#Divergent Tumblr posts

  • alindakb
    19.06.2021 - 38 minutes ago

    Life without Hope - masterlist

    “Don’t you dare let go of my hand, Potter!” Draco shouts. Only Harry doesn't listen, and let's go. He falls to the ground and dies. Draco is heartbroken. Not that he shows it to the world. He keeps up the lie that he killed Harry on purpose. It's the only way he can think of to keep his mother alive. And now that Harry is gone, that is the only thing that matters.

    How far will Draco go to keep Narcissa alive? How deep will he fall into the Dark Lord's grip? And what will he do when he finds out that all he believed in was a lie?

    Chapter 1 - Marked







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  • justanotherghostwriter
    19.06.2021 - 1 hour ago

    Zutara marriage of convenience fics. Go!

    #either link me #or throw headcanons at me #whether it's AU or canon divergence or 'the Fire Lord needs to give us a SIGN HE WILL STICK TO PEACE' or whatever #You know what throw arranged marriage things in there too why not #Although marriage of convenience is the flavour of tonight I'm still far too whipped by Liz's SWT Zuko fic to say no to arranged marriage #(That fic owns about 10% of my thoughts. Like it has SHARES to my BRAIN POWER)
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  • dovelywind-writes
    19.06.2021 - 2 hours ago

    I'll Provide Everything You Need

    by dovely_wind

    Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne

    Rated E
    A lot of Fluff, Mature Sexual Scenes, Babies & Toddlers & Pre-Teens, De-Aging
    Words: 4,587
    Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Damian Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth
    Summary: Trying to get back into the swing of things as Batman can be tough, especially while trying to balance a family and a marriage, but Clark's there to remind Bruce that he's always there for him (The kids are younger😊💕🙈)
    Follow my main blog, @dovelywind 💕 and subscribe on AO3
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  • renee-writer
    19.06.2021 - 2 hours ago

    Dreams Chapter 1 The Sassanach


    They say when you can’t sleep it is because your awake in someone else’s dreams. When Claire woke up for the fourth time in as many days, that thought occurred to her.  She turns over, punching her pillow. She needs sleep. The demands of medical school don’t allow much room for sleepless nights


    “Bloody hell, whoever you are, stop dreaming about me.” Grumbled as she turns over to try to get comfortable.



    “Was it the lass again?” His Godfather asks. Jamie looks up from the cup of coffee he is nursing. He gives him a curt nod. The lass, as Murtagh refers to her, has been haunting his dreams the past four nights. He wakes aching for something that seems just out of reach. They aren’t even erotic dreams. Just this same lass walking towards him. She is laughing, her head thrown back. Then she looks at him and says just one word, his name. This is enough to have him wake up, sweaty with the nickname he has for her on his lips. “Sassanach.” He moans or sighs out. Always the same dream.


    “Sorry lad. Maybe you should try dating again. They can’t all be like…”


    “Don’t even say her name. Besides, it isn’t any woman. It is her, the Sassanach.”



    “Hen, trouble sleeping again?” She meets her best mate’s glance. They are meeting up before their first lecture.


    “Yes Geillis. Fourth night in a row.”


    “I am sorry. Maybe it is because you are not used to sleeping alone.” She had kicked her long term boyfriend out after finding him doing drugs in her flat. That was two weeks ago.


    “Maybe.” She shrugs as they walk towards the lecture hall.


    “You need to forget about that loser and get back out there.”


    “Gel, we were together for almost two years. I can’t just immediately start dating again.”


    “At least go out to a pub with me. If you fully relax, maybe your be able to sleep.”


    “Alright.” Gel grins and hugs her to her side as they walk in and find seats in the huge lecture hall. They turn as the professor walks in.



    “The Sassanach?”


    “The name I have given her as she is British and beautiful. That is all I know about her.”


    “She is probably a composite of a bunch of lasses. I really doubt she is a real woman.”


    “No Murtagh, she is real and out there somewhere. I just wish I could find her.”


    “Well you won’t do it moping around here. Come, join me at the pub tonight. You need out Jamie.”


    “Alright Murtagh.”


    “I can’t believe you talked me into this. This is not my scene Gel.”


    Geillis huffs. “Och lass. You think you will meet someone like your bloody ex here? Recall, you meet him at a perfectly boring coffee shop. Maybe you will meet the opposite type here.” She takes her hand and drags her in. “Besides, you won’t be going home with any of them. We are just here to drink a bit and try to get you relaxed enough for sleep.” Claire allows herself to be drug in.


    He stands at the bar, facing out towards the crowd. Murtagh stands beside him. He is probably right. She probably was just his unconscious definition of the perfect lass. Even so, he scans the crowd, searching just in case.


    The come up to the opposite side of the horseshoe shaped bar. “What can I get for you lasses?”


    “Two whiskies, neat.” The barkeep raises his eyes. As does Claire.




    “Claire, you will sleep tonight.”


    She takes the offered glass and Geillis raises hers. “What are we toasting to?”


    “To the removal of bloody Randall from your life, to freedom.”


    A scowl. “Alright. To freedom.” They clicked their glasses together.


    The walk back around the bar towards the tables. Jamie looks up just as they pass. He grabs Murtagh’s arm. “What lad?”


    “It is her! Sassanach!” they are walking towards a table and Jamie takes off, without a thought. Murtagh grabs his arm. “Let me go! It is her.”


    The older man shakes his head. “Do you know what you are going to say to her? For, ‘I dreamed of you, might not be the best opening line.”


    “No but I will..”


    “Play it by ear might not be the best option.”


    “Christ Murtagh, she is here. What am I to do?” He looks frantic, this young man he has helped raise.


    “Relax. We will go see her.”




    “I am your wingman, son.” He pats him on the back after leading go of his arm.




    They walk up to where the two lasses sit. Jamie can’t take his eyes off of her, the woman of his dreams. They are talking.


    “I know you loved him. I don’t know why but ..” her hand goes up as her mate starts to argue with her. “but you did. But he is gone. You are young and beautiful. Time to move on.”


    Jamie couldn’t have ask for a better opening and he takes it. “Excuse me. I think I have seen you somewhere before.” Both set of eyes turn to him but, he is only interested in one.  He feels a bit faint under her whisky-eyed look.


    “Which one of us handsome?” Geillis lowers her eyes as she looks at him.


    “Your mate.” He doesn’t bother to look towards her. His eyes are only on her mate.


    “I don’t recall seeing you about, and I would. You are quite tall.”


    “Not to mention, the hair.” She smiles and his whole world lights up. “Jamie Fraser.” He offers his hand.


    “Claire Beauchamp.” She takes it. There is a spark of awareness at the contact. The hold tight to each other’s hands.


    “Of course Claire, I mean your name is. It means light in Gaelic.”


    “Does it?” He takes a seat beside her. Geillis looks between them, still holding hands before turning to the lad that was with him.


    “Hi. I am Geillis Duncan.”


    “Murtagh Fraser. Don’t worry about Jamie with your mate. He is a good lad.” They both look back at them. They still hold each other’s hands and eyes.


    “Shall we give them some privacy?” They walk off.


    “Aye. I dreamed of you. The last four nights. The same dream. You walking towards me, laughing, your head thrown back. Then you see me and say my name. That is all but it is enough to haunt me.” He still holds her hands between his, rubbing them between his.


    “It is you. You have haunted me too. The last four nights I have been woken up in the middle of the night and been unable to get back to sleep. My mate Geillis says it was because I was awake in someone else’s dream. I guess I was.”


    “I am sorry Claire.”


    “It is okay. I think, no, I know, we were destined to meet.”


    “Aye. We were.”  He lifts her hands up to his lips and kisses them.

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  • ninth-mercury
    19.06.2021 - 3 hours ago

    too late for holy water now

    it’s fight or flight buried in my bones it’s fight or flight that keeps my body whole but i feel it break with just one misstep down the fire escape and suddenly i am someone that prays a last minute man of faith

     - anger, sleeping at last

     The church is pretty small, compared to the rest of the buildings lining the main street. The first time someone introduced you to the little stone building, your guide impressed upon you the rules of the church, made you repeat the rules back to them, and let you wander its pews while they rang the bell next to the altar. Three rules. Simple. No one dies on Holy ground. No one enters the grounds with malicious intent. All who seek sanctuary are welcome within the church walls.

    You’d never been the praying sort before the founding of your little luckless country. Those days, you used the grounds of the church and its rules to protect yourself from pranksters and those who wished you harm. Your old schemes had the tendency to piss people off, and the holy lands were the means to end several confrontations in your favor, or at least on neutral terms. On those days, you stepped off the grounds with a bitter taste to your mouth, so when you took trips to the community house, you’d slip through the church’s door to dip your fingertips into the fountain, to say hello and thank you to the gods you didn’t quite believe in. On the occasions you’d find petitioners kneeling at the altar table or ringing the bell to signal the end of the call, you’d pull back from the threshold, and leave.

    What you felt wasn’t embarrassment, but you didn’t know what to call it at the time.

    When TNT detonated underneath your little country for the first time, when you felt the edge of the sword at your clavicle, when your fingers scrabbled uselessly against the wooden planks and the water turned red—in those brief flashes of unadulterated fear—you begged someone, anyone, the gods themselves: please let them be safe, please keep me safe. At the end of the war, in the echoing silence of the church, you left the ashes of your losses and victories at the steps of the altar, dipped your hand in fountain and pressed the water to your lips, and you said, I’m not sure if you did anything.

    During your first exile, on your bench overlooking the sunset because you didn’t trust that you wouldn’t be barred from the holy ground, you pulled your knees to your chest and you let your brother’s paranoia and mania, your worry for your friends, and your hopes for your rebellion overwhelm you. You cried, and you begged: please help. Please, could you help me. With new revelations, hope was turbulent and you kept sending stilted prayers from the bench. In the end, your friend betrayed you and your country blew up a second time and your brother died, so you crushed the seed of belief which had begun to sprout with your new president’s victory speech.

    When you were exiled the second time, when you coughed up seawater and sat hundreds of meters above lava pools on thin blocks of wood, you wondered about gods and mercy and the contents of prayers. You hummed as you gathered iron and wood to supplement the meager supplies you were left with, and you called them hymns; faith became a fraying tether. The gods did not answer you with physical manifestations of power, and maybe they didn’t answer at all; maybe the world didn’t care, but maybe they could listen anyway. When your little camp was destroyed and you stood on the pillar from which you decided would be your last build, you asked the gods to be kind before you realized that you didn’t have to be. You jumped into the water and limped away into the snow. Spite was sweet until it soured in the ruins of the community house, and you didn’t know how to ask for forgiveness.

    The dance of doomsday started out with a quickstep. The withers destroyed much of the walkways and the ground, but that had been fine; the damage had been reversible. Then the music slowed to a reverb as TNT rained from the sky and all you and your allies could do was watch. The gods wouldn’t have been able to aid them even if you all prayed for divine intervention; that asshole was, unfortunately, a force to rival the most violent hurricanes.

    You visited the church for the first time in months during your preparations for the final confrontation to sit by the fountain and ruminate with the flowing water. You said, I am not sure if you care about me or not, but please, keep my family safe, keep my friends safe. You spoke for hours, angry and senseless. Later that night, one of the church’s caretakers found you sleeping deeply, curled up on the pew with your head on a stack of hymnals. The visits became recurrent; after mining for hours, you’d lower your aching bones down to one corner or another to trace patterns in the stone with the water from the fountain. You sank into the peace of repetition, and thought about forgiveness and the future.

    On the verge of losing your best friend in the vault, helpless despite all you’d done to prepare for this battle, all you could do was plead the world that the mercenary would come in to save you both, and when he did, with an assembly of their allies and acquaintances and friends, you breathed out, thank you. Thank you.

    The world was a little bit softer before you visited the prison, but it was just your luck that you’d be stuck in a cell with that horrible man the day you’d decided to sever all strings binding you to him. Of course. In the blackstone prison you meditated to remove yourself mentally from the pressure of living next to that man. It didn’t work, but you tried and in that silence you prayed. Let the warden resolve the issue quickly. Let me out, let me out, please give me the patience to wait. Please hurry. Please let me be okay.

    You doubt gods existed with you in the void. That’s all you have to say about it. When you left the prison the world moved on without you. The church remained the same; this time, you visited less. Planning the elimination of the biggest threat to the land took up most of your time, and then you failed the ghost of your brother in the aftermath.

    You’re tired. Your brother is alive and his motivations are inscrutable and his joy is unfamiliar. The ex-vice created a gambling paradise and is recruiting old allies and new faces. To build power, you think, and it leaves a sour taste at the back of your throat. The hotel you commissioned is firmly in the hands of the boy who wanted to kill you. Your friends are preoccupied with their marriage and their child. You’re not sure where you stand with the world anymore.

    That’s fine. The world listens anyway.

    You hum under your breath as you work on the quarry, one of the old hymns you made up during exile.

    #divergent from canon in the sense that Church Prime existed long before Tommy came on the server and is a serious thing #dsmp#tommyinnit
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  • graceverse
    19.06.2021 - 5 hours ago
    #rurouni kenshin #rurouni kenshin fanfic #post jinchuu#au #canon divergent au #au-ish#himura kenshin#kamiya kaoru#myojin yahiko#takani megumi#sagara sanosuke#kenshingumi#angst#yeah angst #i live for angst #because i didn't get it from the final #so i'm coming back to this fic with a vengance
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  • renee-writer
    19.06.2021 - 8 hours ago

    There For You Chapter 44 A Welcome for Baby Duncan


    “I canna believe you did all this!” Marsali excitedly exclaims when she enters the room sat up for her shower.


    “Well, your baby deserves a welcome.” Claire comments. She sits with her feet up. Weeks away from having baby Ellie, she puts her feet up whenever possible.


    “My niece or nephew will receive a proper welcome.” Geillis hugs her. At five months, the small baby bump is between them but they make it work. Jenny, Geneva and, Mary stand off to the side. She walks up and hugs them too.


    “You guys are truly awesome.” She always feels on the brink of tears these days.  She sniffs loudly and gives them a smile.


    “Come little mama. Have a seat. There will be presents, all stuff that Gel assures us that you and Fergus still need, food, and a few games. But we wanted to start out answering and questions you may have.” Jenny explains.


    “Wonderful. I ahhh….”


    “Anything you are to embarrassed to ask your doctor.” Claire prompts.


    A flush covers the lass’ face and neck. Bingo. “Yeah, can we ahhh continue to…ahhh? Fergus worries about hurting the baby or poking it. But,” it comes out in a flood, “I really really want him. Like all the time.”


    “Oh my dear, you have reached the horny part of pregnancy. Isn’t it wonderful? I couldn’t keep my hands off of Mary.”


    “Nor I Jamie. And yes you can. The cervix is shut tight. There is no chance of harming the baby. Enjoy it for too soon you will be to big to fully enjoy it.”


    “Thank God. I love the bairn, feel a fierce protectiveness towards it but I still love and want Fergus.”


    “Perfectly normal.”


    “Nappies. Should I use cloth or disposable?”


    “Well, that is an individual choice. Mary and I used disposable but I think Jamie and Claire are using cloth.”


    “We are. It just seems more efficient in the long run. We will be using a diaper service.” She nods but frowns. “If you choose to go that route, we will be happy to help pay for one until you guys can do it.”


    “Really! That would be wonderful. We really want to use them put didn’t think we could afford it.”


    “It is a big expensive out front but in the end is cheaper then disposables.” Mary says.


    “You guys are so wonderful. I don’t know what Fergus and would have done without you.” She walks around, hugging them all.


    “You would have made it. You are strong but we are very glad we are here to help.” Jenny says.


    They gift her with a bassinet, a car seat, tons of tiny clothes, a nursing pillow. She asks them about labor and, as Geneva answers, both Claire and Marsali listens close. She tries not to scare them to much but there is no deny labor hurts.


    They eat fruit out of watermelons carved to resemble a baby carriage. They are laughing and joking when a stillness from Claire turns Jenny’s attention to her. “Are you alright hen?”


    “Not sure. I think I may be in labor.”

    #my writing#outlander fanfic#crossover #there for you #a welcome for baby duncan #jamie and claire #cannon divergence#outlander fandom#modern au
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  • renee-writer
    19.06.2021 - 8 hours ago

    Roommate Wanted Chapter 19 God Help Them



    They head up to the master or Laird’s room. The new wallpaper has been hung. Now they are covering the old floor with fresh  wood. First the old has to be jerked up.


    “No Claire. Let us do it. You can’t risk your hands.” Jamie insists when she offers to help.


    “Exactly. The hands that ease new life into the world can’t be all cut up.” Jenny adds.


    She is placed in a chair, out if the room where she can still watch them. They work well together as Jamie works the stubborn boards loose and Jenny pulls them up. He then helps her get it all the way loose, working the end until it pops up.  She claps for them after they get the first one up. Jamie bows and Jenny curtsies which makes Claire clap harder.  They all three laugh. It is hard work and her encouragement keeps then going. That, and her fetching drinks and food as the long day passes.


    Finally, as the sun sets, the boards are all lifted. They discover a solid under floor. All are relieved.  “We will lay a brand new wood floor down and shine it up good.” Jamie explains. He sits in the hall, leaning against her legs.  Jenny is in the shower.


    She reaches out to draw his hands to her. A sigh when she sees the cuts and bruises. Now she sees why they didn’t wish her help. “Not with those hands you won’t. Come, let me treat them.”  They stand and she leads him into her room. Taken out some cream, she sooths it over his battered hands. He makes a sound of pure pleasure at the feeling. The cream sooths but her touch sooths more.  Their eyes meet and they come together in a hungry kiss. She still holds his hands between them.  Tongues seek each other out. They are both moaning as they struggle to get closer. She is suddenly pressed against the wall, her legs open to let him in. Lord was he ready.


    “Need you.” They groan against each other. She, by rights should be with Jenny. She was with him last night but…He moves away long enough to lock her door before starting to undress her. She is doing the same. Exposed skin is kissed, licked, and bit as it is exposed.. She cums with a gasp when his fingers enter her. He removes his fingers and enters her with his rubber covered cock. When and how he got one, she makes a point to ask him later. Right now she was to gone.


    “Oh God Jamie!” he presses his lips to hers as he moves inside her. No need to have Jenny hear them. It will be reported by the rules.  She bites his lip as she cums again. He follows close behind, moaning her name into hers as he follows her over the edge.

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  • charlottebarbaraaa
    19.06.2021 - 9 hours ago

    gen z be growing up with the most dystopian and depressing movies/series, now everyone wonders why all these kids are mentally ill

    #thg movies #the hunger games #maze runner#cowboy bebop#adult swim #the amazing world of gumball #divergent
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  • junistired
    19.06.2021 - 11 hours ago

    dazai has tried to kill himself so many times and been so reckless with his life for so long, and yet he still isn't dead.

    why? because he's immortal.

    i mean. he calls his ability "no longer human"...

    #this is less a headcanon and more an idea for an au #fanfiction#fanfic #bungou stray dogs #bungō stray dogs #bungo stray dogs #bsd#fan fiction#fan fic #alternate universe canon divergence #mypost#dazai osamu#osamu dazai#cw suicide #cw suicide mention #cw suicidal ideation #immortality#headcanon
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  • eclectic--assassin
    19.06.2021 - 12 hours ago
    #long post #Thanks for the Ask #Nonnies are the best #assassin's creed oc #original character#oc #canon divergent au #oc: Annabelle Vasser #Annabelle Laure Marguerite de Vasser #character development
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  • juchann
    19.06.2021 - 14 hours ago
    #i love the cards for this play sm aaaa #request#divergent-vanguard
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  • bluebirdling
    19.06.2021 - 15 hours ago
    #bb writes#jily#jily*#james potter#lily evans #james x lily #angst#canonverse#canon divergence #the image of angry!james in my head HOLY SHHH— #he is HOT #especially when he's angry at lily for risking her life #this is loonngggg
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  • noctsight
    19.06.2021 - 15 hours ago
    @hiraesi​ asked: “  let me do this for you. please.  ” / you know what's up : meme is long gone .

    and would such words have carried such trepidation , trembling in their tone , under other circumstance  ?  her eyes fluttering : lashes flat against cheek until re - opened . the au ra's voice not meant to be so quiet , not in this way . though bouts of silence create their being as it is , never is her voice so pleading .

           guilt : she had placed them here . she had worried them , pulled them further into the fray with her every attempt to protect them . with every chance she gets does y'shtola cause them harm , it seems , a ceaseless flow of negative karma that comes with associating with the scholar .

           white mage ; black charm .

          as mana's hands press to wounds , ravaged by the wars of rhalgr's reach , does y'shtola try to pretend she cannot hear . but it is a cruel ruse  , and her shell shatters . explodes with such force that she trembles , and when the warrior of light dares to graze a hand against burning scars made from white magic turned violent , she slumps .

          the chirurugeons and krile did their best : she is alive . but mana knows better then to assume she is well .

    ( she has always hated it , how easily the warrior of light has seen through her . )

          but she , too , sees through mana . beneath the thick skin and silence is a child , aching and hurt , begging to be freed . someone who wishes to help and be helped .

          so y'shtola nods , and she sits up , and she allows the warrior to press rags of cold water against her reddened skin .

    ❝     it   isn't   your   fault     .   ❞

          enunciation : firmness . it isn't , it isn't . none of this is . she has never blamed mana .

          she never will .

    #i dont recall EXACTLY when she wakes up so consider this cnaon divergent if u must LMAO #hiraesi #WORLDS  ⋯  eorzea .
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  • onechickenugget
    19.06.2021 - 15 hours ago

    sam said bigby’s hand in the scanlan voice and i was DONE glad to know all it takes is 0.2 seconds of vox machina content to wreck me

    #critical role #i can’t wait to watch vax absolutely waste m9 #cr spoilers #i have to call it early but omg this is a good battle royale #’we have a vestige of divergence!!’ #i’ve never loved travis more
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  • glowingmechanicalheart
    19.06.2021 - 15 hours ago

    The Wedding [3/3]

    Pairing: Rhaella x Rickard Rating: T Summary: It was finally the wedding. Words: 1405 Notes: Finally, the wedding.

    Read @ AO3 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

    Rhaella stood and she immediately passed her hand over the skirt of her dress, doing her best to do away with whatever wrinkles that she might have gotten as she was sitting with her grandfather. She turned to see her grandfather smiling indulgently at her, she blushed.

    “Are you ready to be married, little dragon?”

    Her grandfather spoke as he offered his arm. Rhaella took took it, nodding happily. “I am.”

    “Then, let us not make your wolf wait.”

    They walked out of her chamber, she let her grandfather cross the door first, she followed and Ser Duncan walked last, closing the door behind him. Rhaella took her grandfather’s arm once more, and they began to make their way through Winterfell, their destination was the Godswood. They spoke of this and than, she realized that her grandfather was doing the best to keep her from getting nervous, and she was thankful for that. Truth be told, she was just a little nervous. Sure, she was ready to finally be wedded, but that didn’t mean that her nerves would magically disappear.

    Rhaella walked through the halls that had become her home, heart thundering inside of her chest. These past years, she had found a home, a family and love. It was not something that she had been expecting, she had always known that she would likely not marry for love, her parents would not allow it, even if they had done so themselves, but with her grandfather’s intervention, she had been sent away to a strange place filled with strange people. And those people welcomed her, they treated her well and cared for her and they had grown to love her. She had grown to love them too.

    Rickard was someone she had not expected, he had been stiff and formal. But he was a man of honor, and fortunately for her, he was open to getting to know her. He had never once complained about their betrothal, at least it never had reached her ears. The love that had blossomed between them had been one that had grown in years, they had not rushed; it was something that was natural.

    Rhaella knew that she was very lucky, not many women married people they could at least be friend with. Her goodsister being one of those, her brother was vain and self centered, and she only hoped that Lianna would have friends around her to support her, specially now with the baby. But she? She was lucky, the man she was getting married, was one who liked her, who was a good friend and one who loved her. She could tell, whenever they could sneak some kissing, there was a passion that simmered beneath that facade of indifference he often wore. It was a passion that matched her, she could feel the heat coming to her face at the thought that, from a few moments on, she would be able to unleash within the bonds of wedded bliss.

    Her grandfather squeezed her arm, “It’s time, little dragon,” he spoke softly bringing Rhaella out of her mind.

    It was true, they were at the edge of the Godswood and Rhaella stood taller now, she lifted her chin and took a deep breath and began making her way to the Heart Tree where her husband-to-be waited. There was people all over the woods, fortunately, the Godswood was big enough to fit those who had come to witness their wedding, she smiled to people as they passed them. People would bow their head to her and her grandfather.

    And then, Heart Tree came to her line of vision, and there, beneath it, stood the officiant and Rickard. Rhaella felt her heart skip a beat when she saw her soon-to-be husband. He was finely dressed in several shades of gray and white, everything was clearly new and he had even trimmed his beard, it was done in the way she had always told him looked best. His cloak was thick and with fur. The cloak that she would soon be donning.

    When Rickard saw her, she watched as his eyes brightened. Rhaella knew then, and there, that this was the man she would grow old and die with.

    They walked until they were standing side by side with Rickard. Rhaella smiled at her betrothed, and he smiled back at her, and they looked into each other’s eyes. Around them, people whispered, but she found that she didn’t care what they said, she was too happy to care. Let them know this was a marriage out of love.

    The man in charge of the ceremony started, but Rhaella and Rickard only had eyes for one another. She would swear that the voice was coming from far away, she felt like she was in a dream and only had eyes for Rickard.

    Her grandfather coughed to get her attention, and Rhaella blushed, and moved to allow him to remove her own cloak. She was getting married, but she would always be a Targaryen. She smiled at her grandfather and he smiled back at her, then she turned to look at Rickard. They said their vows looking into each other’s eyes.

    Rhaella had never been gladder that Rickard was taller than her, than in the moment when he had to put the Stark cloak over her shoulders. The fur in it tickled her face and she giggled. Rickard smiled at her as he pinned it carefully.

    Once it was done, the officiant declared them wedded and said they could kiss, they both leaned forward. Rickard’s lips met Rhaella’s, soft at first and then they allowed themselves a moment of passion and only parted when the wolf whistles and cheers grew too loud.

    Rickard offered his arm and she took it. Rhaella knew she was beaming as they walked back to Winterfell’s grand hall. “We are married,” she spoke out loud.

    “We are. Finally.”

    Rhaella turned and looked at her husband, her Rickard. “Our story is just beginning, this is the making of a new song.”

    “Ever the romantic.”

    “Yes, and you can’t blame me, I got my noble husband and we are just starting our life together. And I am very happy, so happy!”

    “I am happy too,” Rickard said as they took their seats on the high table. “Come wife, it’s time to eat and then dance and then…”

    “We’ll make our escape.”

    “That too,” Rickard laughed.

    The dinner was too long in Rhaella’s opinion. She was not one for being twitchy and jumpy, but she had waited for so long to be married and now, like a greedy woman, she wanted to be alone with her husband at long last. She kept reminding herself that she was a born princess, now a lady of another house and it would not do to be twitchy. So, she smiled and talk and eat, she laughed at the joked and blushed and thanked all the toast and cheers made in their honor.

    When the musician started their songs, they danced in each other’s arms. And then with their families and finally with those who asked for a dance.

    It was after a while, when people were distracted, they looked towards the high table and Marna smiled and nodded. Her grandfather also winked at them, and they danced and dancing they made their way to the entrance of the hall and from there, they rushed before anyone could stop them.

    They reached their bedchamber, and Rhaella laughed when Rickard swooped her in his arms and somehow, he still managed to open the door without problems. “Welcome to our bedchamber, my Rhaella.”

    “Our bedchamber,” Rhaella said in a small voice. “Finally.”

    Rickard placed her down gently. “Finally.” He agreed. But he still stopped from removing his clothes or hers, “But we have time, if you’re not ready.”

    “I am ready,” Rhaella’s voice was firm. “I want to be a wife and I want my husband in my bed, because I am a greedy dragon.”

    Rickard laughed, “Very well, greedy dragon, shall we?”

    Rhaella grinned and with a swift movement, she removed the cloak and her jewels. The cloak fell on the floor, her jewels she placed next to the bed. And she walked towards Rickard, who opened his arms and closed them around her, she stood on her tip toes and kissed his lips gently. “Come now husband, take me to bed.”

    “As my wife wishes.”

    #asoiafrare #rhaella x rickard #rickard x rhaella #Rickard Stark#rhaella targaryen#pre asoiaf #pre asoiaf fic #au: canon divergence #aegon v targaryen #the rhaella stark chronicles
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  • nightmare-rivulets
    19.06.2021 - 16 hours ago

    god posting the next chapter of my c!beeduo fic is going to be hell the lore is so fucking behind in it i’ll need a disclaimer

    #nightmare.personal #nightmare.wips #it was canon divergent anyway but still #i'm going to write a lot of c!beeduo fics tho nws so
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