#head south down the gorge

[m1d-45]

remorse

-> warnings: spoilers for kazuha story quest as well as general kazuha lore, kazuha’s friend is named tomo for convenience, mention of blood near the end, kazuha attacks you but it’s a brief memory, standard issue imposter sagau things

-> lowercase intended!

tomo was an avid believer in the creator.

most people are to an extent, kazuha included, but it’s more of a soft reverence for him rather than the burning devotion for tomo, whose belief is that the creator didn’t make inazuma for it to be hidden! they didn’t make the shogun for her to do this to her nation!

that combined with his other beliefs sent him to face her. ever a man of faith, he held firm that he was doing the right thing. even as his body fell to the floor and his vision flew into the awaiting grasp of his friend, his heart stood strong.

kazuha carries that faith with his memory, and does his best to honor it just as well. if he finds a pretty flower he’ll drop it at a shrine, always murmuring his friend’s name as he does so. he doesn’t hold you to as high a bar as other do, as high as tomo did, but it’s hard not to be religious in teyvat, where the gods literally walk the earth. he settles for a quiet reverence, and perhaps a prayer that his friend may find peace at your side when the storm winds howl and lightning strikes close.

and then beidou.

who thanks you daily for calm seas, for large hauls, thanks for the life created for her anew.

and he thinks. and thinks a bit more, and decides that well, his life has been remade too, hasn’t it? and like beidou says, he’s a poet, he’s been gifted with a form of creation, hasn’t he? so he starts leaving more than a few folded poems at the on-ship shrine—it’s kept in the back, a little tucked away both for safety and in case the crew has problems with religion or just doesn’t follow, but that just makes it all the easier to slip things onto it.

and he thinks that maybe tomo had the right idea.

so when he hears of an impersonator, somebody who utilizes both magic and their mind to take the place of the highest of gods…. he’s more than upset.

how dare you? how dare you try to take the place of his god- if the entire of teyvat’s god? how dare you try and swindle your way to the top, try to trick and scheme and deceive the innocent beleivers into serving you instead of the creator you fail to even imitate? he hasn’t even met you and he knows that you’re a stale copy, a fragile semblance even with your spells and alchemy, a careful house of cards that he longs to topple.

the alcor is docked in liyue, waiting for a shipment. he’s sitting on an empty crate while beidou leans on it, groaning about the merchant.

”come on! we’re gonna be late, and he had a week to prepare! who is this guy, even, thinking he can do shit like that?”

he’s about to speak—likely to admonish her for swearing when there’s children playing along the docks—when he spots you approaching. you have messy, shaggy hair and a face covered by a blue mask, dressed oddly for somebody in liyue. he doesn’t spot either vision nor weapon on you, but it’s hard to tell. at the very least, you don’t look hostile.

he decides not to get beidous attention, letting you do so as you walk up to her.

“pardon me?”

your voice is rough and coarse, like ore dragged into the light of the sun after growing underground for millennia.

she looks you up and down, deciding that you aren’t the merchant she needs. “what can i do for ya?”

“i w-as told you could provide passage to inazuma?”

she tilts her head. “huh? but the saokoku decree was lifted recently, there should be proper passenger boats leaving every hour.”

you swallow, and kazuha listens to the wind around you.

it’s afraid. apprehensive. tense, like you expect them to turn you down.

which he’s pretty sure beidou’s about to if you can’t save this.

“theyre full, and i heard you were leaving immediately. and besides, everybody knows the alcor’s one of the fastest boats on the waves.”

ah. you’re smart.

beidou laughs. “you’re right about that, kid, we certainly can get you there the fastest! but it ain’t gonna be cheap…”

you brightened, standing a little straighter. the wind lifted into a gentle breeze. “i have mora! na-ame your price.”

while they sorted that out, kazuha inspected your odd character. your voice was rough, strained over certain syllables, and occasionally you’d scratch at the side of your neck. he’d initially assumed that the mask was for anonymity, like shinobu from the arataki clan, but now he thinks it’s more for an illness.

one that could spread throughout the crew.

“well, you’ve got yourself a deal! any problems?” she turned back to kazuha for his verdict, and he checked over you once more.

dirt on your boots, but hands in the pockets of your jacket. you were more relaxed now, the air speaking of possibility.

“you sound sick,” he says simply, and your eyes widen.

“a-ah, i- it’s just disuse. i d-ont really talk often.” the mask lifted in a weak smile, your hand coming up again. the skin there was quickly turning red.

“then if there’s nothing else, welcome aboard, uh- whats your name, again?”

you give a name and dip your head in thanks. “thank you for your k-indness.”

kazuha took up the task of showing you around the boat, for no reason he could explain. you were nice to talk to, funny, and your voice was smooth after youd taken some of the medicine you carried.

you were easy to be around. it was like reuniting with a friend he hadn’t seen in years, an indescribable sense of comfort filling him at your side. you felt like home, like campfire chats around crackling wood, or the soft sound of waves on a shore. a clear sky, a cool breeze over a sun-warmed rock.

he was almost- no, he was sad to see you off, waving goodbye as you rushed onto the docks of ritou.

you would go far. whatever you wanted to do, kazuha was sure you would succeed, and extended you his blessings in your endeavors.

now imagine his reaction when, after settling the deal, beidou brings him a flyer. her jaw is set and her shoulders are tight, and he’s quick to see what irritated her.

it’s you.

the flyer has your posture more intimidating, a long staff in hand, eyes cold and calculated instead of the warm glow he remembered.

but it’s you. undoubtedly. even your picture tries to pull a smile from him- and then he sees the charges below.

and he wants to shiver despite the comfortable air.

how?

how can this be?

how can such a kind soul be so deceptive?

but isn’t that the thing? it says you utilize spellwork- that has to be it, right?

(but how can the wind lie?)

he leaps from the side of the alcor, barely able to tell beidou not to wait for him before he’s gone.

he’s in a confused daze for the next few weeks, constantly on your trail- but the wind guides him in loops.

you’re everywhere.

your aura is permanently in the air, giving him a shot of nothing short of pure bliss before he gets his wits about him.

he’s almost afraid, because the wind doesn’t lie- but it has to be, because you can’t enchant the air- but that’s the only way-

his mind is confused, constantly in a state of conflict, his instincts saying you’re a friend while rational thinking says youre foe. his heart calls for your safety whilst the careful shell around it reminds him of your crimes. of the way you’ve tarnished his god’s name, of the way you’ve disrespected captain beidou and her crew, of the way you took advantage of kindness to serve yourself.

of the way you took advantage of people like tomo.

he’s on a beach, preparing up some fish for dinner in a cave, when the wind suddenly smells sweeter.

it’s the scent he’s been following.

he stands and rushes onto the shore, unsure why he’s not reaching for his blade but not thinking too much about it, looking around. sand slides beneath his feet as he races towards a familiar figure: you.

you—his mind supplies him with the name you gave, but is it even yours? or was it just another layer to the lie?—jump as he approaches, but quickly relax. you slip down the mask to sip at the medicine the same shade as the sky, smiling at him.

“kazuha.”

his skin prickles, suddenly feeling hot just at the way you say his name. it’s so kind, so loving, almost, and any response flies from his mind. it’s so hard to be mad when your voice sounds like silk and the light…

the sun shines on your skin, nearly glowing, outlining every curve and angle of you and with a gentle hand. if you catch the light just right he can catch lines of something yellowed across your skin. it’s odd, he didn’t remember that on the… boat…

the flyer.

right.

you were a criminal.

a criminal of the worst kind.

a fraud, somebody who tried to take advantage of the people, using spells to try and garner attention and wealth from people-

people like tomo.

he grit his teeth and ignored the stab of pain in his chest as he drew his sword.

instantly, every ounce of happiness drains from your figure, replaced by an ice-cold tension that makes him want to shiver despite the warm breeze. “ka..zu…?”

the nickname falling from your lips begs him to reconsider, to stop.

its his last chance to.

“how dare you disgrace the kaedehara name?”

your eyes turn glossy and you back away, shrinking in on yourself. a choked-off sound crosses the short distance between them, and kazuha forced himself to ignore it.

you are not an innocent. the beautiful sunlight across your skin did not mean that you yourself were as good as it, the lovely scenery around you no indication of whatever rot lied in your soul; something that had to be there, for you to try and imitate the creator.

and it was rot. you were rotten, bitter, deceitful, using the magic you’d have to have bought—for no being could grant somebody like you that power—to try and warp mildew into meadows. he had to remember that.

he was being charmed.

and then he’s in liyue.

he’s going to a meeting with ningguang with beidou, where the news is broken.

the normally ever-steady tianquan looks shaken up, asking beidou first for her promise to utilize her crew and connections to spread what she’s about to say as far across liyue as she can.

and then she says it.

and kazuha leaves.

he’s in the crows nest of the alcor—it hasn’t left the harbor in months due to the awful storms over teyvat and the cruel waves—and curled into a ball, hands tangled into his white hair, undoing his ponytail in the process.

he tried to kill you.

he’d had you pinned to the beach- you didn’t even fight back. you’d just laid there, tears beading in your eyes, just staring up at him even as his sword was resting in the hollow of your throat.

he’d-

he’d nearly drawn blood.

he’d almost killed the very god he worshipped.

the shining light in his best friend’s life, the new beginning he’d found alongside his new home with the crux, the-

the flush across his skin whenever you were close, that sense of calm and serenity- of course. it all made sense, now that he put aside his blade.

you were a god.

his god.

and he’d tried to kill you.

he tries to soothe himself—you’re okay, you didn’t hurt them too bad, did you? imagine how the killer feels—but it’s in vain. the very wind turns against him, biting and cold despite the warm sun, and he’s shivering.

shaking, about to cry, because you… you were only seeking a new opportunity. you wanted another chance. you just wanted to live- ningguang had said your memory was likely damaged if even there at all, you didn’t even know you were a god at all. you didn’t even understand the nature of your sins, you didn’t understand the world you were in in any form, you didn’t understand why you were being chased, persecuted, hunted.

and kazuha, alongside the entire world, had decided that was a crime punishable by death.

#genshin #genshin impact #genshin sagau #sagau #kaedehara kazuha #sagau kazuha #spoilers under the tags’ ‘see all’ button be warned #hi hello welcome to spoiler territory: did you know you can find tomo’s grave ingame #tp to the artifact domain by narukami shrine and head east to the little gorge #head south down the gorge #who cares if nobody reads these bc they’re my tags and i get to infodump all i wanna #within the archive #specifically the ‘living beings -> wildlife’ #you can find cats. nearly all are named ‘[descriptor] cat’ with the exception of one: the pure white cat #the pure white cat entry in the archive is simple named ‘sapphire’. #= their cat is now named sapphire in my mind #i hope you have learned something today even if it’s just ‘midas collects and reads archive entries unironically’

[rippersz]

𝐄𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐃𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐬

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

Zombie Apocalypse AU w/ Gwendoline Christie characters; (~9.2K words)

(Featuring: Larissa Weems, Brienne of Tarth, Jane Murdstone, Anna from WTM, Lucifer Morningstar, Miranda Hilmarson, Captain Phasma, and Jan Stevens) x Reader

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

It started about two months ago. Russia went down first, then Mongolia. China. India. And in the midst, Finland, Sweden, Norway, the United Kingdom, down to the very southern tip of Africa. The Ocean is no killer of disease, frozen or not, and encouraged it to ravage South and North America, then Canada and Greenland. Until every place was overrun by dead freaks. Stinking corpses and moving gore. 

They traveled in herds, packs, whatever it was that people wanted to call them—murders, perhaps—and shuffled aimlessly across any land they could find. Eager for food, for sustenance, to fill the empty bellies that would never be full. Gorging themselves on creatures like you. 

Officially ‘the other’. Officially ‘the enemy’. The sole survivor of a good group that was attacked some days ago because an idiot forgot to shoot one of the creatures in the head. And by sunrise, it was over. Screams echoed into the silence and you soon found yourself alone… running for your life with a duffle bag over your shoulder (slowing you down) and a gun in your hand (low on ammo). Trekking through thick woods in a heavily-infested Vermont town was not a good idea, but you had no choice. The house you were camping in was left behind, ravaged by bullets that you put into your friend’s heads, and every other spot nearby had been looted. You couldn’t move all of those bodies yourself. You couldn’t do much yourself. There was no army background attached to your name, no conspiracy theorist survival-obsessed gene in your body, and not much training in fighting either. All you could do was run. Run and run and run until you were miles away and your lungs started to burn. Not the most useful skill considering most people could run, but if you were quick enough to speed past the shuffling bastards, you were quick enough to make it to safety. 

—

Safety…what a joke. A shit joke. A joke that was, quite honestly, the worst joke to ever exist. There was no safety. No place, nowhere. You’d been walking for a few hours, hearing nothing but the forest’s silence, and stumbling over leaves and branches. They ravaged the animals, took them into their mouths like they were people, and ate until there was nothing left. Not even a squirrel, or a fox, and the birds had grown weary of the vast number of hunters (both dead and undead) that found themselves in the woods looking for food. So no birds either. And no houses. And you were pretty sure, as you paused to catch your breath, that you were doomed. 

Only a few bullets left and your aim was never perfect. One knife tucked into your waistband but it was getting uncomfortable, digging into your skin, and caked in blood. Creature blood. Everything smelled horrible. Like burning flesh or dirty meat, raw and soiled. You probably didn’t smell too good either. It wasn’t like the world still worked without the people; only a few places had running water and you couldn’t trust the creeks and rivers. The undead enjoyed walking through shallow water, knowing somehow that there’d probably be prey nearby. 

But you hadn’t seen anything in a while. A long while. A suspiciously long while... 

Everything was green and brown around you, whisked by wind and soil, and you stood out like blood against snow. The last thing you saw was yesterday. Ever since? Not a single flash of undead flesh. 

You swallowed, throat embarrassingly dry, and tapped your fingers against your thigh. 

It wasn’t good when everything was still. You were vulnerable, out in the open, and without a good few rounds of bullets to spare. Every muscle and organ in your body screamed for mercy, crying with the effort it took to keep surviving even when you didn’t want to. 

You thought about it a few times; gave the gun in your hand a long look on several occasions, but ultimately decided that ‘opting out’ was only a last resort. Somehow, even amidst the chaos and hatred and swill of humanity’s nature, you managed to hold hope. And often wondered where it would get you. How it would get you. While you were sleeping? While you were already wounded? Fighting off the hands of a loved one? The twist of hope’s rope… would you feel it closing in around your neck? A literal metaphor for the eventual death you’d experience? 

Thinking about it gave you a headache. 

For where was the point in wondering? 

You had no one else. Whatever form of death awaited, it would end up being your fault. Probably because you couldn’t run fast enough. Probably because- 

Because-

Wait. 

Somewhere behind you, on the right, was a low sound. A hum. The smooth whoosh of something quick. The parting of wind… the low growl of… 

“Fuck.” 

You shot off in that direction, bag smacking against your shoulder blades, and instantly felt the exhaustion pull at your body again. It lingered like a plague, like the undead disease, and you yearned to fall to your knees - to give in - but it wasn’t the time for that. You had to at least try. You had to at least make it over the hill. Right over the hill. So close but so far. You leaned forward, threw yourself at the ground, and grasped onto gnarled tree roots. The Earth smelled wet with decay, sweet with promise - you huffed against dry leaves. They crunched and scratched at your fingers, eventually crinkling into nothing when your arms worked to drag you up. You probably looked a little mad, scrambling up a steep hill to reach something that probably won’t save you, but there was no other option. The hum grew louder, the quiet was broken, and you only had a few moments to get this right. 

“Help!” Your lungs caved around your scream, but the forest swallowed it instantly. Greedy trees with their greedy barks, wanting to keep you hidden from salvation. The hum grew louder. Your fingers grew clammy, sweating and slipping against rough wood. 

You’d be bruised to high heaven later, and probably exhausted, but the hum and the growl of an engine meant a road and a road meant civilization and goddammit you just needed to get over the stupid fucking hill. 

There was a loud ringing in your ears, nearly deafening, and making your voice sound fuzzy. 

“Help! Help!”

Was that you? Were you the one screaming like that? Why couldn’t you be quiet? Those things could have been lurking… wandering nearby… coming up behind you, eager to grasp at your ankles and drag you back down to Hell. 

A glance back over your shoulder, aching from the duffle bag, found nothing but blurred terrain and darkened leaves–a symptom of the setting sun. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. If the light went out, you’d be screwed. You couldn’t use the last of your matches and the world went black when evening struck. So there really was no choice. As the growl turned into a roar… there was no choice. Just a little higher- a little more. Your arms pushed, biceps straining against the cotton of your shirt, and your pants threatened to get caught on wayward sticks and tear into rags. The boots on your feet pressed hard against loose rocks, kicking them out of place, and gained just enough ground to push you up - over the ridge. The final stretch. Your chest pushed to the hard dirt and forced a grunt of effort from your tired body; the sound echoed through the woods, through the ground, and through the air that sat above the concrete road in front of you. Hard and vast, grey and long… you looked at it as though it were the holiest of grails, lying just beside it with your arms outstretched, your fingers still pulling at dirtied grass. Soil covered your skin, masked your features, caked beneath your fingernails, and when the roar of the speeding vehicle grew so close you had to close your eyes and wince, you knew raising a hand for help would not be enough. In the shade of the forest’s edge, half draped over the peak of the hill, you were inhuman to other survivors. Your dry mouth opened, your throat croaked, and your legs moved to push you up–closer–just short of the wind that caressed your hair when the car, the truck, ran past you with no second glance. You looked after it, watched it pass, and felt the burn in your heart grow into its own inferno. It licked at your insides, at your desperation, and had you hauling the duffle bag off of your shoulder and out onto the road. It rolled, a shuffling sound, and you followed after it with deep growls of effort and dwindling strength. 

“Please,” you wheezed, panting for breath as soon as you staggered up to your feet. 

In the distance, the car turned into a disappearing black spec. It drove and drove, out of sight, and you stood there, putting your arms in the air to wave it down and bring it back. To beckon it back. To beg and plead.

“Please please no-,” your voice was soft, weakened by days of rugged survival, “no…” rough and lost to the wind, it dissipated into nothing and you were forced to swallow again.  

The thick smell of car exhaust settled against the steaming road. You watched the horizon, tracking the space in the atmosphere where the gold traced into a deep blue, and felt your bones quake beneath your skin. Their final cry. The last hurrah as you watched your future, the tatters of it, drive away from you. 

Too late. 

You were too late. 

And you’d die there, on that road, and they may never come back and find you again in the morning. And your corpse would be chewed upon by undead bastards who would never give you a proper burial. And you’d be just another stupid human that found themselves trampled beneath the stinking feet of the walking dead. 

Tears teased your eyes, burning the dry lands of your irises, and you felt the heart in your chest lurch against its cage. 

 Too late. 

You were too late. 

You had a duffle bag, a handgun somewhere off to the side, and the clothing on your back. One lasting water bottle, the knife you felt poking your side, and small bags of food that wouldn’t last you long at all. The tent, too, was destroyed by animals the night before. The most you could go was perhaps one more day, but your feet were aching so terribly that each step was a journey within itself. And you couldn’t push yourself to go further. There was no further. There was nothing in the woods and there was nothing beyond the road and you were running on fumes that no longer existed. 

But you couldn’t just lie there and take it. You were about to reach over, bending at the waist, to grab your bag. To pull it up over your shoulder and trek on, even though it was pointless. But something stopped you. 

Something–a sound–made you freeze. 

It was faint. It didn’t sound like the undead, with their discordant groans and disgusting squelches, no… it was far. Getting closer. Closer. The hum and the growl. The purr of a motor. The hiss of pavement. 

Your head snapped up, eyes bulging wide as you looked over the horizon to see…. Yes. Yes! Yes, it’s them! The car! A grin pulled at your lips. Halle-fucking-lujah! You felt the anxiety ebb, slowly falling away from your body, as they got closer. The black spec turned into a black blob, then a figure that took shape, and finally you could make out a Vermont license plate and the dirt that stuck to big wheels. Up close, it was a sleek thing, tall and well-built. Midnight black and aside from the splatter on the rubbered wheels, it was polished and clean. The dark paint reflected the bright world around you, turning it into weird warped versions of a faux-paradise. You swallowed at the feel of warmth against your legs, the exhaust from the truck flooding over the smallest sliver of skin around your ankles. Suddenly fearing a changed mind and bad intentions, you stumbled back until your heels pushed against your bag. 

Tinted windows stared down at you, menacing and opaque. Not a thing to see behind them, even if you squinted. Nothing moved, nothing jumped, and you watched with bated breath for a window to roll down - until finally, it did. 

The driver’s side. It went whirr-ing down, sliding for the shortest period of time in the world until only a shadow met you - and then a flicker of movement. And then- 

“Oh my god! Jesus! Okay okay!” You flinched, not even hesitating to raise your hands above your head. You spread your fingers out, desperate to prove your innocence to the stranger in the car. And the gun they were holding, pointing at you, through the gap. 

“Were you bit?” A rough voice, muted and deep, broke the atmosphere. 

You shook your head.

“Words. Use them.” 

“No,” you licked your lips, instantly deciding to turn around in a slow circle. “Not bitten. Not scratched.” You tried to ignore the way your hands shook, even as you shifted all the way back to face the gun’s muzzle. 

“Ask where…” a voice, soft and feminine, came from somewhere beyond the driver’s seat. It was saying something, telling something, but faded into a whisper so quiet you couldn’t hear a thing. Your eyes shifted to the dark backseat windows, trying to see something- anything- and found no surprise in the lack of life. 

“Any weapons?” The driver seemed to ignore the other person, and instead held the gun steady. You watched it with weary eyes.

“Yes.” And before they could ask, you tugged the knife out of your belt and the gun out of your pants pocket. They were held up in the air, another white flag, and you twitched the hand that held the firearm. “At least three bullets left, but that’s it.” 

“And the others?” 

You blinked. “Others? What oth-”

“Where is the rest of your ammunition? In the skull of a human or scum?” The stranger spat, and you detected the hints of an accent. 

Scum… you’d never heard them referred to as that before. Your last group called them walkers, and some others claimed flesh-eaters. You were tempted to use ‘zombies’, but it felt rather silly. The world took that term too lightly, and the undead were nothing if not a very serious problem. But scum? Like they were beneath humanity and not its current destroyer? You’d ask about it later, you decided, if they deemed you well enough to take in. 

“Both,” you breathed honestly, dropping your weapons to your sides with a heavy sigh. “They um- weren’t quite there yet. Got ambushed overnight.” 

The gun still didn’t move. 

“They don’t ambush. What really happened?” 

Hm. They weren’t wrong. Animated corpses didn’t ‘ambush’, but when a herd of them went lurking about, it certainly felt that way. You didn’t think logistics were entirely necessary, but you understood the need for specifics. Trust among men was eviscerated in the face of danger, especially against those once living. You’d seen paranoia before, in others. Humans simply didn’t take each other in anymore… not without some level of severe mistrust. The second thought after seeing the truck drive off was that you probably wouldn’t be accepted anyway - you’d killed without technical reason. Could have just left. Run away. 

But you didn’t. 

You didn’t want to see them turn into those… creatures. 

So what else was there to say? You stared at the gun, willing a click and the shot of a bullet, as you opened your mouth. 

“A herd. A lot of them. Just… descended upon the place. Someone might’ve been walking around in the woods or something, and there was just not enough protection,” you paused, licking your lips, “...I was the last one alive. Had to shoot them and go.” 

“How long since?” 

“Few days, give or take,” you shrugged. The exhaustion only built as you stood there, trying not to sway and collapse in your spot. The truck was still running, hissing hot exhaust; it was the first genuinely warm thing you’d felt in so many days that you wanted to crawl underneath and take a nap. The world, turning to autumn, was growing chilly. There was no chance you could survive winter on your own. 

“...Give or take,” you heard the driver scoff and laugh, bitter and mean. You frowned. 

Then the window started going up, and you couldn’t help yourself. With a hard thunk, you pushed your shoulder hard against the car, and knocked on the thick glass with the butt of the knife. A look of utter desperation crossed your features, heavy and thick. Urgency, anxiety, fear forced any sense from your mind. There was no chance. There was no survival at all.

“No please- please I can’t be out here alone please- I’m smart and- and I can run fast and be an asset. Please,” you shook your head, searching with worried eyes, “please, please you can’t do this to me-” 

Something dark spliced through the corner of your vision, dragging a shadow with it, and you just barely dodged the sudden swing of the truck’s backseat door. It bounced with force and you glanced back at the driver’s window once before stepping back and hastily swinging your bag over your shoulder. The knife and gun were slipped back into your clothing, concealed, and you held yourself strong as the black leathered interior bore itself to the world. 

“-we can’t just leave them-” 

“-on’t be stupid. They could be a liability-”

“-not stupid. We need more people-” 

Voices, at least two, were rushed and tangled in an argument. You didn’t pay much attention to what you could hear, though the growing irritation was hard to ignore. It would be a hassle to be accepted, you knew, but you’d deal. There was no choice. The backseat door was open and there was a figure hustled back against the other window. 

“The offer won’t last,” the stranger murmured, somehow louder than the two people in the front seats, and you decided not to take any chances in the world alone. 

With a grunt, a push, and a final slam of the door, you found yourself in the truck. Your bag was pushed down by your feet, you tugged your knife out to rest it on your thigh, and you turned to say thank you- but was cut off by a cold blade at your throat. It grazed the soft dirty skin, less than a centimeter away from pushing, and you felt saliva pool in the back of your throat. Swallowing would have pressed you closer, so you fought the urge and only stared.

“Woah-” 

“Try anything and you die. I don’t want a peep, not a shuffle. Do I make myself clear?” 

The driver’s voice, clearer in such close quarters, was deep and mean. Accent, as you had clocked, from somewhere in the United Kingdom. It held a natural growl, a gruffness from years of smoking, perhaps, and you couldn’t help but sense the intimidation. It wasn’t fake confidence, you noticed, as you looked up and met the cool sharp grey gaze of a woman. Her hair, a deep blonde, was slicked back and short, ruffled slightly by the nape of her neck. A long neck… that led to strong looking shoulders. They were half covered by a jacket, but you could see the strength in the chords of her muscle. A force to be reckoned with. A leader, perhaps. She was pale, with a defined nose and lips twisted into a permanent sneer, and you probably would have thought she had some potential for post-apocalyptic modeling, if it weren’t for the scar that covered one half of her face. Slashed across the left eye, the wound was jagged and rough - it dragged from a point close to the exact middle of her forehead, right to the corner of her jaw. Thicker at parts and thinner at others, it split through a pale eyebrow and seemed to have permanently rendered her blind. The lid didn’t even move when one stormy eye shifted, and you suddenly felt extremely creeped out. Something about her was undeniably cold. Almost reckless, but her hand was so steady with control you knew not to make a move. She’d probably kill without hesitation, dump you back into the road, and drive off with the duffel. There was no choice but to answer, answer quickly, and do as told. 

“Yes, clear.” Your head shifted half an inch up and half an inch down, still cautious of the blade. 

But she didn’t move. 

It was a battle of wills for just a moment, with your hands in your lap, empty and docile. You weren’t looking for a fight, or a staring contest, but the stranger didn’t let up until the figure to your right decided to sit up and speak. 

“Ah they do not seem so bad. Look at them. Tired and scared, like sad city mouse,” another woman, one with a Russian accent and a voice a hint too loud, cooed. 

Silence followed, persisted, for only a minute- and then the blade was tugged back so quickly you swear it nearly cut the air in two. The driver tsked as she twisted herself around, murmuring as she went. 

“More like a rat.” 

And then you were thrown to the side with a heavy wheeze as the truck lurched and began moving, working into a turn so you could go back the way they’d come.

You glared at the back of the headrest, not feeling above a little bit of irritation for some poor handling, but eventually grew bored. With some apprehension, your eyes flicked over to the person in the passenger seat. Their profile was strong, feminine, and you noted the unbelievably well-kept head of snowy hair. She looked clean, just like the driver, and a spark of hope welled up in your tired heart. Running water and food existed where they came from, wherever they were camped out, and if you played your cards right, you could finally indulge in some good hygiene. Unless the woman in the passenger seat was stingy with her water… god her skin was so clear, and she seemed to be wearing makeup. No one wore makeup anymore. Not the people in your old group and not the few stragglers you’d stumbled across. It simply wasn’t a necessary luxury anymore, but the woman sitting across from you, back straight and hands in her lap, seemed to think it was of the utmost importance. You wanted to speak, wanted to ask her name, but found yourself turning to your right - and catching the gaze of the person that opened the door for you. 

“Anna,” your savior spoke, tilting her head to the left and regarding you with curious eyes. A pale hand, big and long-fingered, shot out and hovered above your lap. You glanced down at it, at the clean skin and the perfect fingernails, and knew that you hit the survivalist jackpot. 

With a nod and a quick clasp of her hand, you whispered your name in reply. She nodded before leaning back against the door and crossing her arms; she seemed quite comfortable there, with a rather large gun resting across her lap. Her hair, blonde as well, fell in gentle waves to her shoulders. She saw with deep blue eyes - a contrast to the cold steel of the driver - and didn’t hesitate to flick them over your body in some sort of analytical search. Weapons, you figured, is what she was looking for. And the knife in your lap, which she eyed with some interest. 

You wanted to say something, wanted to thank them, but it didn’t feel like enough. Nothing felt like enough those days. Asking something of someone was a risk every single time. And you’d asked—begged—them to take you in. You needed to pull your weight, no questions asked. 

“Um- thank you for-”

“Shoot them.” 

“What?!” You straightened up, eyes going wide as, in your peripherals, you saw Anna’s hand inch toward her gun. Through the rear-view mirror, you caught the way the driver’s brow twitched. 

“You heard me. Shoot them.” 

“Pha-”

“I said no talking,” the stranger growled, not even bothering to address the woman in the passenger seat. The white-haired woman looked frustrated, her red lips tugging into a frown, as she watched the driver double down on her focus. “Didn’t I say that?” 

“But I-,” you wanted to plead your case, wanted to defend yourself, but were cut off. 

“I am not going to shoot,” Anna said before you could speak. “Why do you expect her to be quiet hah, Phasma? We just saved her жопa. No need for fighting.”

You glanced at her, picking up on the Native tongue. Fresh off the boat, or perhaps visiting, with the way she said it so easily. Zhopa? Given the context, it wasn’t hard to tell what she meant. Yes, they had just saved your ass. And yes, you wanted to say thank you. Even if that Phasma person wasn’t too keen on a bit of gratitude. 

“I hardly think thanking us for a kind deed is worthy of execution, no matter how much silence you require,” the fair-haired woman across from you said smoothly, throwing a slight glare to the woman on her right. And finally, she took that moment to turn around in the seat and make eye contact. 

Something that proved to be far more difficult than you thought it would. Good lord, she was gorgeous. Pale skin, deep admiral blue eyes, and lips redder than blood. Not even a scratch on her face, not even a single spec of dirt - as if the apocalypse never happened and there weren’t dead people roaming every street in the world. In fact, she didn’t seem incredibly worried about the predicament the human species found itself in, and was looking at you with kind eyes, a furrowed brow, and a smile that she hoped was welcoming. 

“My name is Larissa,” her hand, gloved in white fabric as soft as silk, reached out as an olive branch. You wanted to take it, wanted to feel something so lovely for the first time in a long time and create some sort of bond, but your hands were very dirty. A part of you guessed that Larissa hadn’t put them on earlier that day with the hope to return to camp holding soft fabric smudged with dirt and dried blood, so you only looked down at your palm and then back at hers. 

“Oh uh- I don’t wanna get your gloves dirty-” 

“Oh,” she glanced down, realizing that she was, in fact, wearing hand-coverings. “Later, then,” a warm smile shone back at you - and you were helpless, instantly offering her a nod in return. 

“Finished?” The driver piped up, eyes cold as she stared at you in the rear-view. 

As if on cue, Larissa turned back around in her seat, rolling her eyes as she went, and you could only fall quiet. Introductions were over, you were warming up to the easy heat in the car, and Phasma–if you dared address her by name in your head–had a good handle of the wheel. You were safe. For now. And with one last suspended look at the gun on Anna’s lap, you reached over for the seatbelt, tucked yourself in with a click, and leaned back in the seat. It was so suddenly comfortable, such a huge contrast to the shit you’d dealt with recently, that you couldn’t help but close your eyes and revel. Even for a moment. Even for a second.

—

“Get up,” a mean grunt, paired with a quick rush of piercingly cold air, tugged you from the depths of sleep. 

Before you could even open your eyes properly, a shiver set itself into your bones. Eager to escape it, and the confines of the car, you jolted and scrambled for your seatbelt. Leaning against the open door, watching you grab your things, was the driver. Phasma? Weird name, but there was no time to dwell - especially not when she was looking at you like that. Eyes sharper than the knife on your lap, holding a polished chrome pistol in one hand, and waiting with some tension for you to hurry up. The duffel was pulled up onto your shoulder, the knife was tucked into your belt, and your hands scratched at the leather as you looked around wildly for your gun. 

“We took it. You’ll get it back when you prove you’re not a complete imbecile,” she spat, peering down her nose at you. Disgust danced in her expression, sparking flames of unwanted insecurity, and you felt compelled to look away. Her nostrils were flared, her pink lips curled into something disdainful and mean, and you couldn’t help but watch the way her jaw shifted as she tensed, watching you watch her. The hatred seemed a bit out of place, too strong for normal trust issues, and you briefly wondered if perhaps she’d always been that way - even before the end of civilization. She was clearly a bitch, and not interested in showing you kindness any time soon, so you decided to forgo a response, ignored her glaring, and slipped out of the car without a word. 

Before your feet were completely on the ground, and your bag was out of the way, the door slammed closed behind you, quick and sharp. The speed of it nearly clipped your shirt, and you whirled around to face the stranger’s irritation. She seemed to have lost interest in you and side-stepped your figure without another glance. One finger on the trigger, a shit-ton of audacity-filled swagger in her walk, and a back broad and strong. She looked like an outlaw, tall, mean, wearing grey with a belt around her strong hips and a leather jacket over her shoulders. You wanted to throw your gun at her and watch it hit the back of her head, but there was no way in Hell you’d be able to run away faster than she could catch you. 

“Come,” you heard Anna speak, interrupting your train of thought as she trudged up to your left. You turned, seeing the way she cocked her head. “I’ll introduce you.” The gun swayed in her grasp as she turned, making little shuffling sounds in the grass. 

The grass. 

You went to go forward, but stopped. The grass. It was… terribly neat. Very well maintained. Not like apocalypse grass, which was flat and bloodied and mudded and dusted, but like rich person grass. Striking green grass, healthy, it bounced back behind you when you stepped on it. And the air… you took a deep breath and closed your eyes. It was fresh. Pure. Free of the smell of death and free of gunpowder and spraying blood. Just where on Earth were y-

oh.

Oh. 

You looked up, finally, and found yourself in a courtyard. On all sides was a wall, sections of it made of brick, others of stone, and the rest of wrought iron fence, bolted hard into the ground; and across the way, piercing the sky, was a manor. Or what looked like a manor. No - what was definitely a manor. Dark, illuminated slightly by the deep blue of the atmosphere and the torches that littered the ground in neat paths, splitting off into cobblestone sections. You swallowed. It was gorgeous. Untouched. A world that seemed to run on and on while the rest of the globe went to shit. 

How fucking lucky were you? 

“Come! I must say twice?!” Anna called, giving you an exasperated beckon as she started disappearing behind the dark stone brick of the main entrance. 

Sparing a quick glance behind you, you found a fortified gate and short stone walls - reinforced and built upon with barbed wire, wood, and sheets of metal. It must have opened up for the truck when you were still asleep, but was very much firmly shut and impenetrable once closed. You wanted to explore it more, wanted to study the mechanism and the layout and come to understand just how they managed to get the place so protected, but you didn’t want to leave Anna waiting. And a low rumble of thunder, far but rolling quick, told you that rain was eager to make her appearance - and you did not want to get caught in that. 

After adjusting your bag and patting the knife in your belt for reassurance, you set off after the Russian stranger. 

—

“So I am Anna, this you know already,” she pointed to herself, tapped her chest twice, then rolled her hand over to gesture to the clearing ahead. 

It was beautiful, outlined against a dark wood. Rocky paths led to a big circle in the middle, and the ruins of stone benches and statues littered the camp. You could definitely see what it used to be - a beautiful place for the elite to sit, to bask, to enjoy the nice air and the wind. But the end of the world had gotten to it, not with the bearings of total destruction, but with the promise of change. A big spruce shelter had been built to the far left, reinforced with four beams and no walls - clearly just meant to keep the rain at bay while they worked outside. Beneath it, there were wooden benches and designated spots for farming equipment, guns, and even a water purifying system from the looks of it. If you assumed that sleeping quarters and showers existed in the castle, then they seemed to be in the best shape anyone could be in.

Even the people, who were busy going about their evening and tending to their duties, while you watched by Anna’s side and felt your excitement grow.

“Phasma was woman driving. Not so kind,” she tsked, giving you a knowing look, and you found yourself unable to ask about the strange name. You figured she wouldn’t have known the answer anyway. Then her hand moved, stealing your attention. “That is Jane,” she pointed to a pale woman sitting on one of the large stone benches. 

Her back was turned, but you could see the severity of her expression in the reflection of a hand mirror. She was handsome, free of makeup, with jet-black hair. The strands fell from between her fingertips, spilling like water, as she threaded them into a braid around her head. Her movements were slow, methodic, and you watched, sort of hypnotized, as the long sleeves of her hooded dress stretched across her slim back. Tight along her arms and resting over the black pants covering her thighs, leading down to knee-high leather boots. Fit for an apocalypse, but somehow still chic. You watched her hands for a moment more, and turned slightly to her right when Anna gestured to the woman beside her. 

“Miranda. Good girl, but way too skinskie,” she nodded to herself while crossing her arms. 

The stranger in question–Miranda–was holding up an antique hand mirror for Jane to look into while doing her hair. They seemed to be the same height, though Miranda’s build was lankier and toned. The sleeves of her white top had to have been torn off, leaving freckled shoulders free to the air, and around one wrist was a black watch. It nearly matched the same leather as her belt, which held an attached holster and a sleeve for a walkie-talkie. Its antenna stood out against the baby blue of her uniform pants; tight by the hips but baggier toward the ankles, tucked into dark laced boots. Her hair was styled into a fair blonde bob, probably recently cut by the sight of such clean edges. It looked unbearably soft kissing the back of her neck.

“She was policewoman. Strong.” Anna commented, gazing at her from your spot by the castle wall. 

You nodded absentmindedly, looking over the two strangers and the chess board that sat between them on the bench. Jane had black and Miranda white. The latter seemed to be focusing quite hard on the game, holding a pawn loosely in one hand, as the dark-haired beauty tsked and adjusted the hand mirror that slowly slipped to the side. You watched Miranda jump and offer what you assumed was a sheepish apology, as she tried to multitask. Her small smile was pink and soft, warm and welcoming. A friend, perhaps. 

“Very…domestic,” came your soft murmur, sparked by the surprise of such a peaceful camp. In the past group, everyone was too busy trying to sleep, find food, or talk themselves through panic attacks. Maintaining sanity with comfort was not a priority. 

“Da. Comfortable,” your companion nodded. “Jan is there, washing.” And you turned, yet again, to find a figure standing in front of a clothesline. 

The combat boots made her seem tall, though they were a bit out of place—not really matching the long white sleeved shirt and full red skirt combo. Immaculate and clean, you noticed, though that was to be expected from a woman trying her hardest to get blood out of a white blouse. Her hands were covered by blue rubber gloves, with one clutched around a sponge and the other around the neck of a bottle of white wine vinegar. On the ground by her feet was a large pale jug of hydrogen peroxide and a bucket of what you assumed was water. And the blouse in front of her, held up by wooden clothespins, rippled from the breeze. It seemed to get colder and windier the longer the night went on, probably bringing the rain with it at some point. With any luck, it would clear up the light splotches of pink that covered most of the shirt’s chest up to the collar, but ‘Jan’ didn’t seem too patient and satisfied with that. She got back to her scrubbing a moment later, the strict waves of her blonde hair bumping gently against her neck. 

“Jan is very chic. You go to her for fashion advice, no?” Anna tilted her head at you, dragging dark blue eyes over your face. The lawn lamps stabbed into the grass lit everything up with a sweet warm glow, bringing out the flames in her expression as she peered at you curiously. Very handsome, in her own sharp-featured sort of way. You couldn’t help the snort that bubbled up. 

“Respectfully, I think fashion is the least of my concerns right now, Anna.” 

“Hm. Maybe,” she hummed, shrugged, and gave you a once-over that set your heart racing before turning her attention back to the group. 

“Brienne!” You jumped, flinching away as Anna’s loud voice carried into your ear. In the distance, a hulking figure shifted and unfolded, moving to look up at the call. They were sitting on a big pile of cut logs, holding a stone cylindrical sharpener in one hand and a… sword… in the other. Anna waved, talking to you gently as you both watched the figure’s expression change into one of suspicion. She was handsome. Pale, with the lightest blonde lashes and brows, and eyes that sparkled even from that distance. They squinted, drawing frown lines across her face, as she straightened up in her spot. You tried desperately not to stare at her figure, but it was impossible. The deep blue ribbed shirt clung to her torso like a second skin, wrapping tightly around strong biceps and broad shoulders. It was tucked into muddy green cargo pants, offsetting the brightness of the steel that covered the toes of her dark boots. You tilted your head and watched as she glanced between you and Anna before she finally decided to shoot the woman a firm nod. Anna’s lips quirked up into a smile. “She was once soldier. Good woman - she will protect you if you’re in trouble. Saved me many many times.” Her blonde curls swished as she nodded to herself. 

That was good to know, you reasoned. Everyone seemed quite strong. Tall, too. And pale. The camp was gorgeous, the people seemed mundane enough, and the company was… well. Your eyes drifted over to Anna’s side profile, a silhouette of soft dips and curves, and you couldn’t hide the attraction you felt even if you tried.

“Larissa, you know too. She is leader, xорошо?” You didn’t really know what ‘harasho’ meant, but the light intonation of her voice had you saying ‘Yeah’ anyway. 

Then an arm was winding itself around yours, jostling the bag on your shoulder and the gun slung around Anna’s body. It rested against her back, hitting her thighs, and you were suddenly powerless to the way she steered you further down the gravel path. Toward the right, there was a makeshift driveway; a patch of land ripped up from the grass and replaced with gravel, soil, and rocks. The black truck made an appearance again, probably having been driven up from around the back, and you watched with curious eyes as Phasma busied herself with a few bags and boxes from the trunk. Jesus, she was fit… tall and lethal. A small grunt left her lips when she hauled two boxes up into her arms, never faltering or pausing. Damn. You found yourself getting lost in the sight of her legs in those cargo pants, filling them out, until Anna clicked her tongue. 

“Lucifer is strange, but ultimately harmless. Do not worry, they are not naked under the robe.” 

Lucifer? Naked under the what? 

You were going to take a quick glance around, to find whatever the hell Anna was talking about, but there was no need. Some feet in front of you, lounging on a red and gold velvet chase, was a lithe figure. They were almost glowing in the reflection of the walkway lamps, with the deep crimson of a flowing silk robe offsetting the smooth pale planes of soft skin. One elbow was propped up on the arm of the chair, and you traced the folds of flowing sleeves up to a slim forearm, wrist, and a delicate hand. Slender fingers were curled under the curve of a pale cheek, and you felt your heartbeat speed up at the sight of soft features and  crystal eyes. And their hair, curled so perfectly into handsome shining ringlets of spun golden-web… goodness, they were… 

“Luxurious,” you murmured, tilting your head as you watched the stranger chat with Larissa. She was standing over them, in front of the chase, and even at that height, you had a feeling that the one laying down was somehow a little bit taller. “Is Lucifer their real name?” 

“Da,” Anna nodded, “little strange, no?” 

“Yeah,” you gave her an odd look. “Strange as fuck.” 

“Don’t get comfortable,” a voice growled from behind you, making you slip away from Anna’s hold and turn around. Phasma was walking past, holding a big bag under each arm. Her muscle was impressive, but dear god she was an asshole. You had to sort out that situation as quick as possible.

“Hey what’s your problem, man?” You spread your hands out at your sides before letting them slap against your thighs. “You picked me up, and while I’m grateful for that, I am, you didn’t have to-”

“Exactly,” she bit out as she whirled around and marched right back to you. Her breath was cool, washing lightly over your face, and she stood so close that your foreheads nearly touched. From that angle, looking up, you could reach out and trace the jagged line of her scar. It was quite attractive actually, even if her eyes narrowed as she watched you look at her. They were cold. Not an ounce of care.

“Don’t. Get. Comfortable.” Her lips twitched, carrying a silent threat.

“Okay,” Larissa’s voice, sing-songy and weary, cut into the conversation. “Why don’t we all take a moment to calm down, hm?” Her smile was blinding as she turned to you. One gloved hand hovered above Phasma’s right shoulder, but was instantly shrugged off the second it made contact. Her sneer didn’t fade even when she stepped back, eyes still flaming with anger. Larissa cleared her throat. “Y/n, you’re new here. Why don’t you and I have a little chat?” 

Her expression, although kind, hid a sharpness that you didn’t think was wise to fuck around with. If Larissa was the leader, according to Anna, then it was her you had to charm. You didn’t really know why she was the top dog, especially because some of the other group members seemed more… abrasive… but clearly something about her was good enough to be the one in charge. And pissing her off, messing around with her people, was a one-way ticket to possibly turning into those fuckers lurking in the woods. So you didn’t really have a choice - and you didn’t really want one. No matter what, you’d stay. You’d be of some help. You’d stay on the soft grass, smelling the clean air. You’d become best friends with Larissa, the group would learn to like you, and you’d try not to combust when any of them looked your way.

Easier said than done though, of course. Especially when Larissa’s smile knocked down all of your reservations at once, in one big swing, and coaxed an obedient nod from your body. 

“Okay. Yes. Sure.” 

“Perfect,” Larissa’s grin, somehow, grew even wider. 

“It’s getting late,” were Phasma’s parting words before she turned away and headed off toward two big wooden double doors. 

You watched her strut without much thought, and found yourself on the other end of a staring Larissa. Her eyes were utterly striking in the evening light, and the outline of her face… a sight to be seen for a person as weary as you. 

“So… is your group considered women only?” You murmured, peering up at her through your eyelashes. 

Red lips twitched. 

“Not intentionally. Though we have had the discussion before,” she contemplated her next words carefully, looking all over your face before resuming, “and we think it’s best if it’s just women. And Lucifer.” 

“And Lucifer?” You still can’t get over that being their real name. Probably just picked out in a moment of edginess when they were a teen. Lucifer did sound cool, sort of bully-worthy. Like they were emo kid once upon a time.

“Lucifer is what many would refer to as non-binary. Not a man and not a woman. I hope that won’t be a problem?” Something flashed behind her eyes. Not a threat, but a warning. You couldn’t help but smile.

“Not at all. They and I are… one and the same,” you shrugged and adjusted the bag on your shoulder. 

“How lucky I must be…,” someone purred from over your shoulder.

You tensed up, surprised by the closeness, and felt yourself grow a little weak at the tone. Like spiced honey, their voice was intense and smooth. You wanted to lap it up. 

“Ah right on time for a proper introduction,” Larissa, ever the most efficient woman from what you could tell so far, found herself a golden opportunity. One hand shot out and gestured over to you, then to the person slinking around to your right. “Y/n this is Lucifer, one of the strongest members of our group. Lucifer and I make most of the big decisions, with the necessary input from everyone else. And Lucifer,” Larissa’s grin relaxed into a smile, “this is Y/n. Depending on our discussion of the rules, they may become a familiar face, so I suggest you play nice.” 

You found that you couldn’t look to the side without short-circuiting. There was something.. something… about their aura that had you wanting to shy away and cower. It wasn’t the explosive intensity of Phasma or the consuming strangeness of Anna, or even the gentle but strong hand of Larissa… but instead a subtle sort of consumption. Utterly intriguing and fascinating - like they were put on the Earth to confuse humans. You didn’t even look at them and you could feel that. Didn’t even know them and you could feel that. Standing so close. So much body heat. 

“It’s a pleasure,” they murmured, turning to you fully. 

You swallowed, braced yourself, and looked up to your right. 

Sweet holy Jesus. They were even more handsome up close. Just absolutely soft and glorious. And carrying the faint scent of… firewood? You cleared your throat. 

“Um yeah- likewise. Hi.” 

A flash of black, followed by measured footsteps in the grass, had all three of you shifting to see Jane walking past. Miranda was not too far behind, taking her time to cross the yard. 

“Dinner is being prepared. Show face in the next 20 minutes or go to bed hungry.” Jane didn’t even spare you a glance before she disappeared behind the same doors Phasma had gone through. 

“Thank you, Jane,” Larissa managed to call just before they closed behind her with a dull bang. 

“Three moves…,” Miranda was muttering, holding the box for the chess set in one hand. “She beat me in three moves.” 

“Oh it’s not hard. I would’ve beaten you in two,” another voice entered the fray, polite but amused. Jan, you recognized, as she sidled up between you and Larissa with a small smile on her deep red lips. 

Miranda scoffed and turned to look at Anna, only to find that she was gone. One glance behind you revealed that she’d wandered over to Brienne, probably prompting her to go inside for dinner. You hummed, hiding the amusement of friendly banter. It had been so long since you felt even the smallest sense of normalcy. If they were so comfortable with each other, then it must have been a bit since they were all alone out in the world. You’d probably ask Larissa about that later - once everything was said and done. 

“I would’ve beaten you in one,” Lucifer smirked as they pulled away and went walking inside. Had they been barefoot the entire time? 

“That’s not even possible!” Miranda yelled, but the door was already shut. “...Is it?” She turned to Larissa, then to you, then back to Larissa. 

“I don’t think so, Miranda,” Larissa smiled before looking at you. “Any chance you’re good at chess?” 

Dear lord, having two sets of beautiful blue eyes on you was nerve-wracking, but you ignored the flush building up on your cheeks and nodded. 

“Um yeah- it’s possible to beat someone in two moves. But it’s only black, I think.” You gave Miranda an apologetic smile and a shrug as she pouted. 

“You will beat her next time Miranda,” Anna returned with Brienne in her wake. The sword she was sharpening earlier was still in her hands. “She cannot win forever.” 

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Brienne cut in, her voice strong and deep. Her mouth was pulled into a light frown, and you noticed the scar that cut through the upper lip on the right. From the time before, you suspected. Otherwise she’d be turned. “She beat me and Phasma one after the other.” 

Miranda sighed, tsking beneath her breath. 

“Then there’s no hope…” Goodness, she looked like a sad puppy.

“Why not?” It slipped out of your mouth before you could grab it. 

And of course, all of the attention then dragged itself over to you. Five sets of sea-blue eyes, all gorgeous in the glow of the evening lamps, traced lines over your tired body. In comparison to them, you looked a sight. Obviously having been picked up from the side of the road, unclean and awkward, somewhat detached from society. In your bag? Not enough clothing and not enough supplies. In your belt, peeking out from beneath your shirt? A knife, dirty and growing dull. And in your eyes? Lurking sadness and horror - the same which probably lived in the women that were observing you. 

Larissa, thank goodness, finally broke the lull of silence. 

“Brienne and Phasma were in the military,” she said gently.

“Oh. That makes sense.” And it did - Jane must have been an intellectual force if she beat people that used to be in the military before the world ended. Though that made you wonder… “What branch?” You turned to Brienne, not really surprised that you had to look up to meet her eyes. It seemed you’d been adopted into a camp of skyscrapers. Though the sharpness of her eyes had you swallowing. “I mean- if you don’t mind me asking.” 

She seemed to consider it, sizing you up, before saying, rather shortly, “SAS. Then Delta Force.” 

You couldn’t hide the way your eyes widened. 

“Oh.” 

“Oh, indeed,” Larissa hummed. “But I think now would be a good time to head in, wouldn’t you say?” She spared her smile for everyone, meeting the gaze of each woman, before finally looking at you and raising her eyebrow. 

It wasn’t really up to you, so you just shrugged and waited for Anna to say ‘Da, da, xорошо’ before heading in. Brienne followed after her, then Miranda, who was studying the back of the chess box, and Larissa, who started taking off her gloves. Jan, meanwhile, stayed where she was and kept her eyes on you. They were curious and deep, never-ending, and lined with mascara and eyeliner. Mascara and eyeliner that… well it suited her, but goodness it was certainly intense. Dark and shadowed, but beautiful nevertheless. You couldn’t look away. 

“Jan Stevens,” she breathed and gave you her hand, elegant and admittedly quite charming. Her nails were painted a deep cherry red. Utterly flawless.

At the sight of it, you weren’t entirely sure what to do. Your palms were still dirty, and sort of calloused, and you didn’t want to… ruin her. So you hesitated, stared at it, looked back up at her, and found her kind smile to be unwavering. 

“Go on,” Jan finally whispered, giving her hand a pointed look, and you fell prey in an instant. 

Quickly, you shot out to gently cup her hand into your own, and gave it a gentle shake. You felt strangely compelled to bring it up to your lips, but you weren’t sure that meeting a stranger in an apocalypse really called for such formalities. Even though you yearned to feel her skin beneath your mouth. It wasn’t proper; though you did think that Jan’s expression fell just a little bit. Like she was excited. Like she wanted you to kiss her hand. 

“Y/n. It’s nice to meet you.” 

“Likewise,” she purred, looking you up and down, before turning toward the door. “Come quickly now. If we’re late, Jane will send us off to bed without dinner. And we wouldn’t want that.” 

It probably would have been wise to consider and contemplate the fact that you were in a stranger’s camp, with a stranger’s group… but the saucy little wink that Jan threw over her shoulder sent a deep blush crawling up your cheeks. And just like that, without fail, you were one of the flesh-eaters… caught in the pretty paws of eight different beasts. 

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

Please let me know if my characterization is okay and if you'd like to see more. Be safe, darlings. - Rip x

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

Far too many names to tag. Find it as you come.

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

#rippersz #fanfictionwriter #fanfic #fanfiction #wlw fanfic #gwendoline christie #gwendoline christie characters #larissa weems #captain phasma #jan stevens #lucifer morningstar the sandman #brienne of tarth #jane murdstone #anna welcome to marwen #miranda hilmarson #x reader fanfic #x reader fic #x reader #larissa weems x reader #phasma x reader #jan stevens x reader #y/n #x y/n #jane murdstone x reader #anna x reader #miranda hilmarson x reader #brienne of tarth x reader #lucifer morningstar sandman x reader #lucifer morningstar sandman #got brienne

[thewriterwithnoplan]

THE WINTER KEEP (2/2)

Summary: You have fled the Red Keep, the Greens and Alicent's poison. It is time to play your hand and herald your mother's ascension on a larger scale. You will fly to Winterfell, treat with the Lord Cregan Stark and await your brother. You are weak and a girl, no longer. You are a dragon ready to spill blood to ensure your promises are kept.

[Part 2 to The Highest Tower]

Soulmate AU: Your animal familiar leads you to your soulmate.

Pairing: Cregan Stark x Reader 

Word Count: 5631

Warnings: Canon typical warnings, swearing, canon divergence, my first time writing for hotd, pretty sure I'm missing something...

Masterlist

Laesuvion had taken to the skies through a hole in the dragon pit. Swift and lethal and stealthy as a white dragon against dark clouds could be. Come morning the whole of Kings Landing would know that you had fled. Come morning the usurper King and his council of snakes would be plotting your demise. You would need every advantage, every inch of distance you could gain before they found the wherewithal to send men after you. The Queen could protect you no longer, your time as her ward had passed. As Laesuvion crested the skies above the Red Keep, and you urged him north, you left just as you had arrived all those years ago. Rhaenyra’s only daughter. Her greatest supporter. Her most loyal weapon.

It took some days to fly north, you rested only once. On the second night of flying, setting down in the swamplands just beyond Greywater Watch. You swaddled yourself in your flying cloak and huddled in a hollow tree as Laesuvion hunted. Sleep came in fitful bursts, each gust of wind and animal sound convincing you that despite your head start from having flown through night and day and night again, the king's loyal men had somehow found you. You awoke around dawn to find Laesuvion’s bulk curved around your tree, his breathing deep and rhythmic in sleep. You crept toward his front claws and the charred mass caged there.

Your first food in some hours, since the day prior when you had polished off the meagre supplies you had smuggled out of the Keep. You tore charred clumps from what might have once been a deer or livestock from a nearby farm. You set these aside in case Laesuvion woke hungry, as you shredded his offering until– There, protected by the cocoon of hardened char, well-cooked meat. You gorged yourself.

You took to the skies an hour later, dehydration your greatest enemy so close to the searing sun. You wrapped your cloak around you, tied yourself firmly to the saddle and tried desperately to catch another snatch of rest. Through that morning, that evening and night, Laesuvion tore through the skies of Westeros.

You landed in the Northlands on the third dawn of your travels. The south gate of Winterfell rose to greet you, a small host of men waiting under its shelf. Dehydrated, exhausted, terrified, you could have wept with joy.

“Holt!” You startled. It was a woman.

“I mean no harm.” You dismounted Laesuvion carefully, moving purposefully to disguise your limb's feeble shakes. At eye level, though separated by a good fifty yards you repeated, “I mean you no harm.”

“Your dragon?” The woman demanded.

The men shifted nervously as Laesuvion gave a chest-deep rumbling purr. “Merely glad to have found our destination.”

“Come forward.”

“To whom do I speak?” You inched forward, Laesuvion nosing at your back.

“Sara Snow.” Up close you found Sara Snow to be very beautiful. With ebony hair twisted in intricate braids and eyelashes so long they caught snowflakes. A true northern beauty, with a sword strapped to her back and a pelt secured to her shoulders.

“I seek an audience with Lord Cregan Stark.”

“He is in a meeting with his men.”

“He will want to speak to me.” You smiled pleasantly, “He owes loyalty to my mother, the Queen.”

“House Stark owes loyalty to King Viserys.” Sara jutted her chin, “No oaths were sworn to his lady-wife.”

“You misunderstand me, Sara Snow. I speak of my mother, the Realms Delight. Queen Rhaenyra to whom Lord Rickon swore fealty.”

The men sent furtive glances to one another. Sara paused and then curtsied. “Forgive me, Princess. The North had not heard word of you for some years now, we feared you had been lost.”

“Ah, I have been kept to the Keep for some time.”

“Winterfell is most honoured to–” Sara turned.

The sound of crunching snow, hurried footsteps, quickened breath. One of Sara’s men toppled to the ground as a dire wolf barrelled through his legs. Pitch black but frosted with snow, it careened toward you. The man giving chase shouted the wolf’s name, skidded around the line of men, and stumbled to a stop mere inches in front of you. In what seemed to be perfect, practised coordination, Laesuvion jammed his snout into your back as the dire wolf danced around his owner's legs. In a heap of limbs, winter cloaks, and riding leathers, you collapsed on the man and fell to the snow.

You wheezed; the air knocked from your lungs. Your limbs shook as you scrambled up, plating a hand on the man's face as leverage.

“Sir.” You hissed; with all the royal poise you could muster. Alicent would be appalled. Your mother would be beyond amused.

“My apologies, lady.” The man grabbed your hips to lift you from him. Mortified you slapped his hands away and fought to your feet. “If you would just let me–”

You struggled, “Unhand me!”

“Here, just–” You planted a knee in his groin. He tried to curl up beneath you.

“Get off me!” You gave him a harsh shove and fumbled to your feet. “How dare–”

Sara Snow launched into raucous laughter. Hand clutching her side as she howled in delight. Her men shuffled as if wondering whether to intervene. Your assailant hobbled to his feet, one handheld protectively over his front, the other outstretched toward you as if to keep you at a distance.

You whirled toward Sara, “What is the meaning of this?”

“Apologies, lady.” The man heaved, his dire wolf prancing about his feet. “It was an honest accident. Shadow has been tense of late.”

“You let your wolf run wild in such a way?” You sneered.

“As wild as you allow your dragon to be.”

As if on cue, Laesuvion pressed the length of his head to your back again. The dire wolf herded his owner.

“Laesuvion?” You turned, pressing your freezing fingers to the scales of his nose. “Lykirī, iōrās aril.” (be calm, stay back).

He huffed and shoved at your hands. You toppled again; this time the man caught you against his chest. Laesuvion shuffled back, his tail swishing through the snow in a great arch. A growl rumbled up his throat as one of Sara’s men tried to approach.

“Ah.” The man smiled down at you in understanding.

You tried shoving at him again, but his grip held firm. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like I am a wolf pup or a precious stone, or some covetous thing.”

“You are more precious than both I fear, and certainly something to covet.” He held your forearms to contain your struggle. “I have waited many years to find my Promised. I did not imagine you would be so violent.”

Sara coughed, “Welcome brother. Might I be the first to introduce you to our Princess, daughter of Rhaenyra. She has come from King’s Landing to treat with you.” She sketched a bow, her lips still trembling, “Your Highness, my brother, the Lord Cregan Stark.”

You gaped, your mouth opening and closing. A myriad of emotions warmed your face. Bone deep mortification. The purest delight. Wonderment. Utter confusion. Behind you, the dire wolf, Shadow, ran playfully around Laesuvion. Your dragon moved to face the tiny yipping creature, stealing his warm breath from your back. You shivered the cold striking through you like a physical blow.

“Princess?” Cregan Stark asked softly. “Are you well?”

“I am cold and hungry and tired, and I wish to bathe.” You said in a rush, utterly horrified with yourself.

But your Promised only smiled, “Of course.”

Cregan Stark was a most gracious host. In the hours since your arrival, you had been given quarters in the same hall as that of the Starks. A maid had gone about filling the tub in your rooms with water warmed on the fire, to which she added fragrant oils and sweet-smelling soap. As you bathed the maid returned – Atara, you learned – to ply you with cheeses and fresh bread, soft meats, and stewed root vegetables. Once you had been thoroughly scrubbed and fed, you dressed in the soft night clothes Atara had brought with her and curled up in the thick expanse of blankets atop your bed.

You were allowed to sleep for far longer than you might have suspected. Only being roused by Atara once the sun had well and truly set.

“Your Highness, Lord Stark asks that you join his family for dinner.”

You tumbled out of bed, and over to the dresser where you let her braid back your hair in the northern style. She handed you a thick winter dress that Sara had sent for you to borrow and allowed you to don it yourself. Stepping in only to tighten the taught laces at its back. You delighted in the simple joy of dressing yourself, so used to the Queen’s maids who scrubbed you raw and laced you tightly into dresses all shaded the same insidious green.  

Atara whispered to you as she led you through the halls of Winterfell, “Lord Stark is a good and generous man. He has been Warden of the North for some years now, he is a just leader and kind to those in his employ. It is his uncle, who was his regent, and his power-hungry cousins you must watch.”

“Will they be at dinner?”

“No, they are north and east in Karhold. Though his sister will be present.”

“Sara Snow. She is his sister born? I assumed the Lord was her brother-at-arms, not a true blood relative.”

“Indeed,” Atara corralled you down another cavernous hall. “She is his sister and among his most trusted advisors.”

“Why does she bear the name Snow?”

“It is the surname given to those born out of wedlock in the north.”

“And this is not an issue in the north?”

Atara considered it for a moment, “For some it is. But Lord Stark is a better man than most.”

You wondered if she had been sent to sing his praises or if the people of the north were truly so enamoured with their lord.

“Is he not married?” You asked hesitantly, the thought had not yet crossed your mind.

Atara grinned, “He is not, Your Highness.”

“Nor betrothed?”

“Nor does he have a lover.” She assured. “We servants would know.”

“Thank you, you have been most enlightening.” You smiled as you reached the Stark’s private dining hall, “I will see to myself tonight. Please, enjoy your evening.”

Atara curtsied, “Have a most wonderful night, Your Highness.”

You most certainly would.

The Starks took private dinners in a humble hall. Three places had been set at the far end of the dining table with a generous spread laid out between them. Cregan and Sara looked up from their conversation as you crossed to your seat.

“My apologies, Lord Stark, Lady Snow.” You bowed your head. “I did not mean to keep you waiting.”

Sara snorted into her cup, “Please, Princess, formalities are for the feasting hall and for those whose names you cannot remember.”

“Sister,” Cregan hissed.

You fought a smile, “Forgive me, Sara, I would not have you think I had forgotten your name already.”

“How does the dress fit?”

“Wonderfully,” You swished from side to side, “You are most generous.”

“I have never had a sister,” she said thoughtfully.

Cregan spluttered into his cup. You grinned, “Nor I.”

You thought only briefly of Heleana and her mother and their glittering cage.

Cregan leapt from his seat to pull yours out for you, “Please, ignore my sister, she is overly friendly.”

“Please, ignore my brother,” Sara mocked. “He is overly nervous.”

“Tis not everyday one meets their Promised.” He met your eyes fleetingly.

What a soft demeanour for the Warden of the North, you thought. Though you supposed you had smiled more today than you had in all your years in the Red Keep, so perhaps today was not a good judge of anyone’s character. You allowed him to serve up your plate as Sara kept up a steady stream of conversation. First marvelling at the fit of her dress on you, then the colour of your eyes, your hair in northern braids, your improved state after some well-needed rest.

“Is she not a sight, dear brother?” She teased.

“I apologise for my earlier state of unkempt.” You winced. You had hit the Lord of this castle, your Promised rather hard.

“I thought you looked marvellous.” Cregan argued, then seemed to realise what he’d said and hurried to add, “We have received reports that your dragon has taken to the Wolfswood.”

You exhaled slowly, “Laesuvion flew through day and night twice over to get me here so swiftly. He will be in need of food and rest as much as I.”

“Laesuvion. That is a beautiful name.” He said softly. “We can send meat if you wish?”

“He is a good hunter; he has fed himself since I was ten.”

“Still to have flown so fiercely, with so little rest…”

“It does not do well to deprive a dragon of its hunt. Especially in such times as these.”

Cregan placed his utensils down carefully, “Princess, what has brought you to Winterfell?”

You lowered your fork. Good, time to stop dancing around the subject. From the pocket of your skirt, you withdrew the King’s missive.

“I am not sure how far and fast word has travelled,” You looked to the siblings and frowned. “King Viserys is dead, and Aegon has been crowned in my mother's place. The night of his coronation Queen Alicent gave me this letter for you, Lord Stark, she wishes for us to marry.”

Cregan broke the seal of the King’s letter and read silently.

“There are worse things than to be told to marry ones Promised,” Sara joked lamely. You smiled weakly in the tense silence.

Finally, Cregan folded the letter and turned to you, “Why were you with the Queen, not with your mother on Dragonstone?”

“I have been the Queen’s ward for some nine years now.”

“And are you loyal to her?”

“As a dog is to its owner.”

“They are very loyal in the North,” Sara said.

“I was traded to her as reparations when my brother gorged her son's eye.” You said plainly, “I was her possession, but I remain my mother’s daughter.”

“House Stark swore fealty to Princess Rhaenyra when she was made heir,” Cregan watched you carefully. “There has never been a Stark who has forgotten an oath.”

“I too have made a promise to my mother. I intend to keep it.”

Cregan brandished the letter, “This offers your hand in return for the North’s neutrality in the coming conflict. Is that what you wish?”

“May I speak plainly, my lord?”

“Please.”

“That letter is likely a forgery by the Dowager Queen’s hand. She is mistaken on many fronts, I fear, the least of which was Aegon’s ascension to King. I do not wish to go to war with my kin, but if it becomes inevitable I would rather do so with strong allies and in support of my mother.”

His head tilted, “House Stark is already an ally of your mother.”

“Yes,” You folded your hands on the table. “I should tell you, Lord Stark. My mother has sworn to marry me to my Promised for my service as her spy in the Red Keep.”

“You wish us to marry?”

“I wish to offer you my hand, outside my mother’s promise or the Queen’s demands.” You cleared your throat, and just as you had carefully prepared on your journey here you said, “I have been trained in the ways of the court, I will be of use to you in councils and in handling the affairs of your territory. I am of royal breeding, you will be made Prince-Consort, our children Princes, and Princesses of the realm. I have dragon eggs for their cradles and Valyrian blood for their veins. I would ask only that you allow Laesuvion to stay with me in the North. If not, I shall wait here until such a time as my brother Jacaerys comes to treat with you, that I might return with him to Dragonstone.”

You watched the Lord, his eyes dancing with an unnamed light as he listened to you. “I will need time.”

“Of course, my Lord, speak with your advisors.”

“You misunderstand him, Princess.” Sara grinned.

Cregan smiled, “I will not marry you hastily. I will need to summon my family and prepare a feast. It is a special thing, for those of our station, to be given leave to marry our Promised.”

“I–” You were unsure what you expected. “I suppose it is.”

Sara clapped gleefully, “Shall we call for dessert?”

You wore the soft nightclothes once more as you sat at your vanity and penned your mother a letter.

Mother,

How I have missed you. Know that I have thought of you often and never strayed from my mission nor my loyalty to you.

I have fled King's Landing and taken the Lord Hands life with me. Though the smallfolk have no mind to protest whichever Targaryen collects their taxes, you have many allies in the Red Keep. I have interred a list of those Lords and Ladies who remain loyal to you as well as those I have heard of beyond and some whom we may turn with careful diplomacy.

I am at Winterfell with my Promised, Lord Cregan Stark, whom I will marry in the coming weeks. With your blessing, of course. I await Jacaerys, with news of our family and our strategy. In the meanwhile, I intend to discuss what supplies and men Winterfell may have to offer you.

Mostly I am writing to you because I can. I am overwhelmed with the freedom to do so, to be able to tell you once more how much I love you. I cannot imagine how this week has been for you, know that though we are separated I am your most fierce supporter.

I have had a thought, in my hours here, about how far Winterfell is from the capital. How far we will be if we are forced into battle and bloodshed. Perhaps you might consider sending Joffery here, to mine and my soon-to-be Lord Husband's care.

I hope you are well, Mother. I love you from the very depths of my heart.

You signed the letter with a careful flourish and set it aside. You would ask Atara where you might find a raven-master to have it sent. You touched your fingers to it softly, your first contact with your family in nearly a decade. To tell your mother that you were preparing for marriage and war.

As you blew out your candles and settled into bed, you hoped your mother would like Lord Cregan Stark.

On your fourth morning in Winterfell, you took morning tea with Sara. She had taken lengths to make you comfortable in the days since your arrival, and you took great joy in breaking your fast with her each morning. Today, you spent the early hours humming and haring over the tiny sample cakes you had been sent to taste for the upcoming feast. As you ate, Sara told you all that she could about the castle, the arriving lords, the Stark territory, and their histories.

Northern marriage traditions, you had learned, were not so different from those celebrated at King’s Landing, there would be the exchanging of cloaks and binding words spoken before gods but there would also be a hunt. Women such as yourselves would not be invited but you would find your own fun, Sara assured.

“It is tradition to have the pelts in your quarters and the meats on the feasting table.”

You lifted a citrusy cake between your thumb and forefinger, “Husband and wife share quarters here?”

“Most,” Sara said thoughtfully, “Though I’m sure Cregan would accommodate you if it is different in the south.”

“What happens if their hunt is unsuccessful?”

“I imagine there will be much embarrassment among the North, that we could not bring our Princess quarry for her wedding table.” Sara snatched the half-eaten cake from your hands and winked, “Fear not, Cregan is a good hunter.”

“If he is not,” You smiled fiendishly, “I suppose the two of us will have to find meats for the feast ourselves.”

Sara snorted, “I think my brother would be rather put out at being unable to provide you with a gift on your wedding day. But the look on his face as we return from our own hunt is almost worth it.”

You jolted, “Am I to bring him a gift?”

“You have brought him dragon eggs.”

“For our children.” You argued.

“For his heirs,” She assured, “I think he is already downtrodden at the idea of only being able to bring you fur and meat.”

“I bring only scales and fire.”

“You will be a very warm family.”

“And very well-fed.”

Sara snatched another cake from you, “Only if you keep eating all of these before I get a taste!”

You guffawed. “I am hungry, and they are so tiny!”

“They need be, so you can keep eating.”

“And I shall!”

“Your Highness, Lady Snow,” Atara curtsied as she entered, “Lord Stark has requested your presence in the courtyard.”

“Another lord has arrived?” Sara sank her teeth into another teacake. “Which house does he hail from?”

“No Lord, my Lady.” Atara looked to you uneasily, “A Prince. Of House Targaryen.”

After nearly nine years kept apart by the waters of Blackwater Bay, and three long days separated by your duties, the time had come. You caught your first look at your eldest brother as you left the comfort of the Great Keep and nearly crumpled to the ground. Sara laid a steadying hand at your shoulder as Atara whispered sweet comforts. But nothing could prepare you for the sight laid out in the courtyard.

Jacaerys, with Vermax perched atop the walls of the keep. Jacaerys, with tousled dark hair. Jacaerys, once the awkward boy you followed dutifully, now an emissary of the Queen. Jacaerys, your brother. Jacaerys, your mother’s son.

“Jacaerys!” You ran. Past Sara and Atara, past Cregan and his warning cry. You ran. Almost straight into the end of your brother’s sword. You pulled to a halt, the blade a whisper away from your sternum, “Jacaerys?”

“Sister,” He sneered. “How far you are from your castle.”

“I have escaped.”

“You have been sent as an emissary of the usurper and his cunt-mother.”

“She did not tell you?” Your arms slumped at your side. “Mother sent me as a spy, she and Daemon trusted me to–”

“Her trust was misplaced. You have betrayed us.”

“I have come here to rally the North for our mother’s claim, just as you have.”

“You have come here to better your station.”

“I am a Princess.” You hissed, confused, and insulted.

“You are Princess of nothing, of no house.”

“I am of House Targaryen,” You pressed forward until the tip of his sword tore through the bodice of your dress and blood welled. You turned, held out your hand and gave Cregan a pleading look, he shifted but stayed back. “I am Princess of loyalty, of oaths and duty. I have come to the North to escape the Greens, to tell our mother, the Queen, all that I have discovered these years.”

“Where was loyalty,” Jacaerys shook with rage. “When they dragged us before the Iron Throne and called our mother a whore and our brothers bastards? Where was duty, when Lucerys was nearly stripped of his birthright? Where were you when Laenor died? When Rhaenys flew to our mother's side to tell her of–”

“Our father is dead?” You whispered.

“Your father is Daemon.” He growled under his breath.

You reeled back, “My father is Laenor Velaryon.”

“It is Daemon. He told us so himself when he married Mother.”

“Daemon and mother are married?”

His sword sagged slightly, “The Greens did not tell you? What of Viserys and Aegon?”

“Our grandsire and uncle?”

Jacaerys looked pained, “Our brothers.”

You fell to your knees, shoved your face in your hands and wept. Jacaerys jerked his sword backward and staggered away from you as Cregan rushed to your side.

“Princess?” He wrapped a protective arm over you. “What is the matter?”

“The question of Driftmark’s succession,” Jacaerys stared at you in horror. “Where were you?”

“I did not know!” You sobbed. “I did not know!”

“Otto Hightower said you would not see us, that you felt abandoned and betrayed when Mother gave you to the Greens.”

Cregan pulled you closer to him as Jacaerys inched forward. He growled, “Stand back. You have no enemies among the Starks. Do not make one.”

“I went willingly, for mother, for Lucerys.” You glared up at your brother. “You watched me! I traded my life; you watched me do it!”

“Otto Hightower–”

“Is dead!” You bared your teeth. “I fled King’s Landing, and I killed the man who usurped our mother, and you as her heir. I am loyal, I am steadfast, I am your greatest supporter as heir.”

“Tis true.” Cregan attested. “She has come to the North in support of your mother's claim. She has offered her hand to me, and we have talked much of giving your mother’s children sanctuary here.”

“You are betrothed?” Jacaerys whispered.

“I am.” You said proudly.

Cregan smiled at you softly, “The North is yours, my Prince. So long as my Promised wills it.”

“Sister.” Was all Jacaerys could say. “Sister.”

“Come,” Cregan lifted you to your feet. “My betrothed will catch a cold out here, let us speak inside.”

.

Cregan sat you gently by the fire swaddling you in the great expanse of his cloak. Sara brought tea to your side while your brothers sat at the other end of the room to discuss politics.

“Did you hear?”

Sara blew on her cup, “I heard a lot.”

“Did you hear what he said about my father?”

“That you lost one? Or that…” She pursed her lips.

“That I am Daemon’s bastard.”

“I did.”

“Do you think Cregan heard?” You burrowed into his cloak.

She gave you a secret smile, “Does it matter? You are a Princess, twice over. And Cregan keeps me around, does he not?”

“I only meant…” You turned away. “I fear he may think me liable to follow in my mother’s footsteps.”

“Will you?”

You stared at her, “Cregan has been kind to me, listened to me, protected me – given me more than anyone has ever offered me. And he is my Promised. Why should I stray from him?”

“Then there is no reason to fret.”

“And the King’s Hand?”

“What of him?”

“I killed him.” You half hid your face in your teacup.

“Do you regret it?” Sara asked curiously. “It is no small thing, to kill a man.”

“He has haunted my family for generations. I would do it again.”

Sara shrugged, “Then we will speak no more of it, justice has been served. I’m sure Cregan will more than agree.”

“Will he?”

“He has been forced to make decisions even further North of here, at the wall.” She took a long sip of tea and stared into the flames. “Some even I do not agree with. But we are family, and he is your Promised. So, it does not matter, does it?”

“No.” You stared into your cup. “I suppose not.”

“Princess!” The man in question came over with a charming grin, “Your brother has offered to escort you at our wedding.”

Jacaerys looked at you timidly, “If you will have me, sister.”

You looked first to Cregan who nodded, and then to Jacaerys with a soft smile. “Of course, brother. Nothing would please me more.”

The letter from your mother arrived another four days later. It came to you clutched in Jacaerys’ hand with the seal broken. He had caught the raven just south of Winterfell as he, Cregan and the Northmen returned from the ceremonial hunt.

“I apologise, sister, I have never been accused of being patient.”

You scoffed, “Some things do not change.”

“Indeed,” Jacaerys said rather gravely. “I must ask a small favour of you before I give you this letter. It is on behalf of myself and our mother.”

You straightened, “Of course brother.”

“You will not open it until after you have been blissfully wedded to Lord Stark.” He paused at your dubious look, “Mother has words she wishes to share only after your wedding. Congratulations and such.”

“I suppose that is agreeable.” You took the letter carefully, “Though we require her blessings to move forward.”

“And you have them.” He tapped the letter. “In there. You shall marry your Promised tonight.”

“Tonight?”

“Tonight.”

And so, you married him that night.

The Godswood was eerie in the darkness of night. Though lit by the torches of countless Northmen, it felt as if the darkness were reaching cool unnatural fingers toward your procession. Coaxing you, in your red-black Maiden Cloak toward the foot of the weirwood heart tree, where your Lord-Promised, his uncle, and the dire wolf Shadow wait. Jacaerys held your hand tightly as if frightened to let you go. Around you, Lords and honoured guests planted their torches in the snow, lighting the way for you and your brother. The wind whistled through the silence, broken only by the great rumbling in Laesuvion’s chest where he perched on the lip of the keep’s gate.

"Who comes before the Old Gods this night?" Called Bennard Stark.

Jacaerys whispered your name, then cleared his throat in embarrassment and announced it proudly, "Daughter of the House Targaryen, comes here to be wed. A woman grown and flowered, trueborn and noble. She comes to beg the blessing of the Gods. Who comes to claim her?"

"Cregan, of House Stark,” Your Promised sent you a small secret smile, “Warden of the North and Lord of Winterfell. Who gives her?"

"Jacaerys, of the House Velaryon, who is her brother and Prince." Jacaerys gave your hand a firm squeeze as he gave you to Cregan.

"Princess,” Lord Bennard made an admirable effort to say your name without disdain, “Will you take this man?"

You took Cregan’s large warm hands in your own and smiled, “I take this man.”

Silently, hands joined, you knelt to the cold earth. Around you, the Lords of the North fell to their knees and bowed their heads in deference. Foreheads pressed together, you and Cregan offered silent prayers to the Old Gods. When you stood as one, Sara was there in her uncle's place, a cloak of thick, luscious fur in the silver-grey of House Stark.

You tipped your head back as Cregan fiddled with the ties of your Maiden’s Cloak. You smiled at the sky as he struggled gently against your neck. Finally, it loosened, there was a brief shock of cold and then there was wonderous heat, the furred collar tickling your chin. You look to Cregan then, donned in his colours, wrapped in his protection. You smile softly at one another and lean into a soft kiss.

The black sky lights up with swashes of red as Laesuvion spits fire at the stars.

All at once sound returns to the Godswood as the witnesses of your nuptials cheer, chief among them is your brother. You laugh in delight as Cregan grips your cheeks and plants another kiss on your lips. Shadow yips at your heels as your husband sweeps you up into his arms and carries you toward the Great Hall.

He whispers sweet promises for your future, and you have never been more grateful to know how fiercely a Stark is at keeping their word.

It was the wolf’s hour when the festivities swelled through the Great Hall and you found yourself drawn to a quiet corner. You excused yourself from your husband by pressing a chaste kiss to his temple. He smiled softly at you and trailed his fingers from yours as you walked toward the hearth roaring at the far end of the hall. You pulled your mother's letter from your pocket and pressed your fingers against her seal as if you could fuse the two halves back into a whole. She and Jacaerys would not mind, you were sure, it was your wedding day after all, and you craved an inch of your mother’s presence.

You unfolded her letter and read:

My dearest girl,

I have never doubted you and I do not do so now.

You have my blessings. Marry the Lord Cregan Stark and take joy in your Promised. I will entrust Baela and Rhaena to bring your young brothers into your care.

You have served me well, which is why I write to you now, though my heart tells me to spare you.

Aemond has taken Lucerys’ life. War has come.

You looked up gripping the letter until your fingers drew indents in the paper and made desperate eye contact with Jacaerys’ pained face. A sound halfway between a scream and a sob tore from your throat, drowned by the thundering roar of Laesuvion overhead. Cregan stood, fighting to stumble his way toward you, as the walls of Winterfell rattled with your fury.

Nine years you had spent in the Red Keep, learning your enemies inside and out. Carefully ushering pieces across a board too vast for you to comprehend, hoping desperately you could stop a war conceived long before you. It all narrowed to this moment. Wrapped in the cloak of your husband’s house, framed by the hearth fire, as your dragon raged above.

Your Brother. Your Dragon. Your Husband.

By Blood. By Fire. By the Old God’s Promise.

You would avenge your brother and bring war to the Greens.

#cregan stark x reader #cregan stark #cregan x reader #cregan x you #cregan fanfiction #jacaerys velaryon #prince jacaerys #lucerys velaryon #aemond targaryen #aegon ii targaryen #queen alicent #alicent hightower #hotd #house of the dragon #hotd fanfic #otto hightower #rhaenyra targaryen #daemon targaryen #soulmate au

[onefleshonepod]

🐘 Is the "cradle creature" in Nona's drawing an elephant?

Image description and transcript:

Annotation of three quotes from Nona the Ninth. Areas with brackets have colour-coded annotations. The annotations will follow.

The Angel urged tersely, "Did you I get this from a picture?" Nona looked down at the animal she had drawn, and thought perhaps she understood. She said, (“No, I made it up.) It does work, I promise. (See these things? They're its ears,") she said, in much the same tones as she would have explained to Kevin. ("This thing is its nose,) and (you can't see it because I didn't draw it, but the mouth is under here.) (When first it was born) (it used to live in a river, but then it got cold so it had to get large.) I know (the legs can't rotate,) but you don't think that's stupid, do you?"

"I've seen pictures of this (animal) before," said the Angel, slowly and carefully. "I only saw it because I did a special unit when I went to university. I went to the special (zoology) school on Miró and attended a heap of underground archaeology talks.

"You wouldn't have," said the Angel. "It's a cradle creature."

Nona is the soul of Earth, so in a sense yes, she, via the evolutionary process on Earth, “made [this creature] up.”

Nona mentions the ears first, indicating that they are a prominent part of the drawing, and calls them “things.” It seems as though she thinks they’re not immediately recognizable as ears to Cam and the Angel, and they look weird to her as well (Nona has only ever seen human and dog ears in this body). I think this indicates that the ears are large and unusual, which suggests that maybe this animal is an elephant.

Another use of the word “thing” [in reference to the nose] – Nona is implying that the nose looks weird to her, or she thinks the nose looks weird to Cam and the Angel, and is unlike a human or dog nose. That would again work with this animal being an elephant.

The mouth is "under" something, perhaps the nose, and can't be seen, and Nona didn't draw it. An elephant's mouth is somewhat hidden under its nose, and in a head-on view of an elephant, the mouth is not visible.

Nona is comparing this animal unfavourably to Noodle, whose legs can rotate.

I believe this sentence [“When first it was born…”] is about the entire evolutionary history of this animal. From the perspective of Earth, the life of the creature is not the individual life of the individual animal she has drawn, but the history of the entire species.

All tetrapods descend from the Sarcopterygii, or "lobe-finned fishes." A living member of this clade which closely resembles basal fossil sarcopterygians is the lungfish, a freshwater fish. The evolutionary ancestor which lived in a river that Nona is referring to might very well be this basal sarcopterygian.

It did indeed get a lot colder on Earth from the Devonian period, when the basal tetrapods first arose, to the present day.

The Angel's words here suggest that Nona has drawn an animal that really existed.

Zoology to the layman is often understood specifically as the field of study of vertebrates (although invertebrates are also animals).

"Cradle" could be a reference to the "Cradle of Mankind," Olduvai Gorge in Tanzania, where the Leakeys researched hominin fossils, or to the "Cradle of Humankind," a fossil hominid site in South Africa. Both of these sites are also home to African elephants. However, it could also just be a broader reference to the planet Earth as the birthplace of humanity.

#ntnspoilers #ntn spoilers #nona the ninth #nona the ninth spoilers #nona #ours

[isay]

Chances are that when you think of Australia you tend to think of the beaches, Sydney Opera House, or the red centre and Uluru. Most people by and large tend not to consider that we also have gigantic forests and mountain ranges.

So anyhow, taking advantage of the Chris died for my sins public holiday yesterday, we decided to head out for a drive because Kim has had a hankering to see leaves changing colour with the advent of autumn. We'd planned to head to a place called Jamieson up by Lake Eildon, stopping on the way for lunch at Mansfield, which in winter is the gateway to the snowfields and the skiing at Mount Buller.

Now to get to Jamieson was nice and easy, about a two and a half hour drive on decent enough roads. Not exactly major roads by any means but perfectly capable and comfortable to drive on. But then in Jamieson, with about 120 kms of gas left in the tank we decided to take a 'scenic route' for the return journey.

After forcing Google Maps into choosing a route south along minor roads off we set, oblivious to what lay in wait for us. Essentially a good two and a half hours on unsealed roads, up and down mountains with the traction control freaking out constantly. Both Kim and I are terrible passengers as we both like to have control of the car, but yesterday I got to ride shotgun, which often meant staring off over a sheer drop into a bottomless gorge.

And did I mention the 4x4s that are built to do this that think nothing of roaring along those roads at 60-80km an hour, billowing up clouds of dirt you can't see through? Yeah we came across a few of them too.

Halfway through we also realised that we were likely to run out of gas before making it back to civilisation. Thankfully after about an hour or so and with 60ks of gas left in the tank we made it to a township (pop.30) called Woods Point which showed it had a 'historical gas station'. No actual gas station though.

Thankfully though it has a pub, the Commercial Hotel, which is now my favourite pub in the world. Because it also sells petrol. Just enough to get us back to the 21st century. Off we set again, leaving Brigadoon behind us, grateful that our visit coincided with it's once in a century appearance.

Another hour and a half of time travel through the land that time forgot and we finally hit sealed roads again, much to our palpable relief. Then weaving through some of the most gorgeous driving there is to be had in this world, winding roads surrounded by forest still, and hardly a soul sharing them with us. We finally made it safely home after three and three quarter hours of adventure.

So the moral of this story? There's a reason why Google Maps is sometimes reticent to send you down the road less travelled, and you might want to listen to it. Or you might not, because you'll see things others hardly ever get to, have a grand adventure and you might get to find the best pub in the world.

[lostinwildflowers]

Arthur Morgan x Reader

Summary: On a quieter day out in the fields, you suggest cooling off in the creek. Arthur isn't so sure about it until you get a little... wild.

Word Count: 4.0K

Warnings: me not knowing anything about RDR2 but trying my best, fluff, suggestive themes, mentions of undressing, implied feelings and thoughts, some mutual pining

A/N: Hey y'all!! This is for my lovely dear and amazing bestie @bluebellhairpin for being an absolute sweetheart. I know about 0 things about RDR2 but I tried my best so please be kind😅 -Birch<3

It was an unusually warm day out in the west, the trails rocky and red with the stain of the harsh dirt. The landscape was ethereal, with large mountains diving into deep gorges on either side, opening into the wide valley where you were riding.

The valley was your current home, with fields of wispy green grasses and low-hanging brush. There were trees near the edges of the fields, and large pines that had been there for generations.

It was a warm day, and a windy one too. The sun was beating down on you and Arthur, making a sheen of sweat build up on your brow.

The wind whipped through the valley, making the only sounds audible those of the trees and grass rustling, and the faint whisper of a creek trickling in the background.

The sound of your horse walking underfoot was almost mute to you, as hours spent in the saddle made you accustomed to the four-beat walk of your horse across the rough terrain.

Bourbon, your trusty bay stud horse, was also enjoying the day. His neck was low, walking quietly behind Boadicea, his black tail flicking off flies casually. The sun beating down left his brown haircoat curled with sweat on his neck and under his mane, but he didn't seem to mind.

You reach down and pet him on the neck with your free hand as you mumble, "Just a little longer, we're coming up on some water soon." Arthur was just ahead of you, determined to lead until he was sure it was safe enough to take a break.

The call of a hawk overhead snaps your eyes to the sky, your straw cowboy hat blocking most of the sun's bright rays. Your (colored) eyes lock onto the conglomerate of crows and hawks circling in the sky, your brows wrinkling as you try to locate what they're hovering over.

"Arthur," you call wearily, "There's some birds up ahead, might need to be on the lookout for bears."

You see him just wave his hand in acknowledgment, and you roll your eyes before you kick Bourbon into a trot, veering off to the side of the small deer trail where the two of you had been scouting.

You sit deep into your saddle as you climb up the small hill, squinting as you look for the kill the birds were waiting for. Bourbon looks attentively ahead, his feet shifting nervously under you as your gaze locks onto the carcass of a dead cow elk in the dip below you.

You can hear a gruff call from Arthur behind you, but you ignore him as you spot a thin coyote chewing on the exposed and worn bones. You turn your head and say, "It's just a 'yote, we should still stay aware though."

When you turn over your shoulder to see if he heard you, Arthur is waiting at the bottom of the small hill, a frown on his face as he grumbles, "Well, I was gon' tell ya we could see that kill just up ahead. But you ain't never listen to me."

At that, he turns and heads back up the trail, aiming for the sound of the faint water in the distance. Your gaze trails after him, and you feel hot, your pearl snap shirt feeling heavy against your skin. And it wasn't because of the sun.

Bourbon was still dancing under your feet at the sight of the wild dog, and you scan the small field again to keep an eye out for any other large predators. Where there was one, more would certainly follow.

You see, Arthur and the rest of your crew were getting ready to move camps, with your current spot only being for overnight as you headed south slowly toward Valentine.

Dutch and the others were still north at Colter, so you and Arthur were out trying to find the best way to get south without being noticed. Thus, you had to spend some warm hours in the saddle, locating the best resources and safest places to travel while staying stealthy.

You and Arthur both decided to just take your horses and leave the wagon for now, as you didn't think it would take you very long. You see, you were a master of the land. You knew every type of plant, the color of every rock, bird, and meat, and which berries were safe to eat. You were a true survivalist, and that's why Arthur kept you around.

It wasn't the only reason, but Arthur definitely saw your strengths in the group, which led him to his current predicament- being alone with you. Not only were you an asset to the group, but you were also gorgeous.

After leaving Eliza, he was set on never showing emotion again, rather keeping to his business and leaving feelings out of the mix. But when you showed up, with Dutch smiling and talking to you, he knew he was going to be in for it.

With your braids of (colored) hair and gleaming (colored) eyes, Arthur knew he wasn't going to be able to make it work. And what was worse, is that you were sweet. Just a truly kind-hearted individual who cared deeply about the others around you.

As you gazed out across the valley, you didn't catch Arthur's glance toward you, noting the way your hair curled around the edges of your hat. Even the way your tan and burgundy striped pearl snap shirt clung to every part of you, he knew that you could seduce a man.

He hated the way he felt toward you because he knew he had messed up in the past. He knew he couldn't do that to you, you were too good for the life he lived.

You turned Bourbon to follow him back up the path as you grumbled, "That sucker thinks he knows better than me 'bout what's out here." Little did you know, Arthur heard you and a small smile tugged at the corner of his lip at your sass.

"Water's up ahead, Y/n/n," he calls over his shoulder, the nickname flowing off of his tongue before he could stop it. He feels a pang run through him as silence fills the air, but he doesn't dare turn around to look at you.

But you were just taking a drink from your canteen, and you froze in place at his words. Bourbon stops as your body stills, and Arthur just barely rides out of sight as you process what he said.

Y/n/n? Is he alright? Whatever, I need to refill my canteen, you think to yourself. You shove the bottle into your pack on the back of your cantle, petting Bourbon on the neck as you trot up the trail after him.

"Lookin' pretty clear to me," you state breathlessly as you break to a walk next to him, panting from the heat of the sun. Your (colored) gaze lands on his face, and you feel butterflies erupt in your stomach at seeing his handsome features.

Even with sweat on his brow and grime on his hands, he never looked better. He had cuffed his sleeves and rolled them up his forearms, exposing the thick muscle.

His hair was longer, and while tangled from the wind and not having been washed in a few days, it still looked soft. His eyes were always masked with emotion so you could never tell what he was thinking, but over time you've learned some of his small intricacies.

You could see the water up ahead, and you shoot Arthur a wide grin as you cut Boadicea off with Bourbon, sliding in front of him as he yelled, "Aye! What're you thinking woman-" "Just live a little, Arthur!" you call over your shoulder, loud giggles falling from your lips as you rush up to the widening creek.

You swing your leg off of your horse, stepping down onto the ground, the thin leather of your shotgun chaps brushing against the red dirt. You pull your reins down from Bourbon's neck, giving him a gentle pat as you grab his halter from your saddle.

You pull his bridle off and slip his halter on, hanging the bridle over your saddle horn before leading him to the water. You can hear Arthur behind you, and when you turn around to look at him, you catch his eye.

He's still sitting on Boadicea, watching you intently. You crack a crooked grin and hum out, "You see something you like, Arth?" You laugh as a frown covers his face, and he turns to get off of his mare as you snicker to yourself.

This is how it usually went, you did most of the talking, and you laughed at his reactions. Bourbon happily drank from the stream as your eyes scanned the banks of the water on the other side, no predators in sight.

Arthur leads Boadicea next to Bourbon, also having slipped her bridle off and letting her drink. Your giggles settle down as you let out a happy sigh, combing through Bourbon's black mane as he finished swallowing.

Once both horses were content with their levels of thirst, you lead them to a nearby tree, loosely tying them so they could nibble at the grass.

You turn around to tell Arthur to fill up his water jugs, but your mouth closes at the sight of him. He had undone the top few buttons of his shirt and was crouched down by the edge of the water. In his right hand was his hat, tucking it close to his chest while his left hand dipped into the water, scooping it up to splash on his face and neck.

Heat flooded over you, almost like a wave of nausea. In an instant, your chaps were way too warm, and you go to start unbuckling them. You feel almost itchy after having looked at him like that, so you try to focus on getting your chaps off.

You unsnap the sides and sigh at the feeling of what seemed like cooler air rushing into your slightly damp jeans, before unclasping it at the belt.

Arthur watched you from the corner of his eye, and he felt his throat drying up at the sight of you. He swore it was just the heat from the sun coming down stronger, but he couldn't deny it. You looked good.

Once your chaps hit the ground and you could take a breath again, you say, "We should refill the water jugs." Arthur nods and stands up with a quiet, "Yeah, go 'head and grab 'em."

You nod in return, turning your back to him to grab the canteens and jugs off of the horses' saddles. In his head, Arthur fought everything in him to not glance at the curve of your waist and hips.

You had this natural sway about you, and as you bent over to grab a bottle you dropped, Arthur cursed to whatever higher power there was that he couldn't tell you what he was thinking. A moment later you appear in front of him, a soft smile on your lips as you hand him a couple of the bottles, your arms completely full.

"Sorry," you mutter as one bottle slips from your hands again, and you reach down to grab it before all of the bottles tumble to the ground. A few choice words fall from your lips, and as you grasp at one, Arthur's hand grabs at it too.

For a moment, all you can think of is the feeling of his rough hand on yours, and you cease motion. You look away from the bottles to meet his eyes, and you find he's already looking at you.

"Y/n/n," he whispers, so close to you. You can feel his warm breath hitting your face, and despite the heat of the day, you can't bring yourself to care.

"Arth..." you reply, butterflies erupting in your belly at the intensity of his gaze. You're snapped out of the moment when Bourbon starts coughing behind you and you feel even more warmth across your face as you snatch the bottle and stand up.

"Sorry Arthur, I'm such a clutz," you say neutrally, grabbing another bottle before heading down to the water, glad your straw hat covered the expression on your face; horror.

He doesn't reply, but he throws his own cowboy hat on the ground behind you before grabbing the other bottles and crouching down to fill them. You could practically feel the heat waves and tension kissing in the air, but neither of you said anything.

You finish filling the bottles and carefully take them back to the saddles, putting them in the packs and taking a deep breath. What on earth is wrong with me? What did I think he was gonna do?

You try to brush it off the best you can, hanging your hat over the top of your bridle on Bourbon's saddle, doing the same with your chaps. As you try to cool off, a mischievous idea comes over you.

Arthur had put his canteen back on his saddle and had reached into one of his packs to grab his leather notebook. He plopped down on the other side of the tree from where the horses were, quiet as could be.

You do your best to ignore him, and as you get to the edge of the water, you start taking off your boots. Then your socks. Then goes your belt. And right as you start to undo the buttons to your pearl snaps you hear Arthur.

"What're you doin'?" It's a simple question, no malice in his voice. You smile but don't turn around to face him. "Cooling off," is all you say in return as you undo another button.

"Y/n/n, you better watch yourself," you hear this time. It's a little more firm, but you still don't turn around. A second later, you let the material of your shirt float down your arms before it joins the pile of clothes on the ground.

You don't see it, but Arthur's blue gaze is locked on your figure. He wants to look away, he wants to give you the privacy you deserve, the respect you deserve as a lady. But he can't.

"Y/n..." you hear again, but this time it's lower. Deeper. And more... well, intense. You keep going though, undoing the buttons to your jeans and shimmying out of them.

You're left in just your undergarments, and you can't help but feel the air whizzing around you. It feels electric from the burning of the sun, but also because you know he's watching you. Taking in every freckle, dimple, and curve of your body.

He's never seen this much of you, and you aren't sure why you felt so bold, but you take a cautious barefoot step forward and into the water. You can't help the gasp that falls from your lips as your toes submerge in the cool water, and a giggle follows a moment afterward.

You take a few more cautious steps, and you don't hear anything else from Arthur. Once you're about waist-deep into the water, that's when you turn around.

And for once, Arthur's eyes aren't on you. A pang hits you in the gut. You aren't sure if it's disappointment, relief, or what, but all you can think of is how foolish you feel at that moment.

That's until you realize what he's doing. You had seen him grab his notebook, yes, but you didn't know what he was going to write. Except he wasn't writing at all.

His thick fingers were wrapped around a small pencil, where you could see him scratching out long, smooth strokes. Your brow furrowed in confusion at his movements, and that's when his eyes meet yours.

"Turn back around," he calls, the faintest smirk on his lips as he chewed at a toothpick he had kept in his shirt pocket. You cock your head and reply, "Ya see something you like?"

The words you had said earlier hung heavy in the air for a second, and you could feel your heart pounding in your chest as you awaited his response.

"Maybe I do," is his response. You blink in surprise and swallow thickly at the implication of his words. Yet, you do as he says, and turn back around.

You reach down into the water with your hands, letting the dirt run off of your fingers and into the creek. You then splash a little on your face, brushing the hair out of your eyes and letting the water cool you and your mind down.

You'd never let yourself be this vulnerable in front of Arthur before, but now you just couldn't stop yourself. Something about being with him, out in the fields with your horses put you at ease.

A few minutes go by, with just the sound of the birds tweeting and the water crackling over rocks hanging in the air. You peer over your shoulder, and when you look at Arthur, he's watching.

The notebook he had been sketching in sat closed on his lap, and a wave of embarrassment ran over you. He'd just been sitting there, admiring you. Not in a creepy or predatory type of way, but simply a man enjoying the beauties of the world around him.

You turn to face him, but as you do so, you completely lower yourself into the water, wetting your hair down to the scalp. When you straighten up, you stay submerged with just the points of your collarbones showing.

"Thinking about joining me?" you ask quietly, a chill running up your spine, but not because of the water. This elicits a laugh from Arthur, a sound you don't get to hear very often.

"Darlin', you're testing me," he chuckles, looking down and flopping the notebook from his lap to the ground next to him. A wide grin slips onto your face as you reply, "Am I? I think you might just want to cool off too, Arth. It's been a warm day."

His gaze every so slightly darkens, and his jaw clenches. It was taking everything in him to not jump up, run over to you, and tell you everything he wanted to do to you. Yet he simply takes a deep breath and says, "Someone's gotta keep watch."

You nod and stand up straight, the water pouring off of you, and you see Arthur's eyes travel from your face, down your body, and back up. You don't say anything as you walk out of the water, heading straight toward him.

He stands up the second you're completely out of the water, and once you're standing in front of him, he takes a deep breath and tries to be respectful with his gaze. Pieces of his dirty blonde hair fall out of place as he looks down at you, and you can't help but feel exposed under his watch.

"Someone's gotta keep watch, right?" you whisper. He nods once as his eyes rake over your face and he mumbles, "Right." You also nod once, taking another half-step forward so you're practically touching him.

"How's the view?" you ask quietly, your eyes blinking slowly up at him, a shaky breath falling from your lips. Arthur locks eyes with you as his right hand gradually comes up to sit on your waist, his fingers gentle and warm against your now cool skin.

He reaches up to his mouth to pluck the toothpick from it, throwing it in the grass behind him without breaking eye contact. Then, with that same hand, he brushes a piece of hair out of your eyes, slicking the wet lock behind your ear.

"I've never seen anything this gorgeous in my life," he whispers. You swallow thickly as you continue to gaze up at him, your heart pounding louder and louder in your chest.

You couldn't think of anything smart to say, so all you can mumble is, "Well, is that so?" Arthur smiles lightly as he catches onto your nerves and he whispers, "Yes ma'am. The most beautiful view I've ever seen."

You find yourself leaning into him, your eyes half-lidded as his grip on you tightened. You can hear one of the horses snort behind you, and as your eyes flick to the noise, Arthur's hand moves to cup your cheek.

His touch brings your gaze back to meet his own blue one, and once again your name falls from his lips, "Y/n, I-" He pauses, his grip on you still firm, but his eyes uncertain.

"What is it, Arth?" you whisper, your features softening. Arthur could hardly speak, with you in his arms, the day warm and your skin cool, he didn't think he could move.

He sighs, his eyes shutting for a few moments before they reopen, and when they take in your face again, he knows.

"I love you."

You don't even blink at his words, you don't change anything about the way you stare up at him. And for a moment, Arthur thinks he's messed up. He thinks he's read the entire situation wrong, that is until giggles start falling from your lips.

A snort escapes your mouth, and he doesn't seem to find it funny. You lean into his chest, belly laughing, and Arthur doesn't know what to do, so he just holds you closer to him as he mutters in your ear, "What's so funny?"

Giggles are still coming from you as you straighten up and say, "I can't believe it took me taking my clothes off for you to tell me that." Arthur groans and goes to release you, but you stop him.

Instead, your hands find each side of the collar of his shirt, and you pull him down into a sweet, wet kiss. The droplets of creek water are still running down your cheeks, but neither of you seems to mind as you pull him toward you.

Arthur goes to wrap both arms around your waist, changing the angle of the kiss to deepen it. His nose brushes against yours, and he can't help but feel like he'd finally died and gone to heaven.

You're the one to pull back first, with a wide grin on your face. You flatten the collar of his shirt before you regain eye contact with him and say, "But I love you too."

His lips come crashing into yours again, pulling you flat against his chest. A small moan escapes your lips as he kisses you, but you could care less. All you were thinking about was the feeling of Arthur against you, and how you never wanted it to stop.

This time, he's the one to pull back, and when you flutter your eyes open to look at him, he smiles. You smile back and quickly lean in to place a small peck on his lips.

It's quiet for a moment before you ask, "What was it you were drawing?" He sighs with a chuckle and replies, "Oh darlin', just the best view I've ever seen."

You giggle once as you lean in and whisper against his lips, "Oh really?" He chuckles too and closes the kiss with a small 'uh huh'.

Needless to say, you weren't getting back to the crew until it was pitch black out, but the feeling of Arthur's lips against your own made any question in your mind lay to rest.

And rather than setting up with the rest of the group for the evening like normal, you found yourself laying next to Arthur instead.

#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan x y/n #red dead redemption #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #red dead redemption x reader #red dead redemption 2 x reader #arthur morgan drabble #arthur morgan imagine

[thavampress]

A Court of Flame

(our series has a title)

Aemond Targaryen x OC!femTargaryen

Masterlist

Chapter Two

~Saesha~

Saesha could not sleep. She couldn't seem to shake the heat from her skin. Finally, she ripped the covers back, making for the balcony. The white slip she wore was so sheer the moonlight exposed her, yet still she boiled.

It was anger. It rose like this, every now and again. Hot and unshakeable. She wasn't really sure what she was angry at specifically, or who.

To start, she was angry with the people around her in the Keep. She hated the way chittered about nothing, the way they gorged themselves on the castle's wine and food. Privileged.

The war caused them no real pain, no real loss.

Saesha resented them for it.

Second, she burned to take Otto Hightower's head from his shoulders. The very thought of his smug smile drove her to a rage.

Saesha found the balcony was little help. She needed open air and sky. She quickly clasped a coat over her slip and pulled on her boots. She made her way through the empty castle with ease, her steps barely making a sound against the stone.

She had refused to have Vermithor put in the Dragonpit and possibly withheld from her, so she made her way around to the other side of the castle, toward the Blackwater Rush. She cleared the Keep and walked along the raging dark river until the area around it cleared. She was close to the bay now. Vermithor's shadow circled overhead before sweeping down over her. He set down with a few gentle clicks.

Saesha ran a hand over his neck as he craned down. She climbed his wing to his shoulder, mounting him at last. Saesha Targaryen opted not to use a saddle. She gripped the protruding spikes on Verminthor's back, and commanded him to fly in their mother tongue.

The Bronze Fury took off with three heavy flaps of his great wings, sending a brief windstorm down below. Saesha audibly sighed as they rose into the sky. She circled the Red Keep twice before making out toward the sea. She closed her eyes, leaning back a bit to let the wind really catch her hair. She banked back over the city, flying low over the copper rooftops. Even at this hour the city was alive. Torches blazed on every street, and Saesha could make out the little dots of people still swarming the streets. Little more than ants from here.

Saesha thanked whatever gods there were for giving those of her blood dragons, for she could not imagine a life trapped on the ground.

As if whichever gods heard her, a larger shadow joined her in the midnight sky. The beast flew overhead and Vermithor pulled down with an uneasy rumble in his chest.

"Lykiri, Vermithor," Saesha cooed, trying to calm her own sudden nerves as much as her dragon's.

Vhagar roared, turning away from them. Saesha pulled back toward the sea, bringing Vermithor lower. She glanced over her shoulder, peering into the dark for Vhagar's massive shape, but she was gone.

He was gone.

She brought Vermithor down on a wide, unoccupied beach a little ways south of the city walls. She patted him hard where she sat, whispering more Valyrian encouragements. She slid from his back, her boots landing hard in the sand.

She listened. Waves lapped on the shore, a breeze rustled through nearby bushes. Vermithor growled again, and Saesha heard it, exactly what she'd been listening for; wings.

Massive wingbeats came down upon them as Vhagar landed on the opposite side of the beach. Saesha was tense, and suddenly very aware of the fact that she was unarmed, and half naked.

Aemond's unmistakable form climbed from Vhagar's back before turning to march down the beach toward her. He stopped about ten paces from her as Vermithor lifted his massive head and brought it over her, curling his lips back.

Aemond only smiled. "Curious time to be riding, niece."

"Is it?" She replied, cocking her head. "And what exactly are you up to?"

"I could not seem to rest," Aemond said as though it were her fault. Oh how she hoped it had been her fault.

It was her turn to smile, "I could not sleep myself, dear uncle."

Aemond narrowed his eye at her. What was he thinking?

The wind gusted again, and the bottom of Saesha's coat parted to reveal her thin white slip underneath. She shivered and watched distinctly has Aemond's lilac eye darted to her thighs, barely covered, before raking up to her face.

Saesha clenched her jaw hard to not shiver again.

"I should escort you back, princess," he said much softer now.

She only stared back at him, at the enormous beast behind him. The dragon that ate her brother. Suddenly the air in her lungs felt heavy, and her mind clouded. It felt like the entire war was back, crashing over her head like cold water.

She was paralyzed, while Aemond Targaryen watched.

~Aemond~

She stood, arms crossed, big violet eyes locked on Vhagar behind him. Aemond could not read the look on her face.

"Princess?" He asked, taking a step forward. Vermithor grumbled again. Aemond ignored him, taking another step. "Saesha?"

Her eyes snapped to him. "Why did you do it?"

Aemond clenched his jaw. He knew what she meant, but he asked anyway, “You’re going to have to be more specific, Princess.”

“Why did you kill Lucerys that night?”

"I fear you will not quite believe me, Princess" He replied.

She shook her head. "Try me. And stop fucking calling me princess.”

Gods, it was a challenge. She was undeniable, and that fire had returned to blaze in her eyes. Aemond was ashamed at the giddy feeling it gave him. All his life it felt like Aemond was surrounded by snakes, not dragons. Aegon was a drunken fool, his grand sire the Hand was a conspirator and a liar, even his own mother seemed to slither through the Red Keep, ever at her own father’s side.

Saesha was a Targaryen, through and through. A dragon of Old Valyria. He wanted her, he realized suddenly.

“At Storm’s End, Lucerys’ arrival took me by surprise,” Aemond began, “It angered me, to see him flying about trying so blatantly to win the support of the great houses to Rhaenyra’s side. I suppose I was more angry at your mother than anything. Everything that had ever happened, the taunting, my eye, it rose out of me all at once. We had a verbal altercation, I demanded he give me his own eye, and Borros Baratheon commanded us to to leave his hall. I couldn’t help myself, the rage was so thick. I mounted Vhagar and went after Lucerys on dragonback.”

Saesha watched him, eyes glistening with tears, but her face was hard as stone.

“I only wanted to scare him,” Aemond said quietly. “I never intended… Arrax attacked Vhagar. I’m sure he was only afraid, but Vhagar takes no small offense. She pursued him, denying my every command. I could not stop it.”

The beach was so still for a moment. Even the ocean seemed to still at his words. Aemond waited.

“I believe you,” she said at last. It was the last thing he had expected to hear. “Somehow, I do. It’s like I can tell.”

Aemond was relieved. Saesha was to be his wife, and the last thing he truly wanted was to spend his life with someone who resented him and believed him a cowardly liar. He never used to care, especially once the war was done. He had known once Rhaenyra was finally dead that he would be betrothed to Saesha, it was all part of Alicent’s larger plan.

But standing before her now, both their scars bare for each to see, he realized he wished to give her some peace. She deserved that much.

“I am happy to hear it,” he mustered.

Her eyes were still so sharp, “I do not forgive you. I do not think I will ever forgive you. What you did was the act of scorned child, and my brother lost his life for it.”

“I was a child, you are right, but any child in me was killed during the Dance,” Aemond defended.

“As was mine,” she replied, turning from him to approach Vermithor. She stopped, turning back to face Aemond.

“I understand that rage, Aemond, better than most. I suggest for both our sakes we do not tempt it from each other.”

She mounted Vermithor and took to the skies, soaring back toward the Keep. Aemond remained on the beach for awhile, staring out at the moonlit sea.

For the first time in a long time, Aemond Targaryen felt fear, for he felt himself hoping.

~Saesha~

Saesha had done a fine job at avoiding Aemond in the Keep. She had learned his schedule, his habits, over the last week. She’d take different corridors to avoid the ones he frequented, and would hide in her chambers when he wasn’t tied up in a council meeting or in the yard.

All of this felt a little futile as throughout the same week of avoiding Aemond, Saesha was being fitted into wedding gowns and subjected to countless flower arrangements and food samples.

Alicent was surprisingly warm to her throughout the process. She wanted to let Saesha choose as much as she could to make the celebrations more to her liking. The festivities were set to last three days. The union of the House Targaryen after a brutal year of war was a turning point for all of Westeros, and the people were long overdue for something to celebrate. Aemond and Saesha's wedding was the symbol of peace at last, and it seemed to make Saesha ill to think about.

Alicent sat in Saesha's chambers as two maids draped elaborately jeweled necklaces around her neck.

"The pearl matches your hair beautifully, princess," one maid remarked as the other held a pearl laced collar around her neck, at the center an enormous ruby dangled down her chest.

"It is quite exquisite," a deeper voice called from behind them.

Saesha caught his reflection in the mirror, the glint of amusement in his eye.

"Aemond," Alicent scolded, "what if she had her dress on? You could've spoiled it."

Aemond shook his head with smile playing on his lips, crossing the room and taking a seat in one of the velvet chairs just behind where they all sat at Saesha's vanity. "Hardly, mother," Aemond assured. "Saesha isn't much for tradition."

Saesha scoffed. "You would know?"

"I can tell these things."

She hadn't turned to him yet, gazing instead through the mirror at him. He looked comfortable, she noted. His posture was straight as always, but the way he crossed his leg in the chair, and gently circled his fingertips together made him seem at ease.

Alicent stood, breaking the pause. "Why don't we be done for now?"

The maids bowed, collecting the boxes of necklaces and taking their leave. Alicent squeezed Saesha's hand as she passed.

The room was quiet when the heavy doors thudded closed behind her. Saesha sat still at the vanity, staring at Aemond through the mirror.

"Why are you here?" she asked.

"I missed you," he grinned.

Cheeky.

He sighed. "I suppose I wished to... feel you out after our last encounter."

For reasons she couldn't explain, Saesha fought a deep shiver.

"What is there to feel, my prince?" She turned to face him at last, realizing begrudgingly that she relished in baiting him back.

He was smirking that particularly Aemond smirk at her. "I do not wish to enter this marriage with resentment and awkwardness between us. I came to ensure we had made amends."

"You mean for killing my brother?"

Aemond clenched his jaw. "Indeed."

"As I said, I cannot forgive you," she began, "but I will not spend our marriage cold and resentful toward you."

Aemond Targaryen had the audacity to smile. It was a real smile, she realized.

"Do not flatter yourself," she said, standing from her place at the vanity and slowing stepping toward him, "I am not doing it for you."

Aemond gazed up at her, now standing above him with the light from the windows glowing behind her. "Then who for?"

"For me, you idiot," she whispered, leaning down to rest both hands on his knees, now uncrossed before her. Her face was inches from his as she continued, inching her lips closer to his with each word. "I have suffered enough, and it is my own family's actions just as much as yours that led me here. Why should I have to live bitter and cold? Why shouldn't I enjoy what has been given to me?"

Aemond was leaning up to meet her. She grinned, standing back up in a flash. Aemond looked flushed, leaning back in the chair beneath her.

"So no, princeling," she cooed, sitting back down at the vanity, "there shall be no awkwardness between us, I assure you."

-TAG LIST-

@hopebaker

@snh96

I am super new at Tumblr, so I am learning as I go. Let me know if you want to be tagged in the future! Mastlist to come.

#aemond x reader #aemond x oc #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen fanfic #house of the dragon #hotd fic #aemond one eye #aemond fanfiction

[thegloriousninjaturtle]

First Lines in 2024

Welp, @delivish tagged me to give some sneak peeks in the making and thank goodness they did tag me because boy have I been writing! I know I'm practically silent on here, but I do miss Ao3 and I miss the amazing community in the fandom even more! Makes me wonder why I take a long long time to post (besides life being the apparent answer XD). Here are some snippets of two fics that will be posted soon!

A Series of Choices (CH.5)

Kenny lay on the couch, a cigarette dangling from his lips as he played Tetris on his phone, waiting for Karen to FaceTime him. It was eight in the morning and he had been up since five playing, his thumbs moving on autopilot, tapping the blocks into place. The smell of ash filled the room, smoke curling over his head, and for once, Kenny was glad to be home alone. It was a rare moment where he was able to smoke inside the house and no one was around to pester him about his habits. As Kenny tapped a line piece to the right of his screen, Karen’s face popped up on his phone. He moved his ash-filled cup out of view before answering the call.

“Hey!” Karen beamed.

Kenny couldn’t help but look surprised to see his sister’s hair now a different color. “Hey. White?”

“Sort of. It’s actually a really light pink. My roommates helped me dye it and cut it, too. Do you like it?” She asked, shaking her short hair from side to side.

“Yeah, actually. It’s different,” he commented. “So is that the first thing you did when you got off the plane?”

“More like the second. The first was struggle to unpack with two other people in a tiny space,” Karen said. “Here’s the full tour of the dorm, if you’re interested.”

 She pushed herself out of the way and her laptop was able to capture the entirety of her room right in its place. He was able to catch the lofted beds, desks, and crammed mini fridge all in one glance. Karen wasn’t kidding when she said she was shoved into a closet.

“That’s it?” Kenny asked.

“Yup. The only thing you’re not seeing is my desk, which you don’t really need to see,” she mumbled as she shuffled a few papers out of the way. “But that’s it,” she confirmed and moved back into view.

“Bet you wish you had your old room back.”

Karen gave a half-shrug. “It doesn’t bother me. I’m just glad I got roommates that I actually get along with.”

“Are you saying your old roommates sucked?”

“Yeah, because at least these ones aren't pigs.”

Forgive Me Father for I Have Sinned

In roughly thirteen hours, Butters will be standing in South Park’s Roman Catholic church, waiting to be wed to a woman he didn’t love. His mother has planned everything, from the guest list to the music to the white rose boutonniere on Butters’ suit. His girlfriend – now fiance – of three months has been teasing Butters about her wedding dress, telling him she couldn’t wait for him to see it and even more excited to walk down the aisle without her promise ring. They will say their vows and seal their fate with their first kiss. During the reception, everyone will gorge on gourmet food as they toast speech after speech, congratulating them on their big day. Perhaps Butters’ parents will finally tell him how proud they are of him. Butters and his new wife will have their first dance before cutting the cake his mother lost her mind. No doubt the baker blacklisted them from any future orders. A perfect tale for any wedding, except when his fiance will appear before the church doors, Butters won’t be waiting for her on the other side.

I'm tagging @lozislaw because I know you beautiful bitch have something in the making XD Of course, if you wish to keep it a surprise, we'll all be waiting with bated breath <3

#sp bunny #bunnysp #sp kenny #south park #kenny mccormick #leopold butters stotch #my fic #tsosc #bunny south park #southpark

[immigrant-rob]

The countdown to our departure from the swamp to the freezer of the world has started. Last week was my last week of work, and Naomi likes to now tease me saying I'm partially retired... So what do retired people do? Travel. When we were deciding where to go for our last trip on this side of the globe, we initially had planned for it to be in Europe. But after checking flight tickets and times, South Africa seemed like the place to go. Maybe the many friends that have recommended it also played a small role.

We arrived in SA on Thursday eve where we picked up our rental car and drove to our guesthouse.

Day 1 we hiked up Table Mountain via the Platteklip Gorge. Upon reaching the table we first hiked to the smallest and flattest peak I have ever seen. From there on we hiked along the ridge, which presented some stunning views of the city below to the cable cart that took us back down. After our hike we drove into town to visit a neighbourhood called Bo Kaap, where many of the houses are bright and colourful. This represents the event when slaves were allowed to buy their own houses and did not have to rent the standardized white houses they lived in before. When getting out of our car a guy approached us and told us he was our "parking attendant" for which a small donation was welcome. Being the poster boy tourist, tall, blond and white he must've seen his chance for which he was greatly rewarded. Because we didn't have any small change on us, he suggested going to the shop across the road to buy him some food. This turned out to be a months worth of peanut butter and oil totalling 8 euros, for what would end up to be a 30 minute parking session. Amsterdam parking tariff isn't that bad after all. Note to self, always carry small change for tipping. At least when we got back to our car the windows had not been smashed, tires not deflated and we could spread the Dutch love for peanut butter.

Day 2 was rainy and misty, so we decided to do our drive around Cape Peninsula that day. First stop was visiting a penguin colony, where we applied our learnings from the day before and tipped the parking attendant the appropriate amount. We continued our journey to Cape of Good Hope, where the rain stopped... and it started to pour. Unfortunately, visibility wasn't great, and the name "good hope" turned out to be false advertising as it only got worse. When leaving the park we ran into a wild zebra, which caught us all by surprise. Didn't zebras only live on the savanna far away from civilization? I was definitely not expecting to see one out here, but a comforting surprise to a day where the pouring had turned into hosing from the sky. On with the drive, we stopped at a local coffee shop in Scarborough where we ate the most delicious sweet potato wedges ever. That fries shop in Sydney Australia has been beaten and we proceeded on our coastal drive up north again. Halfway along we stopped for a hike up Chapmans Peak. Unsurprisingly, the peak was also covered in clouds, so we did half the hike and waited for the bay to clear up while hiding under a bush. Once it cleared up, the view was lovely.

On day 3 we got up at 5am to hike up Lion's Head to see the sunrise over Cape Town. Halfway up the view was clear and the city beautifully lit by all its lights. At the top the clouds rolled in again preventing us from a clear view of the city, but the sunrise was pretty nevertheless. We headed to the botanical gardens where we saw the most special plants so far only seen on National Geographics. We had lunch at the local foodmarket where I had a 500 gram serving of beef ribs from the braai. Lekker! In the eve we made good use of Brandon and Michaela's, our SA friends, Spurs giftcard to endulge ourself over a hearty meal. For me this time a 500 gram T-bone steak. Equally delightful was that we got to watch Arsenal beat Man Utd. 3-1 to send the reds to the right side of the table.

Coming up will be our 5 day roadtrip over the Garden Route, followed by 5 days in Kruger nation park where we DO expect to see zebras. Not too busy packing for our move yet. That will come after this trip.

#south africa #table mountain #lions head #cape town

[feeshies]

Voyage of the Nautilus: The Gulf Stream pt. 2

Trying my hand at live-reading even though I was bad and read ahead. But this chapter hurts and I need to yell about it.

“Sir,” he told me that day, “it’s got to stop. I want to get to the bottom of this. Your Nemo’s veering away from shore and heading up north. But believe you me, I had my fill at the South Pole and I’m not going with him to the North Pole.”

I like Ned putting his foot down lol. Big "this party's going on for way too long, I'm calling the Uber" vibes.

“I keep coming back to my idea. We’ve got to talk to the captain. When we were in your own country’s seas, you didn’t say a word. Now that we’re in mine, I intend to speak up. Before a few days are out, I figure the Nautilus will lie abreast of Nova Scotia, and from there to Newfoundland is the mouth of a large gulf, and the St. Lawrence empties into that gulf, and the St. Lawrence is my own river, the river running by Quebec, my hometown—and when I think about all this, my gorge rises and my hair stands on end! Honestly, sir, I’d rather jump overboard! I can’t stay here any longer! I’m suffocating!”

Ned :((( This chapter is so anxiety-inducing and you can feel the dread. Also "When we were in your own country’s seas, you didn’t say a word. Now that we’re in mine, I intend to speak up" is such a good line.

I had a sense of what he was suffering because I also was gripped by homesickness. Nearly seven months had gone by without our having any news from shore. Moreover, Captain Nemo’s reclusiveness, his changed disposition, and especially his total silence since the battle with the devilfish all made me see things in a different light. I no longer felt the enthusiasm of our first days on board.

Aronnax :((( Nemo :((( I wonder if Aronnax's homesickness was amplified (or rather unlocked) after hearing one of the crewmen speak French during the devilfish fight. Everyone's depressed on this submarine.

You needed to be Flemish like Conseil to accept these circumstances, living in a habitat designed for cetaceans and other denizens of the deep.

Except for Conseil, who seems to be fine just chilling. Is this a Flemish stereotype? Should I be side-eyeing Aronnax?

Truly, if that gallant lad had owned gills instead of lungs, I think he would have made an outstanding fish!

I still think this line is super cute. I wish someone would say I'd be an outstanding fish.

“But I rarely encounter him. He positively avoids me.” “All the more reason you should go look him up.” “I’ll confer with him, Ned.” “When?” the Canadian asked insistently. “When I encounter him.” “Professor Aronnax, would you like me to go find him myself?” “No, let me do it. Tomorrow—” “Today,” Ned Land said.

Ned "either communicate with him or just dump him already!" Land.

I entered. The captain was there. He was bending over his worktable and hadn’t heard me. Determined not to leave without questioning him, I drew closer. He looked up sharply, with a frowning brow, and said in a pretty stern tone: “Oh, it’s you! What do you want?” “To speak with you, captain.” “But I’m busy, sir, I’m at work. I give you the freedom to enjoy your privacy, can’t I have the same for myself?”

My anxiety is off the charts. I also love how short and abrupt his sentences suddenly get. It makes the encounter that much more tense.

Aronnax saying they "were miles apart" ;-; Turns out the 20,000 leagues was the distance that grew between him and Nemo this whole time.

“Here, Professor Aronnax, is a manuscript written in several languages. It contains a summary of my research under the sea, and God willing, it won’t perish with me. Signed with my name, complete with my life story, this manuscript will be enclosed in a small, unsinkable contrivance. The last surviving man on the Nautilus will throw this contrivance into the sea, and it will go wherever the waves carry it.”

Only during my second reading did I realize that this is essentially a suicide note. Oh fuck. Then Aronnax going "👀 I wanna see that manuscript..."

The exchange between Nemo and Aronnax was brutal and tense, holy shit. You can feel Aronnax's anxiety and frustration and Nemo's impatience. The chapter they spent trapped under the ice wasn't as suffocating.

“Ned Land can think, attempt, or endeavor anything he wants, what difference is it to me? I didn’t go looking for him! I don’t keep him on board for my pleasure! As for you, Professor Aronnax, you’re a man able to understand anything, even silence. I have nothing more to say to you. Let this first time you’ve come to discuss this subject also be the last, because a second time I won’t even listen.” I withdrew. From that day forward our position was very strained.

I don't like it when they fight :(

But the skies became more and more threatening. There were conspicuous signs of a hurricane on the way. The atmosphere was turning white and milky. Slender sheaves of cirrus clouds were followed on the horizon by layers of nimbocumulus. Other low clouds fled swiftly. The sea grew towering, inflated by long swells. Every bird had disappeared except a few petrels, friends of the storms. The barometer fell significantly, indicating a tremendous tension in the surrounding haze. The mixture in our stormglass decomposed under the influence of the electricity charging the air. A struggle of the elements was approaching.

It's so cinematic aaaa. I love the way the weather matches the tension inside the submarine. Not the optimal weather for an escape, but I think Ned is in "I don't care if the price surge is 200%, I'm calling the Uber!" mode.

#voyage of the nautilus

[canary0]

May 8 - Dracula 2023

I worried at the beginning of this travelogue that I had rambled too much, but now I’m glad I went into so much detail about everything. This place is deeply unsettling, it and every being inside. I wish I were gone, or I’d never have come; that I’d listened to the front desk people, or had been able to have gone with that bus driver that did his best to keep me from this place.

I know that this sudden change to a nocturnal existence, completely unconnected and away from anything, is wearing on me, but I’d love if that were the only problem. If I could talk to anyone, even just through text, that would be one thing. There isn’t a single living soul to talk to, though – and I include the Count in that. I know I’m going to sound completely insane to anyone who reads this, including myself, if I don’t explain this very directly. Here are the facts:

I didn’t sleep long… maybe three or four hours after dawn when I just couldn’t sleep anymore. I’d set up my phone to shave with, like before, when suddenly I felt a hand on my shoulder and heard “Good morning.” The Count’s voice. I jumped; I hadn’t heard him come in at all, and the phone’s camera should have shown him behind me. His hand on my shoulder or coming down to it at least. Even now, as I glanced between him and the phone, there was no sign of him – only me and the room behind me. I had cut myself slightly when I jumped. I finally noticed when I saw the blood starting to flow down my chin as I looked in the screen, trying to find him as my uneasiness grew. I turned around to head to my bag and grab a plaster for it, but when I did… When the Count saw my face, it seemed to fill him with some kid of wild fury, and he grabbed for my throat. I jolted back, and his fingers hit the chain of the crucifix I still wore. All at once, the fury vanished, his expression changing so quickly it was like a film skip in real life, like it was never there.

“Take care. Take care how you cut yourself. It is more dangerous than you think in this country.” His eyes lighted on my phone. “And this is the wretched thing that has done the mischief. It is a foul bauble of man’s vanity. Away with it!”

He threw it out the window. He threw my phone out the window, and it shattered into a million pieces on the stone courtyard below. Then he left without a word. Once he was gone, I rushed over to the window to try and see the damage.

It was shattered, completely salvageable. My texts back and forth with Mina and Lucy and my friends that I read for comfort in this place at times. My photos. My one way of being able to tell where this castle is. All of that completely gone. At least the photos I had transferred to the computer, but that was little comfort.

I went straight past the breakfast laid out – once again, only for myself, as I have yet to see the Count eat or drink – and left my rooms, heading into the great hallway we had traveled when I first arrived and to the stairs. I found a room facing south, with a sweeping view of the region. It was a sea of green trees, interrupted intermittently with chasms and streams winding through gorges in the valley. The castle’s position of a sheer, terrible precipice allowed a panoramic viewpoint.

Perhaps I would have found it beautiful under any other circumstances. Instead, I left, and checked as many other doors as I had access to from the hallway. It seemed like there were a hundred of them – a castle filled with doors, all locked and bolted. The only available exit were the windows.

I am a prisoner, and my prison is a liminal space of stone walls and locked doors.

That realization sent a wild feeling through me that drove me to run up and down the stairs, checking all the doors and windows. The weight of helplessness overcame me soon enough, though. Once it did, I headed back up to my room to sit down quietly – as quietly as I’ve ever done anything in my life – and think about what to do now. I also ate some of the breakfast laid out. Better to think with some energy after everything.

I’m still thinking about it. The only think I know for sure is that I shouldn’t tell the Count my thoughts. He’s the architect of my imprisonment, after all, so he knows perfectly well I’m trapped. Whatever his reasons for doing it, there’s nothing to be be gained by talking to him – he would lie about it, certainly. For now, I’ll keep my thoughts to myself, play the good and naive guests, and keep my eyes and ears open. Either I’m being deceived by my own fears, or I am in dire straits, and will need every resource I have to survive. I’ll also have to make sure the Count doesn’t get rid of anything else important while I’m away. I’m going to start keeping these records on a thumb drive, just in case he decides my laptop is a “a foul bauble of man’s vanity”, too.

I had hardly settled on that when I heard the door below shut, and when he didn’t come immediately to the library, I slipped over to the door of my room, and found him making the bed. When I heard clinking, I spotted him through a gap between the wall and hinges dealing with the food. It’s as I suspected – there’s no housekeeper here or anything like that. No coachman, then, either, which is making everything I’ve seen fall into place in unpleasant ways.

He could control wolves with a wave of his hand. The gifts I got from so many people – the crucifix from the front desk attendant, and the garlic, wild rose, and mountain ash from the people on the bus. The rush of the bus driver, and his effort to get us to Bucovina. Bless him, and the woman who gifted me the crucifix. The latter has been an enormous help in calming my mind during all this. I don’t know if it’s just that it fills me with more memories of kind people, or if it’s something about the thing itself, considering how he reacted to it? I may have to sort that out eventually.

In the mean time, maybe I can do a bit of information gathering tonight. If I can get Count Dracula to talk about himself without making him suspicious, it may end up being useful.

Midnight – The Count did indeed come to talk as usual, and it ended up being a long conversation. I started off with Transylvanian history, and he warmed right up to the subject. In regard to things, people, and battles – especially those – he seemed like he was speaking from personal experience. He followed up with talk about how as a boyar, the pride of his house and name is his pride, their glory is his glory, their fate is his fate, etc. He used the royal we in all of it. Whatever else I may think, it was fascinating. He did become very animate, pulling at his big mustache and picking up or grasping random items as if contemplating whether to crush them in his grip.

There was one thing he said that stood out, and I’ll try to record it here as exactly as I can:

“We Szekelys have a right to be proud, for in our veins flows the blood of many brave races who fought as the lion fights, for lordship. Here, in the whirlpool of European races, the Ugric tribe bore down from Iceland the fighting spirit which Thor and Wodin gave them, which their Berserkers displayed to such fell intent on the seaboards of Europe, ay, and of Asia and Africa too, till the peoples thought that the werewolves themselves had come. Here, too, when they came, they found the Huns, whose warlike fury had swept the earth like a living flame, till the dying peoples held that in their veins ran the blood of those old witches, who, expelled from Scythia had mated with the devils in the desert. Fools, fools! What devil or what witch was ever so great as Attila, whose blood is in these veins?” He held up his arms. “Is it a wonder that we were a conquering race; that we were proud; that when the Magyar, the Lombard, the Avar, the Bulgar, or the Turk poured his thousands on our frontiers, we drove them back? Is it strange that when Arpad and his legions swept through the Hungarian fatherland he found us here when he reached the frontier; that the Honfoglalas was completed there? And when the Hungarian flood swept eastward, the Szekelys were claimed as kindred by the victorious Magyars, and to us for centuries was trusted the guarding of the frontier of Turkey-land; ay, and more than that, endless duty of the frontier guard, for, as the Turks say, ‘water sleeps, and enemy is sleepless.’ Who more gladly than we throughout the Four Nations received the ‘bloody sword,’ or at its warlike call flocked quicker to the standard of the King? When was redeemed that great shame of my nation, the shame of Cassova, when the flags of the Wallach and the Magyar went down beneath the Crescent? Who was it but one of my own race who as Voivode crossed the Danube and beat the Turk on his own ground? This was a Dracula indeed! Woe was it that his own unworthy brother, when he had fallen, sold his people to the Turk and brought the shame of slavery on them! Was it not this Dracula, indeed, who inspired that other of his race who in a later age again and again brought his forces over the great river into Turkey-land; who, when he was beaten back, came again, and again, and again, though he had to come alone from the bloody field where his troops were being slaughtered, since he knew that he alone could ultimately triumph! They said that he thought only of himself. Bah! what good are peasants without a leader? Where ends the war without a brain and heart to conduct it? Again, when, after the battle of Mohács, we threw off the Hungarian yoke, we of the Dracula blood were amongst their leaders, for our spirit would not brook that we were not free. Ah, young sir, the Szekelys—and the Dracula as their heart’s blood, their brains, and their swords—can boast a record that mushroom growths like the Hapsburgs and the Romanoffs can never reach. The warlike days are over. Blood is too precious a thing in these days of dishonourable peace; and the glories of the great races are as a tale that is told.”

It was certainly a… traditional understanding of history. Not talk that would go over all that well – even the Tories aren’t generally that flagrant.

At that point, however, the dawn was here, and we went to our own rooms. It feels as though I’m Scheherazade in 1001 Nights, with the way things shift only with the change of the sun over the horizon. Or the ghost of Hamlet’s father.

(AN: I took some time to think about whether Dracula would show up in a cell phone camera. Since it’s not silver-backed (likely the original reason vampires had no reflection), presumably it could at least catch his image. That said, silver is often use in electronics for solder, electrical contact, circuit board parts, etc, since it has very high conductivity, so his image wouldn’t transmit from the camera to the video display. Scene preserved! You learn something new every day.

That said, this fic will be pictureless for a while. :(

Destroying a phone is much worse than a mirror, so there are sections of this one that I had to create whole cloth and try to get across the horror of this problem. I’m not sure if I succeeded, but sometimes you just have to do your best and hope.

The description of what amounts to a collection of hallways, stairways, and locked doors with something stalking within admittedly reminded me immediately of backrooms type images, and I’ve always found that sort of thing especially unsettling.)

#dracula daily #just for fun #dracula 2023 #fanfic #I love it when I accidentally set up things getting worse #i'd forgotten that he broke the mirror when I started Jon using his phone as one #sometimes things just come together

[navar44]

The Giant Mushroom

A bit of writing based on @aaytaro-gt ‘s Inktober prompt list.

Day 10 - Mushroom

==

Ual was lost, but he wouldn’t admit it. Not that he had anyone to admit that to, but he still didn’t even say it aloud on the off chance someone was around to hear it.

It wasn’t his first time foraging; no, the village would be long gone and moved away if that were the case. Today though, he’d had to go off his normal trail thanks to a pack of wuros. Normally, they’d be content to let him wander along his dirt path through the woods, but today they’d stood in his way, growling.

So he’d gone off the path, certain he would be fine.

After several hours of walking through sparse foliage between the old trees, he’d gotten turned around. Despite having the sun to guide his sense of direction, he didn’t know how far north or south he’d wandered. Traveling east could take him right past the village, and he wouldn’t even know it until he reached the east river.

So, he traveled north towards the large hills that were visible from the village: from there he should be able to spot the smoke in the distance and head home.

For that reason, he wouldn’t call himself lost. He was sure of his current path, despite the obstacle that now lay between him and the hills.

A gorge, as deep as it was wide, bisected the landscape as far as he could see in either direction. He knew this gorge: the northern gorge. It was a natural barrier between the southern and northern lands. And, he’d have to travel several days to the east to go around, or several hours west.

So he wandered west. 

The sun was setting ahead of him as he neared the treeline several hours later. Ual was tired, but he had his foraged food to eat and some water from a creek he’d passed an hour or two ago. He knew he’d be staying the night in the wilderness, but that would be fine.

The trees broke at a large clearing, and Ual stopped, staring at what was resting in the center. 

A giant grey and brown mushroom stood with its cap hundreds of feet in the air, maybe even a mile! The top reflected the light of the setting sun like a beacon, the stem widening down to the base.

A giant mushroom.

A.

Giant.

Mushroom.

For all that it resembled a mushroom, it also did not. Large bright colored shapes decorated its surface, burns decorating various parts of the strange fungus. Straight lines were etched along the surface seemingly at random, with large dark blocks in strange patterns decorating the lines and colored shapes.

The surface itself was a far cry from a mushroom’s stem; looking like a polished stone in some places, while in others like the surface of water, reflecting the light of the setting sun and the horizon.

Ual didn’t know what to make of it, looming before and above him taller than any tree he’d ever seen. His awed staring only interrupted when the side of the mushroom towards him began to peel away, a bright light emitting from within the stem of the shroom as it fell silently.

Finally shaken from his staring, he ducked behind a fallen tree. Peeking over the edge, he watched in awe as the peeling section lay itself on the ground, and something walked out.

Taller than him at least ten times over, the being was gleaming grey, its face a reflection of the world around it. It stepped carefully out of the shroom, its ethereal visage taking in the world around it.

Ual stared at this being, trying to figure out what it was, why it was here, and if he should be hiding from it. 

If it was one of Shaman Oov’s gods, he should… bow to it? Show respect in some way? But if it was one of the evil ones they’d kill him in a breath. 

He decided it was best to stay hidden.

The being strode around the clearing, its hands waving in the air with its all too many fingers. Ual’s fingers ran over themselves, the three feeling strange as he watched the creature grasp and flick at the air with five.

It came close to him after a time, kneeling down to poke at a nearby tree. He held his breath, trying to sink deeper into the soil under the fallen tree to hide. Then, almost deliberately, the shining face turned to face him, his own panic stricken face visible in the reflection.

Ual couldn’t move, shaking on the ground as the giant being loomed over him further, studying him as he studied himself in its face. He didn’t know what to do, but he finally managed to speak.

“Hello?”

His voice was timid, and tiny, but the being leaned back slightly when he spoke. Had he offended it? Was it about to crush him in its slowly approaching fingers?!

His brain kicked into gear as the many-fingered gray hands came towards him, and he scrambled back and away from the being. It paused as he did, allowing him to run behind a tree without moving to stop him.

His chest hurt, his hearts beating fast as he peered around the tree, spying the being as it watched him from afar. He felt its gaze staring him down, judging his actions as he his from it poorly.

All at once, the being stood and stepped away from the trees where Ual hid. He didn’t move, but he was able to watch its feet walk away from the edge, back to its mushroom.

He waited hours before nearing the clearing again, eyes searching in disbelief.

The mushroom was gone!

—

Log Report: 

VSSL: EX-151N “Plywood”

LOC: SYS Argon, PLNT 4

LOG: PERCY CRAW = ID EXL0027

Arrival was uneventful, the polar orbiting rings were a non-issue. Landing was unceremonious, setting the Plywood down in a clearing of small, thin bushes located on the northern portion of the Pangaea continent.

Planet’s atmosphere is not breathable, readouts indicate that without a portable atmosphere I’d have hallucinated for several hours before dying a miserable death. 

Plant life here is thriving, and I cataloged several indigenous flora for the nerds back home to sort through. I imaged and recorded 12 separate examples of fauna, and one example of intelligent life.

Intelligent life stands at roughly 13 cm, is covered in a thin layer of brownish fur, and has three beautiful eyes (OPINION). The initial contact was brief, I moved slowly to not scare them, but I definitely failed in that regard. I held back after that and recorded some close-ups.

Little fellow was clearly intelligent, wearing clothing and carrying a pack on their back. Didn’t spy any tools, but the tailoring was good enough for me to re-classify. I believe it might have a verbal language as well, if that squeak was anything to go on.

Felt bad for scaring it, but my sensors only picked them up as fauna so I didn’t know until they moved. Their biology is now registered in our systems as Argon 4 IL, for future reference.

Shortly after scaring the indigenous life, I returned to The Plywood and turned on hover mode, initializing my cloak. The IL left shortly after that, returning in the direction they came from. Good luck little fellow!

Reading up on first contact protocols places me at 1 violation, 2 if a religion starts or is changed due to this. I think I’ll be fine though.

Probes 2 and 44 reported numerous settlements in the area and at the edges of the probes’ ranges, reporting their tech level at about tier 2 pre-nuclear. No notes on society, I’d rather not send in one of the micro drones, they’re about the size of one of their eyes! Would be spotted quickly. Will put in a request for nano drones with my observation request.

So, final report on planet is as follows:

Habitability: 7

Atmosphere: 6

Vegetation: 7

Resources: 5

System: 11

[error: non_default_qualifier] 

IL Cuteness: 1555555555555555

COLONY VIABILITY: NA = ALREADY INHABITED

-*-

REQUEST RECEIVED FOR 5 MILLENNIUM OBSERVATION PERIOD: PERCY CRAW = ID EXL002

REQUEST: APPROVED

#g/t inktober #g/t #g/t writing #g/t community #last for today #unless 11 happens lol #bit of a twist on this one! #aliens

[crazydazemilkshake]

A Journey Through Norway

Norway, officially the Kingdom of Norway, is a nation in northern Europe's western Scandinavian Peninsula. Svalbard and Jan Mayen are included in the 148,449 sq mi (384,483 sq km) total area. Estimated population in 2023: 5,526,000. Norwegian capital. Although there are various ethnic minorities, including between 30,000 and 40,000 Sami (Lapps), the majority of the population is Norwegian. Norwegian and Sami are the official languages. Religion: Christianity (officially, Evangelical Lutheranism is the predominant form). currency: krone of Norway. Norway is one of the biggest nations in Europe. It is a hilly country with substantial plateau areas in the southwest and center. It has a developed economy mostly centered on services, petroleum and natural gas extraction, as well as light and heavy industries. Historically a fishing and logging country, it has considerably grown its mining and industrial operations since World War II. Literacy is almost universal.

Norway is a constitutional monarchy with a single parliamentary chamber; the king serves as the country's head of state, while the prime minister serves as the head of government. In the eleventh century, a number of principalities were combined to become the kingdom of Norway. From 1380 until 1814, when it was given to Sweden, it shared a ruler with Denmark. When the union with Sweden was broken up in 1905, Norway's economy expanded quickly. Despite the fact that its shipping industry was crucial to the war effort, it stayed neutral throughout the fight. Despite having declared itself neutral during World War II, German forces invaded and seized the area. Norway is a member of NATO and maintains a robust welfare system. In 1994, its citizens rejected joining the European Union.

Northern lights, Norway

The stark natural beauty of Norway has drawn tourists from all over the world. Other notable artists from the nation include playwright Henrik Ibsen, composer Edvard Grieg, painter Edvard Munch, writers Knut Hamsun and Sigrid Undset, and composer Edvard Grieg. Ibsen made the following observation about his own land and its reflective citizens: "The gorgeous, but severe, natural environment surrounding people up there in the north, the lonely, secluded life—the farms are miles apart—forces them to...become introspective and serious. At home every other person is a philosopher!"

Fjord, western Norway

Westward flowing rivers had a powerful erosive force. They carved out gorges and canyons that sliced deeply into the rugged coast, following fracture lines denoting weak spots in the Earth's crust. The terrain slopped more gently to the east, creating wider valleys. The magnificent U-shaped drowned fjords that now adorn the western coast of Norway were created by glaciers tonguing down the V-shaped valleys that were part of the landscape during repeated periods of glaciation in the Great Ice Age of the Quaternary Period (i.e., roughly the last 2.6 million years). Glacial action also transported enormous quantities of soil, gravel, and stone as far south as modern-day Denmark and northern Germany. The bedrock, which is exposed in roughly 40% of the area.

Climate of Norway

Although it occupies almost the same degrees of latitude as Alaska, Norway owes its warmer climate to the Norwegian Current (the northeastern extension of the Gulf Stream), which carries four to five million tons of tropical water per second into the surrounding seas. This current usually keeps the fjords from freezing, even in the Arctic Finnmark region. Even more important are the southerly air currents brought in above these warm waters, especially during the winter.

The mean annual temperature on the west coast is 45 °F (7 °C), or 54 °F (30 °C) above average for the latitude. In the Lofoten Islands, north of the Arctic Circle, the January mean is 43 °F (24 °C) above the world average for this latitude and one of the world’s greatest thermal anomalies.

Western Norway has a marine climate, with comparatively cool summers, mild winters, and nearly 90 inches (2,250 mm) of mean annual precipitation. Eastern Norway, sheltered by the mountains, has an inland climate with warm summers, cold winters, and less than 30 inches (760 mm) of mean annual precipitation.

Cultural institutions

Permanent theatres have been established in several cities, and the state traveling theatre, the Riksteatret, organizes tours throughout the country, giving as many as 1,200 performances annually. The Norwegian Opera, opened in 1959, receives state subsidies (as do most other theatres).

In addition to its National Art Gallery, Oslo opened a special museum in 1963 to honour Edvard Munch, credited as one of the founders of Expressionism and as Norway’s most famous painter. The Sonja Henie–Niels Onstad Art Centre, opened in 1968 near Oslo, contains modern art from throughout the world. Oslo is host to many other museums, including the Ibsen Centre, which honours the famed playwright, and the Resistance Museum, which documents Norway’s struggle against Nazi occupation during World War II. Outside Oslo, the Tromsø Museum’s collection records Sami heritage.

EXPENSES

The expenses for traveling to Norway from the Philippines can vary widely depending on factors like the duration of your stay, type of accommodation, activities, and personal preferences. Here are some estimated costs to consider:

Flights: The cost of round-trip flights can vary depending on the time of booking, airline, and travel dates. On average, you might spend between $800 to $1,500 or more.

Accommodation: Accommodation costs can vary from budget hostels (around $40-$100 per night) to mid-range hotels ($100-$250 per night) and luxury hotels ($250+ per night).

Food: Dining out in Norway can be expensive. Expect to spend around $20-$50 for a meal at a mid-range restaurant. You can save money by eating at more budget-friendly places or preparing your own meals.

Transportation: Local transportation in Norway, such as buses and trams, can be costly. A one-way ticket might cost around $3-$4. If you plan to travel between cities, train or bus tickets will vary in price.

Activities: The cost of activities and attractions can vary, but expect to spend on average $20-$50 per attraction or activity.

Travel insurance: Consider the cost of travel insurance to protect yourself during your trip.

Visa fees: If you need a visa to enter Norway, there may be associated fees.

Miscellaneous: Don't forget to budget for souvenirs, additional personal expenses, and unforeseen costs.

Overall, a moderate daily budget for a comfortable visit to Norway can range from $100 to $200 or more, depending on your spending habits and travel style. Be sure to plan and budget according to your specific travel plans and preferences.

ENJOY YOUR JOURNEY TO NORWAY

Reference:

Charles Jays, Gudmund Sandvik, Jorgen Weibull & The Editors of Encyclopedia Britannica (2023).

https://www.britannica.com/biography/Harald-I-king-of-Norway

# Travel # Create New Journey # Photography # aesthetic

[scotianostra]

On January 31st 1761 Lachlan MacQuarie, was born on Ulva, a small isle off the island of Mull.

Lachlan joined the Army in 1776 (aged 14) and served in Nova Scotia as well as New York and Jamaica. As a lieutenant he served in India from 1787 to 1801 and later in Egypt where he was involved in defeating the army of Napoleon. In 1810 Macquarie became Governor of New South Wales at a time when it was still being used as a penal colony. The previous Governor had been Captain Bligh of the “Bounty”.

Macquarie followed a policy of encouraging the former convicts to settle in Australia - despite opposition from the “free settlers” who wanted to retain privileges only for themselves. Australia would be a different place if he had not succeeded. He transformed Australia into a thriving country and Sydney from a shanty town to a Georgian city and is regarded as the “Father of Australia”.

His policy concerning the Aboriginals was an expression of the same humanitarian conscience. He organized the Native Institution (a school for Aboriginal children), a village at Elizabeth Bay for the Sydney tribe, an Aboriginal farm at George’s Head. Orders of merit and even an old general’s uniform were bestowed on deserving chiefs.

It must be noted also that he ordered The Appin Massacre, to round up all Aboriginal people in the area after some unrest. Those who resisted were to be shot. On 16 April 1816, at least 14 were killed by shooting; others were driven to jump to their deaths into a rocky gorge, near Broughton Pass.

So he wasn’t perfect, but who is, a bit of a rogue as well by all accounts, was adverse a wee bit of embezzlement, but managed to wriggle out of it, “laws” he laid down were of the strict Presbyterian upbringing on the Islands on the Inner Hebrides, nude sunbathing was banned as was “shooting a neighbour’s dog on a Sunday” As a Scot his ability to have a good drink were evident, of his army life in India he “took to the field” with “eight dozen bottles of brandy and Madeira” and “a quantity of gin”. One of his diary entries, penned after a big night out, shakily read, “No beer for three months’!

For the Australians reading this Lachlan also set aside land in Sydney for "recreation and amusement of the inhabitants of the town” He named it Hyde Park, it was here Australia’s first sanctioned horse racing took place. At one of the fairs at the park he organised, “ladies raced in sacks for a cheese” where men would bet on the results and have a laugh! At another two men competed in a mile foot race before slugging it out for 56 rounds in Australia’s first bare knuckle prize fight. Now the remark about the sack race might make you think he was a misogynist, maybe he was, but he was ahead of his time and a revolutionary for the fairer sex, giving plum jobs to women, with reformed banknote thief Elizabeth Killett appointed to run the Sydney Market.

But his liberal attitude to the convicts finally was his downfall, Macquarie’s critics sparked a British government inquiry into his rule and the governor resigned, setting sail for Britain in 1822 with a shipload of kangaroos for his friends and patrons it was said that…

“as a Scotsman he was drawn to an animal with an inbuilt sporran”. Other men may lay claim to be “The Father of Australia” but are any as colourful as oor Lachlan?

Macquarie died in London in 1824 while fighting charges made against him as Governor. He was buried in a Mausoleum on the Isle of Mul in a mausoleum near Salen with his wife, daughter and later son. The grave is maintained by the National Trust of Australia and is inscribed “The Father of Australia”.

As I stated earlier, and with a lot of these anniversaries about people born during the days of the British Empire, Macquarie was heavily involved in atrocities. I will point to one quote attributed to him....... in 1816 around the time of the Appin massacre, that all Indigenous people “from Sydney onwards are to be made prisoners of war, and if they resist they are to be shot and their bodies hung from trees in the most conspicuous places near where they fall, so as to strike terror into the hearts of the surviving natives”

You can find out loads about him online one of the sources can be found at the link at the bottom. The BBC made a drama-documentary in 2011 called The Father of Australia, https://nativistherald.com.au/2018/04/20/australias-founding-fathers-lachlan-macquarie/

#Scotland #scottish #australia #colonial days #the british empire #soldier #politician #history

[africanrocksafaris]

8 DAYS UGANDA PRIMATES AND TANZANIA WILDERNESS SAFARI

Day 1: Transfer to Bwindi Impenetrable Forest national park-The Home of Mountain Gorillas.

Upon arrival at Entebbe Airport, you will be picked up by our driver guide from the guest house and embark on a road trip to western Uganda, aiming the Gorilla land of Bwindi Impenetrable Forest National Park. This is a long day drive with lunch stop over en route. Though long, the drive takes you through different features to include tropical rain forests, savannah fields and the terraced hills of Kigezi famously known as the Switzerland of East Africa. Drive to the lodge for relaxation as you wait for the next day’s adventure with dinner and overnight at Ride 4 a Woman

Day 2: Gorilla Trekking in Bwindi Impenetrable Forest National Park

After breakfast, you will head to the park headquarters for briefing by park ranger guides, to start Gorilla trekking – the activity can last up to 4 hours trek or more to find the Mountain Gorillas as you hike up and down the slopes with dense mist covered vegetation. This active quest will eventually bring you to the face of one of the most sought-after creatures-the mountain Gorillas. Upon reaching them, you will have 1 full hour with them while observing and learning their behavior as you take photos. You will have dinner and overnight at Ride 4 a Woman

Day 3: Game drive in Ishasha sector to search for tree climbing Lions and transfer to Northern Queen Elizabeth

Have an early breakfast and check out of your lodge and head to Ishasha sector of Queen Elizabeth National Park. The sector is small but has a bountiful of wildlife and is famous for the tree climbing lions. You will a game drive to try your luck of getting a glimpse of some of these lions as they lazily rest in the fig trees. After the drive have lunch at Topic Lodge and continue northwards to Kyambura sector of Queen Elizabeth National Park. Dinner and Overnight at Pumba Safari Cottages.

Day 4: Chimpanzee trekking in Kyambura gorge in Queen Elizabeth National Park

Have an early morning breakfast and head to Kyambura gorge Forest for Chimpanzee trekking to meet man’s closet cousins in the wild. The stunning Kyambura (or Chambura) Gorge also called the “Valley of Apes” is located in the far eastern corner of the well- known Queen Elizabeth National Park in south western Uganda. The landscape is among the most impressive you will find in Uganda and it is swarmed a rich wildlife bio-diversity that comprises of primates, wild animals as well as birds. Later embark on

an exciting road trip back to Entebbe with lunch en route, arriving in the evening for refreshment, and later dinner and overnight at Via Via Guest House.

Day 5: Transfer to Entebbe international airport for your flight to Arusha in Tanzania

After having breakfast or lunch depending on your scheduled flight, you will be transferred back to Entebbe to readily check in and board your flight to Tanzania as you say fare well to the pearl of Africa! You will spend an overnight at Arusha Planet Lodge.

Day 6: Transfer to Tarangire National Park for Wildlife View drive

Morning pickup from the Kilimanjaro Airport in Arusha and drive to Tarangire national park 3 hours driving to the park gate. Arrive for afternoon and evening game drive inside the park. Enjoy game drive inside the park with great chance to see lions, giraffes, zebra, impala and many more. Later during evening drive to Karatu for dinner and overnight at Tarangire Simba Lodge.

Day 7: Transfer to the Great Serengeti National Park for Wildlife View

After breakfast with your packed lunches around 7am start drive toward Serengeti national park via Ngorongoro conservation area it will take you 6 hours to be in the park, enjoy nice view of Manyara escarpment, Ngorongoro highlands, wildlife and many more. Arrive for afternoon and evening game drive while dinner and overnight at Into Africa Wild Camp.

Day 8: Morning game drive in Serengeti National and drive to Ngorongoro Crater

After breakfast from the packed lunches drive to Ngorongoro for 3 hours. Descend into the crater floor for the game drive, great herd of animal sightings like elephants, wildebeest, zebra and many more have a great view of lakes and the crater. Take you at picnic site and proceed with game drive, later drive to the lodge for dinner and overnight at Rhino Lodge.

#wildlife safari in uganda #uganda safari and tours

[thedemocraticallyelectedovahkiin]

Exploring Skyrim part 2

Okay firstly I want to acknowledge that this episode I went to half the places I went to last time but that I didn't expect to start a quest as big a Forgotten Seasons so I decided to half the number of places because it was such a big quest I hope that's ok. I decided to head South from the homestead and came across Fort Sungard which was occupied by the Forsworn. I cleared it of enemies but the cleared note didn't appear on the map so I left. It wasn't until later that I learnt that Fort Sungard is unable to be cleared. I then carried on to Sunderstone Gorge which was filled with Necromancers, which while tricky with Uthgerd and the Undying ghost were able to be taken down. While there I picked up another of the Stones of Barenziah (or Unusual Gem as there still called in my Inventory). I then carried onto Hendraheim where I completed the quest of the same nae and got us a new player home. After this I travelled to Lost Valley Redoubt which we cleared of Forsworn and Hagravens. Next to here was Bard's Leap where I survived the fall and the ghost of Azzadal appeared and increased my speech skill by two. Next was Cradlestone Tower which held a hagraven which was easily dispatched. The it was Runoff Caves where the Forgotten Seasons quest is held. This held a large Dwemer dungeon with multiple rooms. Outside is the body of the Dwarven horse which activated the quest you guessed it the Dwarven Horse. The Mercenaries and Dwemer automata within Runoff cave and Vardnknd Gallery weren't difficult to deal with nor were the Spriggans in Spring's Symphony as I had both a follower and the Undying ghost to help by tanking while I attacked. Autumn's Bells was more tricky as the Harvest Dwarven Centurions could one shot kill me so I had to stay back while Uthgerd and the Undying ghost attacked. I made sure to pick up all of the pieces of the horse in here as well as the Dwarven Autumn Visage. This once I exited the dungeon as a whole and fixed the Dwarven horse finished the quest the Dwarven Horse. Next I went into Summer's Chords where I had to use the Spider Control Rod in order to progress. This was rather easy to complete this room as although there were enemies as we were on narrow walkways above lava it was rather easy to knock them off and carry on. The last of the season rooms was Winter's Chimes which although Uthgerd could not follow was easy to navigate and any enemies could be distracted with the Undying ghost so I could sneak past. A it contained many drops into water once I jumped into each one previous enemies could not get to me. Lastly once these were completed Vardnknd Skykiller Gallery became accessible where the Sky Orchestrator, the final boss, was located. It was a difficult fight and I had to rely on Uthgerd and the ghost a lot more as it could easily kill me both y attacking and using cloaking effects. But by doing hit and run attacks while it was distracted it was took down and we completed Forgotten Seasons. I managed to collect all the Dwarven Visages as well as the Dwarven Crown while in this dungeon so all that is left for the quest the Dwarven Crown is to affix one of the masks to the crown. Upon leaving Runoff Cave I headed back towards home. On the way I found Gloomreach which was filled with Falmer and quite easy to complete especially after Runoff Cave. Then it was onto Old Hroldan Inn where upon sleeping in Tiber Septim's room the ghost of Old Hroldan appeared sending me off to find Hjalti's Sword. This was thankfully nearby at Serpent's Bluff Redoubt which was filled with Forsworn and a hagraven. Upon finding the sword I returned it to the ghost who gave me a level up in one-handed and block.

Quests:

quest lines active: Before the Storm (main), Dampened Spirits (thieves guild), Good Intentions (college of winterhold), Mourning Never Comes (dark brotherhood)

quests started: The Grey Cowl of Nocturnal, A Soul Divided, The Rising Dead, Forbidden Legend, Guest for Dinner, Hendraheim, No Stone Unturned, Dawnguard, The Break of Dawn

mic quests: learn more about the thieves guild from Delvin and Vex, return the queen bee statue to Delvin, join the Imperial legion, join the Stomcloaks, Talk to the companion leaders for work, speak to the Jarl of Falkreath, speak to Constance Michel about adoption, participate in a drinking contest with Sam Guenvere, Bring a Dwarven arrow to Calcemo

Places Discovered:

Fort Sungard

Sunderstone Gorge

Hendraheim

Lost Valley Redoubt

Bard's Leap Summit

Cradle Stone Tower

Runoff Cave

Gloom Reach

Old Hroldan Inn

Serpents Bluff Redoubt

Enchantment's learned:

Fortify Restoration and magicka regen

Fear

Fire Damage

Fortify Restoration

Fortify Destruction

Fortify Stamina Regen

Fortify Healing Rate

Spells learned:

Fear (Illusion)

Turn of the Seasons (Barter prices are 10% better when raining. With a full set of Light Armor equipped, stamina regenerates 5% faster in clear or clement weather. 10% chance of a critical hit that does 10% more critical damage with bows when overcast. With a full set of Heavy Armor equipped, armor rating increased by 10% when snowing.) (Active Effect)

Lightning Rune (Destruction)

Frostbite (Destruction)

Shouts learned:

Fire, Fire Breath

Fade, Become Ethereal

Apparel:

Head: Silver helmet, Scaled Helmet of Eminent Magicka (Increases your Magicka by 50 points.), Scaled helmet, Fine hat, Shrouded hood (sneaking is 25% better)

Body: Ward of Seasons (Increases Fire Resistance by 10%. Increases Frost Resistance by 10%. Increases Shock Resistance by 10%. Increases Poison Resistance by 10%.), Steel armour, Thieves guild armor (carrying capacity increased by 20 points), Scaled armour, Fine clothes, Shrouded robes (destruction costs 15% less to cast)

Hands: Steel Plate gauntlets, Thieves guild gloves (lockpicking is 15% easier), Scaled bracers, Gloves, Shrouded hand wraps (Double sneak attack damage with one-handed weapons)

Feet: Dwarven boots of waning fire (Increases fire resistance by 30%), Steel soldier boots, Thieves guild boots (pickpocket success is 15% better), Scaled boots, Boots, Shrouded shoes (Wearer is muffled and moves silently)

Shields: Dwarven shield of dwindling magic (Increases Magic Resistance by 15%.), Falmer Shield, Elven Shield

Amulets: Amulet of Arkay (Increases health by 10 points), Amulet of Dibella (+15 Speechcraft), Amulet of Kynareth (Increases your Stamina by 10 points), Amulet or Stendarr (Block 10% more withyur shield), Saarthal amulet (Spells cost 3% less to cast), Gauldur amulet fragment (Increases magicka by 30 points), Gauldur amulet fragment (Increases health by 30 points)

Rings: enchanted ring (Increases health by 20 points)

Weapons:

Forsworn bow

Orcish battleaxe

Dwarven greatsword

Elven warhammer

Ebony war axe

Dwarven mace

Honed Flamer sword

Dragon Priest dagger

Staffs:

Staff of Jyrik Gauldurson(Target takes 25 points of damage, and twice as much Magicka damage)

Staff of Magelight(Ball of light that lasts 60 seconds and sticks where it strikes)

Goblin totem staff (Lightning bolt that does 40 points of shock damage to healt and half to magicka, then leaps to a new target)

Staff of Sparks (Lightning that does 8 points of shock damage to health and magicka per second)

Steel staff of War (Elemental damage that does 4 points per second to health, magicka and stamina. Targets on fire take extra damage)

Staff of the Familiar (Summons a familiar for 60 seconds whereber the caster id pointing)

Wooden Staff of Shaming (Creatures and people up to level 8 flee from combat for 60 seconds)

Staff of Fury (Creatures and people up to level 4 will attack anything nearby for 60 seconds)

Forsworn Staff of Flames (A gout of fire that does 8 points per second. Targets on fire take extra damage)

Staff of Calm (Creatures and people up to level 8 won't fight for 30 seconds)

Staff of Frostbite (A blast of cold that does 8 points of damage per second to Health and Stamina)

Scrolls:

Scroll of Firestorm x2 (A 75 point fiery explosion centered on the caster. Does more damage to closer targets)

Scroll of Blizzard (Targets take 20 points of frost damage for 10 seconds, plus Stamina damage)

Scroll of Dread Zombie (Reanimate a weak dead body to fight for you for 60 seconds)

Scroll of Ice Spike (A spike of ice that does 15 points of frost damage to health and stamina)

Scroll of Circle of Protection (Undead up to level 8 entering the circle will flee)

Scroll of Ice Storm (A freezing whirlwind that does 50 points of frost damage per second to health and stamina)

Scroll of Fireball (A fiery explosion for 50 points of damage in a 15 foot radius. Targets on fire take extra damage)

Scroll of Cure Wounds (Heals the caster 100 points)

Scroll of Guardian Circle (Undead up to level 35 entering the circle will flee. Caster heals 20 health per second inside it)

Scroll of Candlelight (Creates a hovering light that lasts for 60 seconds)

Scroll of Chain Lightning (Lightning bolt that does 50 points of shock damage to Health and half to Magicka, then leaps to a new target)

Scroll of Firebolt (A blast of fire that does 15 points of damage. Targets on fire take extra damage)

When polling please be aware two handed weapons will be included in the right hand poll while staffs and shields are in the left. Also I have decided to implement a new rule where if an option is chosen twice in a row for the next two polls it will be left out. This is just to encourage mixing up what we do a bit more.

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