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oncomingnight · 6 months

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RELEASE YOURSELF! 𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖

Yandere! Musician x reader

Elias was a part of an extremely well known and incredibly innovative band, including four other members. He is specifically known for his completely otherworldly presence on stage, with the help of his choice of clothing, thick & strongly structured fingers playing on his guitar, and the patterns of paint he'd stroked onto his face earlier backstage.

Elias was a man that had several tendencies, including the tendency to be completely obsessive, though, this only developed when he met you. He was far from being shameful when it came to his infatuation with you, he could care less if his friends attempted at poking fun at him as he takes pride in the amount of love he holds for you.

He adored partaking in physical affection with you, there was nothing more in the world he could ever need when he was next to you. He'd constantly have his hand on your thigh, caressing as well as squeezing it, holding onto your hand & swinging it along with his, placing his hand on your lower back. He cannot keep his hands to himself.

His style consists of large graphic tees and his heart squeezes at the sight of you wearing his shirt that drapes right over your body. One morning, after an entire night of him making you sweat and plead, he'd walk into the kitchen only to see you making two cups of coffee for the both of you, wearing his large washed out skull tee along with nothing but black underwear.

Elias had a variety of well sketched out tattoos on his pale skin well before he met you, though, after he developed a relationship with you, it didn't take long for him to tattoo your name on his body. He also got a tattoo portraying the both of you as cartoons, you kissing his cheek as blue birds circle his head along with red hearts, his pitch black eyes practically bulging out.

Whenever he and his band mates go on tour, he will always have you go alongside him. He'd purchase a hotel room reserved for just you and him, you'd be crazy to think he'd be able to survive without you for half a year.

Before a show, he'd always ask for a kiss on his lips, cheeks and forehead for good luck. No, he's not nervous, he just uses it as an excuse to get you to love up on him even more than you already do.

In every photo that paparazzi captures of him, you're always right beside him, one of his arms is around your waist as he places a sweet, soft kiss onto your temple. He can't help it, he has to be in physical contact with you one way or another.

Elias is an incredibly territorial and overprotective boyfriend.

Soon to be husband.

It's nothing that he'd ever apologize for, you're his sweet, beautiful baby that deserves nothing but the wonderful in life. There have been many articles written about him in the tabloids regarding him getting into physical and verbal fights because of his constant need to defend you. Though, there's no need for him to worry as its never affected his career, if anything, people admire him even more.

During interviews, journalists will attempt to get a word of regret out of him regarding his harsh and violent actions against the people who've affected you emotionally. Though, that's never what they get.

"i mean, it never fully made sense to me how when someone acts like a cunt towards me and the love of my life, the woman I love most, and I reciprocate their behavior, just harsher, suddenly I'm the worst person in the fuckin' world? Nah, that doesn't seem right."

After he met you, you're always the one to assist him in applying makeup onto his face, carefully placing pitch black contacts into his eyes and just simply providing him with emotional support with your presence.

Elias enjoys hugging you, it seems like an incredibly simple thing to find joy in, but it's far from simple to him. He loves the warmth he can provide for you with his lanky arms, and the love he feels seeping from you.

Due to his incredibly misty, intimidating, and at times eerie presence, many think that he's a rough lover when that's not the case at all. Elias is extremely gentle with you, he'd never degrade, shame or put his hands on you in a manner that was anything other than loving. Yes, even when the two of you are having sex he's the gentlest person you've ever met.

Whilst he's fingering you to the point where you can't even reply to his teasingly asked questions, he reaches out to place one of his hands onto your cheek before saying, " look at me baby, there she is, aren't you just the prettiest?" "Let's make this pretty pussy cum, okay honey? I know you can do it, just let it go, soak me, baby."

Part two will be posted Friday ₊˚ʚ₊˚✧ ﾟ. !

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arminreindl · 11 months

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Prehistoric Planet Croc Ideas

So this was a thing I did on Twitter in anticipation of Prehistoric Planet. Obviously crocs (in this case meaning crocodylomorphs) were a pretty massive part of earth's fauna during the late Cretaceous, and seeing as the first season featured NONE I came to speculate which taxa could hypothetically make an appearance. Now part of the challenge for myself was to come up with a new, interesting contender every day in anticipation of the show's release, each based around the confirmed episides we had and restricted purely to taxa from the Campanian and Maastrichtian. While it took a lot of energy, I did manage to do so. Hell, halfway through they dropped the reveal of Simosuchus, which I had saved for later.

Obviously we didn't get much still, but I'll regardless post my list of candidates and ideas here, perhaps third time's the charme for a lot of these (tho for convenience I'm still ordering them by S2s episode titles). I'll also try to break them apart roughly by biome, starting with islands. PS: I'd love to hear which crocs people would have loved to see themselves. Any on this list or stuff I didn't even mention? Let me know I'm curious.

We got a shit ton of island crocs from the Cretaceous actually, which you can broadly divide into two categories. The crocodiles of the European archipelago as seen in the top row. Featuring the small, possibly shellfish eating Acynodon (art by Adramelech89), the incredibly widespread Allodaposuchus which did have some possibly semi-terrestrial forms (art by Alejandro Blanco, Aina and Agnès Amblás) and Aprosuchus, a tiny terrestrial critter from Hateg (art by @knuppitalism-with-ue). They already give a nice diversity between tiny durophages with blunt snouts, large, more traditional crocs and lanky land species.

The other island category concerns Madagascar, which had a lot of attention in season 2. Discounting Simosuchus, we got Araripesuchus tsangatsangana (art by Scott Hartman) and Mahajangasuchus (art by Mark Hallet). Both are really cool. The former is yet another smaller terrestrial species that may not actually be part of Araripesuchus, while the later is a massive, 4 meter relative of the famous Kaprosuchus that took to the water independently from all other crocs and has been nicknamed "Hippo croc" for its weird skull. Really I'd have loved to seen an episode entirely dedicated to this place.

Next up we had the badlands episode, which oh boy has a lot of contenders from the clade Notosuchia. Brace yourself.

Here again I could split these in two categories. The first is just general badland taxa. There's Ogresuchus for example, from Spain's Tremp Formation (art by Aina and Agnès Amblás). A relatively small sebecid found in a sauropod nesting site. And we all know what PhP does with baby sauropods. Or the long-necked Gobiosuchus (art by @yoofilos) from Mongolia, which may look like its related to the other ones in this category but actually is a far more ancient type of croc.

The far bigger group concerns South America's Notosuchians. ALL OF THESE are from the Bauru Group, with some even from the same single formation. You got Stratiotosuchus (again by Joschua Knüppe), a large terrestrial baurusuchid that filled the nische of mid sized carnivore in an environment shared by sauropods and abelisaurs. There's Pissarrachampsa (by Felipe Alves Elias), another baurusuchid I decided to feature because we have evidence of a nesting site that shows they only had few eggs. A great opportunity to show their tender side. Uberabasuchus (justin_an74), part of the bizzarly proportioned peirosaurids. Adamantinasuchus (by Deverson da Silva), a small, lanky Notosuchian and of course the heavily armored omnivore Armadillosuchus (by the ever talented Júlia d'Oliveira). Hell you could do a full episode just on the foodweb of the Bauru Group (Godoy et al. 2014).

Then there's swamps, which I'll just use to dump all the crocs that don't fit into the other categories.

As you'd expect, freshwater would be ideal for crocs with a more traditional semi-aquatic lifestyle, here represented by three forms. Jiangxisuchus (image by Li et al. 2014) is a paralligatorid, which are tiny crocodilians from the Cretaceous and Paleogene of east Asia. We honestly don't know what they are, some say alligator relatives, others say they are closer to crocs. But its small and cute. Then there's Roxochampsa (artist of the model I couldn't find), which looks suspiciously crocodilian but is actually a relative of Uberabasuchus from the badlands, hell it appeared in the same formation. Still, I reasoned that I'd throw it into this category because I already proposed so much for badlands (none of which came true but hey). And then there's Denazinosuchus (art by Andrey Atuchin). Again it looks deceptively like a modern croc, but is actually the last remnant of the goniopholids, crocodyliforms that were prominent animals in the Jurassic and early Cretaceous. It could have brought both taxonomic diversity nad highlighted croc resilience till the end.

When it came to picking out crocs for Oceans, it got tricky. Obviously season 2 tried to differentiate itself by being set more in the open ocean, not the coast, and true pelagic crocodiles weren't around by the end of the Cretaceous. So I had to settle for coastal animals. There's Sabinosuchus (Schiller II et al. 2016), a cousin to Sarcosuchus and, like Denazinosuchus, one of the last of its lineage. Also its from Mexico which is rarely talked about for its fossils. Rhabdognathus (Ghedoghedo) is a distant cousin, a slender snouted dyrosaur. Unlike pholidosaurs, dyrosaurs actually did really well after the KPG impact and spread around a lot, living way into the Eocene. And finally Chenanisuchus (art by artbyjrc), which like Rhabdognathus was found both before and after the impact that killed the dinosaurs.

And the final two I shall talk about, both of which I thought/hoped would appear in the North America episode. Again, there's certainly overlap, both would have just as much fit into swamps, while many others would have also suited North America. Regardless, here's Brachychampsa (Tom Parker) and Borealosuchus (Chris Masna), both iconic animals from the Hell Creek Formation. One closely allied with alligators and caimans, the other more basal with a head-shape more similar to todays crocodiles.

Now obviously there'd have been a lot more. Part of the challenge to myself was to try and be as diverse as possible, rather than just listing 10 different baurusuchids I went with only two, tried to include as much of the world as possible, etc.... There's also the fact that some really awesome taxa, Titanochampsa, Brachiosuchus and Eurycephalosuchus, all incredibly unique or interesting, were published too late to have been considered for the show. And now, in hinsight, we obviously know that with the exception of Simosuchus none of them made it in. Which is a shame, but maybe next time.

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martellspear · 5 months

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I've been rewatching Game of Thrones with a friend who has never watched and doesn't know the material at all and I've noticed something: they refuse to acknowledge directly what happened to Elia and her children until they cannot ignore anymore.

I E7S3, Tywin says to Joffrey: "When I was Hand of the King under your father's predecessor, the skulls of all the Targaryen dragons were kept in this room. And the skull of the last of them was right here. It was the size of an apple".

And the skull of the last of them was right here. It was the size of an apple — He points at a space near the throne and I immediately thought he was talking about baby Aegon whilst my friend thought he was referring to a small dragon. Maybe it's because I know what happened and maybe it's because he was talking of an actual dragon (highly doubt it), but in a tv show were we see Lannisters being referred to as "lions" and Stars as "wolves", why wouldn't the child of the Last Dragon be called "dragon" as well?

We have rushed mentions of Rhaenys and Aegon but that's it. We know who Lyanna is, we know who Rhaegar and his father are but Elia? We don't hear her name until season 4. It's frustrating how the writers treated her - and the entirety of the dornish arc -.

I think the S4 plot would've been much more impactful if we knew who Elia was from the start, but that's just me.

#game of thrones #got #elia martell #house martell #oberyn martell #rhaenys daughter of elia #aegon son of elia #d&d anything that happens to you is simply karma

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dukeoftheblackstar · 2 days

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In my humble opinion, I think that a monster in heat loses all inhibition and any form of what is perceived as human-like restraint to not maul you to death after fucking the life out of you is mighty high.

So I was going on about Elias, right. Elias Ainsworth and his endless danger, danger thorns?

NSFW under cut. Might do an aftercare part 2 of this or try to write after I finish the manga. But for now, just thots.

Thought you guys might appreciate.

@eyecandyeoz @majo-tsukiko

Do you know how hot it would be to get fucked in his beast form — heck, even in his current skull-headed humanoid form, while he struggles to keep his own thorns from literally ripping you to shreds?

Do you know how how it looks to have his thorns wrap around his wrists, crawl and squeeze up to his forearms and bicep in seek of anything to twist around or destroy while he's squeezing the base of said thorny vines with his massive hands?

Do you know how hot it must fucking look to see himself get cuts from his own doing because he's so in heat, muscles flexing, jaw clenched with steam as he huffs, grunts, and groans in pain, pleasure, and confusion?

For the hell of it, let me just add the fact how it would be suuuuuuch a turn on to have a new vine of thorns just whip and wrap around his neck because at this point, he's fighting for survival, desire, and keeping you alive from himself?

Do you know how hot it must sound for him to hover his skull-head over your ear and just snap that jaw and instill some bit of fear-induced adrenaline ring in your ear, reminding you that at any given point he can literally crush your bones with his mouth?

And then. Okay.

And then he regains some semblance of control and keeps you pinned down with his hand cordially on your head instead of your back because he's distracted and is torn between just getting it over with so he can 'deal' with this unknown feeling of having lost control over his own body and power, do some research and shit; or pace himself to properly fuck/make love to you?

So he slows down from the unrelentingly hard, deep, erratic thrusts from struggling with the thorns while fucking you but also trying not to literally rip you in half because he's such a sweet baby?

He relaxes eventually, thorns disentangling from his own body at a pace that matches the now deep, sensual head to hilt thrust. The massive, gloved hand over your head lifts for a moment — head pats, fingers tangled in your hair as if to apologize.

He lowers himself down to rub his muzzle against your cheek, caresses your shoulder everywhere until it's just him and no thorns and it's slow and sweet and loving and doting.

And you'll know when he's close because his fingers dig deep anywhere it lands; blanket, sheet, pillow, your skin, just for a little. You see him lift his head up to the ceiling as if to chant some sort of protection spell before he goes back down and bites you your shoulder hard at the perfect time of his release, filling you to the brim and then some.

#♝#dukeoftheblackstar #elias ainsworth #post is nsf.w thots #thots #ains #Elias Ainsworth thots #the ancient magus bride #MFsUnite #i have not stopped thinking about this

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thepartyresponsible · 1 year

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today i discovered febuwhump, and idk how many of these i will write, but i wrote one for today.

so here’s a short fic about bucky and clint for the prompt “difficulty breathing.” it’s not particularly whumpy, so i’m not sure it qualifies, but we’re all doing our best out here.

if anyone has any requests for the other prompts, send them in.

- - -

They lose Bucky in Alaska, which is bullshit, because Clint warned everyone that they should’ve let him stay home. “Fucking Alaska,” he says, to no one, to the inquisitive squirrel in the tree he passed half a mile back. Alaska, so close to Russia that it used to be Russian territory, snow-infested, grizzly-riddled, bleak, brutal, cold. Alaska.

They’re here chasing down some Hydra holdout, spending their free time unofficially avenging through a hitlist Steve doesn’t like calling a hitlist. Two days ago, as Clint reviewed the general typography of the situation, studied potential sightlines, prepared a packing list of all his favorite base layers, he’d said, “Maybe Bucky stays home, huh?”

And Steve, of course, had whirled around like a scandalized meerkat, and Bucky had sulked in the corner like someone just forcefed him a wheelbarrow of rancid lemons, and Nat patted him on the shoulder and gave him a look like You’re right, and nobody cares.

And now Barnes has fucked off into the wilderness, and Clint’s going after him because the others are busy Sticky Bandit-ing their way through Home Alone Hydra’s inventive series of booby traps, and Clint, because he didn’t grow up in Brooklyn or a bunker or fucking Manhattan, is somehow the designated wilderness expert on the team.

At least he’s been spared the indignity of nearly getting obliterated by a deadfall in the woods. Tony seems to be taking that incident fairly personally.

“That’s what I’m saying about Alaska,” Clint says, to the rock he’s passing. “Everybody’s got fuck all to do up here.”

Death pits, with hand-sharpened stakes. Christ.

It’s the mountains, he thinks, and the height of the trees. The way the landscape looms and shades and suffocates. Same reason so many serial killers ooze up from the undergrowth in the Pacific Northwest, like creepy little murder mushrooms feeding on death in the dark.

Clint’s from good, wholesome country, the far west of Iowa, where the land has the grace to lie flat and let you get a good look around. Not a damn thing sneaks up on you back there. But here, in the Godforsaken Saint Elias Mountains, even the air is hard to find.

The altitude sickness kicked in about three miles back. He’s got a headache like his skull’s imploding, and he keeps reaching up to tug at his coat and the layers of shirts beneath, trying to break free from the building pressure around his throat.

He hated the stupid spindly stretched-out trees until he left them, moved from forest to tundra, and then it was like the trees kept all the air with them. “Baby, come back,” he mutters, really leaning into the stupid, dizzy way he feels, luxuriating in getting dumber the higher up he gets, because the only thing up here that’s going to kill him is Barnes, and Barnes could do that at any damn elevation he wanted.

Well, maybe there’s bears. Probably there’s bears. But he feels pretty good about his odds against most of them.

Clint tries to remember which bears are endangered. One of the other STRIKE teams got in serious shit once for annihilating a nesting pair of whooping cranes during an emergency landing in Texas, and Clint doesn’t want to end up with that kind of note in his file.

Clint Barton, Avenger, known enemy to the animals.

Anyway, he’s not overly worried about the bears. He’s carrying enough firepower to crater several of them into the side of this mountain, and he’ll lie about it later if he has to, say it was whichever type isn’t endangered.

Used to be, he never lied on a SHIELD form. Since Coulson died, it hasn’t seemed to matter.

“Shit,” he says, suddenly breathless, and he slides into a crouch, chest to knees, heart beating like he’s been feeding his lungs through a straw. He wonders about his aim, about what this dizzy lightheaded feeling will do, but he doesn’t worry about it much.

If it’s Barnes coming after him, he’s dead anyway. If it’s a bear, a centimeter or two of variance isn’t going to matter much.

“What are you doing?”

That’s Barnes, of course. Appearing outta nothing, like the ghost of failed missions past.

“Fuck’s sake,” Clint tells him. And then, half-laughing, “I’m here to rescue you.”

Barnes crouches down in front of him. He’s always a little wild-eyed when the target’s Hydra, but the desperation on him now is quite the throwback. Clint hasn’t seen that kind of fear in months. “‘Rescue me,’” he repeats. “You can’t breathe.”

Clint rolls his eyes. He can breathe just fine. “Made it this far.”

Barnes nods, slow, and then tips his head. “Yes,” he says. “How’d you find me?”

Clint scoffs. It’s a real allocation of scarce resources, that scoff, but he commits to the things that matter. “Yeah, maybe you don’t need oxygen, but supersoldiers still leave footprints.”

“Barely,” Barnes says. “And I need oxygen.”

“Barely,” Clint says, just to be an asshole.

Barnes’ stern almost-scowl breaks apart, splintering with a quickfire smile, and then he’s Bucky again.

Steve wouldn’t get it. Neither would Tony. Both of them, they’ve been remade, but never unmade.

Hydra, tundra, cold. They should’ve left Bucky at home.

“It’s not that I think you can’t handle it,” Clint says. He takes a break in the middle for a quick gasp at the useless cotton candy air. “Just maybe I kinda hate that you think you have to.”

Bucky shrugs. If the cold bothers him, he’s forgotten that he’s allowed to show it. He squints toward the skyline and then tips briefly into Clint, shoulder-to-shoulder, before he hauls him to his feet. “Then let’s go home,” he says.

They should check on the others. But, judging from the radio silence and the plume of smoke rising in the southwest, they aren’t needed.

“Yeah,” Clint says, leaning into him. “Let’s go home.”

#writing #fic

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melrosing · 1 year

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MBO Robert's Rebellion: Episode 8

have been away so this one was a bit slower but!! martells are back. you can probably tell where this season is ending now.

timeline-wise, think this is all still roughly in line with canon dates! will be skipping forward two years next (wonder what for)

Prev: Episode 1, Episode 2, Episode 3, Episode 4, Episode 5, Episode 6, Episode 7

Next: Episode 9

title for this one (like two weeks later cos I forgot): my big fat targaryen wedding idk

One year since our last nonsense!!! We open on Shipbreaker Bay, where a ship is… breaking lol. Steffon Baratheon clings to the splintered remains of the Windproud, desperately scanning the chaotic scene for his wife Cassana. Sees her drowning some feet away, and makes his way towards her only for a HUGE WAVE to crash over them both. obliterated 😔

Robert (17) and Stannis (15) at a window; Robert makes to go down there himself, but is restrained by his father’s men - he howls in grief and rage. Stannis remains stood stiffly by the window, a vague tremor about him. Cressen places a hand on his shoulder. Baby Renly howling in the background…..

....turns to baby Viserys howling in Rhaella’s arms as Aerys tries to pry him out of them. Aerys looks like shit: his nails are longer, his hair somewhat unkempt (olaplex isn't 4 him), and he seems to have aged more than the year that’s passed. Clutching a squalling Viserys, Aerys takes his son to the dragon skulls lining his throne room, naming each as they go. Viserys eventually quiets. Finally, they come to stand in the mouth of Balerion, and both father and son stare in awe as the skull appears to swallow them

Opening 💃 creds 💃

The King’s council. Aerys receives news that things have…. not gone well with Steffon Baratheon :/ He immediately looks to Tywin, who does not look back, and rather moves on to the question of Baratheon succession. Aerys interrupting like HOLD UP who is supposed to marry my son now then!! Tywin looks at him like ‘you know what I think’ but he won’t deign to put that forward again. Aerys’ council mention that the Princess of Dorne is still touring the Seven Kingdoms seeking a husband for her daughter Elia - they've been travelling a conspicuously long time, as it goes. Might they invite the Martells to KL???

Fast forward a month or two: we’re in the Martells’ carriage, with the Princess of Dorne, Oberyn and Elia. POD fusses over Elia's tiara, but Elia is feeling sceptical: she’s heard the Prince is a bit weird. Oberyn like ‘can’t be as weird as those twins at the Rock’, tries to make his sister laugh, but her nerves are high

Rhaegar and Arthur together in the library at King’s Landing, as fucking ever. They’ve been up late, and now watch the rising sun. Rhaegar notes that the woman his father hopes to betrothe him to is due to arrive today; Arthur asks if this is what he wants, and Rhaegar states that what he wants doesn’t come into it - but the sun looks like his dreams this morning

The Martells are welcomed to King’s Landing in the courtyard. Oberyn pulls a face at Elia when they see the King (and the absolute state of him), but Elia is hesitant to return it. The Queen looks equally haunted. Between them, Rhaegar: he’s beautiful, but it feels like he’s not altogether present, and Elia is uneasy. Meanwhile, a cold look from Tywin Lannister to the Princess of Dorne. The POD smiles back

A feast in the Great Hall to welcome the Martells. Aerys sits at the head of the table, watching as each dish presented to him is tasted first. The POD attempts to make conversation with her old friend Rhaella, but Rhaella does not prove receptive. The POD senses something is terribly different about Rhaella, but the Queen seems too fragile to be pushed on it. Asking if she might meet the Prince Viserys, Rhaella tells the POD her son is not permitted visitors these days

Rhaegar has not said a word to Elia all of the feast, and she looks thoroughly dejected - till Rhaegar stands, and asks her to take a walk with him. Oberyn is unimpressed by Rhaegar and not entirely subtle about it, but the POD encourages Elia to follow the Prince. Rhaegar walks with Elia about the hall, asking after her journey to the capital. Then, cutting to the chase, he tells her that he believes he’s dreamed of her - Elia is stunned. Rhaegar asks if Elia has had dreams of her own, Elia replies only the simple kind - but finds she is intrigued

Rhaegar doing his thing with the harp after the feast: Elia finding herself slightly swept up. Oberyn tries to translate some of the Valyrian lyrics as Rhaegar sings, finds they don’t make sense, but the POD only hushes him

After the feast: the Princess of Dorne goes to Rhaella’s chambers, bringing wine and hopes of a discreet chat. However, she finds Rhaella surrounded by chamber maids who won’t be dismissed. Conversation proceeds awkwardly and self-consciously, till the POD gives up

Meanwhile, Aerys in his solar; it’s late, but someone has arrived to meet him. A knock at the door, and Aerys is presented with Varys, whose work they’ve heard so much about.....

The following morning, in the Great Hall: Aerys announces a betrothal between his son and Princess Elia. Elia shy, POD proud, Tywin raging as ever, young Cersei raging right beside him… and Rhaegar, looking distant, like he expected this but something still isn’t quite right

Skip forward to the wedding itself: both Rhaegar and Elia look resplendent, as do all of their guests. When the new couple dance together, everything seems to click - but then we see Aerys sat at the head table, somehow looking worse than ever, tapping his hands erratically on the wood. His mood is only lifted when entertainment arrives in the form of two pyromancers, who have promised the assembled guests ‘dragonfire’. This comes in the form of wildfire, wrought like a nuclear firework display. The guests applaud, Aerys most vigorously

Later the same night, Rhaegar lies awake beside a sleeping Elia, staring at the ceiling. After a moment he rises, and goes to a castle by the window. Faintly, he waves his hand over the flame, and winces slightly when it burns

#sparknotes robert's rebellion #asoiaf

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telekinetictrait · 2 months

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too many links on my vatore post so i had to do it on another post :')

because there's so many under a cut

IF YOU WERE TAGGED IN THIS POST ITS BECAUSE IT WOULDNT LET ME ADD YOU IN THE MAIN ONE. SEE IT HERE.

1810s: sunivaa's noel hair - peebsplays' collins outfit / gilded-ghosts' woodhouse bonnet + heywood bun + sensibility skirt + charlotte spencer jacket + hartfield boots

1820s: thesimsblues' regency brutus hair - historicalsimslife's authoritative aristocrat outfit / the-melancholy-maiden's antoinetta set - peebsplays' riding outfit

1830s: johnnysimmer's vevesims' elias hair update - happylifesims' vincent fashion set / the-melancholy-maiden's viola hair - moon-simmers' sunlittides dainty dress recolor - dancemachinetrait's caroline flats

1840s: johnnysimmer's chris hair / buzzardly28's cecilia hair - linzlu's fancy bonnet - oydis' esther dress historian recolor

1850s: kotcatmeow's daryl hair - batsfromwesteros' mid-victorian menswear + theroyalthornoliachronicles red recolor / buzzardly28's 1860s hair 3 (oops) - linzlu's birthday bonnet - simstomaggie's vire dress

1860s: moon-simmer's mr rochester suit (oops!!) / buzzardly28's penny hair - lace-and-honey's linzlu's prairie bonnet conversion - the-melancholy-maiden's antoinetta pearl earrings - linzlu's mary louise walking dress

1870s: plumbobteasociety's elm hair - linzlu's timely coat / i don't remember what hair i used but it was DEFINITELY one of buzzardlys!! - chere-indolente's flower bonnet - dzifasims' christine day dress

1880s: wheresbella's lucifer hair / buzzardly28's bridget hair - simsverses' hat with lily - javitrulovesims' meiji komorebi dress

1890s: vintagesimstress' 1896 cutaway frock / the-melancholy-maiden's late victorian hair and hat set - vintagesimstress' 1898 bella dress

1900s: historicalsimslife's edwardian casual suit / buzzardly28's sophie hair - chere-indolente's forma dress

1910s: cyber-frog-cc's modern man set / waxesnostalgic's small mushroom rose hat - elfdor's antique necklace - gilded-ghosts morning glories set (download here) - waxesnostalgic's edwardian french heels

1920s: happylifesims' suit with robe / the-melancholy-maiden's faux bob - hezzasims' pennyroyal cloche - emmastillsims' curbs' pearl recolors - happylifesims' 1920's day dress 7

1930s: cliffirem's noah hair - moon-simmer's feliciano jacket / vroshii's more 30s curls - plumbobteasociety's fiona sweater - twentiethcenturysims' marian trousers

1940s: plumbobteasociety's elbow patch shirt - moon-simmers bernando pants / twentiethcenturysims' gloria hair - gilded-ghosts sweet suspicions sweater + sleuthhound slacks

1950s: daylifesims' alex hair - vroshii's 30's shirt and shorts / glimersims' sugar hair - bustedpixels' vintage capri set

1960s: simadelic's curtain call hair / linzlu's 1960s basics top - pants - heels (download here)

1970s: polygraphish's dul incaru blouse - ridgeport's joe pants / kamiiri's phoebe hair - huiernxoxo's roxy pants

1980s: zombietrait's smith hair (download here) - deathpoke1qa's trad tank / kamiiri's juniper hair - serenitycc's haywood top - evellsims' fleabag pants

1990s: bloodmooncc's yulin hair - trillyke's full moon sweater - jellymoo's krueger jeans - sondescent's baby-doll shoes

2000s: sondescent's baby-doll shoes / dreambot's devils advocate hair - corporeal-ish scene scribble sneaks

2010s: o0corruptedghoul0o's adam side swept hair - zeussim's lavendel top - evellsims' these things skirt / bloodmooncc's pyretta hair

2020s: simomo's isamo hair - zeussim's skull earring - sforzcc's goosebumps dress / ms-marysim's roxy hair - dreambot's cute thing top

.. AND continuing thanks to @ridgeport @kamiiri @huiernxoxo @deathpoke1qa @serenity-cc @evellsims @jellymoo @sondescent @dreambot @o0corruptedghoul0o @zeussim and finally @ms-marysims

#cc finds

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cassieuncaged · 9 months

Text

WIP Saturday

Tagged by @socially-awkward-skeleton. Thanks, Skelly!

No pressure tags: @emotionalcadaver, @poisonedtruth, @emilynightshade89, @illiana-mystery, @imwithyoutiltheendofthelinebucky, @voidika, @unholymilf, @roofgeese, @firstaidspray, @captastra, @kyber-infinitygems, @confidentandgood and whoever else would like to share!

Have a snippet from the first chapter of the Grave Bound Redux.

Book One: The Folly of War

Chapter 1

The razor buzzed with menace as the metal teeth scraped at the back of his neck. Another tuft of thick hair fell to the ground, mirroring the men in the chairs to either side. Elias cringed, eyes closed as the trimming continued.

“Stop wincing, Nancy.” the army man grunted, continuing to shave the shaggy mop until the private was left a jarhead. “Hair’s too fucking long, anyways.”

Tears were held back as it felt like an entire identity was being swallowed by the painful uniformity of the military. He wasn’t an individual anymore but a cog in a brutal machine. It didn’t help that he’d been served divorce papers a day earlier. A punch to the gut in spite of being expected. Elias supposed he hoped that Jeannie would give up the LSD and sleazy Los Angeles parties for him.

Apparently that was incorrect.

Then he had the choice between jail time or joining the fight in Vietnam. He should’ve just done the seven years instead of risking his life for God knew how long. The man to his left looked to be no older than eighteen, stony face still chubby with baby fat. Pink lips quivered as the kid attempted to stay strong. They all knew there was a good chance they were being shipped out to their graves from Fort Ord.

“You’re done, private.” The man exclaimed before pushing him up onto booted feet. Elias felt naked as he left the tent before falling into line with the rest of the men. A mob of army greens, he walked in a trance amongst hopeful soldiers ready to serve.

They shipped out at sunrise, taking a chopper to base camp at Cu Chi.

His gut churned as he wondered how long he’d last. A day? A month? An entire year? That was if he could keep himself alive that long.

Tomorrow they flew out to Vietnam. 25th Infantry.

Manhood felt as though it was delayed until this moment, being thrown into the jaws of a raging war. Even the leader of the free world cared a little about the men that were dying. He’d become another statistic and no one would think a thing about it.

“You excited, Grodin?” Doyle, another private, clapped him on the shoulder. The kid was all but twenty years old and green as summer grass. Scrawny with the bristle of chestnut hair decorating his skull, it became apparent that he was ecstatic to be shipped into the thick of it. Ready to wield a an AK-47 and pick off those commie bastards.

It was surprising how many people actually felt that way.

“Delighted.” He added flatly, pulling a pack of cigarettes from one pocket. One was offered to Doyle who gladly accepted. “Ready to start my tour and get it over with.”

“Aren’t you ready to do your part? Do your duty for Uncle Sam?” The kid rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, unprepared for someone so unimpressed with the reality of war. Afterall, it did feel rather treasonous not to support one’s country.

Elias didn’t care.

“Guess I’m doing it now, private.” A plume of smoke expelled from wide lips as he headed back to the barracks.

#wip whenever #wip #snippets #tw: war

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lovelyladyabsinthewrites · 2 years

Text

Promises

Pairing(s): Oberyn Martell x Targaryen!Reader, Oberyn Martell x Ellaria Sand, Rhaegar Targaryen x Elia Martell, Rhaegar Targaryen x Lyanna Stark

Warnings: mentions of Elia's r@p3, mentions of child death, PTSD, trauma, niece reader

Words: 2535

Summary: Having witnessed the brutal murder of your family, your uncle Oberyn is the only one to fend off your nightmares and the only one you could ever feel an attachment to.

Like any other night, you woke up with sweat dripping down your body and soaking into your bedsheets. You felt stuck between your world of sleep and the real world which you had thrusted yourself back into. A jolted mind made the shadows in your chambers writhe like the bodies of your mother, sister and baby brother. Worst of all, in the looming corner looked like the form of Gregor Clegane, the man whom people fearfully called the Mountain. A mountain he was indeed and you felt powerless even if you knew he wasn’t actually there.

You shook uncontrollably, tears rolling down your face as you were forced to experience the worst night of your life over and over again. It was enough to make any person go insane. The screams of your mother Elia, the sickening crushing sound of Aegon’s skull. . . You could even smell the blood.

You covered your nose and mouth, rocking back and forth in your bed as you fought the sob.

It was just a dream. Just a dream.

But it wasn’t. It was a cruel memory and a reminder of why you were now living in Sunspear with your mother’s family. Your’s had been taken from you.

Thankfully you had someone constantly watching over you, at the ready to calm you. Your uncle Oberyn Martell. You didn’t know how he was always seconds away after you’d wake up from your nightmare, but there he was storming into your room. Bare chested and long black hair tousled from sleep and having abruptly woken up.

He was slightly out of breath, hastily lighting a candle to illuminate your room and scare off the shadows.

“I-I’m sorry.” voice muffled against your hand, it was the only thing you could do to hide the quivering of your voice. Every time, you were embarrassed. After all you were already a young lady at the sweet age of ten and six. You shouldn’t require the comfort of your uncle to calm you down like a fussy infant.

“Sssh, do not apologize.” You couldn’t refuse his gentle tone and safe embrace. He was all you had left of your mother and vice versa. Oberyn approached your bed and you slid to make room for him. Easily, Oberyn takes the spot next to you and gathers your trembling body in his muscled arms. “I am here, (y/n). I won’t ever leave your side. No one will hurt you as long as I’m alive. I promise.”

The kiss he gifts you on the crown of your head was enough to dry your eyes. You trusted him. Trusted him more than anyone in the entire world. His promise was good as gold.

You clung to him tightly. The memories of that night haunted you and you knew they would never go away. It was too terrible to ever erase no matter how hard you tried. Something you and Oberyn had in common. He was the one who had found you locked in your mother’s chest that was at the edge of her bed; wide eyed and traumatized. The things you had heard and witnessed from the lock’s keyhole prevented you from sleeping the following weeks after your rescue. A rescue that you had given up on after hours of being cooped up in there. That was until you heard your beloved uncle’s voice. When you heard him you cried out loud and banged your little fists against the wood walls of the box. Your body had been missing when Tywin had presented your family’s bodies to Robert Baratheon, the new ruler of the Seven Kingdoms.

The question was immediate: where was the first born daughter of Rhaegar and Elia?

You remembered Gregor Clegane roaring as he raped your mother “Where is the other girl?!” Elia refused to tell him, despite her horrendous screams that had made you sick to your stomach. In the end, Gregor gave up and crushed her skull like he did to your newborn brother Aegon.

If you had wept during their murders you knew your fate would have been the same. So you quieted every bit of heart break that you experienced.

Burrowing your face into Oberyn’s chest, you take a deep breath to calm down your heart. He was your lifeboat. Your anchor. Patience wasn’t usually part of Oberyn’s personality. For you though, he would be whatever you needed him to be. He was patient and gentle with you always with his words; even when he lovingly cradled your face in his battleworn hands. The same gesture he offered you when he opened the chest you had been hiding in. Even though you were covered in your own vomit and urine, Oberyn held you close to him and refused to hand you off to anyone else.

“Has the storm ended?” He whispers against your dark hair which you had inherited from your mother.

Sniffling, you nod. “It’s over. . . I’m sorry.”

He chuckles softly. “I told you not to apologize. It’s not needed. I told you, I will always be right by your side.”

You lift your head up a little to wipe your eyes. “It’s been eleven years. You’d think it would have stopped by now.”

“Eleven years or twenty years, it does not matter to me. No matter how many years, you will always have me.” The pad of his thumb helps to dry your cheeks. “No one expects you to ever forget about what has happened. There is no shame in grief, (y/n).”

Oberyn always knew how to make you feel better. Like he could read your soul and had the remedy at the ready.

He doesn’t leave when he knows you’re fine. Instead he continues to hug you tightly, the both of you returning to a sweeter slumber. Your dreams were always filled with pleasant scenes when Oberyn slept beside you. Even in sleep he protected you.

Despite having been rushed to Dorne the moment your uncle found you, Robert Baratheon still viewed you as a threat just because you were half-Targaryen. The last surviving child of Rhaegar. He had kicked up a storm when your body wasn’t among your murdered family. You had been five at the time of Robert’s Rebellion and even now meant him no harm, but he still desired your head. It had caused a massive rift between Westeros and Dorne, nearly leading to another war. Righteous Eddard Stark of Winterfell was the one to stop any more bloodshed. A close friend of the new king, he talked some sense into Robert. There were to be conditions: you could never set foot in Westeros and no Westerosi lord was allowed to take you as a bride.

That was all fine by you. You had absolutely no desire to go back there, the land where your loved ones had been annihilated. You were content to spend the rest of your life at Sunspear, out of harm’s way.

Matters were different for Oberyn. He wanted revenge. Every time he looked upon you, he was reminded of his sister’s rape and Rhaegar’s callous betrayal. Years could not heal the wound that your father had caused. All this sorrow was because of the affair he had with Lyanna Stark. If you could renounce your Targaryen blood, you would have. To be part Targaryen would forever be a stain on you. Nothing good ever came from the Targaryen name. You couldn’t change it as much as you wanted to. Inheriting Rhaegar’s lilac eyes made bile rise in you yet there was no hiding that part of you.

It caused a lot of self-hate to develop in you at a young age and no matter the praise everyone around you gave, you would always hate looking in the mirror just to be reminded of the man who abandoned you. As she had died, your little sister Rhaenys had cried out for Rhaegar, for her father to come save her.

Much to your shame, at the age of ten Oberyn had found you with a dagger about to pierce one of your eyes. You had hated them that much that you couldn’t stand it anymore. Oberyn had easily wrestled it out of your small hand and you witnessed the big man break down. You had made your own promise to him, that you would never try such a stunt again.

Understandably you were a melancholic child growing up. You stuck close to Oberyn, lost and fearful of everything. Any man that resembled the Mountain made you break down crying. Doran, while as understanding as he could be, didn’t know what to do with you. He saw you as getting in the way of Oberyn’s duties. Oberyn wouldn’t hear any of it. He offered you time, patience, and unconditional love that helped you greatly in your recovery. While it meant he was restricted in his social outings, he made it a point to carry you around with whatever task he needed to do. And when he would have to venture to the more unsavory areas in Dorne, it was his lover Ellaria Sand who would watch over you. While you didn’t trust her as much as you did your uncle, Ellaria was sweet with you and sympathetic to your trauma. One of Oberyn's young daughters, Tyene, who was around your age helped in breaking you out of your shell. Her mother having been a septa, Tyene had much of her compassion and empathy. She was able to sense when you were about to break. When times like that happened, Tyene would pull you aside and have you recite a prayer from the Seven Pointed Star. You had lost your faith in the gods long ago, but reciting from the book along with Tyene somehow soothed you. Being the same age, you revered Tyene as an older sister even if she was technically your cousin.

Much like Ellaria and her father, she protected your wellbeing to ensure that your mental recovery was steadily coming along. Certain incidents that involved Arianne set you back. Having witnessed the rape of your mother had put you off of any sexual activity; something in which both Tyene and Arianne partook in. You knew Arianne had just been trying to help you when she learned you were still quite the virgin at the age of fifteen. She had you tag along during one of their rendevouz with potential sexual partners. When your 'partner' put his hand on your knee you had immediately freaked out. Tyene took you back home much to your embarrassment. A part of you knew that Arianne never looked at you the same again.

You didn't want to be around men. Even if they looked nothing like Gregor Clegane, you feared the strength men naturally possessed. They could crush your skull without a moment's hesitation. The only men you could tolerate being around were your uncles Oberyn and Doran. Which Oberyn didn't mind too much. It proved that he was special to you, not just any other man.

It put extra stress on your uncle Doran though as it made finding you a suitor even more difficult. Not only would a potential suitor have to get past your walls, but would also have to face off with Oberyn. Being of a fragile constitution, Oberyn was incredibly protective of you and took it upon himself to be your personal knight in shining armor. Any man that wanted to get close to you had to receive Oberyn's approval, which he never gave to anyone much to Doran's frustration. He had lamented that at that point you would never get married. When he had said that you had partially joked that the only suitable man you would ever dream of marrying was Oberyn. You had meant it as a joke but you knew it was your secret truth.

Doran didn't think it was very funny, worried that the Targaryen trait of incestuous relationships would arise within you. The brothers would often butt heads about your future.

If you never married you were fine with that. Oberyn had promised to be by your side for as long as he lived. You didn't need any other man in your life except for him.

"What if Doran forces me to marry someone?" You asked Oberyn the next day as he took a break from training with Obara. Your older cousin twirled her weapon around, her stern expression permanent on her brutal face.

"He wouldn't dare do that." Oberyn replies watching as other men joined in the sparring ring with Obara. He lounged next to you in his seat, refusing the water that was offered to him and instead reached for the goblet of wine that he really wanted. Tied back in a ponytail, his hair moved slightly along with the calming breeze that offered respite from the blazing sun.

You stare at the tiled table that your hands rested on. "He's Prince of Dorne though. He can do whatever he wants."

That caught his attention, dark eyes narrowing at the idea that his older brother would dare do something like that. Placing his cup down, Oberyn sighed. "He knows better than to follow through with such an idiotic plan. He can't even marry off his own headstrong daughter, he can't possibly think he could wrestle you from my grasp. If he insists upon it then I will just bring up the fact that if anyone needs to be married off it's Arianne." You noticed his fist clenching, knuckles straining against his skin. "Doran knows better than to take you from me. He tried it before, he won't do it again."

You regretted being the source of contempt between your uncles but you felt so grateful for Oberyn. A small smile from you was enough to make Oberyn relax his fist and return with his own charming grin. "You really do spoil me."

He laughs loudly. "Elia wouldn't have had it any other way. I'm pretty sure she would come after me from the dead if I didn't take care of you. Your place will always be in my arms."

A coy blush makes your already warm cheeks burn slightly. "Is that another promise?"

Oberyn reaches into a hidden pocket that was in his vest. "Here is a testiment to my promise." In his palm was a golden ring in the shape of a coiling serpent. Small glittering rubies were in the place of its eyes. He beckons you to give him your hand. Initially you offer him your right but he shakes his head. "No, the other one."

Your heart flutters a bit when he places the ring on your left hand, slipping it easily on the digit next to your pinky. Of course it fit perfectly. You grinned, holding up your hand to watch it shine. "It's like a wedding band! You better be careful with such tokens, Doran is already worried about our relationship being misconstrued."

"Who cares what he thinks." Oberyn scoffs and leans back in his chair, watching you with a pleasant smile. "As long as it makes you happy I don't care what Doran thinks. Whatever it takes, I want to keep that smile on your face."

#fanfiction #fanfic #please read with discretion #x reader #got fanfiction #got fanfic #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones #asoiaf fanfiction #asoiaf fandom #oberyn martell #oberyn martell x reader #oberyn martell reader insert #oberyn martell fanfiction #reader insert #oberyn martell x ellaria sand #oberyn martell x you

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infinitestalia · 1 year

Note

For all the people claiming that the whole R/L thing happened with Elia's consent, what does she gain from this affair? She has already given the crown a son, a Targaryen looking, half Dornish heir, and a daughter too besides, to make further political alliances. She did that even at the risk to her health. If Elia had been in on the plan, she would've never allowed Rhaegar to grant her and Dorne the humiliation of crowning Lyanna the queen of love and beauty (1)

Exactly. That dry, split end having SLAG Rhaegar and his so called love story only brought her the most excruciating suffering and humiliation, from Harrenhal to the moment Gregor Clegane (knighted by saint Rhaegar himself. Hmm. Wonder what that's supposed to tell us) smashed her skull in, with baby Aegon's brains on his hands. Everything that happened to her, happened because of the R+L relationship. Pretending she blithely supported her own ruin and murder, risking her children's lives and claims, so her loser husband could impregnate a noblewoman and said noblewoman could escape her own political marriage by destroying Elia's, won't change that. My poor girl.

#anonymous #elia Martell #anti rhaegar targaryen #anti rhaegar x lyanna #she didn't support that nasty ass relationship and the fact that you can only stomach it if she did ...#robert's rebellion

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istumpysk · 1 year

Text

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

ADWD: Tyrion IV (Chapter 14)

I hate this book, and I hate this chapter, and I hate this character.

A full moon floated above the mast. It is following me downriver, watching me like some great eye. Despite the warmth of the musty skins that covered him, a shiver went through the little man.

Don't worry Tyrion, she's blind.

+.+.+

I need a cup of wine. A dozen cups of wine. But the moon would blink before that whoreson Griff let him quench his thirst.

[...]

"I would kill for a cup of wine," muttered Tyrion.

Griff made no reply. You will die before you drink, his pale eyes seemed to say. Tyrion had drunk himself blind his first night on the Shy Maid. The next day he awoke with dragons fighting in his skull. Griff took one look at him retching over the side of the poleboat, and said, "You are done with drink."

Update: Tyrion is still an alcoholic.

+.+.+

"Good morrow, Hugor." Septa Lemore had emerged in her white robes, cinched at the waist with a woven belt of seven colors. Her hair flowed loose about her shoulders. "How did you sleep?"

"Fitfully, good lady. I dreamed of you again." A waking dream. He could not sleep, so he had eased a hand between his legs and imagined the septa atop him, breasts bouncing.

Ugh.

+.+.+

Laughing, the septa walked to the prow of the boat. It was her custom to bathe in the river every morning. "Plainly, this boat was not named for you," Tyrion called as she disrobed.

"The Mother and the Father made us in their image, Hugor. We should glory in our bodies, for they are the work of gods."

The gods must have been drunk when they got to me. The dwarf watched Lemore slip into the water. The sight always made him hard. There was something wonderfully wicked about the thought of peeling the septa out of those chaste white robes and spreading her legs. Innocence despoiled, he thought … though Lemore was not near as innocent as she appeared. She had stretch marks on her belly that could only have come from childbirth.

[...]

When Lemore climbed back onto the deck, Tyrion savored the sight of water trickling between her breasts, her smooth skin glowing golden in the morning light. She was past forty, more handsome than pretty, but still easy on the eye.

[...]

Like everyone else aboard the Shy Maid, she had her secrets. She was welcome to them. I do not want to know her, I only want to fuck her. She knew it too. As she hung her septa's crystal about her neck, to nestle in the cleft between her breasts, she teased him with a smile.

Tyrion watched her closely. He had sniffed out the truth beneath the dyed blue hair of Griff and Young Griff easily enough, and Yandry and Ysilla seemed to be no more than they claimed to be, whilst Duck was somewhat less. Lemore, though … Who is she, really? Why is she here? Not for gold, I'd judge. What is this prince to her? Was she ever a true septa? - Tyrion VI, ADWD

Welcome to the Septa Lemore Mysteries.

Who is Septa Lemore? Turns out I have to do investigative work every god damn Tyrion chapter.

Once again, I'm going to keep my mouth shut as best I can, and let you decide. Apologies if I missed any evidence.

ASHARA DAYNE

Supporting evidence

Ashara Dayne's body was never found.

She was a lady-in-waiting for Elia Martell, and would be a good candidate to help raise Aegon.

Septa Lemore has had a child. It's rumored Ashara Dayne had a stillborn child. Many have also speculated there was a baby swap, and it was her child that was lost during the sack of King's Landing.

Septa Lemore is comfortable with nudity. You might expect a similar attitude from a Dornish woman.

Ashara Dayne would be a follower of the Faith of the Seven.

Ashara Dayne had dark hair. Septa Lemore has brown hair.

Septa Lemore's hair "flowed loose about her shoulders." We get a similar description about Ashara Dayne's hair.

Ser Barristan could still recall Ashara's smile, the sound of her laughter. He had only to close his eyes to see her, with her long dark hair tumbling about her shoulders and those haunting purple eyes. - The Kingbreaker, ADWD

Counterevidence

Jon Connington knew Ashara Dayne. He danced with her at the Tourney of Harrenhal. We have Connington's internal monologue, and there's never any indication that he knows who this woman truly is.

Tyrion, who has commented on the eye colour of Aegon's entire crew, has never remarked on the colour of Lemore's eyes. That's a little strange if this woman has hauntingly violet eyes.

Tyrion states Septa Lemore is more handsome than pretty. Maybe not a description you'd expect for a beautiful woman like Ashara Dayne.

According to Tyrion, Septa Lemore is past forty. That's a little too old for Ashara Dayne. [Counterpoint: He's not great with ages.]

It's not clear why Jon Connington and Ashara Dayne would continue to hide her identity once Aegon arrives in Westeros and declares himself king.

Many people believe Tyrion would be able to deduce it's the rather infamous Lady Dayne, like he did with Jon Connington.

If this is Ashara Dayne, Elia's lady-in-waiting is trying to crown Elia's son. Elia's brothers were trying to crown Viserys, and now Daenerys. It's odd these people aren't on the same page, and are working towards two different goals. If Quentyn or Arianne successfully married Daenerys or Viserys in secret, this could have been a disaster. [Counterpoint: Team Dorne not being on the same page is typical Dorne, lol.]

SERRA (second wife of Illyrio Mopatis)

Supporting evidence

If this is Serra, the implication is that Aegon is her son. The name Serra is similar to Shiera Seastar, the last of the Great Bastards of Aegon IV, and daughter of Lady Serenei of Lys. It's theorized that Serra, born in Lys, is a descendent of these women.

It's Tyrion who assumed Serra was dead. Illyrio goes along with that assumption. Illyrio is known to be quite the liar, and some believe this exchange is a red flag.

"How did she die?" Tyrion knew that she was dead; no man spoke so fondly of a woman who had abandoned him. - Tyrion II, ADWD

According to Illyrio, Serra died of greyscale. The mortal form of greyscale is said to affect the extremities (hands, feet) first. It's incredibly bizarre that Illyrio would want to own his late wife's stone diseased hands in remembrance.

Serra used to work in a pleasure house. Septa Lemore is comfortable with nudity, and doesn't appear to be disgusted by Tyrion's sexual advances. That's something you might expect from a former sex worker.

Jon Connington doesn't appear to know the real identity of this woman. If Serra was the real mother of Aegon, that would have to be the case.

At one point we're told whores in Lys can pull off the (Rhaegar) Targaryen look.

Aurane did not resemble Prince Rhaegar as much as she had thought. He has the hair, but so do half the whores in Lys, if the tales are true. - Cersei VIII, AFFC

At one point Tyrion remarks that Lemore looks like the wife of a prosperous merchant. Illyrio is a prosperous merchant.

Lemore had changed out of her septa's robes into garb more befitting the wife or daughter of a prosperous merchant. - Tyrion VI, ADWD

There's a passage in Fire & Blood that could be pointing to this situation. Rhaena Targaryen contemplates disguising herself as a septa, but believes she'd be unable to hide her blue dragon Dreamfyre. Disguising herself, Serra could have dyed her hair, garbed herself in robes of a septa, and hid her blue-eyed blue-haired Blackfyre dragon.

No such escape was possible for Rhaena Targaryen herself. Though she could change her name, dye her hair, and garb herself in a tavern wench's roughspun or the robes of a septa, there was no disguising her dragon. Dreamfyre was a slender, pale blue she-dragon with silvery markings who has already produced two cluthces of eggs, and Rhaena had been riding her since the age of twelve. - Fire & Blood

Counterevidence

Tyrion has seen a painted likeness of Serra, and never makes the connection. That is unlike Tyrion.

Illyrio thrust his right hand up his left sleeve and drew out a silver locket. Inside was a painted likeness of a woman with big blue eyes and pale golden hair streaked by silver. - Tyrion II, ADWD

Tyrion could have been correct when he surmised that Serra was dead. Illyrio doesn't have to be lying.

Septa Lemore has brown hair, Serra had pale golden hair streaked with silver. [Counterpoint: dye.]

Serra has blue eyes. If it's fair to say Tyrion should be commenting on Ashara's violet eyes, I don't know why the same wouldn't be applied to Serra's blue eyes.

A girl from Lys, who spent a good chunk of her life in Pentos, might struggle when pretending to be a devout follower of the Faith of the Seven.

It's difficult for me to believe Haldon, Aegon, and Jon Connington haven't observed behaviour that indicates this woman is his mother.

Knowing how DNA works in ASoIaF, it's difficult for me to believe Tyrion wouldn't observe physical similarities between Aegon and Septa Lemore. Most notably their blue eyes.

TYENE SAND'S MOTHER

Supporting evidence

Tyene is the bastard daughter of a septa and Oberyn Martell. Septa Lemore is a septa.

You'd expect Tyene's mother to be past forty.

Despite being pious and appearing innocent, Tyene has a bit of a naughty disposition. The same might be said of Septa Lemore.

Counterevidence

Why?

Why is Tyene Sand's mother with Aegon? Why is Tyene Sand's mother hiding her identity? Why is Tyene Sand's mother not communicating with her daughter or Oberyn or literally anyone in Dorne about Aegon?

It's not like she's missing or anything, Arianne and Tyene have visited her in the Reach.

Arianne Martell had crossed the Mander once, when she had gone with three of the Sand Snakes to visit Tyene's mother. - The Queenmaker, AFFC

LYANNA STARK

No.

WENDA THE WHITE FAWN

I know I said I'd be unbiased, but I'm tired and annoyed. I can't be bothered to seriously consider this. Here's Kelsey L. Hayes's theory.

MALORA HIGHTOWER (THE MAD MAID)

Supporting evidence

The ages might work, and we don't have any description of Malora, so I guess anything goes.

Malora and Lemore are kind of similar words.

Septa Lemore is a septa. Malora was born in Oldtown. The Starry Sept is in Oldtown.

Mad Maid (Malora's nickname) and Shy Maid (the boat they travel on).

Lynesse Hightower looks like Daenerys. Maybe Malora looks like Daenerys, and made a kid that looks like Daenerys. [Counterpoint: She's a maid? The mad maid.]

Leyton Hightower might have a magic candle, and maybe he sent his daughter away to help raise this kid. We can't be sure she's actually in Oldtown.

Counterevidence

Seriously?

I'm so over this. I'm not doing another one.

+.+.+

The early morning was the best time for seeing turtles. During the day they would swim down deep, or hide in cuts along the banks, but when the sun was newly risen they came to the surface. Some liked to swim beside the boat. Tyrion had glimpsed a dozen different sorts: large turtles and small ones, flatbacks and red-ears, softshells and bonesnappers, brown turtles, green turtles, black turtles, clawed turtles and horned turtles, turtles whose ridged and patterned shells were covered with whorls of gold and jade and cream. Some were so large they could have borne a man upon their backs. Yandry swore the Rhoynar princes used to ride them across the river.

Turtles are all over this chapter. If they're meant to symbolize something, I missed it.

+.+.+

"I like to watch the sun come up as well." It was like watching a maiden rising naked from her bath. Some might be prettier than others, but every one was full of promise. "The turtles have their charms, I will allow. Nothing delights me so much as the sight of a nice pair of shapely … shells."

Septa Lemore laughed.

Ha ha, he's so funny when he's joking about a septa's breasts.

Any time Tyrion has gross maiden thoughts, you feel like Sansa's shadow is clouding the text.

+.+.+

The lad was shorter than Duck, but his lanky build suggested that he had not yet come into his full growth. This beardless boy could have any maiden in the Seven Kingdoms, blue hair or no. Those eyes of his would melt them. Like his sire, Young Griff had blue eyes, but where the father's eyes were pale, the son's were dark. By lamplight they turned black, and in the light of dusk they seemed purple. His eyelashes were as long as any woman's.

Conflicting eye reports. Tyrion believes Young Griff's eyes are blue, Jon Connington thinks they're purple.

His silvery hair was blowing in the wind, and his eyes were a deep purple, darker than this boy's. - The Griffin Reborn, ADWD

Is the author purposely trying to make this confusing? Of course.

I can't tell you which man is correct, but what I can tell you is that Dunk originally thought Egg's (Aegon V) eyes were blue, but later realized they were Valyrian purple.

"Can I have a sword to run them off with?" Egg asked. He had blue eyes, Dunk saw, very dark, almost purple. - The Hedge Knight

↓

A look was all the answer that he got. Egg had big eyes, and somehow his shaven head made them look even larger. In the dimness of the lamplit cellar they looked black, but in better light their true color could be seen: deep and dark and purple. Valyrian eyes, thought Dunk. - The Sworn Sword

+.+.+

"You do not know the river, Yollo. A pirate boat may lurk up any stream, and escaped slaves oft hide amongst the ruins. The slave-catchers seldom come so far north."

See, I told you she won't go further north than the Trident. Lol

+.+.+

"Slave-catchers would be a welcome change from turtles." Not being an escaped slave, Tyrion need not fear being caught.

You'll never guess who catches Tyrion.

+.+.+

When the bacon was gone, Duck punched Young Griff in the shoulder. "Time to raise some bruises. Swords today, I think."

"Swords?" Young Griff grinned. "Swords will be sweet."

[...]

When they fought with mace or blunted longaxe, Ser Rolly's greater size and strength would quickly overwhelm his charge; with swords the contests were more even.

I'm including this in case it's foreshadowing.

+.+.+

That night at supper Tyrion surprised his sire by walking the length of the high table on his hands. Lord Tywin was not pleased. "The gods made you a dwarf. Must you be a fool as well? You were born a lion, not a monkey."

If he keeps doing it, I'm going to keep pointing it out.

+.+.+

Dressed as he was, he made a comic sight. His doublet was divided down the middle; the left side was purple velvet with bronze studs; the right, yellow wool embroidered in green floral patterns. His breeches were similarly split; the right leg was solid green, the left leg striped in red and white. One of Illyrio's chests had been packed with a child's clothing, musty but well made. Septa Lemore had slit each garment apart, then sewn them back together, joining half of this to half of that to fashion a crude motley.

This is considered fAegon evidence.

Illyrio has packed a chest full of child's clothing. Many assume he's being sentimental, and that clothing once belonged to Aegon.

+.+.+

His other duty was anything but foolish. Duck has his sword, I my quill and parchment. Griff had commanded him to set down all he knew of dragonlore.

Tyrion had read much and more of dragons through the years. The greater part of those accounts were idle tales and could not be relied on, and the books that Illyrio had provided them were not the ones he might have wished for. What he really wanted was the complete text of The Fires of the Freehold, Galendro's history of Valyria. No complete copy was known to Westeros, however; even the Citadel's lacked twenty-seven scrolls. They must have a library in Old Volantis, surely. I may find a better copy there, if I can find a way inside the Black Walls to the city's heart.

He was less hopeful concerning Septon Barth's Dragons, Wyrms, and Wyverns: Their Unnatural History. Barth had been a blacksmith's son who rose to be King's Hand during the reign of Jaehaerys the Conciliator. His enemies always claimed he was more sorcerer than septon. Baelor the Blessed had ordered all Barth's writings destroyed when he came to the Iron Throne. Ten years ago, Tyrion had read a fragment of Unnatural History that had eluded the Blessed Baelor, but he doubted that any of Barth's work had found its way across the narrow sea. And of course there was even less chance of his coming on the fragmentary, anonymous, blood-soaked tome sometimes called Blood and Fire and sometimes The Death of Dragons, the only surviving copy of which was supposedly hidden away in a locked vault beneath the Citadel.

I think a lot of this is noise. It's the last book that's important, and I'm almost positive it's the same book that Samwell is travelling with, despite the titles not perfectly matching.

The book appeared undamaged. Maester Thomax's Dragonkin, Being a History of House Targaryen from Exile to Apotheosis, with a Consideration of the Life and Death of Dragons had not been so fortunate. - Samwell I, AFFC

Also,

hidden away in a locked vault beneath the Citadel.

Jaqen wanted a key that can open any lock in the Citadel.

+.+.+

"You need a bee up your nose to speak Ghiscari properly," Tyrion complained. Young Griff laughed, but the Halfmaester only said, "Again." The boy obeyed, though he rolled his eyes along with his zzzs this time. He has a better ear than me, Tyrion was forced to admit, though I'll wager my tongue is still more nimble.

Don't start.

+.+.+

By the time they turned to history, Young Griff was growing restive. "We were discussing the history of Volantis," Haldon said to him. "Can you tell Yollo the difference between a tiger and an elephant?"

"Volantis is the oldest of the Nine Free Cities, first daughter of Valyria," the lad replied, in a bored tone. "After the Doom it pleased the Volantenes to consider themselves the heirs of the Freehold and rightful rulers of the world, but they were divided as to how dominion might best be achieved. The Old Blood favored the sword, while the merchants and moneylenders advocated trade. As they contended for rule of the city, the factions became known as the tigers and elephants, respectively.

"The tigers held sway for almost a century after the Doom of Valyria. For a time they were successful. A Volantene fleet took Lys and a Volantene army captured Myr, and for two generations all three cities were ruled from within the Black Walls. That ended when the tigers tried to swallow Tyrosh. Pentos came into the war on the Tyroshi side, along with the Westerosi Storm King. Braavos provided a Lyseni exile with a hundred warships, Aegon Targaryen flew forth from Dragonstone on the Black Dread, and Myr and Lys rose up in rebellion. The war left the Disputed Lands a waste, and freed Lys and Myr from the yoke. The tigers suffered other defeats as well. The fleet they sent to reclaim Valyria vanished in the Smoking Sea. Qohor and Norvos broke their power on the Rhoyne when the fire galleys fought on Dagger Lake. Out of the east came the Dothraki, driving smallfolk from their hovels and nobles from their estates, until only grass and ruins remained from the forest of Qohor to the headwaters of the Selhoru. After a century of war, Volantis found herself broken, bankrupt, and depopulated. It was then that the elephants rose up. They have held sway ever since. Some years the tigers elect a triarch, and some years they do not, but never more than one, so the elephants have ruled the city for three hundred years."

Is Daenerys a tiger?

That's my only comment. I'm done.

+.+.+

"Illyrio does not play cyvasse."

No, thought the dwarf, he plays the game of thrones, and you and Griff and Duck are only pieces, to be moved where he will and sacrificed at need, just as he sacrificed Viserys. "The blame must fall on you, then. If I play badly, it is your doing."

The brains of Aegon's operation is about to play a game of cyvasse against the brains of Daenerys's operation.

I'm sure you can guess who wins. Try to keep your eyes from rolling too far back.

+.+.+

Haldon removed the screen. Each of them contemplated the other's opening array. "You are learning," the Halfmaester said.

Tyrion almost grabbed his dragon but thought better of it. Last game he had brought her out too soon and lost her to a trebuchet.

That would perfectly match what was depicted on the show. Daenerys wanted to use the dragons early on, while Tyrion constantly advised against it.

The trebuchets are interesting. Trebuchets are currently being used in Meereen against Daenerys, but I can't see her arriving in Westeros with any less than three dragons. Perhaps we'll get more trebuchets in the future.

+.+.+

He moved his light horse toward Haldon's mountains. Haldon answered with an elephant.

[...]

Tyrion moved up his heavy horse to support the light.

The Dornish Red Mountains? Wouldn't be the Vale, I don't think.

Of course this could also be nothing.

+.+.+

"Perhaps you would care to wager on the outcome?"

The Halfmaester arched an eyebrow. "How much?"

"I have no coin. We'll play for secrets."

"Griff would cut my tongue out."

+.+.+

"The day you defeat me at cyvasse will be the day turtles crawl out my arse." The Halfmaester moved his spears. "You have your wager, little man."

Tyrion stretched a hand out for his dragon.

I mean. . .

What's the point o' having some magic sword if you don't bloody well use it?"

"Honor," she said. "The point is honor." - Brienne IV, AFFC

+.+.+

"Yollo," Duck called. "Where's Haldon?"

"He's taken to his bed, in some discomfort. There are turtles crawling out his arse."

Shut up. Try winning a battle without fire.

+.+.+

Off to the east, there was darkness gathering behind a rocky island.

Septa Lemore found him there. "Can you feel the storms in the air, Hugor Hill? Dagger Lake is ahead of us, where pirates prowl. And beyond that lie the Sorrows."

[...]

The island fell away behind them. Tyrion saw ruins rising along the eastern bank: crooked walls and fallen towers, broken domes and rows of rotted wooden pillars, streets choked by mud and overgrown with purple moss. Another dead city, ten times as large as Ghoyan Drohe. Turtles lived there now, big bonesnappers.

How funny is Dagger Lake?

+.+.+

The ruins grew taller as the land grew narrower, until the city ended on a point of land where stood the remains of a colossal palace of pink and green marble, its collapsed domes and broken spires looming large above a row of covered archways. Tyrion saw more 'snappers sleeping in the slips where half a hundred ships might once have docked. He knew where he was then. That was Nymeria's palace, and this is all that remains of Ny Sar, her city.

I laughed.

+.+.+

"This is Ny Sar, where the Mother gathers in her Wild Daughter, Noyne," said Yandry, "but she will not reach her widest point until she meets her other daughters. At Dagger Lake the Qhoyne comes rushing in, the Darkling Daughter, full of gold and amber from the Axe and pine-cones from the Forest of Qohor. South of there the Mother meets Lhorulu, the Smiling Daughter from the Golden Fields. Where they join once stood Chroyane, the festival city, where the streets were made of water and the houses made of gold. Then south and east again for long leagues, until at last comes creeping in Selhoru, the Shy Daughter who hides her course in reeds and writhes. There Mother Rhoyne waxes so wide that a man upon a boat in the center of the stream cannot see a shore to either side. You shall see, my little friend."

Am I supposed to be thinking about Catelyn and her daughters?

+.+.+

It was another turtle, a horned turtle of enormous size, its dark green shell mottled with brown and overgrown with water moss and crusty black river molluscs. It raised its head and bellowed, a deep-throated thrumming roar louder than any warhorn that Tyrion had ever heard. "We are blessed," Ysilla was crying loudly, as tears streamed down her face. "We are blessed, we are blessed."

Duck was hooting, and Young Griff too. Haldon came out on deck to learn the cause of the commotion … but too late. The giant turtle had vanished below the water once again. "What was the cause of all that noise?" the Halfmaester asked.

"A turtle," said Tyrion. "A turtle bigger than this boat."

"It was him," cried Yandry. "The Old Man of the River."

I don't get it.

I'm going to move on.

+.+.+

And why not? Tyrion grinned. Gods and wonders always appear, to attend the birth of kings.

I can't believe I let this clown fool me. He unreliable narrator'd me!

He had sniffed out the truth beneath the dyed blue hair of Griff and Young Griff easily enough - Tyrion VI, ADWD

You sniffed out the truth? You didn't sniff out shit! You won a game of cyvasse and a secret from the Halfmaester! Haldon told him who Aegon was! How did I not realize that?

Final thoughts:

I can't keep spending this much time on Tyrion chapters. It's not good for my mental health.

39 down, 10 to go. :(

How is it still 10? How is that possible??

-> return to menu <-

#operation stumpy re-read #adwd #tyrion iv

42 notes · View notes

c-rose2081 · 11 months

Text

Of Sirens Deep - [chapter 4]

—

(11 years ago)

“Pa?”

Papa didn’t answer, quietly leaning over the old crate we shared. The sun was beginning to kiss the horizon of Macatania’s biggest lagoon, the Blonde Lady silhouetted in its golden rays. It had been silent between us for much too long–it was boring. “Pa?” I tugged at Papa’s sleeve, trying and failing to get his attention. He was distracted, watching the sea as it pushed and pulled along the shore. “Paaaaaaa, are you listening to me?”

“I can hear you, Aria. What is it?”

“Won’t you tell me what happened to Ma?”

“Hm?” Papa finally looked at me, furrowing his old brows and frowning. “Not till you’re older.”

“How old is older?” I wondered, puffing out my chest as much as possible and kicking my feet against the side of the crate. “Amaris says I grew a whole tick this month.”

“Did you now?” Pa chuckled, running a tired hand down his stubbled face. He always looked so tired when he got back from a trip and his beard was always so long. “I’ve been gone for too long. I didn’t even notice.”

“That’s ok. Aunty claims we’ll have to go shopping for new clothes soon.”

“Hm. Why are you asking about your Ma, cricket?”

It was my turn to frown, shrugging my shoulders.

“Mrs. Hannover at the bakery let me hold her new baby the other day,” I admitted, scrunching my face in thought. “It’s a boy. He looked a lot like her and Mr. Hannover with the same colored skin and eyes. I don’t look anything like you, Pa.”

“Ah.” Pa breathed, folding up his hands over his knees as he looked out towards the lagoon again. “You don’t remember what your Ma looked like.”

“She was beautiful; I remember that.”

“Aye, that she was.”

“What happened to her Pa?” I wondered. “The Hannover boy will have both his parents. Why can’t Ma be here with us too?”

“I wish she could be, cricket. More than anything,” Pa said, sounding sad. He removed his pendant from under his shirt, holding it in the palm of his hand. I clamored to look over his arm, reaching out a hand to touch the bluebottle glass that made up the center. “But your Ma died.”

“I know that already.” I whined, looking up at him as I leaned on his broad arm. “But how?”

Pa appeared to think about it, his dark, intelligent eyes glistening faintly. But he smiled and shook his head, tucking the pendant away again and patting it.

“Not tonight, Aria. Come, Frenrise is probably wondering where we’ve gotten off too, hey?”

I sighed unhappily about being brushed off, but the annoyance didn’t last long as Pa took me into his arms, swinging me around in a spiral. Stopping, I threw my arms around the man’s neck, inhaling his familiar scent of salt and sea breeze.

“I’m glad you’re home, Pa.”

“Me too, cricket.” He said, stopping to look out towards the sea. “One thing about your Ma,” he drawled, tilting his chin to the horizon. “I always thought she had come directly from the sea, like some sort of angel.”

“Was she really that beautiful?”

“Aye, that she was. The most beautiful I’d ever set eyes on. Just like you will be one day, Aria.”

“When I get older, I hope I’ll still remember her.” I sighed, resting my head on his shoulder and nuzzling under his weatherworn hair. “I love you, Pa.”

“I love you too, cricket. Now come, it’s past your bedtime.”

– – –

“...sit down, child.”

Delphine’s hand guided me to a velvet lined seat, one tucked into the corner of Captain Melody’s private quarters. The room smelled of parchment and iron-ink, its center taken up by a single large table. The surface was covered in various maps and pieces of brass charting equipment. I had hoped Neva would’ve stayed at the helm, but she followed close behind the Captain, lingering like a shadow. I clutched the edges of the chair, my brain whirring fast inside my skull.

Sister?

I didn’t have a sister. I was an only child—besides Elias of course, who was a cousin and didn’t count. Pa would’ve told me if I had a sister…at least, I hoped he would’ve. There seemed to be quite a bit he hadn’t told me growing up. I reached for my neck again, picking at the skin flaps that now adorned it.

Gills. I had actual gills.

And this ship…it was inhabited by sirens, the most murderous creatures to ever grace the deep sea. Seeing as one nearly made me jump to my death just yesterday, I could only assume the stories to be true. Glancing mindlessly across the table as I rubbed my throbbing temple, I noticed a big red ‘X’ marking one of the maps and frowned even more. Pirates? Pirate sirens? It hadn’t been this crew that pillaged Macatania, had it?

“I didn’t think we’d ever find you.” Melody said, catching my attention as she rounded the mapping table and removed her hat. This revealed a ridge of gold fins sprouting from her forehead and ending at the base of her neck. Her familiar auburn-brown hair was fully visible now, while the warm light of a few oil lamps brought out the redness to her skin. Ignoring obvious fishy traits like the woman’s treasure tinted scales, I could’ve been looking in a mirror. “That warmblood who took you, I’ll strangle him myself if I ever set eyes on his face again….”

“Pa?” I wondered, finally managing a word after the news had been sprung on me. Melody grimaced and shook her head unhappily, swiping at a few maps. “He didn’t do anything wrong.

Delphine and Melody shared a look, while a single huff of air left Neva who had all but vanished into the darkness. “My Pa was a good man,” I continued, reaching to my neck only to pause. Father’s pendant. I hadn’t even noticed I didn’t have it on me. “Oh…no, no…”

“You’re looking for this?”

My head shot up as Melody lifted the necklace from across the table, the leather strap slung between her fingers.

“That belonged to my Father!” I snapped in a rush, jerking forward to grab at the trinket. Melody merely held the artifact out of my reach.

“This belongs to no one,” the Captain insisted firmly. “It belongs to the sea.”

“It was the last thing my Pa gave to me before he died, please don’t take it from me!” I begged, eyes burning with tears as Delphine used an arm to shove me back down into my chair. “P-please, its all I have left of him.”

“You shouldn’t want to remember a pitiful warmblooded.” Neva spoke up from her corner, flashing the twin fangs which protruded from her lower lip. “Moonglass belongs to Sirens. It’s a shame the last piece to exist is now tainted. We should destroy it, Captain. It could lead us astray.”

“No! No, no please don’t,” I practically wept, fighting against Delphine who wasn’t keen on letting me up from my chair.

“We found Aria, didn’t we?” Melody asked her shadowy companion. “If it helped us do that, it can help us find what we’re looking for. But even so, I want little on this ship to remind my sister of the man who kidnapped her.”

“My Pa wasn’t a kidnapper!” I snarled, “please, give it back!”

“We tried using the moonglass already and it didn’t work.” Neva continued. “I say we find what we’re looking for without the help of either of them.”

Melody ran a hand across her chin in thought. My eyes however, were trained on the pendant still hanging from her scaly fingers. It was my Father’s. And, now that he was dead, it was mine. Mine.

“Argh!” Melody yelped suddenly in pain, jerking backwards as the artifact clattered from her hand and onto the table.

“Captain?” Delphine asked, “What happened?”

“It burned me.”

“That’s not possible. Moonglass doesn’t burn sirens.”

I narrowed my eyes in frustration, still feeling Delphine’s weight across my chest as I extended a hand to try and reach it. There was a rattle as Pa’s necklace dragged itself across the wood before flinging itself from the table all on its own. The pendant spun in the air for a moment, rocketing like a bullet into my open palm as I closed my fingers around it. All three older girls were silent, Melody looking between the table and me with surprised eyes.

“How did you…?”

“This necklace was my Father’s!” I snarled unhappily at the stranger–someone claiming to be my sister, yet doing very little to prove it. “It’s mine. You can’t take it from me!”

The last word of my sentence came out far harsher than I meant, while a noise I didn’t recognize slipped between my teeth. It sounded as though I’d stepped on a harbor cat’s tail, the hiss sharp and pronounced. Slapping a hand over my mouth in shock, I poked at my teeth with the end of my tongue. While they all seemed normal, my k-9’s felt longer than just a few seconds ago, catching on the edge of my lip and causing it to taste of copper.

“You don’t threaten the Captain, little welp.” Neva growled unhappily, unsheathing her crescent blade as I instantly whimpered at her presence.

“Knock it off,” Melody ordered, glaring at the dark haired girl who muttered something profane. She didn’t put her sword away, which is what I would’ve preferred, but she did back off. The Captain returned her honey gaze to me, a dozen questions written all over her face. “How did you do that?”

“I-I didn’t mean too…”

“Not the hiss,” Melody insisted with a hand wave, instead motioning at her neck. “You summoned the moonglass. How?”

“I…I don’t know.” I admitted honestly, still clutching the pendant as though my life depended on it. “I just wanted to reach it and I couldn’t.”

“Maybe that’s why it wouldn’t show us the way?” Delphine commented in a low whisper. “The glass no longer belongs to the sea.”

“How long have you had that necklace?” Melody wondered, leaning over her hands to stare at me.

“Only a few weeks. It was my Father’s pendant–he wore it on his travels, claiming it brought him good luck.”

“You mean you’ve never done that before?”

“No.”

“Hm.”

“My father wasn’t a kidnapper,” I said again. “He was a good and honest man. He took care of me as best he could….”

“The man who kidnapped you was far from honest.” Melody scoffed. “He was a pirate, Aria. A bloodthirsty monster. You were only a few days old when they came to our home—you were still suckling on Mama’s breast. They ran us out of the water with their spears and iron weapons like a group of frightened seals. It was lucky more of us weren’t killed.” Melody winced, lowering her head in sorrow. “They took Mama and you in a net and vanished on their ship. That pendant belonged to her—we’ve been following it for almost eighteen years. I guess it only makes sense that it was passed to you.”

“No, you’re wrong….”

“Did you ever wonder why you didn’t look like your ‘Father’? He took you away from your home and your family before you even had a chance to grow your gills.” Melody rounded the table again, taking hold of my arm as I was hauled up from the chair. Stumbling beside her, she paused in front of a large mirror that sat on her wall. “Look here. Tell me for sure that you are your Father’s daughter.”

I sucked in a sharp breath, glancing at the mirror.

My reflection was as drowned out as I felt. My hair was still scraggly from dried seawater, while the whites of my eyes had gone bloodshot. Crimson blood still oozed from the cut on my cheek, curling down my jaw and sticking to my neck. I could finally see my supposed gills for myself, watching them with a rolling stomach as they rose and fell with each shuttering inhale. I could barely even recognize myself—so much had happened in such a short amount of time.

Melody placed both her hands on my shoulders, the two of us a perfect portrait of the same genetics.

“You are my little sister,” I shivered as webbed hands gently pulled my hair back to rest over my shoulder, playing with the strands. “But your Father…he’s just another pirate. Another warmblooded traitor. He lied to you. Do you understand?”

I opened my mouth to speak, to deny every word Melody was saying. But only a pathetic squeak escaped me. I held a shaky hand to my lips as tears once again streaked down my face, unbridled and stinging. It felt impossible—Pa and I told each other everything. We’d stay up for hours, talking about whatever came to mind. I didn’t think he’d ever keep something so important from me. But then…he often said Ma had come from the sea. And though I knew he was a merchant sailor, he often came home with fantastic spoils of silver and gold and gemstones that seemed odd for his position. I never questioned where the spoils came from, just assumed he’d picked them up on his travels.

What sailor besides a pirate came home with such rare and expensive trifles?

It felt like I had just been struck in the chest. My knees folded from weakness, though Melody swept me up into her broad arms before I could hit the floor.

“Poor thing….” Delphine repeated softly as I was gently settled into a deep box bed, sinking into the folds as I curled into a ball and wept.

“It’s been a long and difficult journey to get here.” Melody mumbled, her finned hand gently tracing the curve of my hairline as she pulled velvet blankets over me. “For all of us.”

“What about the moonglass, Captain?” Neva wondered, “We have it. We can go straight there.”

“The moonglass doesn’t respond to us, Neva. You saw for yourself. We can’t use it to navigate without Aria’s help.”

“But she’s an outsider. She was raised by warmbloods. It’s not wise to trust her.”

“Let the child rest.” Melody ordered. “Return to the helm and keep us on course. I want to make as much progress as possible tonight.”

Neva huffed unpleasantly but didn’t argue anymore, her heavy boots clunking as she vanished out the door.

“She’s been in a foul mood for days,” Delphine complained, “Do you suppose it’s wise to allow her such close contact with the girl?”

“We haven’t much choice. It was a close call with the black sail; they could’ve seen us. I’m not sure how they found her first.”

“Perhaps they were tracking the moonglass?”

“Maybe. Or someone tipped them off that she was finally coming into her traits.”

“But who? Not one of our own, surely.”

“Hard to say.” Melody sighed, the sound of papers rustling as she picked up her hat from the table. “For now, she stays with us. We can protect her.”

There was a beat of silence, no doubt Delphine nodding her agreement as the two women left the room, closing the door behind them. This left only the sound of my own shuttering breathing and the creak of the ship as it rocked back and forth on the sea. The tears had stopped flowing, but my whirlwind of thoughts hadn’t. Not just about my Father and his lies, but also my entire life. Pulling the pendant out of Delphine’s borrowed shirt, I stared intently into what I now knew was moonglass. It didn’t seem any different than before. What made it so special?

What did Melody mean when she spoke of the black sail? Were they the pirates that raided Macatania? The ones who killed Amaris in cold blood as she pushed me off a cliff side into the sea?

Why was this ship of sirens—the most powerful creatures in the ocean—sailing on a man made ship across the ocean when they could just swim there? Where were we even going?

And what was this mysterious destination that everyone, Melody included, refused to even speak the name of? Did it have something to do with this seemingly insignificant piece of glass around my neck?

I frowned, folding the artifact under my hands and staring at the ceiling. Yesterday, I would’ve been in Aunt Frenrise’s manor house, thinking about marriage. Was she ok? Or was she dead; killed by the same pirates who had killed my best friend? I squeezed my eyes shut with a whimper. Hopefully Macatania was alright after the attack.

Pursing my lips, someone was walking above nice on the quarterdeck. Probably Neva working the helm. I didn’t like her being so close, but sailing didn’t leave much room for personal space. Inhaling and exhaling again, I let my eyes fall shut for some much needed rest.

— — —

“Girl!”

The shout startled me. Gasping, I choked at the familiar blade once again shoved into my throat. I was still in the Captain’s bed, staring down the curved body of a crescent sword. Neva glared at me, jerking her head. “Up. Now.”

I could only nod, scrambling from the comfortable box which had cradled me. I could still feel the ship rocking as I was shoved out onto the deck, Neva’s sword now shoved into the small of my spine. It was evening now, the sun having and lanterns hanging from the mast posts. Distracted by how beautiful the ship looked at night, I yelped as a boot slammed into the back of my knee, causing it to buckle. Falling to the ground with a wince of pain, I barely had time to react as a heavy bucket of water was practically shoved into my lap.

“Captain’s turning in for tonight, whelp, which means it’s my ship until dawn.” She barked, using her boot to kick a splintering, handheld brush between my folded knees. “Everyone on this ship pulls their weight. We don’t cater to princesses here.” Neva slammed her sword into the deck just short of my bare foot, causing it to spark. “You scrub every part of this deck until I say you’re done. When I release you, you’ll sleep out here tonight—ain’t got no room for warmbloods in the crew quarters. Tomorrow, you’ll wake up early and do it all over again. Clear?”

I blinked at Neva, only to whimper as she slammed her sword near my foot again. “I said, am I clear!”

“Y-yes.”

“Now get to it, you’ve got a long night ahead of you.”

I swallowed thickly, nodding hastily again as I grabbed the brush and dunked it into the bucket. Watching over my shoulder as Neva thundered away, I turned back to my new work and grimaced.

This would be a very long night indeed.

#Of Sirens Deep #pirates #mermaid #siren #original story #original character #writing #literature #fiction #fantasy #fantasy fiction #my writing #long post #pirate #oc #story #novel #world building

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