More Random Dialogue Prompts ,

sorry i’ve been MIA i’ve been playing fallen order and yall… i get it now

testing testing

𝐚𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐞-𝐞𝐲𝐞 (tink's version) , follows back from @altarcup.

the blight is just elethea manically trying to maintain her coquettecore aesthetic while the world is literally ending

Salma Deera, "Salt"

his expression is as stormy as the tempest raging beyond her window, the howling gales rattling the frame, shaking the very foundations of the castle. this was only natural, he was a creature possessed of intense moods, but like any animal he purred when stroked correctly. typically it was his ego that needed proper attention, and she was only ever too happy to oblige. when his darkened expression did not lift at her compliance & teasing, worry furrowed at her brows; the crease between them wrinkling yet deeper when he begins to speak. she did not like to imagine the terrible things he was capable of, for something to be so terrible that he had rattled even his own stubborn confidence & pride was enough to shake her.

wiser women would turn him away, or at the very least coax him into confessing his sins before promising to absolve him of them. though wiser women would not have permitted such a man into their chambers in the first place, so perhaps she was already far too lost to correct her course. lithe hands journey to his shoulders, grabbing fistfuls of the wet leather to draw herself close to him yet again. this kiss lands at the corner of his mouth — a touch so terribly tender. when again she pulls back, she does not fully withdraw from his grasp. only far enough to look at his face: clinging still to his shoulders. pale eyes convey more words than her lips would ever permit. i have forgiven every terrible thing you could do long before this moment. look what a dreadful fool you've made of me. your bloody hands do not frighten me. though through her unobliging pride, all she utters is ... "what a foolish question, and one you already know the answer to."

with the jacket still in her clutches, she pushes at it — wordlessly urging him to shed the soaking layers. "you'll catch your death in this - and you're tracking water everywhere," still she hopes to get him to smile with her chiding, to chase away the haunted look in his eye. to see him so pliant in her palms made something icy & rigid in her chest soften & crack, and she could not permit it. both hands grab at his, drawing him deeper into the chamber. "come, take these off. warm yourself by the fire ... then you may tell me whatever you wish."

burnt rainwater was on him, was all over him   ‒‒   parts frozen, parts singed. 𝐯𝐡𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐧𝐨 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭, fast and blazing and ruthless and 𝚋𝚎𝚢𝚘𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚍’𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚕. that much had become glaringly obvious. a̳e̳m̳o̳n̳d̳ was not under aemond’s control. he sought some nameless thing, blindly, thoughtlessly   ‒‒   𝖈𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖙𝖚𝖗𝖊 with a wide, red-rimmed stare and ashes rattling in his chest, too fast, too fast. 𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐚’𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐬𝐡, 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐟𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐞 had shone out to him l̳i̳k̳e̳ ̳a̳ ̳b̳e̳a̳c̳o̳n̳, a stormlight. here, there might be benediction. 𝚊 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜 he knew better than to ask of those offended.

𝚒𝚏 𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚢𝚎𝚍 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚎𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑, elethea would never know how much comfort her touch wreaked, how much power she had. ( it escaped his notice, then, that she had done everything he asked   ‒‒   everything but c̳u̳r̳s̳e̳ ̳h̳i̳m̳. )      ❛❛  𝖎𝖋 i told you something,  ❜❜      he began, so very, very quietly,      ❛❛  would you consider, 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊 𝚖𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝, that i meant no harm?  ❜❜      some understanding, s̳o̳m̳e̳ ̳m̳e̳r̳c̳y̳   ‒‒   it was a small thing to wish for before killing again. they were only figments, but 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫 would be no easier : his mother's last foolish denials   ( . . . )  clinging stubbornly 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚋𝚠𝚎𝚋𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚔, 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚔 𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚛𝚜.      ❛❛  would you d̳e̳f̳e̳n̳d̳ 𝖒𝖊?  ❜❜

they were not, aemond thought, 𝐚 𝐝𝐲𝐧𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐞𝐧𝐬, ᵇᵘᵗ mammals gone so mad within this sandstone trap that they’d 𝚍𝚎𝚟𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚎. the thought terrified him. it could not be true. he could never admit that he had, even for a second, believed that 𝖍𝖔𝖗𝖗𝖎𝖉 thought. ( that would make it real. he had t̳h̳a̳t̳ ̳s̳o̳r̳t̳ ̳o̳f̳ ̳p̳o̳w̳e̳r̳. )

Corruption

Something's crawling under your skin...

"That's not meant to look like that."

"Your veins are turning black..."

"You're not meant to be blistering like that..."

"I'm worried about what's wrong with you."

"Something's wrong."

"You don't look right, can I help?"

"Wait - why is that black?"

"It's like you're... rotting. From the inside out."

"You need to bandage that before it gets worse."

"How did this happen to you..?"

"You're diseased or something."

"I can see it, crawling through you..."

"Gods help you now."

"We can't fix this, can we? You're just going to rot away."

"It's fine, I'm sure, it just... keeps crawling through me."

"There's some kind of rot in me."

"I can feel it, squirming into my skin."

"Gods, it's getting worse - I can see the lines crawling up."

"How deep does this go into me? My heart?"

"It's in my eyes now, I think."

"I want to cut it out of me, but I don't think I can."

"It all tastes bad."

"There's something... in me... it's bad... I think..."

"I can see the lines crawling up towards my heart..."

YOU don’t have to be perfect to be loved. but I do

HOLLIDAY GRAINGER AS LUCREZIA BORGIA THE BORGIAS 2.08