He’d ventured down to the great hall, sticking to the shadows, wary of his fragile state from the night before. He supposed it could be considered the morning of, as his exploits did not cease as early on as his mother perhaps thought they did - it was better this way.
He moved through the hall in a daze, drifting past rows of dining tables dressed in wildflowers from the meadows. How peculiar, he thought. He had dreamt of those same blooms in the meagre hours of sleep he’d managed. His brow furrowed as he studied the bright blue and lily‑white petals arranged with such care.
If one travelled west of the Citadel, they would find a meadow abundant with those very flowers — a place he had scarcely visited since it only revived the haunting memory of her. The scar along his chest throbbed at the memory, a sharp pulse that made him wince. He raised a hand to the deformity that climbed his neck and curled beneath his chin, his fingertips skimming the ruined skin as though touch alone could quiet the ache. It was a futile attempt, his hand closing into a shaking fist as the pain lingered. It rarely ceased.
Through countless herbs and remedies, the Royal physician, along with more obscure ventures, had failed in finding a cure for his suffering. The futility of it all had only deepened his resentment. The scar, though carved in a single strike, felt like the sum of a thousand smaller wounds, each one a fracture in the trust he once shared with his childhood friend, each one eroding their bond until nothing remained.
When she finally turned her back on him, that was what had endured: the emptiness. The damage she had inflicted was irreparable, hollowing him into a husk of the boy he had once been.
However, he had grown since then. In stature, yes, but far more in mind. He no longer gave his trust so freely to those who claimed closeness. He would not allow himself to be the boy of ten and seven again, standing before her as she took so freely what was no longer hers to claim. A piece of him, of flesh and blood, ripped from his body with such hatred his heart still ached at the memory.
He could not help the coiling of his abdomen whenever someone mentioned House Maerion, as had been occurring with increasing frequency as the assembly drew ever closer. He was not the only Thaloryn to be disturbed by their impending presence; his mother anxiously picked at her nails as she stood awaiting their visitors in the courtyard.
Finally posted chapter 2 of my original work, GOT inspired.
Summary of chapter:
In their childhood, Harlan and Loraena were exceedingly close, with the fruits of something more beginning to take root. Tensions between their families arise, choking their friendship. Harlan receives some unexpected news that changes the course of their lives.
Rating: Explicit
Here's a link to it if anyone wants to check it out.
writing is so easy. you just open your doc. dissociate. write one sentence. have a mental breakdown. close the doc. wash rinse repeat this over a week and eventually you'll get somewhere!!
So I'm getting tortoiseshell cats. What do we think of the names Cleo and Kiki - except only positive replies are allowed because they are definitely being called that
Conner knew from the beginning that the hardest part would be convincing his parents not to kill each other before the wedding even started.
RSVP is a timkon fancomic I’ve been steadily working on in-between comic projects. Obviously I have a lot of feelings about them and the Clex dynamic from Smallville. The story takes place in some frankenstein universe made of the comics and tv series.
Originally I was just going to letter the pencils and post them, but my pencils were so messy the words were getting lost. So I inked them and then colored them and SO I GUESS I AM DOING THIS NOW. Like the pencils, I’ll be posting this comic in 5-page parts. It’ll probably take me a while though OTL.
(Christ I write too much dialogue.)
Finished Parts: part one >> part two >> part three
You can see all the pencils here: part one | part two | part three
