gone-to-the-forest

              A small portion of some of my favourite quotes from classic literature. Feel free to change and adjust them to your needs!


“ I have been bent and broken, but - I hope - into a better shape. ”
“ Don’t cry, I’m sorry to have deceived you so much, but that’s how life is. ”
“ I am fearless, and therefore powerful. ”
“ Why are women so much more interesting to men than men are to women? ”
“ Happiness in intelligent people is the rarest thing I know ”
“ Unless he is suffering, how can you be sure that he is obeying your will and not his own? ”
“ I have great faith in fools - self-confidence my friends will call it. ”
“ Do you know where the wicked go after death? ”
“ Actually that’s my secret — I can’t even talk about you to anybody because I don’t want any more people to know how wonderful you are. ”
“ Will you love me in December as you do in May? ”
“ Hell is empty and all the devils are here! ”
“ Believe only half of what you see and nothing that you hear. ”
“ You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you. ”
“ I have gone to the forest. ”
“ I got you to look after me, and you got me to look after you, and that’s why. ”
“ One cannot think well, love well, sleep well, if one has not dined well. ”
“ Experience is merely the name men gave to their mistakes. ”
“ If you want to keep a secret, you must also hide it from yourself. ”
“ The truth is rarely pure and never simple. ”
“ Power is in inflicting pain and humiliation. ”
“ Some are born great, others achieve greatness. ”
“ I didn’t mean no harm. ”
“ My life has the tendency to fall apart when I’m awake, you know? ”
“ If I cannot inspire love, I will cause fear! ”
“ And now that you don’t have to be perfect, you can be good. ”
“ I want to ruin you ”
“ What is hell? I maintain that it is the suffering of being unable to love. ”
“ To die laughing must be the most glorious of all glorious deaths! ”
“ If I knew myself, I’d run away. ”

anonymous asked:

Okay but wait if it was Lily's willingness to sacrifice herself to save Harry, why the hell did James's willingness to sacrifice himself to save both Lilly AND Harry not qualify???

ok but imagine it did save both of them and lily had to raise harry alone

  • she emerges from the rubble of her home, limping, her crying son in her arms
  • but otherwise they’re both ok
  • when sirius and remus find her sitting numbly in the front yard she can’t bring herself to tell them about the lifeless body she had to walk around in order to get her son out of the smoldering house
  • they do it for her
  • they pull james’ body from the wreckage, and summon a blanket to lay over him
  • with him laid out like that, lily wonders if harry thinks his dada is sleeping
  • distantly she can hear sirius and remus arguing
  • “i’ll kill him”
  • it takes a glare from lily to shut them up
  • “do you think” her voice is raspy- probably from how much she screamed when she heard james hit the floor
  • she holds harry tighter and reminds herself that, no matter how much it already felt like she’s dead without james, she isn’t and she has someone to live for
  • “do you really think,” she starts again, “that he would want you to do that, possibly get yourselves arrested, and leave harry and i alone?”
  • the boys nod
  • and slowly they sit down on either side of her
  • dumbledore and mcgonagall show up shortly after and usher them all to a new safe house
  • they explain james’ sacrifice 
  • how his love saved them both
  • they didn’t need to though- lily knew that was what saved them
  • they bury him in godric’s hollow, just a few spots away from his parents
  • and they try to continue living 
  • peter is found and sent to azkaban but it still doesn’t feel right
  • nothing feels right to lily
  • except harry
  • so she clings desperately to her son
  • she sends him to muggle school and gets a job at flourish and blotts
  • “i need to do something, remus, i’m so bored while harry is at school”
  • she reads harry stories before bed
  • they have play dates with the weasleys
  • sirius and remus come over every day and eat dinner with them
  • and teach harry how to ride a broom
  • marlene baby sits when lily has to work late
  • they go for walks in the park
  • they get a cat, much to sirius’ dismay
  • and when harry’s letter comes lily wonders if she shouldn’t send him
  • but for all that it took from her- the wizarding world gave her so much too
  • best friends, the wonders of magic
  • james
  • and harry
  • so she takes a deep breath and sends him to hogwarts because she knows it’s where he belongs
  • she meets hermione and the two bond instantly
  • harry writes her every week
  • she goes to every quidditch game 
  • and almost punches dumbledore for allowing her son, this little boy, to remain in the triwizard tournament
  • and finally, when she’s at bill and fleur’s wedding, lily sees- despite the polyjuice potion disguising him- a determined expression on harry’s face is so familiar
  • so much like james
  • so lily lets him go again
  • the next time she sees him is at hogwarts
  • and then again in hagrid’s arms
  • and her heart is on fire because she did not lose her husband, raise harry alone and go through hell just to lose him too
  • so she turns to the man who started all of this
  • but just as she’s raised her wand to finish him, who steps forward but neville longbottom
  • and soon after that it’s over
  • lily holds her son in her arms, strokes his hair like she did when he was little and cries because she truly thought she had lost everything
  • “there’s someone you all need to see” harry whispers
  • they find sirius and remus, he leads them into the forest, and turns a stone three times
  • and there’s james
  • lily is vaguely aware of choked sobs coming from behind her- remus or sirius or both, she can’t quite tell
  • james smiles at her and reaches out his hand to gently brush her face
  • she can barely feel it but at the same time it sets her world on fire just like the very first time he touched her
  • “hiya, prongs,” remus murmurs
  • “boys- you’ve aged well”
  • “shame you haven’t” sirius says
  • james smiles sadly at them before turning back to lily
  • “we never got our proper goodbye”
  • “don’t be a fool james potter- how can i say goodbye to you when you’ll never leave me?”
  • he gives her that look
  • the one that always meant “i love you”
  • “i love you too,” she whispers
  • and then he’s gone again
  • but lily leaves the forest with a small smile on her face because after all these years she knows that he never really was

Lauren isn’t expecting much from her twenty second birthday. All the important milestones had already passed, all of them leaving her empty handed. No Hogwarts letter had arrived on her eleventh birthday, no mermaid tail had appeared on her thirteenth. The enormously prophetic sixteenth year – the year famously known for having destinies foretold, for being kidnapped by gods, for falling into a ridiculous love triangle – had come and gone with nothing of note. The most magical part of her twenty first birthday had been that’d she’d manage to consume that amount of alcohol without dying

No grand epics begin on the day of someone’s twenty second birthday.

This is because of those unlucky enough to be chosen at this tender age – most don’t ever make it back.

Dead men tell no tales, after all.

~

(Dead women do. The bones and bubbling corpses of hundreds of daring, unfortunate women are screaming warnings and fury at the next girl to join their ranks of the lost and forgotten.

But no one listens to a woman’s screaming.

No one will listen to your screaming either.

Sorry, dear. )

~

She wakes up and goes to the bathroom to get ready for the day.

This is a hasty decision, of course, although she does not know it at the time.

This may be her last morning. If she’d known, maybe she would have savored it. Snuggled into her warm sheets, pressed her face into the softness of her pillow, pulled the comforter about her bare shoulders, the most instinctual and simple of comforts.

But then again. Maybe not.

There is also an instinctual, twisted pleasure in ripping off the bandaid.

Keep reading

hes got everything now

requested

warnings: sexual themes, don’t read if not comfortable.

Spring in Neverland was probably the prettiest season. The flowers were returning from their long winter slumber and the whole island turned green with renewal. The air was cold but the sun warmed the Earth just enough that you could run around in short sleeves and you would be fine.

You and the three other Lost Girls all decided to take a walk in the forest to the meadow you had discovered earlier before. It was small and lush, perfect to relax in without the pestering gazes of the Lost Boys.

The four of you sat in a circle, with Wendy to your right and the newer Lost Girl, Lucy on your left. They chatted of the day’s events and picked at the clovers patches around them. The conversation soon turned into gossiping about the boys they liked and the boys they didn’t like.

“Who do you like, (Y/N)?” The girl, Bethany said across from you as she tried to weave daisy flowers in between her braid.

“I’m actually not really sure. I don’t think I like anyone.”

“Right.” Wendy said sarcastically, leaning back on her elbows. “Because we all can’t see how you and Pan look at each other.”

“I think Felix really likes me!” Lucy chimed in, followed by Bethany agreeing with her.

“Pan and I don’t look at each other in any way you’re thinking.” You said with a raised eyebrow, pointing a finger at her. Wendy laughed.

“Look, you’re even raising your eyebrows all dramatically like he does!”

“I am not!” You defended.

“I swear, every time I see Pan he’s ordering someone around or sending someone to the cages.” Bethany said.

“When I first arrived here, Pan took my necklace. He said that he didn’t want it to remind me of home, and that I was in Neverland now.” Lucy sighed sadly at the memory.

“He’s too arrogant for his own good, expecting we treat him like the king he thinks he is. He’s such a taker, taking everything in hopes it benefits him in some way.” You agreed. “That’s why I don’t like him.”

Wendy rolled her eyes but dropped the subject.

Lucy took over the conversation next, giggling about all the things Felix has said to her that has convinced her that he liked her. You spaced out, thinking about what Wendy had said. What does she know anyways? You did not like Pan. Sure he was a pretty boy, with a milk and honey complexion and a smooth accent that made everything sound lovelier than it was, but his blinding hubris was enough to steer you away. Or you wished it did.

A rustling noise, so quiet and soft brought you out of your trance and made you look over to the bushes. A dark figure stayed in your line of vision only for a millisecond before he was gone, retreating back into the forest.

Your eyes widened. Had someone been watching you?

“Did anyone else see that?“ You questioned aloud, bringing the girls out of their conversation about one of Bethany’s latest pranks.

“See what?” Wendy echoed, turning around in the direction you were pointed at. A few beats of silence passed, the only thing heard was the everyday sounds of the forest.

“It was probably just a Lost Boy coming to let us know that it’s time to come back.” Bethany said, brushing her pants off and standing up. Lucy and Wendy agreed, standing up as well but you weren’t sure. What kind of person would lurk around and then run? Still unconvinced, you followed the girls out of the meadow, heading back to camp.


Coming up to the camp entrance, Felix stood leaning against the trunk of a tree, arms crossed and a smirk stuck on his long face. Lucy immediately glowed up at his appearance.

“Hi Felix!” She called with a wave. You, Wendy and Bethany sighed at how overly preppy she got in the presence of a boy.

He gave a nod in hello back but his eyes stayed trained on you. You looked away, pretending not to notice.

“(Y/N),” Felix said. “Pan wanted me to tell you to go see him when you got back.”

“Where is he?”

“Tree house.”

You rolled your eyes and nodded; whatever his royal highness wanted. You waved bye to the Lost Girls, promising you’d be back later and started walking to the large tree situated in the back of the camp.

Climbing up the latter, you knocked on the hatch to let him know you were coming in, and pulled yourself the rest of the way up. Pan sat on his bed with his back to you, hunched over.

“You wanted to see me?”

He sat there for a pause more. “Yes.” Pan said standing up. He wasn’t the tallest boy, but you still had to tilt your head up to look at his face.

“Well… what did you want to see me for?”

“What were you girls talking about today?”

You scrunched your eyebrows. “Nothing, just stuff.”

“Stuff?” He said lowly. “Stuff like how I’m too arrogant for my own good?”

You froze, hearing your own words come out of his mouth. Someone had been watching you. Felix, you thought with a scowl.

“How I selfishly take everything in hopes it’ll do me well. That may be usually true but in this case…” He shook his head and sat on his bed, spreading his legs out in front of him. “Come here.”

“…What?”

“Come here, (Y/N).” He repeated, patting the tops of his legs. You questionably walked over and with the encouragement of his hands, sat on his lap with your legs stretched on either side of his thighs. His grip on your hips pulled you the rest of the way forward, so close that your chests touched. Now, it was him that looked up to you.

“I can be a giver. I can give you lots of things.” With this he leaned forward, pressing light kisses on the column of your throat. You reached your arms around and held onto his broad shoulders, tightening your grip when the kisses turned to bites.

“Can I give to you, love?”

You wordlessly nodded, allowing him to flip you over and lay you on the bed. You closed your eyes and breathed deeply as he rolled your dress up and laid kisses on your belly, moving lower and lower until he touched the place you wanted him the most.

The rest of the day was spent with Pan showing you in more ways than one that he loved giving as much as he loved taking.

9

Death.
It’s a rough one, isn’t it? It’s hard for our brains to accept.
You see the person every day.
And then… pff. They’re gone.

Stay Alive

Now with an author’s note! 

I

She barely sleeps now. 

She has reasons for it, good ones-there are meetings almost every day now, Jon seems to get back later and later from his raids, and the baby has trouble through the night. She likes to stay up and wait until he returns, sometimes scraped and banged up from his fights, sometimes with far fewer men than he’d left with. It gives her some semblance of control. When she’s awake, she can’t lose him. 

In fact she can barely sleep sometimes unless she’s next to him, safe in the circle of his arms, his breath ruffling the hair on the back of her neck. She clings to the nights and shies away from the morning because each day is new, uncertain, and dangerous. 

Brandon Stark seems to think she’s Azor Ahai. She didn’t know much about the old prophecies-she’s never really believed in any kind of destiny she couldn’t prove-but she’s read enough stories about heroes to know that it required sacrifice. She can’t imagine that she’ll walk out of this unscathed. But she’s already lost so much-her soldiers, her allies, Viserion, even Dragonstone which had finally started to feel like a home. She can’t lose anything else. 

She waits for Jon now, looking out the window at the slowly cascading snow, holding their child on her lap. Rhaelle is a good baby most of the time; she sleeps happily cuddled into her mother’s arms. Dany brushes a strand of hair out of her eyes-already a shock of blonde, like her own. A true Targaryen. She sets her gently back in her cradle; the baby stirs once and then settles back into sleep.

The horses materialize out of the gusting snow, one by one. They’re all tired and their riders half fall to the ground as the servants rush to help them off. She runs to meet them in the entrance hall, throwing herself into Jon’s arms without caring who’s looking. He smells of pine leaves and the sharp stink of fire. “What happened? How did it go?”

He pulls her closer, burying his face in the top of her head. His voice is low and defeated; she almost doesn’t hear it. “Moletown is destroyed.” 

Another loss then. These days it seems they’ve had more losses than victories.

II

Rhaegal is injured on the next raid. She’s not there so she doesn’t see it firsthand, but she feels his pain almost as a physical thing. She’s already there when he comes back, helped along by Drogon. A spear of ice sticks out of his wing, like the one that killed his brother. 

When they take it out, there’s still a massive hole in his wing. She makes him stay at Winterfell and heal, visiting him three times a day to bring him fresh meat. 

That raid is also a defeat. 

Tyrion tears up their old battle plans, decides they need a new strategy. Tormund leads a group of wildlings in a surprise attack; only four of them survive. Bran says the Night King may be a greenseer, the same way he is-that would explain why no matter what they do the enemy always seems to be one step ahead. 

That night she has the first dream, of a castle far to the north. It’s carved entirely out of ice, smooth as glass and cold to the touch, alone in a harsh and unforgiving landscape. She dreams of wandering long quiet hallways, alone except for the rush of wind in her ears. 

She’s still cold when she wakes up, even though a fire burns merrily in the fireplace and they’re sleeping under three separate furs. She doesn’t tell Jon; she doesn’t need to worry him anymore than he already is. 

III

He barely eats now and when he sleeps it’s hard to rouse him. He still smiles whenever he sees her but his eyes are tired and sad. 

She doesn’t know who will kill him first-the Night King or himself. 

She does what she can to ease his burdens-she makes sure all of the plans are in order, helps the sick, dispatches soldiers, and even leads a few raids of her own from atop Drogon’s back. But there’s only so much she can do. 

The dreams come every night, always of the same castle. 

She wishes sometimes that her husband was selfish and not quite so noble and self sacrificing. She wishes she didn’t have to share him with the rest of the world and he could stop preparing to die at any moment, kissing her like it might be the last time he ever does. But that’s not who he is. He’s not one to sit back while others are in danger and neither does she. 

One night he has a nightmare and wakes up covered in sweat. 

“What is it?” She moves closer to him instinctively, touching the side of his face. Her fingers come away wet. 

He doesn’t say anything for a moment. He tries to compose himself, breathing harshly. “Just a dream.”

She knows that’s not all of it but she kisses him anyway. “Just a dream. You’re safe here.” For now. 

No. She shrugs off the fear. She’ll do whatever it takes to save him and their children. 

No matter what happens, she won’t lose him. 

Eventually he falls asleep again, but she lies awake for the rest of the night afraid that if she goes to sleep she’ll lose him. He gives and gives and gives with no regard for himself, with no thought for how much it would destroy the people he loves should he die. 

IV

The arrow is a surprise. She doesn’t even see it until it embeds itself in her side and there’s a sharp, stabbing pain below her rib cage. 

She must have screamed; how else does she end up in the snow with everyone surrounding her? Drogon makes short work of the rest of the wights and then Jon is picking her up and putting her back on his back, giving the dragon instructions to take her back to Winterfell in broken Valyrian. Someone-Tormund, she thinks-has the suggestion to tie her to the dragon’s back, just in case she falls off.

Jon’s face is the last thing she sees before the darkness overtakes her. It’s shattered. 

*

The next week or so is a mess of half realized dreams and snippets of reality that she’s barely conscious of. She’s in a clean white bed, people whisper above her bedside-and she’s walking, out of Winterfell’s front doors, across icy fields and dark plains, but she’s only wearing a light cloak and she doesn’t feel the cold. 

Is this what it feels like to die? 

Awareness comes slowly, in bits and pieces. Once she surfaces to see Arya sitting by her bedside, swinging her sword in increasingly complicated patterns and muttering under her breath. Another time Sansa tries to feed her a thick broth that spills down the front of her nightdress. She tries to sit up but the pain sends her spasming back into unconsciousness. 

Sometimes Jon’s voice wends through her consciousness, encouraging her to come back, that they need her. She uses it like an anchor, pulling herself out of the darkness of her mind, pulling her away from the castle. 

When she opens her eyes and sees him for the first time since the accident he hugs her so hard she can’t breathe. “I thought I’d lost you,” he whispers, and she hears the way his voice trembles. It makes her feel guilty for hurting him. 

“How long was I asleep?”

“Two weeks.”

She struggles to sit up because that’s far too long, surely something terrible must have happened in that time. “Where is the Night King’s army?”

“Dany, don’t tear your stitches-”

“Where are they, Jon?”

He sighs, eyes closing and shoulders slumping. “They’re nearly halfway to Winterfell.”

V

She starts sleepwalking. 

At first it’s little things; she’ll wake up on the chaise lounge on the other side of the room with no memory of how she got there. And then she finds herself in other rooms, always asleep in front of a window looking out at the moonlit night. 

One night she almost walks right out of the castle, until two guards catch her and wake her up. 

By this point Jon is beside himself with worry because they know that whatever’s happening isn’t supposed to be. So one night she takes him aside and tells him about the dreams, how sometimes her breath fogs in the air when she wakes up even though a fire roars high in the grate. 

“They’re calling to me, Jon. They want me.” Just giving voice to it makes her heart rate speed up because try as she might to be calm and collected she’s not. She’s so frightened because she has no idea how she can fix things, how things will end in anything other than disaster unless she does the unthinkable. 

“They won’t get you.” He holds her tightly, as if by sheer force of will he can keep her beside him. “I won’t let them.” His voice trembles with what’s either fear or love, she can’t tell. Maybe both. “We’ll fight as hard as we can.”

“It won’t be enough.”

“We don’t have another choice.”

She doesn’t even want to bring it up but she knows she has to; it hangs in the air between them like the spectre of death. “But if we could trade-”

“No.” His voice brokers no room for argument. “I won’t do that.”

“It’s not you they want.” 

He holds her tighter as if that can save them. “There’s another way. There has to be.”

They both know that there isn’t.

VI

She would recognize her child’s cry anywhere. 

It jolts her out of another nightmare and she runs to the window, almost tripping over the rug in her hurry. Jon is right behind her-

-and they both watch as the ice dragon flies over Winterfell. No. 

But Viserion-if he can still be called that anymore-is gone, already soaring back over the forest and fading into the distance. She feels a hole open in her stomach, losing him yet again. He still looks so hurt, with holes in his wings and frozen blood still painting his scales. He’s not hers anymore. 

Another failure. 

She doesn’t cry; she just stays there until dawn, staring into space, while Jon stays by her side and does what he can to keep things from falling apart. 

VII

She’s under constant watch from her Guard now. For her own protection. 

She doesn’t know how long they can save her. 

One night she goes to see Bran Stark, and he confirms her worst fears-if she goes with them, fire and ice, then they’ll retreat North of the Wall again. There won’t be a battle. There won’t be a slaughter. Jon and Rhaelle will live in peace. 

They’ll kill Viserion. For real, this time. So he can be at peace. 

Hasn’t she always said she’d do anything for her people? So why is it that now she knows what she has to do she can’t force herself to do it? Why can’t she think of leaving Jon, of betraying him even as she saves his life? 

She doesn’t leave her room because she’s always so cold. She huddles under her covers or in front of the fire. Sometimes someone will sit with her because she hates being alone with the stress and the pressure not to do anything at all.

She always likes it when Arya talks to her. Arya seems to be the only one who’s not too panicked to do anything else. 

“So Jon wasn’t lying, was he?” Arya says the first time that she sees her, looking into the flames, covered into as many skins as she can stomach. “They’re calling you.” 

Dany nods. “I don’t know how much longer I can hold out…” She doesn’t feel like she needs to hide things around Arya, hide how intense the call can sometimes be, hide how selfish she feels every moment she sits inside. 

“Then don’t.”

It feels like a sweet relief, even as it ties her stomach in knots. “But Jon-”

“He’ll be upset…but he’ll come around. He loves you-and he knows that your duty is to your people.”Arya’s voice has softened, as if she knows how hard this is, what an impossible choice it is to make. “You have to do what you think is right. Don’t wait for him. Don’t wait for any of us.”

“I don’t want to lose him-or any of you. If there’s a massacre…if people die, their blood is on my hands.” And she doesn’t want to be responsible for the deaths of any more innocents. 

“I won’t tell you what to do. We’re Northerners. We’re used to fighting.”

“But this is a fight you can’t win.”

“There’s no dishonor in a death for a cause you believe in. If this isn’t important…what is?”  

“But aren’t you afraid of death?”

Arya shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. Everything else is up to chance…but death isn’t. It’s final. Whatever you think happens afterwards, death is an ending. A release.” 

“…You’ll look after him, won’t you?”

“Always.” 

VIII

Jon takes the news as well as she expected him to. Which is to say he doesn’t. 

“You can’t.”

“And why not?” 

“There’s no need to. We’ll fight-”

“How many will die? Thousands. Millions, maybe. And all that death…all that suffering could be avoided. I’m tired of having their blood on my hands, on my heart. What is one life for the sake of many?”

“Don’t say that.” There’s a note of warning in his voice now, like he’s so angry he’s just barely keeping it together. “Never say that.” 

“I know you would do anything for the sake of our people. So would I. And I have to do this, Jon. I have to make this sacrifice, so at least they have a chance. So their children won’t grow up orphans.” 

“But ours will.”

She raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

He won’t look at her. “You can’t honestly think that I would let you face them alone, do you?” 

She feels sick now. “Jon, you can’t.” 

“The decision isn’t yours to make, just like it’s not mine to make yours. If I can’t persuade you to stay, then I will follow you to whatever comes next.”

She’s filled with love for him-this reckless, stupid man who she would do anything for and would do anything for her. “Rhaelle needs you.”

“Rhaelle will be surrounded by people who care about her-Sansa, Arya, Gendry, Tyrion…she’ll know what her parents did. She’ll know what they died for. She doesn’t need me. You do.”

“But the throne-”

“Damn the throne.” The intensity in his voice surprises her. “Damn it all. I’ve never wanted it. You know that.” 

Tyrion’s words echo back to her. “But if we both die, who’s left to rule the kingdoms in our stead? How do we protect what we’ve worked so hard to build?” He doesn’t say anything. “I know you never wanted the throne…but you have to take it. There’s no one else who can.” 

She takes a step closer to him, hoping that he knows that she hates this just as much as she does. “You told me that I was your queen. You told me you swore me your alliance, your love, from this day until the end of your days. I need you to do this for me, Jon. I command you to stay. I command you to raise Rhaelle and watch her grow. I command you to be the king that the Seven Kingdoms need.” 

His face is so blank it hurts to look at. “If you do this, I’ll never forgive you.” He walks away like it hurts him to look at her. 

She sags against the wall, the only thing holding her up. It takes all the control she has not to start sobbing. 

IX

For the next few days she avoids him. She knows what she has to do, and she suspects that he knows it too. 

Instead she packs. Arya gives her a knapsack made of a light, supple leather-it melds to her back as if it was made for it and it allows her to move freely. She packs a few extra outfits, a couple of furs, the direwolf pin that Jon gave her on the night they married. And she brings a knife, small and sharp and able to hang in easy reach at her belt. 

What should she pack if she’s going to her death? 

The dreams are more intense now; sometimes she still wakes up freezing and has to lie in front of the fireplace for hours before the cold leaves her bones. It never seems to leave her soul. 

And then, finally, she’s ready. She tells Tyrion what she means to do first; he doesn’t take it well but she thinks that in some way he understands why she has to do it. 

She takes a final walk around the castle that’s started to feel like home-through the crypts, the ramparts and alcoves where she and Jon sometimes kissed passionately when they were alone, the courtyard where he taught her to spar. It’s filled with people now-what meagre forces they’ve managed to muster, who will be destroyed by the wights the second they arrive. 

She’s in the godswood, praying to Jon’s gods for strength, when he finds her. 

He steals to her side, silent as a shadow, and embraces her. He holds her so tightly that she can barely breathe and she hugs him back just as hard, trying to memorize everything about him-how his stubble tickles the top of her head, how his heart beats strong and steady. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m so sorry.”

“I’m sorry too.” 

They don’t say anything else. There are no other explanations, no apologies. There’s not time for them. They’ve already said everything they need to say, before every battle that felt like the last one. 

Instead they stand in the godswood as a new snow falls around them, like the snow that fell when they were married-but all of the happiness she felt that night is gone, replaced by a cold hollowness that she feels she’ll never fill. 

But she reminds herself that she’s doing it for him, for all of them. 

But mostly for him and Rhaelle. 

~

She slips out of the castle late that night, long after he’s asleep. Maybe it’s cowardly, not saying goodbye to him one last time. But she thinks that if she did that she wouldn’t leave at all. She’d stay by his side and wait for the dawn-and there will be no more dawns for her. Not now. 

She stops by Rhaelle’s room and kisses her sweet, sweet baby on the forehead, gives her a stuffed dragon hand sewn by Sansa. She said her goodbyes to the Lady of Winterfell earlier. 

Arya shows her out into the night and embraces her briefly, fiercely, before she can go find the dragons. “Thank you for returning him to us,” she whispers. 

“Keep him safe for me. Keep them all safe.” 

Drogon goes unbidden, flying north like an arrow. She wants to look back at Winterfell once before she goes but she doesn’t, even when the tears blur her eyes. If I look back then I am lost. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, her voice taken away by the wind. “I’m so sorry.” 

She’s not afraid of dying. But she’s afraid of what comes next, afraid she’ll never see any of them again. She’s so afraid. 

But this is what queens do. This is her sacrifice. She’s gone too far to turn back now. 

~

Drogon returns riderless, keening, late the next morning. And something inside Jon’s heart shatters. 

X

There’s a story the children tell now, about a queen with hair like winter who went to the far north and never returned. She rules over a palace of ice and snow now, and she can’t leave until the last of magic is gone from the world. Her king rules beside her. It’s said that he ruled the iron throne at one point, until his daughter was old enough to rule in his stead and he returned to his true love. Now they rule together, in a castle by a sea of ice, finally together.

So you’re all like ‘Sophia, where did this come from?’ So there were a couple of prompts that I got-one on Dany being Azor Ahai and reminiscing on sacrificing from an anon and another from @hales2007 on Dany not planning on losing any more children and on the legend of the Night King and Queen from the ASOIAF books. And then it just kind of formed into this idea. 

Sorry it kind of got out of hand. But are we honestly surprised anymore? 

So, going along with creepy little things that may or may not make EU a mostly believable chain of events, I think I befriended a forest.

Heads up, this might just random chance or coincidences; or i’m just dumb. Any way, the story goes like this: I lived close to my old school, and due to that fact I used to walk through this one forest to get to it, if the weather was nice. I do this for a few years, I think between about 5-8th grade. In between 7th and 8th, though, I start to take my dog for walk through the forest as well. Then, about in the middle of 8th grade, I found this little deer trail thingy (keep in mind that most of the trails skirt the edge of the forest, but this one cuts right into the middle) that I started to blaze into a person trail. The first dozen times through, I always came back with a ton of ticks trying to get at my flesh, burrs sticking to every surface of my body (legitimately every–I once spent ~2 hours picking those stupid burrs off me), and thorns grabbed at my clothes all the time (and not those big ones, either, they were the tiny little buggers that are like little knives and love ankles). This isn’t mentioning the fact that the forest had a really rather oppressive feel to it; it wanted me out and gone. After I had gone in and out of the forest time and time again, I would always come back sporting less burrs, almost no ticks, and maybe once or twice a thorn would peck at me, not to mention the fact that the demeanor of the forest was lightening (instead of being ‘what the actual bloodily fresh hell are you doing here you freaking idiot leave’ it was more along the lines of ‘oh hey wassup you’re cool just don’t bring anyone else with you oh yea wanna see this one tree that fell over that i’m turning into a flower bed’). Between 8th and the middle of freshman year, though, I wasn’t able to get at the forest much, as it rained quite a bit so it was always soggy enough to be muddy. I got busy with schoolwork and then winter rolled around. During winter break, though, I decided I wanted to go back and stroll though the forest, where I got a face full of branches and thorns, and a pair of boots covered in burrs; however, after the initial 'greeting,’ the rest of the trail was mostly bare of those obstacles. Kinda spooky, kinda nice, kinda cool.

x

PAUL LAHOTE | Forbidden Imprint PT1

‘’ who am i to stand in your way? ‘’

Prompt: Y/N was never Paul’s true imprint, but almost as easily he fell in love with her at first sight, the first person Paul ever fell in love with so terribly. They had been going out for a little over a year and still strong, everyone praised how well Paul’s anger had progressed, how more accepting he had become of other people. But now, Paul finally imprints on a new girl, and Y/N knows it’s time to let him go.


‘’ No. ‘’

A deep, harsh voice rumbled through the room, causing chills to run down your spine as you swallowed deeply, a painful expression on your tender features. ‘’ Paul, she’s waiting for you out there - ‘’

‘’ I don’t care! I don’t love her, there’s only been you and it will always stay like that, Y/N! ‘’ He snapped loudly, the windows rattling at the snarl that pulled back his lips, his jaw set and his breath unsteady, you felt your own heart quiver at the thought of letting him go.

But you had to.

A new girl had arrived to Forks, La Push, only a few days ago, with honey brown hair and shimmering emerald eyes, she seemed like a new light in the darkness for Paul; an innocent, gentle soul. Before anyone expected it, Paul had unwillingly imprinted, and the moment he did he had isolated himself from everyone else and all those months you had used to suppress and control his untameable anger burst out like a balloon now empty of air; your efforts blew away in the breeze of cold, unwelcome wind. 

Paul refused to have anything to do with his imprint, no matter how much it hurt him, he told you every second of the day that he could that you would always be the one he loved most and nothing could change that. But no matter how much your eyes stung from all the tears you cried, or much you hoped to wake up from this nightmare, the link of an imprinter and his imprint was impossible to deny; they were specifically made for each other, there were only rare cases of imprints rejecting the imprinter, but never the imprinter himself dismissing his soul mate.

That’s why you knew you had to do it; to let him go and be happy, because if you didn’t do it, soon enough Paul would come to his senses and leave you ever so easily himself for his imprint, and you reminded yourself that if he did, you wouldn’t be able to handle losing him. It already took all of your strength not to break down crying now, and to ask him to stay just a little longer. Long enough so you wouldn’t feel so empty, like the love of your life had just been stolen away from you in the blink of an eye.

Everyone was currently outside alongside his mate, hearing the ruckus inside even without trying to listen in from all the shouting.

‘’ She’s your imprintee, for the love of god, Paul, there’s nothing i can do to compare to her! ‘’ You breathed out, your voice raising desperately as he listened to you talk, his face shifting in pained anger at your words.

‘’ How many times, how many times do i have to say this - ‘’ His voice rose dangerously, an ear-splitting crash shattering the stillness as coloured glass sprawled across the wooden floor as Paul flung the closest object to him to the floor, instantly breaking apart the thick vase, making you flinch.  ‘’ I don’t care who she is! I don’t care if she’s my imprint, i don’t care how long it’ll take me to get over her, i don’t care about anyone but you and you don’t fucking understand that! ‘’

Tears welled up in your eyes, your lips trembling at the tightness in your throat that made it only harder for you to breathe. You hated that it was so hard, so hard to just tell him to leave.

‘’ But that’s my point, you won’t get over it! You know what an imprintee is, no matter how much you say you love me, she’ll always be there, in the back of your mind and, ‘’ You stopped abruptly, closing your mouth briefly as you swallowed down the thickness in your throat, provoking you to reveal your emotions. ‘’ one day, you’re going to realise how much you love her, and that you don’t need me, and all you need is her. and, when you leave, you’re not going to look back. ‘’ You stated softly, your voice cracking as you gazed up at Paul hopelessly, who seemed frozen in his spot. 

‘’ I love you, Paul, and i won’t be able to get over this, nowhere near as quick as you. I want you to be happy, please go to her, for me and yourself. ‘’ You whispered desperately, wiping the tears that managed to spill within your words from your cheeks.

‘’ Is that you breaking up with me? ‘’ Paul whispered with wide eyes and a shaky voice, one you’ve never heard him use before, but all you did was force yourself to nod, refusing to look up at him.

‘’ No, Y/N, look at me. ‘’ 

Shaking your head, you sniffed, turning away from him completely. You’ve went this far, you had to get through this and not let yourself restrict him. You felt a hand tightly grasp your wrist, but you only tugged your arm back, your hands covering your tear-stricken face. 

You heard thundering footsteps, and you looked up to see him storming out of the front door, the door behind which everyone awaited the both of you. ‘’ Paul - ‘’ You instinctively called, running towards the door as you heard loud yelling and indistinguishable talking, Paul walking straight through the crowd of people towards the large masses of trees, his fists clenched.

He swivelled around once more with a frighteningly fierce, wild glare, his body trembling and lips pulled back into a snarl, one that shook not you, but everyone to the very core, for Paul never held such deep loathing for anyone.

‘’ I’ll decide who i want to fall In love with, ‘’ His eyes noticeably flickered up to you, before he continued. ‘’ And i won’t let anyone stand in the way of it. ‘’ With that, he was gone into the forest, unfazed by all the voices calling for him to come back.


[ PART TWO : PART TWO ]

10

Luna couldn’t always fly, you know. Long ago, before the world was round, Luna and the rest of her species inhabited a remote forest. They had tiny little wings, but were flightless. They foraged around on the forest floor and kept themselves very much to themselves. Luna lost her parents at a very early age. They were taken from Luna just like that, no explanation. Barely out of the nest, she was too young to know anything. She was such a worrier. only coming out for food briefly when all the other animals had gone to sleep and the forest floor was bathed in moonlight. She was such a scrawny little thing, a loner. Life was passing by until one day Luna saw a kindly traveler holding a thing of great wonder and beauty. Mesmerized, Luna couldn’t help but think about the peony. Luna asked the traveler where he got the beautiful flower. “There are many,” the traveler said. “From the top of the mountain, you can see thousands. A sea of petals. It will make your heart sing, for it’s a beautiful sight.” “But how will I get to the top of the mountain? I can’t fly and I only come out at night.” But the traveler had heard this before. “You seek the rarest flower from the top of the tallest mountain in the world. If you want to see them enough, you will.” Luna was scared and excited, in equal measure. “I think I will find my mother and father there.” The traveler smiled. “You have much to learn, child. Are you sure want to continue on this perilous quest?” But Luna knew that whatever obstacle stood in her way, her quest could not fail. She had been greatly inspired by the words of the wonderful traveler. He would stand by her. Then one night, alone in the forest, Luna resolved to find the magic flowers herself, even if it meant confronting terrifying demons. She had nothing left to lose. And as Luna drank in the view, she was filled with something quite magical. In the distance, she could see the southern shore of the Caspian Sea, which isn’t a sea at all but actually the biggest lake in the world. Luna thanked the traveler. "Oh, it’s nothing. You haven’t done the hard part yet.” “Really?” said Luna. “Now, you must believe,” said the traveler. And he pushed Luna off the mountain. Luna screamed to the traveler: “Why did you do that? I can’t fly.” “Says who?” he replied. And the wind lifted Luna off the mountain and she soared. “Can you see them now?” yelled the traveler. “Yes,” said Luna, gliding through the air with the wind whistling between her wings. “I can see thousands of them.”

This Beautiful Fantastic (2016)

francevsca  asked:

do u have any rivamika fic recs bc like i noticed u like them too and trust ur opinion

here ya go!

Tension in Three PartsFor Mikasa Ackerman and Lance Corporal Levi, there is only tension, a force born out of attraction and separation battened in volatile intimacy. [complete]

Compressionau where mikasa is the commander of the survey corps while levi is still in the underground capital. mikasa goes underground and levi sees her and falls in love at first sight. he joins the survey corps to serve under her. [wip]

to hell with it If he derives particular pleasure from the sight of Mikasa Ackerman up to her elbows in bleach, well, that’s for him to analyze at a later date (or not at all, as the case may be). [complete]

Stay “I don’t know what’s real anymore,” she breathes as she clutches at him with grasping hands.“Mikasa.” His voice is an anchor and his eyes are steady. Slowly, he pries her fingers from his forearm and draws her hand to his chest, pressing it against his heart. The pulse there is as calm as his gaze. “Real,” he says. [complete]

the dream elixir this is only a place she goes in her nightmares to fall in love, until it falls inside out. [complete]

To Darwin, With Love“There are two types of people in this world, Ackerman. Those who eat, and those who are eaten.” [complete]

Speak Not of the Blackbirds -  One mission gone wrong leads to an ancient forest, a mysterious town, and a race to safely return to the Walls called home with the odds against them.All bets are off: they work together, or die. [complete]

Breaking Point Mikasa has the bad habit of following distressed people about. Spoilers up to chapter 84.[complete]

SuitableMikasa and Levi talk at Flegel Reeves’s wedding and come to an unexpected conclusion regarding their future.[complete]

Surviving Peace After the war ends, Eren and Armin succumb to the Curse of Ymir. With her family gone, Mikasa struggles to find her way in a peaceful world, loneliness and a broken heart her only companions. But when she crosses paths with the former Captain Levi, Mikasa feels something other than numb for the first time in years. Conflicted yet desperate, she resolves to live again instead of simply surviving.[complete]

decembercamiecherries  asked:

I don't know if you're still doing the "Travel Drabbles" buuuuut if you are, would you be interested in writing a drabble with the prompts of 'killugon' and 'royalty'? I really love royalty aus haha ^^ If not just ignore this whole thing! (you're really great and an incredible writer by the way and every time you post anything it makes my day okay bye)

[shows up with prompt fill two weeks late] so uh, hallo, anyone want cookies? dc, this prompt was excellent. fun fact: I had the last two lines done basically since this hit my inbox, I just had to figure out how I’d get there. killugon, royalty au, 600 words

It takes almost a week for anyone from the Zoldyck castle to finally track Killua down after he’s kidnapped. Not like it matters really: even if he hadn’t been able to take care of his attackers—which he was, he’s a prince not a weakling—traveling mercenary and accidental freer of princes Gon Freecss has been more than capable. Once he’d cut Killua’s bindings and put a small dagger into his hands, the two of them had cut a swath through the bandit camp. The following week has been…

For Gon, it’s probably been an irregular but otherwise acceptable week of mercenary work—although he hasn’t gotten paid at all, and the gold offered by the Zoldyck butlers is turned down with an awkward laugh. He’s certainly taken Killua being the heir to a small but almost hilariously affluent kingdom with barely a blink.

But for Killua, it has been everything. Because for the first time, someone didn’t give a shit about who he was supposed to be, and only cared about him.

“Will I see you again?” Gon asks, expression tight with unspoken nerves. The idea of never seeing Gon again is utterly inconceivable. The realization that Killua doesn’t want to live in a world without his new friend hits him like a felled tree. It’s been a week. How has Gon turned his world on its head in a week. What would it be like with a month? A year?

“Of course, idiot.” Gotoh, Canary, and Amane are all glaring at him as though channeling Queen Kikyo and Prince Illumi all at once, but he doesn’t care.

Gon doesn’t look like he’s ready to let Killua go. “Then, take this as a promise!” he says, and holds out the same dagger that he’d shoved into Killua’s hands almost a week ago. The worn leather sheath is incongruous with the blue steel of the blade. It had been Gon’s father’s, once, and now it’s Gon’s—from Killua’s experience, he uses it more to slice meat and clean his nails than as any sort of memorabilia.

“Will you take it?” Gon asks again.

Killua grins. “It’s a promise,” he says, and tucks Gon’s dagger—his dagger into his belt.

Gon closes his hand over Killua’s, hot as a brand, and Killua’s heart flops over. He can’t stop smiling, though, not in the face of Gon’s grin. And then he’s gone, back into the forest, and Killua can breathe again.

Gotoh’s glare deepens. “Do you know how furious your brother will be,” he says.

Killua shrugs. “You found me, right? And Gon found me first. So there’s no harm done.” Not if he can convince Gon to visit at the palace soon. Maybe he’ll come for Killua’s birthday? Or a feast day? Or maybe Killua can make something up…

“My prince,” Canary says in a tone that might as well be saying you complete idiot. “You are aware the Freecss family is from Whale Island?”

“Of course. Gon told me all about it. He even invited me to visit his aunt—which I’m going to, first chance I get.” He dares them to challenge this, one of the sparingly few things Killua’s ever wanted for himself.

Gotoh’s expression falls into bemused frustration, making Amane and Canary both cough back laughter. He says, “Then you must also know that for the people on Whale Island, willingly accepting a personal dagger is equivalent to accepting an engagement for marriage?”

Killua chokes.

Imagination

She has stopped cursing the moon for hiding shooting stars. Now she creates her own. Step back and she’s gone, long lost in the forests she created of imagination, those trees haven’t been cut down yet. The people with axes stomp onwards, and devoid of any independent thoughts, they enter the forest. But the winds carry ideas, a beautiful path lit up with stars and the men lose their axes to become lost. They don’t understand yet, but it’s an addiction, reading leaves in a new colour each day, while the world sees them in black and white.

Okay so Steve and I have been spending so much time together 🙈 we’ve gone out to eat many many nights, walked along the waterfront and watched the sunset, spent hours talking about literally everything, gone antiquing and to my favourite forest, cooked a vegan meal together (his suggestion), plus we get along so great and can reminisce about shared childhood memories even though there’s an age gap and we didn’t grow up together lol, we have the same sense of humour, we always have each other grinning like fools, I don’t get tired of him, he’s constantly complimenting me, opens every door and won’t let me pay for a thing plus I’ve met his brother, parents and friend already annnnnd we’re also dating now aha he’s just so sweet and wonderful and asked by saying how happy it would make him to be my boyfriend and he’s also really goofy and a total cheese ball but such a gentleman 💓💓💓

Fic Prompts: Folklore Friday

Long ago there lived a humble woodcutter at the edge of a forest. “Humble” in this context merely meaning that his life goals were primarily to have a steady job, a house of his own, and access to a village doctor who didn’t charge exorbitant fees. The local noblemen tended to misinterpret that as a lack of ambition, considering such things were already readily available to them. (Those same noblemen would later wonder why so many of the peasants simply upped stakes and moved into the lands controlled by the neighboring Farmer King, which had a considerably more stable economy courtesy of the exasperated Grand Vizier, but this story is not about those noblemen, or the Farmer King, or poor old Vizier Eggwich, and we are getting off-topic.)

One day, the woodcutter had gone into the heart of the forest – which was really shaped more like a spleen, to be honest – to cut down some old, dead trees that were liable to fall at any moment. He had been at it for a few hours already, and his hands were getting very sweaty. And, as happens when one’s hands turn into a slippery mess of blisters and calluses, his grip on the axe handle weakened. He was pretty lucky not to have injured himself, really, but he would almost have preferred that to the axe flying head over haft into the deep creek a few feet away.

The woodcutter was a decent swimmer, but you don’t go cannonballing into strange bodies of water in a forest without making sure they aren’t inhabited first. That’s just common courtesy. And the last thing you’d want to do in a situation like that is crash feet-first onto some irritable kelpie’s head or something. So the woodcutter stared at the place where his primary means of supporting himself had vanished, and sighed.

“Well,” he said, “That’s unfortunate.”

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