was a layer of distaste and pain to his words as though repeating his father's opinion had poisoned his tongue and caused a bad memory to churn within his mind.

“Not me,” he blurted, his head bouncing towards you before moving back again. Sam leaned over and patted his chest with both hands once. “Big fan.”

As Sam marvelled at his proximity to a real magic user, the lift descended into the bowels of Castle Black and then rose to the top of the Wall after a few minutes of rasping. The dark-haired Jon Snow emerged from the fiery light of the lift with a torch in hand.

“Sam,” was all he said, and Sam fell silent.

Jon nodded at him with a tiny smile when Sam turned and offered a happy, “Hello, Jon!” Sam stepped back to allow Jon room to walk forward and stand diagonal to him.

Although he was addressing more than one person, Jon kept his eyes focused on your mask. “If it's all right with you, I'd like to speak with Brother Black alone.”

Sam lost his smile for a moment, but it returned with a shrug of his shoulders and another shift of his feet. “Of course! Of course!” He distanced himself from where he had been standing and motioned for you to go with Jon. “I'll just be here.”

Jon bid him farewell before marching farther down the Wall, the light of the torch undulating in the icy wind.

As the orange glow started to vanish from sight, Sam looked away and faced the edge of the Wall. “I ought to be checking on Gilly.” Fond memories of the woman softened his voice and provided some warmth against the cold. “Sweet Gilly.”

No one answered but the howl of the wind.

Sam inhaled through his nose and allowed the silence to live for a couple of seconds before he sighed: “Boy, it's cold up here.”

The journey ended after roughly ten minutes of walking, and Jon turned to give you a cursory scan. In his eyes were suspicion, curiosity and more than a token of discomfort. His breath was visible in the cold, flowing upward as he turned to overlook the cliff.

“The other brothers don't feel safe around you. They need to know they can trust the man standing next to them.” A flash of uncertainty overtook him in a sweep of cold wind, and Jon turned his head to look at you as if for the first time. “You are a man, right?”

There was a carefulness to his words as though you might shed your veil of humanity and lunge at him before he took another breath, his legs shifting with a rattle of his heavy armour and his hand confirming its place on the pommel of his sword.

A gust of air wafted from the lower slit in your mask and floated into the night sky.

Holding the silence as the grey cloud dispersed into the darkness looming above the castle, Jon chose not to pursue such thoughts and gave a single nod. “Right.”

* * *

The flaps of wings preceded the caws of a raven, and the bird landed its coat of snow-dappled feathers on the stone frame of the window. It raised its left leg as if it were limp and turned its black eyes to Jon, revealing a scroll tied to its lean body.

Jon approached the raven as it continued to caw and move its head in sudden, jerky motions.

“I haven't sent for any wandering crows,” mumbled Alliser Thorne, who waved at Jon to receive the letter when he paused at his comment.

The bird twitched and hopped whilst the scroll was taken from its leg, and once the gloved hand released it, the raven flew into the white skies with a string of caws.

As Jon brushed his thumb across the reddish-pink seal, the emblem of an upside-down flayed man sent a wave of apprehension over his body. The impulsive part of him said to toss the letter into the fire and never wonder about its contents, but the impatient gaze of Alliser demanded that he push his misgivings aside.

“Well?” came the older man's disgruntled voice.

“It's the sigil of House Bolton, ser.” Jon glanced between the Lord Commander and the scroll, struggling to void all of his concerns but stepping forward with dutiful haste.

Alliser nodded his head and quirked his eyebrows as if coaching a child. “I can see that. Would you care to read it?”

Inspecting the seal one last time, Jon broke it with a snap and unfolded the parchment. “Dear the men of the Night's Watch, it has come to my attention that you recently brought a sorcerer into your ranks.”

His volume tapered after every few words as if seeking to lessen the blow of an expected threat, but as the inky texture of the crooked and misplaced lines stretched and fell before his eyes, he realised it was a continuous promise of danger:

“Their allegiance belongs to House Bolton. If you do not return them to me, I shall flay you living and make you watch as I tear your brother's still-beating heart from his chest and feed it to my hounds.”

Jon lost much of his interest in reading the message and looked askance at Alliser for the sake of averting his eyes from the letter. When the Lord Commander returned his gaze with stunned silence and a minor shift in his position, Jon proceeded to the end.

“Two fortnights it will take for me to march on your pathetic excuse for a castle, so two fortnights you shall have to act.”

Despite the reluctance plaguing his hold on the scroll as if touching it would transmit a disease, Jon took only a second to recuperate and finished with a weary drop in his tone. “Signed Ramsay Bolton, Acting Lord of the Dreadfort.”

He tucked the parchment and lowered his arms to his side, casting a pensive look over the glow of the fire before turning his eyes to the Lord Commander.

“Inane ramblings from a madman,” spat Alliser with a sharp turn of his head. The man tugged a quill out of the inkpot on his desk and slammed a piece of blank paper onto its surface.

Jon watched the quivers of his hand and the words they wrote becoming clearer as the ink dried, but the scratches of the quill marking the parchment were overshadowed by a quick step forward. “Ser, the Boltons are a ruthless people. We shouldn't take anything they say to be idle threats.”

The Lord Commander refused to look away from his writing or slow the motions of his hand. “Roose Bolton is a few steps short of a wildling in lord's clothing. As for his son, I've never met him.” He finished the letter with a flourish. “And I'd like to keep it that way.”

The thud of a seal echoed in the room before it was replaced by the creak of a chair sliding across the floor, and Jon clutched the letter that was pushed into his hand.

“Give this to Maester Aemon. Tell him to send it immediately. When it's done, have a brother ride to Mole's Town.”

As Alliser marched out the door to his chambers, Jon followed and overheard his yells to the congregation of Night's Watchmen standing below. “Increase the patrols! I want a fresh man at those gates for every hour!”

The group lifted their swords and scattered throughout the courtyard, while Jon hastened his walk to the library. Orders were shouted into the wind, and the collective rattle of armour and thump of boots faded into the background.

Jon entered the library a bit louder than he intended. The door slammed behind him when a strong wind pulled it forward, causing both he and Maester Aemon to jump.

A mumble slipped out of Maester Aemon as he ran his fingers across the Braille in the book of dragons he had been delighting in reading. The table at which he was seated was strewn with a variety of books. It stood in the centre of the room, and it was bordered by tall bookcases full of centuries of knowledge.

Stepping forward, Jon extended the scroll and approached the table. “Maester Aemon, I have an urgent scroll from the Lord Commander.”

Maester Aemon took the sealed scroll from him, running his fingertips along the seal and parchment. “Oh,” he mumbled, his voice barely audible. He turned back to the books in front of him and heaved himself from the rickety chair.

As soon as he had started to drag himself forward, a chill washed down his spine as if dunked in ice water. He slowly turned his head and fixed his blind eyes on the farthest corner of the library.

There existed a deep shadow, swirling and spreading like tar. It seemed to emanate from the wall itself, and Maester Aemon took notice of whispers filling the back of his mind. They spoke in ancient tongues with otherworldly inflections that echoed in every part of the library.

His chapped lips struggled to find his brittle voice. “Who are you?”

Jon stilled and followed his gaze, but he saw nothing more than ordinary darkness. “Maester Aemon?”

A few mumbles crept out of Maester Aemon, each one disjointed and confused. He turned his head back and forth between the stone floor, the nearest bookshelf and Jon. His eyes were lost and searching for something unknown to Jon.

“Oh, never mind,” he said softly, for the whispers had ceased.

Tucked away behind a wood column, on the corner of a table set against the wall, was a rectangular coop. Tufts of hay and wheat laid on the bottom and provided the footing for the assortment of ravens scuttling inside.

Maester Aemon shambled to the coop and peeled open its small door. With both hands, he lifted a raven from the enclosure. The bird went limp in his hold, its head facing downward and its legs sticking out.

He equipped the raven with a leather cylinder on its left leg into which he inserted the scroll. Once the latch on the cylinder was pinched shut, Maester Aemon retreated to allow for the raven to take flight with a flutter of wings.

Jon watched as it glided through the short window at the base of the ceiling, and he wondered why a raven was necessary if a brother was riding to the town. His first thought was the scroll contained additional information that the brother was not privy to learn.

The answer came when he caught sight of the raven flying southeast instead of towards Mole's Town.

Before he could question the destination, Samwell Tarly burst into the library. Sam doubled over and placed a hand over his palpitating heart, breathing as a runner would after a race. “Jon!” he panted, “We're needed at the King's Tower!”

Two pairs of footsteps rushed to the walkway outside the library.

Jon collided with the guardrail and grasped the top of it, leaning forward to get a closer look at the discord unfolding in the courtyard.

Night's Watchmen streamed into the corridors overlooking the main entrance, a group of five rangers rode astride on horses, and the brassy call of a horn sounded over the din of brothers hauling weapons and scaling sentry towers.

As the rangers poured into the stables, Jon looked farther and noticed a circle of brothers marching in tandem with you to the opening doors.

* * *

The chairs of Merman's Court were cushioned with the finest silk. They complemented the long table stretching from the foyer to the throne, which lay decorated with a nautical tablecloth and various plates of pork pies, roasted eels and fried lampreys.

The food, warmed still by the steam of the fires, smelt of spice and gravy. The dead and cooked fish swam in the sauce and drank mouthfuls in a vile parody of life, a life that the oceanic paintings lining the walls and ceiling illustrated in vivid colour.

The guards who watched over the feast resembled the type of warriors one expected to see in a submarine kingdom, for the weapons clutched in their hands were tridents.

Lord Manderly sat in a velvet chair similar to his throne, which he had joked about bringing to the table more than once. The Boltons were seated opposite him, and sitting beside them were Lord Cerwyn and his son Cley.

While Roose met the eyes of each lord, Ramsay turned his gaze downwards and divvied his attention between the various items of food covering his plate. Roose glanced in his direction when Ramsay's hand found its way to the knife.

“Forgive my son's lethargy. He is weary from our travels.”

Lord Manderly drew his eyebrows to his receding hairline and stretched his lips in a royal imitation of surprise. “Is he an old man?” Lord Cerwyn joined his chuckles with bountiful enthusiasm, neither lord acknowledging how Ramsay slowly lifted his head.

Malice radiated from the young Bolton like foul breath from a dog's jaws, but, sensing the gaze of his father, he mustered a polite smile.

Roose waited for the laughter to fade into a pregnant silence before he seized control of the discussion. “Our merchants are reporting that they've been turned away from the gates of White Harbor, some at swordpoint.”

Lord Manderly tore a chunk of bread from the strudel and ate it at a comfortable speed, peering across the feast rather than at Roose. “Aye, you'll have to find somewhere else to dump your subpar goods.”

A screech resounded in the dining hall as Ramsay yanked the blade of his knife a short distance across the wood, and he looked at Lord Manderly without raising his head. “Watch your tongue.”

Lord Manderly stopped chewing and faced the young Bolton's desire to maim him with a combination of surprise and umbrage.

At the stern look of Roose, Ramsay lowered his gaze and resumed carving a furrow into the table.

Lord Cerwyn shared an unsettled glance with his son, turning his eye to Roose when Roose looked away from Ramsay and spoke with far more elegance. “The Boltons have traded with the other Northern houses for years, and I haven't had complaints from House Cerwyn or House Umber.”

The weathered face of Lord Manderly acquired a sombre quality. “Ah, Umber. I heard what happened to Gareth's fifth-born. A right tragedy, that.”

A stillness came over Ramsay, his hand pausing and his eyes refusing to look anywhere but at the plate.

There was no visible change in Roose's demeanour, but he offered no words of sympathy.

Lord Cerwyn picked his tankard off the table and turned to Lord Manderly. “One less Umber. That's a start.” The two men descended into a hearty roar of joy and bumped their cups together, while the Boltons watched in quiet amusement.

When the lords joked and drank without a care for the original discussion, Roose spoke with enough strength to regain their attention but not appear demanding. “As Warden of the North, our trade is essential to Northern commerce.”

Lord Cerwyn, who had been gulping alcohol like a direwolf gorging itself on meat, lowered his cup to the table. With an eye roll, he muttered, “Oh, great. More Bolton furs and flayed skin. Just what this city needs.”

The hiss of a blade rang in the ears of every lord when Ramsay jumped from his seat and slammed the knife through Lord Cerwyn's finger. The bone was just barely visible, peeking out of the skin's edge as blood gushed from the exposed tendon in spurts.

A howl of agony bellowed from Lord Cerwyn, and he clutched his injured hand while reeling in his chair. His legs began to kick the stone floor, distress growing louder and more wild with each surge of pain that lashed his mind and dragged shrieks from him as if his finger were aflame.

As Cley started to shiver and seemed on the verge of tears, he stood with a sharp creak of wood on rock and rushed to help his father.

The corners of Ramsay's mouth twitched in a small release of tension, his pupils dilating at the screams and his hand squeezing the utensil. He did not blink once to sever his view of the desperate eyes and paling skin of Lord Cerwyn.

It was not until he turned to his father with a jerk of his head that he allowed his enthusiasm to wither, for Roose was looking at him with the unforgiving coldness of someone who regretted his son's birth.

Smile dropping, Ramsay attempted to win back his favour. “Father—”

Roose interrupted him with a frigid scowl. “Leave.”

Ramsay faced his father's tranquil rage in momentary shock, as though the man had ordered him to leave the realm instead of the room, his fingers tapping the knife before curling about it. He glanced at various spots on the walls and the table without focusing on any.

Hatred of the glare Roose was sending him and his own failure to meet the man's wishes quickened his breaths, and the young Bolton tore the blade out of the wooden surface.

A thin crater became visible on the table next to the disembodied finger, with jagged chips of wood rising to decorate there.

Ramsay took fervent and aggressive strides to the door and shoved it open. Gales of Northern wind swept into the hall like ice water, lifting his cloak as he stormed outside.

The slam of the door behind him cut the chilling breeze like a sword to the head of a great beast, and the return of the torches' warmth redirected the spotlight to the weakening cries of Lord Cerwyn.

“My wedding finger,” groaned Lord Cerwyn, his neck drooping and his eyes fluttering. “He took my wedding finger!”

The limb sitting on the table was adorned with a gold ring that glittered under the candlelight of the chandelier. Only droplets of blood still leaked from his knuckle, dripping onto the plate and tablecloth.

Cley guided him to his feet and positioned himself under his father's left arm, while Lord Cerwyn scrambled to retrieve his finger and cradled it in his other hand.

Lord Manderly tossed his napkin onto the fresh bloodstain infecting his tablecloth and peered at the man with an irritated side-eye. “Pipe down, Medger. It's not like you were using it for much.”

Lord Cerwyn squirmed in his son's grasp, continuing to whimper and holler as he was hurried to the door. Another gust of wind followed their exit, and Roose shifted to a more comfortable position on his chair and clasped his hands together. “So, the trade routes are to be reopened?”

Lord Manderly cocked his head and seemed to repress a scoff. “The chopped-off finger of a twat won't buy our obedience. Do you expect House Manderly to cower in fear?”

Roose presented a look of callous certainty. “I know you're going to lose more than fingers if another Bolton caravan returns empty-handed.”

This sparked a burst of resentment to twist the mouth of Lord Manderly. “You'd threaten a man in his own home? Need I remind you whose wine you're drinking?”

Crumbs from a pork pie tumbled down his fat chin as he took a greedy bite of one, and Roose eyed the meat pie sitting on Lord Manderly's plate. “Need I remind you who hunted the pigs you're eating, Wyman?”

Lord Manderly stopped his chewing. There was a threatening sort of emphasis placed on his first name, like someone dangling a steak over a hungry dog. The remaining chunk of pork pie hovered in front of his mouth, untouched.

A battle of eye contact came and went between the two lords before Lord Manderly dropped the chunk on his plate.

With a subdued sigh, he looked down and pushed his fork away from his dish. “Aye, you're a tough old codger, Roose.” Roose offered a slight smile at this, and Lord Manderly reclined on his chair. “I'm only doing it 'cause of pressure from the Lannisters.”

The mask of composure slipped from Roose's face for just a moment. “I see.” His eyes widened a bit before narrowing in discontent, looking over the feast once more. “It's a shame that the crown feels such a powerful need to meddle in our friendship.”

A laugh bellowed from Lord Manderly as if he had just been informed that the Dothraki had laid down their arms and become a peace-seeking civilisation.

Roose swung his cloak over his shoulder and left his chair with his mind far away in the depths of planning, but he remembered enough pleasantries to nod at the lord. “Be seeing you.”

When the senior Bolton pushed the door open, the sight of an agitated Ramsay fiddling with the bloody silverware eliminated any satisfaction he had gained from learning a piece of the truth.

The soldiers were all standing at a considerable distance from Ramsay, their eyes darting between him and the snowy land to avoid being noticed.

At the sound of boots crunching snow, Ramsay whirled about with a shudder. “Father, I—”

He was struggling to meet Roose's gaze, but his father walked past him. “Be quiet, Ramsay. Mount your horse.”

Hoofprints littered the snow from where Lord Cerwyn and his son had fled to obtain the services of a maester, their tracks disappearing into the blizzard in the northwestern direction of Castle Cerwyn.

Roose lifted himself onto his steed with minimal difficulty and turned his attention to the frosty water of the White Knife babbling nearby rather than grant his son a second of acknowledgement. “We're going home.”

Ramsay was slow to heed this command, his eyes drifting across the snow and clenching the knife so that it would have snapped if made of anything weaker than metal.

When he curled his lips in a question of whether to speak and squinted to deflect the rays of sunshine peeking over the rolling hills, the clop of hooves leaving the entrance to New Castle broke his concentration.

Roose had spurred his horse to trot in the opposite direction, and Ramsay clambered onto a horse of his own to follow.

The journey back to the Dreadfort was far longer and more tedious than last. The path meandered over hills and winded round rivers like a serpent slithering in the grass, with the overcast sky looking bleakly at the snow-covered ground below.

When Roose dismounted and allowed his horse to be spirited away to the stables, he said nothing. He did not grant Ramsay the briefest glance or quietest mutter, nor did he wait to see him return safely and dismount his own horse.

Listening to the footsteps tailing him grow louder and more erratic, Roose relented and turned with a dreary, if not vaguely sarcastic, frown. “The fault is mine. I thought you could better control yourself.”

Ramsay stopped to look at his father in an inability to process the discomfort preventing his mind from resting, his breaths slowing to allow for clearer thinking.

“You've embarrassed our house and disgraced our family name.” Roose watched as the last shard of restraint broke within his son, and he gave no chance for an apology or protest to grace his ears. Instead, he walked down the hall until his footsteps had quieted into nothing.

Abandoned to brood, Ramsay was no longer comfortable in his skin and found himself overtaken by a restless and inflamed energy.

The guard who stood at the door to the kitchens nearly yelped when a gloved hand clutched his throat and yanked him downwards. The noise was silenced by the pressure constricting his windpipe, and it took all of his training and discipline not to attack or look away from the wild eyes glaring into his own.

“Gather the men.” The order slipped through Ramsay's clenched teeth as a whisper. “Tell them we march tonight.”

He released the guard, only to shove him a moment after the man failed to sprint out of arm's length. “Go!” Ramsay turned in the direction his father had gone as the rapid thuds of steel boots echoed against the stone floors.

* * *

A rush of cold wind burst into the Lord Commander's chambers as the door swung open. The thud of leather boots on wood marked the entry of a panting Night's Watchman, his forehead slick with a layer of snow and a hand resting on his abdomen.

“News from Mole's Town, ser.”

The focus of Alliser's squinting eyes crumpled with dismay, and the Night's Watchman stepped further into the chamber. “Three armed strangers arrived last night—” he took a breath “—together.”

Alliser let his gaze fall upon the scrolls littering his desk, searching for a reason not to assume the worst. “Were they bearing any sigils?”

Despite his limited understanding of the situation, the brother saw his commander's desperate hope and shook his head as if fearing the implications of his answer. “No, ser.”

Alliser was unsure of whether to be relieved or troubled by that fact. The possibility that the strangers were merely bandits or deserters with impeccable timing was one he clung to like a monkey to the last branch, but the paranoia creeping up his spine drove him to rise from his seat. “'Two fortnights', he said. Not forty-eight hours!”

The Night's Watchman looked between Alliser and the door, his feet shifting to the exit and his hand twitching closer to his sword.

A tense silence of unspoken orders and obscenities reigned as Alliser swerved his head back and forth across his desk. “The Boltons have shat on their promise,” he finally declared. “Not that I expected anything less.”

After a moment of deliberation, Alliser waved the brother away. “Ride to the Shadow Tower. Request an audience with Denys Mallister, and tell him we need as many men as he can spare.”

A brisk “yes, ser” flew out the Night's Watchman's mouth. A gust as cold as ice blew his cloak into the air when he opened the door once again, his boots thumping away from the chambers and then descending the stairs.

Another pair of footsteps replaced his and thundered to the door with haste. Alliser jerked his head up in preparation for scolding what he assumed to be the same brother returning in confusion.

The man who greeted him was Jon Snow, and Jon hurried to the desk while looking upon him in a frenzy of bewilderment. “You're having Brother Black escorted from the castle?”

Alliser narrowed his eyes at the name, his lips pressing together and parting into a straight line. “I am.” He gave a swift nod. “They're a fugitive from justice.” The chair squeaked as he rose and collected a scroll lying on the desk, unfolded with a broken red seal.

“Ser,” said Jon, his tone disbelieving. He looked behind himself for a brief moment and then put forward his hand. “Brother Black—”

Alliser spun towards him and yelled, “They're not a brother, Jon! They never trained! They never took the oath.” A moment of silence passed before he began again at a slightly more controlled volume, “They're a runaway scratching at our door.”

Jon took a few seconds to collect his thoughts, and when he pointed a gloved finger at the Wall, Alliser knew his words before Jon uttered them: “They've killed more wildlings in a week than most of these men have in years.”

With a heavy sigh, Alliser shook his head. “The crown issued a royal decree for their return. Would you have me branded a traitor?” He turned back to the desk with an upward swing of his hand, and his voice lowered to a frustrated mutter. “Now we have Bolton spies skittering about in the dark like rats.”

At this, Jon opened his mouth and glanced round the room. “The Bolton army can't march on Castle Black.” He stretched an arm towards the open window as if the army were marching forth at that very moment. “The lords have no jurisdiction here. It's neutral territory!”

Alliser looked over his shoulder to bob his head at Jon. “Tell that to them when they're peeling the skin off your bones.”

* * *

Far outside the Lord Commander's Tower walked a group of four Night's Watchmen, each of whom exchanged a cautious glance with the man beside him. All carried a sheathed blade on their hip as well as a torch to chase the shadows of tall trees away.

The shadow that dragged across the ground at your feet, however, did not fade, no matter how many sources of light were waved over it.

The forest ahead was devoid of singing birds and howling wolves, and the giant trees partially blocked the golden and pinkish rays of midday. Every man slowed his pace and watched the tree line, some expecting to see a Bolton sigil flying and others fearing that a bear was likely to hurl itself at the nearest man.

From behind a thicket hopped a rabbit. The appearance of the small animal elicited a hushed chuckle from the brother on your right. “That'd make a nice feed,” he whispered, nodding his head and waving his torch at it.

The brother on your left turned to him and talked without a care for his volume. “Don't bet your supper on it.”

Long ears twitching and flattening at the noise, the rabbit scurried away into the bushes.

The man who had spoken first cocked his eye at him, and the brother on your left continued: “I caught me one of them hares down in Dorne. Ate the whole thing before the guards came and said it was some lord's pet.” The brother put his hands together, then spread them apart to visualise his meal.

He shrugged as if he could still taste the hare and knew it to be worth the punishment, a slight smile forming on his lips. “Now here I am.” This sliver of a smile fell to a frown, and he shook his head. “It's too bad. I hear Dorne's nice this time of year.”

You peered beyond your shoulder to spy the wooden doors of Castle Black, which were comprised of hefty logs that reached thrice above your line of sight. Somewhere warm, you thought, was an apt place to hide from those who lived in the cold.

Do anything you want with my work, but never make me boring!

[nemo-of-house-hamartia]

Welcome back! good to see you back here, I missed your content! for the aesthetic game, can you please do one for Dottie and one for Mathias? love them!

Hi there Nonnie! Thank you for your kind words, it's good to be back indeed! :D Allow me to present the Aesthetic for Dorothea and Mathias (also, keep an eye on my dash, because I have other requests for these two, so I have more aesthetic things coming for them :D)

🌹DOROTHEA MARIANNE STARRICK ✨

MOODBOARD:

PLAYLIST:

"Morning Star" - Blackmore's Night

"Winter's Bloom" - Adrian Von Ziegler

"Ghost of a Rose" - Blackmore's Night

STEAL HER LOOK:

QUOTES :

“Those freckles make you seem like a galaxy of stars, just waiting to be explored and loved.” - Nikita Gill

“All men have stars, but they are not the same things for different people. For some, who are travelers, the stars are guides. For others they are no more than little lights in the sky. For others, who are scholars, they are problems... But all these stars are silent. You-You alone will have stars as no one else has them.” - Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, Le Petit Prince

“...her who whose beauty is not like earthly beauty, dangerous to look upon, but like the morning star which is its emblem, bright and musical.”- James Joyce, A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man

“In a Wonderland they lie, Dreaming as the days go by, Dreaming as the summers die: Ever drifting down the stream- Lingering in the golden gleam- Life, what is it but a dream?” ― Lewis Carroll, Through the Looking Glass

HER AESTHETIC:

Starlit sky; Northern Lights setting the sky blazing; stargazing alone on a secluded beach with the waves as gentle company; frost-covered roses in a hidden garden; walking down a path in the forest at night holding a silver lantern as a sole guide with the snow gently falling silently all around; abandoned manors hidden away in the depths of an ancient forest; ghosts still dancing together in ballrooms accompanied only by the music of their memories; sitting by the fireplace on an ancient rocking chair and reading an ancient tome under a thick pelt; sipping on warm rose tea while looking at the snow falling outside; snuggling under the comfort of heavy blankets in a canopy bed;

🌙MATHIAS SÉBASTIEN DE BEAUMONT🎨

MOODBOARD:

PLAYLIST:

"Hijo De La Luna" - Mecano

"Outdoor" - Roberto Cacciapaglia

"Adagio" - Il Divo

STEAL HIS LOOK:

QUOTES:

“Because when he sings...even the birds stop to listen.”- Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games

“Music expresses that which cannot be put into words and that which cannot remain silent”- Victor Hugo

“Now I want to live like everybody else. I want to have a wife like everybody else and to take her out on Sundays. I have invented a mask that makes me look like anybody. People will not even turn round in the streets. You will be the happiest of women. And we will sing, all by ourselves, till we swoon away with delight. You are crying! You are afraid of me! And yet I am not really wicked. Love me and you shall see! All I wanted was to be loved for myself. If you loved me I should be as gentle as a lamb; and you could do anything with me that you pleased.” - Gaston Leroux, The Phantom of the Opera

“He stared dully at the desolate, cold road and the pale, dead night. Nothing was colder or more dead than his heart. He had loved an angel and now he despised a woman.”-  Gaston Leroux, The Phantom of the Opera

HIS AESTHETIC:

A small nook to sit and reflect quietly; new quills and parchments; the perfume of freshly brewed coffee, the way the air smell when Autumn is about to arrive, the feeling when the fingers start tickling the ivories and a melody is born, completely encompassing one's soul; the sound of rain against the glass of the windows; riding a horse with the wind caressing one's hair, free from all fears and worries; songs sung together with friends; the perfume of orange flowers and neroli still lingering on the pillow; the sight of the full moon after a night storm; waves crashing against the sand in the distance;

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

[everthewip]

i said i want to pick a new WIP to focus on for a bit and I meant it, but indecisive as I am, I'm gonna need some help. So I'm making a poll. I don't have room to describe each snippet in the poll so im just numbering them and you can read the snippets below the cut

please don't feel obligated, but if you'd like to read and vote to help me out, i would much appreciate it!

These snippets will be very short because I don't want to make this lengthier than it needs to be, but if you'd rather read more let me know and I'll post more.

1. Music echoed from the city center as she guided me away from the crowds. I did not recognize the street she took. Electricity was in short supply and the magic had been focused on the festival, so the street lanterns were dark and cold. There is a reason folk go missing at this time of year; a reason these poorer districts see a rise in theft and murder every festival. Danger always lurked in shadows, but she moved through the darkness like a wraith; swift, silent, and sure of every step. Her hand squeezed mine as if she feared losing me, a silent challenge to the night – I dare you to steal her from me. My fingers were growing numb. My head was heavy from the festival drinks, my thoughts twisted by incense that wafted from the tents of fortune tellers and witches...

2.

Autumn leaves had covered the forest floor, keeping a soft cushion beneath the bare soles of her feet. It was a comfort she did not expect to last. Too soon the trees began to grow sparse, the blanket of leaves giving way to cold dirt and pebbles. Along the border of the woods was a rocky hillside that stretched wide in both directions. Rather than attempt to find a way around, she gritted her teeth and began the ascent over it. Tough as her feet were they could not withstand the sharp edges of the rocks. Blood warmed the cold stone as they cut into her, but she did not stop or give in to the pain. The sooner she passed over the rocky terrain the better.  On the other side lay a valley, surrounded on all edges by the forest. Tall, yellowed grass swayed in the afternoon wind as mountain peaks loomed to the near east. On the northern end of the valley rose a writhing snake of smoke, its source a low-burning campfire. A wagon was stationed near it, along with three figures sitting around the flames. Two horses grazed nearby.  There was a scent in the air, of burning wood and fried meat. For a while she stood there, letting the blood of her feet seep into the grass, watching the distant figures. Her tongue watered at the scents, stirring the hunger rooted so deeply in her belly - in her bones. 

3. They had been dead for three days, of this I am certain. The last threads of their lives still linger; as thin and fragile as the first string in a spiders trap, or the broken wisps of a long abandoned cobweb. I must brush these threads aside to view the bodies more closely, but they stick and cling to my fingers and hair. “Go on,” I urge, only somewhat agitated. “There's no point in staying now.” But they do stay, always; they never listen. I cannot blame them. There are dark things in the shadows, hiding in the crevices of life and death - waiting for the stray thread of a soul to drift onto their tongues, pinned between their teeth. The forest is hushed here and the trees stir without wind, disturbed by the bulk of unseen forms; stalking, waiting. Three days. My stomach turns to think these last few threads are all that remain, to imagine the rest have already been devoured. Perhaps I will let them cling to me after all.

4. The hummingbirds would go no further. Tyah studied the dark pass ahead, where low branches and thorny shrubs curved inward to form a tunnel. The trees were massive this deep within the ancient forest and little sunlight could pierce the near impenetrable canopy high above. No light at all seemed capable of illuminating the tunnel. The young scout could not blame the hummingbirds for pausing here, where scattered ribbons of thin light could still caress the forest floor. “We'll continue on foot,” Rysen stated as he dismounted. “And keep your wings down, lest they snag on the brambles.” Tyah shuddered at the thought and did as ordered, resting her wings against her back before she dismounted, stumbling a little on her landing. A quick glance toward Rysen proved he hadn't noticed, his focus set on the dark tunnel ahead. She exhaled a relieved sigh and adjusted her belted quiver. ... “What will we do if they refuse to help us?” Even in a whisper, her question seemed too loud, bouncing off the darkness as if it were solid. “We will leave, as swiftly as we can, and hope the horrors of the Darkbrier are no more than children's tales.”

[elytrafemme]

what they don't tell you about university is you'll feel so fucking free & you can walk outside and the weather's always more tolerable here than it is back at home & you'll see kids outside and think you're the toughest shit in the world and yet they're somehow tougher & you'll start paying way more attention to the color of rivers because water's so much murkier back where you're from & the words of your halfway dialect jump out more because everyone's a northerner and if nobody's around to say i reckon to you then you've gotta say it yourself & your people are all sober & your people are all not & the songs you listen to solely exist to make you feel like a bad bitch who's not about to kill themself & you watch shitty movies and then read two papers but still make it in time for breakfast & people cold call for some fucking reason to ask you where to catch the bus & there's always a game happening on the field with people you don't give a fuck about & you don't remember what it's actually like to be loved but if you try hard enough to be liked maybe you'll forget the absence & you break up with the only person who made you feel safe and don't give a single shit & your professor is like your dad but at least he uses the right pronouns & the kind boy is maybe a kind boy to everyone but you & you're free like the birds that fly in flocks & shit your carbon footprint's fucked with all the public transport & at least you're going somewhere & at least people talk to you & you're never gonna go back to when you were safe and loved with her hand running through your hair and your dad picking you up while old rock plays on the radio.

but there's a dog somewhere on campus & at least the voice on the metro seems to like you & if you take a walk late at night with the apple you grabbed from the dining hall, you'll feel a little bit like a criminal and all the way incomplete.

[jjenvs3000w24]

Turtles of Ontario

Beneath the calm surface of Ontario’s lakes and rivers lives an animal that has occupied the area for longer than any human civilization. But with the changes of the modern world, the ancient turtles of Ontario that once represented protection and longevity are quickly fading from existence. In today’s blog post, I will be exploring my favourite animal, the turtle, and share with you the unfortunate story of how this elder of the animal world has become rare in their native habitats, and how if action is not taken, we may never be able to see them again. 

There are eight species of turtle that can call Ontario their home, the most of any Canadian province, each with unique characteristics that set them apart from the others. Turtles are reptiles that belong to the order Testudines, they have hard shells that have developed from their ribs and can hide their heads and limbs within the shell when threatened. Most turtles can be identified based solely on the patterns, size, and shape of their shells. One of the most commonly seen turtles in Ontario is the painted turtle. If you see a bunch of turtles lying on a log or rock, you’ve likely seen a painted turtle! These turtles love basking in the sun near the lakes, ponds, rivers, and wetlands that they live in. They are aquatic, spending most of their time in the water but will travel onto land to migrate, nest, and bask. They have a unique pattern of red stripes on their shells and limbs which can be seen in the picture below (COSEQIC, 2018). 

The largest turtle in Ontario is the Snapping turtle, which can grow to 40cm in length! They are known not only for their size but also for their powerful bite, which they get their name from. Although their shells are large, their underside is not well protected, and they cannot fully retract their head and limbs (OTCC, 2023).

Another fascinating species is the Northern Map turtle, which lives in bodies of water in and around the Great Lakes. They get their names from the unique pattern on their shells of intricate lines that resemble that of a topographical map. They also like to bask on logs and other surfaces near the water but are quick to startle and will dive into the water at the slightest movement (OTCC, 2023).

Unfortunately, seven of the eight Ontario species are considered at risk of extinction if steps are not taken to conserve their populations. They all face similar threats from human activities and suffer the most from roadway accidents, loss of habitat, and invasive species (OTCC, 2023). Turtles have long lives but take many years to reach sexual maturity, resulting in low rates of population growth. This combined with increased adult mortality has made population recovery a slow and difficult process. Being able to identify the different species of turtles in Ontario is crucial for reporting and monitoring their populations. There are many citizen science initiatives and reporting turtle sightings is an important step in their conservation. This can be done at the following website, but many others can be found with a quick search:  https://www.ontario.ca/page/report-rare-species-animals-and-plants 

COSEWIC. (2018). COSEWIC assessment and status report on the Midland Painted Turtle Chrysemys picta marginata and the Eastern Painted Turtle Chrysemys picta picta in Canada. Committee on the Status of Endangered Wildlife in Canada. Ottawa.

OTCC. (2023). Our 8 Native Species Need Our Help! Ontario Turtle Conservation Centre, retrieved from: https://ontarioturtle.ca/turtles/

[warriors-rewritten-chaos]

Warrior Cats Prefixes List- B

I had a WC Name Generator on Perchance that I made but I don't seem to have access anymore, so I'm remaking it here as just a simple list. The definitions used are the ones that Clan cats have for those things, and thus are the origins of the names. Definitions used are whatever I found when I googled it.

Badger-: "[noun] a heavily built omnivorous nocturnal mammal of the weasel family, typically having a gray and black coat"

Bark-: "[noun] an outer layer of a woody plant such as a tree or stick; [noun] the sharp explosive cry of certain animals, especially a dog, fox, or seal"

Barley-: "[noun] a hardy cereal that has coarse bristles extending from the ears"

Basalt-: "[noun] a dark, fine-grained volcanic rock that sometimes displays a columnar structure"

Basil-: "[noun] an aromatic annual herb of the mint family; [noun] the leaves of the basil plant"

Bass-: "[noun] any of numerous edible marine or freshwater bony fishes"

Bat-: "[noun] any of a widely distributed order of nocturnal flying mammals that have wings formed from four elongated digits of the forelimb covered by a cutaneous membrane and rely on echolocation"

Bay-: "[noun] a broad inlet of the sea where the land curves inward; [noun] an indentation or recess in a range of hills or mountains"

Beach-: "[noun] a strip of land covered with sand, pebbles, or small stones at the edge of a body of water"

Bear-: "[noun] a large, heavy mammal that walks on the soles of its feet, having thick fur and a very short tail"

Beaver-: "[noun] a large semiaquatic broad-tailed rodent that is native to North America and northern Eurasia"

Bee-: "[noun] a honeybee; [noun] an insect of a large group to which the honeybee belongs, including many solitary as well as social kinds"

Beech-: "[noun] a large tree with smooth gray bark, glossy leaves, and hard, pale, fine-grained timber"

Beetle-: "[noun] an insect of an order distinguished by forewings typically modified into hard wing cases that cover and protect the hind wings and abdomen"

Belladonna-: "[noun] another name for the deadly nightshade plant"

Bellflower-: "[noun] a plant with bell-shaped flowers that are usually blue, purple, pink, or white"

Berry-: "[noun] a small roundish juicy fruit without a stone"

Big-: "[adj] of considerable size, extent, or intensity"

Bilberry-: "[noun] a small dark blue edible berry; [noun] a hardy dwarf shrub closely related to the blueberry, with red drooping flowers and dark blue edible berries"

Birch-: "[noun] a slender, fast-growing tree that has thin bark (often peeling) and bears catkins"

Bird-: "[noun] a warm-blooded egg-laying vertebrate distinguished by the possession of feathers, wings, and a beak and (typically) by being able to fly"

Bison-: "[noun] a humpbacked shaggy-haired wild ox native to North America and Europe"

Bitter-: "[adj] having a sharp, pungent taste or smell; not sweet"

Black-: "[noun] black color or pigment; [adj] of the very darkest color owing to the absence of or complete absorption of light; the opposite of white"

Blackberry-: "[noun] an edible soft fruit consisting of a cluster of soft purple-black drupelets; [noun] the prickly climbing shrub of the rose family that bears blackberries"

Blackbird-: "[noun] a European thrush with mainly black plumage; [noun] an American bird with a strong pointed bill. The male has black plumage that is iridescent or has patches of red or yellow"

Blaze-: "[noun] a very large or fiercely burning fire; [verb] burn fiercely or brightly"

Blazing-: "[verb] burn fiercely or brightly"

Blight-: "[noun] a plant disease, typically one caused by fungi such as mildews, rusts, and smuts (smut as defined as a fungal disease of grains); [verb] infect (plants) with blight"

Blizzard-: "[noun] a severe snowstorm with high winds and low visibility"

Bloom-: "[noun] a flower, especially one cultivated for its beauty; [noun] a delicate powdery surface deposit on certain fresh fruits, leaves, or stems; [verb] to produce flowers, to be in flower"

Blossom-: "[noun] a flower or a mass of flowers, especially on a tree or bush; [verb] (of a tree or bush) produce flowers or masses of flowers"

Blue-: "[noun] blue color or pigment; [adj] of a color intermediate between green and violet, as of the sky or sea on a sunny day"

Bluebell-: "[noun] a European woodland plant of the lily family that produces clusters of blue bell-shaped flowers in spring; [noun] any of a number of other plants with blue bell-shaped flowers"

Blueberry-: "[noun] the small sweet blue-black edible berry of the blueberry plant; [noun] a hardy dwarf shrub of the heath family, with small, whitish drooping flowers and dark blue edible berries"

Bluebird-: "[noun] an American songbird of the thrush subfamily, the male of which has a blue head, back, and wings"

Boa-: "[noun] a constrictor snake which bears live young and may reach great size, native to America, Africa, Asia, and some Pacific islands"

Boar-: "[noun] a tusked Eurasian wild pig from which domestic pigs are descended; [noun] a male domestic pig"

Bog-: "[noun] wet muddy ground too soft to support a heavy body"

Bolt-: "[verb] (of an animal) run away suddenly out of control; [noun] thunderbolt"

Bone-: "[noun] any of the pieces of hard whitish tissue making up the skeleton in vertebrates; [noun] the calcified material of which bones consist"

Borage-: "[noun] a herbaceous plant with bright blue flowers and hairy leaves"

Boulder-: "[noun] a large rock, typically one that has been worn smooth by erosion"

Bounce-: "[noun] an act of jumping or an instance of being moved up and down; [verb] (of a person) jump repeatedly up and down, typically on something springy"

Bough-: "[noun] a main branch of a tree"

Bracken-: "[noun] a tall fern with coarse lobed fronds, which occurs worldwide and can cover large areas"

Bramble-: "[noun] a prickly scrambling vine or shrub, especially a blackberry or other wild shrub of the rose family"

Brambling-: "[noun] a small brightly-colored passerine bird in the finch family"

Branch-: "[noun] a part of a tree which grows out from the trunk or from a bough"

Brave-: "[adj] ready to face and endure danger or pain; showing courage"

Bream-: "[noun] a greenish-bronze deep-bodied freshwater fish native to Europe"

Breeze-: "[noun] a gentle wind"

Briar-: "[noun] any of a number of prickly scrambling shrubs, especially the sweetbriar and other wild roses"

Bright-: "[adj] giving out or reflecting a lot of light, shining; [adj] (of a person) intelligent and quick-witted"

Brindle-: "[noun] a brownish or tawny color of animal fur, with streaks of other color; [adj] (especially of domestic animals) brownish or tawny with streaks of other color"

Bristle-: "[noun] a short stiff hair, typically one of those on an animal's skin, a man's face, or a plant; [verb] (of hair or fur) stand upright away from the skin, especially in anger or fear"

Broken-: "[adj] having been fractured or damaged and no longer in one piece or in working order; [adj] (of a person) having given up all hope, despairing"

Bronze-: "[noun] a yellowish-brown alloy of copper with up to one-third tin; [noun] a yellowish-brown color"

Brown-: "[noun] brown color or pigment; [adj] of a color produced by mixing red, yellow, and blue, as of dark wood or rich soil"

Brush-: "[noun] a plant community characterized by vegetation dominated by shrubs, often also including grasses, herbs, and geophytes"

Bryony-: "[noun] a climbing plant that has greenish-white flowers and red berries"

Bubble-: "[noun] a thin sphere of liquid enclosing air or another gas"

Bud-: "[noun] a compact growth on a plant that develops into a leaf, flower, or shoot"

Buffalo-: "[noun] a heavily built wild ox with backswept horns, found mainly in the Old World tropics"

Bug-: "[noun] an insect of a large order distinguished by having mouthparts that are modified for piercing and sucking; [noun] a small insect"

Bull-: "[noun] a fully grown male animal of a domesticated breed of ox"

Bumble-: "[verb] move or act in an awkward or confused manner; [verb] speak in a confused or indistinct way"

Bumblebee-: "[noun] a large hairy bee with a loud hum, living in small colonies in holes underground"

Bunny-: "[noun] a rabbit, especially a young one"

Burdock-: "[noun] a large herbaceous Old World plant of the daisy family"

Burn-: "[verb] (of a fire) produce flames and heat while consuming a material such as coal or wood; [verb] destroy, damage, or injure by heat or fire"

Burnet-: "[noun] a herbaceous plant of the rose family, with globular pinkish flower heads and leaves composed of many small leaflets"

Burnt-: "[adj] of or showing colors having a deeper or grayer hue than is usually associated with them"

Burrow-: "[noun] a hole or tunnel dug by a small animal, especially a rabbit, as a dwelling; [verb] (of an animal) make a hole or tunnel, typically for use as a dwelling"

Buttercup-: "[noun] a poisonous herbaceous plant with bright yellow cup-shaped flowers, which is common in grasslands and as a garden weed"

Butterfly-: "[noun] a nectar-feeding insect with two pairs of large, typically brightly colored wings that are covered with microscopic scales"

Buzz-: "[noun] a low, continuous humming or murmuring sound, made by or similar to that made by an insect"

Buzzard-: "[noun] a large hawklike bird of prey with broad wings and a rounded tail, typically seen soaring in wide circles"

Buzzing-: "[verb] making a low, continuous humming or murmuring sound"

[badlydrawnmanic]

You got any Sonic or Shadow headcannons?

oh i have some, sure! with sonic it's mostly what order events happened in and how he grew up but shadow has more of what you'd expect from a headcanon

off the top of my head...

sonic

sonic was directly given to chuck by aleena rather than going through a secondary no-name family before meeting him. he lived on christmas island under chuck's care until he was about 5 or 6 years old

since he was raised by chuck, he knows more about mechanical things than you'd think, sort of absorbing that information by watching his uncle do stuff for friends and family. that's how he knew to work the tornado since chuck would bring him along when he went to help do repairs on paulie's plane

chuck made (and continues to make) his special shoes since commercially available ones just won't cut it. it's more so an issue of durability than anything else, but they connect to the ground surprisingly well for being more or less completely flat on the bottom (do you know how much it sucks to get a rock wedged in any cracks in the sole when you're going a million miles an hour?)

unfortunately at that 5 or 6 year mark, eggman attacked and stole chuck, but sonic ran away, so he was pretty much alone from that point. somehow he ended up on south island all by himself, and sonic 1 takes place when he's around 10 years old

because he lived alone on an island with a bunch of small animals for a good period of his childhood, sonic more or less understands what they're saying when they chatter at him when almost no one else does, thinking it's just noise. he'll have full conversations with birds and squirrels and stuff like it's no big deal

since he goes around rescuing animals all the time (and animals don't have as much of a reason as people do to stay in one spot), there isn't really a place he can go where the critters haven't heard of him. talk about him travels amongst them and he's friendly with most critters because of it

the same goes for talk about eggman, but that just results in squirrels purposefully messing up his wires and birds swooping at him in frustration when he least expects it. you can imagine that he isn't really that much of an outdoorsy person because of it

sonic is very good at mimicking other peoples' voices, and his changes in voice actors over the years are reflected in-universe. all of his friends think he's fucking with them because he'll just switch up what he sounds like on a whim. imagine that one scene from peter pan where peter is messing with smee in the cave and that's pretty much it. none of his friends know what his real voice is, but their bets are split between the jaleel white voice or the roger one

that being said, any objectively bad impressions he does are either because he's making fun of them in the process and saying they sound dumb or he can't reach that tone within his vocal range. he mostly does the purposefully bad impressions with eggman, knuckles, and shadow, the latter when they're being cartoonishly grumpy and he feels like poking bears

sonic can and will sleep nearly anywhere with little to no difficulty. he's really good at finding little safe places in objectively dangerous areas where he or tails (mostly tails) can catch a break

he has a little cabin in the woods somewhere near knothole, but no one except him and tails know where it is. he keeps all the stuff from his adventures there and goes there when he needs a break

he's surprisingly well-read and owns quite a lot of books. he doesn't have a lot of time to read as of late, but he still enjoys it

if he had to choose between extremes, he'd prefer hot places like deserts or volcanic areas over ice caves or the arctic, even if he is surprisingly resistant to the cold. the most he'll really do if he's chilly is put on a scarf

if we're going into specifics on what species he is, he's a vague mix between european, northern white-breasted, long-eared, and four-toed hedgehogs. his dad's half of the family is mostly mutts, but aleena is specifically a european hedgehog

sonic's favorite holiday is christmas! he's mostly in it for the family and friends aspect of it, and his folks have a big get-together at the end of the year for it. he invites pretty much everyone he knows that he's even a little bit friendly with (his parents are 100% cool with it and think it makes the whole thing better) and it's always really fun. his favorite thing to do is mess around when everyone's gathered up for a big family photo. he's always doing some kind of silly pose or making a face

shadow

shadow didn't just come out of whatever tube he was grown in at the age he is now. he was baby sized, but aged at an accelerated rate until the point we see him at now over the course of about 5 years before it slowed down dramatically

that being said, he does age, it's just on a time scale that isn't easy to see. if you took a picture of him in 200 years and compared it to him now, you'd be able to see the difference, but he doesn't know. he hasn't been alive long enough to actually see or feel any significant change outside of any injuries he may have acquired

while he's very resistant to damage and pain, he's still alive, and there's a (highly accelerated) healing process involved. while he recovers from most things without a scratch, more heinous injuries have the potential to scar over and leave lasting marks

him, rouge, and omega all share a pretty nice apartment in empire city where they live together. he's a very simple guy who couldn't care less about what's in the space outside of necessities so rouge chooses and arranges most of the furniture

shadow had to be convinced to put anything other than a bed and dresser in his room because he didn't feel it was necessary. he's not the pristine white aperture science kind of minimalist but like... he's certainly a minimalist

he refuses to wear shoes in his or other peoples' living spaces. take your shoes off at the door or he'll just stare at you accusingly the whole time you're there. same thing if you don't use a coaster

he uses lavender scented hair (quill?) products. maria really liked that smell so it reminds him of her and brings him comfort. that and it's just a relaxing smell. he honestly likes floral scents in general but that's his absolute favorite

he's surprisingly good with children and enjoys their company, despite what you would think about him. he's incredibly tolerant of loud noises and is very good at regulating his voice and stress responses. if he wasn't repurposed into a biological super weapon, he would have likely filled a similar role as a support animal for maria in addition to helping them find a way to cure whatever disease was making her so weak

some hobbies of his include gardening and cooking. i don't really have much else to say about that lol

he's prone to making deadpan jokes that none of his friends can tell are jokes, either that or he'll be unnecessarily abrasive or say something completely out of pocket and play it completely straight to get a rise out of people. he thinks it's funny even if the others are all worriedly looking at each other wondering if he's being serious or not

he does eat unprocessed coffee beans though. he wasn't lying about that during the twitter takeover

unlike sonic, he prefers the cold. he isn't very well-suited to extreme heat, be it from ambient sources or sun exposure. he's actually prone to heat exhaustion due to how he is biologically in addition to the environment he was raised in. you don't need heat resistance in a space station, but you certainly need to be able to deal with the cold radiating off the metal separating you from the empty vacuum of space

once again going into specifics: while most of his dna comes from a european hedgehog and a significant amount came from the black arms, he has some weird stuff in there as a remnant from the biolizard experiments that contribute to his healing factor and other quirks of his. if you look hard enough at the sequence you could probably find some leftover salamander dna somewhere

he doesn't really have a favorite holiday (he isn't the most festive person), but i've seen jewish people interpret him and the robotnik family as jewish and it all seems very wholesome

of course, sonic still invites him to his family's big christmas parties. he does come (even if he feels a little out of place) and is very readily accepted by sonic's parents and relatives. while he isn't super into it, he appreciates being included and likes to help prepare any food that still needs to be made. you can see him genuinely smiling in the background of some of the family photos

[vinbass]

Snow on the beach is MOSHANG

"And it's like snow at the beach

Weird but fucking beautiful”

Shang qinghua being so upbeat and lively in the northern dessert where its freezing and cool that it just doesn’t make sense but its beautifu-

I will now explain how snow on the beach was made for moshang-

This doesn’t make sense and was concocted by my lightheaded brain.

------------ O ------------ O ------------ O ------------

“One night a few moons ago I

Saw flecks of what could've been lights

But it might just have been you

Passing by unbeknownst to me”

Is about how SQH sees MBJ, like how when you look at somebody you love, adore etc. OR JUST SO FREAKING BEAUTIFUL THAT FLOWER ARE EVERYWHERE OR LIKE EVERYTHING IS FILTERED OUT OF YOUR BRAIN EXCEPT THEIR FACE. In this case, the snowflakes in the bg while sqh was looking at mbj turned into lights o reflected it to like light in his vision which made mbj stand out more in sqh eyes.

 “Life is emotionally abusive

And time can't stop me quite like you did

And my flight was awful, thanks for asking

I'm unglued - thanks to you”

 “Life is emotionally abusive

The line about life being abusive reflects his 1st and 2nd life like how life didn’t treat him that well in the 1st and now in the 2nd he’s stuck in his own novel as a cannon fodder and on top of that as the traitor that would betray his ideal lover.

And time can't stop me quite like you did

The line about how time can’t stop me quite like you did is how even though I his 2nd life the system was making all kinds of demands and in my opinion, I think sqh just didn’t hesitate to do it cause his life was on the line or do/find a way that can help him skip a mission or future hurdles or something.

This line resonates with the scene where all sqh needed to do is bash this rock and kill mbj to avoid his future death and betrayals etc. But unlike the past things or missions where he didn’t even hesitate to do it, he stopped. He stopped because this was the sole character he created that was for him. That was not influenced by his fans or the urge to please the audience. This was the only character he didn’t change from beginning to end. The character he made as his ideal lover.

And my flight was awful, thanks for asking

It can refer to how his life as an author was awful like deadlines and writing stuff, he didn’t want to please the readers. It can also refer to his flight from his 1st life to the 2nd like how he was just a broke tired author trying to make a living to a canon fodder in his sect where he has to follow the system or die. And the word flight is used because Airplane shooting towards the sky-

I'm unglued - thanks to you

Is how mbj’s influence on sqh which led to him not being glued 100% to the system anymore. Like how he learned to defy the system or don’t follow its orders entirely because of mbj. He has someone he can depend on now and he isn’t alone anymore.

Stars by the pocketful

You wanting me

Tonight

Feels impossible

But it's comin' down, no sound, it's all around

How sqh feel about mbj and him thinking mbj will never reciprocate his feelings.

This scene feels like what I once saw on a screen

I searched 'aurora borealis green'

I've never seen

Someone lit from within

Blurring out my periphery

When sqh was researching about how the northern dessert will turn out like he saw a pic of the aurora borealis green and just unconsciously wrote about how mbj is just as beautiful or a figure that you just can’t take your eyes off due to being mesmerized or amazement- headcanons are accidentally slipping in-

Sqh being with mbj for most of his life, he can detect or at least know when mbj’s happy or really really happy and it’s not because of his look cause in other people’s eyes mbj wears the same face everyday with a frown. So like sqh can feel it when mbj’s happy. Like a gut feeling, a feeling that mbj is happy within that icy façade of his, like someone lit from within.

My smile is like I won a contest

And to hide that would be so dishonest

Sqh’s genuine smile. A smile he often wears when he sees mbj in settings where no work was needed, nothing to be afraid of, just him and mbj having a conversation or anything that mbj does that make sqh smile. For example, mbj giving him a coat or an accessory. Mbj asking him about his day or smt.

And it's fine to fake it 'til you make it

Til you do

Til it's true

How sqh often acts out in a way to please everyone of make it easily to excuse his behavior. Like how sqh might deny him caring about mbj then by the time he realizes he does care about him he has already grabbed a sword and jumped to save his king.

I can't speak, afraid to jinx it

I don't even dare to wish it

Mbj treating sqh very well and a time where it seems it’s the right time to tell mbj his feelings, but he doesn’t because he’s afraid he’s going to jinx it. And how he dares not to even wish for a thing cause just being beside his king is already a blessing.

But your eyes are flying saucers

From another planet

Now I'm all for you like Janet

Can this be a real thing, can it?

How mbj looks at sqh and it just radiates so much love for him and he feels like they’re both so in love with each other that sqh starts to question whether this love of their can be real. Him and mbj being together can be a real thing.

Are we falling like

Snow at the beach

How they’re falling for each other and how’s its weird cause of their power dynamics and statuses but its beautiful at the same time.

[puppyluver256]

[Image Description: Eusine, a character from the Pokemon series, and his Electrode. Eusine is a man with light skin, short tan hair, and blue eyes. He is wearing a purple suit with lavender diamond designs on the jacket, a white frilly dress shirt with sleeve cuffs folded over the jacket, red diamond-shaped cufflinks, a white cape with a large red bow tie, white gloves, and white dress shoes with tan soles. He is dramatically holding out a red and white Pokeball as his free hand points upward and he grins confidently. His Electrode is a large spherical Pokemon that is white on the top half and red on the bottom half. It has a large, beaming smile and has its eyebrows raised in a cheeky manner. The background is the northern part of Cianwood City, featuring a raised ledge with a large stone on it and a large rock wall behind everything. There is both grass and sand on the ground, as this is close to the beach part of the island that Cianwood City is located on. End ID.]

-----

“Wasn't that Suicune just now? I only caught a quick glimpse, but I thought I saw Suicune running on the waves. Suicune is beautiful and grand. And it races through towns and roads at simply awesome speeds. It's wonderful... I want to see Suicune up close.... I've decided. I'll battle you as a trainer to earn Suicune's respect! Come on! Let's battle now!”

More Johto, and with Eusine we're back to in-game locations for backgrounds which kinda makes me sad cuz I had fun with Entei's and Raikou's backgrounds hehe. Aaanyway, I don't have much to say about this, Eusine's design's cool but that's all that comes to mind for him ^^;

💖🐶 Check out my pinned post for ways to support my artwork, among other things! 🐶💖

~Likes are appreciated, but reblogs are greatly preferred as they let more people see my content! If you have something to say, feel free to give feedback in tags/comments/replies as well!~

Eusine, Electrode, and other Pokemon concepts © Nintendo/GameFreak Artwork © PuppyLuver Studios