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neo-shitty · 3 years

Text

all the muggle things. — c.s

description. in which you and san spent the rest of your days after hogwarts getting the muggle experience.

pairings. slytherin!choi san x gender-neutral (wizard) reader (yes, this fic is house friendly)

genre. harry potter/hogwarts!au, fluff

warnings. mentions of injury.

word count. 1.6k

writer’s notes. i don’t know why i never thought of writing a harry potter-inspired au before! also, it’s been a while since i’ve written for ateez. i hope this didn’t turn out so bad!

inspired by option #1 (roommates au) + prompt #36 from this list (given by @kathyrncapp835)+ prompt #46 from @ficscafe‘s dialogue prompt event (given by @meaningfulmess). prompt lines are bolded.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ TERMINOLOGY GUIDE :: for the muggles, explained and simplified by yours truly

Muggle - someone who isn’t able to use magic / non-wizard

Lumos - spell that makes the tip of a wizard’s wand light up

Quidditch - a game for wizards that involves flying on brooms and shooting balls through hoops, basically basketball but more complex because there are three hoops and someone’s trying to catch an ‘i-am-speed’ ball that dictates the fate of the game in the end

Sectumsempra - a spell that lacerates the opponent

Wizarding War - the war between Voldemort’s side and Harry’s

Dark Mark - Voldermort’s mark

Nox - counter spell to Lumos that switches the wand’s light off

You tried your best to peer your eyes open when you heard the front door slam shut. You groaned, infuriated at how such simple tasks like breathing and opening your eyes required extra effort whenever you were sick. But getting sick was merely a consequence of your own actions, so you really didn’t have anyone else to blame but yourself.

You managed to open one eye, fighting back the heavy eyelid that threatened to shut and you searched the room for other movements besides your own.

“It’s 2AM, go back to sleep,” a voice said. Soon, it’s owner emerged from the shadows of the doorway.

Dressed in his all-black work uniform was San. His whole figure blended into the background too well that it almost seemed like he’d apparated back to your place. But with the faint sound of his footfalls, you concluded that he used the muggle way in.

You turned your head. You considered turning your whole body but everything felt sore and heavy. Plus, you were content with the way the comforter was wrapped around you—which was rare, even on better days. You watched San pass by the living room before heading to the kitchen. Though you couldn’t see him from the living room couch, you could see the shadow casted on the floorboards by the kitchen light he switched on. It danced as he moved around, probably to get a late night snack before heading to bed. You could hear him uttering hushed incantations followed by the faint clattering of kitchen metals.

“I’m glad you didn’t burn the house down while I was gone,” he said from the kitchen.

A smile crept up to your lips at his statement. You opened your mouth to utter a small thank you but you could only manage a whisper. You weren’t even sure if he even heard it from that far.

Moments later, he reappeared by the kitchen doorway. “But you were cutting it a bit too close though,” he continued, clutching a frying pan in his right hand.

The pan—originally gray—was now blackened from the mishap earlier. You had fallen asleep in the middle of cooking your own dinner, only waking up to the smell of burnt meat. The scent had been that thick that it managed to seep through your clogged nostrils. It was that bad. You ended up ordering take out instead. You forgot that you didn’t clean up the evidence.

A croaky laugh escaped your lips as you recalled the accident. San only shook his head, disappearing back into the kitchen to put the pan back to the sink. When he came back, he had two cups in hand. He walked over to set both down on their respective coasters on the glass center table of your living room. When he reached over to turn the lights on you stopped him.

“Don’t turn the lights on,” you said, your voice barely audible but he hears it, stopping before the lamp fully on. “They’re too bright. It’ll give me another headache.”

You see his silhouette nod. You could hear him flipping his coat around, shuffling to find something. You didn’t know what he was searching for exactly and you opted to ask him. But you soon find out what it was when you hear him whisper.

“Lumos.”

Where San stood, an orb of light began to glow. You soon realized that the light came from the tip of a stick. He was holding the fir wand in his hand, controlling its brightness until it was just right. Soon, it illuminated the room with a faint light—bright enough for you to see outlines of the room and the furniture scattered but not bright enough to make your eyes water like the lamps did.

He walked over to where you were before leaving his hand outstretched. “Sit up to drink your leaf water,” he said, earning a chuckle from you.

“Leaf water,” you repeated in a hoarse voice before taking his hand in yours, clutching it as you helped yourself up. You crossed your legs, tucking each foot beneath the opposite leg in order to give room on the couch for San to sit.

He handed you your cup of tea before he sat adjacent to you with his own cup in one hand and his wand in the other. Your eyes lingered on the wooden stick he gripped in his hand and on the fingers he had wrapped around it. All his rings were silver, representing the complementing color of his house, Slytherin. Or that was what you remembered of him back when you were still studying at Hogwarts.

You recalled when you used to watch him play Quidditch. He always kissed his rings first before putting on his gloves. He was deemed one of the more valuable players next to their seeker and you were just another student from another house. It wasn’t until your last school year at Hogwarts when you first interacted. The first time you both went beyond the occasional glances you shared whenever you were both in the same class.

Though your first time meeting wasn’t the best setting for the start of something new.

You were tending to one injury after another, working with the school nurse to cater every student who ran to the infirmary for aid or additional support in the form of potions. San had walked in alone and upon catching sight of his green sigil, your first instinct was to cast a spell to disarm him. But he didn’t have his wand raised, nor did he show any indications that he was about to attack. Your guard was up; he was still a Slytherin and fighting for the opposing side.

But he was still a student of the school with a bleeding arm. The rip on his upper sleeve revealed enough of his wound for your body to move on its own without much guidance. You led him to the nearest vacant bed, letting him standby until you got everything you needed from the cabinets.

In the time you were treating the wound, you learned that it took him half the war and a Sectumsempra to the arm (which was originally aimed at his chest; thankfully he was able to dodge it—barely) to realize that he was fighting for the wrong side of the Wizarding War. He was glad he was going to sit out the rest of it and vowed to—and you quote—“Never do stupid shit again.”.

The Dark Mark was still tattooed on his arm, a permanent reminder of decisions that did more harm than good both to him and to the people around him. The tattoo faded over time as the population of evil wizards gradually decreased.

Your brain was hot-wired to never trust a Slytherin. Or at least, it used to be.

Much to your surprise, San did keep his words that night at the infirmary. He spent his years after Hogwarts atoning for all the damage he’d caused, dedicating nearly all his hours into hunting the last of the witches and wizards who still practiced the Dark Arts.

San shifted beside you, leaning against the back of the couch before turning to look at you. He set his mug back down to its coaster before he pressed his palm against your forehead.

“I’m feeling a bit better, don’t worry. I think I’ll be fine by morning.”

“I still don’t get why you let yourself be sick when you can just—” he flicked his wand, “—it away.”

You set your own mug down after taking a sip, only noticing then that he pulled out the matching Hogwarts house coasters. His furrowed expression softened when you held his hand, peeling it off your forehead before sandwiching it between your cold ones.

“I’m trying to experience muggle living,” you answered.

Slytherins normally weren’t the type who liked involving themselves with muggle things, more so with the muggle way of living. But San wasn’t always like other Slytherins. Cheesy, you thought. But it was a fact.

You held his stare when his eyes landed on yours. You knew his mind was brewing some sort of egoistic line or anything short yet clever to say. But you were faster.

“You did well today,” you told him, drawing random shapes and symbols on the back of his palm.

Even after hearing it everyday for the past few years, San’s heart still warmed upon hearing the words leave your lips.

You said it the first time at the infirmary. At first, you were unsure if you were saying it to yourself as he heard you utter it after you patched him up. Later that day, you reassured him that it was meant for him. San, at the time, wasn’t too keen on accepting it. Nothing about what he did that day was worth the praise. But he soon realized you were referring to his decision to right his mistakes instead of staying ignorant.

You haven’t stopped saying it since then. The phrase became more of a part of your routine over time but it still held the same value as the first time you ever said it. You still smiled softly after saying it and you still looked at him fondly like you were genuinely proud of it. San was trained to easily catch whenever people lied—be it in the form of speaking or in acting. But he never found any trace of ingenuity whenever it came to you.

Somehow, that was enough to convince him that he could still make up for mistakes made in the past. It wasn’t too late yet.

You catch the moment the corner of his lips curved up into a smile. One sly finger up, you were ready to—once again—poke the dimple on the side of his mouth.

He hated that. But if he were to be honest, he could never really hate anything you did. One ‘Nox’ and a flick of his wand later, the light on the tip of his wand disappeared—plunging the both of you into complete darkness before your finger could even touch his skin.

“I hate you,” you muttered under your breath, drawing your hand back and crossing them over your chest.

You couldn’t see him clearly in the dark but you could tell the smirk from his tone, “Of course you do.”

#san scenarios #san fluff #san blurbs #ficscafe dpe #ficscafe #san #kwritersworldnet #kpopscape #san x reader #ateez #ateez x reader #ateez fluff #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #san imagines #ok g what else do i tag #toff.writes

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reinepadova · 3 years

Text

To Be of Worth

Zhongli may walk the steps of man, but remnants of his powers are still in his, literal, grasp.

“Mr. Zhongli. Please stop.”

“Whatever do you mean, my dear? And, you may address me without formality.”

“I keep forgetting. Sorry. But, Zhongli... I must insist. Please. Stop.”

He hummed, perplexed brows narrowing. “You seem upset. Have I troubled you so?”

You sigh quietly, unbelieving of this man. Why must he be so... obtuse.

“No... Not exactly. But, surely you must be aware...?” You stare meaningfully into his serious eyes, trying to make him see, while suppressing the warmth slowly crawling up your ears, ignoring the whispers of the harbor.

Maybe you overestimated his character. Surely a gentleman such as he, who prides himself with good grooming and manners, who’s attention to detail is second to none when it comes to many forms of traditions...

Surely he’s observant enough to see you’re drowning in gold and struggling against the downward force of the earth?

Bangles and spiral rings, rare gold-infused Noctilucous jade rings, intricate gold arm bands, imported burnish gold ear cuffs with scaled patterns, delicate drop necklaces of differing lengths, imported heavy waist chains with customized Cor Lapis pendants wrapped in goldenrod. And, if someone were to look lower and inside your footwear, they’d find various anklets wrapped decadently against your skin, with diminutive designs of moras and geo sigils that were thin enough to not dig into your muscles.

You feel trapped by your precious burden. You stood still, not wishing to topple over. Any odd movement, any movement at all, will cause an embarrassing scene, right in front of your new lover and the people of Liyue. You can just see the Traveler and Paimon in your periphery, trying to control the fairy's laugh by stuffing her mouth with the food Xiangling just delivered, all while giving you a thumbs up in encouragement and a helpless smile. You closed your eyes, gathering your embarrassment and annoyance, and stuffing it in the distant regions in your head, finding the calm needed to explain, point-blank, that gifts are appreciated, but not this many, in one go. You don’t need this much. Not all the jewelry have helpful properties either. Maybe the ones with the precious stones, but most should only be worn on very special occasions.

Why was this the response to saying ‘Yes’ to his courting? This odd, yet, highly attractive man. You still have no idea why he would choose you over the many beautiful people he associates with. The Traveler included.

And where on Teyvat did he get the Mora for all this--

Before you, the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor consultant remained expectant, patiently waiting on you and the wisdom you may impart to him about his trespasses against you. He stood tall, taller than any man had a right to be, yet you notice he almost always humbles himself before you. Like something he reveres. And...

Your eyebrow twitched, noticing the more you stay silent, the more his gaze slowly, and subtly, turn intent. Gold eyes roamed languidly about your entire person, a sparkle of pride and...something else, gleaming at their corner. You cleared your throat, absently wondering if you could have the Traveler’s service water on the table.

“Look, Mr. Zh--”

“Zhongli.”

You blinked, unused to interruption coming from your ever polite suitor.

“Pardon me. But, we have discussed how I wished to be addressed, have we not?” he clarified, an apologetic yet insistent expression on his face.

“...Zhongli,” you reaffirmed, ignoring the pleased line at the corner of his eyes, and the teasing giggles in the background.

Just you wait, Paimon. I’ll search for the worse tasting slime condensate there is...!

“Yes, my darling~?”

You persevered, turning your eyes away at his glowing delight. “...Ehem. You... must be aware that I am getting so much attention right now from the... from what I’m wearing now? The... excess of it all?”

He hummed, tilting his head, assessing you again but with more rationale, you thought. “Your attire is appropriate. I see no reason for you to be judged negatively.”

...so much for rationale.

You pinch in between your brows, a trickle of exasperation seeping into your calm. “The jewelry, Zhongli. The jewelry. I am wearing too many. These have surely cost a large dent in your fortunes.”

He chuckled, smoothly wrapping his arm around your waist. Just as you suspected. Your raised arm had almost made you lose your balance entirely. But you couldn't concentrate on that. The vibrations in the air caused you to blush more from the pleasant sound than the mortification that wrapped around your being at his focused, and close attention. “Think nothing of it, my lovely gem. I need not have to spend anything on these. They suit you rather well.”

...wait. Are these heirlooms then? Isn’t that ten times worse? And I’m just parading them like they’re just clothes?!

You vaguely heard hushed gasps. The thunk of cutlery on plate the only indication that the companions nearby were just as surprised at the display.

You were pulled away from your worries when Zhongli leaned down. You froze at the feel of his warm breath near your glittering ear, astonished at his gall. Your racing heart though, begged to differ. You never thought this would ever happen, considering his admirable composure no matter the situation.

It’s why you’re still mystified at his continued interest in you--

But again. You agreed to his courting. Is this another consequence?

Or... reward?

Is he showing his true colors?

“Do not fret. I shall bestow more upon you. So much so that the adepti themselves will not misunderstand. All shall know how much you are worth to me. ”

[All shall know you are mine.]

@yostresswritinggirl: Here’s a sample of my writing. Hope you enjoyed~ @archonistic: Here’s the one-shot I messaged you about. The HC for him developed into having an ability similar to Midas’ Touch though. I think it turned out well.

Congrats to you both for the 1K followers. You both deserve it!

#zhongli #zhongli x reader #to be of worth #the golden touch #genshin impact one shot #I'm supposed to be working #devious but oblivious geo archon #you fainted at the end by the way

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rosecolouredmind · 3 years

Text

Savior

Nicholas Scratch x Reader

The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina

Part Three:

The Broken Boy

Now there were two.

Or at least, the only sounds being made now were the quiet sobs still being let out from the poor figure now in front of you.

You’d sent Lucifer away with a banishment sigil, though with how powerful he was and your lack of familiarity with your domain, he should be back soon. You felt a lot more drained than you did when you first came in, the spell taking a lot out of you. You now realized that your visit came with a time limit, and would only last as long as the remaining energy in your core did. The flesh acheron had you currently separated from the stars, so it was only natural that your power was unable to replenish itself here.

But at least, now you were alone with the boy.

You exerted a bit more power to make the space a more welcoming, eliminating the eerie red scenery in exchange for something milder. An endless white replaced it in a flash; you weren’t exactly a living human for long and didn’t know much about what comforted them, you realized glumly.

It seemed as if they boy didn’t notice the change in scenery, failing to even flinch. Back and forth, back and forth. He endlessly rocked as mumbled jargon poured listlessly from his mouth. Though it isn’t your first time pitying humans, this was the first time that you were face to face with the cruelty Fate was capable of. The sentiment fed into your growing discomfort with the situation.

Cautiously, you drew closer. Once you stopped in front of him, you slowly lowered yourself until you were truly able to look him in the face.

Dampened hair stuck to his forehead, pale and leaking a cold sweat. Raised goosebumps clearly visible over taught muscles were felt under your fingertips, gently stroking his arm in comfort.

A sharp gasp and a quick hand nearly made you yelp out in shock yourself, your wrist now held in a tight grasp. Panicked eyes met your own, dark and deep and boding. You felt your very soul tremble as if it were crying, as if you were crying.

It wasn’t until you noticeably felt a liquid drop culminate at the tip of your nose before splattering did you realize that you were.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” you cooed, attempting to make eye contact.

Your gaze meets frantic mirrors of desperation, anguish and torture reflecting in the muddy pools that stared back at you.

As if it was natural to you, your hands rise to caress his face. His skin feels warm beneath your fingers, and you hold back a shudder. Concentrating, you focused deep on the constant thrumming of your soul and willed your core to mimic these pulsations through your body and out your fingertips, your hands now glowing the color of moonlight.

You can’t undo what Lucifer has done and possibly will do to him, but you were confident that you could make your presence a beacon and relieve some of the burden for him.

The boy leaned into your hands, and for a long while you just watched entranced as his eyelids fluttered while he took the time he needed to calm down. Finally, he looked up at you. The panic had now been replaced with sheer exhaustion, and you wanted nothing more than to protect him.

“Who are you?” he croaked, eyes flooding in tears. They flowed silently down his face, following familiar track marks of the rivers before them. His fingers tightened around yours, afraid of letting go. Afraid that if he let go, you would disappear. This was the first time he felt relief in what felt like an eternity, and all he could focus on was the figure in front him. You paid no mind to his tight grip, electing to settle yourself between his knees, getting as close as you possibly could.

“I’m here to help you, it’s okay,” you repeat softly.

“Wh-where did he go? The...the Dark Lord,” he quivered, muscles tensing up at the mere thought of the man. You felt your heart go out to him, your own eyes becoming misty as well.

“I sent him...away. He will return, but not for a while at least.”

Of course you couldn’t separate them completely, this was still in part Lucifer’s mind as well, and you had an inkling that although this wasn’t the actual place, the flesh acheron, this boy’s body, was somewhere in Hell. Your energies felt off, as if they didn’t belong. That would normally only happen in a territory outside of the scope of a stela’s domain, and Hell fit that description perfectly.

Your powers weren’t nearly as strong here, and you could only offer him temporary reprieve. But it is something, and that’s all that matters.

“What’s your name?” you question, intending on keeping him present and away from the dark, straying thoughts no doubt threatening to plague his mind. He stayed silent for a while, attempting to anchor himself while he focused on the near healing effect you radiated.

“...It’s Nick,” he eventually responded.

“Okay, Nick, tell me. What makes you happy?”

Nick thought for a long while, but couldn’t gather his thoughts. His mind had been ravaged so thoroughly by the Dark Lord that any notions of happiness had long since been replaced by terrors he could only have imagined before being tortured by Satan himself. He started to shake his head, then more and more vigorously. You reached for his face again, realizing your question set off another round of panic.

“That’s okay Nick, you don’t have to think about it. How about we go somewhere that makes me happy instead, hm?”

Your creativity and knowledge of the human mind was close to zero, but there was once place you’d always wanted to see.

You had Nick close his eyes as you closed your own, visualizing the sights and sounds you wanted to experience. Soon, the soothing crash of waves could be heard in the background, your eyes opening to an expanse of sand being gently eroded by the clear blue water of the ocean. You felt a bit weaker at the manifestation, but the boy in your arms was even more so, and your heart went out to him.

You shifted yourself so Nick’s forehead was now resting on your chest, giving him all the time he needed to settle before he opened his eyes again.

His breathing was deeper now, and less erratic. You waited for it to become completely even before you attempted to speak again, Nick lifting his head in order to study your features.

“I’ve always wanted to see the ocean,” you sigh gently. “I wasn’t able to when I was human.”

“Why not?” he asked quizzically, resulting in a smile from you. You were glad he was speaking, and continued to talk before he got distracted again.

“I died very, very young. I hadn’t really even started my life before the Fates took me for their purpose,” you explained. “And after that, well, I never really thought I’d see Earth again so there wasn’t much of a point.”

You tried coaxing more out of him, like his name, likes, dislikes. His answers were simple, and he had to think about some a lot longer than others, but he put effort into answering each question. You continued to describe your ties to fate to him as he patiently listened. He nodded along thoughtfully, before going quiet again.

“Nick?” you question, worry laced in your tone.

“Is this really what Fate had planned for me?” he asked quietly, looking down at his knees. Tears instantly blurred your vision once again, but you didn’t acknowledge them.

“No, sweetie, of course not,” you grab his face once again. His watery eyes mirror yours, yet you refused to let the first one fall.

“Your fate is so much more than this. This is only temporary. You have to believe me on that.” you urge.

“But I’m tired,” the sheer amount of hopelessness emitted off him in waves. “I don’t think I can make it,” the break in his voice was enough to collapse the dam on your tears, and you clutched him to your chest.

“No, baby, no. You can. You’re strong. I’ll be here for you. I’ll come back.”

“You promise?” he cracked.

“I promise.”

You held him for a while longer, shushing him against the rumble of the waves as you stared out at the water. You’d never felt more determined to do something in your life, but you will save this boy. You meant it with your heart and soul.

A while later you felt your figure start to fade, and you knew your borrowed time in Hell had reached its end. Nick frantically began clutching at you, using one hand to caress your face like you had his, “Will you really come back?”

Begging eyes pinned your soul down and for the first time in your life, you cursed the fates. Cursed how they could allow this boy to suffer far more than he deserved, and put you in a position to witness it. No one deserved this. Not even the fickle humans. If they were meant to suffer like this...

Maybe this was what you were sent to Earth for.

Visiting the flesh acheron, and by extension, Hell, for as long as you have took not only your power, but the power of the fates as well. If you came here again, it wouldn’t be for nearly as long, and would exhaust a huge chunk of power every time you did so. But as you face the boy in front of you, you couldn’t find it in yourself to deny him.

You’d figure it out, you’d make something up, you’d lie; Tell them Lucifer was being an uncooperative dickhead, which isn’t exactly wrong anyway — anything to be able to make your way here again.

You had to.

With a few more whispered promises and broken sobs, you eventually fade away. It wasn’t until you noticed the sandy shore beneath you had been replaced with slowly moving constellations did you allow yourself to look up again, the impatient eyes of the council piercing through you.

You’d already gotten rid of any trace of tears, your mind going a million miles a minute conjuring up a plan to save Nick. You knew you had bigger priorities than one human, a single soul; Earth and her millions of souls were on the brink of annihilation yet all you could think about was one boy.

But something in you, deep in your core screamed that this was important to you, he is important to you.

Maybe it's because you’re soft, maybe it’s because he’s your first lost soul, maybe it's because it’s Fate, but as you waved an intricate web of truth and lies while you built your case with the council -- of how freeing Lucifer from the flesh acheron was of the utmost importance, of how often you’d probably need to be sent there to attempt to do so;

Your heart was nearly pounding through your ribcage at the thought of seeing that boy and his pitiful soul once again.

And as Lucifer, upon his return, ranted and roared and raged something mighty, Nick desperately held on in anticipation of your next arrival.

Author’s Note: Next part is out as well! They’re both shorter chapters so I did a double update as well. They would have been out a lot sooner if tumblr didn’t delete my damn editing progress when I tried to insert a photo — I nearly cried. Creating those secondary headers is WERK but not as much as editing this shit? I should sue. I got mad and stopped for a while bc I’m a petty bitch, so if you see mistakes blame Tumblr for crashing. I will also insert links to chapters later, I don’t feel like it currently 🤡

Please ask to be tagged! I’d appreciate reblogs, comments and asks as well 🥺

Tag list:

@insomniac-nerd-posts-things @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet @sophia-of-sass-gard

#caos #nicholas scratch x reader #nick scratch x reader #sabrina #the chilling adventures of sabrina #ambrose x reader #prudence x reader #sabrina spellman #x reader #savior

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hiscyarika · 4 years

Text

The Kings Who Are Gone

Word Count: 2.1k

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x Reader

Summary: Reader visits the ruins of Sunspear after Dorne is conquered. Based on the song “Jenny of Oldstones” from Game of Thrones.

Warning(s): Heavy Angst, Hopelessness, Death

A/N: So this idea hit me at like one this morning and now it’s almost six. I can see the sun coming up but it’s worth it because I haven't been able to get my brain to write anything for at least two weeks, probably closer to three. Hopefully this is a worthwhile read while you guys wait for Landslide. There are a few different versions of this song. I listened to the score version and the episode version (Podrick singing it in 8x02) while I wrote. I definitely recommend the score version to play while you read, but I’d also listen to Pod singing it just so you have the lyrics. They’re pretty important to the plot.

Masterlist

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Gif by @bestintheparsec

The sun has gone from Sunspear.

The crystal blue waters of the Summer Sea have turned black. Raging waves crash against the shore. There’s a violent wind whipping through the air, no longer the gentle, salty breeze that you had once known. Dark, ominous clouds swirl above you, split only by the lightning that threatens to tear apart the very sky. Thunder follows soon after, a deep cacophony that forms a wrathful symphony with the ocean.

The stories will tell of a light that was destroyed with Dorne, but you haven’t seen the sun since the day he died.

A shiver runs up your spine as your bare feet hit the cobblestone of the walkway up to the palace. What once stood as your home, full of love and warmth, now lies in ruins–devoid of all life. The only warmth you feel is from the tears that fall silently from your eyes, a stark contrast to the cold rain against your skin.

As you step inside, a deep ache swells within your chest. It’s an agony that has refused to leave you since the moment you watched the Mountain slaughter the man you loved. Though you suppose, in some sick, twisted way, you’re grateful for this anguish that has taken up permanent residence in your soul. It reminds you that he was real, that he lived a life just as vibrant as the sun and loved you with the same heated passion. And now, in the wake of his death, it serves as the only indication that you still live, that you still have the capacity to feel something.

You roam the halls with no particular destination, taking in the destruction that has befallen your home. Columns have been knocked down, allowing the rain to reach inside where the roof has caved in. Bodies of both Dornishmen and enemies alike lie on the floor, the stone painted red with blood. And banners, which once flew proudly with the sigil of House Martell, have been ripped apart and burned, the only relic that remains of a fallen bloodline.

You bring your hand to your mouth to stifle a sob. You’d never been given a chance to further the Martell line. After your marriage, he’d often told you about his wish to have a son. He assured you that he loved his daughters, and that they would be loved no less than any child you might bear, but you understood the significance of having a legitimate heir just as well as he did. You’d wanted so badly to give him a son, but he’d been taken from you before the gods could bless you with a child.

You continue on, finding yourself standing on a balcony overlooking the Water Gardens. The lush greenery has withered and died, losing all of its vibrant color. Your fingers wrap tightly around the railing, so tightly that your knuckles turn white. You close your eyes as memories of afternoon walks come flooding back to you: your arm linked with his as you moved amongst the fountains and the tall flowering plants. The sounds of children’s laughter floating in the background as you listened to his rich baritone, words of passion and poetry seeping from his lips like the sweetest honey.

You collapse to your knees as your desiderium reaches its peak. An ardent longing for that which you’ve lost. Your form shakes with violent sobs that tear from your very soul. As the storm continues to rage, you wish that it would split the palace in two, swallowing you into an abyss you could never escape. At least then you would be free of such profound torment.

But something breaks you from your cathartic release. A soft call so foreign to the tempest. A gentle whisper of your name carried in the screaming wind.

You pull yourself to your feet, turning back to the desecrated halls. Your heart beats wildly in your chest as you search the darkness for whoever had dared to disturb you. And in the shadows you find your answer, the dark silhouette of a man looming in the doorway like some omen of death.

“Who are you? Why have you come here?,” you call to him, somehow finding a tone firm and strong enough to carry over the storm. It occurs to you that he could very well pose a threat, but somehow you find peace in knowing that your life will end here if that is what he’s come to ensure.

He gives no answer and instead steps forward, though not close enough for you to truly see him. Lightning cracks across the sky, illuminating the room for just a fraction of a second. A sharp gasp escapes your lips as you catch a glimpse of him in the momentary light.

“Oberyn?,” you call, tears forming in your eyes again as he comes closer. He steps out of the shadows, revealing himself fully to you. Your hand comes up to cover your mouth again and you shake your head in disbelief.

“Come to me, my love,” he beckons, opening his arms. The sound of his voice nearly has you falling to your knees once more.

You step tentatively towards him, reaching out hesitantly to touch him. Once you’re close enough, he takes your hand in both of his, pressing his warm, soft lips to your knuckles.

You collapse into his embrace, your fists locking around the fabric of the golden robe he wears. His arms wrap around you, securing you to his chest. And you bury your face in his shoulder, crying with the same force of the storm.

But you don’t allow yourself to remain hidden from him for long. You lift your head after a few moments, cradling his face in your hands. Your thumbs rub gently over the stubble there, and through the blur of your tears you try to commit every detail of him to memory. His soft, dark eyes. The curve of his nose. The dimple in his right cheek. The bow of his lips. Everything you thought that you would never see again.

You take in a sharp breath, still trying to make sense of it all in your head. He’s gone. You watched him die. It was a sight that you’ll never forget, one that still haunts you every time you close your eyes to sleep. “Either I am dreaming or I am dead. No matter which, I wish to never wake again,” you murmur.

“I have missed you, my love,” Oberyn replies softly. He leans down closer to you, pressing his forehead lightly to yours. You inhale deeply, breathing in his scent and letting it fill you with a sense of peace that you have not felt since the last time you held him this close.

He inches closer, his lips finally capturing yours in a deep, passionate kiss. The salt of your longing tears mixes with saccharine berry wine, the taste of him that had become such a distant memory, you had almost forgotten. His kiss brings back the warmth that you have lived so long without, and by the beating of your heart and the renewed vitality of your soul, you know that you are alive. You can feel the sun again.

Though you wish to never part from him again, Oberyn pulls away after a few long moments, gazing softly down into your eyes again. He brushes a few damp strands of hair from your face, then presses a softer kiss to your forehead. “What magic has brought you back to me?,” you ask him, but his brows furrow and he shakes his head.

“Shhh, little dove. You mustn’t worry about such things. Just allow me to keep you this close for as long as I am able,” he asks of you. Fear strikes your heart at his words, quick and sharp and painful.

“Please don’t leave me again, Oberyn. I couldn’t bear it. Living without you has been a fate worse than death,” you tell him, your words rushed and panicked. Your hands fall to his chest as you plead with him.

He shifts, moving to cup your cheek and wipe away a stray tear with the pad of his thumb. “I will not leave you any sooner than I must, but the time will come eventually, my love,” he laments.

You release a shaking sigh, pressing yourself impossibly closer to him. You rest your head on his shoulder, closing your eyes for just a few moments. Oberyn slowly wraps an arm around your waist, his other hand coming to cradle the back of your head. He begins to sway then, a soothing, rhythmic movement, and leans down to let his temple rest against the crown of your head.

As you stand there with Oberyn, dancing with the thunder and waves as your only music, you find your sorrows melting away until they feel like nothing but a distant memory. You can breathe easier. There’s no deep ache settled in your chest. You feel whole and alive in the arms of your prince, and you try your hardest not to dwell on how long this feeling will last. All you know is that if you could, you would never leave this place. You would stay here with Oberyn forever even if it meant your death.

“I love you, Oberyn,” you whisper, unable to keep the words to yourself after so many years. You wrap your arms tightly around him then. Somehow, you know that your time is running out. It’s slipping away from you like sand in an hourglass. But this one cannot be turned on its head to start over.

Oberyn lifts his head, and you do the same, meeting his soft gaze once more. “As I love you. Always,” he tells you.

Something in the wind changes. It’s tangible, and Oberyn looks up, studying the air around the two of you. Your heart begins to pound in your chest as you realize what it means. “Stay with me, Oberyn,” you beg, your voice quivering in panic.

“I cannot, my love. I’m so sorry,” he says, hanging his head in defeat.

“Then take me with you!,” you cry, though you know what that would mean for you.

He shakes his head, looking back up at you with a hardened expression. “I will not take you before it is your time,” he states firmly, “You have a life to live, little dove.”

“There is no life left for me, Oberyn. You’re gone. Dorne is in ruins. Our people are dead. What life do I have to live in this place?,” you plead with him. Your words are punctuated by a sharp gasp, and tears stain your cheeks once more.

He slowly begins to release you, and despite your efforts to hold onto him, he removes himself from your grasp. “I’m sorry, my love,” he murmurs, a deep sadness in his eyes as he takes your hand, pressing a final kiss to the underside of your wrist.

“Oberyn, please,” you beg, but you can feel the warmth of his lips leaving you. You close your eyes for just a moment, and when you open them again, you’re forced to watch as he fades from your sight. You step forward, trying to hold onto him, but your hands never find purchase. Like a mirage in the heat of the desert, everything your survival depends on disappears like it was never there in the first place.

Just like that, your sun is gone again.

You crumble to the floor, sobs wracking your body. You don’t try to silence them. You cry. You scream. You curse the gods for taunting you this way. To see your love again, only to have him taken from you once more is the worst torment you’ve ever had to endure, even worse than his death at the hands of the Lannisters. You imagine that this is what hell is like, and you wonder if maybe that’s where you’ve ended up.

You lie there on the floor, too weak to force yourself to move. There’s nothing in the world worth the effort. Instead, you watch as the storm continues to rage, tearing at the weakened structure of the palace. You close your eyes as the roof above you begins to give away, making peace with the fact that you will never leave these ruins. You hope that this will bring you home to Oberyn.

And soon enough, those ruins become your tomb.

Permanent Tags: @bestintheparsec @hail-doodles @aerynwrites @murdermewithbooks @themandjalorian @longitud-de-onda @readsalot73 @lovingtheway @talesfromtheguild @mystical-934 @tiffdawg @lokiaddicted @adikaofmandalore @blue-space-porgs @forever-rogue @acomplicatedprofession @fleurdemiel145 @cable-kenobi @opheliaelysia @pedropascalito @creamysacrilege @bandofmarvels @paryl @phoenixhalliwell @agentmoonshine1 @randomness501 @starlight-starwrites @keeper0fthestars @stilllivindue2spite @hdlynn @theocatkov @coonflix @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @wickedfrsgrl @frietiemeloen @liadamerondjarin @pancakefancake @someplace-darker @dontjudgemedude @mistermiraclee @pynch-bug @kaetastic @chrisbostonevans

#oberyn martell #oberyn x reader #oberyn #oberyn martell x reader #prince oberyn x reader #prince oberyn #game of thrones #a song of ice and fire

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river-witchery · 4 years

Text

Garden Growth Spell - Spell Workshop

In the witchy group chat I am a part of, we are trying something fun! Essentially, we are approaching different topics as if we were going to address them magically. This time, we were to create a spell, ritual, or other magical solution to bring growth to a garden or plant. I am doing a vegetable garden for the first time ever this year, so I was very excited to create a spell for this purpose, and began crafting up (and doing) a spell immediately.

Garden Growth Spell

Purpose: This is a spell to help an outdoor garden grow.

So first things first, the ingredients:

Small smooth stones gathered from the garden. I gathered one from each row since my garden is in rows. My reasoning for gathering the stones is that they have already been with the garden and understand the spirit of the rocks and soil and sprouting plants far better than I do. My aim is to essentially convince these rocks to lend themselves to the growth of my garden.

Pen/Pencil. Paper. Paint. Paintbrushes. These are for the growth sigil that gets painted onto each stone.

Cleansing utensils. I used water and incense.

Divination tool. I used a pendulum.

Instructions:

1.) Get yourself into your preferred mindset for doing spellwork. I like to get the candles on my altar lit and do a short meditation. I focus better after meditating, and that is very helpful for me when I am doing any task. Having my altar lit up and pretty quite literally sets the stage for my witchy work. What you do (or don’t) is up to you.

2.) Cleanse your garden stones. I literally cleaned them off in the tap. It has been rainy and muddy, so I had to get the grime off of them.They need to be relatively clean so they can be painted on later. After that, I cleansed them with incense smoke, asking any spirits that would inhibit the growth of the garden to leave, and inviting spirits that will help the growth of the garden.

3.) Confirm your work. To confirm that the stones were cleansed in the way I wanted, I used my pendulum. I directed the question to each stone. “Are you cleansed,” and waited for an answer. If I got a yes, I could move on. If I got a no, I knew I needed to take more time with the cleansing until I got a yes. Once I was done, I set the stones on my altar.

4.) Create a sigil for growth. I used an alphabet I created specifically for sigil work to create my sigil. I also did my best to make it look like a plant because these stones are going to be placed somewhere everyone can see, and I don’t want everyone in my household to know I am doing witchcraft. Having it take the form of a plant is dual purpose for me as well because I am using these stones to promote the growth of the plants in my garden.

[Image Description: Pictured above is a digital painting of a sigil that resembles a flower. It is black with yellow petals on a green background. Under the sigil is the word “Growth.”]

5.) Paint! Once the sigil is complete, it’s time to paint. I used colors that I personally associate with life, vitality, and growth. Each stone got a background layer of paint and the sigil I created just for this purpose.

[Image Description: Pictured above is a photo of three stones painted with the same flower-like sigil in the last picture. The stone on the left has a black sigil with yellow petals and a green background. The stone in the middle has a black sigil with orange petals and a yellow background. The stone on the right has a black sigil with green petals and an orange background.]

6.) Place your stones back into the garden. I waited overnight for my stones to dry, and then they all got put in the garden, one in each row where they can easily be seen.

Spell Maintenance: Keep an eye out for the stones every time you go out to tend to the garden. If any are missing or damaged, the garden may need extra care, and the stone may need to be replaced.

@tea-rabbits @spiritualjournalingprompts

#spellworkshop #spellsworkshop #spellcraft #witchcraft

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eisehaus · 4 years

Text

My OC/MC Eise Introduction extended:

Character Description

Okays, so this is linked here from my post here about my MC regarding her relationships with the Obey Me Characters. The original prompt is here. This post is a more detailed description of Eise as a character...

Eise's characteristics:

She has a background in singing, dance and the Circus, so highly coordinated, acrobatic, flexible and athletic. Also used to model but doesn't bring that up with the characters, it's not a big deal to her. Intellectual, she does have a degree but never did anything with it, enjoys a reckless life of freedom instead. Though she still chooses to study ancient history, mythology, and the occult as a hobby. Loves a good book centered in those themes, and a sucker for the classics. She is very capable of acting proper and well mannered, and is quite spectacular at it really. It surprises the hell out of others when they witness it. She just prefers to enjoy acting like an idiot with little regard for consequences much of the time instead.

She's reckless, wild, and spontaneous... A very 'why not?' attitude. Extrovert, thrives in being active and around others, though does enjoy her much needed alone time as well. She's clever, sassy, and mischievous... Likes to keep people guessing despite initially coming off as open book. Has a male cat that she's raised who is much like her, he's her fur baby for sure.

She's extremely creative so arts and crafts galore: clothing design, jewelery making, painting, drawing, decorating, sculpting, writing, music--you name it, she dabbles in it! Humor ranging from Idiotic to Dark. Swears like a sailor, despite a wide vocabulary, so her language is quite the colorful blend of both. Night owl, extremely grumpy in the mornings. Caffine is a must. Alternative Haphazard punk style, favors purposely destroyed clothing, patchwork and buttons. Jack-of-all-trades. Quite the handyman.

Alpha type personality. Hot temper when provoked, with a tendency to get into fights. Doesn't start them usually but God damnit she sure as hell is gonna finish it. Relentless when driven. Extremely caring and protective of anyone she truely cares about, but couldn't give two shits if she doesn't. Comfortable with her body due to having a performer background, so shes not really shy at all, and sometimes uses that to her advantage for shits and giggles.

Eise's physical appearance:

I've included a few early sketches of mine of Eise. The first image is a front and back of her typical casual wear. I included the second image of her in beach wear I did once upon a time for a better sense of her tattoos. The third image is what I dreamed up for formal wear for her.

I went ahead and wrote out the description as well for a better sense of detail in case your brain is like mine, it's after the images. But you can feel free to scroll past the text.

Female with Androgynous tendencies. Light blue hair, usually kept up in a wildly messy bun with long bangs. Light blue eyes, usually rocking black wing-tip eyeliner and dark blue and black eye shadow. Red lipstick usually, tho occasionally nude, blue or black. Tall, 5'10. Pale complexion. Slim muscular build.

Standard Clothes: red bandana around the neck, black choker necklace and long gold chain with a pocket watch on the end. Ragedy black and blue striped crop tank top, high waisted blue denim Daisy dukes. Long brown leather belt. Thigh high black and blue striped socks attached to garters, thigh high charcoal combat boots, red leg warmers over the top. Hazard Yellow zip up hoodie covered in patches, usually hanging off the shoulders with rolled up sleeves. Various bracelets. And silver rings on each finger except ring fingers. Nose ring, tongue ring, nipple rings, triple pierced ears on both sides with another two on the upper right ear and an industrial bar on the upper left ear.

Tattoos: Sun on the right shoulder with clouds underneath, then rain, grass, then red flowers over green leaves and vines down the rest of the arm, compass rose on that elbow. "Outsider" across the chest. An small ankh over her sternum. Two X's under left eye. "Always" with an infinity symbol on left collarbone. A twisted armband around the top of the arm below the shoulder. "Darkside" on the inside of the left bicep. Alchemaic symbol for blood and a solid black triangle on the inner left Forearm. Green serpent on the left hip and side extending onto her lower back, apple by its mouth, three gold stars above it and "Fallen" in red beside the serpant along the spine. Left leg is an incomplete sleeve ranging from mid thigh to mid calf. The top is water with a starfish above the knee and a red and a blue fish with bubbles on the side below the hip. Pearl strand wrapped around the knee, teal scales as the backdrop. The calf is 9 bands, each with simple imagery depicting the 9 circles if hell. A crescent moon above the outside of the ankle. Down the back of the right calf are 7 small circles, the symbols from obey me of the Seven deadly sins, with a small pair of wings beneath them, just above the heel. The shadow hunter sigil on the top of the left foot.

FIN

So yeah that's pretty much Eise! It was a pleasure, I look forward to making more art of her in the future, and now you'll know who she is when she pops up or if you've seen her in some of my other fan art posts!

Also, shoot me an ask or a message if you're interested in me maybe creating an image of your OC alongside Eise in my style. Let's make an MC squad ✌️✌️

#obey me shall we date #obey me #obey me fandom #obey me mc #obey me headcanons #obey me headcanon #obey me main character #obey me hcs #obey me hc #obey me oc #obey me fanart

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sondepoch · 4 years

Text

II: Neutral Route (Saeran)

Where Futures Begin

Life used to be simple for you. Peaceful. But the Savior had other plans for you, and in moments, she ruined what you thought was your one shot at happiness. Blinded by anger, you escaped the Mint Eye, but that triggered a series of events that would bring you further into the world of brothers Saeran and Saeyoung. And further into the twisted world of your love for them.

Neutral Route: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | ✔

Saeyoung’s Route: 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | ✔

Saeran’s Route: 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | ✔

MASTERLIST

Mendelssohn's violin concerto in E minor, easily among the most beautiful violin concertos of all time, lasts nearly thirty minutes. Yet this is the fourth time it's restarted today, and Saeran and (Y/N) still haven't stopped dancing.

Their feet move slowly, waltzing at half the tempo of the piece, less focused on dancing and more occupied with basking in each others' warmth, staying as close together as possible.

The Recruitment Ceremony concluded a little over two hours ago, and all the new believers were celebrating their faith and loyalty to the Savior by indulging in their first taste of happiness at the Mint Eye, at this feast.

For Saeran, though, food was the last thing on his mind.

The dress the Savior gave (Y/N) fit perfectly, hugging her curves in a way that Saeran thought made her too gorgeous to risk leaving for the whole ballroom to see. He had never glared at anyone the way he stared daggers at the new believers that were ogling (Y/N)'s body shamelessly.

Saeran made a mental note to ask the Savior to give (Y/N) more modest dresses. He slipped an arm around her waist and tried to subtly pull the dress down, quickly bringing his hand back to its original position afterward. Her amused giggle made him realize that she had indeed noticed.

"Oh, Saeran~" (Y/N) cooed, dragging his name out in the same way that always tangled his thoughts, "Do you not like this dress?"

"O-of course not. I mean. Of course. Wait..." Saeran stuttered, taking a moment to gather his thoughts before continuing, "It's a nice dress. Especially on you. B-but it's really short... have you noticed how the new believers are staring at you?"

Saeran heard (Y/N) laugh again, and he wanted to bury his face in her hair and hide the blush that he knew was spreading across his face. Her hair...her beautiful, beautiful hair...Why did I have to style it like this today? I should have done something simpler, something that would draw less attention, I could have avoided this!

"Saeran, the dress is barely above my knees. And you have nothing to worry about." (Y/N) brought her hand from his shoulder to his cheek and stared at him with those familiar, trusting eyes. "None of them would dare lay a hand on me after this."

"This?" Saeran cocked his head, puzzled.

"Saeran, we've danced for nearly two hours, and if looks could kill, every man in this room who even glanced my way would be dead. You've made it very clear that I'm off-limits." (Y/N) kissed Saeran's cheek, and he could hear the smirk in her voice.

"I-I didn't mean to..." Saeran murmured half-heartedly, even though he knew exactly what he was doing when he first dragged (Y/N) onto the ballroom dancing floor. And he may or may not have given the middle finger to a particular believer who had been staring at her rear.

"Sure," (Y/N) said with a chuckle, before abruptly stopping and clasping Saeran's two hands in her own. "Anyway, let's get food. I haven't eaten since breakfast, I'm starving."

"Alright, princess, you pick a table, and I'll bring enough food for both of us."

"I can get my own food, Saeran!" (Y/N) whined as Saeran guided her off the wooden floor and toward the buffet, but Saeran was bent on being a gentleman. The way the men were staring at her figure, he'd much rather have her bottom in a chair than up and about.

"Technically speaking, I'm your boss now. You're no longer a disciple, so you'll be helping me out with perimeter management and software protection in the Security Room. That means you have to do what I say, princess, so go get us a table."

Without giving (Y/N) any room to protest, Saeran made a beeline for the buffet. He filled two plates with all his beloved sweets and all (Y/N)'s favorite dishes. Only when he actually got to the table (Y/N) had selected did Saeran realize that he had only gotten dessert items.

(Y/N) didn't seem to notice, though, immediately indulging in the array of treats Saeran had brought back.

The two ate in silence, enjoying the now familiar melody of the music that was being played in the background. Saeran found himself unable to draw his eyes away from (Y/N) as she ate; everything about her looked perfect. Even her hair, which Saeran always thought looked a little off when he tried a sophisticated hairstyle like this one, had held its shape throughout the night. And god, the dress was still driving him crazy. Had the Savior consciously chosen something that would make him feel this way? The woman had been asking an awful lot of questions about (Y/N) at Saeran's previous meeting with her. Still, Saeran thought that was because they were discussing (Y/N) joining the Savior's council.

Saeran groaned inwardly and forced himself to stop staring at (Y/N)'s bare shoulders and tried to focus on the dessert he was eating, but he quite suddenly found that he had an appetite for a different kind of dessert.

Shit, stop it, Saeran told himself, It's bad enough that you almost kissed her earlier in her room. Now this? You need to control yourself.

"So," (Y/N)'s voice broke Saeran from his thoughts. "The Savior said that I'd have to go through secondary commitment. W...What do you have to do for the secondary commitment?"

Saeran swallowed, keenly aware of what (Y/N) was really asking.

There were two commitments one could make to the magenta: primary and secondary. Primary commitment was the first step believers took in joining the Mint Eye. It was their first test to see if they were truly committed to building and sharing the magenta.

It was quite a simple process, actually.

Drink the Elixir of Salvation.

The pain that accompanied the Elixir alone would typically be enough to distinguish true believers from fakers; in (Y/N)'s case, though, her primary commitment had been extended, and the dosage doubled, the Savior particularly hesitant about accepting her into the Mint Eye.

Saeran had never told (Y/N) that her commitment was any different than the usual, though. He didn't want her to begin harboring any kind of distaste for the Savior that would warrant further Elixirs. After all, Saeran had been by (Y/N)'s side the whole time, dabbing away at her sweat as she slept, helping her drink water in her delirium, holding her hand and never letting go as she sobbed in pain. He never left her side last time, and he'd be there for her this time too.

"Secondary commitment is worse," Saeran said bluntly. He didn't want to continue, he didn't want to talk about it, but the fearful look in (Y/N)'s eyes forced his mouth. "It's a repeat of primary commitment with some...extra things added."

Saeran saw (Y/N) shudder and bite her lip, a habit that only came to light when (Y/N) was scared. "What extra things, Saeran?" Her voice was gentle, despite the fear she must have been harboring at that moment.

"Well...extra time, for one. Secondary commitment takes a-a month." Saeran brought his hand over the table and placed it on top of (Y/N)'s, trying to comfort her in the terror he knew she was facing as she mentally braced herself for the hell that she was to embrace the next day.

Saeran knew what she was going through. When he found out about secondary commitment, he was so scared he actually tried to go back to being a disciple, even though it was out of his hands at that point.

He continued, "You'll be assigned a handler. You can't back out of secondary commitment, so your handler will force the Elixir down your throat if necessary...you'll most likely never be able to forgive your handler for the pain they give you."

"Go on." (Y/N) said after taking a shaky breath.

"Your eyes...you're to be one with the Mint Eye. You'll adorn the namesake, and your eyes will be bleached to this color," Saeran pointed to his own eyes, trying not to recall the pain that accompanied that particular feat. (Y/N)'s eyes grew even rounder in fear as she stared at the unnatural color Saeran's eyes were. No doubt, she had previously thought they were contact lenses.

"Your hair...it isn't magenta, so your handler will bleach your hair and then deprive your body of nutrients for the month. Your body won't be able to keep your hair at its color, it'll be too deprived of the vitamins it needs, so your hair will become a lot thinner, and it'll lose color. It'll feel like the worst migraine you've ever had, but it's not too bad when compared to the other things..."

Saeran didn't want to say more. He understood that (Y/N) needed to know what she was about to go through, but reciting the details of secondary commitment was bringing back some horrid memories for the boy.

"Saeran, please." (Y/N) squeezed Saeran's hand and looked at him with earnest eyes. I'm so weak, Saeran thought to himself, I should be the one comforting (Y/N) right now, but she's the one holding my hand. "I can't walk into the commitment room tomorrow and not know what I'm in for. I almost didn't make it through primary commitment for that very reason."

Saeran dropped his eyes and stared at the untouched flan on his plate. "That's mostly it. You'll be branded with the sigil of the Mint Eye, either burnt or given a tattoo like the one I have. But...(Y/N), there's one thing I haven't told you."

Saeran swallowed nervously, unable to meet the eyes of the precious girl he cared so much for. This time, (Y/N) didn't ask him to continue, but the slight squeeze of his hand gave Saeran enough boldness to tell her the truth.

"I'm to be your handler for secondary commitment," Saeran whispered, "Savior's orders."

Saeran felt warmth leave his hand and looked up to see (Y/N)'s entire form withdrawn in fear. Saeran extended an arm to caress her cheek, but she recoiled at the first contact. "I-I'm sorry," she murmured, standing up, "I-I need some time alone t-to..."

(Y/N) trailed off and forced herself out of the seat, making way for the large double doors at the end of the room.

Saeran didn't let her get that far, though. "(Y/N), wait," He told her, grabbing her wrist and pulling her smaller body into his, him practically spooning her as they stood, "Please." Saeran whispered, and that one word communicated all that needed to be said.

(Y/N) turned around and faced him, and for the first time since her primary commitment, Saeran saw tears in her eyes. "I'm scared, Saeran," (Y/N) whispered, "I don't want to hate you. I don't want to do my secondary commitment. I don't want to be a part of the Savior's council."

Saeran wrapped his arms around (Y/N) and let her tears flow into his shoulder, her tearful face protected from the stares of all the believers in the Mint Eye. "I know, princess." Saeran mumbled, stroking her hair, "I know."

Saeran was about to enter the worst month of his life, he knew. It would be worse than his own secondary commitment. Because this time, he wouldn't be on the receiving end of the pain.

He would be the cause of it.

MASTERLIST

Neutral Route: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | ✔

Saeyoung’s Route: 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | ✔

Saeran’s Route: 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | ✔

Word count: 2.0k

Notes: Happy new year! Well, it's happy for some people. I'm a bit bummed right now -_- school starts back up in eight hours for me but honestly who even cares about school and sleep when you have Tumblr? Btw: this story will shift from the pov of (Y/N) to Saeran to Saeyoung and even Rika, so make sure you check the chapter title so you know who the chapter will focus on!

Comment & Like

Next Update: 1/06/20

I do not own the rights to Mystic Messenger or any of the characters within it.

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h3llostrang3r · 5 years

Text

Guardians of the Heir (TRH)

Liam x Sophie Word Count: 2,064 Warning: Just a bit of fluff. Summary: Pregnant Sophie spends some time with Maxwell, Hana, and Drake. Note: This idea stemmed from “The Queen's Throne.” Here we see what Sophie did during the day.

The Fun Uncle:

“Hi there Maxwell Jr.! This is your favorite Uncle… Maxwell! I’ve decided that not only will you have written documentation of your mom and uncle on their great adventures, you will also get to see it first hand via video!”

The camera is zoomed in close on Maxwell as he attempts to vlog and walk alongside Sophie and her corgis, Lord AppleSeed and Lady AppleBottom, and they make their way to the menagerie. In the background, Sophie laughs and can be heard saying, “Names are still up in the air until the baby comes.” The camera is still on Maxwell, huge grin on his face, he mouths, ‘Maxwell Jr.’

“Alright baby, here is your beautiful mommy, Queen Sophie, but you call her Queen Mommy.”

He pans the camera to her and she waves, her smile bright and freckles highlighted by the sunlight.

“Aaaand here are your fur siblings! They will give you lots of kisses and hours of entertainment when your Uncle Maxwell isn’t around.” Lord AppleSeed and Lady AppleBottom wag their tails and bark their “hellos” to the camera.

As they approach the menagerie the two corgis run off in search of Milo and Sagwa, Sophie’s red pandas. The picture is slightly blurry as Maxwell chases after them to catch their interaction.

Milo and Sagwa yawn as the corgis’ barks wakes them. Sagwa untangles herself from her brother’s cuddling embrace and the two climb down to greet their visitors. Sophie reaches out for Milo and he happily embraces her in a hug, while Sagwa circles around the corgis.

“Alright everyone, are we ready for the most amazing dance video the world has ever seen?”

All the animals tilt their heads as they watch Maxwell set up the camera on a tripod and adjusts it so everyone is seen in the video. Sophie gets the music ready on her phone, and connects it to the portable speaker they brought along.

As soon as the music starts playing Maxwell gyrates to the beat and makes his way to group. Sophie laughs infectiously at the site and sways from side to side with Milo still in her arms. He grabs treats from his pockets and uses them to encourage the animals to dance on their hind legs. At the sight, Milo jumps from Sophie’s arms and joins the others.

“Aww, there goes my dance partner,” she dramatically pouts, but as soon as the words leave her lips she feels the baby kick.

“I was kidding, baby love, I know you’re still dancing with me.” She cradles her belly as she continues dancing and feels the baby moving around.

Maxwell begins popping and locking with an occasional spin, while Milo and Sagwa hop on the backs of Lord AppleSeed and Lady AppleBottom. He then makes sure his space is clear before he performs and lands a backflip.

“I am the master of the dance!!” He shouts as he raises his arms in the air.

The corgis respond with an, “ARooOoOoo.”

“ArooooOoOoOOo,” Maxwell joins in, then looks to Sophie.

“Maxwell, a Queen doesn’t howl.” Her face is stern, and her full lips transition into a thin line.

He doesn’t blink as he continues to stare at her, while simultaneously shimmying his shoulders.

A smile creeps up and she shakes her head in defeat, “ArooOoOOoOoOooo.”

As soon as their dancing ends the two corgis and pandas run off with each other, and Sophie finds a quiet spot to sit.

“That is going to be the best dance video in Cordonia history. Do you think Liam will let me upload it?”

“Not a chance, Maxwell.” Sophie said, slightly out of breath. “But, it will be a great video to show the baby when they’re older.”

She places her hand on her belly, the baby still not done dancing.“Maxwell, feel this.”

She takes his hand and places it on her stomach.“They loved dancing with their fun Uncle Maxwell.”

His face lit up with joy as he sat next to Sophie, “don’t worry little one, we’re going to have plenty of dance parties together.”

****

The Loving Aunt:

The weather outside was warm with a cool breeze, the flowers were in full bloom and the air was filled with their sweet scent. Sophie and Hana were on the grass adjacent to the gazebo, paint easels set-up, and a picnic blanket laid out with an assortment of goodies they prepared earlier. Sophie wasn’t much of a painter, but she enjoyed the feel of the paint gliding across the canvas. She found herself reaching out for the finger foods as she mindlessly swirled her paintbrush.

“Sophie, I’m almost finished. How about you get some plates started for us, and I’ll join you on the blanket when I’m done.” Hana giggled, she knew Sophie had been excited to eat since she put the basket together in the kitchen.

“Oh thank God.” Sophie cleans up her hands then scoots onto the blanket and grabs their plates; adding dumplings , spring rolls, and fruit. From the picnic basket Sophie pulled out two small cups and a thermos. It was filled with an infused tea made up of oolong, and hints of apple and cinnamon.

“Alright, finished. Are you ready to see?” Hana looks over from the canvas, spotting Sophie with a dumpling halfway into her mouth.

Sophie nods her head with anticipation as she takes a bite of her food. Hana carefully rotates the easel and displays it for Sophie to see. The portrait was filled with bright shades of red, orange, and yellow. She had painted Thornwood’s sigil, the ever rising Phoenix.

“What do you think? I hope the colors are alright, I tried my best to match the ones that you have throughout the duchy.”

Sophie swallowed her bite, and brought her napkin up to her mouth; attempting to wipe the crumbs and hide that she was about to cry. Sophie was never one to hide her emotions, but since the rise in hormones she found herself crying a bit more than she wanted to.

“Hana,” the tears started to form, stinging her eyes as she attempted to fight them off. “It’s absolutely gorgeous.” She chokes up, trying to compose herself, but in the end the hormones always win. “It’s going to look fantastic in the nursery.” Her tears begin to fall, and Hana quickly scurries to her side.

She lovingly wrapped her in a warm embrace, “Please don’t cry. I accept payments from you in smiles only.” Hana squished her cheeks to Sophie’s hoping she would get her to smile and giggled, “you’re going to get salty tears in your tea.” Sophie squeezed back and a gentle laugh replaced her tears.

Sophie could feel the pressure in her belly shifting to where Hana was. Once she realized what was happening, she grabbed Hana’s dainty hands to where the baby had moved. She chuckled at the sensation, “the baby wants a hug too, Hana.”

Hana’s smile glowed at Sophie’s words, she found the baby with her hands and leaned down to give it a kiss. “Sweet little baby, I can’t wait for you to see your painting in person. Oh, and for us to have cocoa-parties, I promise to make you my best treats. We’ll have so much fun.”

“I think they’ll like that very much, Hana. If we’re best friends, I can only imagine the joy and happiness you’ll bring them.”

“Aww, Sophie.” They embraced again, this time the tears belonged to Hana.

****

The Whipped Uncle:

“Alright, let’s see what we got here,” Drake grunted as he bent forward reaching for the portable air pump.

Earlier in the month Sophie ordered new inner tubes for her and Drake. She loved that he would take her around the lake in the row boat, but with the warmer weather she wanted to relax in the cool water. She handed him her inner tube first, as she sat with her legs crossed on the grass she carefully watched his reaction. It wasn’t long before he dropped his head and shook it, when he looked at Sophie he gave her a smirk.

“Thorn, what the hell did you buy? I thought we were going to be relaxing in the water. Not… role playing the Crown and the Flame.”

Sophie’s smile lit up as the inner tube inflated more, it was a blue dragon with fire that came out of its large mouth. She bought it off of the show’s website, she always wanted to have a dragon. Sure this one was plastic, but it would do just fine.

She called out, “Your turn,” as she chucked his inner tube in his direction. He squinted his eyes at her as he turned on the pump. It definitely wasn’t the same as hers, but it wasn’t a plain one either.

“What should I be expecting, Thorn?”

A coy smile crept upon her lips, “You’ll see!”

Drake ran his hand over his face as he came to realize what she bought. He shook his head furiously as he glared her way and shouted, “No way, Thorn. I am not getting in this.”

“Yee-haw, cowboy!!” She cried out as she pretended to wave a lasso in the air. It was a float in the shape of a horse, a saddle as the backrest, and functional reins.

“Yee-haw, my ass” he grumbled to himself.

“C’mon Drake, it’s totally you! And it has a cup holder for your whiskey.” She giggled at the sight of his face, he was irate, but she knew he would still sit in it. “Help me up, I’m stuck.” She reached out her hands playfully and with his head still shaking he made his way towards her.

His large, calloused hands carefully held on to her soft, small ones and he lifted her up with ease.

“Why thank you, kind sir. Now let’s grab some drinks and ride off into the sunset!”

In a small cooler, Sophie had two insulated tumblers - one filled with whiskey, and the other with a virgin pina-colada. They made their way to the lake and she handed off Drake’s drink as she wiggled into her inner-tube. He took a long sip of his whiskey as he stared at the inflatable horse.

Sophie pushed herself off from the shore, happily sipping her drink as she watched Drake contemplate getting in. “C’mon water buddy, I am floating away and Liam is going to be pissed if I’m stuck in this water all night.”

He hollers back, “I’m fine with just walking away right now.”

“Draaaaake, please!” She whines, as she splashes her feet in the water. He takes another sip as he gets onto the tube.

Time passes as they savor their drinks, and Sophie occasionally singing off-key, “If you like pina-coladas.” They talk about anything that doesn’t involve the royal council or any sort of politics. Just relaxing, laughing, and enjoying the simple moment.

“I’m so excited to take them camping, and fishing, and horseback riding.” Drake’s smile is wide as he helps Sophie to shore and out from her seat.

“They’re going to love it too. I really want them to be able to step away from court from time to time. Just because we’re royalty doesn’t mean we’re not human, we should be able to take pleasure in ‘commoner’ activities.”

Sophie suddenly wraps Drake in a hug, he’s startled at first, but hugs her back. “Thanks for doing this for us, Drake.” She steps back and rubs her hand over her bump.

“Any time, Thorn.” He looks to her questionably and she nods in approval. He reaches his hand out to her belly, “Any time for you too, Little Thorn.” He feels a strong kick to his open palm,

“Hey, Little Thorn’s first high-five.”

****

The moon and stars were out, Sophie had taken a long and steamy shower, then a delightful dinner with Hana. She discussed tomorrow’s plans with Gladys and responded to a few emails before she started to feel a bit nauseous.

She finally decided it was time for bed. Her feet ached, so one by one she slipped off her shoes. Her hair had been up all day, so down it came. Her breasts were sore, so off came that restraining bra. As she made her way to her bedroom a light peeked out from Liam’s office.

“Oh look, baby love, daddy’s home.”

#playchoices #the royal heir #trh #liam x mc #choices #liam x sophie #h3llostrang3r writes

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rittywritestdp · 5 years

Note

Can you please do a Aaravos x female human mage fic, who is related to calum (maybe it takes place years before the events of tdp and the reader takes one look at aaravos and quickly falls for him)

oh my god bless you, yes. Okay so the reader is going to be an adopted daughter of Amaya here, and the King’s Niece.

✴Aaravos x Royal!Mage!Reader

“Alright, that will conclude the lesson.” Viren said, both hands atop his staff. “I have a meeting with King Harrow, clean the study, and get some lunch.” Viren said, to both you and young Claudia. He smiled at his daughter, before turning to leave. Which left you with the little fourteen year old who was already stepping to begin cleaning up the small pile of squished beetles and butterflies. You moved silently to the beakers and vials, picking the tray up and stepping to the water basin. “When do you think Father will let me use these things we’re learning?” Claudia complained. “I started when I was fifteen.” You replied easily. You liked Claudia, but Viren favored her. He would never pay you the same attention that he paid her, which you suppose you could understand, she was his daughter after all. The part that bothered you is the fact that he encouraged her to learn spells that he wouldn’t even allow you to copy into your spellbook. He claimed Harrow and Amaya wouldn’t allow him to teach you anything more advanced. You didn’t want to believe that. “I want to start nowwwww.” Claudia moaned, tossing the carcasses of the bugs out the window and tossing the rag she’d cleaned with into the washbasin. “I’ve copied all the spells, I know all the words.” She complained “Have you asked him about it?” You tried, placing the books you’d used back onto the shelves. “Are you insane?” Claudia laughed, starting towards the door to exit the study. “Do you want to come get lunch with me?” She asked, and a smile pulled at your lips. That sounded nice. “Sure.” You replied, starting after the younger girl, just as a book fell from the shelf and hit you on the foot. “Ouch!” Claudia laughed. You grasped your foot in pain, you didn’t even realize what you were looking at for a long moment. The moment your eyes focused, and you saw the tome you knew well with pages you’d never seen before, your mind swam. ‘Stay.’ The words said. You furrowed your brows, blinking at it. “Y/N?” Claudia asked, her laughter stopped, her footsteps started to return. You practically fell on the book, closing it and grasping your foot. “This just….really really hurts Clauds, I’ll. I’ll catch up with you in a moment.” You quickly thought up anything you could to get her away. “Did you break your toe??” Claudia asked, coming near to lean down and look over you worriedly. “It will pass, I just need a moment.” You told her. She stared at you, concerned, before nodding and exiting the study. You let your foot go and closed the door, pressing the book open trepidatiously and dragging your finger down a page you’d read a thousand times. Maybe…you were hallucinating? Perhaps it was a symptom of the magic you used. Then the words on the page dripped and then poured and black colored the entire page. ‘Good’ written out in white against the inky background. You were silent, you tipped the book up and tried to look for runes or sigils, to look for any sign that this was a spell or a trick that Lord Viren was playing. ‘Two horn worms, three pinches of dragons tongue, a smidge of powdered quarts, and a single drop of blood. Sir ath athin no thore.’ “A spell? I cannot cast without Lord Viren to supervise me.” You cleverly said, Lord Viren was surely behind this and that was exactly what he would want to hear. You stood, and placed the book on the shelf, before going to meet with Claudia. On your way back from the Kitchens, you nearly ran directly into Viren. He must just now be on his way to eat. You remember the book, and you think of the test. Had he truly met with King Harrow? Or had it simply stepped out to test you from afar? “So when’d you learn to control books?” You grinned, trying to show off how clever you were. Viren didn’t smile, his eyebrow raised ever-so-slightly. He seemed to be willing to humor you, but not amused.“You’re just upset you bruised your toe.” Claudia giggled as she slipped past the two. Viren furrowed his brows, first at his daughter then at you.“Th…the Compendium of Magical Components?” You tried. Viren didn’t answer, he simply waited for an explanation. “It fell from the bookcase?” “And hit your toe?” Viren asked, voice dry. “Yes.” You answered, seeming stupider by the moment. “Then perhaps put books away properly?” He said, passing by you and moving into the kitchens. You stood, deadpanning the hallway before you. So…it wasn’t a test? It wasn’t Lord Viren. He doesn’t play tricks, and he doesn’t lie about tests. You nodded, trying to think of any possible explanation, before starting at a slow and inconspicuous pace back to Lord Viren’s Study. A few guards noticed you, but it was normal to come in here. “Just, just going to do…inventory for Lord Viren.” You nervously told Marco. He was a nice guard who just got assigned to some of the lower priority Guard Stations. Marco nodded, not sure what to do with that information, and you slipped into the study, immediately thumbing the shelves for the Compendium of Magical Components. A brown and silver tome, well-worn and thick. You pulled it from the shelf and turned it to the exact page you’d been on before, rubbing the page until you saw it swirling into a black, inky abyss. Tossing it onto the desk, you began to gather the components, and a pestle and mortar. Then you remembered that this….wasn’t sanctioned. You drew the curtains, not before seeing Soren out sparing with your mother. Not before Soren seeing you. And then getting shield bashed with a thankfully wooden shield and knocked to the ground. You slammed the curtains closed and instead imagined seeing your mother berating the poor boy for looking away. Then you picked a chair up and propped it against the study door. If anyone tried opening it and couldn’t, you could be in trouble, but you’d be in more trouble if anyone saw what you were doing. All of the components, ground up, even the drop of blood - produced from a needle prick. Finally you recited the very simple incantation, and the moment the magic faded you saw a room in the bowl. In. The. Bowl. Lord Viren had never let you cast spells more complicated than…than… a light spell, this was…out of your league. And out of your experience. A haze of tiredness washed over you, and you closed your eyes for a moment. Then the page of the book flipped as though a stiff breeze washed over it, and your eyes snapped open. You didn’t even have time to look at the book, however, for a pair of purple eyes, the sclera black, eyed you. The faintest crescent on the creature’s dark purple lips. Were those stars on their cheeks? Whatever…whoever they were…they were beautiful. Simply enchanting. “Who…are you?” You asked, voice low. They shook their head so gently, and raised a Startouched finger to press against their lips. You felt yourself growing warm just looking at this person, and nodded. They raised a book, and flipped the page to one of black. The same words that you’d just read. Their drug their finger in a line, and you cast your eyes to the book. The very same line. ‘Who are you?’ You asked. ‘My name has no meaning to you.’ the book replied. You frowned slightly. ‘What are you?’ ‘Here to help.’ the book said, and you looked into the little bowl to see them smiling playfully. ‘With what?’ ‘Magic.’ You raised your eyebrows, and made sure to let them see your surprise. The page was wiped clean of your words, and blank and black once more. ‘I have a mentor.’ ‘I will teach you anything your heart desires.’ The book read and you felt your heart start to pick it’s pace up with each syllable you read. The words swam in your head and you swallowed thickly. Lord Viren would not be happy to know about this person. Lord Viren could not know about this person. A sharp knock came to the door, and you nearly jumped out of your skin, dumping the potion into the wash basin and slamming the book closed, picking it up and sliding it into the empty spot on the shelf where it belonged before scooting the chair out of the way and opening the door with the largest smile on your face that you could muster. Soren. He smiled, face red and hair sticking to his sweaty forehead. “H-hey, how’s it.” He paused, shuffling his helmet over to his other arm and leaning against the door, feet crossed cooly. “How’s it hanging?” He tried.“Fine, fine, why do you ask?” You laughed, almost nervously. He quirked his lips sideways, a thought moving through his mind (you could always see Soren’s thoughts, as his face always scrunched in one way or another as he thought. “Oh, I just. Are you busy?” He asked. He was already red faced but you assumed he would be flushing now, had it not. “Yes.” You replied curtly. “C-Cataloging inventory for Lord Viren.” You added, to make it less suspicious. Soren immediately deflated. “Ah, yeah, okay. Cool cool.” He nodded, peeking past you into the room. “Well, better get back to work.” You said, smiling and pressing the door closed, before turning and sliding down to sit with your back against the door. You didn’t have time for Soren, you were enamored with whoever that was on the other side of the window-potion. You were in love. This turned out….longer than I meant it to. I just…love Aavaros okay, thanks. *Side-Note, I personally didn’t realize Aavaros was male until he spoke so I transferred that to the reader lmao-☼

#RittyWrites #TDP #The Dragon Prince #TDPxReader #Aavaros #Aavaros x Reader #SFW #Fic #Ficlet #Fanfiction #Ask

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alltheworldsinmyhead · 5 years

Photo

princess alysanne of house targaryen

the miracle princess, the light of the realm

the eldest child of queen daenerys and king aegon VI

the waves have come

ao3

the twilight is falling, lamps will soon go on and where did summer go i will never know summer used to last endlessly children all in white, running down the sand to me playing hide and seek kisses on the cheek

Upon birth, they called her The Light of The Realm, The Miracle Princess. It is told, that when her father carried her in his arms down the grand steps of the Red Keep to show her to highborn and common folk alike, the clouds parted, the sky itself opened and sunlight came streaming down to touch her soft baby hair, bleaching them into the lightest shade of gold.

It is told that she is blessed by Seven themselves, that her path is meant to be paved with greatness suppressing even that of her ancestors.

But these are just stories.

On the morning of her wedding day, she wakes up before dawn and lays awake in her bed for hours, watching as the sun slowly, almost lazily, rises above the horizon.

Light sparkles on the waters of Blackwater Bay and all of the ships in the harbor emerge from the shadows, with their flags of all the colors of the rainbow; all of the noble houses and all of the cities and all of the kingdoms that maesters can name.

Except not all, because the scene could not be more foreign to her eyes.

There are no silver direwolves of Starks, nor golden stags of Baratheons.

And instead of a three-headed scarlet dragon curled around a white wolf – the sigil of her House, her sigil, the one she used to wear on her clothes and jewelry (the broth on her furs, the embroidery on her night clothes, the banner hanging behind her back) – there is only an one-headed, brown dragon on a dark background, entwined with a golden griffin.

Weeping or cursing would probably ease the knot of her insides a little and she wants to weep so badly, but she cannot even cry anymore. Her tears must have long formed a river and fallen down the sea, for her eyes remain dry and her insides are burning from a fire she doesn’t know how to put down.

Her maids come in not long after sunrise to get her ready; they flock around her like hummingbirds, nervously chatting about what a beautiful day it is and how beautiful her dress is and how beautiful she is. Their hands are shaking and their cheeks are pale. They are avoiding her gaze altogether, refusing to look her in the eyes. All - but her cousin Cat, with her beautiful golden-red hair down in a Northern manner and face painted with steel defiance.

She is not tweeting, is not twitching, is not trembling.

This one’s not broken yet, she thinks, feeling a sudden surge of warmth blooming in her chest, and gently squeezes Cat’s hand as she helps her do the laces on the front of the dress.

As they adorn her hair with white roses, she wonders where Lyanna is. Is she still across the Narrow Sea with Gill? There are only two paths for her sweet sister now, both depending on the answer to this question. If so, they will keep each other safe. If not, she’s lost. Lyanna is many things, but she always had much more honor in her heart than wit in her pretty dark head. She would want to come back, even if it means nothing, just another dead Targaryen or just another broodmare to sell off to a traitor. But Argella’s smart. She knows there is nothing left for them in Westeros.

Lya, mother and father are dead. – she thinks hard, as hard as she can. Maybe she can send her thoughts to Volantis somehow, someday. – Benjen is dead. The dragons are dead. Ghost is dead. And I am dead also. Don’t come back, save yourself. Save Argella, her name is gone, her House is gone.

She closes her eyes and she sees it, sees as vividly as if she truly was there to witness Aegon’s second brutal strike on Seven Kingdoms; Storm’s End turned into another Harenhall, her aunt, uncle and cousins burned alive by the monstrous brown dragon; turned into living torches, screaming in agony, their skin peeling off and their meat falling from their charred bones. She has seen people die this way before; she knows how it smells. Her youngest cousin was just a babe.

House Baratheon, gone once more.

All she can do is hope that they didn’t suffer for too long. The beast fell from the sky like a giant cloud, in the middle of the night, so maybe they didn’t even register what was going on before the Stranger took them. What an irony, for her aunt and uncle, the fighters blessed by the Warrior himself, to go into the darkness like that.

A familiar shriek pierces the air as they rouge her cheeks and for a moment or two she thinks she is going to faint. Swatting handmaidens away, she comes closer to the window to look at the courtyard outside – and her blood boils instantly in her veins. Her knuckles turn white as she grabs onto the frames and leans outside, as far as she can.

Quicksilver is right below her tower and wailing sadly, neck stretched out towards her, her amber eyes flickering. Her very soul aches at her sight. What has become of her magnificent dragon? Chained to the ground like a goat, her silvery scales matted by dried up blood and soot, her wings pierced through so that she wouldn’t be able to fly – her, this creature made for soaring through the clouds. She looks pitiful.

The dragon shrieks again, tremble running through her body and her tail swishing. She keeps her eyes fixed on her and she suddenly realizes she’s half-hanging from the window. Wind plays with her hair.

She could jump, if she wanted to.

She could jump and spare herself all the pain and suffering that she feels.

Maybe that would be the ultimate punishment for the man that butchered her entire family; to deny him her hand, her cunt, her womb. She thinks she would look beautiful falling down from the tower, with white roses in her hair and her golden wedding gown flying around her. She would look like a stray sunray, or a falling star. People would talk about her suicide for ages to come.

And she would be the end of House Targaryen, the end of her family line, the end of her parents dreams of a better world. Would doom Seven Kingdoms for decades of tyranny and suffering.

This is not how she was brought up.

She is The Miracle Princess, The Light of The Realm, Princess Alysanne of House Targaryen, the eldest child of Queen Daenerys and King Aegon VI. The Heir to the Iron Throne. She knows her duty well.

She glances on the Quicksilver once again, looks her into the eyes. They blink in unison, the girl and the dragon. We must endure it, my sweet.

With a deep breath, she turns away and goes back to her now-silent maids, lets them finish her make-up and swaddle her in lace and burgundy. Cat kisses her cheek before they leave the chambers and she kisses her back.

And with her head held high, she descends the grand steps of The Red Keep; alone this time, on a way to marry the man that stole her birthright.

The clouds have gathered and there is no sun.

Her maiden clock sweeps the floor behind her and, in the drowning silence, she can almost hear that sound ermine fur makes against the stone.

There are more people gathered in the Dragonpit that she has ever seen in her life and she is sure that there are even more outside on the street; rich and poor, crammed and desperate to steal even a glance of the wedding of their Princess to the foreign invader. And yet, seemingly no one utters a word. She can hear the breeze formed by their collective intake of breath as she enters the Pit, but no cheers, no loud gasps, nothing.

She glances at the stands. People have solemn faces. Women have tears on their cheeks.

The price we pay for peace is grand indeed, their eyes say, the eyes of remaining Lords and Ladies of Westeros, watching as she sells herself off without a word. For the Dance of Dragons would ruin the prosperity they already got used to. For the War of Five Kings and The Long Night defiled the kingdom enough for this silent vow of non-aggression to take root.

The Last War, that’s how people titled the war between her parents and Queen Cersei. And oh, they turned out right, cause when so-called Prince Aegon fell upon the Summerhall on a dragon bigger than Hill of Rhaenys and feed the ground with the blood of Targaryens once again and then burned Storm’s End to the ashes, no banners marched against him.

None – but the Starks.

With each step, she recalls a name and with a name, she recalls a face, and with a face, she recalls all the love that they have given her through the years.

Arya. Gendry. Eddard. Durran. Beric. Nymeria.

Sansa. Robert. Jaime.

Brienne.

Her mother. Her father. Benjen. Drogon. Rheagal. Dusk. Ghost.

All dead.

Joanna. Cat.

Enslaved.

Argella. Lyanna.

Lost.

Somewhere in the distance, Quicksilver wails.

The man who calls himself her cousin stands in front of the High Septon, clad in browns and golds of his banners. His dark eyes watch her hungrily, as she nears closer and closer. When he reaches out a hand to her, she takes it, lets him pull her up on the podium, lets him drink her in. Her breasts, her face, her lips.

Stone, that’s what my skin is. Solid stone.

She realizes, with a flash of recognition, that she’s standing in the exact same spot where Rheagar used to lay, her wing covering three beautiful eggs, shining brighter than the brightest jewels in her mother’s collection.

She was six at that time, six and enchanted.

“Pick the one that sings to you” mother whispered into her ear and she did. The egg that she brought to her bedchambers that day was silver speckled with gold, warm to the touch. Within a fortnight, her dragon hatched, tiny and perfect.

She feels nothing, nothing at all.

When she was a child, she used to have terrible night terrors that no sleeping potion could keep away and no maester could cure. So her mother has taken to staying up all night with her, singing her lullabies in foreign languages and stroking her hair to soothe her; in the morning, they would wear the same shade of purple underneath their eyes as in their irises.

Her mother seemed so distant at times, like a goddess or a marble statue. The myth came alive. But this is when Alysanne loved her most, in those quiet, strange hours in between dusk and dawn. This is how she remembers her best; when she was stripped out of titles and honorifics and crowns. In a simple nightgown, with her hair down and smelling like lavender and lemons, her mother was the most beautiful woman that has ever lived and that was ever gonna live.

That was all she has ever wanted, to be exactly like her.

Her lips move, forming words, but she cannot even hear her own voice.

“Be good, Alys.” Her father told her, when he was leaving to Summerhall for the last time, when she saw her parents for the last time. It was a lovely spring morning, bathed in dew and smelling like fresh starts. They were standing near the stables and he held his hands in hers, that’s what she remembers. “We’re leaving it all for you to handle. I know it’s a lot. But everything will be fine, I promise. “

He kissed her forehead then, lightly and smiled at her.

“You are so good. Never forget that, my sweet.”

She watched as they rode away, tiara heavy on her head.

Aegon’s lips are dry and cold on hers. It barely feels like kissing a man; more like kissing a sword or a dagger, like swearing fealty. He reaches for the crown – definitely new, as she has never seen it before, this circle of gold and moonstones – and places it gently on her head.

She keeps her eyes fixed on the left, where Dragonbinder rests on velvet cushions; it’s dark gleam calls to her. What would happen if she, the true Targaryen, was to blow it?

Dusk was a playful dragon, with a somehow mischevious glint in his eyes, matching the one in his brother’s. It was a colorful stain on the blue sky, pinkish-red dot twisting in acrobatic figures that would make her mother gasp and press her hand to her heart in fear.

Benjen would just laugh, landing on the ground with grace and patting his dragon’s side like it was a horse. She has never seen him afraid, as long as he lived. He had so much fire within him that she was sometimes almost jealous of it, but now she’s just grateful. Maybe if she was a bigger dragon she would find another way than this, but she would probably just die trying.

Because Benjen would not go down without fighting.

“Long live the King and Queen of the Seven Kingdoms!” the herald announces and the crowd followed suit, obliging the unspoken command. But there are no cheers, as the Usurper leads her down the stairs and out of the Dragon Pit. Only silence on the streets, only the wall of people with their mouths shut closed. Even Aegon’s loyal men stay quiet and for that, she starts to wonder how she looks like, what kind of expression is painted on her face.

From up high, she can see it in the distance.

With its scales of the color of the mud, it stands out against the lush greenery outside Kings Landing’s walls. It’s so enormous her mind can hardly register its full size, makes her head spin. She wonders briefly if it is how big Balerion The Black Dread got before it died. But Sheepstealer is no Balerion. He is a wild dragon still, bound to Aegon by the power of Horn alone. He does not respond to his master’s feeling, doesn’t share his pain. Doesn’t even raise his head up, deep in his slumber.

A being so old and ancient, asleep for so long until the scream of the Horn woke it up.

Maybe he wants for it all to end too.

She would love to hate this dragon but she cannot. A dragon’s not a slave, but the bond you have transcends our understanding. It wants what you want, loves who you love and hates who you hate. Its nature is fire and blood, and you cannot change it even if you wanted. The only thing you can change is yourself.

Three dragons of House Targaryen against one ancient beast that remembers the times of her namesake and that has spent last century or so sleeping in the mountains below Dragonstone. Sheepsteeler’s eyes were as big as Dusk, for gods sake. The odds were decided before they even had a chance to dance.

Alysanne has learned how to be a Queen in the summertime of peace; how to bring happiness and prosperity to her people, how to keep lands flourishing, Lords and Ladies appeased, and common folk warm and full. She is good at that, she is good, she is good, like the Silver Queen Daenerys I before her, like the Good Queen Alysanne even before. People love her.

Summerhall was a gift of her father to her mother, for their tenth anniversary. A small, elegant castle with red oak doors and lemon trees planted around it. Impossible to defend, really.

But it was so liberating for them to be there, to leave the crowns and titles in King’s Landing and do nothing but bathe in the lake and lounge in the sun all day, sing songs and talk all night. Her aunt and uncle would often come from Storm’s End and she, her siblings and cousins would run on the lush hills; dressed in white and carefree.

Summerhall was her parents' small kisses, exchanged when they thought nobody was looking. Was her brother's laughter and her cousins’ freckled faces. Summerhall was happiness that no one could ever take ever from her.

“We are going to build a new world.” Her husband whispers in her ear after the bedding, laying next to her and playing with locks of her golden hair. Her blood dries on her tights. “I will be your Jaehaerys and you will be my Alysanne, my Queen.”

He kisses her neck. She closes her eyes.

“My good girl”, her father said, kissing her temple tenderly, just before she rode Quicksilver for the first time.

“Family, duty, hour”, Cat said, clutching her hands and wiping away her tears, two lost girls locked in the same cell.

“We’ll see each other soon, sweet sister,” Lyanna said in the harbor, holding Argella Baratheon’s hand and beaming. “And we will have so much to catch up on.”

“You have a name after the greatest queen in the Westeros’ history.” Her mother said late at night, amongst quite whispers of burning candles. “And I am sure you will prove to be worthy of it, my daughter, my miracle.”

“To rule is to serve.” Her parents said, with their bloodshot-eyes and tired voices, with their trembling hands and post-war terrors still plaguing their minds. The greatest people she has ever met.

It is said that the sky itself opened after the wedding of King Aegon VII and Queen Alysanne and wept with rain for the poor princess and her fate. It is said that it rained and rained and rained for so long and so hard that Queen’s dragon, unable to fly, drowned chained in the all the water.

But these are just stories.

#asoiaf #got #got au #asoiaf au #got fanfiction #asoiaf fanfiction #jonerys #jonerys fanfiction #jonerys au

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nadziejastar · 5 years

Text

Xemnas: You seek answers. I can give you purpose.

Roxas: Roxas.

Xemnas: That is right–the new you.

Axel: Man, I miss the old times. Still got it memorized? The day we met, when you got your new name, you and I sat right here, just like this and watched the sunset.

Oh, I definitely think that KH3 destroyed EVERYTHING that was set up for BOTH Lea and Isa regarding the future games. I’m sure Nomura was heartbroken when he had to write KH3′s awful script. I know he’s capable of FAR better than that. He still tried to hint at what he wanted between them, and they probably will ALWAYS come across like they’re closeted. When Saïx showed up at the clock tower, I still think Axel acted like someone who was seeing an ex who broke their heart that they still had feelings for. But that requires reading between the lines. I don’t think there’s any coming back from it, no.

Xemnas: As your flesh bears the sigil, so your name shall be known as that…of a recusant.

If Lea had at least cared enough to save Isa and restore his REAL personality, then I would be more optimistic about the future of his character. But the dude that was left over in KH3 was not the same Isa that was in BBS. You can’t even blame it on him having no heart or being Norted anymore since they backpedaled on that idea. He had no excuse for his time as a villain. But that was supposed to be what Isa’s whole character was about. He lost his true purpose. Xemnas branded him with the Recusant’s Sigil and brainwashed him to have a new purpose: becoming stronger.

Naminé watched the Replica battle Sora in the crystal ball.

“Does it hurt, Naminé? Watching your two childhood friends fight all because of you? You have my sympathies,” Axel said quietly. “From the heart.”

His words were meant for the Replica. Not for her.

Axel was hinted to have a very dark and tragic past. It was supposed to be the backbone of his entire character. In the novel, you can see that when Axel said this to Naminé, it happened on the same day Roxas officially decided to call Xion his friend and treated her to the icing on the cake. He made her a promise that they would all eat ice cream together when Axel got back. This is just after he found the WINNER stick. Xion said they must be really close.

Xion: We don’t have any place to run.

Roxas: I know. Heh, I was just thinking out loud.

Axel: Well, even if things change, we’ll never be apart–

Xion: As long as we remember each other…right? Don’t worry, Axel–we got your hokey speech memorized.

Axel: Just checking.

Xion: I’ll have these moments memorized for a long time. Forever, I hope.

She also says that on Day 352 ~Sunset~, the last time they all ate ice cream together. Roxas and Xion almost killed each other and Axel’s calm reaction speaks volumes. He was smiling and urged everyone to go get ice cream, like that was the most natural thing in the world to do when someone was about to die. Instead of panicking, he coped by doing fun childish things like eating ice cream and talking about looking for a WINNER stick.

Axel: Hey, Roxas. Bet you don’t know why the sun sets red. You see, light is made up of lots of colors. And out of all those colors, red is the one that travels the farthest.

Roxas: Like I asked! Know-it-all. Seriously, where is she?

Axel: Roxas… I’m not sure she’s gonna show today.

It’s because he’d already been though that experience before. Roxas and Xion’s fate from the very beginning was to fight to the death. And there are countless hints in the story that Lea and Isa were in the same situation. One of them was going to die. They knew they didn’t have much time left to be together.

Roxas: Where did I think I could go? What a joke.

Xion: Roxas…I’m out of time. Even if I’m not ready…I have to make this choice. You have poured so many memories into me…given me so much…that I feel like I’m about to overflow. Look at me, Roxas. Who do you see? If you see somebody else’s face…a boy’s face…then that means I’m almost ready. This puppet will have to play her part. Roxas… This is him. It’s Sora.

The whole point of RAX was that Roxas and Xion’s relationship was playing out exactly like Lea and Isa’s did in the past. They were once inseparable. Roxas and Xion are just like how they used to be. But now one of them will have to kill the other and there’s nothing they can do about it. It was déjà vu the entire year for Axel. I suspect that is probably the true meaning of “358/2 Days”. His actions were always influenced by that prior history, which he kept a secret.

Axel: How did this happen?

Saïx: Xion is no more.

Xemnas: It is probably for the best. Get me back my Keyblade wielder. Fetch me Roxas.

Regarding casual fans, I think they are a big reason why Isa got destroyed. KH3 was written primarily for casual fans. And casual fans never cared about Isa. Most didn’t even knew who he was. Some thought Isa playfully teasing Lea was supposed to show that he was always evil, even as a kid. 🙄 The whole idea that Axel cared very deeply for Isa and that he had changed went right over their heads. So yeah, Isa was simply not a priority and I don’t see that changing in the future.

Day 357: To My Best Friend

Roxas left. It’s so like him to just leave that WINNER ice cream stick behind. Come tomorrow, I’ll probably get the order to hunt him down, but leaving that here makes it feel so permanent. I wish the three of us—three? No. That the two of us could share some ice cream again someday. That’s what it is to be friends.

Not to mention that casual fans are obsessed with Roxas, and that’s why Axel was obsessed with him and forgot about Isa. TBH, I never thought Roxas and Axel’s friendship was very interesting, even in KH2. When I first played Days, I actually found it to be rather dull. A grown man with a troubled past befriends a naive kid. He constantly lies to him to shelter him from the harsh realities of life. He avoids talking about his past or anything too heavy with him at all times. Okay, that’s fine. But I’m supposed to accept that they are inseparable BFF’s who are SOOO close that seeing Roxas is the only thing that gives Axel’s existence meaning? And I’m supposed to find that cute? I’m sorry, it’s not. It’s weird. It wasn’t until I played BBS that I saw their relationship differently. Then I actually liked how it was portrayed and Axel became my favorite character.

Axel: Look who’s finally awake.

Roxas: Axel...

Axel: Or…maybe I have it wrong. Might be time to sleep. Soon we won’t be able to talk like this anymore.

Roxas: Does that mean it’s time for me to go back to where I belong?

Because I realized that Axel’s relationship with Roxas and Xion was an attempt to “fix” his broken relationship with Isa. And that made him a million times more interesting and relatable. I think Lea has been ruined beyond repair just like Isa has. KH3 watered him down so much that I can’t even really say that I like him anymore, or that I am looking forward to his future appearances. He lowkey sucks now. I actually don’t think his character is very interesting without Isa. And I don’t think the direction they took with him will even appeal to casual fans. All the casual fans I know said he sucked in KH3. Not only was he was sidelined during his fight, he lacked that mysterious and edgy quality that made him so popular. His past now revolves around a random girl.

Axel: Man, I miss the old times. Still got it memorized? The day we met, when you got your new name, you and I sat right here and watched the sunset.

Roxas: Yeah. This place is home. Me… Hayner, Pence, Olette…We’ve shared a lot of adventures.

Axel: You’ll see them again. I know you will.

Roxas: Yeah, you’re right. Well, I should go. Sora’s waiting for me.

Axel: Yeah, I suppose he is.

Why did Saïx show up at the clock tower and know exactly why Axel had three ice creams? When Axel said he would drag Saïx back home, why did Saïx intently stare at his popsicle stick, immediately mention that Axel’s tear marks were gone, then stand up like Xion did when she said she was out of time? Why did Saïx know that the tear marks were because Axel was crying so much? I doubt any of this will be explained, but it’s probably because he remembers Lea crying for him. Isa’s time was almost up. They spent their last day together eating ice cream, watching the sunset, and Isa told Lea why the sunset was red. Lea was heartbroken and crying when they said “See ya”, promising to meet each other again in the next life.

Like we promised to meet again in the next life. We’ll make another promise. “See you, partner,” said Axel. Roxas gave him one last smile and vanished into the air. Moments later, Axel did the same.

Isa’s whole character was created for Lea to awaken his Keyblade. Lea had something important to recover that was lost. He treasured Isa. Axel’s memories of Isa were very precious to him. When Axel was asked what he couldn’t bear to lose, he didn’t say his relationship with Saïx. He said his memories of the past because that’s all he had to remember the pain of losing something. I don’t see how Isa’s character could possibly be salvaged when he wasn’t even saved with the power of waking. When his redemption consisted of bringing back Roxas and Xion instead of revealing that Isa sacrificed himself for Lea. And without showing that Lea loved Isa. When you change the background of a character THAT much, you are pushing the reset button. Lea and Isa might as well be new characters at this point.

Sora, Riku… Please come home. We’re waiting for you here at the blue sea, under the clear sky. If this wish reaches you… If you’re somewhere out there under the same sky… I want you to know. We’re waiting for you. And we’ll keep waiting.

She could hear the soft rushing of the waves. Kairi thought back to that day when she’d written a letter to the boy she couldn’t quite remember. She’d believed that letter would begin something. Why had she thought that? It was someone she’d seen in a dream. It must have been Sora—no, Roxas?

“It starts with an S!”

“Starts with an S…,” Kairi murmured. “Sora.” We made a promise. I know we did.

They changed the wording of Kairi’s letter to emphasize that she had been waiting for Sora and Riku. When Axel said they’d meet again in the next life, Roxas said he’d be waiting. The secret ending of Re:Coded is called “Destiny”. Braig asked Young Xehanort who he should bring with him. It cut off, so the only thing we heard was that the name started with an “S”. KH3D had already been released, so everyone knew Isa was the one Braig had taken with him and that the name he said must have been Saïx. So why make that the secret ending?

A promise… We’ll meet again…in the next life. We did say that. I remember. I remember our promise.

I think that the whole secret ending of KH2.5 was devoted to this promise. Lea began his next life in the lab after also seeing Roxas in a dream and being reminded of a promise he made to someone he couldn’t remember. Then Lea said he’d bring Isa back while looking at “Door to Darkness” written on the wall. If Lea had gone through the Door to Darkness before, then how did he find HIS Door to Light?

#kingdom hearts #anti kh3 #kh meta #kh saix #kh isa #kh akusai #kh leaisa

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mon-blanchetts · 7 years

Photo

There was something certain, final, about the thought of letting go—except it really never was as simple as that, after all. Jon is desperate to find meaning in one of Sansa’s mysterious possessions, even at the expense of his own peace of mind.

My contribution to Round 2 of the Jonsa Gift Exchange for the lovely @aknightfornawt!

Sansa sleeps constantly.

It didn’t bother him earlier on, when she was newly-arrived from wherever she escaped from, exhaustion painting her features, her blue eyes as worn out as the rough spun cloak she wore. No, Jon wasn’t worried then, like he’s worried now; he can’t shake the idea that she’s desperate to lose herself in sweet dreams than face the reality that stretches before her when she’s awake, but in such thoughts lay a darker apprehension: what is she trying to forget?

For all his worries, Jon envies her, if he’s to be honest with himself. It takes a couple drops of Milk of the Poppy to quell his mind long enough that he can sleep through the night without the ghosts creeping towards him, but there are days when the dreams are so real, so vivid, he wonders if they’re images wrought from his mind or something or other he’s forgotten. They come and go, his memories, like the ravens in the maester’s rookery, sometimes carrying grave news, sometimes nothing at all.

Her handmaiden comes back to him with the same news day in and day out, of her mistress sleeping through most of the day, unless a visitor comes knocking. It’s disheartening to hear, and he knows he can’t let her go on like this. A part of him wants to let her escape, let her bury her head in the sand until she comes out of her own accord, but the uncertainty that she’ll eventually come around is too real to ignore now.

“Do you think you might add something to this tunic?” he asks her one afternoon, after her handmaiden informs her that he’s here to see her. Sansa has only ventured out of her room a handful of times, always with her sworn shield shadowing her, sometimes even with Arya, who is just as perplexed about her sister’s condition as he is. Familiarity should have coaxed her out of this shell she hides in, but it has not; Jon hopes that maybe a familiar activity will prove more fruitful. A small design, he explains, perhaps a direwolf, if she’s willing to stitch one, just over his heart. “Here, I think,” he says tapping his left breastbone with a finger. Her eyes linger at the spot he gestured to, her face unreadable. Jon can make out the girl he remembers in her reserved manner, but the haunted look in her gaze is proof that she is no such thing.

If she wonders why he’s asking her, or if she suspects his motives, Sansa doesn’t voice them. Hope flutters in his chest when she nods wordlessly; Jon tries to hide his eagerness from her as he unlatches the buckles at his shoulders, shrugging out of his worn tunic before setting it gently in her lap as she beckons him to. She traces a long finger over the garment, as it mapping out what she might do; his hope rises just a little more, until his eyes catch sight of something vibrant near her hand, a familiar piece that makes his hear deflate, but he doesn’t know why—not in its entirety, at least.

The first time he noticed the ribbon tied around her wrist, Jon mistook it for blood; it set him off in a panic, until he realized what it was. He doesn’t know where it comes from, and she never mentions it. They don’t mention a lot of things, and it and makes them even more foreign to one another. Oddly enough, it is something Sansa would have done, in some distant, convoluted past—she had tied a ribbon to her direwolf’s collar, he remembers. He can’t recall what the color had been, but he knows it wasn’t red, knows that it wasn’t like the background of the Lannister’s sigil. Jon would like to believe she wears the ribbon as tribute to her lost familiar, but he knows it’s not, though he’s never asked. Instead, he watches her silently while she begins work his tunic, the only sound between them the snap from the fire. He’s only touched her once, when he wrapped his arms around her to welcome her home, and her own response had been slow, hesitant. She wanted to come home so badly, but now that she was here, it was like she didn’t know what came after. Did any of them?

There is no redemption for either of them, no chance of rebirth through water or flames; all they can do is push on, hoping they don’t stumble any more than they did while seeking this point in time. They’ve all suffered enough, and now, at least for the time being, they have each other.

Maybe he’s wrong to assume her dreams are sweet, though; for all he knows, they are ladened with the graves of hundreds and the blood of those she can’t forget. Maybe Sansa doesn’t know how to.

*******

Tell me what happened to her.

Sansa will not talk, but he hopes her sworn shield will. Brienne of Tarth is grand, capable, and beyond anything he’s known in a woman south of the Wall, her loyalty unshakable.

“There isn’t much I can tell you,” is her answer, eyes fixed on the landscape that stretches out before them. “Of course, there are plenty of stories, but…”

“But there’s only a grain of truth to them,” he finishes, crestfallen. The winds are harsh this morn, eager to topple something, someone, but he has stopped expecting anything less. “I want to help her, my lady. Can I do that if I feel like I’m wandering in the dark?”

His companion pauses. “It might not be your place to help her,” she tells him. His stare must be overbearing enough, because she turns her head to look at him. “We all have our own weight to bear, no matter the good intentions of others, but not everyone is looking for someone to lift their burden. She probably isn’t the person you remember, but she never will be, again.”

“I know that,” he insists. “But she can’t exist the way she’s been existing.” He desperately wants to believe that, even though he’s far more level-headed. Pain dulls, eventually; fear dissipates. It’s harder for him to believe, when he watches her, Sansa, she who looks but never sees. Her state of mind, her demeanor, it all leaves him feeling helpless, as if someone’s tied his arms to his sides and he can’t do anything. Jon has watched her wandering the castle with no real intention, like she’s drifting, a leaf in the wind with no destination in mind. So often he wants to talk to her, yet everything he thinks to voice sounds hollow, meaningless.

“This goes without saying, but too much expectation can lead to disappointment.”

Was he expecting too much, though? Was it wrong, selfish of him, to hope for something better for her?

Jon doesn’t respond to Lady Brienne, if only because he doesn’t trust himself to speak further, not while his mind is preoccupied.

What is the red ribbon about?

It’s possible she doesn’t know, of course; Sansa might have been wearing it long before her sworn shield found her, but there’s no doubt in his mind that Brienne has her own theories. And yet, Jon can’t bear to ask her in any direct terms; his tongue grows heavy in his mouth, his throat clogged with some questionable emotion he can’t explain. He wants to know, but he doesn’t.

*******

Jon is not the only one preoccupied with the red ribbon. Her grey gowns make it hard to conceal; many times she’s unaware that it’s coming apart until just the last minute, so it trails after her, like a leash with no master holding onto the other end. The thought is unsettling to him, but he represses his worries. What harm can a piece of ribbon do?

“She doesn’t even take it off when she bathes,” Arya points out, shaking her head. She’s been speaking with the servants, who, it turns out, have more romantic notions surrounding the ribbon. “They think some handsome lord gave it to her in a tourney before he died in the Long Night, and she wears it as a tribute to the man she’ll never have.”

It isn’t a far-off notion, had Sansa been the girl she was before she went south; there’s a tragic ring to it, but it’s still easy for him to swallow, if he could. “Is that what they think?”

Arya shrugs. “The younger ones, yes. I’ve heard a few others, though—some are wilder than the last.”

“Have you ever asked her?”

“Yes.”

He grips the handle of his tankard with anticipation. “What has she told you?”

Arya studies him for a moment, but he knows how eager he must look for answers. Just like the servants in their household, Jon has his own thoughts about the ribbon; to him, Sansa’s closed off behavior is inextricably tied to the ribbon she holds so dear to her. He’s full of tales, like everyone else around him, but he can’t make any of them fit to his liking.

“She won’t tell me anything,” she divulges. Arya finishes the last of her ale, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “You know, maybe there’s nothing to that thing. She could just be wearing it because she really, really likes it.”

“Do you actually believe that?”

She smirks. “No, I don’t. People do like stories though, don’t they? What a disappointment it would be, finding out that there is none.”

Jon doesn’t know if the ribbon bothers Arya the way it bothers him; whenever he thinks of Sansa he remembers the thin piece of fabric, about how much it reminds him of blood, a rivulet of crimson that keeps him awake at night.

*******

It’s only a little while after dinner when her handmaiden comes to him with a panicked look in her eyes to tell him about a row between two sisters that grows worse by the moment. They are still too different for each other’s liking, Arya and Sansa; the handmaiden’s news strikes enough fear in him to worry.

Jon can hear voices echoing against the stone walls as he quickens his steps, but Arya is already marching out just as he arrives, her face hard, eyes burning with anger, frustration; his own eyes are probably deceiving him, but he thinks she might break into tears.

“What’s happened? What have you two done?”

Arya glares at him. Jon realizes just how much like Ned he sounds—or is it Catelyn?

“Oh, piss off,” she hisses, before storming off towards the stairs, leaving him amidst a sea of confusion and curiosity. Jon calls out to her, but his efforts are useless. The heavy, oaken door to Sansa’s room is wide open, but silence is the only thing that drifts through. Did one of her outbursts go too far?

Jon walks in without a second thought, looking for signs of conflict, of violence. To his dismay, he finds it: an upturned chair, lying carelessly on the floor. It reminds him of a corpse, one of thousands, if not more, that littered the snowy grounds he once fought on. He swallows, trying to force the images away. Not now.

Sansa is sitting on the floor, right in front of the fire that burns in the hearth; if he didn’t know any better, he would have thought her a statue, oddly placed in the middle of the room. Still, if he thought he would have better luck with her than he did with Arya, he’s wrong. Sansa does not respond when he says her name, nor does she take her eyes off the fire burning in the hearth. This sister does not tell him to bugger off, at least, until Jon realizes there’s no consolation there; in Sansa’s eyes, it’s like he’s not even in the room. She hasn’t tried to run off, though, so he joins her on the cold, stone floor, hoping that might stir something within her. He glances at the upturned chair again. The air is still heavy with tension, but there is a measure of sadness that he can discern, too.

“Did she hurt you?” he asks, studying the profile of her pale face, her hair. He nearly misses it while he’s inspecting her, pale skin laid bare to him. Naked.

It all comes together now. Jon shoots a glance at the fire, but there’s nothing to see but dancing flames, wooden logs disintegrating. It would have melted long ago, the ribbon, a thin, tired piece like that. He can recall too well her reaction when Arya once tried pulling it off, how Sansa had gasped and yanked her hand towards her, affronted, scared, like she would break at the seams if it came undone. The ribbon is certainly gone now, forever destroyed, but the tears and heartache he was expecting do not come.

Sansa does not cry. Her eyes remain locked on the fire, mesmerized, but there is no other reaction. Jon barely knew how to behave around her when she was younger, has been struggling with her presence since she came back home, but this…it casts a different light, one he can’t shy away from. There is something in himself here: broken like glass, emptied out—puzzles with missing pieces to them, but he makes do by shoving them together where he can, damn the consequences. He sees the horror and the spite and the sadness, and suddenly he wants to flee in desperation. He won’t, though. He can’t.

It’s on the tip of his tongue, to ask her if she’ll be all right, but he knows there isn’t any point. So he just sits there, a silent comfort, because it’s all he can be.

*******

The transformation is slow, like a melting candle, but it’s there for him and everyone to see, the way she unravels.

*******

He finds her a new ribbon in the winter town—a blue one this time, and not just because it was the only color available. Then again, he’s not looking to replace what was lost to her in the fire; Sansa’s come out so much better since then, a tinge more animated than she’s ever been, but from time to time he catches her studying her right wrist pensively, like she knows that something used to be there but she can’t remember what. He holds his breath each time, fearful that she’ll fall back into the same abyss she managed to rise out of, but when Sansa let’s her arm drop and lifts her head, hope comes rushing back. No, he thinks, studying the ribbon he’s gotten for her; it’s not about reminding her of what she once was, but what she’s been strong enough to come out of, what she possesses within her that continues to grow and thrive.

When he presents it to her, together with a plate of lemon cakes—a generous supply of fruit arrived from the south only a few days ago, thanks in part to his aunt’s generosity—he’s surprised by the nervousness he can’t shake off, unsure of her reaction. She might hate it, the ribbon and the cakes, because he’s making assumptions again about who she was and who she is, but he’s desperate for her to be happy.

Sansa stares at the lemon cakes he holds before her, pink lips slightly ajar. For a moment he’s sure he’s done wrong, is desperate to drop the platter and disappear, no better with women now than he was then. But when she lifts her eyes to look into his, blue like the ocean but bright like stars, Jon thinks that maybe, maybe, things will be all right.

“There’s something else I want to give you,” he begins, watching her carefully as she finishes a second lemon cake. He’s still hesitant about his offering, not sure if he’s making it all worse, despite his own persuasions. Nothing on her face strikes him as worrisome, though; he’ll just have to takes his chances, instinct driving him forward. He pulls out the blue strand from one of his pockets, holding it out towards her with an outstretched hand, one end of the ribbon dangling off the edge of his palm.

“I know it’s not the same color,” he mentions, in response to her silence, “but, I…I thought you would like it. I thought perhaps you might put it in your hair.” Even if she chooses to tie it around her wrist again, at least it won’t remind him of blood.

When she reaches forward to take the ribbon from his hand, her fingers are as cool as the piece of fabric he wants her to have. Sansa studies it like it might be a rare jewel, rubbing the ribbon between her digits. Goose pimples rise at the back of his neck and arms; what would it feel like, fingers like hers against his skin?

His heart deflates when she hands the ribbon back to him. Jon stares at it before fixing his gaze on her face. He realizes, a beat later, that she’s smiling nervously.

“I want you to keep it.”

Before he can say anything, Sansa reaches for his hand. Captivated, Jon watches as she wraps it around his wrist—it doesn’t go around as many times it would have on hers—before finishing it with a knot.

“I want you to wear it,” she insists.

“Forever?”

“It will wear out by then.”

A smile breaks out on his face. The ribbon looks ridiculous on him, a touch too soft against his dark linen and leather, but he knows he can’t deny Sansa anything.

“It’ll be up to you to find me another ribbon when that happens,” he warns, touching the fabric with his other hand.

Her smile is genuine. “I’ll tie it in your hair, next time.”

*******

He keeps the ribbon on, just like she asks him to, pairing it with the tunics she has fashioned for him, all of them embroidered with a direwolf over his heart. Sansa smiles when she catches sight of it; even more engrossing is the way she reaches for his wrist, as if wanting to revel in the smoothness of it. Someday he hopes she’ll be emboldened enough to take his hand; if she does, he hopes she’ll never want to let go.

Jon doesn’t know the story behind the red ribbon, but he knows the story behind this one, and maybe that’s fine.

*******

One day, he thinks, after he strips them both of their clothes, he’ll lay Sansa on her bed and wrap the ribbon loosely around her neck, so that the ends dangle in the valley of her breasts. And he’ll kiss her there, he’ll press his mouth against each and every one of her scars, before he’ll make her forget where they are and what they’ve done. It would take them the rest of their lives to heal, but fools they would be, if they didn’t try.

*******

AN: So Round 2 of the Jonsa Gift Exchange was “Milestones,” but my recipient didn’t want grand milestones or fluff; I decided that the hope of moving on and letting go, rather than a big epiphany, could work. I hope it’s okay?

Some parts of this story bears resemblance to “i dream a highway back to you,” so I’m pointing this out now to avoid plagiarism.

Finally, the title from “Border Crosser” by Trails and Ways.

#jonsaexchange #jonsa #jon x sansa #actuallyjonsa #jonsansaff #mine #writings

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lunarmadison · 7 years

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deep in this sleeplessness | self-para | 5.20.17

WHO: Madison McCarthy, ft. Éabha WHEN: Saturday, May 20, 2017 | (November 2009) WHERE: ??? WHAT: Madison hasn’t felt right. She hasn’t felt right for a long time. Something is missing, and she isn’t going to find it on campus, so she goes to a forest near her heart to search. WARNINGS: Violence, violent thoughts, child endangerment, animal death (hunting). (Also, it’s long, so strap in and bring a snack.)

Training in the private rooms at Undique had not helped Madison. The practice dummies she battled would always remain practice dummies; even when they were enchanted to move across the gym, she could predict too easily what those movements would be.

She had gone to the marketplace, searching for an item that would create illusions for her, since she lacked the ability herself. Madison had found something close to what she wanted in the form of enchanted goggles, which could recreate several types of terrain in the gym. The next day, she watched as the bare walls of the room shimmered and morphed into a thick forest, the floor becoming a lush carpet of grass and earth, true sounds dimmed by the din of wildlife surrounding her. It'd do.

The moving targets became cloaked in guises of creatures pulled from the pages of her cryptozoology text -- some benign, some dangerous, and it was up to her to determine the difference.

The goggles had helped for a few days, a week at most. She'd cycled through forest, plains, mountain, and jungle, but nothing felt right. It didn't feel like she was anywhere but the gym, and her targets were always predictable, gliding along the paths that she'd planned for them. Frustrated, she pulled the goggles off her head and stuffed them into her bag before hitting the showers and heading back to her dorm.

The next morning, she booked a portal, claiming she needed a vacation. It wasn't a total lie. With Éabha perched lazily on her shoulder, she carried only what she needed through the portal. It opened into a dense green place, heavy with humidity and foliage, with tall trees looming overhead to cast long shadows on the ground below, with moist, dark earth that clung to her boots. It was a world not unlike what the enchanted goggles promised and completely failed to deliver, because most importantly, she could feel the life teeming in the hidden corners of the forest, the way the trees soared towards the sky, the way the place seemed to sing with Aether energy. The forest was alive, and in that moment, so was Madison.

Without knowing the lay of the land before heading in, Madison could not have formulated a specific plan, and so began her hike along the closest thing to a trail that she could find. Éabha took to the air, her dark wings spread wide under bright green leaves, and watchful eyes scouting ahead to keep Madison apprised of danger that the witch herself might not notice.

But there was little that Madison didn't notice. Back on campus, her hyperawareness of the chatter and footsteps that surrounded her stymied her attempts at meditation, but here, in the woods, each background noise meant something important. Everything she saw and heard, each last flicker of movement in the brush and each chirp or shuffle along the ground signaled to Madison that she was not alone. Her training told her what to be aware of, to filter out the steady sounds of life in the forest and hone in on what was unusual or different, what could most easily pose a threat to her safety.

She kept walking.

Morning turned to noon. The summer canopy blocked out most of the sun's light, but the heat still radiated through the air. So far, Madison hadn't found any sources of water, but she'd packed plenty, so she signalled to Éabha to descend, and the raven glided down to her witch to land on her shoulder with pinpoint accuracy. "Time for a break," Madison stated, and sat on the ground with her back against a thick tree.

'So you do talk,' Éabha teased, hopping onto the ground. 'I was starting to wonder how long you would stay in that head of yours.'

Madison sighed, but pulled her grimoire out of her bag and turned to a page with images of plastic water bottles marching across in rows. After lifting one bottle out, she stowed the book and took a long drink, pleased to find the water still cold. "Yes, I talk," she countered. Looking up and across, the forest seemed to stretch into forever, greens and browns fading to blues and greys as the plants grew more distant. "I haven't had a lot to say."

'I'd noticed.' Éabha strutted in a slow, small circle, stopping when she stood in front of Madison to peer at her curiously. 'I'd ask why we're here, I know that you know that I already know.' A beaky smile. 'You're looking for something, aren't you?'

Madison nodded, pulled a Madame Jason's EverEnergy bar from her bag, and took a bite. "I haven't felt ... right," she confessed. "I feel like something's missing."

'And you think you'll find it here?'

It was a genuine question, not an accusation, and for that Madison was grateful. "I don't know," she admitted. "Maybe. Probably."

'In the woods where you did your survival test.'

Madison pulled her knees up to her chest, hugging them to herself with one arm. She couldn't even fully articulate what it was that she was looking for, only that a part of herself was no longer, well ... part of her, and she wasn't even sure how long it had been missing. "Yes," she confirmed. It was a complete sentence. Wordlessly, she polished off the energy bar, then sat in continued silence as she drank her water.

She had been barely thirteen years old when she'd done her test. Thin and small, she looked frail, but her frame belied her tenacity when faced with a challenge. Steely eyes glinted with her determination to succeed, and her eager mind was full of knowledge that would keep her alive and whole over the two weeks she was to remain in the forest, alone. She hadn't looked back when her dad dropped her off. Only ahead. Only towards victory, and the words of praise that would follow when she proved herself.

Madison stood and dusted the dirt off of her jeans. "We can keep going."

'And here I thought we'd stay right here forever,' came Éabha's sarcastic reply, as dark wings took her to the space above and just behind Madison.

Madison didn't answer, but kept walking, pressing on through the woods, one foot after another, eyes scanning between the trees for movement and flashes of color, constantly listening for the sound of nigh-silent footsteps over ground.

She hadn't touched her rations. She knew she wouldn't need them, after all, since she was the best Slayer in her whole age group, and she could easily hunt for her dinner. Touching rations meant giving up, and she wasn't going to give up on the first day. Of course, Madison had only the simplest bow, one that wasn't built to her specifications, and rudimentary arrows. She needed to restring it, and check the fletchings on her arrows, had to sharpen the arrow heads against rocks. By the time her equipment was ready to go, the sun had set, leaving only the quarter of a moon hanging in the sky to light her way. The shadows were dark and many, but Madison was determined to be just one more of them, one more long shadow looming in the night, ready to strike.

Madison pushed on through the forest, over trails and under brush, her custom bow in hand, with arrow nocked and ready for her draw. A flash of cottony white caught her eye. She drew back. Released. The arrow sailed ahead of the rabbit, hitting were she knew it would be by the time it got there. Perfect.

She stalked through the foliage to retrieve her kill. The ground felt a little steadier beneath her feet. Her hands had done this. It was what they were trained to do, and it had been done without the use of magic.

Magic was a tool, Madison mused, as she paused to clean the rabbit with the knife she'd brought along. Slaying magic, in particular, was used when conventional weapons were either unnecessary or would not subdue the target. Slayers were brought in as big guns, to contain big threats. McCarthy magic was kind. Madison's quiver contained more arrows bearing the sigil for 'sleep' than for 'explode,' after all, because they were compassionate people. They cared for the well being of their targets. They wove nets of magic to contain, and built great walls together that protected their clan.

Most importantly, McCarthy slayers were not bloodthirsty. They were not Puckermans. They did not charge willy-nilly into the field, spells blazing. They did not engage unless absolutely necessary. They were control and finesse. They had plans.

Bow abandoned, young Madison sank her knife into her moving target. The kill was easy -- an easy win that flooded her young mind with the thrill of victory. And of course, the meat would sate her hunger when it was roasted over a fire.

At dusk, Madison started scanning the ground for the remains of camp sites past, since it was best to use one that was established, rather than disturb more natural terrain than she had to. She found the pale scorch marks and scattered ashes of a fire that had once roared, and gathered enough dry wood to build a new one.

'Did you bring enough for me?' Éabha asked, breaking the silence while the rabbit cooked.

"You don't eat," Madison pointed out.

'I could if I wanted to. If you brought something for me.'

Madison sighed. "You're a hunter, too. Go hunt for something."

'I'm a scavenger,' Éabha reminded her, hopping in a little closer to the warm orange glow of the small fire.

"Then go scavenge," Madison said.

The fire crackled quietly, and Éabha stayed put.

'Did you find it yet? The thing you were looking for?'

Madison watched the flames dancing in front of her, licking the meat until it was safe enough for her to eat. It was tough and chewy, and not her first choice all told, but it fed her. "I think so," she replied, barely above a whisper, but she knew Éabha heard her. Her familiar heard everything.

'You sound disappointed.'

Madison collected handfuls of dirt to pour over the dancing flames. Earth covered fire. At best, it nurtured the heat, warming it radiantly. At worst, the same life-giving soil smothered the bright, blazing heat that illuminated all it touched.

"I tried so hard to do everything right," she said. She pursed her lips and looked down at her hands, streaked dark with dirt. "I wanted everyone to like me, and that sounds so stupid now. I can't keep changing myself for every different person. That's bonkers." She shook her head. Her eyes focused on the ground, instead of on Éabha. "I didn't want to f--"

'You can say it,' Éabha prompted.

"I can't f- I can't fuck it up," Madison said in a rush, her tongue skating over the expletive like it was still something that didn't belong in her mouth. "And I'm going to. Aether, I'm going to, I'm going to he-- I'm going to fuck it up again, somehow, in some way. And I'm the heir! I'm the heir of the McCarthy clan and I am not allowed to be anything other than responsible for my own family and the way people see us, and -- and the very first thing that happens, that I do, is I let my own brother get all caught up in dating a fae. A fae! That's weird, Éabha!"

'Isn't Marley your friend?'

"I still wouldn't date her. It's ... it's just weird, okay?" She sighed. "And then I stole the very next person he was interested in right out from underneath him, and why? So I could prove something to myself? I'm a horrible sister. The whole semester goes like that. I lose the election, I fail at making friends AND alliances, I lose my virginity to a gay guy, who --" Another hesitation, a pause, a word on the tip of her tongue that she hadn't allowed herself to say. Here in the woods, though, with night falling on her and her familiar, there is only truth. "I wasn't even a good girlfriend. I was selfish and weird and nutty and trying to be -- I don't know -- what I thought a good Bloodline girl was supposed to be. And I loved him, you know? I really did."

'You weren't honest.'

The simple statement seemed to sink into Madison's bones, right into the depths of her marrow. It wound itself around her skeleton, wriggled into her heart, fused to her DNA. "No," she agreed. "I wasn't."

'That's why you fail, Madison Laurel.' Éabha fluttered in even closer, and poked her beak in Madison's face. 'Slayer Madison Laurel McCarthy. If you speak and walk your truth, will it matter if everyone likes you? Will it matter if you beat your brother?' A pause. 'Won't it be easier to fulfill your destiny if you accept all of it, instead of only the pretty parts? Don't answer - that's a lot of questions, and we're both tired. Sleep, Madison. I'll keep watch.'

Madison was fairly sure that it was the most that her familiar has ever said to her in one go. She rolled the sleeping bag out of her grimoire and settled in for the night. The stars shone through the gaps in the canopy, like pieces of a great constellation puzzle, and they gave her no real answers, either. It was like the answers to those questions just didn’t exist; if she knew them, then she’d be living them right now, wouldn’t she? Instead of coming all the way out here to try and find what she still needed?

She never felt more disconnected from the concepts of destiny or truth than in that moment.

[to be continued]

#para: self #para: all

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luziflor · 7 years

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Update (long post)

So I wouldnt say I was astral projecting today. Much more of lighly travelling up there and getting to some sort of inbetween spot between here and there, maybe?

Background: Years ago in my coven my mentor had us do a meditation exercise. We would visualize roots growing from where we stood, and tree branches growing up from us. It would lead you into a starry space, and she taught us to put up a ward and shield there. You would then travel into the tree to get to something that was supposed to be a personal temple, to meet with your deities and such. Not really the same as astral home. So im gonna like.... push it up there. Or something. Point is, I have a home thing already its just not really in the right location yet, but is close-ish maybe. Another problem i have with this though is that I used to be into thoughtforms. I had a few, and they had pet dragons. We had a lovely home with lots of wooded areas and a sea and everything. I could tell that one was strictly in my head at the time though, as I used to get severe headaches and even feel the energy in my brain severely shift. Thats a different story, but causes me to again question if im actually doing anything or just creating more thats only my brain (then again, ive heard of egregores being able to see egregores of others or travel to their homes.... ). Clearly, I have some things to work through.

About the home/temple that was already there - literally was created by 16 year old me after seeing an aesthetic pic on tumblr. Maybe I can find it again but I really doubt it. Anyways, the inside is light and dark blue marble. It has gold accents, and greek styled columns. The whole thing is really an old greek looking place. I recall I had a waterfall or something in there that would cause severe damage to a real house but I liked the look so it didnt bother me. There is a white greek statue of a woman in there but I could not tell you who it is. To the left there is an altar. The original was above a stone fireplace.

How its been updated: Same color scheme, theme, and random statue. The water feature was changed though, now its a small pond outside my house with a mini rock waterfall. Like for turtles. My altar is now a weird wooden desk bookshelf hybrid, that doesnt fit the theme at all. But its pretty. And I added a pet altar, it came to me as a wooden slab on metal legs or something, and it has wings that fold upward on it. Very cheesy but its a lovely piece, so I let it be. It has constant offerings of meat, water, and leaves or veggies to my passed away pets. I´ve also made it so they have a space where they can come and go as they please. I was also interacting with my deities and like uh hey guys u can make your own rooms if you want, just follow normal human rules. And I dont think any of them except Hecate did, and she did it immediately hahahah. But its not something I expected from her, though I am new to her as well. She made one that is kind of like a cave? And it had glowing amber light from the inside, and a gold metal accent piece at the top. She placed it very close to my altar but not rudely close. Apparently theres also a kitchen in there but its much more modern looking, and I got blocked from going in there (see below). I added new shields and wards, and a symbol appeared to me but its not related to any deity or anything. It came as I was setting up the shield and looking for sigils too. Its at a weird angle, a bunch of buildings mostly sky scrapers on a flat street. Below it are one line going down, and two lines attached to it with arrows or something going out. I would also like to point out that I huge painted ball python wrapped itself around my house, but it only came in images and energy I cant actually see it on the house.

Experience this time: Went in, established my being there. Looked around, was mostly the same as when I left it though some features such as my altar and water had been changed. Basically anything that worked with elements had disappeared really, or left behind a mild energy and base to build off of again.

Welcomed in my deities to talk to them. Had a great meeting with Zeus, Poseidon, Lilith, and for the first time, Hecate (though I have interacted with her already).

Hecate was the first I greeted. She had her hair in a nice smooth updo, and looked like an oil painting. Im still working on visualization, she didnt move much but I heard her speaking and felt the energy. She also had a golden bird metal band in her hair, which surprised me as well. Shes very nice so far, though i find it funny that she, mother of witches, had to put her room right next to my altar (which only has one side available). I thanked her for her work with me so far, especially as my oldest dog passed just recently, and I have another one whos young and sick now (he is much better today!).

Then was Lilith. When i first saw her, she was old and cranky but none the less friendly to me. Just kinda like a grandma with a temper. That had been in winter. Now as it is summer here (or spring? guate is weird), she came to me as a woman who had to be 19-early 20s. She had light olive skin, and swamp green eyes with slit pupils. She had brown loose curled hair that was every so slightly frizzy and very full. She was full human, but this time her body was super limber and a bit long like a snake. She was in a plain white dress, but it was like you could feel that her abdomen had a very specific shape that was like a snake. She was lovely, very kind, and patient with me as always. She is sweet but definitely has a jokester and teasing energy about her. After I left her, a huge californian king snake wrapped itself up around my shoulders just to chill, and I felt his scales moving across my shoulder. I havent held a snake in years, and I know for a fact my old cal king has died.

Next was Zeus. He is so much like a father figure to me, and he was very cheerful. Unfortunately because I havent really met up with him in a very long time, he looked to me like the animated Neptune from Little Mermaid. Yeeaah, sorry man. But he was fine none the less. We have a good relationship, he was glad to see me reaching out to them again. Even though I could not see him as he is for me, I could feel his energy. For me he is very hearty, and big. Its like santa clause with an attitude problem. (sorry pops)

Finally, Neptune/Poseidon. This one has been confusing for me as he presents himself to me as both. First it was more of Neptune, but now more of Poseidon. While Zeus is more like a father to me, Poseidon is the one that has all of my interests or is coincidentally related to weird things that happen to me. While Zeus has always been like a father, Zeus and I were more detached to begin with. But Poseidon was always the sweet uncle who related to what I liked and taught me valuable lessons. Today I saw him and felt him at the time, but once I was recording it in my journal I forgot almost everything about the experience other than it was super nice.

There was some point where I had looked down, and noticed I had on partial armor in the color of gold on my legs and on my lower arms. Then I saw light dusty blue fabric draped over my arm, and more detail came from there. I was somehow wearing a stereotypical greek dress, but also bits of gold armor. I looked into a mirror and also saw that I had on a golden crown which felt a bit much in my tastes, but it was lovely so I kept it anyways!

I saw my old dog Molly in there, though we didnt interact. Muffin, my recently passed, was there too. And I met up with her, and while I cant for sure say it was her it was good to have a few moments where I felt like I was playing with her again and hearing her weird snorts she makes when shes happy. My physical body had started crying after that. I could feel her bones again, if it was her shes happy but needs some serious vetting, which is probably the case anyways. Hopefully the offerings and me getting more experienced will help as time goes on.

In my pet altar, I opened the drawer and found pictures. The only one I could really make out was one of my passed kitten, Possum. Possum had been a soul mate of a cat for me, ive never felt a connection like that before. And when he was passing away in the middle of the night across my whole house, I woke up for no reason not feeling tired at all. Then something told me to go outside because I had to go get him. He died a few hours after that, and im broken hearted to this day.

At the beginning of this whole thing, I created an athame. Its based off of the ones they sell here but I have yet to actually get my hands on. Its made of metal and stone, and the tip of the handle has a tigers head. This one is a regular athame but I was immediately moved to make it into something to defend me from malicious spirits as well. I immediately slipped it into a knife holder that happened to be around my waist.

I was going to the kitchen, as my deities had left, there were no pets running around in there (maybe Muffin, but I had been interuppted in the physical world so our session broke off), so I was lonely and wanted to explore. I immediately felt blocked from going in there, and a black figure flew out at me. I felt just about nothing from this experience so I dont think that part was real (and I will go into more detail about this in a second). I grabbed my knife, stabbed it in the head, and the spirit was passed out or whatever for a second. I took it outside and realized I could removed the black around it, it was just cloth. It was what appeared to be some sort of white teenager, but the look of him really made me feel like he was not modern times. I dont know. Ive never seen him before either, and again, I didnt feel any panic from this at all. Only when i got blocked from the kitchen.

When I had egregores, I had a nice home for them. But in the upstairs I would hate going to because a black figure would come up to me. I would feel panic and even feel this in the physical realm sometimes. It is not around me anymore I dont think, or if it is, its only kept in my mind so its something personal I would assume. He was banished long ago, I changed their house, and didnt see him ever again. I questioned that experience at the time but it felt more real than the one I had earlier today. I dont know.

Long story short- met up with the deities, Hecate had to put her room next to my altar, new guards up, snake things happened, might have killed a spirit but maybe nah, maybe hung out with my deceased dog for just a few seconds.

#long post #p #astral home #spirits

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adrielswitchyways · 7 years

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Got tagged by @little-mahika, so thanks! I love doing this stuff!

1. Are you a religious witch? Which religion? Not at all, I’m non-theistic. I believe there are gods and goddesses out there, but I’m not interested in tying myself to them.

2. What is your preferred herbs? I love using clove, ginger, orange peel, and ground coffee in things.

3. What is your preferred gem? Blue Goldstone, I have an orb of it and love love love the galaxy look of it.

4. Do you do divination? Which kind? I mainly do Tarot, but I’ve used different ways before. I love scrying in water and smoke and fire, too. I scry a few times a week.

5. Favorite Tarot card? Not sure I have a real favourite.

6. To Curse or not to Curse? Curse, I know what i’m doing and I know my boundaries.

7. Do you have a familiar? I don’t, and I’m not really in the right place for one now at this time.

8. Favorite candle color? I prefer the versatility of white and black candles, so I save my coloured candles for major stuff.

9. Favorite rune? Just like Tarot cards, I don’t have a favourite.

10. Do you celebrate the solstices, full moons, etc? I do! I celebrate the equinoxes, solstices, and the moon cycles.

11. Do you wear a pentacle? My last one was stolen, and I’m not in any hurry to replace it.

12. Do you have a broom? No, lost it in a fire.

13. Do you have a pendulum? Ya, I have a few of them. One amethyst, one blue goldstone, a metal one, and a wooden one.

14. Do you have an athame? Ya, though I never use it in my craft.

15. How often do you meditate? Every day, sometimes more than once. I use it to calm myself, to ready myself for sleep, and to regulate my breathing and heart rate.

16. Do you do yoga? Nah, I never liked it.

17. Whats your favorite herbal tea? Orange blossom tea! It’s expensive though, so I almost never get to have it.

18. Do you support manipulation magic? I do, but I have strict rules for myself concerning manipulation.

19. How many altars do you have? Just the one, though it’s not what many would actually call an altar. My altar is my workspace. I do readings there, I use it to burn incense, write and seal my letters, wriye in my journals, re-ink my pens, mix my salve oils, I keep my salt lamp on it, and just general stuff.

20. Do you do magic outside often? Not as much as I’d like, but not too little that it irritates me. I’m more of an urban witch. I love nature but I don’t need it to work my craft.

21. Can you read palms, or tea leaves? I can, yes. But I don’t do so for other people very often.

22. Would you ever open your own metaphysics shop? I have always wanted to own a bookstore/cafe/witchy shop. But I have no skill, nor any actual want, to have to do the background stuff like paperwork and stuff. So maybe a partnered ownership or just working in one.

23. Is your third eye open? It is, but I don’t consider that some kind of qualifier or anything.

24. Do you like Astrology? Whats your sign? Uh... kinda? But I’ve never really gotten into it. I’m a Taurus.

25. Favorite flower? Or Tree? I love love love quaking aspen trees. My original hometown had a ton of them lining the streets. And for flower, I love dogwood flowers.

26. Do you have an animal guide? I have a crow that shows up sometimes, usually with advice or a warning.

27. Whats your favorite kind of magic? All kinds! I use a mishmash.

28. What time do you feel most like a witch? At night. I’m a night owl.

29. Are you out of the broom closet? I hate this phrase, because it’s insulting to LGBT+ folks. Yes, I am out of the woods, I don’t hide it or anything. But also, I’m not in a place where I have to hide it. Most of my blood family is dead or gone, and my adopted fam are all open and accepting of it.

30. Are you a hereditary witch? Or self discovered? I don’t really believe in “heredity” of witches. Being raised as one, or getting interested in the craft because a family member or ancestor was one? Sure, but that’s not actual heredity. So I am self discovered. I started researching and practicing at 13.

31. Are you in a coven? Or solitary? Solitary, I’m too eclectic to mesh with a lot of coven-y things. Plus, I’ve had bad experiences.

32. Do you want to be in a coven? How big? Nope. And I don’t like that a lot of witches put so much emphasis on coven work. A coven is not the end-all be-all. But a lot of people think that they aren't good enough just working by themselves. Which is utter BS.

33. When did you become a witch? Around when I was 13. So... almost 14 years ago.

34. Do you make your own spells? Most of the spells I do are my own.

35. Do you make your own sigils? Yup! Though I have borrowed one or two from Tumblr.

36. Why did you choose this path? It made the most sense, for what I’d been experiencing. And my path has evolved immensely since.

37. Whats your favorite element? It used to be fire, I had so much emotion to burn. But now I’m more into earth. Nowadays, it’s slow and steady and grounded that gets me through my days.

38. Do you do any misc. magic? I don’t know what this is asking, “miscellaneous” magick. Magick is magick, whether great or small, there really shouldn’t be anything out there considered merely “miscellaneous,” as if it’s lesser or odd or doesn’t fit into a normal category.

39. Magic or things you will never do? Nope! I do what I need to do. There are boundaries, of course, like appropriation or how much overkill something is. But I’m not squeamish, otherwise.

40. Strangest way a spell backfired? I don’t have a lot of backfires? Except this one time, it was my 1 year anniversary with a controlling abusive fuck. And I did a spell to show me if he was bad for me (spoilers: ofc he was, I was just blinded by his emotional abuse.) And that day, we got into a car accident. I woke up in the hospital, and he wasn’t there. Never visited me once, but he came around to my apt once I got out and legit tried to bootycall me. I had a cracked vertebrae. That’s when I woke up a lil.

I’m tagging: @winedarkrage @moonlitwitch @atticroses @lotuseatingwitch @static-chaos @alethiomancer @cotino @caffeinewitchcraft

And anyone else who wants to do this!

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