#siege in fog

[bittergloss]

“Why would you even want this?“                      -GONE GIRL (2014)

#love in flames of war #siege in fog #the rebel princess #monarch industry #goodbye my princess #lost track of time #cdrama #cdramagifs #cdramaedit #mygif #i was planning to just do a ltot set but then felt like doing a cross set #ltot

[dangermousie]

Do you like your men to have private armies but prefer access to antibiotics? Come right on in...

Watching the delicious trashiness of Maid’s Revenge has inspired me to make a listing of my favorite (and not so favorite) warlord and warlord adjacent cdramas. If like me, you like your male leads with polished boots and a side of murder, come right in. From most to least fave.

Siege in Fog

My most favorite on this list, this is visually gorgeous and emotionally visceral. Plus, it’s not just ONE warlord, it’s a whole family of them! It follows a deeply dysfunctional marriage between a beautiful woman and a warlord’s second son, where they fight and angst and love and fight some more, all the while bullets are flying and bodies are piling up. If you like incredible visuals, insane chemistry, dysfunction by the bucket and not one, not two, but THREE hot warlords, come right in. It’s based on a Fei Wo Si Cun novel so I assume you know you need a lot of tissues.

To sum up:

Too Late to Say I Love You

Another FWSC adaptation! This is an older drama, done long before cdrama’s recent unwelcome slide into wholesomeness, which means epic makeouts but also a warlord that revels in murder (at one point he takes out all his potential rivals, including his loved sister’s entire fam.) The OTP is dysfunctional - they hate, then they love, then they break up but he can’t let go - and the chemistry is beyond insane, with Wallace Chung and Li Xiao Ran melting my computer. Also, for once, a happy ending!

Winter Begonia

Probably the only genuine masterpiece on the list (tho I love FWSC dysfunction best for purely personal reasons), this is a MM story (though being cdrama it’s not explicit, though quite clear) and Huang Xiaoming as a trader with a private army and Yin Zheng as an opera singer with whom he forms a bond are both!!! I highly recommend it.

City of Streamer

Should be called “City of Steamer” because those make-outs and chemistry are epic! Timmy Xu is a son of a shady businessmen (with a small army of gun happy goons) who falls hopelessly in love with an older governess (Jing Tian) who is out for revenge on his family. She starts out using him and ends up using him in a different sense, if you know what I mean! The plot derails a bit by the end but it’s still a great watch.

PS...

Maid’s Revenge

I am watching it right now. At only 10 minutes per ep, it skips plot and gives us the melo and chemistry we (and I mean I) crave and a guy whose muscles should be in a museum.

The Lady and the Liar

Hawick Lau is the ML and we all know this means “hot bastard.” He’s a crime lord with a goon squad falling for a lost heiress who loses her memory so he lies she’s his fiancee and deliciousness ensues. MMMMM

Arsenal Military Academy

Xu Kai is warlord jr but this is here mainly because of his awesome brother the businessman with murder squad. The drama is so-so (patriotism overtakes the amazing chemistry between Bai Lu and Xu Kai) but might be worth a peek.

Cruel Romance

(Can you say no to this face?)

Joey Chen has never worked in anything for me and this is no exception, but Huang Xiao Ming is dashing as hell as a sexy gangster.

Love In The Flames of War

The heroine is terrible (I kept rooting for her to get accidentally shrapnelled) but Shawn Dou is sexy as hell as a warlord. (In the novel he was apparently a rapey headcase; they made him lovely in the drama without making his wife saner which is...a choice.) I’d say worth it on FF for hotness and whippings.

The Mystic Nine

I tried. I tried to watch this drama three times. I could not. But William Chan as a warlord in a three-piece suit and cape is mega mega fine!

I suffer so you won’t have to:

Fall In Love

The worst drama on this list, insulting to intelligence of anyone above pre-school level, 90% of the cast, including the leading lady, incapable of acting, a plot that makes a picture book seem complex and fashion disasters galore. However, Chen Xing Xu, playing the smirky warlord, carries this mess harder than Atlas and deserves to be in another, better drama altogether. Oh, what wouldn’t I give for him as a proper FWSC warlord!

Honorable Mention:  Forward Forever - haven’t watched that one but keep meaning to.

#cdrama #fall in love #siege in fog #winter begonia #love in flames of war #forward forever #the mystic nine #cruel romance #the lady and the liar #city of streamer #maid's revenge #too late to say i love you #arsenal military academy

[fmhobeus]

morning sex! with nanami! it's all i fucking think about!!!!!!!

(arranged marriage au? slight somnophilia?)

he was usually up before you. like wayyy earlier. he's learnt not to bother you even though you can feel his massive weight be lifted of the bed. you know his routine by now. he goes to the gym early, showers and makes himself a cup of coffee by the time you start cooking breakfast. that's the routine, that's one you're aware of. what you don't know is that he's been watching you sleep... for like... everyday you both have lived together.

and it's !!not!! creepy, of course, you are his wife. it's not creepy, the fact that if he looks at you too long he starts to feel his pants getting tighter, a siege of blood flowing south.

it isn't wrong, when he pulls your covers down from your face. of course he just wants you to breathe easier. it's not lust. just an added bonus that he can now see your pretty lips parted, begging for a kiss and your pretty tits squished by your arms as you lay on your side.

if it's not wrong then why does he... why does he feel this way? this guilt? and why does it make him hornier?

so one of these weekends, as he told himself, he'd try his luck. it was all too unbearable for him at this point. you were fogging up his brain with these lewd images. and worst part was... you were oblivious to the effect you had on him.

it's a sunday. his body wakes up at the usual time. wee hours of the morning. you're by his side this time. it's all up to him now.

he tries to be discreet, at first. try lovey-dovey stuff first, as the internet has told him. you feel him shift in the bed and suddenly your husband's massive arms hug you from behind. the muscles tense as he pulls you to his chest. his heart is pounding. and its barely like 5 am.

"you're sleeping in?"

"yeah, weekend."

"no gym?" you ask. you both sleep face opposite sides, this is one of the few times you've had to adjust your body to his frame. you squiggle as you talk, trying to fit the soft curvature of your body with his flatter, harder frame.

"no.. it's uh... closed for maintenance today." he too has a hard time adjusting to you. to your curves, to your proximity, to how you slept in his arms like a fawn. to how he would conceal his erection to spend time like this with you. too much, too unbearable.

"oh, ok." you smiled. "wake me up if you need anything hm?"

you close your eyes once more. now something else woke you up. nanami's face nuzzled in your neck. his hands, this time, toying with your waist. his bulge apparent. it made sense now. you couldn't help but smile to yourself.

nanami kento is the beautiful man you are married to. gorgeous blonde hair. piercing brown eyes, shaped so angular that it's intimidating. perfect jaw structure. and god... that dick. he was caring and responsible too. how could a man this perfect ever love you? you were convinced he didn't. he always looked stoic, removed, disconnected from you an your relationship. he fucked you with care and gentleness and diabetic sweetness. you couldn't feel him want you. but you'd grown to want him. who the fuck has a one sided crush on their own husband?

but this... this felt different. this felt like all those fantasies were gonna come true. those moments you spent doting on him, creating the nastiest scenarios.

oh god, his soft blonde hair, unkempt and messy in bed. his eyes barely open, his body warm. he smelled like himself and not his expensive cologne. it was all so domestic. all so comfortable. how could you miss this side of nanami?

but you continued to be merry with the domesticity of it all to foresee how your perfect husband was about to perfectly split you open with his perfect dick.

#aniya writes ૮ ․ ․ ྀིა #jjk ^ ~ #nanami ♡ #nanami 😘😘😘😘😘 #nanami kento #jjk nanami #nanami smut #nanami x reader #jujutsu nanami #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk smut #kento nanami #WIP !!!

[moronkombat]

Im in love with your writing for MK ❤️ and I’m in love with Syzoth 💚 . So may I request Syzoth having a heavy breeding kink and desperate filling his human s/o to the brim with his seed also having a size kink .

tw: afab pronouns and anatomy used

Syzoth could truly not himself. He a sick man, one so depraved and foul. There no stopping it, however, he a slave to these compulsions that strangle him savagely. Guided by that which is written in his nature, the primal need he simply cannot deny, Syzoth is exceptionally wicked.

Blurred eyes of emerald stare at the figure so pinned beneath him. Her legs so far pushed and moved into the air as he has made her bend and stretch so that he may drive himself so deeply into her. He knows she is moaning yet the world so corroded with the sensation of her tight and sticky walls suctioning onto his long and thick length.

Never has sex felt so good since he discovered human intercourse. Such a warm place to sheath himself into. Oh so wet and sloppy it feels coiled around him. So warm...so warm...Syzoth loves her pussy wrapped around his cock. He could live within it forever and ever. What a heaven that would be to be blessed with breeding her pussy endlessly.

There's a deep growl bellowing around his throat as his cock continues its attack on her wet and sticky core. Syzoth is panting, trying to push more and more of himself into her but his length struggles. It thick and wide, how could she hope to fit it all?

"C-Come on..." Syzoth whispers into the air, hips burning and burning. "Take more...come on...!"

Moans burst to life from the depths of her lungs and he presses forward in his siege. Her defenses simply cannot manage, beginning to crumble apart into agonizing rapture. More and more she spreads for him, the seas of her parting for its master.

Such pathetic pants come from him, like an eager and overly excited puppy. Moans find themselves dancing together, tangled and unclear of which belongs to who. The sea is open to him, exposed completely and finally all of his length is surrounded in embers.

Green eyes cannot help but look at that outline etched into her pretty little stomach. Soon it will full of much more, so much more. He's leans over her, so close, so desperate. He wants to finish, he wants to finish inside her. Inside his seed will gather and mingle with her precious nurturing home. Through this wonderful gestation will be his brood, his kin.

His spine his curling and shaking with just the thought of filling her up with his offspring. How beautiful she will look so rounded with his child. Her breasts already so plush will swell and swell to provide for his child and for him. Syzoth must get her pregnant. He must...he must!

The grip on her morphs into power, fingers leaving bruises in her skin. Yes, that's it...she throbs around him so wildly, already trying to milk him dry. He'll provide, he'll give it all to her. Syzoth cannot stop himself, thrusts so brutally feverish; guided by that primal need to breed.

"Get pregnant..." he growls so close to her neck. "Get pregnant, get pregnant, get pregnant, getpregnantgetpregnant-"

Words bends and slur together until they become lost in the fog of groans and moans. From that fog a birth a pleasure is sprung upon them. So much...so warm and gushing as he delivers himself into her.

"Have my babies..." words are whispers on a voice most sore. "you'll look so pretty..."

Syzoth cannot be sure if he even speaking aloud or if these mere thoughts but it didn't matter. He stays so nestled within her burning nether. Such pretty pearls are poured into a womb most inviting and Syzoth's long and forked tongue curls around her neck so sweetly.

Both of them are panting now. So tired, so worn and yet Syzoth begins to move his hips again. Her moans are a wanton cry, still so sensitive but he cannot stop yet. Not until each precious drop of his seed finds a home inside her womb.

im such a nasty fucker for lewding syzoth like this omfg

#mortal kombat #mk1 2023 #mortal kombat fanworks #mortal kombat headcanons #mk1 #mortal kombat x reader #mortal kombat smut #syzoth x you #syzoth x reader #syzoth #syzoth smut

[asha-mage]

I feel like I am going to be having random WoT Finale thoughts for the next six months, but one I especially want to hit up now:

The actual logistics of the Whitecloak attack on Falme, from the military tactics to the geo politics of it all are so perfectly on point that it's like something Jordan would have written himself.

In the books the Whitecloaks are on Tomon Head for unrelated reasons to the Seanchan (ones that would be hard to establish properly in a tv format where we don't have the time to follow Bornhold Sr for six odd scenes), so the show runners shifted it so that they are explicitly answering a call for aid from a foreign throne. The Whitecloaks are a autonomous military body beholden to no nation that operates with pseudo-legality in most places that are not under their influence, and the idea of expanding that influence to another nation is far to tempting to resist, especially when no other power is answering the Falme's call for aid, including the White Tower, who are the Whitecloak's primary rival. On principles it seems like they are stepping up to help a victimized nation that the 'witches' have abandoned, or even orchestrated the fall of.

And then on a practical level, the actual tactics they employ are fiendishly clever. Using incense burners to create a fog to hide their approach and blunt the effectiveness of the enemy channelers (who need to be able to see something to target their weaves). This also makes sense on a world building level- the Whitecloaks probably have a dozen tactics in their back pockets to deal with an outright war against the Aes Sedai if it ever breaks out. Then once the Whitecloaks close up to the walls, they send in their cavalry first, to overwhelm enemy defenses before they can get the gates shut, then send in the infantry to secure and pacify the remaining resistance not taken out by the shock charge. At this point the Seanchan have to focus their fighting to the streets of Falme, and the best way to do that is to gather their damane on the nearby tower and rain down artillery fire in an attempt to break the Whitecloaks into retreat- a brutal strategy likely to result in the deaths of their own troops and civilians, but necessary if they are going to have any hope of holding the city.

And then is where things get INSANE. See, conventional medieval military wisdom dictates that in a situation where the gates are breached already siege engines have no use. Their too clumsy, taking to much time to aim and fire to be much use in a melee brawl like this. Siege engines are useful for breaking fortifications, toppling walls, etc, so if used offensively almost always come out first. That means that no one is expecting them to roll out of that fog and hurl stones at the damane's position. In one strike Bornhold Senior decapitates the enemy's primary advantage over him and tilts the battle in his favor. (And even if the damane had managed to counter the strike, they would be weakened significantly, having to focus on blocking further attacks and counter attacking the siege engines- not easy with the fog- instead of keeping the fighting in the streets under control).

This might be one of those things that only I care about, but good employment of medieval military tactics combined with magical fantasy elements always makes me go

#WoT #Wheel of Time #WoT On Prime #Wheel of Time on Prime #Geofram Bornhald #Dain Bornhold #WoT s2 e8 #Emond Valda #This is the kind of shit Jordan would have done and it makes me go BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR #Geofram Bornhold out here gunning for Great Captain status #Seanchan #Wot Musing #Wot Meta #Wheel of Time meta #Children of the Light #Whitecloaks

[whitedarkmoonflower]

Sickness 2

Part 2

Anonymous asked:

Season four Sihtric, when the group are passing through the fields during that plague and the river. Reader is the lover of Sihtric and is sick. Her sickness gets worse after the run in with Eadith’s brother Eardwulf. Very angsty with the rise on emotions everyone is dealing with. Eadith tries keeping the reader alive with her medical abilities but it’s to no avail. The reader and Sihtric have what they think are their last moments before she is kidnapped along with Stiorra, Aelswith and Aethelstan. She gets better and reunites after the siege.

Pairing: Sihtric x reader (female)

Authors note: This is the second part of the request I took over from @sihtricfedaraaahvicius I must admit I really struggle to come back to writing after the EAcon and today I was so close to deleting everything I had written, as I thought it's no good. It took me a while to rethink and to decide to post it.

Warnings: we are diving deep into the angst, you are warned

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Word Count: 2,7K

Tags: @sihtricfedaraaahvicius @hb8301 @zillahvathek @alexagirlie @gemini-mama @verenahx

If you want to be added to or removed from the tag list - write to me.

"Hey, it's me. I'm here with you. Can you hear me?" A soft whisper reached your ears, as though from a distant place. Where was it coming from? Where am I? The fog that enveloped you was eerily thick, shrouding your vision and muffling all sounds like a ghostly veil, swallowing up everything in its path. You were utterly lost, that much was certain.

Taking a hesitant step in the direction you thought the voice had come from, you stumbled and fell, a searing pain jolting through your entire body. Gasping for breath, you struggled to get back on your feet, your hands and knees now stained with blood and dirt. Your heart raced, and your breaths came in rapid bursts. "Hello? Where am I?" you called out, but there was no response—only the relentless, soft, and impenetrable mist closing in around you.

In a desperate attempt to escape, you continued to move, your steps uncertain, the uneven ground beneath your feet treacherous. You fell, got up, and ran again, devoid of any sense of direction or understanding of your surroundings. "Help!"

"Please, wake up! Come back to me," the same familiar voice pierced through the oppressive mist, making you freeze in your tracks. Your breaths were shallow and ragged, your heart pounding in your ears as you strained to listen. Where was it coming from? Was it a gentle touch of the wind on your face? "You can't leave me," the voice whispered once more, accompanied by a sensation of dampness on your skin. Was it rain? A few more drops landed on your forehead and trickled down your face. You reached out, your fingertips touching the wetness on your cheeks, your eyes searching desperately.

You scanned your surroundings, longing to discern the source of that voice, but your vision yielded nothing. "Please, speak again. Speak to me! Don't leave me here alone!" you pleaded, sinking to your knees, consumed by fear and anxiety. You listened intently, searching for any sign of hope amidst the unforgiving, impenetrable fog.

—-------------------------------------

Sihtric silently cursed each time the old and squeaky wagon jolted over the next exposed tree root or a fallen branch. The narrow dirt road to Winchester, winding its way through the dense woods and meandering between bushes and ancient trees, had never felt so interminable, arduous, and foreboding. The wagon, its wooden wheels creaking and groaning with each tumultuous turn of the rough path, seemed to have seen better days. Occasionally, the sun's feeble rays filtered through the thick canopy of towering trees, but the long shadows they cast denied the travelers any substantial light.

Sitting with his back nestled against the wagon's weathered wall, Sihtric cradled you with utmost care between his legs, serving as a steadfast support from both sides. Your head rested gently against his broad chest, his heartbeat just beneath your ear. His strong arms, wrapped protectively around your shoulders and waist, not only offered additional support but also held you firmly, pressed close to his warm body.

“I've always dreamt of having a family. You know... I never truly had one,” Sihtric's voice, hoarse yet tender, barely rose above a whisper.

“My mother passed away when I was still a child. I can hardly recall her properly. The memories have all blurred together. The only thing etched in my mind is her soft voice as she cradled me to her chest and sang me a lullaby. She did it every evening. It was our moment, the only time I ever felt safe and loved. And I haven't felt that way until I met you,” Sihtric's fingers traced through your tousled hair repeatedly, his touch gentle and weightless. His lips never ceased placing soft kisses atop your head. With a deep sigh, he buried his nose in your hair, inhaling your essence with an intensity akin to a dying man savoring his last breaths, as if he wished to etch the sweet scent of you into his memory, fearing he might forget it forever.

"I had given up already. I yearned for love. I was so naive to think it could be bought with silver or earned through fame. After being deceived so many times, I had finally resigned myself to the belief that there was no love for me in this world... and then you entered my life and proved me wrong," Sihtric's hand traced a path down your arm, his fingers reaching your palm and tenderly squeezing it as he lifted it to his lips.

"I want you to be my family. I yearn to bride the soft hair of our daughters and see your gentle smile mirrored on their lips. I long to carve wooden swords for our sons and watch them play, your mischievous spark in their eyes. I wish to witness them all grow bold and strong. I want to wake up in the morning and watch the first rays of the sun dance in your hair. You are my everything! I love you. I love you so deeply that it aches. Please, just wake up! You must stay with me. I need you. I need you as much as I need the air I breathe," tears welled up in the corners of Sihtric's eyes, but he didn't even bother to wipe them away, allowing them to trace a slow path down his cheeks until they fell upon your forehead, tiny, salty raindrops on your pallid skin.

"Oh, Gods, what have I done to deserve your wrath? If you are angry with me, take my life. I give it willingly. Just let her live," Sihtric whispered, his face buried in your hair. He cradled your lump body, gently rocking you, and began to hum a lullaby—the only one he knew, the same one his mother had sung to him. He couldn't remember the words anymore, but the soft melody was etched into his soul.

A quiet whisper startled Sihtric from his deep thoughts, and he looked up as Eadith appeared between the wagon's laps at the entrance.

"How is she?" Eadith inquired softly, her concern evident in her eyes.

"No changes. She has been unconscious this entire time. I can hear her shallow breath, I can feel her heartbeat, but she hasn't opened her eyes even once," Sihtric replied, hastily rubbing his eyes with his palm to clear them. "I overheard Uhtred saying we're making camp."

"Sihtric, stay with her. We're stopping for the night. We won't be able to reach the next village before darkness falls," Eadith's gaze shifted from Sihtric to you. Her voice dropped to a near-whisper as she continued, "Sihtric, you need to prepare yourself for the worst. It's almost miraculous that she's held on for this long."

"I know, Eadith. I'm grateful for everything you've done for her. I'll forever be in your debt," Sihtric's voice trembled with pain, and a self-loathing look crossed his face. It was as if he was barely present, lost in his anguish. Eadith averted her gaze, not wanting her own tears to add to his suffering.

"I'm going to gather some wood for the fire and will come to check on her when the broth is ready. We have to try to make her swallow at least something," Eadith said as she closed the flaps back into their place, disappearing from view.

You didn't know how long you had been sitting on your knees, the cold from the ground beneath you slowly seeping into your bones. Frozen in awe, you listened as the familiar voice whispered to you, almost unintelligible, like a soft breath of wind carrying distant murmurs of a river. Yet, you heard every word, clinging to the voice with all your strength as it calmed and comforted you. Then, it stopped speaking and began to hum a sweet and soothing melody. Your racing heart slowed, and even the pain from your bruised hands and knees seemed to fade.

As the fog started to dissipate, revealing a small and narrow path with something gleaming at the end, still shrouded in the remnants of the fog, you rose slowly. Your legs were shaky and unsteady, but the light drew you closer, and the voice grew stronger with each wobbly step you took.

You coughed heavily, your lungs spasming and sending waves of pain through your body. Closing your eyes, you reached out into the light, fearing it would vanish and leave you in the cold, unforgiving fog once more.

When you opened your eyes again, you found yourself pressed tightly against a broad chest, two big, strong arms cradling you, and the familiar voice that had guided you through the mist, still humming that soft melody.

"Sihtric?" you tried to speak but coughed heavily. "Where am I?"

The soft hum ceased, and a brief silence enveloped you both. Trembling fingers found your chin and gently lifted your face to meet an astonished gaze framed by two mismatched eyes.

"Am I dreaming? Are you truly awake?" Sihtric's fingers traced over your face, as if he needed to confirm your reality, as if he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing. Cupping your chin with his warm palms, he leaned in and pressed his lips to your forehead. "Gods, you are awake! We're on our way to Winchester. Aethelflaed and Edward have made peace. We are safe now. The children are safe. Aethelstan and Stiorra are with us, and Aelfwynn stayed with her mother in Aylesbury."

"Winchester?" you whispered, still trying to grasp the situation.

"Yes, Winchester," Sihtric affirmed. "Eadith says she knows a skilled healer there who will help you. You'll recover. You're going to be all right! I was so afraid, I thought I had lost you." His voice trembled, a vulnerability you had never heard before. You lifted your head and reached up, gently touching his face. It was damp, the warmth of his skin contrasted sharply with your cold hands. You fondled his cheek with your palm, gently brushing away the tears from his face. You were so cold and yet you were burning. Your joints ache and your lungs felt so heavy as if filled with lead as a violent cough shook your body and your hand dropped down onto Sihtric’s palm, clenching around it. 

"Sihtric, promise me something," you whispered, taken aback by the hoarse sound of your own voice. "Promise that you'll take care of them. I mean Stiorra, Aethelstan, and Aelfwynn. Promise that you'll never leave them and that you'll always answer their call if they need help. You know how much I love them."

"Of course, I will. We both will. You'll see," Sihtric's fingers intertwined with yours as he squeezed your hand.

"I'm so cold, Sihtric, and I'm afraid. Afraid to leave you alone in this world. You're the best thing that ever happened to me. Even if our time together was short, you made me so happy. I want you to know that, and I want you to never doubt yourself again."

"You're not leaving me. I forbid you! Do you hear me? I forbid you to leave me," Sihtric's grip around you tightened as he pressed you to his chest.

"I don't think we have much control over it," a faint smile touched your lips. You wanted to say more, but strange sounds from outside the wagon caught your attention. You turned your head toward the entrance just as the flaps flung open, revealing the smirking face of a Danish warrior, framed by dirty, disheveled hair.

"There are a few more," the Dane called out to someone outside.

Sihtric's hand instinctively moved to his waist, where his axe would normally hang, but this time it wasn't there. The Dane simply shook his head. "I wouldn't do that if I were you, my friend," he chuckled, grabbing your ankle and pulling you toward him. You gasped from the sudden, rough movement and tried to cling to Sihtric, but your hands were too weak. You were pulled out and slumped onto the ground, unable to support yourself. Sihtric followed, jumping out of the wagon. 

"Move to the others," the Dane nodded toward a large tree where Sihtric spotted Finan, Uhtred, Osferth, and Father Pyrlig surrounded by a larger group of warriors. Sihtric clenched his teeth, his initial instinct urging him to fight, but he knew it was futile. His gaze shifted to another small group of Danes surrounding Stiorra, Aethelstan, and Lady Ealthwith before returning to you.

"I said, move to the others," the Dane seized you by your hair and pulled you up into a half-seated position, a chilling blade pressing against your throat.

A wild, anguished groan escaped Sihtric's lips as he saw the knife at your throat, but before he could make a single move, strong arms restrained him from both sides, forcing his arms behind his back and securing them with ropes.

"Women and children in the cart," a harsh voice commanded, and in the next instant, you were dragged to your feet by your hair and shoved back toward the wagon. Your legs couldn't support you, and you fell as soon as the grip on your hair loosened. Strong and soiled arms grabbed you, lifting you as if you were weightless, and tossed you onto the wagon's wooden floor. From the corner of your eye, you saw Stiorra, Aethelstan, and Lady Ealthwith being crowded in your direction and climbing into the wagon. It all seemed surreal, impossible.

The last thing you saw before the familiar fog enveloped you once more in its cruel and unforgiving embrace was Sihtric and the others, their limbs bound, being thrown to the ground and then hoisted by their feet, hanging their heads down from the branches of the massive tree. 

—------------------------------

Sihtric's world spun in a dizzying whirlwind as he dangled headfirst from a tree branch. His vision blurred, and his breaths came in ragged gasps. Osferth was trying to say something to him, but he couldn't hear, couldn't focus. The ropes, he had to loosen those ropes; it was the only thing that mattered now. Sihtric's muscles strained against the rough bindings that held him captive, his heart racing with a potent mixture of fear and anger. His gaze remained fixed on the wooden wagon, now vanishing into the unforgiving darkness. Sihtric clenched his jaw, his hands involuntarily forming fists as he watched the wagon's silhouette shrink into the distance.

No, no, no… I can’t give up now. I can’t die now, when she needs me most of all. I can’t let her down…

I can’t let her down, was the only thought echoing over and over again in Sihtric’s blurred mind, like a desperate prayer, like a magic spell, keeping him awake and giving him strength.  Blood pounded in his head, desperation creeping in as it coursed through him. He fought to free himself, his powerful arms straining as he wrestled with the knots, the fibers cutting into his wrists as he twisted and pulled, again and again.

Muffled, breathless sounds escaped his lips through gritted teeth, a mixture of groans and whimpers, as he continued his struggle. But his strength waned, and his consciousness slowly began to slip away, the world around him fading to black.

He fought against the encroaching darkness, struggling to recall your face—the way your eyes sparkled when you smiled, the gentle curve of your lips, the warmth of your gaze that always seemed to find him, no matter where he was. He strained to hear the sound of your voice, the way it soothed him, the way it made his heart race with love and longing.

He didn't fear death itself, for he had faced it countless times on the battlefield. But the thought of never seeing you again, never hearing your laughter, never feeling your touch, terrified him to his core. It was a pain he had never known, a fear that gripped his heart and squeezed it mercilessly.

As the darkness closed in, Sihtric's mind became a battlefield of its own, a desperate struggle to hold onto the memory of you, to keep your presence alive in his thoughts. Your smile, your laughter, your love—it was all he had left now, and he clung to it with every fiber of his being, determined to carry you with him, even into the depths of the unknown.

And just when it seemed like all hope was lost, he felt a sharp, slicing sensation against his ankles. The ropes gave way, and Sihtric plummeted to the ground with a heavy thud, gasping for air as the rush of blood to his head left him disoriented.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

#sihtric #sihtric kjartansson #the last kingdom #tlk #arnas fedaravicius #arnas fedaravičius #sihtric x reader #sihtric x you #sihtric fic #the last kingdom fic #tlk fic

[jinxhallows]

𝐔𝐧𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐝 .

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☾ -- ᴛᴀʙʟᴇ ᴏғ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛs

prologue | chapter one | chapter two | chapter three | chapter four | chapter five | chapter six | chapter seven | chapter eight | chapter nine | chapter ten | chapter eleven | chapter twelve | chapter lucky thirteen | chapter fourteen | chapter fifteen | chapter sixteen | chapter seventeen | chapter eighteen ((you are here)) |

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ᴍʏ ᴘʀᴇᴄɪᴏᴜs ᴛᴀɢʟɪsᴛ -- @sikebishes @hamburgers101 @felix-housewife @agnes-king @exfolitae @brojustfknkillm3 @skzswife @just-randomm-stuff @thunderous-wolf @3rachasninja @katsukis1wife @hanjingin @mylilliposts

☾ -- ᴡᴀɴɴᴀ ɢᴇᴛ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴀɢʟɪsᴛ? ᴄʟɪᴄᴋ ʜᴇʀᴇ

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ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴇɪɢʜᴛᴇᴇɴ | ᴡᴄ: 8.6ᴋ

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A dense smoky fog blankets the ground as you navigate through it, obscuring everything but the silhouette of barren trees in the distance. Their branches reach out like grasping fingers, lending an air of malevolence to the journey. It feels as though every element of the landscape is vying for a piece of your soul. 

The vampires, purportedly devoid of soul, remain unaffected by the eerie atmosphere. Jisung, however, betrays his unease by idly rubbing his amulet between his fingers. Though he maintains his stoic facade, a flicker of apprehension glimmers in his eyes as he catches your gaze. His smile is unfamiliar, lacking its usual warmth—it's akin to the polite nod given to a stranger who holds open a door.  

This isn't the Jisung you're accustomed to. 

Time is running short for Jisung. He's almost resigned to his fate, harboring a faint hope for a swift, painless end once this journey concludes. The prospect of returning home to face the slow decay of his essence over the remaining years weighs on him. 

Thoughts of his long-lost fiancée flit through his mind. He's yet to encounter her in his frequent visits to the afterlife, but perhaps he'll spend his eternity seeking her out instead of perpetually evading death. 

A tender glance at your stomach reveals his excitement at the thought of becoming an uncle. Even though he likely won't be around to see it happen, he finds comfort in knowing that your child will carry his legacy through their magical bloodline. Someday, they'll cross paths again. 

The dark aura emanating from the coyote demon casts a shadow over the group. The silence is difficult to tolerate in its absolute stillness. Wasn't this supposed to be the most dangerous part of the journey? Only a day ago, you were under siege by demons, yet now, on the brink of the final stretch, there's nothing. Certainly, if there were something in the distance, any one of the supernatural creatures on your sides would be able to detect it. 

Hyunjin listens to the crunch of twigs under his feet, lost in his thoughts. He ponders his mother's cryptic words, wondering if tonight will mark the loss of one of his brothers. Maybe even you. Hyunjin had grown incredibly fond of you, and you had earned his loyalty by rescuing him.

Hyunjin even entertains the idea that it should be him instead. Many uncertainties plague his mind. Returning to the mortal world has been a jarring experience, and true peace eludes him. Hyunjin wonders if he'll ever find any sort of peace, or if this perpetual unrest is his eternal atonement for past sins.

"Hold on, you see that?" Chan's voice breaks through Hyunjin's runaway train of thought, directing everyone's attention to a sudden clearing that appears before you, seemingly out of nowhere. The forest, dense and forbidding just moments ago, now yields to an expansive open space. The nearby sounds of water reach your ears, and squinting reveals the clearing's boundary—a cliff shrouded in thick fog. The archway formed by the bending trees at the cliff's edge invites them to peer beyond, where the natural sky seems to disappear. The impending sunrise has vanished from view, leaving behind a darkness that blankets the forest in a timeless haze. 

"This must be it, I can feel it." Santiago declares, drawing a deep breath as he surveys their surroundings, his senses on high alert despite his formidable power.  He didn't clue anyone else in on it, but he had a strange feeling that they were being followed the last hour of travel. When nobody else made note of it, he attributed it to the twisted curse of this place and let it go.

Is this Abysmora? Or does it lie beyond this mysterious veil of smoke? 

You wrap your arms around yourself tightly, a surge of nausea unsettling your stomach. 

"What did you say?" Chan's concerned voice breaks through your thoughts as he turns to check on you, his expression puzzled by a sound he thought he heard. 

"I didn't say anything," you reply, feeling perplexed. Had your thoughts accidentally slipped out aloud? 

"Weird. I could've sworn I heard something," Chan mutters, his brow furrowing in confusion. 

"Maybe your mind's playing tricks on you," Jisung suggests, joining the conversation. "I didn't hear anything either." 

Chan is still skeptical, approaching you with a frown. He squats down to press his ear against your stomach, and you allow the gesture, gently resting your hand on his head, the weight of the moment heavy amidst the strangeness of the situation. Standing up, he scans the group, finding no confirmation of his earlier perception. 

"Nobody else heard it?" he asks, met with shaking heads all around, including yours. 

"In Abysmora, believe only half of what you see and nothing you hear," Santiago advises, breaking the tension. "I don't wanna tempt Fate; she can be cynical. We have to pay the Coyote demon before we cross over."  You avoid eye contact as Santiago looks at you again, instead averting your eyes to the coyote demon close to the water. Somehow, your anger has shed it's skin to reveal your fragile hurt. You wonder why you aren't worthy of the truth from him, even now, after all you had accomplished.

The sight of your mysterious guide at the cliff's edge draws your attention like a moth to a flame. It hovers there, a few inches above the ground, an enigmatic presence, its form shrouded in shadow. Despite its lack of eyes, it seems to peer intently at the ground below, as if deciphering some hidden message written in the earth itself. The air around it crackles with an otherworldly energy, adding to its mystique as it stands sentinel at the edge of the abyss. 

"I'm sorry, pay him? With what?" Jisung's voice rings with alarm. 

"What do you think, my friend?" Santiago responds, unsheathing his knife. "Our life force." With determined steps, he approaches the coyote demon, and the rest of the group follows suit. It remains unfazed, its attention fixed firmly on the ground. You cling tighter to Chan, who slows to let you grip his arm. 

With a wave of its bony hand over the water's edge, a makeshift raft emerges from the foamy stream. It appears flimsy, like a discarded piece of construction material, hardly capable of supporting its own weight, let alone the rush of the rapids with you all atop it. Yet, it remains steady, held aloft by the coyote demon's power. Santiago steps forward first, slicing his palm and allowing blood to spill onto the demon's outstretched hand. Every drop is absorbed without a trace, prompting Felix to follow suit, eyeing the demon warily before adding his own sacrifice. Jisung, surprisingly, steps up next, his usually cautious demeanor overshadowed by the gravity of the situation. 

Hyunjin's turn comes next, and as you and Chan approach, a sense of dread begins to well up within you. The fear seems to seep from the ground itself, creeping up your legs and constricting your throat.   

Chan, hearing something again, looks down at you, his expression troubled. It's a sound he can't quite place, like a whisper in his mind, indecipherable yet unsettling. He blames it on Abysmora's influence, steeling himself against its effects as he watches Hyunjin make his offering. 

As you and Chan present your own blood sacrifices, the sting of the cut fades, replaced by a tingling sensation that signifies rapid healing. Chan pulls you close, whispering words of reassurance as he guides you onto the raft. "I think she's helping you," he murmurs, speaking of the unborn child you two share and her mysterious powers. You wish those powers could alleviate the nausea that still lingers, but as if in response to your wish, the sickness vanishes without a trace. 

Jisung's voice trembles with a mix of anxiety and bravado as he settles onto the raft. "How sure are we that we’re gonna survive this waterfall drop?" he asks, his words filled with a nervous energy. 

Santiago's response cuts through the tension. "You're asking the wrong questions," he declares cryptically.  “I’m still in a mortal body that has never been to Abysmora, about to go over a waterfall, what questions am I supposed to be asking right now?” 

Perched on the edge of uncertainty, you suppress a chuckle at Jisung's retort, stealing a glance at Felix, who struggles to conceal his amusement behind clenched lips. 

“The toll is paid.” 

With a final decree from the coyote demon, the atmosphere shifts. The ethereal guide dissolves into obsidian mist, and in an instant, the raft is swept into the rushing current. 

Chan's arms encircle you protectively as you bury your head in his chest. His embrace offers a semblance of security, though beneath the surface, fear lies in wait in his veins. It's not the fear of death that grips him, but the fear of loss—of you, of his brothers, Jisung; of the life he's only just begun to consider worth living. 

Chan yearns to utter words of comfort, to quell the storm raging within you. 

Casting a sidelong glance toward Hyunjin, he extends a tentative gesture of affection, seeking to bridge the chasm between them. Though initially stiff under the weight of fraternal embrace, Hyunjin gradually yields to Chan's touch. 

Across the raft, Felix's gaze meets Chan's in a quiet exchange. But before their unspoken bond can solidify, in an instant, the world tilts on its axis as the raft hurtles over the precipice, plunging into the yawning abyss below. 

For a heart-stopping moment, gravity claims dominion, and the sensation of free fall grips you all. The wind whips around you, snatching at your clothes, your hair, as you all hurtle downward into the void. 

But just as suddenly as it began, the vertiginous descent comes to a halt. The world around you seems to freeze, time itself holding its breath as the raft settles into the stillness of Abysmora's dark embrace.    "Fucking Hell—" Felix's expletive pierces the air, jolting you from your reverie. 

"Jisung, little witch, are you—" He begins to ask, worrying for the mortal passengers.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm good. You?" Jisung's voice wavers with the remnants of adrenaline. 

"I'm... still here," you manage, your voice a fragile whisper amidst the chaos that surrounds you. 

Chan's senses begin getting assaulted by a familiar itch—a primal instinct clawing at the edges of his consciousness.

Surely, he’s not going to turn? Not now? Not like this? 

The same inexplicable murmur tugs at Chan's senses once more, this time drawing his attention squarely to your stomach. An involuntary pang of tenderness wells up within him, a protective instinct he struggles to suppress. And for that second, perhaps two, he doesn't feel his monster trying to come up for air. With a will of its own, his gaze flits away, his jaw clenching with the effort to regain control. 

‘Abysmora is playing tricks on my mind,’ Chan reminds himself sternly, his thoughts a tumultuous whirlwind of uncertainty. He grapples with the realization that, in this strange realm, he may not be able to shield you and his daughter as he wishes. 

But the memory of Amelia, her sacrifice, cuts through the haze of his thoughts like a knife to the heart. He can still feel her absence, a haunting guilt for the price paid for their survival. Chan's arms wrap tightly around himself, his fingers digging into the fabric of his jacket in a desperate attempt to anchor himself in the present, to get out of his own head, to banish the ghosts of the past that threaten to consume him. 

The raft creeps languidly through the dense, murky waters, now a deep, suffocating shade of purple that seems to swallow light rather than reflect it. The waters are calm, yet their opacity hints at untold depths and secrets submerged beneath. Small islets punctuate the expanse like broken teeth, each hosting clusters of weathered gravestones that stand as silent keepers of forgotten lives. Some stones are cloaked in a dense mantle of moss, their inscriptions eroded by time, while others lean precariously, half-engulfed by the encroaching, swamp-like embrace of the water.

The air itself seems to congeal around you, infected with a sense of despair and decay. 

As the raft drifts aimlessly, a disturbing ambiance pervades, heightened by the mist that clings to every surface, weaving through the air like the breath of the isle itself. This mist carries with it an odor so foul, a blend of rotting flesh, sulfur and damp, decayed wood, that it assaults the senses, a physical manifestation of the corruption that seeps from the very soil of this place. 

“Oh God, I- I don’t feel good–” Jisung body convulses slightly as he heaves over the side of the raft, expelling a noxious, black substance—a memory of his earlier possession. The sight is disturbingly out of place against the backdrop of unnatural stillness that surrounds you. He coughs violently, a raw, hacking sound that seems too loud in the oppressive silence, wiping his mouth with a shaky hand, his expression one of revulsion and deep unease.

He speaks, his voice barely above a whisper, but it's clear the very air of Abysmora is anathema to him, a venom to his senses.  “I can’t…I don’t think I can be here very long.”    "I don’t think any of us can…” Felix's voice carries his concern, tasting the bitterness of the venom in his mouth, something he hasn't felt in a long time. Swallowing becomes a chore as the acrid taste spreads, worsening his already noticeable thirst. He keeps his discomfort to himself, knowing his brothers need him now more than ever. Despite the absence of the Full Moon tonight, Abysmora's sky holds no celestial bodies, just an endless void stretching upward into an unseen realm. 

“Where’s Santiago?”     The question of Santiago's whereabouts lingers, as you survey the desolate landscape. Memories of the heated argument with him resurface his words cutting deep. Could he have abandoned the group at the gate, his duty fulfilled by merely delivering you to Abysmora? The worry eats at you, the fear that your past conflicts might have jeopardized the journey for everyone, with no guide to navigate the treacherous unknown ahead. 

None of you have any experience in Abysmora, a daunting realization. It's a frightening thought, to be on an even playing field with some of the strongest creatures you’ve come to know, and all the while carrying your first child.    In truth, Hyunjin has rejected the idea of forming an alliance with Santiago for some time, ever since he inadvertently overheard the conversation back at Lysandra's. Despite the pressing need to focus on capturing Santiago after the Blood Bloom, time constraints forced the brothers to prioritize other tasks. However, with Santiago's sudden disappearance, urgency seeps into their thoughts, amplifying their concerns.    Finally, the raft nudges against the mainland with a soft, almost imperceptible thud, coming to rest at the edge of a larger isle. Here, the tombs are more imposing, grander in their decay, arranged in a deliberate circle that borders the perimeter.

These larger mausoleums and monuments loom like giants, their shadows casting long, dark fingers across the ground as if to welcome—or warn—any who dare to trespass. It feels even heavier here, if possible, threaded with a history of sorrow and darkness that permeates the very ground upon which you’re about to stand.

"No time to figure it out," Chan declares, rising to his feet, his actions prompting the others to follow suit. Stepping onto the mainland, he extends a hand to assist you ashore. Meanwhile, Hyunjin swiftly rips off and repurposes the hood of his jacket into a makeshift mask, covering Jisung's nose and mouth for protection.    “There you are!” Santiago turns the corner of a mausoleum and lays eyes on you.  He seems out of breath, worked up as he shakes his head, catching up with everyone.  

And yet, despite his outward appearance of concern, there’s a flicker of something in his eyes that doesn’t quite match his urgency—a subtle shift in demeanor that leaves you feeling uneasy in his presence.  You hadn’t felt this just moments earlier getting on the raft with him.  

“How did we get separated?” Santiago asks. 

You are the first to answer, unaware of the suspicions of everyone else and just relieved to see another familiar face again.  Though, that nagging doubt gnaws at your mind, whispering of the questions surrounding his sudden reappearance.   

You wonder if Abysmora is playing mind tricks on you too? 

“No idea, but we’re all here, Jisung’s getting sick, we’ve gotta get the Blood Bloom and get out of here.”  You look around, “But where is it?”    "In there." Santiago's gesture directs your attention to a towering statue of a knight, its sword thrust upward toward the darkened sky. "It's always inside the tomb of the One, the very first of our kind." Santiago approaches the statue, touching it with reverence, in a way that strikes you as odd, because it’s as if he hasn’t seen it before, and Santiago said he had taken prior trips to Abysmora, albeit via other routes. 

He must know what the tomb of the “One” looks like? Right?

Muttering under his breath in an unfamiliar tongue, Santiago circles the statue, his intent clear as he seeks a means of entry. 

Felix, ever perceptive, senses a subtle shift in Santiago's aura. Vampires as ancient as he can detect things far beyond micro expressions in mortal faces, no matter what’s wearing the skin.  It’s how they can tell when something isn’t exactly human, or when mortals lie. Yet, this time, something feels different. Is Santiago under some form of influence? What drives him to lead them into the depths of this tomb? He hears the spells the archdemon chants but doesn’t recognize the tongue. 

"Where did you land?" Felix's inquiry interrupts Santiago's prayer, prompting him to refocus his attention. As you join in the search, kneeling amidst the moist earth, the ground squirms with repulsive creatures disturbed from their slumber by your intrusion. 

 "Land?" Santiago straightens up, his confusion evident. "I just woke up behind that grave," he gestures toward a nearby tomb. "I have no idea what happened." His explanation is abruptly interrupted by Jisung's retching, the soul of this environment taking its toll on him once more. As Jisung lifts his makeshift mask to expel another bout of black, putrid vomit onto the soil, Santiago's attention remains fixated on unlocking the tomb's secrets. 

Hyunjin, growing impatient, voices his concern, stepping back to avoid the splatter onto his shoes with a lifted brow. "Can't you do something about him? We can't exactly conjure." 

"It's my bloodline—" Jisung's words are punctuated by another fit of dry heaving. "I can't—my body—" 

You spring into action, rushing to Jisung's side with mounting worry. His suffering raises questions about the influence of this place, and you fear for the well-being of his soul. 

"Jisung, tell me what to do," you plead, desperation clear in your voice as he struggles for breath. But Jisung, consumed by his own distress, cannot offer guidance. With trembling hands, you place your palm against his stomach, channeling an unfamiliar power in a desperate attempt to alleviate his suffering. As your energy flows into his body, Jisung convulses one last time before finding his breath returning in ragged gasps. 

Santiago stays oblivious to the commotion around him, his concentration fixed on the statue, lost in prayer with closed eyes. Meanwhile, Hyunjin's attention wavers as he catches the scent of blood emanating from your ear, a telltale sign of overuse of your conjure. His sudden cough startles you, drawing curious glances from his brothers as he hurriedly wipes his nose, trying to conceal his reaction. The scent reaches Felix next, prompting you to check yourself, and your fingers come away stained with blood. Panic sets in as you hastily wipe your neck with your hoodie sleeve, inadvertently spreading the stain further into the fabric.   

You’ve made it so much worse, and you don’t even know it.      "This can't be what I think it is," Chan says as he uncovers something amidst the infested soil. He holds up a fragment that appears to be from a golden beret, the gold melted over one of the encased jewels, evidence of a failed attempt at destruction. "Do you see this or am I imagining things?"    Felix's heart races as he snatches the fragment from his brother's hand, his senses heightened to every sound, every scent around him. "This is it, this is... I have no doubt," he declares, his voice tight with apprehension. He turns to Hyunjin, whose eyes are fixed on the cursed fragment a few feet away. But instead of their usual crystal blue, they shimmer with a bright amber hue, a telltale sign of a loss of control. Hyunjin shuts his eyes tightly, fighting against the onslaught of disturbing images flooding his mind. He feels the creeping sensation of tiny toothed imps devouring his flesh in the depths of Purgatory, a sensation he fights against with every fiber of his being. Is it the curse or is it just him? 

Passing the fragment to Chan, Felix approaches Hyunjin; and he gently shakes his younger brother from his trance, their eyes meet, and Felix is struck by the vulnerability in those familiar baby blues, a contrast to the centuries of resilience he's come to expect. 

"Brother, what’s—how do you feel?" Felix's voice is soft, a rare tenderness breaking through his usual stoicism. He sees the innocence in Hyunjin once more, a vulnerable human amidst the vast expanse of their immortal existence. 

“Afraid, brother,” Hyunjin confesses, his voice laced with raw emotion. He blinks back the bitterness in his eyes, unable to maintain the eye contact with Felix. “I can’t go through this again. I–I can’t, I’ll die, Felix. I’ll die first.”    Felix's voice cuts through the chaos, gentle yet firm, as he addresses his brother. "Hey now," he begins, his words carrying a sense of his own certainty, a vow to himself amidst the uncertainty surrounding them. 

"I’ll die before you go through that again." 

Hyunjin meets Felix's gaze, feeling a rush of emotions within him. Even that has become foreign after being gone for so long; feeling emotions he'd forgotten the weight of. In that moment of silent connection, he senses the weight of their bond, built over countless centuries of shared trials and unspoken understanding. Despite the shadows of their tumultuous past looming over them, Hyunjin finds safety in the unwavering intensity of Felix's gaze, a silent promise of protection and support. This rediscovered depth in their relationship speaks volumes, highlighting the profound significance they both place on each other's well-being. 

━━━━━━━━   The tension in the room is filled with anger and resentment as Chan confronts his younger brother, his voice echoing off the stone walls. Hyunjin's defiance matches his elder sibling's intensity, his eyes ablaze with righteous fury. 

"Are you mad, brother?! You're in bloodlust!" Chan's words cut through the air like a whip, each syllable dripping with disbelief and frustration. He can't comprehend Hyunjin's actions, can't fathom the depths of his rage. 

"Now you've killed her son?! Amelia's brother?!" Chan's accusation hangs in the air, a damning indictment of Hyunjin's actions. 

"Did her mother not take our parents from us first?!" Hyunjin's retort is sharp, laced with bitterness and grief. To him, his actions are justified, a reckoning for the injustices inflicted upon their family. 

But Chan's anger simmers, threatening to boil over as he struggles to contain his emotions. With a roar of frustration, he hurls a nearby chair against the wall, the sound of splintering wood punctuating the heated exchange. 

"Those were my parents too," Chan's voice is raw with emotion, his eyes flashing with a mix of pain and fury. "Do you not think me furious as well? Do you doubt that I too, want to drink from their hearts and watch them fall to my feet?!" 

Hyunjin stands his ground, undeterred by his brother's outburst. He remains unshaken, fueled by a burning desire for justice. 

"Yes, Christophe, I do!" Hyunjin's words are a challenge, a testament to his unwavering conviction. "I doubt you want to do anything more than run with your tail between your legs, defending a traitorous witch, the very daughter of the woman who murdered our parents!" 

Meanwhile, on the other side of the closed door, Amelia stands frozen, her hand hovering over the doorknob. A cool hand touches her shoulder, and she turns to find Felix by her side. His silent guidance urges her to stay back, to let the brothers work through their grievances without interference. 

As they move a few steps away from the door, Amelia embraces him, softly crying into the fabric of his blouse. Felix's thoughts churn with concern. The arguments between his brothers have become more frequent, fueled by Hyunjin's growing impatience and resentment. His thirst for vengeance risks engulfing him, driving them to move twice in the last four months alone. 

Felix knows Hyunjin cannot be contained, his actions driven by a primal need for retribution. Yet, despite his own fury towards Amelia's family, he understands the futility of their situation. They are newborn vampires--outnumbered, outmatched, and outsmarted without a plan. 

But what troubles Felix the most is Chan's hesitance, his reluctance to act. And as they stand in silence, away from the fight unfolding on the other side of the door, Felix can't shake the feeling that something is amiss, something he can't quite put his finger on… 

   ━━━━━━━━  

"Santiago," Chan's voice cuts through the tension, his gaze fixed on the archdemon who is still engrossed in his task. With each passing moment, Santiago's words grow more rapid, fueled by a sense of passion that borders on obsession. Chan moves closer, reaching out to get Santiago's attention. "Santiago, hey–" 

The statue begins to shift, its movement accompanied by the harsh scraping of rock and the unsettling rumble of the earth beneath their feet. Hissing echoes around you as the creatures in the soil turn aggressive, some leaping into the air with fangs bared. Hyunjin reacts swiftly, his movements a blur as he dispatches several of the creatures with deadly precision. 

"Protect this at all costs," Chan's command is clear and direct as he locks eyes with you, a brief flash of amber in his gaze before he blinks it away. He presses the beret fragment into your hand, urging you to keep it safe. 

“Come on, hurry!” Santiago hurries down the stairs into the tomb.  You tuck the fragment into your bra and the rest of you have no time to think, and you follow behind, risking the chance that being in the tomb of the very first demon in creation would be safer than being on Abysmora's grounds, exposed. 

If there was anything lurking in this strange place, they certainly know they have unwelcome visitors now.    Jisung's condition noticeably improves as the darkness envelops them, the sickness that had plagued him fading into the blackness. Yet, amidst the near pitch-black surroundings, a distant blue glow emanates from a room at the far end of the underground tunnel. Backed by a surge of adrenaline, you act swiftly, your fingers darting like arrows to ignite the sconces along the walls. Each flame catches, casting a blue hue that bathes the chamber in its glow.    As the dim blue glow from the sconces barely penetrates the darkness, Jisung finds himself momentarily awed by your ingenuity. But any sense of accomplishment is swiftly overshadowed by the atmosphere closing in around you. The tomb of the first demon ever to exist feels suffocating, each breath tainted by the heavy, musty scent of centuries past. With each inhale, Jisung's heart flutters nervously.    In an attempt to summon his conjure to navigate the path ahead, Jisung encounters an unexpected resistance, as though an invisible force is constricting his abilities. A dryness creeps into his mouth, he can’t be powerless yet?! How is this possible?! You were able to light the way without hesitation.  

"Now what?" You whisper, your voice barely audible over the silence. Turning to seek guidance from Santiago, you find him vanished once more. 

"What the–" 

"Little witch, we can’t trust him," Felix's voice cuts through the darkness, his hand pulling you closer to the rough stone wall for protection. 

"But he said–" 

"It doesn’t matter what he’s said," Felix's tone is firm, his words tinged with urgency. "We can’t trust him." 

With no other options available, Hyunjin strides ahead, his figure disappearing into the hallway, with Jisung following closely behind. There is no turning back now, no room for hesitation. You’ve come too far to retreat, your only choice is to press onward.  The confines of the tomb seem to be closing in on Chan, the primal instincts of his wolf beginning to overwhelm him. Sensing the impending shift, he knows he must act quickly, not willing to risk losing control in such close quarters, especially with you nearby. 

With a determined step backward, Chan starts to unzip his hoodie, preparing for the inevitable transformation. His voice carries a note of urgency as he speaks to Felix, his brother, and you. "Felix, you and little witch go on ahead with the others. I’ll catch up with you soon." 

Felix puts his arm around your shoulders and obeys his elder brother’s command. 

As Chan's metamorphosis reverberates through the ancient confines of the tomb, each sinewy shift heralds the awakening of primordial forces. A chill snakes down your spine at the power unleashed, but with Felix's presence guiding you onward, there's little room for fear, only purpose. 

Stepping into the chamber's heart, you feel a lack of control, like you've stepped into public in the nude. This feeling sticks to you as if you're an insect on fly paper, the discomfort follows you. Your gaze is drawn to the raised platform, where a mummified figure cradles a flower in its desiccated grasp. Against the backdrop of darkness, the bloom's vibrant hues stand in defiance, its petals swirling in an ethereal dance.  On the opposite end, Jisung stands watchful, his focus unwavering as he hovers over the coffin. Bathed in the soft azure glow of the chandelier above, the scene unfolds like a tableau of strange beauty, casting shadows that dance across the chamber's walls. 

Your breath catches as you draw near, the allure of the flower irresistible. Its petals, delicate yet sinuous, seem to pulse with a life of their own, their crimson hue a vivid sign of its unearthly vitality. And at the heart, a pool of crimson gleams with luminescence, a symbol of the bloom's power. 

"This is it," you murmur, your voice a mere whisper amidst the hallowed silence of the tomb. "The Blood Bloom." 

Jisung's brows furrow in disbelief, his head shaking in denial. “The legend I remember said it grows in the soil of Abysmora…”    Despite his hesitance, he leans forward, sensing the same energy that grips you both.  

As a sudden stillness envelops the chamber, Jisung's instincts flare, a warning pulsing through his veins. With a sense of alarm, he whirls around, calling out for his missing companions. "Felix? Hyunjin?" His voice echoes off the stone walls, met only by silence. 

Your palms grow clammy, fear prickling at the nape of your neck. "What's happening? What's wrong?" you stammer.    "Oh look, you found it!"     Santiago's voice cuts through the tension, his arrival heralded by a sense of impending doom. Panic floods your veins as you instinctively back away, only to be ensnared by a vice-like grip from behind. Your breath catches in your throat, your thoughts racing to the safety of your unborn child, as fear tightens its grip on your heart. 

"H-Hyunjin..." The name escapes your lips in a breathless whisper, finally realizing the scent. Your body tenses, every nerve on edge as you struggle to keep your composure. 

Before Jisung can react, Felix is upon him, his strength overwhelming as he wrestles the younger man into submission. You look to Santiago, the sight before you twisting your stomach into knots. His head lolls to the side with a sickening crack, a grotesque contortion of flesh and bone. As his eyes roll back into his skull, his skin begins to slough off like molten wax, revealing a smaller, naked figure beneath. 

This new form is like something out of a nightmare, its skin slick with a viscous substance that oozes and drips. The creature's features are twisted and deformed, elongated limbs and sharp, angular joints giving it a disturbed appearance. Its eyes, once human, now gleam with a endless black, reflecting the depths of its sinister nature. 

As the demon's gaze fixes upon you, a shiver runs down your spine, fear gripping you with icy fingers. As Jisung struggles against Felix's overpowering grip, his frustration mounts with each futile attempt to break free. Heat radiates from his palms, a manifestation of his inner turmoil, but it's as if an invisible barrier stifles his efforts, rendering his conjure useless. 

“The audacity only a Han would have, trying to use your conjure here, now don’t you know better? Then again, you want to die, don’t you?” The demon's voice drips with malice, taunting Jisung with cruel words. 

Jisung refuses to dignify the demon's words with a response, his jaw clenched tight in defiance. Beneath his poker face, a sort of fear dances in his eyes. The demon's insight and access into his psyche unnerves him, exposing vulnerabilities he'd rather keep hidden. 

“I have a name, you know.” The demon's grin widens, revealing a mouth lined with jagged, razor-sharp teeth. “Do you want to know it?” 

“Oliver,” you breathe, the name escaping your lips like a curse, triggering a flood of memories from your night terrors that you'd rather forget.  "She's smart, isn't she?" Oliver's voice drips with malicious intent, each word laced with venomous glee. The knowledge that you know his name seems to egg on his perverse joy, a sickening trophy of the power he holds over you, a feeling he rarely gets to feel in his own existence. In the dimly lit chamber, his grin casts twisted shadows across the walls.   

As your gaze darts nervously around the room, searching for any sign of escape, the sound of sloshing footsteps draws your attention to another presence lurking in the shadows. With a sickening lurch of your stomach, you realize that you're not alone, the presence of another demon sending a wave of fear over you. 

The unnamed demon drags a large and furry form into the chamber, its tortured cries echoing off the walls as it's callously thrown against the unforgiving stone. Your heart sinks in your chest at the sight. 

"NO!" Your voice rings out in a desperate plea, the words torn from your throat in a frantic rush. "Hyunjin, let go of me! Stop! This isn't you! That's your brother! Felix! Felix, it's me! Y/N! You're stronger than this! All of you are!" But your cries fall on deaf ears, drowned out by the cruel laughter of the demons that surround you. 

"Chan—Chan, please," you plead, your voice barely a whisper amidst the chaos unfolding around you. Exhausted and defeated, you sink to the ground, your body wracked with sobs as despair threatens to eat you alive and spit you back out with no remorse.    "Y/N, stop," Jisung's voice cuts through the noise, his tone firm as he locks eyes with you from across the room. His gaze speaks volumes, silently urging you to quell your desperate pleas. In this moment of peril, communication is reduced to silent exchanges, a shared understanding passing between you both. 

With a deep breath, you stifle your cries, recognizing the urgency of the situation. Any hope of escape hinges on maintaining composure, lest you risk losing control of your conjure before it can be wielded as a weapon against your captors. 

Exhausted and defeated, you offer no resistance as Hyunjin releases his grip, allowing your body to crumple to the ground. His derisive laughter rings in your ears.    Meanwhile, Oliver's attention drifts to the Blood Bloom, his excitement obvious as he revels in the discovery.     “They really found it, the Blood Bloom!” His voice echoes through the chamber, a frenzied tirade of anticipation as he fixates on the object of his obsession. But his excitement is short-lived, abruptly cut off by a sudden surge of malice directed at the lesser demon. 

"What are you waiting for?! Bring the Mistress!" Oliver commands, his impatience boiling over as he demands action. With a hurried nod, the lesser demon scurries away, his footsteps fading into the distance as he disappears into the darkness. 

Lying on the dirt-covered brick floor, you succumb to silent tears, the weight of anguish pressing down on you like a leaden blanket. With jittery hands, you crawl forward, the distance between you and the wolf reduced to mere inches. As you nestle your face into the coarse fur of the muzzle, a gentle warmth caresses you, soothing the raw edges of your fractured spirit. 

Suddenly, in the darkness, amidst the faint scent of earths and decay, you feel it—a tender brush against your nose, followed by two more delicate licks. Slowly, you open your eyes, greeted by the shimmering gold orbs of the wolf before you. It's a curious sight, this peculiar hue, but within those luminous windows to his soul, you find an unexpected solace—a glimmer of Chan's inherent spirit shining through.    You continue to feign distress, your sobs a desperate symphony masking the turmoil within. Each movement is calculated, every tremor carefully choreographed to draw attention away from your clandestine actions. Your fingers venture into the wolf's mouth, inching closer to the razor-sharp teeth that threaten to sever skin from bone. 

As your wrist hovers over the waiting fangs, fear coils in the pit of your stomach, a visceral reminder of the perilous dance you've chosen to partake in. But you steel yourself against the rising tide of panic, a vow echoing in the recesses of your mind.     You'll fight tooth and nail, even if it means staring death in the face, for you know that within the pits of Hell lies the flickering ember of hope. 

With a nod of assent, Chan's lip twitches in acknowledgment, a fleeting moment of connection. As he closes his jaws with painstaking care, the taste of blood blooms in his mouth, on his tongue, along his gums. Through gritted teeth, you endure the searing pain.    Jisung's mind races as he formulates a plan to wrest control from the clutches of Oliver. With each passing second, the grip of the demon's influence tightens around the minds of Felix and Hyunjin, reducing them to mere marionettes in this macabre play. 

"Felix," Jisung breathes, barely audible in the hushed chamber, "Can you hear me?" 

The vice-like hold tightens, and Felix's response echoes through the silence.  

"Loud and clear, mate," he replies, the words filled with a predatory glee that reminds Jisung of exactly how different they really are from one another when it comes down to being factory reset to pure instinct. 

‘Shit’. A curse punctuates Jisung's thoughts; reaching them in this state seems impossible. Oliver's conjure has rewritten their essence, transforming them into instruments of darkness. To break this unholy connection, the source needs to be severed, and at this moment, Oliver stands as the puppeteer, feeble or not. 

As Chan discreetly drinks from you in his wolf form, Jisung's mind churns with frustration, the invisible chains of restraint still boggling him. 'If he has me restrained, there must be a physical block somewhere' he muses, a spark of realization flickering to life amidst the darkness. 'So how is he doing it? Where is it?' 

A sweeping glance around the chamber reveals the answer, hidden in plain sight. The talismans, hanging down from the ropes strung along the ceiling, catch Jisung's attention. They're no ordinary charms; they bear the unmistakable markings of Korean origin, Bujeok, but warped and twisted into a perversion of their intended purpose.  

These were crafted with him in mind, designed to stifle his magic and render him powerless. 

'Bingo'    He knows what he must do to break free from Oliver's grip, to reclaim control and turn the tide of this deadly game.   Jisung's words slice through the air with a cunning edge as he probes for weaknesses in Oliver's facade. "Possessing the minds of vampires is light work, what’d you do, a blood bind of some sort?" he questions, his tone dripping with sarcasm. 

Oliver's response is swift, a mixture of amusement and hubris. "Well, aren’t you an arrogant little witch?" he retorts, unknowingly stepping right into Jisung's trap. "Demons do more than blood bind to have others do our bidding." 

A smirk plays at the corners of Jisung's lips as he goads Oliver further. "I guess you haven’t figured out how to get a Han to do your bidding though, so you had to use these guys," he gestures disdainfully toward the vampire restraining him. "I mean, I get it though, you don’t look capable of doing it yourself." 

You listen with bated breath, the cool touch of the earth grounding you while Chan's watchful eyes mirror your own tenacity. 

With calculated steps, Oliver descends from the platform, each movement purposeful and deliberate. A glint of steel catches the dim light as he approaches Jisung. As the blade he wields grazes Jisung's cheek, a thin rivulet of blood appears, tracing a crimson path down his face. Oliver steps back, grinning while Felix looms ominously behind Jisung. 

In a mocking tone, Oliver scoffs, "Miss Edith couldn't care less about the likes of you." 

Despite the threat at his neck, Jisung remains steadfast, his gaze averted from Felix's predatory presence. "You're a bad liar," he counters, a beacon of defiance in the face of imminent danger. 

Oliver's smirk fades into a scowl. "I'll have your best friend drain you dry until you're nothing but a lifeless husk." 

Jisung's laughter rings out, carrying a hint of madness. “Yeah, but then you’ll have a mighty angry vampire that can conjure on your hands, and how will you handle that? Oh fuck, you can’t--”  

“You’ll just piss off your Mistress, and I get the feeling that’s a habit of yours—what was your name again?”    The demon's rage is evident, his fists clenched at his sides as he discards the knife, the sound of its impact echoing through the chamber as it hits the ground. His bluff has been called; a demon under another's command lacks the authority to make unilateral decisions, especially ones as significant as ending the lives of captives. Captives that they’ve taken the time to carefully ward against. 

For reasons unknown, they need him alive, at least for the time being. 

"You'll regret this," Oliver seethes, his departure swift as he hurries to investigate the delay in the other demon's return, his footsteps echoing in the silence of the chamber.   Hyunjin stands frozen, his gaze vacant, like a puppet abandoned by its puppeteer. Felix, unmoving, maintains his vice-like hold around Jisung, his thoughts seemingly distant despite his physical grasp.  

With resolve sparking in your weary eyes, you snatch up the knife, ready to act. 

"Little witch, hurry," Jisung urges, his voice barely above a whisper, directing your attention to the talismans hanging from the ceiling. "Cut them down—they're sapping our power."  You swiftly ascend the stone platforms, a strength from an unknown place guiding your every move as you slice through the ropes with the knife. With each talisman that falls, dissipating into wisps of blue smoke, a surge of hope fills the air. Chan, his wolf form a blur, disappears into the darkness, tracking the demons' elusive trail. Your focus wavers momentarily, but Jisung's urgent plea snaps you back to the task at hand. 

"No time, keep going!" he insists, spurring you onward. With steady hands, you continue your circuit around the room, severing the final ropes. Jisung, eyes closed in concentration, channels his purifying energy, causing Felix to recoil and collapse, overcome by the searing sensation of his blood boiling under his skin. As Jisung kneels beside the fallen vampire, a grimly determined spirit, unflinching and serious, settles over him. 

Frustration tinges his voice as he assesses the situation. “Fuck, they’re in deep.” 

You wave your hand in front of Hyunjin’s face but he doesn’t even blink.  “What can we do?” 

"Nothing, yet. We've gotta kill that bastard first." Jisung replies, scanning the room for any signs of their next move. Striding over to the mummified corpse, he delivers a swift kick to the wooden coffin, and you wince, splintering it open. With practiced efficiency, he breaks off a jagged piece of wood, handing it to you before keeping one for himself. 

“But if we have to protect ourselves,” He gestures to the two vampires, “This is the only chance we’ve got.” 

You gaze at the stake in your hand, horror coursing through you at the thought of wielding it against those who have become your kin, your protectors. 

"Listen," Jisung's voice breaks through your turmoil, his tone resolute as he senses your hesitation. “If their souls get away from us again, I can’t help to get ‘em back.  Death is a mercy, but it’s our last resort.”

You agree, though as you look at your friends, lost and locked inside of themselves, you wonder if you’ll follow through with such a promise if the moment were to ever present itself.    Retreating toward the coffin, your gaze fixates on the flower delicately held within its grasp. Without much thought, or perhaps with thought you aren't conscious of, you extend your hand, fingers brushing against the petals, taking it into your grasp. Half-expecting the tomb to quake and crumble around you, like a scene ripped from the pages of a thrilling adventure, you're startled when the chamber remains still. 

"In my dream they wanted to stop us from getting this, I don't know why," you assert, locking eyes with Jisung, an unquenchable fire burning bright within you as you secure the flower in your pocket. "The odds are now in our favor." 

You dart down the corridor, Jisung hot on your heels, fueled by your sudden fearlessness. As the cavern splits into two diverging paths, you and Jisung find yourselves back to back, each scanning for a sign of which route to take. 

Jisung's senses, honed by experience, detect a pulsating energy emanating from the right tunnel. He purposefully directs you away from it, "Go Left!" he calls out to you, his voice echoing down the corridor like a solemn decree. Without a moment's hesitation, you veer down the opposite path, placing your trust in his keen intuition as he forges ahead toward the heart of the mysterious power. In the glow of his flickering flames, Jisung continues on, his back pressed against the unyielding stone walls, each step plunging him deeper, and he can feel himself descending, guided by the flames in his palm, taxing his magick as a necessary means of sight...  You creep, as light as you can on your feet down the hall, and though you don’t sense much, you feel like you’re moving towards something, someone important. A thought crosses you, and you recognize the feeling from before, when you could sense Chan's presence.  You're just not sure how the honing mechanism works in your body. You come to a stop, straining your ears in the silence to hear anything.  How could a place so evil be so silent? Maybe that was a part of its sinister nature, you’re in a constant state of paranoia, questioning everything you encounter.  

That’s when you hear it.    A cacophony reaches your ears—a wet, slurping noise interspersed with sharp cracks and snaps. Despite the unease creeping over you, you find yourself moving forward anyway, your feet carrying you around the corner even as your instincts scream at you to flee. 

As you round the bend, the sounds abruptly cease, leaving a heavy silence in their wake. With shaky hands, you summon a burst of flame, its flickering light casting shadows across the room. You shield your eyes from the sudden brightness, snapping your fingers again to maintain control over the fire with an extended palm, its glow offering a glimpse of the scene before you. 

With a sigh of relief, you realize it is Chan, still in his wolf form, perched atop the body beneath him, methodically tearing away its limbs. Despite the gruesome scene before you, you don't recoil in horror. Instead, a strange understanding dawns upon you—a glimpse into Chan's cryptic intentions. He's systematically dismembering the body.   Catapulted into action, you scour the area until your eyes land on a discarded plank embedded with rusted nails. You don't carry natural nightvision like he does. With a snap of your fingers, flames dance along its surface, casting a flickering glow that barely illuminates the chamber. You hope, to be able to talk about how much you've improved with Jisung once you're all out of this mess. To thank him for everything's he's done for you to get this far with your conjure. Armed with a knife of strangely high quality, the one Oliver had dropped earlier, you set to work, slicing through the demon's flesh with surprising ease. It’s as if its appendages were made of gelatinous cartilage rather than solid muscle. 

With a final, resolute stroke, you lock gazes with Chan, something primitive passing between you two. Taking a deep breath, you shift your focus to the grisly sight before you: the half-mauled neck upon which Chan still labors. You issue a directive, "The leg," you command, indicating the limb lying closest to you. You direct Chan to the leg on your side, trading places to continue the task. You hack away at the remaining flesh of the neck until the head is brutally separated from its body. As the final blow lands, the detached leg collapses to the ground with a sickening thud as the wolf by your side finishes alongside you. 

Chan nudges your wrist, smearing your hoodie sleeve with the dark ichor of the fallen demon. Bewildered, you meet his gaze. "What's wrong?" 

The massive black wolf pads over to the plank, its end nears the final embers of its burn. With a sagacious air, he settles down, resting his head upon his paws. You nod in silent comprehension, scrambling to your feet and surveying the room for flammable materials. Hastily, you gather anything combustible, stacking them in the center of the chamber—a rickety wooden stool, dusty tomes whose contents held no value, and any other debris within reach. 

Chan prowls around the scattered body parts, a low growl rumbling from deep within his chest, and you begin to deduce the demon isn’t gone yet.  "Let's go," you command, stepping backward as Chan joins you at the entrance. With a steady focus, you close your eyes, channeling the power within you. In an explosion of heat and light, flames engulf the chamber, forming a barrier that forces you to retreat, the intensity making you stumble and fall to the ground. Though the flames lick at your skin, they do not scorch, leaving you breathless as you gaze at your hands.    How did you just do that?!    A sharp itch on your forearm draws your attention, prompting you to hastily roll up your sleeve. To your astonishment, you find a series of canine tooth marks left by Chan's earlier bite, unhealed, the crescent pattern etched into your flesh. Frustration bubbles within you as you scratch at the irritated skin, rising to your feet just as the flames begin to dwindle.

"Fuck, Chan, what is this?" you demand, only to find Jisung's figure illuminated by the dying embers, his eyes glinting an unnatural complete black in the dim light.  He grins wickedly as he snatches your wrist tightly, looking down at the bite. “I don’t know, looks pretty bad though.”  Before you can react, he painfully twists your wrist, and darkness consumes you, consciousness slipping away as you collapse into oblivion. 

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[ladystarksneedle]

Greedy

Summary: A lady at sea finds warmth amidst its endless waters.

Warnings: angst, mentions of voyeurism, infidelity, period typical sexism and misogyny, derogatory language, rumor mongering, slight canon divergence.

Word count: 7.5k

Dividers by @saradika

She clawed at the threads in her lap, entangling them for the third time as her husband droned on about the costs of war. There were ramparts, fortifications and more men needed at Tarth to stop the incursion of the Triarchy that he spoke of, agitating himself further as he paced before her, taking her absent minded humming in response to be borne out of interest. The “War of the Stepstones" as it had come to be known, was the newest point of conversation throughout the realm from the Blackwater to the Bay of Crabs, with every household eager to contribute their share of mockery, awe or support. The Valyrians, she thought, had always managed to entrench everyone in their affairs.

Sadly she hadn't found an inch of interest in the one before her.

She had been delivered to Claw Isle almost a year ago, packaged rather gaudily in fabrics of silk and gold, to be unwrapped by the lord of salty seas and misty air. He'd torn in rather clumsily, mistaking haste for pleasure, like a crab feasting at her shore, yet no tears came to her, all the salt had seemingly washed away before she'd entered Crackclaw point. The castle stood surprisingly tall, jutting out of the small island located to the south of Dragonstone, close enough to hear the roars of the beasts of long forgotten might and far enough to be sheltered from their unexpected wrath. She'd often look out her window, imagining what they'd look like, though a year had passed and she had yet to catch a glimpse of them. Some of the locals claimed they'd seen one, a “gray ghost” they'd called it, as elusive as the fog lining the seas, scaring away the fishermen trying to make their catch for the day. They were baseless rumors to her, all the same, recited idly at tea by the ladies of the Point, when they'd run out of their keepsake of slanders. Dragons to her were beasts of myth and true as they might be, posed no consequence to her life, until now.

“Prince Daemon has assembled an army of ten thousand men with Lord Corlys Velaryon. It would be folly to not join such an endeavor.”

“You mean to join the war?” she asked incredulously “We hardly have the numbers.”

“If those shipping lanes fall it affects us all dear wife or have you not been paying attention.”

“I have, husband” she huffed “But decisions made in haste cost dearly. Claw Isle boasts enough wealth to tide us through this predicament without meriting involvement, as you've proclaimed countless times yourself, why then should we waste our men and resources?”

“You're a woman Belinda and as witty as you might be, you do not understand the consequences of uninvolvement. Tarth may very well be under siege as we speak” he remarked.

“And what has the King to say for this expedition undertaken by his brother, I doubt it is with his full consent, ten thousand men seems quite less of a number for a royal army does it not?” she replied back “But yes you're right, I'm just a woman, what would I know about numbers when it is your forte dear husband. I shall leave you to your accounts in peace” she said as she left his chambers with a swift peck to his cheek, quick to evade his reply.

“You must learn when to keep your mouth shut daughter, the ability to do so shall last you long” her mother's words were tight around her neck, a noose waiting to throttle her should she stray too far and though she hadn't managed to keep her wayward tongue in check, she'd found out soon enough that scraps of affection meted out at opportune moments often did the trick.

Dinner proved to be less in her favor. Bartimos was ever eager in spirit, having invited the lords of the neighboring keeps to convene on pretext of merriment. While she sat drinking with the ladies whispering animatedly amongst themselves at the other end of the hall, she realized just how hard headed he could really be. Perhaps her mother was right and there was still more to learn.

“Have you heard the tales of Lady Swann? It is such a tragedy. I've heard she's been sold to a pillow house in Lys”

“She was always a wild one, I've heard. I'm sure she'll do just fine there” chirped Lady Crabb, ever the glutton at any such occasion.

“You have quite the tongue Lady Crabb, you must learn to hold it lest you earn the likeness of the Crabfeeder himself” snickered another.

“Perhaps he styles himself after your own lord husband” remarked Lady Brunes, her fellow at arms of wit.

“Jest all you want ladies, but there is some truth to it. My husband was knighted at the mere age of four and ten, how many of yours can claim such laurels. It will be him who'll bring glory back to Crackclaw point and you'll be all the fools for it” huffed Lady Crabb clawing at the pearls around her neck.

Being the youngest among them had its merits in times like these. Despite being the hostess she was seldom asked her opinions, merely considered to be in accordance with the consensus they reached as the wine dried up and their husbands returned to eagerly escort them back home. Feasts in the Crownlands often had one way of ending, with most of them on their backs. As the bed creaked below her, she realized her’s would be a happy one. Sweaty and sated, she lay next to him as he struggled to catch his breath, exhausting himself to fruition this once. Bartimos seemed to outperform whenever he had a point to make, in matters that required more convincing on his part. She only wished they were more in number and came more often.

“We shall leave for Driftmark in three days' time” he said as he turned to sleep, blowing off the candles near them. “It is a good thing Belinda, you'll come to realize soon enough. You'll even get to see those dragons you've been so curious about.”

“They do not interest me as much as you think” she thought “But if admitting to it makes you more amiable in bed I might as well go set up camp there, husband” she pondered as she drifted off to sleep dreaming of distant roars and crashing waves engrossed in a hazy tussle of their own.

Driftmark proved to be a much grander island. They'd sailed for a day to get there, bypassing Dragonstone on the way. The captain of their ship had pointed it out, a black speck of monstrous rock jutting out from the coast, with a multitude of deep rumbles reverberating through the masts, as they had sailed past. It felt ominous and rather insidious, intriguing enough for her to want to halt and explore for the first time since they'd left, but her husband wished for no time to be wasted and ordered them to sail ahead. High Tide shone bright under the sun as they'd arrived, its pale stone greeting them in a stark contrast to the home of their Valyrian overlords. The Castle was said to have been newly built by Lord Corlys with all the wealth he'd amassed on his nine voyages, its turrets gleaming haughtily at them with their beaten silver tops. They'd been ushered in shortly, with their infantry in tow to the “Hall of Nine” in attendance before him as he sat atop the Driftwood Throne.

“We welcome you to High Tide, Lord Bartimos. The support of the Celtigars, in these trying times is much appreciated” he boomed.

“Thank you for your graciousness Lord Corlys” he smiled as she fidgeted near him.

“Perhaps your lady wife would like to rest as we get to the matter at hand, the journey would have been quite tiring for those not accustomed to it” he said as she was ushered away to the depths of the Castle by one of the Velaryon ladies nearby.

“Princess Rhaenys shall receive you my lady, please follow me. I am Daena, cousin to Corlys in case you're wondering. We have assembled here to convene on our own council” she stated, leading her up the winding stairs to a hall overlooking the Bay. At its head sat none other than the lady of the manor, Rhaenys Targaryen, a tall woman with a welcoming smile in tow “Lady Celtigar so good of you to join us, welcome to High Tide.”

There were more than a dozen ladies in the room who turned to look at her, the Velaryons with their teal dresses and silver locks, a few from Crackclaw point that she recognised immediately, ladies Crabb and both the Brunes, of Dyre Den and Brownhollow, ladies Bar Emmon and Staunton and a few stromlanders judging by the intricate braids on their heads who greeted her in response. Lady Daena led her to her seat as they resumed speaking, each advocating for their preferred course of action. As she observed their leader at the head of the table listening intently to each prompt she wondered why a dragon rider such as her wasn't involved in the affairs of the main council. Noticing her inquisitive stare she turned to address them once again “We have dragons and they are more than sufficient to weed this Crabfeeder out of his cave. My son Laenor shall be joining Prince Daemon, leading from above though your support at both sea and ground is much appreciated. We shall soon be rid of this menace together” she spoke with pride. “We've hosted a feast tonight as an inauguration of our joint partnership. Please rest, explore and enjoy your stay before we meet again ” she concluded.

The beaches of Driftmark were a true wonder, she thought as she strolled along unbothered by the sand coating her stockings. They were unlike Claw Isle, with white sand stretching endlessly surrounded by pristine blue waters, secluded and picturesque. “Could wealth be used to acquire such beauty? Perhaps Lord Corlys’ expeditions had played a part in shaping the sea before her too” she considered enjoying her solitude. Her path soon led her to a hut, nestled away surrounded by a bed of grass, small enough to be overlooked, making her walk towards it, observing its peculiar vantage point overlooking the sea. As she passed through the rickety gate, she heard shuffling inside before coming across a man leaning against one of the posts. His eyes lit up as she came into view, trailing over her, before a smirk etched itself onto his face.

“Well Hello” he drawled lazily.

“Apologies my lord I didn't know someone was here” she replied hastily.

“Do you often walk into other's properties at will, my lady?” he inquired mockingly.

“I considered it abandoned” she flushed. “I was merely curious”

“Hmm” he said, appraising her “It is not safe to be wandering these waters alone, considering the threat that looms ahead”

“But I am not alone” she quipped back.

He chuckled as he made his way towards her.

“And what a sharp tongue you've got there. It would be a shame if that were the only weapon at your disposal”

“I don't think it wise for you to want to find out” she replied, standing her ground.

His smirk widened as he brushed past her, leaning down to whisper into the shell of her ear “Welcome to Driftmark my lady, your claws do you justice.”

Evening couldn't arrive fast enough. Her encounter with the man at the beach left her more shaken once she came to realize who he was. Bartimos spoke of the surprising absence of Prince Daemon from their war council, baffled as he dressed in haste. She merely shook her head in response, finding the lord or rather the prince she'd met, to be all the more intriguing. Dinner proved to be a lavish affair with an assortment of opulence. Dishes of roasted duck glazed with honey adorned the plates before them, along with sardines and roasted tomatoes coated with fennel and saffron. There were freshly picked cherries and apricots, apple and cinnamon pies and a heap of lemon cakes being passed around the hall, along with overflowing cups of Dornish red mocking the enemies they were to face. She sat next to known faces, taking comfort in familiarity amidst the novelty she'd found herself in, while Lady Crabb delighted in the feast before her, munching away wholly unbothered by her sullenness. Her husband was in better spirits after the toasts that had been made to their victory, conversing heartily with Lord Staunton as she looked about inquisitively.

Prince Daemon sat at the head of the table flanking Lord Corlys to the left looking disinterested as he sipped his wine, pretending to listen in to the conversation at hand. She smiled to herself at the glazed look in his eyes, present for a fleeting moment before wandering again to places far beyond her reach. One of the Velaryon lords next to Princess Rhaenys, Ser Vaemond, if she remembered correctly, said something which swiftly brought him back.

“Perhaps you'd like to find out for yourself Ser Vaemond, Caraxes would be all the more willing” he said smirking “A toast then” he spoke standing up as the chatter died down.“To our allies and their good health, may you weather the battle ahead well” he said as a few cheered in response. “And to our enemies, near and beyond, narrow be their deaths, narrow be their beds” he said looking around “To our appetite for war” he spoke at last, winking at him as the man below him gazed back in defiance “and more” he finished seemingly staring right at her. She squirmed with apprehension as the crowd erupted in cheers “Hear, hear” they chanted “To the Rogue Prince Daemon” , they continued, banging their cups on the spread in front.

She wondered if her husband realized what he partook in, as the celebrations continued, forever wanting for fame and glory begotten through company, only for her to be the unwitting recipient of the eye of the Dragon.

As the evening drew close and Bartimos drunkenly staggered through the halls supported by his peers, she fought back a scoff. He bade her goodnight, eager to continue his quest for companionship while she politely shut the door waiting to leave their chambers as soon as she felt the coast was clear. Drawing her robe close she snuck out to explore, excited at her newfound freedom, delighting in the sliver of opportunity she'd happened upon. High Tide was quiet as the waves lapped the shore in the distance, a peaceful contrast to the jeers of the evening. A few servants scurried about bowing as they passed by her without question, perhaps to tend to the many guests that the castle currently housed. It was relatively easy to navigate with its shiny walls of pale stone mixed with wood twisting to form an interesting maze. She passed by low chandeliers, banisters with carvings of sea creatures, walls of teal painted with murals of voyages at sea, retinues of Velaryon soldiers and seafarers shouting orders and rowing through storms, intricately decorating the hallways. Statues of oceanic figures greeted her, lining each corridor connecting together till she came upon one, wooden and endless, larger than the rest, with a small alcove at the end. Darting ahead at once to claim it for her own, she stopped as she heard an unfamiliar sound. A soft moan greeted her at the end followed by a series of grunts and the all too familiar sound of skin slapping against each other making her peer in. A maid lay bent over the edge, her dress ruched up to her waist as he pounded into her roughly muffling her sighs with his hand, her own clinging desperately to the railing ahead. “Quiet, I do not wish to hear you wench” he remarked, brutally thrusting into her as she whined. She watched, shocked and unable to move as he finished within her with a grunt, his silver hair falling over her shoulders, before turning around to face the door abruptly.

“It will never fail to amuse me how you find yourself in situations that do not concern you” her husband's voice rang through her ears as she ran out, only to find herself at the beach again. “You must learn your place wife and it isn't in every nook and corner of the castle” he'd remarked once, after her incessant interjections in an argument with his lord father. “The fool had some sense to what he'd said”, she thought, cursing herself loudly as she caught her breath. Admitting defeat had never felt so shameful, she sulked running her hands through her hair before turning around to find a voice addressing her.

“Couldn't sleep?”

“New waters, princess. I'm not used to change” she replied sheepishly.

“Hmm. You should have told Vanya, she's in charge of the guests. She'd have brewed you a nice tea, it works wonders for light sleepers”

“I presume you speak from experience” she ventured walking towards her.

“There is much to be thought of” she replied back as she welcomed her presence.

“You wish to join the war, contrary to what you spoke of at the council”

“What kind of dragon rider abandons their people in need. What am I, if not a warrior for a just cause”

“A ruler who knows when to step back” she countered.

“Those are flattering words, empty as they might be”

“I disagree, princess. Your children are young and you are needed here. Battles may not always be fought at sea or up in the air, the biggest ones often lie closer to home” she spoke, still unnerved by the night.

“You are wiser than your years Lady Celtigar”

“Many have called me rather impudent”

“And they always shall, anything otherwise would be to admit defeat” she scoffed.

“May I extend my impudence further tonight” she asked looking up at her in question “I think I know why you wish to join. Forgive my boldness but I feel a familiar reluctance in staying behind, with what has happened amidst those seas before”

She smiled ruefully in response. “Have you had the chance to see a dragon yet, Lady Belinda? Caraxes rests a few feet away from where we stand, slumbering in peace while his rider feasts for the night” she remarked causing her to turn abruptly “I fear I will not have peace till I fly to battle with him this once, a wish that was left unfulfilled years ago and a regret I hold with me still”

She looked around in unease before replying “It is not for me to advise you princess as I've often led myself off a cliff with my own words.”

“Do not fret he doesn't harm at will” she laughed sensing her distress. “Merely judges who he considers his prey”

“Like his rider” she wished to scream, smiling back at her instead.

“Sleep well my lady, I might require your impudence on the morrow after all,” she said before walking back to the Castle behind.

“There is no rest for the wicked” her mother used to say, scolding her when she acted out of impulse. “Your flights of fancy shall be the death of me” she'd scream as she chastised her for her conduct. The “morning after” drone on, just as painful to her as the throbbing in her husband's head, as he sat grumbling at breakfast.

“Seems like you had an interesting night” he remarked sullenly.

“What?”

“Princess Rhaenys was all praise for you at dawn.”

“Oh, it was nothing” she said as she tried to mask her raging thoughts, her mind wandering to a different head of silver that had caught her attention.

“Do not be so coy Belinda, it is good to see you putting yourself out there. Let them know what we stand for as a house” he said, sipping his tea.

“Your pride will be your downfall one day, husband, but I'm sure glad for it today” she thought, carefully evading the topic at hand.

The days that followed passed in a blur with her trying to make herself as scarce as possible and she'd found blending in with the decor a fine way of going about it. She'd attend meetings whenever she was called upon dressed in teals and blues, dine with her husband and their contemporaries adorned with silver, gossip idly with the ladies at sessions in sapphire, butting in more often, hoping to be included more but most of all she vowed never to stray out of company whenever she could, for she knew he was around, waiting to strike when she least expected it.

“There you are little trespasser” he'd caught her by the arm swinging her to the side on one such occasion, her burnished gold gown taunting her absurdity.

“Unhand me now or I'll scream”

“I doubt you would little mouse, I think you seem to take an undue amount of pleasure in depravities as such”

“I don't know what you mean”

“Don't play coy now, it doesn't suit you as much as you'd like it to” he retorted sharply

“I didn't mean to barge in on you, it was an accident”

“Hmm as are most instances you find yourself in, yes?”

“I am telling the truth,” she said, squirming in his grasp.

“Now what would your husband think, hmm, were he to find out, compromising yourself not once but twice” he whispered, twisting her towards him, pulling her flush against his chest.

“I have done nothing of that sort, you seem to mistake mischance for willingness”

“I am under no illusion my lady, but anyone in your current predicament would beg to differ” he said smirking as a few curious lords passed by them in the hallways whispering to themselves as they looked away abruptly.

“Walk with me and let me put you out of your misery” he replied, tugging her along, as he took her arm into the crook of his elbow, swiftly guiding them towards the other end of the hall.

“I want nothing more to do with you, my prince. Please leave me alone”

“Now where's the fun in that” he laughed humorlessly “Do not take me for a fool lady Celtigar, I’d prefer it if you'd play along”

She huffed as she followed him out onto familiar territory, the sandy soil welcoming her once again.

“You are married, what would your lady wife think if she found out” she said trying to dissuade him.

“I think she'll be all the more happier for my absence, something you and I might have in common” he retorted, eyes twinkling as he gazed down at her.

“I don't know what you mean” she said which earned her a click of his tongue in response.

“Bartimos is nothing but kind. He's faithful and just, I could ask for nothing more from a husband” she said after a pause.

“Perhaps you'd prefer a dog instead if that is what pleases you in a man” he huffed “Or was that your reason to linger last night?” She blushed furiously in response as he laughed at her silence.

“You presume too much”

“I only say what I think. Life is too short to hide behind false pleasantries.”

“One needs to be amiable enough to get by, not everyone has the veil of protection of a dragon rider”

“It is not Caraxes that speaks to you now, as much as you'd like, I am more myself when I say as I do.”

“And what exactly do you wish to achieve out of this” she asked, stopping as she stood before him.

“To unwind that needle you've stuck up yourself” he said “Your husband's brought you here all dolled up to decorate his empty promises, espousing might and support when all he has to his name is a house of Crabs with too few men. I do not need the likes of foolhardy lords who'll run the moment they come to face real danger.”

“What do you want then, my prince? We've come here with goodwill and whatever we have to offer” she said plainly

“I think you have far more to offer.”

“If you've come to ask me to bed you, I'd prefer it if you said so plainly”

“If I wanted to bed you I wouldn't need to ask and I don't mean taking you as an unwilling partner, as pretty as you might be”, he replied, turning a lock of her hair in his hands “You'd come to me willingly”

“Then it seems we are at an impasse” she replied. “I cannot give you what you want nor do you possess anything I seek”

“How do you know?”

“What”

“How do you know what it is that you wish to seek?” he asked “How does someone so sheltered know what they want if they haven't seen what life has to offer”

“What is it that you think I want then”

“A taste of the unknown,” he replied, looking towards the sea.

She stared after him for a moment choosing to continue beside him, the silence between them feeling akin to punishment as they made their way ahead. He stopped soon to pick up a tiny crab running across the shore.

“That is your husband,” he said, examining the creature.

“Come now, that is cruel”

He laughed before pointing towards it again “Look at its legs and tell me what you see”

“It has threads attached to it”

“They're not threads. They're remnants of flowers that thrive deep below

the seas, of colors so bright they'd put a Tyroshi head to shame” he said turning it around for her to look “Flowers like these cling to the crab, beautifying it, helping it forgae the sea weeding out prey, a perfect companion won't you say” he continued watching her swallow “Yet when this little soldier feels the need to return ashore he discards his companion to the solitude of the sea” he finished before tossing the crab aside.

“I am not a flower” she said lifting her head up in defiance “To be discarded so easily”

A broad grin lit up his face as he nodded at her continuing down his path.

Preparations for the war soon ramped up, prolonging her discomfort. She felt stifled putting up smiles, talking incessantly to fill the silence lest she be drawn back in, while he lingered on. She began seeing him more frequently, at most meals of the day. A few of the men had taken to dining with their ladies, mostly those of importance to the warfront and with Bartimos finally being offered a place at the table it was hard to refuse his advancement. She began sitting with them stiff as a board, his gaze burning into her across the spread before them, ashamed to be the cause of her husband's newfound happiness. Watching him drink and talk with pride oblivious to the danger that lay ahead of them both prompted her to consider the nagging thought in her head, perhaps she needed to be his sea flower at last.

He was relentless in his pursuit all the while, smirking with his head tilted to the side whenever she caught him looking, observing her with a heavy gaze waiting to strike again.

It came to a head finally, one sunny morning. She didn't know what possessed her to go to the council room, perhaps it was to seek out Bartimos, as a warning or with counsel itself, but she had opened those great oak doors only to find him inside. He sat alone at the head, with one foot propped up on the map before him, eyes looking out the window, disinterested and lost.

“Are you here to apologize again?” he asked, raising his eyebrow in question.

“I was looking for my husband. Since he's not here I shall leave you to it”

“Ever the dutiful wife, byka embar rūklon”

“Don't call me that”

“Hmm” he chuckled. “Given that he's occupied at the moment, what can I do for you, my lady?” he said standing up.

“Must we keep coming back to it” she replied back, exasperated.

“It is you who makes things difficult”

“Hardly. I've told you what I do not want, I think that should make things much easier for us both”

“You may speak all you want but it's the things left unsaid that matter the most” he continued, before they were interrupted by a servant. She turned to look at her in shock as she greeted him, striding forwards to fill his cup to the brim, privy to all their secrets. He grinned at her expression as he held up a hand

“Leave it and tidy up those scrolls like I taught you” he remarked dismissing her as she wordlessly turned her back to them.

“Now this must be a familiar sight to you” he chuckled, addressing her.

“Your cupbearer” she asked, switching to High Valyrian delighting in his pleased expression.

“Yes it is quite convenient. She knows when I'm full”

“How ingenious” she remarked dispassionately.

“Come on, it's fun”

“To see her each morn, when you're discussing matters of importance and know how you'll be having her at dusk? Was this the unknown you spoke ok?” she spat

“Stand up, let me show you something” he remarked suddenly as he led her to the window.

“To anyone who walks in now, I'm showing you how the sky melts into the sea, explaining to you the foreign territory we'll soon find ourselves in, ” he said, moving close to her.

“What concerns us, is how I've ordered her to tidy up everything. All the scrolls and there are a hundred of them, before she thinks of lifting her head up again” he whispered as she heaved at his proximity, her back flush against his chest.

“We could do whatever we want and she wouldn't move an inch” he hummed against her ear pulling her close. “No one would know, for the reward that awaits her at dusk”

“Obedience for pleasure” she sighed as he tilted her head up gazing into her eyes.

“Precisely” he grinned, grabbing her neck without warning.

“What will you choose, embar rūklon?” he said brushing his nose violently against hers. She bit his lip in response, delighted with his painfully grunt as she tasted him, metallic and raw, of blood and smoke.

“I think that suffices as an answer ” she responded breathlessly, crashing her lips against his.

As she walked out the door later, she noticed the neatly arranged scrolls in the corner with seven cups lined in order, ready for each member of the council to use. The dragon behind her grinned greedily, having found yet another conquest to his name.

Daemon Targaryen was more beast than man, she'd come to learn over the days that followed. As the time to leave finally drew close and tempers ran hot at council meetings, his thirst for flesh increased, seeking her out in shadowed corridors, grasping and rutting into her savagely. She'd be showered with equal affection later on masking the bruises marking her skin. Jewellery of pearl and rubies adorned her pulse points, bitten and sore from their heady encounters as she strutted around with unfaltering poise delighting in her newfound routine. She had come to enjoy their little game, often finding ways to excuse herself to explore another hideaway the castle had to offer, leaving it separately with the lingering smell of their sweat and arousal. Despite the intensity of their meetings it was the aftermath she had come to cherish the most, when he'd kiss the crown of her head after pulling her hair, or play with her wrists as he drew her close. The little trinkets that she hid among her dresses, made her heart beat faster whenever she sat looking out at sea smiling to herself as her company chatted on.

“I got you something”

“What is this?” she laughed “A bird of paper?”

“There is a technique they use in Yi-Ti, where they make creatures out of paper, style them as they like '' he said “This is a crane shown to me by a merchant in passing, as a token for the hefty purchase I made. They say if you make a thousand of these the Gods grant you anything you desire.”

“I thought you didn't believe in the Gods,” she mocked.

“I do not but there isn't a man more foolish than the one who doesn't appreciate beauty, in all forms” he smirked.

“There is a catch though” he said, pulling it away before she had the chance to grab it.

“There always is, isn't it”

“If and when you make a thousand of these you'll be granted but a single wish. I would choose one carefully embar rūklon”

She closed her eyes as she thought smiling to herself.

“Not now”

“Ah but what if I wish for something this very moment, what's to stop me”

“You play by my rules alone byka gevie, never forget” he said pulling her towards him delighting in her laughter.

As much as he'd claimed ownership of the people in his service Daemon had glossed over a singular fact common to all women alike, they preferred nothing more than a fresh rumor served cold. From the smallfolk to the ladies in their fine towers, each held a kinship to one another when it came to gossip, spreading it far and wide. Rumors of her entanglement with the dragon prince spread like wildfire, with fresh tongues wagging in her direction, holding her accountable with their judgy eyes and insolent mouths. His little cupbearer was the one responsible, she thought as she found herself cornered, how fitting it was to be felled by the keeper of his secrets.

The most disappointing though, was the reaction of the lady she'd lent her sympathy to days ago.

“I'd like to give you a piece of advice Lady Celtigar” she remarked one morning

“You are young and have many years ahead of you, do not waste it in pursuit of fleeting pleasure. I know what it's like to feel constrained and alone. When my husband went off on his travels across the world it was I who held fort here, braving it all, ensuring our legacy wouldn't be tarnished by even a wisp of bitterness. You will soon be put in a similar position and you won't weather it should you choose to continue as you are now” she said plainly. “A woman's reputation makes or breaks her family and her house. It is the most important tool you have in your arsenal and you must learn to weild it well.”

“I can take care of myself Princess. My impudence shall weather me through whatever storm awaits me yet, besides you have a dragon to protect you, I doubt it was your diplomacy that carried your legacy forwards”

“And now you've found yours” she remarked with distaste. “Heed my warning my lady, I have known my cousin long enough to realize he always does as he wants. He will not change no matter how much you wish for it to be so” she said as she left her in thought.

The storm at her horizon approached faster than she could have anticipated striking the pearls around her neck first, with an innocuous question posed at dinner.

“That is such a beautiful necklace my lady wherever did you get it”

“Oh it is one of the many treasures of our house” she countered “A little trinket, one of many the Celtigars boast. We have chests of ancestral rubies, Myrish carpets, Volantene glass, jeweled cups and more that await you at Claw Isle should you choose to visit” she remarked satisfied with turning the conversation at hand. If only it had been so easy.

“Where did you get that Belinda?” Bartimos asked cornering her when they were alone

“The necklace? It is one of the many you've given me”

“Do you take me for a fool” he scoffed

“I don't know what you mean, if not then it must belong to one of the chests back home”

“I know every gift that I've ever given you Belinda, your honeyed words fool no one” he said looking at her with contempt.

“Do you think I don't know what's been happening behind my back? Do you think I'm such a fool to not recognise how you've been whoring yourself while I have been away and for what” he asked, ripping them from her neck “Pretty trinkets that I'd buy you had you bothered to ask? Are you so starved for attention to be acting as such. Do you know what they call you? '' he screamed “They call you the Harlot of Driftmark! The Whore of High Tide who's been strutting around the Castle with her cheap keepsakes. Why must you act as such? Have I not given you enough?”

“You're one to talk, have you even bothered looking at me this once. Ever since we've stepped foot on this dreaded island you've done nothing but jest and play at your war never bothering to inquire how I've felt. Ever since I've married you, you've never made the effort. Do you think I want your wealth and all the treasures that you hoard with your claws, boasting at every opportune moment? It makes you look like the fool that you are Bartimos” she screamed “If you'd just asked me once, if you'd just listened to what I had to say, to what I've felt this past year, things would have been-”

“If I had listened to you then you wouldn't have fucked him, is that it then?”

“Why don't you love me?” she cried “Why is it always honor and virtue and claiming and parading myself as yours when I am anything but. I've never been yours because you haven't let me. Why don't you want me as I am”

“Neither does he. He doesn't see you as anything more than a vessel for his pleasure, ripe for taking and you are a fool for thinking otherwise, just as I am for thinking you'd ever want me” he said looking at her in pain.

“I shall leave on the morrow. You shall be escorted back shortly with Lady Crabb. Say your goodbyes as I have none for you”

The noose felt tight around her neck as she wiped the wetness staining her cheeks, the tears she'd wished for had come at last.

It was dawn when she ventured out again, awoken by the shrill roar of Caraxes taking flight. She rushed to his chambers barefoot with a robe covering her, only to find them empty. A wail left her throat as she collapsed near his bed clutching the sheets, sitting still on the floor gazing at his walls, lost and alone till the sun rose and her tears dried up. The time to lament was over. The mirror at the entrance caught her attention, alerting her to her haggard appearance. She looked at the bags under her eyes, puffy and glistening as she walked towards her reflection, noticing a cushion nestled beneath. On it lay a single paper crane greeting her solemnly.

“It is time for you to do your duty, embar rūklon just as it is time for mine. To the unknown you've been searching for”, she read through hazy eyes running her fingers over the scrawled words on its wings.

The journey back to Claw Isle proved to be an arduous one. She felt their eyes on her as she boarded the ship, when she stood on deck and when she took her meals in silence on board, their judgment never leaving her. She wished for nothing more than to be sequestered in her home once again, laughing to herself at the irony of it all. She had often heard the tale of the weary seafarer glad to return home after his travels, delighting in its familiarity and Claw Isle had never felt more welcoming than it did now. As she stepped onto the beach leading up to the Island, she felt a sense of relief wash over her. She spent the next few days in silent contemplation, barring visitors and well wishers alike. She went on long walks, worked on her embroidery, read whatever she could find in the castle library and kept herself as occupied as she could, though the thing about an idle mind was that it soon merited thought. The news of the warfront floating around crept up to her soon. The advancement of the Velaryon forces on Bloodstone with Prince Daemon and little Lord Laenor's assistance spread rapidly delighting noble and commoner alike, for a war involving dragons had been fought after so long and the gossip accompanying it proved even meatier. She heard it in passing as her maids whispered to themselves, mentions of herself with Prince Daemon graced the hallways as well as chuckles at Bartimos and his misfortune of being stuck with her. It was the twentieth day of the fifth moon when she decided to confront it all, bringing out and dismantling the object of her ire. The crane was easy to take apart, soggy from its travels at sea and as the wet parchment of paper stared at her she remembered why it was given to her in the first place. Over the next few moons she learnt how to make one, it was easy enough with no shortage of paper for anything to be considered amiss. Every night before she went to bed she crafted a little bird with her hands, closing her eyes and stuffing it away come morning. The war carried on as did her own effort at home.

Almost three years later when she had diligently made her last one she sat staring at it in silence, crying to herself as she closed her eyes, thinking her effort had perhaps all been in vain.

News of the war reached her a fortnight later, Prince Daemon had killed Craghas Drahar, slicing him from head to torso, styling his weapon into a crown, calling himself the “King of the narrow sea”. It had been a happy occasion for all of Crackclaw Point uplifting their spirits enough for her to invite the neighboring ladies to tea. They had all won and a celebration was to be hosted in their honor. As the castle was tidied up and the ornaments brought out, she noticed a giant red crab placed near the entrance welcoming the guests she was to host, on its back writhing and beautiful were a myriad of familiar coloured threads.

“What is that” she asked the Castellan as he caught her looking.

“Those are sea flowers my lady, nestled upon the great crab’s back. It is a beautiful relationship they share in harmony, uplifting one another. The flower beautifies the crab as well as helping it forage while being offered protection inturn. No other creature of the sea dare touch it's beauty as long as the crab stands vigil”

A looming sense of dread washed over her as she excused herself from the hall, rushing to find the old crane. As she sifted through her drawers desperate to find it among the thousand others she'd made she felt herself grow weary and tired, frustrated as she collapsed to the floor. Each crane she'd found was henceforth burned in the hearth before their bed, meticulously chucked into the fire as she watched them be swallowed by the flames. Her wish had finally been fulfilled.

Bartimos returned nearly four moons later to a full house and a happier wife. His apprehension at seeing her was soon eclipsed by her contagious demeanor. She apologized to him, with Rhaenys' advice fresh in her mind, wishing to make amends to which he acquiesced soon after a moon of coaxing. The rumors still reached them from time to time yet she had him, to weather them together. Prince Daemon's lady wife soon passed away. A hunting accident they'd called it followed by the scandal of the Jade tiara from Yi-Ti, his hefty purchase she'd assumed finally coming to fruition. The deflowering of his niece in the capital brothel followed soon, as her belly swelled and by the time he'd returned to wreak havoc on the royal wedding she had laughed at it all mirthlessly.

When he took a new bride five moons later in the form of Lady Laena Velaryon she took it well with a stiff lip, mind drawn to the Red Queen herself and as her confinement approached a few moons later and she lay in bed she found the old crane at last. Scrawled illegibly on one of its wings was part of the phrase her hazy eyes had missed moons ago

“To the unknown you've been searching for and for the one you've helped me find.”

She crumpled the weary crane in her lap clawing at it as her husband droned on recounting the accounts of the castle for the moon. The Valyrians, she thought, had always managed to entrench everyone in their affairs.

Taglist: @witheredoffherwitch @arcielee @chompchompluke @barbieaemond

#house of the dragon #daemon targaryen x oc #daemon x oc #bartimos celtigar x oc #house celtigar imagine #daemon imagine #zae's fics #hotd imagine #fyeahhotdocs #fyeahgotocs #hotd fics

[scribbiesan]

Gotta love this blocky life

Just wanted to share some more Herobrine blurbs. This funky little dude just won’t get out of my head. Don’t mind the scratchiness, was in the mood to make something rough and just drop it off here.

I’m basing some of these ideas off the From the Fog mod, mainly the tamed wolves growling at Herobrine when he’s stalking the player, and how everything else ignores him. Herobrine being able to trade with Villagers is my own thing tho, as well as cats liking him.

I also have this idea that when Hero teleports around and shit, either bc of boredom or bc he has specific places around the World that are important or interesting to him, he makes the chances of a Zombie Siege much higher than normal. Like, if the normal chance of a Siege happening is 10% a week, then him teleporting from a Village or near one bumps it up to a 30% chance. The more he teleports to and from an area, the higher it rises, until it’s a guarantee that a Siege will occur that night in that Village. It’s caused some… issues during his existence when trying to socialize.

To make friends.

Not many Villagers know that Herobrine has something to do with more Sieges occuring to Villages, but those who survive and find their way to a new Village to recover? They remember him showing up, messing around and pulling pranks, before vanishing without a trace. To a Villager, Herobrine is an outsider, a traveler with no place to call his own. And his appearance and subsequent disappearance, and a Zombie Siege happening shortly after? Many begin to see Herobrine as a dark omen, bad luck, a Bringer of Death in a way. The survivors travel, and so does word of a strange man in bright clothes, with white, glowing eyes and odd behaviors. Who shows up to cause mischief, only to lead death to their doorsteps.

Hero doesn’t mean for these things to happen. Doesn’t even realize he’s the one causing them. He’s not Mortal, he’s not Human. His understanding of passive and hostile Mobs is heavily skewed bc most ignore him. He believes the Villagers he’s pranked and traded with are safe and sound (as much as they can be with Pillagers skulking around), and he’s just bringing some harmless fun to these grouchy, tired, overly stressed people. He didn’t know…..

If he comes across a Village who has survivors from Sieges he’s accidentally caused, and is seen by them, he’s run out of the Village. With fire and blade and pitchfork, sometimes an Iron Golem or two if the Village is wealthy/large enough to afford some. Since he doesn’t interact with Humans much, he’ll panic and run. Why are they being so mean? What did I do?

I just wanted to play…

Anywho, hope y’all enjoy this little mess. I’ve got more shit to work on, so hopefully that’ll be out eventually.

Toodles~!

#fan art #sfw #minecraft fanart #minecraft herobrine #minecraft villager #minecraft mobs #Minecraft worldbuilding #trash bin art #trash bin post #digital art #quackalacka ding dong #I’m not good at putting my thoughts and ideas for things into words #but i hope i got it across #Herobrine just wants to have fun #not his fault he’s a gremlin #herobrine fanart #idfk #im just vibing #not a late night post for once #sorta anyway

[buffshipper8490]

Rating Mature

Chapter Summary

General Leia Organa asks old ally Lando Calrissian to use his connections to help the Resistance...

Excerpt:

On the bridge of the Skywalker, Leia Organa looked out into the black expanse of space.

So much had gone wrong in so little time.

The message had dropped. They’d lost contact with Finn and Rose. Not to mention Poe, Chewie, and Rey. As she searched the Force for answers, she sensed overwhelming sadness and anger there.

Distantly, she heard Connix’s voice breaking through the fog. “General?”

“General?” came Connix’s voice again, Leia finally turning to face her. “We’ve been at the rendezvous for hours. I think this is all that’s coming.”

Leia’s shoulders slumped and she let out a heavy sigh.

A few freighters and a handful of glorified pirates, that’s all General Leia Organa could command from the galaxy these days.

In the dark days since Crait, they’d learned that the First Order had been pursuing their sympathizers, restricting and blockading communications, cutting off supply lines, capturing or even assassinating allies. In short, no one had answered the call from Crait because very few had even heard it.

Leia had spent the past almost two years reestablishing contact with old allies, calling in favors, recruiting everyone sympathetic to their cause. She sent two of her best on a suicide mission in the heart of enemy territory to put out a message through a peice of ancient hardware that they didn’t even know would still work on the off-chance that the galaxy would finally hear them.

And once again, her pleas fell on deaf ears. All these years, all this time. All for nothing.

Leia felt herself go back to that dark day on Crait. She’d thought the spark of hope had died. She remembered sitting down in the old rebel outpost, exhausted, out of options, while the First Order deployed a siege cannon that would make short work of the armored hangar doors. They were all going to die, and the Resistance with them.

And then her brother had appeared. Luke had distracted the First Order long enough for them all to escape, and their small remnant had survived to carry on the fight.

And carry on the fight she still would.

She turned to Connix, her mind made up. “Prepare an Imperial shuttle. I’ll need valid code clearance.”

“But we’re lightyears from—” Seeing the look on Leia’s face, Connix cut off abruptly. “Yes, General.”

Leia watched her scurry away, chuckling to herself. Well, at least she could still scare the young ones.

But her good humor was short-lived, Leia sighing a second later as she removed the General’s bars from her vest. Maybe Rose would want them. She collected them, after all. That is, if she was still alive.

Leia had a long cloak draped over the back of a chair for the excursion ahead.

She put it on and pulled the hood up over her hair, hiding her distinctive Alderaanean braids from view.

"Leia,” came a familiar voice, that was neither inside her head nor without. The voice belonging to the man who inspired the name of the ship she was standing in.

"I was just thinking about you." Leia responded, like it was just a part of an ongoing conversation. Which, she supposed, it was. It just so happened that one of the parties was dead.

"He's in pain," Luke Skywalker said, voice grave. He was always so damn grave these days. Sometimes she missed the optimistic farm boy he’d once been.

“I feel it, too," Leia replied. Her son was always in pain, and it tore her apart inside.

Suddenly, she felt her brother’s presence next to her, as real and vibrant as when he’d been alive. She turned to face his slightly glowing form.

“If he succeeds in bringing back the Sith, he’ll become more powerful than our father,” warned Luke.

“So will she,” countered Leia. "She's gotten so much stronger already."

Luke waved her off. “She feels too much. Love. Anger."

“Don’t we all?” Leia shot back, her temper flaring. "Even the high and mighty Luke Skywalker himself was not immune to the base emotions that afflict us mere mortals."

Luke gave her a pointed look. “This is why the Jedi live in isolation. The pain of loss only leads to the Dark Side."

“I’ve lost everything and everyone," Leia declared, stone-faced. "And I’d still choose to love.”

She looked at her brother, his familiar face. Let herself miss him for the first time in ages. It was dangerous territory. Her grief was deep and thick and tangled, honed over years and losses and all too easy to lose herself in if she let it.

But today wouldn’t be that day. There was a war to win and a galaxy to save, and she wouldn’t rest until she’d done every last thing in her power to bring about a victory.

Luke was watching her, a look of sadness on his face that mirrored her own. Twins.

“Trust her instincts,” implored Leia. “She may not follow the path of the Jedi, but this time, she’s our only hope.”

New fanfic link! Likes ❤️ and Reblogs 🔁 are much appreciated!

#star wars #reylo #kylo ren #rey #ben solo #reylo fanfiction #the rise of skywalker #duel of the fates #prophecy of the dyad #force bond #force dyad #reylo fic #reylo smut #finn star wars #poe dameron #luke skywalker #leia organa #chewbacca #emperor palpatine #armitage hux #rose tico #adam driver #daisy ridley #kylo ren x rey #rey x kylo ren #ben solo x rey #rey x ben solo #reylo ao3 #knights of ren #reylo fanfic

[dangermousie]

And now as a result of trying to save FL’s father’s life, ML gets publicly whipped and thrown in jail (with no medical treatment for the welts; dude you are gonna have scars if you don’t die of sepsis, that is.)

When he’s finally released, his reaction:

Meanwhile FL is planning to run off with hobo on another harebrained adventure (the man who almost got her killed and then helped zip, you remember?)

You know, I wish I could say I feel bad for ML, but his unwavering devotion to an impulsive, ungrateful moron no matter what is beginning to make me wonder if he is just as epically stupid as she is. Like - she is not exactly pretending she cares for him on even a simple decent human being level, nor does all his behavior ever get any different result. At this point he’s cashing misery checks he writes himself.

I was telling mutuals that the difference between something like this and Siege in Fog is that in the latter both of them lashed out and hurt the other, both seriously wronged each other, both were complicit in miscommunication and pain (and not to mention, FL had a first love AND our ML was pretending to have a mistress etc etc.) It felt equal and even and logical (within confines of the melo genre.)

But here, in making him saner (in the novel, he apparently rapes her at one point - yeah) and basically someone whose main characteristic is openly adoring her and saving her life over and over and her not even loving hobo (let alone loving him before meeting ML, as in the novel), this turns the whole narrative into a decent if hot headed dude and an utter ungrateful and impulsively moronic heroine. And that’s a pity. It doesn’t help that perhaps I’d be willing to buy his simping more if they had insane chemistry or if she was so beautiful/charismatic I could buy ML doing anything to get her. (City of Streamer and Siege in Fog both have that. Too Late to Say I Love You has that too AND the heroine saving ML’s life and his eventually wronging her as well blah blah.)

(Much more my type of thing heh.)

Anyway, this bit from Siege in Fog sums up what kind of dynamics I love (and the novel of Love had) and we are not getting here:

Alas, in the drama of Love in Flames of War, ML is piece of cloth.

#cdrama #love in flames of war #shawn dou #siege in fog #city of streamer #too late to say i love you

[daddy-deathslinger]

Picture this, the knight has a s/o who managed to bring a working phone into the realm. Obviously it's not gonna have any wifi or signal but they did save a lot of tik toks or memes making fun of today's music or culture but in medieval times

Like those "when your 10 goblets of mead deep so you show thy ankles to the local knights at the tavern" followed by like current songs redone to fit the meme time. (If that makes sense)

Would he find these memes amusing?

The Knight/Tarhos Kovács reacting to memes!

You were one of the few survivors who managed to bring their phone with them to the Fog. Ofcourse, it has no reception, but one thing it’s full of is memes. Memes for good times, memes for bad times. Memes to show your survivor friends around the campfire, memes to distract you from especially hard times. 

And then, there’s the memes you show the killers.

You especially like showing memes about medieval times to Tarhos. Somehow you feel like maybe he can find some rooting to them, since they talk about his time before the Fog, in a way. Memes are your language, and you want to share it with Tarhos.

That being said, Tarhos isn’t the laughing type. While you sit there, tears in your eyes and gasping for breath from laughing, he remains untouched by the memes.

First of all, that’s not how he talks. Second of all, what is a Siege Cup? And thirdly-

You know what, forget it. Seeing your joy as you get to show him what makes you laugh is enough to make his day.

And well, he has had his fair share of long nights drinking at the tavern before coming here, and some maidens’ ankles were quite exquisite… So that did put a little smile on his lips, remembering the good old days.

Not that he would ever tell you that, ofcourse!

#dead by daylight #dbd #dbd the knight #tarhos kovács #tarhos kovacs x reader

[scotianostra]

On April 1st 1571 Dumbarton Castle, under siege since January 1571, was captured by Captain Thomas Crawford scaling the walls.

This was all to do with Mary Queen of Scots, who had fled to England in 1568 after her army was defeated at Langside. There were many Royalist supporters left behind though and a civil war ensued, known as the Marian War.

Dumbarton Castle was being held by those loyal to Mary, John Fleming, 5th Lord Fleming, the Governor, he had initially crossed the Solway with the deposed Queen, but returned to take up her cause, he steadily refused to surrender it to the those loyal to the infant James VI.

Enter Thomas Crawford of Jordanhill, who had been in the service of the unfortunate Lord Darnley, and since his murder was a bitter enemy to the Queen,. Crawford with a select party of his retainers marched towards the castle after nightfall, provided with ropes and sealing ladders, among his company was a man named Robertson, who was familiar with every step upon the rock. Arriving at the castle about midnight, and being completely screened from observation by a dense fog, they commenced operations. When they looked up at the dark precipice and compared their frail means with the end proposed, the soldiers could hardly regard it but as an act of madness.

They reached the foot of the rock undetected and began scaling the slopes. The ladders were equipped with steel hooks or “craws” at their heads for wedging into the crevices of the rock and by passing the ladders up in turn and slowly advancing they hoped to reach the top of the cliff without alerting the castle guards. The first attempt failed when the ladders slipped from their perch and came crashing to the ground. If the guards had been more alert the attack could have been foiled before it had even begun, but luck was on Crawford’s side and a second attempt was made. This time the “craws” were wedged more securely and the advance party managed to reach a small ledge where a tree was growing. They quickly tied their ropes to the tree and this enabled them to haul the rest of their force up to the ledge. They were only half way up the rock at this stage however and the second stage of the climb began. It is said that during this second climb one of the soldiers was seized with a fit or convulsion whilst climbing his ladder and gripped the ladder so tightly that he could not be prised from it. With the situation so precarious that no-one could climb over him, the advance had come to a halt.

Crawford ordered the man to be tied to the ladder and the ladder was then turned around with the unfortunate soldier suspended beneath it allowing the rest of the force to climb the ladder. During the climb one man fell to his death, but the remainder reached the foot of the castle wall where three of the party climbed the wall into the castle to try and find a means of entry for the remainder.

At this point they were finally discovered by the castle guards who quickly engaged Crawford’s three men.

The castle walls were reputedly in poor repair and Crawford’s men on the outside were able to force their way through a partially collapsed section and stormed to the aid of their three comrades inside loudly shouting “A Darnley!, A Darnley!“, the battle cry of the Earl of Lennox’s followers. Some of the castle’s cannon were quickly seized and turned against the castle’s defenders, who decided that discretion was indeed the better part of valour and promptly surrendered.

In the confusion, and under cover of the mist, the castle governor Lord Fleming was able to make his escape, possibly by the Watergate of the castle where he fled, according to local tradition, by boat.

The French ambassador to Queen Mary was captured within the castle, but was released unharmed. He made his way to Edinburgh Castle where he continued to aid Mary’s cause.

The Governor’s wife, Lady Fleming, was also captured, but she was allowed to leave the castle along with her servants and possessions.

Another prominent occupant of the castle was not so fortunate. John Hamilton, the Archbishop of St Andrews, was captured in mail shirt and steel helmet, and sent to Stirling to be tried for his part in the murder of Darnley. At 6pm on 6th April 1571, three days after his capture, he was hanged beside the Mercat Cross at Stirling.

The capture of Dumbarton Castle was a major blow to those loyal to Mary and left Edinburgh as the only major stronghold still in their possession. Following his success at Dumbarton, Crawford went on to advise in the siege of Edinburgh two years later and in 1577 he was made Provost of Glasgow. In later life he retired to his family’s historical estates in Kilbirnie where he died on the third of January 1603 aged 73. He is buried in Kilbirnie churchyard within a tomb that he designed himself!

Pics are historical views of The Rock, as it is commonly knwn.

#scotland #scottish #history #seige #marian war #mary queen of scots

[idaoftheburningmind]

Dawn Greeting Dusk Falling

A reimagining of the events after ‘Siege and Storm’ and a coping mechanism for the SaB S2 ending we would rather not have…

She had kept a little of his shadow, he enough of her light. This is what made it possible, this meeting at the roiling edge of the Fold where Alina knew she would one day find herself.

Fifty years did he say? She knew it had been more, and still it surprised her as the seasons dragged on that love had endured — the love of so many, and the love of one above all. Even if she had to watch each one shrouded and laid in the ground. Each and every one.

What she means to do here now is neither a reckoning, nor a reconciliation. The moment is simply right. She looks into the shadows, and lifts her hand. The globe of light is muted, as though in a fog; but she knows he will not fail to see it.

“Alina.”

There is no rage in the way he says her name, not even a question. They are past that, she supposes.

One who was too young, and one who lived too long; they were here now, nearly unchanged but for her white hair worn unbound. He did not expect her to come sooner, he knew time well enough. He might have thought he knew her as well.

She did not destroy the Fold.

Thought dead after the collapse of the Chapel, legend had it that her spirit guided skiffs as they made each journey. For not a soul has been lost to the Fold since.

That was how she knew that he wasn’t lost. And the knowledge, when she realized it, caused her that day to weep with joy.

The two of them lived because they could not let the other die; when his humanity was burning away, she held on blindly to what remained and he … she could not name what he did, but in the end she knew he had kept her from falling into darkness.

He had kept — some essence, some hope? Light either way.

And a resolve not to lose her to the void.

What was left of him that day was drawn to the Fold, the only place where he could still exist.

A shadow among shadows.

“You might have left me with a fresh set of clothes. An eternity disheveled is its own unique torture.”

She startles with laughter, the unexpected joy at the even more unexpected attempt at humor freeing the tension in her shoulders. She lets herself smile at him, and his smile is genuine as he smiles back.

“Are you angry?” she asks.

“What is anger for?” is his reply.

Flame sputtering to life in sunlight has more purpose.

A silence heavy as the weight of loss they now share settles between them.

“I could not bear it if you turned from me now.”

He spoke the truth. It was the same truth she would always understand, no matter the centuries left to them, no matter their choices that will always hang in the balance.

She reaches for him with a tendril of shadow.

He holds out his hand in welcome.

————-

A/N: For my AU sister @becauseicantthinkwritings who has been putting up with my not-fun era for longer than she should 😅

#darklina #darklina end game #i am never writing fic again #i don’t know how you guys do this #also I’m already inconsolable #aleksander morozova x alina starkov #aleksander morovoza #alina starkov #darklina fanfiction #darklina fanfic #darklina fic #aleksander x alina #alina starkov x the darkling #alarkling #the darkling #shadow king #starless saint #the darkling x alina #general kirigan #darkling shadow and bone #netflix shadow and bone #shadow and bone season two #shadow and bone season 2 #shadow and bone #shadow and bone fanfiction #shadow and bone fanfic

[highfantasy-soul]

NATLA Episode 5 - Spirited Away (1/3)

[Masterlist of my NATLA thoughts]

An explanation of what I'm doing here and my history with ATLA.

Of course, full spoilers ahead.

<previous/next>

This episode shifts from taking several episodes from season 1 of the animated show and weaving them together to even drawing from future seasons/shows! I saw elements of The Winter Solstice: part 1, Bato of the Water Tribe, The Swamp (season 2), The Storm, Siege of the North part 2, that episode in Legend of Korra season 2 where (spoilers) she meets Iroh in the spirit world and sees the people lost in the Fog of Lost Souls, and honorable mentions to The Waterbending Scroll, The Fortuneteller, and The Great Divide. While that might seem like a lot to combine into one episode, I think the writers did well to pick and choose the thematic elements of each episode that would naturally condense into a Spirit World trip as well as add to Zuko's story.

This was a characterization-heavy episode that really let us delve deep into several characters - namely Katara, and Sokka, but also Azula. I feel like because Zuko has soooo much to delve into, he gets really impactful character moments every episode, but episode 6 is really his time to shine, so that's why I don't include him in that list and Aang is similar - he gets a lot of his backstory examined all through the season while Katara and Sokka don't get a chance for flashbacks.

The intro does a great job letting us know that some time has passed - and the Gaang is getting better at working/surviving together. Love the detail that Katara is learning waterbending by experience and observation rather than just being naturally good at coming up with her own forms: she saw earthbenders do the earth disks, so she made her own ice ones! The burned forest is pulled almost directly from the animated show and I like how they're tying it to not only the themes of responsibility, but also of forgiving yourself for past mistakes and planting seeds for the future.

I like the choice to have Sokka interacting with a young girl in the forest who was looking for her stolen brother rather than an old man just randomly showing up and asking for their help. The active choice for Sokka to turn on 'big brother mode', drop the Pipenpadalopsikous easter egg, and the group to CHOOSE to go to the village to help all on their own gave the characters a lot of agency rather than just being tugged along with the plot by other characters. Since they cut the Imprisoned storyline where the Gaang took that agency in the animated version, I like that they gave them that same agency here in the live-action. The included detail that the forest didn't burn due to a battle, but just because the Fire Nation wanted a clearer path to march through just shows how devoid of care Israel is - sorry, The Fire Nation is - for the natural world. While at war, just destroy everything in your path - even centuries old orchards - sorry, forests.

The change in camera focus as Aang senses the issues in the Spirit World was a really cool cue for the watcher - makes it very other-worldly. Live-action Aang already understands that he can interact with the spirit world rather than in the animation when the villager has to prompt him 'yeah, you can do that stuff' and Aang reluctantly and with a great deal of apprehension says 'right, that's me'. While I like how Aang has no idea what he's doing as he hasn't had anyone to teach him about the spirit world, he goes about things differently in the live-action. He still doesn't know exactly what to do, but he does know meditation, so he tries that - and it takes awhile and does it funky, bringing Katara and Sokka in with him.

It's great to see Zuko on the old-school hunt for the Avatar and being a dick to his crew - these two episodes in Zuko's POV draw heavily from The Storm and Bato of the Water tribe and it's a great dynamic to see between him and his crew. Then we jump to Azula laying on the flattery thick with her father and dropping the 'water the most promising seed' line! Again, reinforcing the theme of future growth - and it might not always be positive growth. Linking the themes to both sides is just soooooo goooddd. Love too, how Azula gives her suggestion for what to do and Ozai agrees, an inverse of when he'll be so disparaging of Zuko's suggested tactics in the next episode.

But oooooohhhh the sly dressing down he gives Azula, her conflicted and angrily embarrassed reaction, and then Ozai's little smirk as he pokes and prods in JUST the right way to get Azula pitted against Zuko - love love love what they did with the royal family in season 1. It'll give SO much more depth to Zuko and Azula's rivalry next season!! It is heartbreaking though that Azula was so clearly angling to get some sort of approval from her father - some praise for her abilities - praise that with Ozai is probably very rare. The two children are just so desperate for positive reinforcement from their father and while Azula's sly remarks are, of course, underhanded, you see that she's doing it because she's just a child desperate for approval - not that she was just 'born a monster'.

The Gaang's dynamic is so cute here!! Like in the animated version, Katara having complete faith in Aang even though she's no idea how he's gonna do it, Aang desperately trying to do something he knows he should be able to do but no idea how, and Sokka complaining that he's hungry which is distracting Aang from his super serious business. Their interactions are almost a direct pull from the Siege of the North Part I from the animated series when Katara and Yue are talking behind Aang as he's trying to enter the Spirit World at the oasis. Instead of stumbling into the Spirit World on accident as he chases after Hei Bai, in the live-action, Aang has to meditate for a long time before finally reaching the point where he can cross over. The detail of Katara continuing to practice her forms as they wait is really great as we don’t actually get to see animated Katara practicing much - it's just The Waterbending Scroll, and every other time, she just does the waterbending form perfectly. Yes, her skills improve, but we really miss her practicing.

It's an interesting choice to bring Sokka and Katara with Aang into the Spirit World - I can see how, with the themes they're looking to explore with these episodes, that's how they chose to do it. The main ideas being that you need to come to terms with the past so you can look forward to the future, and a great way to do a flashback sequence is through the Spirit World. The animated show didn't really show Aang much in the spirit world through these episodes - he just met Fang and was given the Spirit message to get to Roku's temple - but nothing else really Spirit Worldy happened. And we just left Sokka and ignored the fact he was there. I like them combining Aang's jaunt into the spirit world during the Siege of the North episodes here because I think it's a great story beat to hit, but the siege episodes are already a LOT, so adding even more with the spirit world journey to meet Koh would probably be too much.

Won Shi Tong was an amazing addition to the spirit world. Instead of a random monkey (that costs tons of money to CGI), they've created a model for a character we'll see in season 2. I don't really understand people confused about his presence here - like….y'all, he's a spirit? He can float around wherever - probably can be both here in the spirit world and the library at the same time? Idk, it just seems like an odd thing to be confused over. Like, why would an ancient spirit not be able to jump over into the spirit world while also holding down their presence in the material plane? It really felt like manufactured outrage trying to FORCE an issue that’s…not an issue at all.

#natla #avatar the last airbender #natla positivity #netflix avatar

[gizkasparadise]

webtoons im currently hooked on

my brain hasnt been able to muster the attention span for dramas lately, so i've switched to reading webtoons for the time being. wanted to share some of my current favorites so maybe some folks can fangirl about them with me /o/

i also have a list of similar dramas so if youre new to webtoons but not dramas you can kind of compare #vibes

roughly in order:

TRAPPED (ALSO KNOWN AS OLGAMI OR NOOSE)

synopsis (mild spoilers)

girl meets boy at church. girl is an ex-convict who tried to kill someone. boy is a vampire. boy blackmails the girl into hiding his dead bodies using her job as a taxi driver. boy thought he had control over the situation. he absolutely does fucking not. the most fucked up slowest of slow burns ensues as fuck-or-die might become a little too literal.

why read

omfgggggggggggggg if you like your ships dysfunction junction this one is 100% for you. the romance takes a while to kick off, with the first season being mostly thriller with some unhinged UST between the leads, but when the male lead (park yunsu, vampire murderbastard) falls he falls hard and it is messy beyond all belief because the female lead (han chae-ah, taxi driver and unwilling gravedigger) does not forgive or forget and will do whatever it takes to survive. both leads are compelling and interesting and it's such a great take on enemy lovers (and not necessarily enemies to lovers)

chae-ah: i'll kill you

yunsu: alright :) try your best :) ill be waiting :)

the side characters are all really interesting as well! especially grimm, a 60-year-old child who definitely chooses mom in the divorce

similar dramas: basically take any fei wo si cun male lead (goodbye my princess, siege in fog), give him the ability to commit supernatural murder, and then pair him with a female lead who will absolutely kill him the second she gets a chance to

MY REASON TO DIE (ALSO KNOWN AS WHAT I DECIDED TO DIE FOR)

synopsis

ji-o is a talented taekwondo student athlete on her way to the olympics before she gets an injury that stalls her progress. while on the bus to training, she crosses paths with cha gyeol, a delinquent who runs with a rough crowd and almost never comes to school. as she navigates her feelings with unexpected first love, ji-o keeps having prophetic dreams-- ones where someone dies over and over again.

why read

female gaze: the webtoon lol. ok but actually what starts out as a fairly fluffy/slice of life high school romance has a plot twist that really rocks and made want to immediately start a reread of the whole webtoon.

similar dramas: someday or one day

MAYBE MEANT TO BE

synopsis

han jia is a 32 year old unemployed freelancer living with her parents, who are getting a little desperate to have her out of the house. during the holidays, she sneaks away from her family to have a smoke in the alleyway. there, she bumps into jin mincheol, a friend from childhood who she hasn't talked to in years. and he is just kind of. eating a chicken breast there. anyways.

they talk, and mincheol shares that his mother is also pressuring him to get married. jia proposes a contract marriage, not expecting mincheol to take her up on it. he does. immediately. oh shit.

why read

omg jia's a mess and mincheol's a nerd (affectionate x2). there's something just really delightful about seeing these little weirdos work through their issues, grow, and realize that they actually fit really well together. i love them both. mincheol is just so delightfully consistent and we get to see jia begin to figure her life out. the humor is spot on as well, i've laughed out loud several times

similar dramas: because this is my first life

OTHERS I REALLY LIKE

something about us. gayoung and woojin have been friends forever. when woojin comes back to college after his military service, that begins to get shaken up. friends to lovers with really cute art and one of my favorite second leads of all time

unholy blood. hayan is a pureblood vampire OUT FOR REVENGE against other vampires. blood+ vibes in the best way (not that far into this one yet, BUT IM READY)

dreaming freedom/freedom in dreams. jeongmin is relentlessly bullied in school, and the only way she escapes is through lucid dreaming, where she imagines her life differently and also how she can get her revenge. in her dreams, she meets a manic murder yandere boy, and shit escalates from there

cheese in the trap. aaaaaaaay we know this one :'D

#webtoon #trapped #olgami #my reason to die #maybe meant to be #manhwa