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hihomeghere · 2 months

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Fishing in the dark | Arthur Morgan / Reader

Word Count : 1.3k (a little guy) Summary : You and Arthur have a private evening away from camp on the Dakota River. Warnings/tags : Cursing, unprotected piv, talk of nudity (both male and female), cursing, reader can swim, s3x in the river, established relationship, set in chapter 3

The Dakota River was now your favorite place to be at sunset. The cool breeze coming off the sparkling water, your body cushioned by the bed of grass. The way the setting sun cast a golden light over everything it touched.

Getting away from the gang for a while had been Arthur’s greatest idea yet. After all that mess in Valentine had led you to Clemens point. Sat on the east coast of Flat Iron lake, near the town of Rhodes. Getting eaten alive by mosquitos while the heat of the Scarlett Meadows sun beat down on you.

And although you thought maybe a room in Rhodes would have been a better way to keep each other company, you couldn’t beat this view.

Arthur stood on the shore, fishing pole in hand. His tall silhouette dark against the golden light, his shadow growing longer on the rocks. What a sight, every subtle flick of his wrist, his bicep tensing and he pulled on the pole. You didn’t even know why he was still fishing so late. He had already caught dinner, which you had prepared over a small fire. While along the shore you had picked some burdock root and common bulrush for camp, knowing that Miss Grimshaw could find some use for the plants. At long last the sun fell below the horizon, a sliver of burnt amber spreading across the sky before being enveloped by a dark blue. The moon slowly rose above you. A beautiful yellow spotlight peeking through the trees.

Arthur stood, still as a statue, as though he was carved of marble. A wicked thought entered your head, slowly you moved to unlace your boots. Pulling them off until you could dig your toes into the grassy floor beneath you. Then you untied the strings to your skirt. Letting the fabric fall, along with your shirt. Leaving you standing in only your chemise, and it wasn’t long before that was discarded as well.

Arthur had heard the slight rustling of fabric behind him, but he was honestly too preoccupied with the pole in his hands. Enjoying the quiet serenity of the river. That was until you ran butt ass naked into it.

“Darlin!” He yelled his eyes widening in shock as your laughter joined the sound of water splashing.

“Come on cowboy!” You called submerged to your waist, your breasts above the water for any passersby to see. Maybe it wasn’t your best idea yet, the freezing water chilling your bones.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” He chuckled, unfortunately amused by your actions even though he knew he shouldn’t be.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” You called back, teeth chattering by the sudden drop in temperature.

“It looks like you’re giving anyone that passes through a free peep show.” He called his hand resting on his gun belt as he not so casually adjusted himself. You stepped back further into the dark water until only your shoulders and up were visible.

“When did you become such a prude?” You chided a teasing smile on your lips.

“When someone could lay eyes on my woman.” He said laying down his pole, crossing his arms over his chest. You felt a shiver run down your spine, whether it was from his words or the cold water you couldn’t tell.

“Well get in here and claim your woman before someone else does!” You called, a shit eating grin spreading across your face.

Arthur sighed, looking down as the brim of his hat shielded most of his face from you. Your grin only grew as he unbuckled his gun belt, letting it fall to the ground. He pulled his suspenders off his broad shoulders. He shook his head, his own grin growing on his face as he began to pull off his clothes.

“You’re gonna get it girl.” He warned, his eyes taking on a dark haze. His lips pulling back into a smirk, looking down at you like prey. An electric shock of anticipation ran up your body as he finally pulled off the last layer, his cock springing up against his stomach. He stepped forward, wading into the water. “Jesus!” He yelped, a shiver running through him.

“It’s not that bad!” You called with a laugh.

“Not that-“ He shook his head, “Christ I can’t feel my toes.” He muttered swimming over to you, his arm wrapping around you pulling you close. You wrapped your legs around his waist as you held onto his shoulders

“Hey there.” You grin, watching the water droplets run down his face.

“Howdy.” He muses, you place your hands on his chest, feeling his heart beat against your palm.

“Still cold?” You ask sweetly.

“Very.” He chuckles.

“I think I could warm you up.” You say biting your lip.

“Please do.” He says softly as you lean forward. Your nose bumping against his as you stare him down. He leans forward pressing his lips against yours. His tongue swiping along your lower lip as he pressed you down onto his pelvis. Clenching around nothing as his cock bumped against the nub of your clit, a soft moan leaving your throat.

“I can feel that.” You said softly, biting your lip as you looked into his eyes.

“I’m sure you can.” His chest rumbling as he chuckled. He moved his hand from your waist and reached down between your legs. The tip of his length catching against your entrance. “Think you’re wet enough?” He teases, his teeth glinting in the moonlight as he smirks.

You bite back a rebuttal as he slips inside you with ease, he swallows your gasp as his mouth covers yours. Groaning into your mouth, a deep almost primal noise. One that sends pleasure shooting through your body. You whine as he pulls out slightly, only to press your body down onto his pelvis. His cock rubbing against that spot inside you.

He knows this dance like the back of his hand, how to make you tick, more specifically how to make you scream. The hand that’s not holding your hip with a vice like grip moves up your body, his hands splayed against your stomach. Before reaching up to cup your breast, pinching your nipple.

“Arthur.” You gasp, feeling him rut against you, growling against your neck like a wild animal.

“Feel so good darlin’.” He huffs against your neck, nipping and kissing as he continues his attack on your pussy. His cock thrusting deep strokes against your walls. Your body is buzzing, your toes curling as he brings you closer and closer to your peak. He can feel you flutter around him, his lips quirk up. He moves his hand down to between your legs, rubbing your clit.

You cry out, a pitiful noise as you cum around him. Your nails dig into his shoulders, your brows knit together as your jaw hangs open. He smirks, tilting his head back as a low, shit, leaves his mouth.

His hips start to stutter as he pounds into you, trying to reach his orgasm while you’re still working through yours. He’s quick behind you, his hands holding you so close against him you’re sure you’ll have bruises. He thrusts into you one last time, a choked groan rumbling in his chest. You hold onto him as his dick twitches inside of you. Painting your insides with his seed. You smile up at him lazily, watching his face contort in pleasure.

“Shit darlin’.” He huffs, his chest rising and falling rapidly against your own. The bite of the water is no longer a thought as his warm body presses against yours.

“You warm now, cowboy?” You tease brushing your nose against this neck, pressing a kiss over his pulse point.

“Very.” He chuckles, “But I’d like to get my beautiful girl out of these waters now.” He says grabbing a handful of your ass before throwing you over his shoulder. “I ain’t done with you yet.”

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goth-iqqa · 1 year

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BLAME THE ROSES

Chapter Two- The Son, the Crippled, and the Queen

(Revised and edited)

18+ MDI

Life can only be paid with death. After the demise of Princess Allysanne, a cursed couple brings forth a new life across the Narrow Sea, unbeknownst to the war approaching.

Daemon × Fem!reader, Aegon II × reader

Warnings: angst, cheating, smut, neglect, violence, death/gore. mentions of suicide. kidnappina. dub con, non con, (Targ)incest, pregnancy, miscarriage.

AN: I’m sorry this took so long, idk what happened, pls forgive me. Im not very confident in this chapter, so just bear with me. Also if you’re reading this, thank you for your support💕ily all!!!!

THE MOMENT LADY Y/N BEGAN her descent into fire and blood was in the tourney to Jacaerys name, settled above the chants for gore and the clash of swords from men who proudly raised to the young prince. She sat next to Rhaenyra then, charmed away by the rows of bannermen and knights who crossed the burning grounds for a glorious victory, honored to their house and their lords.

It had only been a few hours since her arrival, the feast had yet to begin, and the first round of champions was set to battle. Princess Rhaenyra did not spare a moment alone for the youngest, before the scurry of pastries entered the great hall and the abrupt facade of the girl-child fell, she slithered her arms around hers with a promise to a festive slaughter of blooms. Thorns of the mighty, she called it. “You’re to be part of the Dragon soon, you will sit with us.”

Before the ground painted red, in the passing of her ripening, her ladies in waiting tugged at the strings of her dress, suffocating and tightening over bruised skin and shattered bones to the smallest silhouette her father deemed perfect. One, the oldest woman, greyer and quieter than a mouse, rubbed scented oils behind her young lady’s ears, her arms, and between her legs down below.

“Why?” Y/N asked, confused.

Her voice went dead between the ears of her maids when a knock at the door caused their heads to lower down and welcome the golden prince into his youngest daughter’s quarters. The veils of oak doors opened and Calyx Endo, dressed in black and threads of gold, stood before them, underneath the gaze of a frail sun, a smile spread across his face.

“My,” he stilled when he saw her dress. “You are beautiful, my dear girl.” Long fabrics of soft orange and yellow sunsets, woven with the symbol of her house, stretched to the floor and danced behind her figure. A jaguar, threaded with black and silver gists of precious stones remained at the pleats of her skirt, thin in rows for the aloof weather. “The most beautiful girl I have ever seen, indeed.”

“You speak lies, Father. I could never compare to the beauty of your oldest daughter. Lady Aelle is the one who should stand here, rather than me.”

Though Y/N would never speak ill of her sisters, Aelle, the oldest sired by the prince and his first wife, was the only one she spared. Aelle Endo was not wise, and—according to the jabs the young princess would often taunt—a cunt with poor skills to maintain herself afloat. One who failed in her wifely duties and carried vines of whores wrapped around her fingers and beneath her feet. If their father's wealth was thinning, Aelle would be the one to blame.

“She’d do anything to remain in your grace, Father.” She stepped away from the hands of her maids and forward to her father. Her fingers fixed and stretched the collar of his shirt. “Aelle would be more than willing to marry a child. She would not greed for more, a queen gets all the gold she desires. My sister does not have an empty hand to play if I’m allowed to say.”

Calyx chuckled. “You are right, Aelle would do anything. She is rogue and careless. I could never trust someone as sloppy as your sister is. Which is why you’re here, not her. Is that not what you wanted? To be a queen?”

“I’d be past my prime when Prince Jace sits the Iron Throne.”

“You are a child, my dear. You are much too young to think of your gray years.” He added, “I was as old as Prince Jace is now when I first wed. Aelle’s mother was nearly five and ten. Age is not a matter of concern.”

“It is, Father, it is to me. Lady Baela and Rhaena have equal name days as the prince. Who’s to say Princess Rhaenyra will choose me over the granddaughters of the Sea Snake?”

“You mustn’t worry too much,” his hands reached to hold her face and his thumbs soothed the furrow of her eyebrows. “All you’re to do is be yourself. Teach the princess to play chess without a board, make her king bend to your will. It would not be the first time a black king falls to a white queen.”

Y/N only nodded in her father’s embrace. Choosing to continue adorning her ears and fingers with golden jewelry, her maids crowded her once more. “The Tourney will be starting soon. We must make haste. The King wishes to meet you before then.”

The princess pursed her lips, like she usually did when she was disconcerted. And while that had the habit of irking her father, as long as she was not airing out her frustrations or speaking wild schemes in a game of chess, Calyx Endo was content. “Fetch Midnight, as well. He will be your gift to the prince.”

They were not the first ones to arrive, though not the last, judging by the empty row of the box where the sons of the King were meant to sit. Rhaenyra pulled her to the seat beside hers, smiling as she prepared herself to gossip with her future daughter-by-law about the different knights and ladies present. Mere heads, sworn to her and bent to her rule over them in the years to come. Hers…and the hereafter queen that lolled at her side.

It was a few more moments before the King finally rose to greet the ecstatic crowds of commoners, high lords, and knights gathered beneath the sun. He rose amidst the cheering of the tribunes below them. "Be welcome!" The crowd began to quiet down as he began his welcome discourse. "I know many of you have traveled long leagues to be at these games. But I promise, you will not return disappointed."

Y/N heard a scoff come from beside her. A pale shadow, dressed in green and flattered by the beauty of his ancestors, flumped onto the chair meant for her father.

"When I look at the fine knights in these lists, I see a group without equal in our histories. On this auspicious day, ten years ago, the realm was blessed with Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, my first grandson! I am happy to share this blessing among all of you,”

She looked at him, for the first time. The line of his silver scalp dancing above his shoulders, the flicker in his lilac eyes, the tip of his crooked nose, and down to the muddy boots on his feet. “I am Aegon,” he leaned with confidence and the titter of a drunken man. “Prince Aegon. And you are…?”

“Y/N,” she simply answered. “I am Y/N Endo.”

“Ah, the princess of Manmo. Mother spoke plenty of you.”

“May the light of the Seven shine upon all combatants!” King Viserys concluded with a smile, raising his hands benevolently before returning to his seat. The crowd cheered and clapped, as did all sitting in the royal square, some more or less enthusiastically.

The games began at once. Red painted the ground before long and delicate petals soothed the ache in the shouts of the people who roared after more, bashing a man for another. Y/N did not react. Not when the skull of a knight exploded beneath the fist of a bare cavalier of no house. She remained still, watching the bits of flesh spread to the walk so gently like opals of red roses. The body of the knight writhed in its last breath before falling deadly still, in foolish honor.

“What a shame,” Aegon leaned toward her once more. “Baratheon knights tend to put on a show before their end. Your brother made him squeal like a pig.”

“My brother is quite skilled, my prince,” Y/N said, pleased and raised in pride for the brother she loved most. “It is no surprise, at all.”

“That is known. It is said he fought alongside my uncle in the Stepstones when he was just a boy. Beheaded many dornishmen in battle, the knight of Blood and Steel they called him. I need not wonder if they’re just rumors anymore, Ser Syrion Corgel has proven himself quite well.”

Y/N shook her head, though her expression never changed. “My apologies, Your Grace, but you are wrong. It would be impossible for Syrion to aid in the Daughters’ War. He’s only a year younger than me, and I was only a babe when the siege came to an end.”

Below them, the drums rolled in anticipation as a King's Guard mounted the black flag and red crest of House Targaryen onto the barrel across from their shortened square.

“It was my oldest brother,” she continued. “Ser Haenys Endo, who fought along the sellsword army. He was a fine knight, and he died, with honor, as one.”

In truth, Y/N did not know many things about the War for the Stepstones or her eldest brother. A once-named heir, Haenys Endo was the only son fathered by the Solstice prince and his second wife, spared by the gods on his twentieth name day when the sword of another and the crest of a sun and a spear slew his body whole.

It was a shame, the young princess often said. She didn't remember his face anymore, puzzles of the brother she once knew were twisted and foggy in her mind, the remembrance only in the words and stories her father uttered. The bronze child, a death paid for her birth.

For a moment, Aegon appeared to register her words. She watched him, his mouth opened then closed when it seemed a joke and a taunt threatened to spill from his cracked lips. “I did not know, my lady. I simply assumed Ser Syrion was—“

“Brother?” At last, Princess Rhaenyra acknowledged the missed beat. When her question to the young girl went unanswered, and the soft grunts of discomfort disappeared, Rhaenyra turned to Y/N. She had wondered if the gore had been too much for her like it’d done in the much younger years, but her eyes landed on Aegon and she worried much more. “Are you not meant to sit beside Aemond?”

“Aemond is an idiot,” Aegon answered with a shrug. “I much rather this view, sister.”

“I’m sure your mother will not be pleased to hear you speak of our brother that way.” Rhaenyra’s eyes moved to Y/N and a smile perched on her lips. “Do you wish to change seats?”

“It is quite alright, thank you, princess.”

A pale hand soon fell over hers, embracing cold fingers in familiar warmth. “I’ve got you a gift,” Rhaenyra said, excitedly. “You used to enjoy playing Cavysse when I first met you. Do you still play?”

Y/N nodded. “I do. It’s the one thing that takes my head off all chaos.” Marriage, her father, her brother, her mother, the young princess could not decide which one. “I could not think of a more pleasurable way to relax.”

Both Aegon and Rhaenyra laughed.

“Well, yes,” the crown princess straightened her poise but the flicker of tease did not leave her eyes. “It is a mind-consuming process, I imagine. I could never keep up when you spoke about it, Cavysse and chess. A passionate little girl you were then. I almost wondered if you spoke anything other than kings and queens across black and white squares,” she said. “I hope in your stay, you will teach me to play.”

While not everything spoken of the princess was true, her love did truly lie in the pieces of wood and a simple checkered board. Even when the cards flipped, and the ashes of a lost dream roamed in the wake, Y/N remained aside the gift she most treasured. A gift from the other princess she came to love most. “I’d be honored to.”

“If you decide to spend the years to come in Dragonstone, you will need a partner to play with.”

“If I decide?”

“If you decide,” Rhaenyra repeated, “To wed my son. I will not agree to the union unless you’ve chosen for yourself. Your father is a man who speaks to please, I do not wish you to be rattled and swayed by his words, as well.”

“My Father is—“

“For his first challenge,” The loud drums announced to the crowds below them. “ Prince Daemon chooses Ser Syrion Corgel, sworn protector of Bilge and the golden islands of Manmo.”

Upon his name, Y/N’s response went quiet and she jerked her eyes to the battlefield once again. The bastard of Alanis Endo moved forward, mounted in the black stallion of his sister, and he bowed his head to the King, lifting his helmet when he turned in her direction. He smiled, confidently, shimmering in the light and fortified in clatters of silver armor. “I would kindly ask for Princess Rhaenyra’s favour.”

On the opposite end of the field, the churlish princess could see Daemon Targaryen staring, intensely, at the exchange between the bastard of Manmo and the crown princess while his squire polished the red lance in his fist. Rhaenyra, upon the tease of her husband, Laenor Velaryon, blessed the weapon of the knight with a wistful smile and a crown of red roses, delicately looped through the heavy metal lance and let it fall to the leathered grip.

“Best of luck, Ser Syrion.”

Y/N smiled, proudly, when Princess Rhaenyra returned to her seat and the beat of the drums began again. The familiarity of the scene brought a sudden chill to her back, a spark that traveled to her limbs and goosebumps painted the flawless skin of her arms and beneath her skirt. Her fists tightened in anticipation as she neared the edge of her seat.

The crowd cheered, and with one simple kick of the heels against their horse's sides, the two were off, hurtling toward one another at a speed so high. For a moment, Y/N could not distinguish their armor, had she not seen the crests carved into their shields, she would not know who declared for each side of those tribunes.

“You said your brother was skilled,” the boy at her side chimed above a whisper. “I hope he’s skilled and wise enough not to return home a corpse, my lady.”

She flinched at Aegon’s words, unwillingly, but she did not bother to reply.

Syrion was skilled, a strong cavalier, and strangely, was as much an enigma to his contemporaries as to his sister. His commanding presence drew men to his sword, Thorn, yet he had no close friends, save for his sisters, Y/N and Saera, the companions of his youth and first breath. Women were drawn to him, the princess often joked, but Ser Syrion remained ever faithful to his knighthood and the blade he wielded with passion.

The brother (the only one) she loved most, Y/N never failed to let others know. Not the people of court, not the dragons that watched as she stood and approached the rim of the balcony, silently standing next to the dwarf who watched everything, alone.

Below, in the field, Syrion and the prince neared the center in chanting mares. Her brother was quick to the task, leaning only slightly forward to ram his lance into Prince Daemon’s shoulder, almost knocking the cur off his horse. Y/N gritted her teeth, anxiously, when the silver prince managed to tighten his hold and remain on the horse until they each reached the other end of the stadium. Regaining his previous position, Daemon hurtled toward her brother once again, determined to be the only one left on his horse by the end of this.

Y/N saw it coming before her brother did. In the bite, Prince Daemon decided to stick his lance in front of her horse, the mare, much faster than smarter, rammed into the blunt curve of his weapon, a cry left the stallion’s lips when he dropped to the ground, still. His eye was raptured and carved by the lance that pierced through his skull, Y/N gasped. Her fists tightened, her knuckles turned white and they seemed to explode when she looked at his rider.

Her brother, Syrion had been thrown to the ground, folded at an awkward stance in the dirt beneath the petals, his back twisted and his arm broken. His armor was dented from the impact, edged and digging into his bruising flesh.

Despite it all, the Prince seemed perfectly content to ignore the scene he had just caused, instead he trotted his horse over to the royal box. Daemon spared only a glance her way, smirking, as he greeted his daughters and requested his youngest’s favour for the next round.

The crowd cheered hesitantly as two guards rushed to aid the defeated off the field.

Ser Syrion Corgel never got up.

According to her maids, when the hours of the owl painted the Red Keep in its dark veil, Y/N remained at her brother’s side, loyally. It was said, when the news of the incident traveled to the ears of the young princess, she’d not taken kindly to the butcher of her brother. Surely, if it were any true, Grand Maester Mellos, faithful and true to his duty, did not expect the dagger drawn to his neck, threatened by the vicious Volantene tongue.

The curtains had risen, and light flickered from the sun above into the window from the highest peak of the castle. Among the soft clatters and whispers of maesters, shuttled in the sheets, Syrion Corgel watched the scene take display mere feet from his own.

The blade, black with obsidian stones and chiseled to the sharpest of steels, pressed to the maester’s throat in a single breath. Much too fast for the watchful eyes and the bodies of the guards to react, the princess did not hesitate and she embraced the light drag of the dagger against old, damaged skin.

“Udligon nyke!” Y/N gritted, “Answer me! Will my brother ever stand again?”

Grand Maester Mellos took a shaky breath. His hand went to the girl’s shoulder in an attempt to thwart her attack, but the much smaller frame did not stop. Instead, she pushed forward and the blade dug deeper. “You said you will heal him. Did you not? You said he’d be fine, then why is he still unable to rise?!”

“Princess, I’ve done everything—“ the man tried to explain, “I’ve done everything in my knowledge. My hands are not powerful, my lady, I’ve read through countless books in the Citadel. There are cases in which the damage fixes itself. If we just give it a few days…perhaps, Ser Syrion will stand.”

“Perhaps? I will cut your—“

“Let him go, Y/N.” Behind them, the heavy doors pushed open and Calyx Endo marched with the confidence of a proud man. “Hurting the Maester of the King is punished by death, it is treason in the council’s eyes, my dear. Let the man go.”

It was the first time Y/N had seen her father. After his sudden disappearance, he had not heard the sudden call and cry that rioted from her throat, the tears that ran down his daughter’s cheeks when her brother failed to wake in the early hours after the battle of second sons—he’d been scheming, Y/N was sure. The look that was only carried by a man who stumbled upon a barrel of gold laced in his eyes so mischievously, for a moment, she feared him.

His hand did not waste a moment to yank the knife from her hold, separating both bodies with the cane, carved with the finest stones and of dragon glass. “Apologize,” he demanded. “Apologize for the mistake you’ve made and the inconvenience you’ve caused.”

Like a corpse, Y/N went along. “I’m sorry,” she said. Her eyes remained on the oldest man of the two. “It was not my intention, my Lord. I did not wish to harm you. You’ve done everything you could. It is not my place to expect miracles from a man who shares a table with the King. I deserve a punishment.”

She bowed, almost shamefully.

“It is quite alright.” He tried fixing himself. “I understand emotions are high. Your brother, Ser Syrion, will heal. Whether his legs will continue to function, is not up to me.”

Again, Y/N apologized. After a while, when the Maesters were gone and just the three of them remained, silence in the room was broken again. “He killed my horse!” She hissed, “He made my brother into a cripple! Why must he be free of punishment?”

“It was only a duel,” her father answered. “They both agreed to it. One of them was set to win, and Prince Daemon won.” Calyx turned to Syrion, who laid quietly on his bed. “Be only grateful you did not die, instead of the horse. Your mother would rain hellfire if you returned a corpse.”

“It is not fair.”

“I know. But it was a game, a game Syrion played and lost. It is nothing more, my dear.”

Y/N returned to her brother’s side. “I’m sorry,” Syrion was the first to speak. His voice was groggy, and his hand trembled when he reached the sheathed sword that rested aside him. “I can no longer protect you, sister. I had planned to, until my last breath, but—“ a sob choked from his throat.

“Don’t…”

She almost spoke further, a remembrance of the past, wooden swords and pit-and-patters of feet chanted by laughter then a threat to a wordless boy who forced a scar to his sister’s chest. Her eyes harden when she glanced at her brother once more: weak and bruised, frozen in the favour of the warm blanket that covered his twisted legs.

“You never needed my help, not ever.” When his arm stretched, the sword, leathered in a tunic of skin, was pushed into her own, forced into her grasp until her fist tightened around the sheath. “If I must return home, I will not leave you undefended. Thorn will remain in your hands.”

“It will not.” She tried to protest, “You will stay here, with it. Your legs will get better, and you will fight once more. You are not to give up, brother. I will not allow it.”

Syrion shook his head. “No. If you speak of my legs once again, I will be offended,” he laughed, a bitter laugh. “Stop being stubborn and receive my gift, at once. Swear to it.”

“But I—“

“Swear to it.”

For a moment, Y/N was quiet. She could not say no. The missed beat was soon fetched by the blade being unsheathed, the soft clatter resonating in the room like quiet pins. Thorn, the sword red as gore and mended by hot dragon breath, was a gift from Queen Visenya to the girl queen of the neighboring golden islands. Once said, fought the same wars Dark Sister slaughtered, wielding alongside Vaghar and the cats of black fur against great houses of the West.

Alysanne Endo, the Untamed, mother of all, the blessed, was—as books came to call—the first true friend of Visenya Targaryen. Before the crown was placed onto the head of her brother-husband, in the sky above, Vaghar rumbled and shook the clouds when the oath of loyalty came from Queen Alysanne, in all her mighty glory, sworn to the friend she loved most.

In the hours before her execution, as far as historians cared to record, the girl-queen broke her vow, and the blade of her sword bit into her flesh, breaking skin, and the last thread Queen Visenya declared a traitor. Alysanne Endo did not die painlessly, her last breath came with a curse to her friend and the line of successors that came from her blood.

“I will come back, one way or another,” Alysanne Endo seethed before the Iron Throne, King Maegor, and the dowager Queen. “And every time you’re reborn, I will drag you to the deepest veil of death before your first breath. I will hunt you till you are nothing but ash.”

And at last, in Ser Syrion’s eyes, the last queen had come back in the body of his sister. Weaker and smaller than the frame of the warrior afore, but Y/N would be one to prove him wrong. “It is said, only a true fighter is worthy enough for Thorn. You must only use it for protection. Do not taint its reputation with the blood of the innocent. Swear to it, sister.”

Y/N continued to watch the blade rather than her brother, observing the majestic splendor of red and silver. “I swear.” There wasn’t any truth in the words she said, yet only her father seemed to catch them. “I will wield this sword as honorably as you did.”

Anything but, had it been, when the young princess crossed Maegor’s Holdfast, the clatter of her newfound sword was not missed by the man with a debt to pay. Daemon Targaryen stood before her, a lamenting smile adorned his chalky face and his eyes roamed her figure whole for a while. The look of a jealous man, preying upon his daughters’ competition for a title that was not secured.

He was offended, Rhaenyra had hinted in the early hours. His daughter’s offer was placed on the table but refused for the one with a lesser name.

It did not help his aunt, Saera Targaryen, vile and rich with her words, only spoke the truth when it came to her granddaughter. “A girl so innocent on the outside”—her fist tightened over the handle of the red blade and her tongue rolled with unspoken threats—“but so cruel on the inside.”

The flower before him seemed to be anything but.

“How’s your brother?” Daemon asked. “I heard the King granted him countless aid.”

“He’s alright. The Grand Maester has faith, and so do I. It is not the first time Syrion has gotten injured in a tourney. Injuries come and go, they heal and are forgotten.”

The prince nodded his head. His eyes moved to the sword guarded in her hands. “Thorn,” he whispered, almost amused. “Last I saw it was in Ser Haeny’s hold as he slaughtered men in my name. It is nice for Dark Sister to be at its once-companion's side yet again. A good change, even. It deserves to be in the hands of someone like you, niece. People speak lively of your skills, it is no wonder.”

Y/N bit her tongue and smiled. “Perhaps you would like to help me. I do not know much about swords, a knife gifted by Otto Hightower is the closest thing I’ve held to a blade.”

“I’d enjoy bonding with the blood of my whore of an aunt, but I don't seem to have enough time. Should you be in urgent need, seek the help of tainted bastards like yourself, niece. Perhaps one like your brother will teach you well.”

Daemon smirked then pushed past her.

“Prince Daemon,” Y/N called. He turned to face her. “I hope you are careful at night. It is your tendency to escape into the tunnels of the Red Keep, you might not know what hides in the darkness. You are aging, and your senses must be going mute. I will pray for your safety…uncle.”

A quiet oath was made when she was the one to walk away.

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istumpysk · 1 year

Text

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

ADWD: Tyrion VII (Chapter 27)

They were moving again, through the gate and beneath the city's massive walls. "You speak my tongue. Can I sway you with promises, or are you determined to buy a lordship with my head?"

"I was a lord, by right of birth. I want no hollow titles."

If Jorah Mormont wants Bear Island or his father's sword back, I'll skin him myself.

I'm convinced Maege thinks he's a bum.

+.+.+

Mighty Volantis, grandest and most populous of the Nine Free Cities. Ancient wars had depopulated much of the city, however, and large areas of Volantis had begun to sink back into the mud on which it stood. Beautiful Volantis, city of fountains and flowers. But half the fountains were dry, half the pools cracked and stagnant. Flowering vines sent up creepers from every crack in the wall or pavement, and young trees had taken root in the walls of abandoned shops and roofless temples.

You think it needs work now? Wait until Daenerys visits.

+.+.+

With whores, the young ones smell much better, but the old ones know more tricks."

"You would know more of that than I do."

"Ah, of course. That brothel where we met, did you take it for a sept? Was that your virgin sister squirming in your lap?"

Highly inappropriate behaviour with a virgin sister.

+.+.+

That made him scowl. "Give that tongue of yours a rest unless you'd rather I tied it in a knot."

Don't.

+.+.+

That much he'd learned on the road from Selhorys. His thoughts went to his boot, to the mushrooms in the toe. His captor had not searched him quite as thoroughly as he might have. There is always that escape. Cersei will not have me alive, at least.

Love when Lannisters consume poison so they're not taken alive.

+.+.+

Tyrion eyed the passing throngs. Nine men of every ten bore slave marks on their cheeks. "So many slaves … where are they all going?"

"The red priests light their nightfires at sunset. The High Priest will be speaking. I would avoid it if I could, but to reach the Long Bridge we must pass the red temple."

Almost the entire population of Volantis is drunk on R'hllor.

This will end well.

+.+.+

Seven save me, that's got to be three times the size of the Great Sept of Baelor. An enormity of pillars, steps, buttresses, bridges, domes, and towers flowing into one another as if they had all been chiseled from one collossal rock, the Temple of the Lord of Light loomed like Aegon's High Hill. A hundred hues of red, yellow, gold, and orange met and melded in the temple walls, dissolving one into the other like clouds at sunset. Its slender towers twisted ever upward, frozen flames dancing as they reached for the sky. Fire turned to stone.

And stone turned to fire equals dragons. In more ways than one.

Everything in Essos feels more grandiose. I can't wait for the Dragonstone disappointment.

+.+.+

Benerro's high voice carried well. Tall and thin, he had a drawn face and skin white as milk. Flames had been tattooed across his cheeks and chin and shaven head to make a bright red mask that crackled about his eyes and coiled down and around his lipless mouth. "Is that a slave tattoo?" asked Tyrion.

The knight nodded. "The red temple buys them as children and makes them priests or temple prostitutes or warriors. Look there." He pointed at the steps, where a line of men in ornate armor and orange cloaks stood before the temple's doors, clasping spears with points like writhing flames. "The Fiery Hand. The Lord of Light's sacred soldiers, defenders of the temple."

Fire knights. "And how many fingers does this hand have, pray?"

"One thousand. Never more, and never less. A new flame is kindled for every one that gutters out."

Entirely possible Melisandre's glamor is hiding a tattoo.

One thousand sacred soldiers? Sounds like the Faith Militant!

This will end well.

+.+.+

Benerro jabbed a finger at the moon, made a fist, spread his hands wide. When his voice rose in a crescendo, flames leapt from his fingers with a sudden whoosh and made the crowd gasp.

Are we playing charades?

Dragons came from the moon, final answer.

+.+.+

Shouts erupted from the crowd. Women were weeping and men were shaking their fists. I have a bad feeling about this. The dwarf was reminded of the day Myrcella sailed for Dorne and the riot that boiled up as they made their way back to the Red Keep.

You and me both. Every paragraph the fate of Volantis becomes more clear.

Listen, I support any uprising of enslaved people, but I think it would be fair to say there's some red (god) flags.

+.+.+

Haldon Halfmaester had spoken of using the red priest to Young Griff's advantage, Tyrion recalled. Now that he had seen and heard the man himself, that struck him as a very bad idea. He hoped that Griff had better sense. Some allies are more dangerous than enemies. But Lord Connington will need to puzzle that one out for himself. I am like to be a head on a spike.

Haldon the Halfmaester is on a nasty losing streak. I have to agree with Tyrion again (ew), don't get into bed with religious fanatics.

Tyrion might be advising Daenerys in the near future, but I don't think he can stop R'hllor from getting his hands on her.

Some allies are more dangerous than enemies.

Servants of R'hllor, lions, krakens, shavepates . . . really, you could apply this to the whole entourage.

+.+.+

The priest was pointing at the Black Wall behind the temple, gesturing up at its parapets, where a handful of armored guardsmen stood gazing down. "What is he saying?" Tyrion asked the knight.

"That Daenerys stands in peril. The dark eye has fallen upon her, and the minions of night are plotting her destruction, praying to their false gods in temples of deceit … conspiring at betrayal with godless outlanders …"

The hairs on the back of Tyrion's neck began to prickle. Prince Aegon will find no friend here.

Can't wait for this guy to be enabling Daenerys. It's done wonders for Stannis.

+.+.+

The red priest spoke of ancient prophecy, a prophecy that foretold the coming of a hero to deliver the world from darkness. One hero. Not two. Daenerys has dragons, Aegon does not. The dwarf did not need to be a prophet himself to foresee how Benerro and his followers might react to a second Targaryen. Griff will see that too, surely, he thought, surprised to find how much he cared.

Strangely enough, I also don't need to be a prophet to foresee how Daenerys will react to a second Targaryen with a better claim.

surprised to find how much he cared.

Regarding Tyrion's eventual betrayal, I'm guessing Daenerys fire bombing Aegon will be one of the first dominoes to fall.

+.+.+

For a while Tyrion could still hear Benerro's voice growing fainter at their back and the roars his words provoked, sudden as thunder.

No kidding.

+.+.+

"It's your mouth that concerns me, not your legs. In fetters, you're a slave. No one will listen to a word you say, not even those who speak the tongue of Westeros."

"There's no need for this," Tyrion protested. "I will be a good little prisoner, I will, I will."

"Prove it, then, and shut your mouth."

So he bowed his head and bit his tongue as the chains were fixed, wrist to wrist, wrist to ankle, ankle to ankle. These bloody things weigh more than I do. Still, at least he drew breath. His captor could just as easily have cut his head off.

Jorah Mormont probably feels right at home putting a man in fetters.

There's something about Tyrion wearing chains, but being thankful he still has his head that's making me itch. I'm trying to ignore the tongue biting.

+.+.+

The oldest, richest part of the city was east of the river, but sellswords, barbarians, and other uncouth outlanders were not welcome there, so they must needs cross over to the west.

I'm sure the Dothraki will love all the wealth being east of the river.

Alone amongst the major river towns, Selhorys stood upon the eastern bank of the Rhoyne, making it much more vulnerable to the horselords than its sister towns across the river. Even so, it is a small prize. If I were khal, I would feint at Selhorys, let the Volantenes rush to defend it, then swing south and ride hard for Volantis itself. - Tyrion VI, ADWD

I can't tell if the Dothraki will take the demon road to Volantis or travel by ship. I know which one they would prefer.

+.+.+

Three heads were on display as well—two men and a woman, their crimes scrawled on tablets underneath them.

[...]

"What did they do?" Tyrion inquired innocently.

The knight glanced at the inscriptions. "The woman was a slave who raised her hand to her mistress. The older man was accused of fomenting rebellion and spying for the dragon queen."

"And the young one?"

"Killed his father."

Is this something? I can't spot a theme.

The woman was a slave who raised her hand to her mistress. Mirri Maz Duur? Potentially Irri? Might be nothing more than evidence of slave rebellion.

The older man was accused of fomenting rebellion and spying for the dragon queen. I think of Varys or Jorah when I see the word spy. Might be nothing more than evidence of slave rebellion.

"Killed his father." Tyrion? Ramsay?

+.+.+

Farther on, the knight paused briefly to consider a jeweled tiara displayed upon a bed of purple velvet. He passed that by, but a few steps on he stopped again to haggle over a pair of gloves at a leatherworker's stall.

He's picking out a gift for a woman they'll meet towards the end of the chapter.

I couldn't tell you the significance of him skipping the tiara for the gloves. Maybe he refuses to crown another woman? Dork ass loser.

+.+.+

"Is this some holy day?"

"Third day of their elections. They last for ten. Ten days of madness. Torchlight marches, speeches, mummers and minstrels and dancers, bravos fighting death duels for the honor of their candidates, elephants with the names of would-be triarchs painted on their sides. Those jugglers are performing for Methyso."

Current triarchs:

Malaquo Maegyr, a tiger

Doniphos Paenymion, an elephant

Nyessos Vhassar, an elephant

Doniphos is the one who will lose.

"Malaquo may be old and toothless, but he is a tiger still, and Doniphos will not be returned as triarch. The city thirsts for war." - Tyrion VI, ADWD

We're never explicitly told the results of the election, but it's implied the tigers won the extra seat.

"Grey skies and strong winds," Moqorro said. "No rain. Behind come the tigers. Ahead awaits your dragon." - Victarion I, ADWD

Volantis will go to war (with itself).

+.+.+

"And this goes on for ten days?" Tyrion laughed. "I might enjoy that, though three kings is two too many. I am trying to imagine ruling the Seven Kingdoms with my sweet sister and brave brother beside me. One of us would kill the other two inside a year. I am surprised these triarchs don't do the same."

"A few have tried. Might be the Volantenes are the clever ones and us Westerosi the fools. Volantis has known her share of follies, but she's never suffered a boy triarch. Whenever a madman's been elected, his colleagues restrain him until his year has run its course. Think of the dead who might still live if Mad Aerys only had two fellow kings to share the rule."

Seems to be hinting at Bran not having absolute uncontested power.

Volantis has known her share of follies, but she's never suffered a boy triarch.

They're not all bad.

+.+.+

"I spent the best part of a year here." The knight sloshed the dregs at the bottom of his tankard. "When Stark drove me into exile, I fled to Lys with my second wife. Braavos would have suited me better, but Lynesse wanted someplace warm.

Please send him someplace cold.

+.+.+

By the time I got back to Lys, she had taken a lover, who told me cheerfully that I would be enslaved for debt unless I gave her up and left the city.

Lol, cucked. Before you get to Meereen, I've got some bad news to share.

This might not be the last we hear of Lynesse Hightower.

Baelor's building galleys, Gunthor has charge of the harbor, Garth is training new recruits, and Humfrey's gone to Lys to hire sellsails. If he can winkle a proper fleet out of his whore of a sister, we can start paying back the ironmen with some of their own coin. - Samwell V, ADWD

Imagine Lynesse and Jorah on opposite sides of the war. Fun!

+.+.+

The knight drained the last of his ale. "On the morrow I'll find us a ship. The bed is mine. You can have whatever piece of floor your chains will let you reach. Sleep if you can. If not, count your crimes. That should see you through till the morning."

You have your crimes to answer for, Jorah Mormont, the dwarf thought, but it seemed wiser to keep that thought to himself.

It's almost like the author is reassuring me.

+.+.+

"Last night the talk here was all of Westeros. Some exiled lord has hired the Golden Company to win back his lands for him. Half the captains in Volantis are racing upriver to Volon Therys to offer him their ships."

Tyrion had just swallowed another locust. He almost choked on it. Is he mocking me? How much could he know of Griff and Aegon? "Bugger," he said. "I meant to hire the Golden Company myself, to win me Casterly Rock." Could this be some ploy of Griff's, false reports deliberately spread? Unless … Could the pretty princeling have swallowed the bait? Turned them west instead of east, abandoning his hopes of wedding Queen Daenerys? Abandoning the dragons … would Griff allow that? "I'll gladly hire you as well, ser. My father's seat is mine by rights. Swear me your sword, and once I win it back I'll drown you in gold."

Bait? You'd be with them!

Last week Tyrion told us turning west would improve Aegon's chances of marrying Daenerys.

+.+.+

"The widow of the waterfront. East of the Rhoyne they still call her Vogarro's whore, though never to her face."

The dwarf was not enlightened. "And Vogarro was …?"

"An elephant, seven times a triarch, very rich, a power on the docks. Whilst other men built the ships and sailed them, he built piers and storehouses, brokered cargoes, changed money, insured shipowners against the hazards of the sea. He dealt in slaves as well. When he grew besotted with one of them, a bedslave trained at Yunkai in the way of seven sighs, it was a great scandal … and a greater scandal when he freed her and took her for his wife. After he died, she carried on his ventures. No freedman may dwell within the Black Wall, so she was compelled to sell Vogarro's manse. She took up residence at the Merchant's House. That was thirty-two years ago, and she remains here to this day. That's her behind you, back by the courtyard, holding court at her customary table. No, don't look. There's someone with her now. When he's done, it will be our turn."

I bet there's no feelings of resentment.

+.+.+

"A dwarf," she purred, in a voice as sinister as it was soft. She spoke the Common Tongue with only a trace of accent. "Volantis has been overrun with dwarfs of late, it seems. Does this one do tricks?"

Yes, Tyrion wanted to say. Give me a crossbow, and I'll show you my favorite. "No," Ser Jorah answered.

"A pity. I once had a monkey who could perform all sorts of clever tricks. Your dwarf reminds me of him. Is he a gift?"

I have no idea what's going on. The monkey stuff is beyond excessive, and excessive usually means foreshadowing.

Maybe we'll figure it out when we get to Vicky's monkey chapter.

+.+.+

"No. I brought you these." Ser Jorah produced his pair of gloves, and slapped them down on the table beside the other gifts the widow had received this morning: a silver goblet, an ornate fan carved of jade leaves so thin they were translucent, and an ancient bronze dagger marked with runes. Beside such treasures the gloves looked cheap and tawdry.

"Gloves for my poor old wrinkled hands. How nice." The widow made no move to touch them.

"I bought them on the Long Bridge."

"A man can buy most anything on the Long Bridge. Gloves, slaves, monkeys."

Please no more monkey.

How predictable, the gloves bombed hard. If this was meant to show me how dopey Jorah Mormont is, it was unnecessary.

+.+.+

One word. Meereen, he said Meereen, he's taking me to Meereen. Meereen meant life. Or hope for life, at least.

[...]

Deliver me to the queen, he says. Aye, but which queen? He isn't selling me to Cersei. He's giving me to Daenerys Targaryen. That's why he hasn't hacked my head off. We're going east, and Griff and his prince are going west, the bloody fools.

Oh, it was all too much. Plots within plots, but all roads lead down the dragon's gullet. A guffaw burst from his lips, and suddenly Tyrion could not stop laughing.

You would have been going east with them?

all roads lead down the dragon's gullet.

I wish I was that lucky.

+.+.+

"All the other exiles are sailing west, or so these old ears have heard. And all those captains in my debt are falling over one another to take them there and leach a little gold from the coffers of the Golden Company. Our noble triarchs have pledged a dozen warships to the cause, to see the fleet safely as far as the Stepstones. Even old Doniphos has given his assent. Such a glorious adventure. And yet you would go the other way, ser."

Seems unlikely the triarchs would part with their warships right before going to war with Meereen, but I understand the story requires the Golden Company to get to Westeros.

+.+.+

"I am no lady, but even Vogarro's whore knows the taste of falsehood. This much is true, though … the dragon queen has enemies … Yunkai, New Ghis, Tolos, Qarth … aye, and Volantis, soon enough. You would travel to Meereen? Just wait a while, ser. Swords will be wanted soon enough, when the warships bend their oars eastward to bring down the silver queen. Tigers love to bare their claws, and even elephants will kill if threatened. Malaquo hungers for a taste of glory, and Nyessos owes much of his wealth to the slave trade. Let Alios or Parquello or Belicho gain the triarchy, and the fleets will sail."

A fleet carrying slave soldiers, and those slaves have mutiny on the mind.

It could be as many as five hundred ships.

The storms would have scattered and delayed the Volantenes, even as they had his own ships. If fortune smiled, many of their warships might have sunk or run aground. But not all. No god was that good, and those green galleys that survived by now could well have sailed around Valyria. They will be sweeping north toward Meereen and Yunkai, great dromonds of war teeming with slave soldiers. If the Storm God spared them, by now they could be in the Gulf of Grief. Three hundred ships, perhaps as many as five hundred. - The Iron Suitor, ADWD

+.+.+

Tyrion twisted around for a look, hoping against hope that it was Duck and Haldon he was hearing. Instead he saw two strangers … and the dwarf, who was standing a few feet away staring at him intently. He seemed somehow familiar.

Five seconds ago he was thrilled to be going to Meereen. Now he's hoping Duck and Haldon show up.

If the author could be a little more clear on what Tyrion's goal is, that would be fantastic.

+.+.+

The widow sipped daintily at her wine. "Some of the first elephants were women," she said, "the ones who brought the tigers down and ended the old wars. Trianna was returned four times. That was three hundred years ago, alas. Volantis has had no female triarch since, though some women have the vote. Women of good birth who dwell in ancient palaces behind the Black Walls, not creatures such as me. The Old Blood will have their dogs and children voting before any freedman.

I bet there's no feelings of resentment.

Loving the idea of a woman (or an 11-year-old girl) taking down a tiger.

+.+.+

"Oh, I think it will be war as well, but not the war they want." The old woman leaned forward, her black eyes gleaming. "I think that red R'hllor has more worshipers in this city than all the other gods together. Have you heard Benerro preach?"

"Last night."

"Benerro can see the morrow in his flames," the widow said. "Triarch Malaquo tried to hire the Golden Company, did you know? He meant to clean out the red temple and put Benerro to the sword. He dare not use tiger cloaks. Half of them worship the Lord of Light as well. Oh, these are dire days in Old Volantis, even for wrinkled old widows. But not half so dire as in Meereen, I think. So tell me, ser … why do you seek the silver queen?"

Benerro has half the Tiger cloaks (the city guard), one thousand Lord of Light sacred soldiers, and there's five slaves for every freeborn within the city.

The writing is on the wall.

+.+.+

"Keep your silver. I have gold. And spare me your black looks, ser. I am too old to be frightened of a scowl. You are a hard man, I see, and no doubt skilled with that long sword at your side, but this is my realm. Let me crook a finger and you may find yourself traveling to Meereen chained to an oar in the belly of a galley." She lifted her jade fan and opened it. There was a rustle of leaves, and a man slid from the overgrown archway to her left. His face was a mass of scars, and in one hand he held a sword, short and heavy as a cleaver. "Seek the widow of the waterfront, someone told you, but they should have also warned you, beware the widow's sons. It is such a sweet morning, though, I shall ask again. Why would you seek Daenerys Targaryen, whom half the world wants dead?"

Beware the widow's sons. The Widow's Sons. We've got an old woman armed with sons.

I don't know about you guys, but I'm starting to think Galazza Galare might be the Harpy.

+.+.+

Jorah Mormont's face was dark with anger, but he answered. "To serve her. Defend her. Die for her, if need be."

He's not allowed to die for Daenerys. He must live and be miserable.

Want to know how to make Tyrion more bearable? Put Jorah Mormont in his chapters.

+.+.+

"—I know who the dwarf is, and what he is." Her black eyes turned to Tyrion, hard as stone. "Kinslayer, kingslayer, murderer, turncloak. Lannister." She made the last a curse. "What do you plan to offer the dragon queen, little man?"

My hate, Tyrion wanted to say. Instead he spread his hands as far as the fetters would allow. "Whatever she would have of me. Sage counsel, savage wit, a bit of tumbling. My cock, if she desires it. My tongue, if she does not. I will lead her armies or rub her feet, as she desires. And the only reward I ask is I might be allowed to rape and kill my sister."

+.+.+

Then seven hells broke out at once.

Ser Jorah started to rise, the widow snapped her fan closed, her scarred man slid out of the shadows … and behind them a girl screamed. Tyrion spun just in time to see the dwarf rushing toward him. She's a girl, he realized all at once, a girl dressed up in man's clothes. And she means to gut me with that knife.

[...]

… and suddenly she was rising off the floor, legs kicking wildly as she struggled in Ser Jorah's grasp. "No!" she wailed, in the Common Tongue of Westeros. "Let go!" Tyrion heard her tunic rip as she fought to free herself.… and suddenly she was rising off the floor, legs kicking wildly as she struggled in Ser Jorah's grasp. "No!" she wailed, in the Common Tongue of Westeros. "Let go!" Tyrion heard her tunic rip as she fought to free herself.

Penny is Game of Thrones' true hero.

+.+.+

Tyrion blinked up at the dripping girl twisting in the air. "Why?" he demanded. "What did I ever do to you?"

"They killed him." All the fight went out of her at that. She hung limply in Mormont's grasp as her eyes filled with tears. "My brother. They took him and they killed him."

"Who killed him?" asked Mormont.

"Sailors. Sailors from the Seven Kingdoms. There were five of them, drunk. They saw us jousting in the square and followed us. When they realized I was a girl they let me go, but they took my brother and killed him. They cut his head off."

How many people have to die because of Tyrion? (Half a million.)

Do you like how I blamed Tyrion instead of Cersei? Call me Davos.

+.+.+

Tyrion felt a sudden shock of recognition. They saw us jousting in the square. He knew who the girl was then. "Did you ride the pig?" he asked her. "Or the dog?"

"The dog," she sobbed. "Oppo always rode the pig."

The dwarfs from Joffrey's wedding.

Loving all these reunions. Apparently Essos is the smallest place on earth.

+.+.+

When they were gone, the widow studied Tyrion, her black eyes shining. "Monsters should be larger, it seems to me. You are worth a lordship back in Westeros, little man. Here, I fear, your worth is somewhat less. But I think I had best help you after all. Volantis is no safe place for dwarfs, it seems."

Jorah failed hard, but thank god Tyrion's here with his wit and charm to save the day.

+.+.+

"How generous. But I have worn iron in my time, and now I find that I prefer gold and silver. And sad to say, this is Volantis, where fetters and chains are cheaper than day-old bread and it is forbidden to help a slave escape."

"I'm no slave."

"Every man ever taken by slavers sings that same sad song. I dare not help you … here."

Psst, old woman. Apply this to her freedmen.

+.+.+

She leaned forward again. "Two days from now, the cog Selaesori Qhoran will set sail for Qarth by way of New Ghis, carrying tin and iron, bales of wool and lace, fifty Myrish carpets, a corpse pickled in brine, twenty jars of dragon peppers, and a red priest. Be on her when she sails."

[...]

"She will never reach Qarth. Benerro has seen it in his fires." The crone smiled a vulpine smile.

Oops, oops. What's on that ship?

a corpse pickled in brine

A corpse is on the ship? Preserved in brine? A corpse pickled in brine is on a ship travelling to Daenerys?

RISE UP SAMWELL TARLY AND RUM AEMON.

Save us from kings who abandon the north to be envoys! Help us fight nonsensical storylines! Free us from oppressive television adaptions! Destroy the darkness that is Game of Thrones!

+.+.+

"If I were Volantene, and free, and had the blood, you'd have my vote for triarch, my lady."

"I am no lady," the widow replied, "just Vogarro's whore. You want to be gone from here before the tigers come. Should you reach your queen, give her a message from the slaves of Old Volantis." She touched the faded scar upon her wrinkled cheek, where her tears had been cut away. "Tell her we are waiting. Tell her to come soon."

Apparently I forgot how obvious it is that Daenerys will go to Volantis.

A cloth dragon swayed on poles amidst a cheering crowd. - Daenerys IV, ADWD

I know this is in Volantis. I know it in my soul.

Final thoughts:

Beware the perfumed seneschal.

↓↓↓

Two days from now, the cog Selaesori Qhoran will set sail for Qarth by way of New Ghis [...] "She will never reach Qarth. Benerro has seen it in his fires."

↓↓↓

The red priest chuckled. "Neither. Qhoran is … not a ruler, but one who serves and counsels such, and helps conduct his business. You of Westeros might say steward or magister."

King's Hand? That amused him. "And selaesori?"

Moqorro touched his nose. "Imbued with a pleasant aroma. Fragrant, would you say? Flowery?"

"So Selaesori Qhoran means Stinky Steward, more or less?"

"Fragrant Steward, rather."

Tyrion gave a crooked grin. "I believe I will stay with Stinky. But I do thank you for the lesson."

↓↓↓

Three of the mates and more than three-quarters of the crew were fervent worshipers of the Lord of Light. Tyrion was less certain about the captain, who always emerged for the evening prayers but took no other part in them. But Moqorro was the true master of the Selaesori Qhoran, at least for this voyage.

[...]

"Dragons," Moqorro said in the Common Tongue of Westeros. He spoke it very well, with hardly a trace of accent. No doubt that was one reason the high priest Benerro had chosen him to bring the faith of R'hllor to Daenerys Targaryen.

↓↓↓

Beware the perfumed seneschal. . . is this not a warning about the ship? The ship that's carrying R'hllor and religious fanaticism to her doorstep, courtesy of Benerro? Not to mention the lion and dark flame.

42 down, 7 to go. :(

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#operation stumpy re-read #adwd #tyrion vii

47 notes · View notes

ardenssolis · 9 months

Text

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐃𝐘 : likes / preference.

𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐅𝐑𝐔𝐈𝐓𝐒 : He is really fond of strawberries! There's a few other fruits that he likes, but strawberries are definitely a favorite among the bunch if he's somewhere those are easily obtained.

𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐒 : Sleeping, fishing, chariot racing, video games, and reading.

𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐒 : He really enjoys sunflowers. Something about their color and overall appearance lifts his mood a great deal, but he is also very fond of lotus flowers since those both make him think of home and his first queen. The beautiful and vibrant reds of poppies are also a favorite of his as well.

𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐒 : Fall most definitely. He love, loves seeing the shifting of colors right before winter's approach. He wasn't able to see things like this when he was alive since deserts tend to be perpetually in what appears to be "one season", so being able to witness leaves change from green to reds, oranges, and yellows just has him in so much awe.

𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐒 : Moths. He thinks they're cute---

𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐒 : Big cats overall. Their deadliness and their beauty is a large draw to him.

𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐆𝐄𝐌𝐒 : Lapis lazuli most definitely, but rose quartz is appealing to him too.

𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐘 : Usually it is most certainly morning, but he has become rather fond of being able to stop and watch sunsets as the day becomes the evening. The beautiful splash of colors across that vast expanse of sky is a sight he will never tire of.

tagged : @soverina ( ty for tagging me! ////// )

tagging : I am...too lazy to tag but by all means snatch it!

#;tagged #about muse

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arcstral · 1 year

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She finds him this year with the same bright smile, the same slight wind-tousle to her hair, the same exuberant, affectionate call ("Prince Marth!") -- all of it, familiar, save for perhaps the blurry stripe of flour smudged across her cheekbone, its shape cut into by suspicious finger shapes. Ah, whatever could she have been doing 'til now?

The answer lay within her hands, quite literally, for she places before him a dedicatedly decorated cake of a somewhat smaller size -- meant to be shared with perhaps two or three loved ones at most, as well as to be much easier to take back with him and save for later. Slices of peaches add splashes of color without and extra flavor within, and a bit of glaze paints a picture of the sun.

"Happy birthday!" The little robin chirps, the same message emblazoned across a card she has quite clearly illustrated by herself: a picture of him with his nearest and dearest, a bit silly but whole-hearted. ...Though, if he were to turn the card to the other side, he might discover the note written on its back, accompanied by a healthy dose of doodled flowers:

P.S. - My brother actually asked me about flowers when I was talking to him recently. Isn't that great? It made me really happy! So I'll share the 'lesson' I gave him with you, too. Just because I feel like it, of course! Yellow roses - joy, friendship, new beginnings ; purple lilies - peace, royalty ; white poppies - peace & calm... she goes on to list more, ending with blue irises, playfully marked out and followed by a written out 'Hee hee!'.

(And, if he were to glance at her after reading this note, he would most certainly be met with a mischievous grin, cleft in two by the finger held up to her lips.)

The littlest, biggest robin of Macedon finds him with an almost supernatural knack. Like a sixth, seventh, and eight sense lied soundly in Maria’s possession leading her to the lodestar of Archanea as confidently as if he were the north star. Marth found no fault in it, of course, only wonder. Singled out so easily amidst the vast properties of the academy- a confident call of his name to seal every discernment- there would be nowhere to hide from Maria if they ever had need for such a game. Prince Marth! Even that initial bright chirp leads to further things; a familiar song passed back and forth between the once-Altean prince and the once-Macedonian princess.

One that often started just like this. “Good day, Maria. You seem to be in promising spirits today,” he greeted per their ritual, casting down his smile over the dome of a neat scarlet head. A little taller, a little closer to him than the last birthday. This time was marked by some difference, however. The daub of pasty-white across her cheek beckoned his silent look of curiosity but Maria's voice sounded again, this time to the dawn of his flattered understanding. At last Marth took in the full picture:

A smiling girl coated by intermittent streaks of chalky flour offered to him the yield of her labor; a darling white cake painted over with splashes of sunset pinks and yellows, representing the melting-sweet peach slices arrayed overtop. A specially made offering- a gift in his honor- and It looked delicious beyond compare! Obviously constructed in a way that reflected Maria’s research of the king’s most beloved tastes. The insightful card that followed aided in turning his appreciation to amusement.

Shoulders shook with a sunburst of laughter, bright and full, as he regarded the most painterly depiction of the Hero-King. A noble effigy of unparalleled radiance constructed by wobbly lines, arms, legs. An eye or mouth corner drawn too high over the other one detracted away none from his regal nature, naturally. “It is a beautiful cake, Maria—and a wonderful picture. The love and care you exercised in these creations is ever clear to me! I’ll not spare them from a single ounce of my enjoyment. Thank you.” A wink and a whisper of equally secretive proportions conveyed his thoughts on the illuminating contents of the card’s back. “. . .And you have my word that the secrets written here shall accompany me to the grave.”

#◜ ╰ ♕ ◦ › royal mandate ‹ ASKBOX. ◞#princessmacedon #another year with them :)#they are so dear to me #maria being a constant in marth's toa life since his first year hee hee hoo hoo

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dansnaturepictures · 1 year

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25th November 2022-Sunny day at Lakeside and home

It was great to hear Chaffinch and Carrion Crow on my Lakeside walk, and get an exciting first view for a while here of a Song Thrush on the path south of the site between it and the University of Southampton sports fields I have covered most bits of Lakeside on walks this week which is great with sweet flocks of tits flitting through the trees on the walk today I enjoyed seeing Great Tit and Blue Tit. The young Mute Swan was still present at Lakeside at lunch time, this time moved to the corner of Concorde lake from beach lake where I saw it and an adult on Monday and Tuesday. Definitive birds of my week. Great Crested Grebe, Coot and Moorhen were good to see well at Lakeside again intimately at times for the latter two and I enjoyed bright and colourful Goldfinches in the red bark bare trees out the front it’s been a good unique feature of these months this year so far noticing them in these trees as if they are keeping watch to come across onto our balcony feeders. I had a brief look at the front garden first thing to see if I could see the Dunnock again, I didn’t but possibly heard it calling from somewhere and did see a Magpie looking nice in the morning light. I took the seventh picture in this photoset of sun kissed Mallards on the gleaming Concorde lake which was so beautiful to take in at Lakeside.

I liked seeing this morning and at lunch time the creature in the second picture in this photoset, a little slug I believe. Carrot, teasel seed heads, rosemary and daisy were plant highlights on my lunch time walk, and it is quite magical how a familiar ball of mistletoe along the northern path in a tree blocked by the thick vegetation of the spring and summer months has gradually become more and more visible as the leaves lessened. It is a standout sight across Lakeside now which is quite a symbol of winter months and I loved seeing it in all its glory with rich colour against the strong blue sky this lunch time I took the sixth picture in this photoset of it. The shaggy scalycap in the southern fenced off area and bright red rose hips which the third picture in this photoset shows and lavender in the front garden were nice sights at lunch time also, as was the exotic sunset of a flower the one in the tenth picture in this photoset which caught my eye in the flower bed area out the front on the way back from Lakeside looking excellent in the sun. I saw a Yellow Dung fly and great bits of yarrow here which was nice too.

There were stunning views at Lakeside today. The fishing jetties at the west of Concorde lake tipped from being precariously holding excess water on my last few walks to being covered by the water of the swelled lake now which was fascinating to see, I took a picture showing this and tweeted this on Dans_Pictures tonight. Whilst bare branches came to the fore this lunch time, I loved taking in ripe yellow and orange autumnal colour and smashing green leaves too as the landscape was awakened so well by the strong winter sun. It was a good day for sun through trees shots. An erect crane (of the mechanical kind) made an interesting sight from home and from Lakeside today there have been a few in a place visible from my room but I’d not seen one so high above the landscape. It was great to enjoy beautiful trees out the front on the way to Lakeside today too and autumnal and other colour in trees out the back. I took the first picture in this photoset of a view out the back showing the crane a beautiful blue sky scene throughout today, and the fourth showing one of the trees out the front, fifth, eighth showing the nice sunny view of Concorde lake and ninth pictures in this photoset of views today. I hope you all have a good weekend.

Wildlife Sightings Summary: One of my favourite birds the Great Crested Grebe, Mallard, Moorhen, Coot, Mute Swan, Black-headed Gull, Collared Dove seen well from home in the lowering light of a bright day, Feral Pigeons seen nicely in the air at Lakeside, Magpie, Jackdaw nicely from home, Starling, Goldfinch, Blue Tit, Great Tit, possible Robin at Lakeside, Blackbird, Song Thrush, Yellow Dung fly, the slug and I heard Chaffinch, Carrion Crow and possibly Dunnock.

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sturkillerbase · 2 years

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What do you like besides Pedro Pascal?

I've been typing and deleting several answers to this question for the past ten minutes or so. I never thought this would be so difficult! I don't know which way to go. Should I divide them into topics? Answer with something more specific? I don't know!!! So I'll just mention a bunch of different stuff I like the most with no specific order or theme or whatever.

Cinema (history, themes, production, research, all of it), sci-fi, fantasy, YOU, classical music/movie OSTs, music (rock, metal, electronic, indie, folk, r&b, kpop), sfx makeup, beauty makeup, wedding dresses (even though I don't even plan to get married????), chocolate, cakes, ice cream, cake making and decorating videos, books and their smell, the sunset, the stars, the moon, David Bowie, modeling, painting with watercolours, animated movies, My Neighbor Totoro, my mom's risoto, my mom, my dad, my pets, my youngest nephew (the oldest is a demon, I am sure), watching movies with my friends, the countryside, gems and precious stones, flowers (specially yellow roses), warm lights, cute stickers, spring and autumn, videos of people walking around Japan, videos of different street foods across the world, rain and the smell of wet grass and dirt, glitter, getting asks, concerts, writing lyrics (even though I've never shared them with anyone), chess, libraries and bookshops, traditional brazilian sweets, Festa Junina, spending money (oops), therapy, pocket watches, renascence paintings.

There are more stuff probably but this is a lot already lol I'm SO sorry

#why am I such a mess #this was supposed to be simple to answer #but my brain's decided it's NOT #sturkiller answers #scorpio-marionette

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lilacnini · 2 months

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𐙚 NECESSARY LOVE - LHS

₊˚⊹ notes ~ you realized you were in love with heeseung the whole time | sonofceo!heeseung x daughterofceo!femreader ⋆⭒ warnings: arrange marriage, skinship, heeseung being kind of annoying in the beginning ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 word count: 800+꩜⋆ ˚｡⋆˚ genre: enemies to love, fluff, one shot | LIBRARY FOR MORE...

YOU SAT ACROSS FROM HEESEUNG, watching him engrossed in his phone, barely engaged in your conversation. Rolling your eyes, you recalled the foolish arrangement of marriage with a man like him, despising his lack of attention to his supposed "girlfriend."

"What were you saying?" Heeseung finally glanced up, igniting your anger, but you took a deep breath to compose yourself.

"I was just saying..." you began, only to be interrupted by the waiter serving the food. Sighing, you abandoned your thoughts.

After dinner, you and Heeseung stepped outside, heading home. The chilly air sent shivers down your spine until you felt his coat draped over your dress, its oversized style slightly touching your skin. The smell of heeseung's sweet vanilla cologne, rushed through your nose.

Peering at Heeseung, you noticed his flushed cheek, "aren't you cold?" He shook his head, "I'm fine.." You nodded awkwardly, which later you waved goodbye to leave back home.

You sat at your desk, twirling your pen, struggling to concentrate in your opulent office. Glancing out the window to clear your mind, the image of his flushed cheeks offering you his jacket replayed in your thoughts. You always believed he despised you, given his cold like personality. Why did your feelings suddenly shift?

"Miss, your father is here," your secretary announced, ushering him in.

"YN..." Your father's voice strained, his hunched form betraying discomfort.

"Oh, Father... I told you to stay home," you murmured, helping him settle on the couch.

"I needed to talk..." he began, pouring himself tea.

"About what?" you inquired, raising an eyebrow.

"About the marriage..." he muttered, taking a sip.

"Ah, yes..."

"How was your date with Heeseung?" he asked.

"Fine..." Your cheeks warmed as the scene replayed. As he discussed further, he rose to leave. Before he reached the door, you interjected, "Father, I don't mind marrying him." With a soft chuckle, he nodded and exited the room.

In the quiet solitude of a moonlit park, Heeseung and you found yourselves walking side by side. The rustling of leaves and the gentle chirping of crickets provided a symphony to accompany your hesitant conversation. The awkwardness hung in the air, stifling any attempt at meaningful dialogue.

Heeseung cleared his throat, his voice betraying a hint of nervousness. "So…" he started, his gaze fixed on the ground as if searching for the right words. You glanced at his direction, still a bit awkward.

The silence stretched between the two punctuated only by the soft rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze. As you walked and strolled around the empty park, you felt his fingers graze on top of yours. Heeseung felt the sudden urge to grab your hand, but he resisted. As the fingers lightly touched, you slightly grabbed onto his pinky, acting a bit natural as he turned to you. Heeseung gathered up his courage, grabbed your hand fully. And so, hand in hand, the two of you ventured into the heart of the park, the moon casting a soft glow upon the path before us.

As we walked, the silence between you and him began to loosen, replaced by the soothing cadence of our footsteps against the earth. And in that moment, amidst the serenity of the park, you saw him in a new light.

And in that moment, as the moon cast its ethereal glow upon us, you realized that love had a way of blooming in the most unexpected places, that even amidst the awkwardness and uncertainty, there was a chance for something beautiful to emerge.

The sunset painted the sky in a gradient of deep yellow with a hint of blue as Heeseung stood by the river after dinner. You stood beside him, nervously fidgeting with your fingers, torn between the desire to speak and a hint of fear. Sensing your discomfort and uncharacteristic quiet demeanor, Heeseung cleared his throat, prompting the moment.

"So..." he began, his voice trailing off.

"Do you hate me?" you blurted, realizing the weight of your question.

"Huh?" he responded with a puzzled look, trying to decipher your intent.

"I just... thought we hated each other, so..." you mumbled, quickly embarrassed by the unexpected topic.

"Do you hate me?" he retorted, catching you off guard.

"I-I mean... I used to—well, I don't," you stumbled over your words.

"Why do you think I gave you my jacket last time? Why do you think I'm always on my phone?" he questioned, waiting for your response.

"I..." you mumbled, glancing down at your sweating fingers.

"I like you," he stated, causing your eyes to widen as you quickly looked up.

"What?" your voice tinged with confusion.

"I like you," he repeated.

"Me?" you raised an eyebrow, pointing at yourself.

"It was an arranged marriage, but I realized I like you all this time—" he was interrupted by your sweet kiss on his lips. He responded with passion, his lips perfectly syncing with yours, revealing the necessary love.

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micsm · 9 months

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Sunlight, Sun Sky Manifesto

Every day that passes, the sky is never the same. Some days it can be blue without a cloud in sight or clouds with a bit of blue shining through. Living in Florida, we have the privilege of being able to experience the beauty of the sun and sky around us. Sunsets are always different but extraordinary at the same. We get to see many colors in the sky that remind us of other things. We must remember that things are somehow connected no matter where we are.

My representative work started with introducing myself from Stamford, CT. The photo I chose was of the backyard that I grew up in. Every day that passed, the building front was the same, and as seasons changed, the sky did as well. One thing that was always beautiful was the sun shining on the building across from my balcony in this photo; it was snowing a couple of days before, so the snow was melting away. The sun was coming up, and when I shot this photo, I only remember capturing the sun's rays; the sky was blue with little white clouds, but the rays showed some orange and yellow tones.

The abstract post-painting I chose is from Natvar Bhavsar 1976. The name of the painting is called Dhruva. Even though a painting of yellow, orange, and red tones may have nothing to do with the sky reminded me of my initial post, the sun rising, it also reminded me of the sun setting at dusk with light touches of blue and green it made a connection to the sky for me.

Moving on to poetic license, “At the Equinox” by Arthur Sze talks about the ocean. When thinking of the sea, the sky always comes to mind. Arthur talks about waves coming in and out and how no matter if it rains, the pine needles still “glisten” when the sun comes out. The central idea of this poem is the Equinox which is when the sun crosses the celestial equator when day and night are almost at equal length.

In my Musical theme, one song that stuck was “La Vie en Rose” by Louis Armstrong. It talks about seeing life through a rose. Life is beautiful if you see everything through a rose. Everything is more magical and brighter; even if something goes wrong, it can appear attractive; this song has a rose; a rose can be many different colors, such as red or yellow. This connects with the painting from Natvar Bhavsar and the poem from Arthur Sze when he talks about how we will still glisten even after the rain, just like the pine needles.

My next was Photographer’s Eye, named Ocean Life; this, by far, was my favorite post. You can see the sun and the sky shining on the water in all the photos. It ties in all the colors I have discussed: red, yellow, and blue skies. The waves rolled in and out. Catching a picture when the ocean speaks to you is magical; the sun setting and glistening all its colors out in the sky is the most marvelous thing I can experience when taking these photos. I have a fascination for capturing these types of photographs. Whenever I go out to a beach, I aim to take breathtaking images to share with others. As I look at these photos again, I can see the connection it has with my other posts tying it all in and making some sense that we are all connected; my perspective on life is that it is beautiful, just like the ocean and the sky and it is what we make of it.

Whether it be in a song, a poem, or photos, analyzing my blog, I realized there was more connection than I thought. My theme is the sky, sunlight, and the many different colors and shapes it can show us. It is a beautiful, organic artwork around us daily; we are all connected to it.

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myelocin · 3 years

Text

8 | to my lani; happiest birthday.

In the back of my mind, I’m home.

Maybe life is meant to be this way. A fragile start, life, then a clock still ticking even if your breaths have slowed.

I remember you liked to take deep breaths.

Saturday, and the sun’s gentle. Pancakes by seven. You said you liked the way I made pancakes. “You can cook breakfast for me now every day,” with a smile.

You know I wish I could.

In the present, I’m somewhere else, but on August 8—for almost eight years now, there’s always been a part of the day where I’ll give in, sink into my thoughts, and find myself back home. Across you in that table. A plate of chilled fruit by my pancakes. My cold glass of orange beside your mug of coffee.

Sometimes, I’m twelve again, and I’m beside you again. You’ve got that red beanie on, because last night, you pulled out quite a few patches when you meant to just brush it back. There’s a bloom of yellow just outside the windows, plus the few drops of rain you always said made your flowers the happiest.

I hope that most days you were happy too.

August 8 is lonely, mi, but when I remember the bits of home, love usually cradles me instead of grief.

To be loved is the kindest the world could be, I suppose. You’re everywhere that’s the most beautiful today. Lani, as your name that meant the skies, because maybe, you’ve finally made it up there.

You gave me marmalade and home. My room on the second floor that had the best view of our autumn, and the angel figurines on my bedside table. The stories with the lessons I’ll pass onto the next, and the heart shaped locket you gave me on my first birthday that I remember with you.

August is lovely. You are always lovely.

Happy birthday. My world is lonely today, but the skies—my lani—look lovely.

So maybe you’re up there, by every bloom that gives you the most joy.

#nc.personal #in yellow roses and across the most beautiful sunsets #i find home #i love you always

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llamagoddessofficial · 2 years

Text

Commission for the wonderful @valacre, thank you so much for asking for something so sweet and fluffy and absolutely romantic. Writing this was the gift that kept on giving- just Skull being a big, loving doofus, and his darling human loving him right back.

...

What on Earth?

“... Skull?” You asked, your voice thick with confusion.

There were two vases of flowers on the little chest of drawers by the door that you used to hold all your leaving-the-house essentials. Two; and both of them were close to bursting with large, extravagant blossoms, all in various elegant and attractive colours... they looked big and dramatic and expensive, not the average garden variety flowers that you’d use for a touch of green in your decorations.

(Hahah, garden variety flowers... you should tell him that joke later.)

What’s going on? Did I miss something? You righted your bag on your shoulder as you approached the flowers, examining them. One bouquet was purely deep red roses, their dark and velvety petals already exuding a luxurious scent- the other caught your eye a bit more, because surrounding the large and dramatic pink lilies were little dahlias. The petals were salmon pink with yellowed bases... their dome-like structure of tightly packed and alluringly symmetrical petals, alongside the colour that reminded you of a glowing sunset...

...

You heard footsteps. You glanced up from the flowers- Skull was standing there, in the hallway just ahead of you... he was holding something in his massive clawed hands, but you were admittedly a tad more invested in the beautiful ultramarine blush spreading across his cheekbones.

“happy... valentine’s.” He mumbled.

...

"V... Valentine's?"

You weren’t expecting that. You weren’t expecting that at ALL. You blinked, taken aback- he seemed to find that funny, judging by the way his grin climbed up his face.

“surprised?”

“I-I...” You shook your head, as if to dispel the thoughts that were confusing you. “Well, yes. D-definitely. I wasn’t expecting... You told me monsters didn’t do Valentine's?”

Apparently impatient, Skull closed the gap between the two of you, once again moving deceptively fast for someone so huge. He closed a hand around yours and started leading you out of the entrance hallway and into the house proper. “we don’t.”

"Th... then what...?”

“i just wanted to. i wanted to be... romantic. with you.”

He turned, finally, letting go of your hand and barely giving you a second to take in that wonderful comment, instead offering the thing you'd noticed him holding before with a degree of insistence. It looked like... a box? Just a normal cardboard one, but tied up with an uneven pink bow that had some loose threads pulled free from the main weave- you got the feeling that it'd been tied and undone and tied and undone several times over.

His eyelight had grown fuzzy around the edges.

...

You took the box, your mind racing as to what could be inside. You tugged the bow free.

...

... Chocolates. Little individual chocolates. Twelve of them, in four rows of three- set up in a pattern that alternated between dark, milk and white, with tiny shaky flowers painted on them in edible pink glitter. Some were slightly wonky or generally off-sized, but even so, they...

... They looked absolutely delicious...

“... Skull.” You turned up to stare at him. “Did you make these?”

His massive grin said a thousand words.

...

He’d made you chocolates.

You took a little breath in, trying to stifle the wave of emotion that came over you. You knew how important food was to him- you knew very well how much even a simple meal could mean (it’d taken you a while to understand why he always blushed when you offered to cook). Food meant family, food meant warmth and safety... and even more so, the creation of food meant love. It signified, to him, a bond that was worth sharing his most intimate emotions with.

... You also knew how difficult and frustrating he found it to perform tasks that required a lot of minute detail and motor function. His injury left him with difficulty concentrating on a small scale, alongside a persistent minute shake in his hands, so he’d completely avoid activities involving those two things while citing that he didn’t want to ‘make a fool of himself’...

... And yet here you were. With tiny chocolates he’d made for you, painted with even tinier flowers. How many times had he practised those? You could practically hear the steadying breath he took as he dotted the glitter onto the treat.

“... They’re beautiful.” You said, softly. He was beaming.

...

You put the lid back on the box and placed it carefully on the bed, mumbling out a quick “Hold on a second.” as you stuck your hands into your bag. Skull paused, apparently not expecting that, watching as you rustled inside the purse...

... Before eventually pulling out something, holding it out to him with both hands. It was...

A book. Hardback, surprisingly hefty and chunky, with a fabric spine and a bright & lightly embossed cover.

“... This is my Valentine’s gift for you.” You mumbled, smoothing out the cover with your thumb. “I know you’ve been looking at this one a lot lately, and... I was mainly just using the fact that it’s Valentine’s as an excuse to buy it for you.”

...

He took the book, eyelight twitching back and forth as he read the cover... blowing wide once the realisation of what it was set in.

Skull liked cookbooks. He liked them a lot; he struggled with online recipes, finding the ads invasive, the screens headache-inducing and the fonts unpleasant. But a few months ago he’d discovered cookbooks, and right after that, his absolute love of them- you already had six or seven, taking up the kitchen shelves, every recipe page dotted with his scribbled notes and comments and corrections.

The book you’d given him was a hardback that you’d seen him looking at online, but you knew he’d never get for himself thanks to the price tag. What better excuse to treat him than Valentine’s?

“th...” He rubbed the cover with his thumb, just like how you did. “thank... thank you...”

“Hey.”

You made a little ‘come here’ gesture. He happily obliged, accustomed to what that signal was asking him to do... he got down on one knee to be closer to your eye level (though he was still an inch or so taller than you, even in that position)- you held his cheekbones with both hands and kissed him.

He hummed, in response, placing the book on the floor carefully so he had his giant arms free to wrap them around you. Even his gentlest hugs still rocked your whole body toward him... it didn’t matter how long you lived with him, you never quite got over how huge he was.

Over time, you’d grown much better at reading your boyfriend’s expressions. When you first met it was impossible to tell what he was thinking or feeling... you’d grown so accustomed to human faces and the thousands of tiny movements they made that it was genuinely difficult to translate Skull’s expressions into feelings. But now, after over a year, your eyes were well-trained to pick up on even his most subtle cues; the angle and width of his smile, any twitches or downward turns of his brows, the size and opacity of his beautiful iris... and in some cases, his body language was even more important than his face. Where were his shoulders? Was he standing up straight, was he hunching over... all of that sort of thing.

And... the thing was, right now? Pulling back an inch to look at his wonderful face, the warmth from his eyelight barely distinguishable from the warmth in your cheeks?

You didn’t need any of that. You were certain that even if you walked into the room having never seen a skeleton monster before, you’d be able to tell he was in hopeless, puppy love.

...

“Skull?”

“mh?” He purred.

“... Y’know... I like human Valentine’s, and everything. It sounds nice.” You tilted your head an inch. “But...”

...

“yeah?”

“... Well. If this Valentine’s was entirely up to you, what would you do?”

...

It didn’t take him long to read between the lines. You’d just given him the reins to, effectively, the rest of the whole day.

He immediately proceeded to literally sweep you off your feet, scooping you up and standing to his full height with you in his arms like a princess, ignoring your little yelps and heading straight for the living room while you clung to his jacket. He nonchalantly turned off the lights as he walked past them. Without so much as a word he fell heavily onto the couch and rocked back, laying down with you on his stomach- a blanket was pulled around your shoulders and his arms wasted no time in encircling you, each one gentle but nonetheless heavy enough to pin you against him without him even having to exert any force.

...

You let out a little snort-chuckle, which he seemed to like, judging by the ever-brightening eyelight glow. He kept his head propped up the couch arm so he could keep looking at you.

“Skull.” You giggled. You only had to turn your head a fraction to look up at him. “We do this every day.”

He had several go-to cuddle positions, and this was one of them. You on his stomach was a favourite- him as your bed... he liked it when you shuffled up his chest and put your head on his clavicle, that way he could fall asleep with his face nuzzled against your hair. He fussed with the blanket a bit more, grinning even wider, eyelight fluttering a little.

“i know.” He said, softly.

...

Well. Who were you to complain? You enjoyed cuddling like this just as much as he did.

His body shifted and he brought up a massive hand close to your face, clearly intending to play with your hair; there seemed to be no activity he enjoyed more than just using the tips of his claws to gently card through your locks. But... you surprised him by ‘catching’ his hand with one of yours by his thumb (there was no way you were actually stopping any of his movements, he was just allowing you to feel like you were in control).

Your entire hand was only a little bigger than his palm. You couldn’t help it- you drew his hand nearer to your face, brushing your index finger over a knuckle.

Skull’s hands were one of the many, many things about him that you really loved. You never quite understood why you had such a fascination, but... something about his claws, how sturdy and warm they were, the way the bones moved against one another... how every time he touched you, he was gentle as a baby despite those hands easily being able to crack your cranium like an egg. You ghosted your hands over the wonderful, familiar, warm peaks and valleys of his own... his claws felt safe. Like they’d protect you. Something capable of so much damage had only ever touched you in a careful and loving manner... you touched the tip of your finger to the tip of his claw and traced down the phalange to the centre of his palm, before shuffling a bit, so your other hand wasn’t tucked under you, and you could use both extremities to explore his.

... You hadn’t realised until you took a moment, but... Skull had started purring. It was a deep, low rolling sound, barely audible... easily felt, though. It filtered through his ribcage and directly into your chest, lightly rumbling your whole body.

His eyelight was radiating warmth, too, his breaths against your hair slow and even. Drunk off the touch.

... The scars on his hand were innumerable. You supposed that they were the parts of him that received the most wear & tear- what felt like hundreds of tiny nicks and cuts dotted the bones, proof of the hardship he’d gone through... your own hands looked positively unmarred compared to his. Like glossy coloured porcelain next to worn and weathered brick. Unconsciously, you made circles on the inside of his palm with both your thumbs... then turned the hand over (again, you weren’t turning anything. He was seeing what you were attempting and merely performing the action for you) to trace one of the largest scars.

It was a groove cutting directly over the top of his hand, beginning on the right side of his wrist and ending just below his index knuckle. Vicious and deep, but long since healed. When one of your tiny digits ghosted over it, you felt the little shiver that rattled his shoulders... his warming gaze on every action you took.

...

You pressed one of your palms to his and interlaced your fingers, as best you could, between the gaps of his own... then brought his hand up to your face and pressed a gentle kiss to the scar.

...

Apparently, that tiny action was too much. He let out a new sound that you’d never heard before, a sort of soft chuff, and sat up- the movement brought you (on his chest) up with him, ending up sitting squarely in his lap. The hand that you weren’t holding cupped the back of your head and tilted it up to him...

... He leaned down, capturing your lips with his own. You instinctively closed your eyes... everything about him was warm. Warm, loving, utterly devoted.

...

... You giggled, pulling back a little to look up at him. His cheekbones were alight with ultramarine magic... his socket being almost completely closed couldn’t disguise the bright carmine glow emanating from the wide eyelight- nor the fact that the black centre of his iris, in lieu of a little circle, was a fuzzy upside-down heart.

“You’re purring really loud.” You mumbled, teasingly, against his teeth.

“... heh.” His sonorous voice thrummed through your whole body. “...’ve got... a lot of things to purr about.”

You didn’t escape the second kiss so easily.

#commissions #the bIG SOFT BOY #oh man i blushed so much writing this #imagining being snuggled by Large Monstre #too much for my silly human brain

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project-sonamy · 2 years

Text

At the Edge of a Cliff

Written by @luescris

Fanfic Masterlist

There were only a few times after the war with Eggman had ended where Amy Rose had been able to find time for herself.

Knuckles had come into her office that morning, and as soon as the words "you need a break" had left his mouth, she was out the door faster than she ever thought possible--for her, at least. The pink hedgehog wasn't at all concerned about who would be taking care of all the papers and mess the war had left behind; all that had been on her mind was to get out and get a breath of refreshing, cool air for a change. If she had been there any longer, she felt as if she would crack, and Knuckles was her sign that her prayers were finally being answered.

It wasn't like she didn't want to help, far from that of course. There was just so much to do, so much pressure, and Amy would much rather be out fighting robots and keeping others safe than stuck up in an office. Just like the rest of them would, just like they were used to. But as they grew older, so did their responsibilities, unfortunately, and things had changed. And this war… It was the reason it all had changed in the first place.

Amy couldn't help but give a sigh of relief when she felt the warmth of the sun hit her face and the sound of the grass underneath her boots reaching her ears. It was relieving, to see the blue sky above her, for what felt like the first time in so long.

Finally.. Her thoughts breathed.

She began her walk down the barely seen trail to her left, leading towards the sparse forest in the distance. She planned to only be gone for at least an hour or two, grab some food, and be on her way back. They would be fine without her for that long.

Hopefully.

Her legs felt as if they could go on for miles, having been sitting in a chair for hours on end had made them cramped. Having this moment, it had made her feel lighter and happier than she had ever been in these past few months, and the joy she felt spread across her face in the form of a grin, and suddenly, she was running through the forest, giggling with glee. So the plans for a peaceful walk through the forest were botched; oh well! A run was just as fun!

It didn't take her long to get past and beyond the trees, and by that time her breath came in gasps of air, chest heaving as Amy finally allowed to slow herself to a stop, wiping the sweat off her face as she bent over for a moment. Thanks to all the past years of running after Sonic though, she recovered quickly, and she straightened herself upright with a small smile gracing her lips. Then, she gave a small gasp at the sight that awaited her.

Just a few feet away, was one of the most beautiful sunsets she had ever seen. The sky was painted with pinks, yellows, and oranges, clouds wispy and small in numbers. The sun itself set over a small city below, and that was a little bit destroyed, sure, but Amy couldn't help but find it symbolic. And just barely touching the edge of the cliff in front of her, with his arms crossed over each other, stood Sonic the Hedgehog himself. The light illuminated his outline, the sun's shine making it seem like he was glowing. She couldn't see his face, but that didn't make him any less handsome.

A grin split once again on her face as her eyes twinkled excitedly. This day just got even better.

"Sonic!" She cried, jogging up to his side, fighting the old urge to jump on him with a bone-crushing hug. "Lucky finding you all the way out here, huh? I was able to--"

Amy stopped suddenly, grin dropping.

He hadn't so much as looked over at her. He stayed as if rooting to the spot, his eyes glued to the distant horizon below them. The only slight indication he had heard her was the tiny flick of his ear turning to her and back to almost pressing against his head. She would have at first thought he was ignoring her, if it weren't for the small frown on his face, or the way his ears were positioned. No one else could ever tell what emotion he'd be feeling at any given time, no one else but her, and perhaps maybe Tails. Amy could read him like an open book.

The pink hedgehog tries again, though hesitantly this time, reaching out a hand to place on his shoulder, but stops herself, letting it fall. "Sonic? Are.. Are you alright?"

Sonic doesn't answer her. Not at first. She knows it takes a little while longer to figure out how to voice his emotions, despite being the fastest thing on Mobius. So she waits patiently, staring out as the sun slowly falls past the horizon. Just as it had barely reached half way, he spoke.

"It's my fault, isn't it."

Amy turned to him again, a brow creased slightly in concern.

It was voiced as a statement, but said as a question. He didn't turn back to her still, but his frown seemed to have deepened a little bit more. She blinked at him, then took a small breath. "What is?"

He seemed to think on her question, she could almost see the gears turning in his uncharacteristically darkened eyes, like a storm of thoughts were brewing. Sonic shifted, as if already uncomfortable, and quickly threw a hand to motion at the city below.

"The mess." Sonic murmured. "The war."

His statement and mood suddenly clicked in Amy's mind.

He hadn't been staring at the beautiful sunset before them like she was, not at all. He had been staring at the city, at its ruins, and the smoke that had seemed to slowly die down when she had gotten there, which meant people were already dealing with it. That was a good thing, she reckoned, but he wasn't looking at it that way. Instead, the blue hero had been regretting how it, and the world, had been turned upside down. Regretting that he wasn't there to help.

Blaming himself.

At this, Amy finally reached for him, gently grasping his arm almost desperately and staring up at his face, brows furrowed.

"Sonic, look at me." She demanded gently. "None of this was your fault."

He didn't look at her, but he did smirk, without that same attitude she had come to associate with it. "Isn't it? If I had been here, we could have prevented.. Well, a lot."

"If I hadn't gone in alone, I wouldn't have been locked up."

Amy shook her head. "No, Sonic, you tried your best, like you always do, you just--"

"Underestimated the situation? Greatly?"

Now, he was looking at her. Waiting for a response almost. There was something he was trying to hide in those emerald green eyes of his, something deep. Something heavy. A great pain.

She had only ever seen that look on his face very few times. And most of them were when they had been on the battlefield during the war. She sometimes heard it in his voice, too. He would show glimpses of regret and hurt when they had saved some recruits, or went past a destroyed home, and it was only when someone wasn't paying attention or when he thought he was alone. But the second someone came up to him or called his name it was gone, as if it was never even there, and Sonic was back to smiling, carrying on and inspiring others to do the same. Amy couldn't help but to feel sympathy for him; there was so much on his shoulders, so much expected of him, and he thought only he had to carry that burden.

Slowly, Amy looked down at his chest, staring at the long scar that stretched on top. It was just barely noticeable, but if you looked close enough, you could see that it was there. And it wasn't ever there before. Hesitantly she touched her fingers to it gently, letting sorrow pull her under for a moment.

"... You got this when you were gone, didn't you?" She just barely murmured.

This makes him inhale quickly with shock, and when she blinked Sonic had apparently stepped away from her. Not too far to where she couldn't reach for him again, but far enough. He crossed his arms over the scar, seeming to hide it away from her, turning his head with a small scowl. His ears were tilted once again.

"I don't want to talk about that." He grumbled, voice tight. To anyone else, it'd sound like annoyed anger. But she knew it was panic.

"But, that's my point, Sonic." Amy tries again, stepping forward just a bit, though stops when he takes another inch away from her. This breaks her heart a little bit, but not for a love reason. Because she knows that's how hurt he truly was. ".. You were trapped. And, and being hurt. There was nothing you could do, not to escape on your own, and not to help down here, and that's okay. Everyone here on Mobius understands that. You're only blaming yourself, when there's no need to."

Sonic scoffs at that, rolling his eyes as if he was offended. "No need to? Amy, take a look around." He pointed to the city again, glaring at her. "That happened, because I wasn't here. The war happened because I didn't try hard enough to get out on my own. I had promised to protect the world from people like Eggman," He spat the name out like it was venom. "And then look what happened. I broke that promise."

His last statement seemed to have let something loose. He paused for a moment, brows only barely rising with slight surprise, and suddenly, he had his quills turned to her.

"I had failed everyone."

Amy stands there for a minute, staring at his backside with a hand pressed to her chest. She felt the prickle of tears behind her eyes. She didn't know just how deep he had fallen into this lie of his. How long had he been suffering with this? She slowly began to walk towards him, the grass crunching under her feet signifying her approach. Thankfully, Sonic doesn't move away from her, and as she nears him, she can just barely see his chest heaving faster than normal. Again, the pink hedgehog walked to his side, closer this time, but he had turned his face away from her, hiding it.

".. Sonic." She murmured after a moment. "Look at me."

For a moment, it seemed as if he wasn't going to oblige. She has to hold in a gasp when he does, slowly.

He was crying.

It wasn't a full on sobbing; just hot tears streaming down the sides of his muzzle every few seconds, his eyes glossy and reflecting the sunset that just barely was starting to turn the world dark with stars. But the pain Sonic was hiding earlier was there now, had broken out past the wall he had normally tried to build around his emotions. And he was ashamed of it.

He made a motion as if he was going to turn and run suddenly, and to stop him Amy took his face into her hands, her eyes now also filling with tears as she met his eyes again. She had never in her life seen him cry before, and again her heart broke, into a million different pieces onto the floor below them like glass. Sympathy, sorrow, and anger flooded her as she gently wiped a stray tear off his face; how dare the world, dare Eggman, hurt her Sonic this way. He didn't deserve this kind of pain. His eyes widened at the action with slight surprise. But he didn't seem to want to move away now. Which was good.

"Sonic," Amy whispered past the lump in her throat, and swallowed to lessen the tightness of her throat as she continued. "You have not failed anyone. You are not a failure. No one blames you for anything that has happened, because this was all because of Eggman." She too allowed her voice to drip with rage, but she blinked, and a few tears slipped from under her lashes, ruining the effect. "He was the one that took you away, took you off guard, cheated. And ruined everything afterwards. What matters most, right here and now, is that you are here, that you came back. When we needed you the most. And even when you weren't here physically, you were here in spirit. We fought for you, because of you. The ones who.. Who lost their lives, understood that, and agreed to that." She dipped her head when Sonic tried to move away, keeping her eyes on his. "And if anyone tries to say otherwise, they are wrong."

His eyes flicked over hers. "B-but Amy, I-"

Amy pressed her forehead to his, effectively shutting him up, her eyes closed. "Mobius loves you." She murmured. "I love you. You could never be a failure after everything you have done for us. Don't you ever forget that."

Nothing really happened at first for a few seconds. Which was fine to her. She knew his limits, and had caught him in a time where he was emotionally vulnerable for a change. She was more than okay with just standing there for him. But then, surprising her, Sonic had wrapped his arms around her waist, and suddenly his head dropped into her shoulder, hugging her tight. His shoulders shook with silent, soft sobs, and for a moment Amy's arms were raised in the air, unknowing on what to do. But she eventually hugged her hero back, kissing his cheek lovingly before burying her own face into his quills. They stood there at the end of the cliff for a while as the sun finally slipped away, and the stars shone around them in the dark, night sky. Even after Sonic had cried all that he would let himself, he held onto her, as if she had been the one thing he had needed.

At some point, though, the moment had to end. In the distance, someone had called her name, and her ear picked up and pointed in the direction the voice was coming from. But she wasn't ready to let go yet. There was a few minutes that passed before the voice--which Amy now recognized as Knuckles'--called again, closer this time. This was what made Sonic finally move, and he slowly pulled away, looking down at her, not letting go of her waist.

And he looked at her in a way that made her heart flutter.

There was still a lingering sadness, but it wasn't heavy, the brightness and glint in his eyes seemingly having returned.

"... Thank you." He had whispered, and so quietly it had almost gone unheard, but the genuine sincerity of it was what made it heard.

And before Amy had a chance to say anything back to him, he had kissed her--not on the cheek, but on the lips of all things--and though it was more of a simple peck it left her blushing madly.

Then, with a rush of wind and a flash of blue, Sonic was gone.

She had been standing in that very same spot, staring after the blur he had left behind with a hand on her red hot cheek when Knuckles had found her, mind still going at lightning speed.

"There you are!" The echidna called, stepping up to Amy with an authoritative aura. "We were getting worried, you've been out for almost three hours and--! .. Hey, you alright?" His voice dropped to concern upon seeing the starstruck look on the girl's face.

Amy nodded in response just barely, still swooning with the butterflies in her stomach as Tails seemingly came from the bushes as well.

"Yeah.." She muttered to them both, and a smile slowly bloomed across her lips as she sighed. "Just watching the sunset…"

Art by @marpple

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mikrowrites · 3 years

Text

cottages of constellations

c!wilbur x f!reader

warnings: angst, fluffy flashbacks, arson, character death

summary: there’s a place only known by two people, full of sweet memories and domesticity. but the world isn’t sweet anymore, and sometimes violence is the only universal language. rather, Sophie visits the cottage she and Wilbur shared before the war, and is met by an unlikely guest.

might make a part two w doomsday and revivebur, we shall see...

Y/n sighed, sitting upon her horse as the wind blew across the grassy field. Smoke still rose behind her from fires still not put out long after the destruction, the girl shaking her head to try and absolve the memory from her head.

She gripped the reins, goading the horse to move, Y/n riding across the field. She knew where she needed to go, she knew the coordinates by heart.

No one else knew about the cottage, just two people, and one of them... well, he’s dead. There’s no sugar coating that. It resided far from the server, a little place just for the two of them.

After a few hours, with the sun rising behind, Y/n rode into the woods. She kept going forwards until she reached the river, stopping the horse. She looked forwards, pursing her lips.

The cottage.

“This is the perfect place!”

Wilbur jumped off his horse, pointing to the small clearing along the river.

“You think so?” Y/n asked, walking up beside him to stare at the landscape.

“Of course.” He emphasized. “But of course perfect is wherever you are.”

Y/n scoffed. “Jesus, that was cheesy.”

Wilbur laughed, running down the landscape towards the small clearing. He turned back, smiling.

“Hey, are you coming?”

Y/n tied her horse to a lead, patting it in thanks before moving forwards, approaching the cottage.

It looked frozen in time, from when Y/n had left it to help fight for L’manburg. The flowers still looked kept, the farm out back unharvested. She smiled as she approached the cottage, taking in the blooming flowers.

“It’s a surprise, so no looking.”

“Okay, okay!” Y/n allowed Wilbur to lead her over outside the cottage.

Wilbur stopped. “Okay, you can look.”

Y/n opened her eyes, walking over to peer at several brightly colored flowers planted around the cottage’s exterior. The hues painted the landscape, causing her jaw to drop at the beauty.

“Do you like it?” Wilbur nervously asked, Y/n whipping her head around to cast him a bright smile.

“I love it, Wilbur.”

Y/n pushed the oak door open, the hinges creaking. She let out a few coughs as dust invaded her senses, stepping into the cottage. the lanterns were flickered out, pots of plants and flowers left withered and dead.

She walked past a set of bookshelves, running her fingers across the spines of the books.

Wilbur and Y/n sat together, books in each of their hands as they read and relish each other’s company. A kettle of water was being heated in the kitchen, the sun filtering through the windows.

Y/n flipped a page, not noticing as Wilbur’s eyes lifted from the pages to her face, studying every bit of her. A soft smile crossed his face as he studied her soft green eyes, the bridge of her nose, her eyebrows that were furrowed in concentration.

Suddenly her eyes flicked up, Wilbur’s face going red. “What are you looking at?”

“Nothing! Nothing, no, not at all, no, uh—“Wilbur smiled sheepishly. “You’re... you’re just so ethereal right now.”

It was Y/n’s turn to blush as she tried to hide her cheeks behind the book, the boy laughing.

Y/n grasped a rung of the ladder in her hand, sighing for a moment before pulling herself up. Each step up the ladder her heart quickened, her lips trembled.

She climbed into the loft area, her breath catching in her throat.

The bed was still perfectly made from the day she left it. The sunset reflected perfectly into the room from the large glass window, casting the room into a beautiful orange hue. Y/n turned and saw the chest in the corner, the sight bringing her to her knees.

The letters.

“I’ll write you so many letters, Y/n/n!” Wilbur insisted, grasping her hands. “Every day! Until you can join me, we can send those letters.”

Y/n nodded eagerly. “I’ll miss you, Wil.”

The boy pulled her into an embrace, the girl burying her face in his shirt. He smiled, tracing circles into her back comfortingly. “A letter a day for you, until we see each other again.”

And a letter a day she received.

The letters came daily, some recalling the events of the day, some poems, some love letters. Y/n read each letter enthusiastically, hearing of Wilbur’s adventures and the people he encountered. The nation he was creating, L’manburg.

Then, after receiving a letter detailing the start of the war for L’manburg, Y/n packed her bag, took her horse, and left for the server. She fought alongside Wilbur and the others, resisting for independence.

Y/n’s hands trembled as she sifted through and read each letter, the open pieces of parchment cast about the floor in front of her. Her heart ached as she read the words of a man whom she had lost so long ago, so long before his death. The Wilbur that had wrote Y/n songs and poems declaring his love and admiration had died in that war, leaving a man she could hardly recognize.

The orange glow of the sun was fading from the room, darkening the inside of the cottage. Y/n felt tears gather in her eyes as she finished reading the last letter, two teardrops pattering on the wood floor. The letter fluttered from her hand onto the ground with the rest, the girl wiping the tears from her cheeks.

She stood, looking out the window and noting how night was fast approaching. Y/n frowned, reaching into her pocket to produce a box of matches, walking over the the bedside lantern to light it. She struck the match, the flame igniting, lighting the lantern.

Y/n went to shake out the match before freezing, her eyes fixed upon the yellow light of the small flickering flame.

The fire crackled softly as melodic guitar chords filled the night with sweet music. The river rushed by near them, as well as the sounds of the rustling leaves in the wind, creating an orchestra of soothing sounds.

Y/n smiled, closing her eyes and resting her head against Wilbur’s shoulder as he strummed the guitar. They sat on a blanket in front of the fire, one of Wilbur’s coats draped over the girl’s shoulders.

Peace. Both felt total and complete peace.

“I wish we could stay like this forever.” Y/n mused, staring up at the stars.

“Maybe, someday, we will. We’ll just lay and chart constellations.” Wilbur responded confidently.

Y/n smiled, closing her eyes and letting the sounds of Wilbur’s guitar and the campfire lull her to sleep.

“I’d like that.”

The lit match felt heavy between Y/n’s fingers, the girl sitting amongst the countless letters once more. Night had fallen, the stars dotting the sky. Y/n stared out at the stars, catching sight of constellations and clouds and the moon.

She reached for a letter, parting her lips.

“You lied to me.”

Y/n stood once more and let the letter meet the match, the paper going up in flames. She dropped it, the flaming parchment falling to the floor and igniting the rest of the precious letters that could have redeemed Wilbur.

She stepped back, watching as flames set to the wood of the room, the bed, the carpet. The girl spared the room one last look before climbing down the ladder, throwing the match onto the bookshelf, and walking out of the cottage. Y/n walked backwards, watching as surely the cottage was caught in a fury of flames.

Y/n finally let herself breathe, exhaling deeply as if a weight had lifted off her chest. She watched her old home burn, finally feeling a sense of finality.

“You sure did a number on that house.”

Her eyes widened, spinning and quickly unsheathing her sword and raising it to the person behind her’s neck. Y/n’s eyes hardened, glaring at the unwanted visitor.

“What the fuck are you doing here.” She spat.

She could almost see Dream’s smile from under his mask. “Wilbur sure did love his secrets. Was will to impart a few to me in exchange for some TNT. I figured you might be here.”

Y/n furrowed her eyebrows. “He... he told you about the cottage?”

“Y/n... he told me everything.” Dream responded. She slowly lowered her sword, stepping away from Dream. “I understand everything now. Your blind devotion to him, the loyalty. The server that drove him to betray that trust.”

“You did.” Y/n insisted. “You drove him to his death. You caused all of this.”

“Wilbur made his own decisions.” Dream shrugged. “And as I can see now, so can you.”

Y/n turned to look back at the fire. “So, you’re here to kill me then, yeah?”

“No, I’m not.” Dream quickly replied, Y/n looking back at him. “I’m here to make you an offer.”

“An offer? What the hell does that mean?” She scoffed.

Dream approached her. “They’re rebuilding L’Manburg as we speak. They never learn, they never understand. They call Wilbur insane, yet maybe he was the most sane of us all. He saw and understood the truth, and that scared them. So here’s what I offer you, Y/n. Help me take them down. I’ll pay you a good price.”

“What could you pay me that’s worth my time?” Y/n raised her eyebrows, crossing her arms.

Dream reached into his pocket, throwing a few netherite ingots and several diamonds onto the grass in front of her. Y/n’s eyes widened slightly, looking up at him. “There’s so much more where this came from. And better yet,” Dream tilted his head slightly as he held a bundle of fabric to her, the brown shades and patches so very familiar; Wilbur’s coat. “you can finish what Wilbur started.”

Y/n stared wordlessly at the piece of clothing held out in front of her, before closing her eyes.

“Wil?” Y/n wandered over to where Wilbur sat in the darkness of Pogtopia, the girl kneeling down next to him.

“Hey, Y/n/n.” He smiled tightly, sitting forwards. “What’s up?”

The girl smiled sadly. “I don’t know. I just... everything’s all wrong. I don’t know how to fix it.”

The man pondered her words, considering how the events of the next few days would play out. The heartache and betrayal.

It was no secret Wilbur and Y/n had been drifting apart. The lingering trauma of her torturous life in Manburg and the loss of her first two canon lives, him grieving the loss of his country. They were both hanging on by a thread, and comfort was hard to be sought between the two of them.

Wilbur knew he would die soon. He knew that the end of his story was approaching, but maybe, he could have one more sweet memory with the girl he had fallen helplessly in love with.

“Let’s go look at the stars.”

Y/n perked up, her featured contorted in surprise. “What?”

“Like we used to, by the river. Let’s go stargazing.” Wilbur stood, holding out his hand to help her up. The girl took it, the boy pulling her up to standing and intertwining his fingers in hers, pulling her through the ravine.

They trudged up the stone stairs and through the hidden doorway, out into the open air. Wilbur led Y/n into a clearing, where he shrugged off his jacket, laying it on the ground. He beckoned her over, the two laying on top of the fabric and staring up.

The sky was exceptionally clear that night, the stars glittering beautifully against a dark sky. Wilbur turned to watch Y/n stare up at the stars, noting her lips twitch softly as she began to list constellations under her breath. He took her hand once more, looking up at the stars.

That was the last moment they shared together before he died.

Y/n opened her eyes, looking up at Dream, who held out a hand to shake. She sheathed her sword, nodding slightly before taking the jacket and reaching her hand out, clasping his palm in a firm shake.

The man chuckled from behind his mask, stepping backwards. “You’ll be hearing from me. Goodbye, Y/n.” With that he left, the girl left standing alone on the riverbank. She stood still for a beat before bending down, moving the items to her inventory, shrugging on the trench coat, and turning back to the cottage.

It was nearly burnt to the ground at this rate, the flowers outside catching. Y/n swore for a moment she could see a glimpse of a tall boy in a yellow sweater in the flames, but brushed it off. She made the trek over to her horse, climbing onto the saddle.

She cast one more look at the remains of the cottage before cracking the reins, riding away.

It was time to finish what Wilbur had started.

a/n: i wrote this before the philza lore where wilbur fabricated history in the letters, so just assume that wilbur was truthful in these letters and y/n arrived directly before the duel and the betrayal.

#wilbur soot x reader #wilbur x reader #c!wilbur x reader #wilbur soot imagine #wilbur soot imagines #c!wilbur soot x reader #c!wilbur soot imagine #wilbur imagine #dsmp x reader #dsmp imagine #dsmp imagines #dream smp x reader #dream smp imagine #dream smp imagines

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harrysweasleys · 4 years

Text

yellow sundress // f.w

summary: fred spots you at bill and fleur’s wedding and can’t keep you off his mind.

warnings: none

word count: 3.2k

a/n: let’s all pretend there’s no war and the wedding doesn’t end horribly, shall we? (for my own sanity, of course) :) xx enjoy!

—

Fred was happy for his brother, really. Bill was always the most mature of the Weasley clan — well, according to Molly, anyways. Always boasting about how Bill had his life in order and how he’d go on to do great things. So, although Fred grew up feeling slightly envious of his big brother, today he was happy. Happy for him and happy that there was finally something for the family to celebrate.

He had found himself rather excited the morning of the wedding. Him and George had spent the night at the burrow — Molly’s orders — so they could prepare and set up the tent bright and early. Arrangements for the wedding had been made very last minute indeed, so the panic and rush was still happening hours before the happy couple were to say ‘I do.’

The early morning grass was still wet with dew drops, shimmering like little diamonds under the hazy sunshine. The field was quiet except for the occasional caw of a bird or the screech of an insect.

Though sunny, it wasn’t overly warm. Fred found it just comfortable to wear a long sleeved shirt under his waistcoat, preventing goosebumps from rising on his skin every time the morning breeze rolled around. There wasn’t much heavy lifting to be done, thanks to magic, so Fred found himself sitting back with his brothers, only ever occasionally giving a lazy flick of his wand to pitch in.

“So, no date?” Ron walked up to Fred, crossing his arms across his chest and giving his brother a small smirk as they finished pinning the tent into the ground.

Fred scoffed, “Coming from you?”

Ron rolled his eyes, “You’re older than me, you need to get a move on. Maybe you’re next,” he joked, motioning his hands to the wedding preparations.

Fred fought the urge to smack him across the back of the head, “You hilarious little git.”

Ron’s laughter echoed in Fred’s ears, a taunting reminder that he indeed did not have someone in his life. Someone that he could have on his arm right now, someone that he could end up dancing the night away with. Although Fred teased Ron about his bad luck with women, he knew his little brother fancied Hermione, and she felt the same way back. It was only a matter of time before the two ran off into the sunset together, really.

Fred scoffed at the thought of his youngest brother getting married before him.

The tent was up and ready in no time, a few of the distant Weasley cousins and some old school friends of Bill’s already underneath it, setting up tables and chairs so that there was room for people to sit.

Molly called his name from inside the house, her head sticking out of the kitchen window and her arms waving wildly; a clear sign to Fred that he should rush over.

“What is it?” he asked as he entered through the doorway, ducking his head to avoid hitting one of the wooden beams hanging low by the kitchen entrance. A beam that he had whacked his heads so many times on when he was growing up that he was surprised his Boggart didn’t turn into it when he was still in school.

“Carry these out!” Molly huffed, shoving multiple large trays of goods into his arms, her hair sticking out all over the place and her apron stained with icing and different kinds of sauces.

Fred agreed, walking ever so slowly out of the house and placing the heavy, unbalanced trays on the closest table he could find, not wishing to spill anything and unleash his mother’s wrath so early in the day. He let out a long sigh as he looked around at the ongoing preparations, the sun now higher in the sky and making it easier to do things under the bright light.

Too occupied with watching over everything, he hadn’t noticed a body approach him and stand by his side.

“Fred Weasley, as I live and breathe,” a soft voice caught Fred out of his daze, blinking his eyes to refocus as he looked down to face the person who had nearly startled him.

You were standing there, hair tied back loosely and a bright smile on your face. You were wearing a light yellow sundress, a cardigan sitting on your shoulders as you held onto a small clutch purse. Though Fred didn’t know his perfumes, he could smell a sweet mixture of honey and rose coming from your direction. A smell that Fred, up until this point, never considered to be beautiful. But as he looked down at you, your expectant eyes awaiting an answer, Fred found that everything about you was beautiful.

“Do we know each other?” Fred asked lamely, internally rolling his eyes at himself. He had a feeling that if he had seen you before, he wouldn’t have forgotten.

Your smile changed from soft to amused, “I see I didn’t make a lasting impression,” Fred felt his own lips turn downwards into a frown as you let out a small giggle, “We went to Hogwarts together.”

He scanned you up and down trying to find anything that could spark recognition, but he failed, “Were we in the same year?”

You shook your head, “I was below you. The year below you, I mean. Not — I — you know what I meant. I’m Y/N.”

Fred felt a smile take over his face as you looked down to the ground, “It’s lovely to meet you, Y/N.”

“Technically, we’ve met before,” you pointed out, a sly grin on your lips, “I was also there when the goblet of fire ejected you as an old man. Classic, really.”

Rubbing the back of his neck and laughing sheepishly, Fred cursed his younger self for acting like such a fool, “Not one of my brightest moments, I must admit.”

You let out a bubbly laugh and Fred swore he lost his breath.

“I found it amusing. Never dull, you two.”

A sense of pride buzzed in Fred’s chest, glad that he could make some amusing memories for you. Glad that you even remembered him. How Fred never noticed you while at school, he’ll never be able to answer.

“Well,” you adjusted your cardigan around yourself and gave him a little wave, “I’ll see you later. I’ve got to go help Fleur.”

Before he could bid you bye, you scurried off into the house. He heard you and Molly greet each other before the sound of your footsteps rushing up the stairs echoed throughout the house and through the open window.

A grin was still on Fred’s face long after you were gone. What it was about you, he didn’t know. But he couldn’t remember ever being so intrigued by a person before after such a short encounter. You had completely captivated him in the two minute conversation that was shared. Fred, who had made it this long without being in a serious relationship or committing to anyone, suddenly had an overwhelming urge to get to know you better.

—

Silent conversations bled throughout the seated crowd, everyone chatting quietly with the people around them as they awaited the ceremony to begin. Half of the people were familiar, but the other half were Fleur’s invites. People that none of the Weasley family had ever met — people who, as they scanned their surroundings, clearly still weren’t overly fond about having a wedding outside an old house in the middle of a field.

Old school friends gathered left and right, greeting each other and reminiscing about fond memories. Memories that, in this moment, felt so distant and gone. As if school was ages ago instead of only a year and a bit. A lot had changed over the course of twelve months

Without really knowing he was doing it, Fred’s bored eyes scanned the crowd, looking out for the familiar yellow dress. He had already greeted everyone that figured there was no point in getting up to talk if the ceremony was minutes away from starting.

“Looking for someone?” George poked him on the shoulder, a crooked smirk on his face. He couldn’t give a proper one — the bandage wrapped tightly around his head prevented him from doing so.

“Do you remember an Y/N when we were at Hogwarts?” Fred asked, eyes turning to his twin.

George nodded, “Yeah. Wasn’t she friends with Ginny and Luna?”

“Blimey, I need a better memory,” Fred frowned. He had never raked through his brain more than in the last hour, trying to find any sort of scrap, but had very little success.

“Why?” George wiggled his eyebrows, “Someone looking for her?”

Fred rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair, not answering his brother. Not that he had the chance, really, as the scent of honey and rose filled his senses once again, your bright yellow dress catching his attention from the corner of his eye. He hadn’t even noticed the empty chair next to him, but as you took your seat there, he was thankful that it had been empty.

“Oh, hey,” you smiled, removing your cardigan and placing it on the back of your chair, “Were you saving this seat? Sorry, there’s nowhere else.”

“No,” Fred muttered quickly, “You can sit here.”

George let out a low chuckle and Fred imagined himself turning around and whacking him across the head. But, fortunately for George, the very image stayed in his mind.

The ceremony began shortly after, but Fred couldn’t focus much. Only when you nudged him in the side and told him to stand for Fleur’s entrance did he notice how zoned out he really was.

His cheeks and ears felt warm but he was lucky you didn’t notice, a wide grin on your face and your eyes slightly watery as you watched Fleur walk down the aisle, an equally happy Bill watching her every movement with such love in his eyes, even Fred couldn’t help but feel the overwhelming emotions.

They said their ‘I do’s’ and the ceremony came to a close an hour later, everyone clapping loudly.

You disappeared into the crowd and Fred made his way to the reception tent, finding his table and sitting with the rest of his siblings. The atmosphere was calm, soothing, and the music gave a pleasant echo of fun. Having not been to many weddings before — or any, really — Fred didn’t know what to expect. He thought it would be loud, chaotic, and people would be toppling over each other on the dance floor.

That, however, was not the case.

As the afternoon turned to early evening, a few couples had come and gone from the dance floor, a few meals had been eaten, and the music playlist continued to produce a good enough array of songs for Fred not to become overly bored. Molly had strongly suggested playing Celestina Warbeck and was still bitter that Fleur rejected her upfront, but she seemed to be enjoying the evening as she moved to the music on the dance floor alongside her husband.

“You gonna ask Hermione to dance?” George nudged Ron in the side, Fred chuckling at his younger brother’s clear discomfort.

Ron’s cheeks flared pink, “Blood hell, no. She’s with Krum.”

The three of them looked over to the centre of the tent where, in fact, Hermione was laughing and dancing with the Bulgarian seeker. The one that Fred had listened to Ron whine about for hours on end in his sixth year.

“Come on, Ronniekins. You could out dance him,” Fred smirked, teasing him.

Giving him the best glare he could muster, Ron grumbled, “Hope she steps on his big feet.”

Fred let out a small laugh and turned back to face the dance floor, his eyes immediately finding you. He tried telling himself it was due to your dress, but that was only because he didn’t want to admit how beautiful he found you. How he currently wanted nothing more than to rush over there and ask you to dance.

Odd, Fred thought, I’ve never wanted to dance with anyone.

“What about you Freddie?” Ron turned the attention away from him, “I see you eyeing her. Just go ask her to dance or I’ll go do it for you and I reckon I’d make it way more bloody awkward.”

Trying his best to act nonchalant, Fred grumbled, “I dunno what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, really?” George’s eyes sparkled with mischief and as much as Fred usually liked that, he didn’t like it so much right now, “Then you wont mind if I go talk to her—”

“Sit down, you git,” he snapped quietly, eyes darting away from where you were standing and chatting with Luna before he glared daggers at his two sniggering brothers, “Both of you need to shut it.”

“Just go,” George said, taking a sip of firewhisky, “Someone’ll snatch your spot.”

Fred took a deep breath and stood up, wishing to get away from his idiotic family. His heart was racing against his rib cage, uneasiness and nerves spreading throughout his entire body as he slowly walked towards the floor. He stopped to look at anything and everything along the way, stalling the interaction as much as possible. Asking Angelina to the ball had been casual — he never really fancied her the way one should fancy a date. It was more of a friendly thing. But as he looked over at you, your contagious laughter reaching his ears and your cheeks slightly pink, he realized that this was so very different. So very nauseating.

“Fred,” you smiled up at him, catching Fred off guard. He hadn’t even noticed that he walked up to you, but as he heard George muttering behind him, he realized his twin probably gave him a good shove in your general direction.

“Hi,” he smiled down at you, “Hello, Luna.” He greeted your friend, who gave him a dreamy wave before stalking off through the crowd with a smile on her face.

“She’s had a lot of gigglewater,” you informed him, “Told me about seven times that she thought I looked like Pygmy puff.”

Fred found himself laughing, “I don’t think you look like one. I don’t remember Pygmy puffs being so stunning — and I’d know, Ginny had one of those little rats.”

Your eyes widened and your smiled faltered just a tad, “You think I’m stunning?”

“Yeah,” Fred suppressed his nerves the best that he could, “I actually wanted to ask if you wanted to dance.”

He saw you take a deep breath, placing your glass down on the nearest table before holding out your hand, “I’d love to.”

Your hand was warm as it laced in with his, a sudden wave of confidence flowing over him at the contact.

He led you out to the dance floor, your body close to his as you linked your arms behind his neck, his hands holding your waist. He felt his breath stutter as your fingers grazed the sensitive skin at the nape of his neck, his lips curling up into a satisfied smile.

“Do you know how to dance?” you asked, looking down at your feet as you actively avoided stepping on his feet, the two of you slowly beginning to sway to the music.

“Nope,” Fred grinned, “Winging it.”

You chuckled, tossing a loose strand of hair out of your face before gazing back up at him, “Apologies in advance if I step on your feet—”

Right as you said that, Fred felt the tip of your shoe dig into the top of his foot. Your eyes shot wide open and you stepped back, tensing up.

“I am so sorry!”

Fred removed a hand from your waist and pressed it over his heart, “You wounded me, woman.”

Guilt left your face and you broke into another fit of giggles, stepping close to him once again, your hands finding their spot at the back of his neck as you muttered another apology. Fred couldn’t remember ever dancing like this with anyone before. Though you two were currently only friends — if even that — he felt like your movements were intimate, close, and he wanted to continue dancing with you until the sun was gone and rising back up again.

“You’re such a dork,” you laughed, resting your head against his chest. He was tall enough that you could do so without leaning over. Fred hoped to Godric that you couldn’t hear how violently his heart was beating.

“I’ve been told,” he chuckled, the vibrations causing you to pull away and smile up at him.

He stared down into your eyes, his own face falling into a serious trance. As cliche as it was, he felt as if the two of you were alone. That the wedding had died down and the dance floor was meant for you and you alone. That no one could ruin this little moment. He could smell your intoxicating perfume and it was rendering his mind slightly blank.

Fred Weasley didn’t fall for anyone in one day. Especially someone that he had never met before. But here he was, the only thing on his mind being that he wanted to dance the night and morning away with you. That he wanted to take you to dinner. To bring you to the shop.

“Something on your mind?” you asked, a tone of inquisition in your voice as you peered up at him.

“You,” he replied, stopping in his step completely when he heard himself, “I — that came off awfully weird.”

“It came off awfully sweet,” you stopped dancing with him, smiling brightly, “For someone who doesn’t remember me, you sure seem to be warming up rather quickly. I’m not complaining, though.”

Fred had never been happier for his boldness than in this exact moment.

“Coffee?” you asked, beginning to move to the music once more, Fred following in your step. He found himself stumbling over his feet just a bit, but he played it off well enough that he was certain you hadn’t even noticed.

“I like coffee but it’s a little late now,” he smirked to himself, knowing what you meant but deciding to tease you just a tad.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes playfully, “Oi, you know what I meant.”

He chuckled, cheeks hurting from how much smiling he had done this evening, “Of course I do. But here, let me ask. Y/N, would you accompany me to dinner and coffee tomorrow night?”

You pretended to ponder, the tips of your ears slightly redder than they were a few seconds ago, “I would need to check my schedule but I believe I’m free.”

“Good,” Fred grinned, heart doing a summersault in his chest as you beamed up at him, your body pressed against his as the two of you continued to get lost in each other.

Luckily for Fred, you were too busy focused on him to notice Ron and George shooting thumbs up your way, their knowing grins taunting Fred from across the dance floor. But, as Fred looked down at you, he thought he didn’t really care.

After all, Fred Weasley has a date.

—

taglist

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@theweirdsideofstuff

@thoseofgreatambition

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@ickle-ronniekins

@iprobablyshipit91

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@susceptible-but-siriusexual

@starlightweasley

@mytreec

@thisismysketchbook

(message me to be added!)

#fred weasley #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley imagines #fred weasley one shot #fred weasley one shots #fred weasley fic #fred weasley fics #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley reader insert

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lydias--stiles · 3 years

Text

and in the haze you see colours

juke | human soulmate au | title: 5 am // amber run

The first colour she ever saw was purple.

When someone was born, they got to see one colour. To each it was different and often a reflection of one's aura. Julie's aura was purple and, naturally, it was the colour she could see. Which was unfortunate, as there weren't many purple things in life - not naturally, at least.

And so, her entire bedroom was purple. Purple walls and purple sheets and purple stationary. The rest were varying shades of grey. Often times, she asked her parents why some were lighter than others, and they told her about green and blue and red. It sounded like a fairy tale. Red was warm, apparently, and blue was flexible and green was fresh. Despite their best attempts, she couldn't visualise it.

It didn't matter. Once she met her soulmate, she would see all the colours imaginable.

Befriending Flynn was easy. The girl had purple ribbons in her hair and that instantly attracted Julie. Vice versa, Julie's orange dress was a plus for Flynn. Through their deep bond, oranges slowly infused itself in her cornea. Orange, like a child's laughter.

With Carrie came pink. Pink, like the fiery moves of a dancer. It was close to purple, so it wasn't a huge shock to see a bouquet of roses suddenly come alive with colour.

In retrospect, gaining orange and pink wasn't that amazing. Not when she lost her mother while doing so. Placing pink dahlias on her grave was just another punch in the gut.

Years passed and people around her found their soulmates. In freshmen year, so many students gasped and fainted as they crossed eyes with their One. She went to parties and someone would start randomly kissing the other. She went to open mics and watched as her soprano voice accompanied two people finding love. It was as beautiful as it was tragic.

Julie was seventeen and she still hadn't found her soulmate. Statistically, most had by now. Had she not gone to The Orpheum that night, she might’ve waited even longer.

Flynn urged her to go to this new and upcoming band, Sunset Curve, as their sound was someone she’d vibe with. Julie wasn’t really feeling it, drowning in homework and song ideas, but her friend was persistent. They needed a breather from everything and a concert was the perfect remedy. After a quick Google search, she realised they were her age. Curiosity swelled in her chest, wondering how they moved up from open mics or school assemblies to the iconic stage of The Orpheum. The only thing she could note about the band was the drummer’s pink hoodie. That was it.

The venue was packed when they arrived. Boisterous chatter, antsy for the band to come on stage and fill the spaces between the instruments. Glasses chiming of sodas and beers being filled and passed around, the soft hum of pop music blaring from a speaker. Most of the crowd were kids from neighbouring schools and all dressed more alternatively. Though she didn’t see most colours, it was clear as day the band tees were vintage and the trousers were ripped or checkered or both.

She shot Flynn a look. “Are you sure this is our thing?”

“Yes!” Propelling them to the front of the stage and consequently shouldering kids in the ribs, she added: “Their biggest hit is, like, insane. And you’ve been in a funk all week, so you need some insanity. To like, counteract it. I don’t know.”

Julie withheld a pout. She’s been ‘in a funk’, because while she was at Eats & Beats grabbing a coffee, two strangers fawned at the sight of each other. RIght in front of her nose, another couple found. It normally didn’t affect her that much, but it did this time. The girl was sick of hearing about romantical love instead of experiencing it herself. Sure, she had Flynn and Carrie and her family, but…

But she wanted that. She wanted more. And with each ticking hour, it felt less and less viable. Where was the One for her?

The lights dimmed and the pop music stopped, smoke drifting across the stage as the audience began hollering and whistling. Egging the band to get on and give a performance worth watching. The hyped-up teens pushed everyone to the front, now Julie and Flynn forced to crane their necks to watch.

The drummer came on first, all applauding for him as he took his seat and started a drum beat that quickly upped in tempo. It swept them up in an atmosphere, heads bobbing and feeling that rise in anticipation.

Then the bassist came. His dark jacket glittered in the overhead lights, the flannel peaking beneath almost hinting at orange but remaining grey. He added to the beat, bringing in a bassline that had feet bouncing and more people cheering. The mic at the front remained empty, teasing its explosion of lyrics and electricity.

Finally, at the crescendo of sound, the frontman stormed on. He was all charm and smirks and cut-offs and blazing purple shoes. That caught her off guard, eyes dropping to the ultraviolet sneakers. A shock of colour amidst the grey.

His raspy voice belted out lyrics, a grin pulling on Julie’s face at the musicality. Grabbing Flynn’s hand, they jumped around with the other people. Their music was insane. It was fast and clashing and aggressive and raw.

With her neck in its odd position, she observed the singer for a beat. He was… hot. That was all Julie could think. He was hot. His hair falling perfectly right, big eyes, the smile breaking all lines in his face like a beautiful mosaic. Humming like an undercurrent was a buzz right beneath her ribs. Snug and warm, which could’ve been the vibrations from the amps, but it felt different. A good different.

They were in their fourth song when it happened. The band was kicking and jumping around, singing about making it big and not looking down, skyrocketing to stardom, when it happened.

The lead singer dropped to his knees and let the guitar riff bleed to the front row. The audience hollered, Julie laughing in delight at the expert playing, when her and the guy’s gazes met.

He yelped, music stopping short as he careened over the edge and crashed to the floor. Simultaneously, Julie felt the air knocked out of her lungs, losing balance and falling into Flynn. Her eyes were shrivelling with heat, as if hit with the embers of a campfire. A hammer slammed down on the buzz in her chest, electrifying the feeling till it was nearly unbearable.

Her eyes shot open. And then there was colour.

The crowd dispersed in fright. Gasps and gawks echoed to the back, curious murmurs carefully watching the guy and the girl come to their senses.

“Flynn,” she exclaimed, grabbing for her friend. “Flynn, I can-”

Except she wasn’t there, joining the rest of the crowd further back. The bassist and drummer were watching on, baffled.

Oh. Her stare drifted to the squirming boy on the floor. Oh.

Luke scrambled upright, instantly coming face to face with Front Row Girl and all the colours he has wished to see forever. His eyes were burning from shock and euphoria, greys and whites bleeding out of his bloodstream.

Her hands grasped for his face, worried, lips forming words he hardly registered but vaguely processed as ‘asking if he was okay.’

“Y-yeah, yeah,” he stuttered, his gaze racing across her features to wholly take her in.

Warm skin and wide, brown eyes and dark lashes and curled, pink lips and a pointed chin and glossy, long curls dancing against her cheeks and soft hands and red - she was wearing red. His colour. His soulmate.

He laughed. “Hi.”

She matched it, giggling. “Hey.”

“Hi,” he sighed, still in disbelief that she was his soulmate. His soulmate. His soulmate. The One.

Her trembling smile softened, thumbs swiping across his cheekbones. “You have really pretty eyes,” she whispered.

Her own were shining with unshed tears and he felt himself choking up too. Never in a million years did he think he’d meet his soulmate. To him, it had always been music. Sure, it sounded nice, but he knew he shouldn’t be yearning for it. He had his friends - his aura was red and he gained pink from Alex and yellow from Reggie.

But suddenly she was here. She was really here.

“You’re- pretty-” he stumbled, causing her to laugh again.

Yeah, there was no way he’d be able to continue the gig. The Orpheum was a big deal, but meeting your soulmate? Most monumental moment of anyone's life.

There was so much colour now. So much life. There was so much more than just music and red and pink and yellow to enjoy. (Songs swirled in his mind though, exciting him to the bone as his hands slid to grab her own. Winking all coy, like the best was yet to come.)

“Do you wanna talk?” he rushed out after.

She nodded. “Yeah. You- uh- your band-”

Their fingers intertwined, warmth dancing in his heart. “Doesn’t matter,” he chuckled. “Really does not matter right now.”

The light of a camera flash and exhilarated screams of ‘soulmates!’ ripped them from their bubble. The bassist jumped offstage and clapped Luke on the back, whispering at him to go to the alley. Leading her away, there was no sense of doubt in their steps. Luke didn’t know her name, she maybe didn’t know his. None of that mattered. There was colour now.

From the alleyway, they found themselves wandering around the Strip as they talked for ages. Her name was Julie, his was Luke, they were musicians, they were seventeen, their auras were purple and red, he decided he adored her smile the most and she his twinkling eyes.

“I think they’re green,” Julie said, peering into his eyes. She was impossibly close and it sort of took his breath away. “They’re fresh.”

“Fresh?” he grinned.

She didn’t lean back - she didn’t want to, his soul simply enigmatic - and asked him the same question. “What are mine?”

His expression softened, a smile twitching on his lips. They’re beautiful. “Brown, I think,” he said instead. “Not sure though. You wanna figure it out tomorrow?”

Her stride halted, their grasp on each other nearly yanked apart. His brows raised expectantly. It was there - that invisible, innate, sense of understanding. It wasn’t just colour. It was the refusal to look at colour alone, ever again. It was insane for the both of them, how their rushing thoughts slotted all puzzle pieces together without a hitch. It had that satisfying click-click-click sound, like dominoes.

Luke found himself coming back to her, the space between them disappearing till their arms pressed together and there were no forces tugging them together. It was all themselves.

“I have a book about colour,” Julie eventually said. “We can learn them all.”

He smirked. “I can tell you your lips are pink.”

“Yours are too.”

“Yeah?” he teased.

But then she lifted a finger and pressed against the plump skin. His heart stopped short at the sensation. Before he gave into the instinct to pucker them and kiss it, her hand dropped.

Julie grinned. “And now they’re red.”

When Luke kissed her, hers were red too.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

@blush-and-books @bluefirewrites @unsaidjulie @willexx @unsaid-emily @ourstarscollided @pink-flame @constantly-singing @stydixa

#juke #jatp fanfiction #julie and the phantoms #otp: i think we make each other better #bitches always be using colour.... im bitches

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