"To whom much is given, much will be required."

"Blood is the seal of our devotion."

Independent and Selective Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, from ASOIAF. Based on the writings of George R. R. Martin, headcanons, and Arthurian legends.

Written by Sandra. 30+.

lay me down where the trees bend low put me down where the greenery stings

ℑ'𝔪 𝔞 𝔰𝔩𝔬𝔴 𝔡𝔶𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔣𝔩𝔬𝔴𝔢𝔯.  ℑ'𝔪 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔣𝔯𝔬𝔰𝔱 𝔨𝔦𝔩𝔩𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔥𝔬𝔲𝔯,  𝔰𝔴𝔢𝔢𝔱 𝔱𝔲𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔰𝔬𝔲𝔯, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔲𝔫𝔱𝔬𝔲𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔟𝔩𝔢.

𝕸𝖆𝖉𝖉𝖞 (𝔐𝔞𝔡𝔢𝔩𝔢𝔦𝔫𝔢 𝔐𝔞𝔯𝔦𝔢 𝔓𝔢𝔯𝔢𝔷) (of HBO’s 'Euphoria') exists here through devotion, headcanon, and much care -- loved & supported by Isabel (she/her, 30+). This blog is headcanon-forward and not spoiler-free. Established November 2019; 𝔯𝔢𝔟𝔬𝔯𝔫 𝔍𝔞𝔫𝔲𝔞𝔯𝔶 2026.

The Lebanese restaurant on the Upper East Side had corporate hang written all over it. The walls were painted black. The lights were on even though it was three o’clock in the afternoon and the menu was whatever the chef was in the mood too cook that day.

He didn’t mind the place nor the chattering of the other customers around him and Greg that were chowing on their monkfish, kebabs, and shawarma. They fit right in.

“So, how are things going for you with Tom and Matsson?” Kendall asked.

He wasn’t sure whether he was getting it right. Rava would be better at explaining these things. She always was. “And, like, he doesn’t pick up on social cues. It’s like my face is a complete blank to him and he can’t tell whether I’m, like, angry or sad or whatever, you know?”

“That is normal for someone on the spectrum,” Angélique mused with a nod. She too needed a brief adjustment period, though it was not obvious to those around. It was called that for that exact reason. Then again, she had gone on with life undiagnosed for so long that she had learned her own coping mechanisms.

“I know what you mean,” She paused to take in a sip of her drink. “You're a good dad to remember all these things.” Earnest as ever, she never was a sycophantic yes man to him.

DID THIS GUY JUST CHUG A MARTINI?

Were Pyotr not so overwhelmed by his vampiric senses' ability to perceive all of the alcohol and grime and B.O in this place—not to mention the overstimulating sounds and flashing lights—he might have clocked that the man was essentially drinking water with olive juice—not an actual martini. What actually happens, though, is that Pyotr is quite impressed.

When the man's next drink arrives, Pyotr raises his own rocks glass. "Cheers."

“Bottoms up.”

Kendall sipped the non-alcoholic martini and set it down. He wondered where the stock broker that managed his currency buy-ins was in this forsaken place.

“So the two of you weren’t actively together.” She noted. “That’s good to know. Do you think anyone could have issue with her family, more so than her?” She was looking for other routes they may be able to explore.

“The most those people would do is egg her house,” he continued. “Like, I don’t think that anyone would do anything serious to any of the because, like, their security is through the roof.” Tern Haven was a fortress when he had been there years ago and so was the house in Marin County where Nan had lived as well. No way somebody would be able to get around those things.

"Montauk," she repeats, acknowledging and appreciating.

What Kendall says next about his potential breakdown doesn't surprise Lottie—not the fact that he reveals something like that so quickly, not the fact that it happened in the first place. She's not completely oblivious to the Roy name. They're more like celebrities, though—even wealthier than the people Lottie knows through her father's corporate connections. Still, the publicized drama was certainly on her radar—even if she'd rather focus on things like how many bees are in the honeycomb or if Natalie is going to be okay Lottie is ever going to be okay without Natalie.

Camp. Jeez Louise, Kendall thought, how fucking bourgeois could you get? He had never been to a camp except for Interlochen when he was in high school and that hadn’t been a camp. No canoeing, no scary stories a round a campfire, just days of classes and rehearsals for a concert where he played a concerto, some chamber music, and some solo pieces for an adoring audience of his own peers.

However, there was something nice about getting away from it all. Leaving the city and all of its problem behind, but he hesitated a little. That’s what Montauk was for, wasn’t it? To get away? And yet he knew that it wasn’t entirely true. The city encroached on him there.

Some people come here because they have jobs to do, Pyotr nearly corrects, but then it's like, oh, what do you do for work, what kind of job would bring you to a place like this, etc., and he's just not willing to go there.

“I’m not here for the sex,” he told the man as he signaled the bartender to bring him another drink. “I’m actually here for a business meeting. My guy is out there somewhere really enjoying himself.”

KENDALL IS NOT IMPRESSED. At least, uh-huh indicates as much to Charlotte. She isn't bothered, though, not at an ego-level; she cannot be what everybody needs her to be immediately upon meeting them. Sometimes, her insights take time. Kendall would have been happier if she donated to the ballet or mentored young prodigious musicians. She cannot lie and claim those things. She can only be honest about what she wants from the world—how she wants to be good to it, to It, in every possible way.

And, yeah, they kind of are living off the land and doing sun salutations in the morning. Instead of saying that, though, Charlotte just laughs softly, rotates her glass in place.

Kendall nodded. “Yeah, I think that’s why I decided to live in Montauk. Out there, it’s different than it is here. It’s peaceful and quiet and, like, I can hear myself think. A lot of my friends and my sister think that I, like, went completely nuts when I moved out there and dropped everything to live a different lifestyle, but it’s, like, the most sane I’ve ever been.”

He shrugged his shoulders as he took another sip.