#serpentii

Symbol Meme - Affectionate/Nice Edition | @serpentii​singing to them

If she closed her eyes, shifted her body just right, it felt like being young again. Not a child, but a girl on the cusp of adolescence. A girl who dreamed of summer, of running through meadows barefoot, cartwheeling through the long grass, and never stopping to think of the bleak, grey world left behind.

If she closed her eyes and listened, it felt like being born again.

A soft, satiny song that caressed her like a kiss. Not quite listening to the words, or taking them in. They didn’t matter to her — the voice held more importance. The cadence and lilt of it. How it sounded like honey and the scratch of brambles on your skin all at once.

She smiled lazily, eyelids fluttering, chest rising and falling as slow as lapping tides. Few things left in her life were beautiful, and she counted this as one of them.

It couldn't be.

Not after all those years, not now, not here, out of all places. It seemed like one of those strange dreams he'd have sometimes, about people he could never meet again. But this couldn't be one of them, right?

As his eyes widened, as they DUG into her every feature, as if trying to see past the skin, to the depths where something more than looks lays, Gryff felt the excitement & sense of his power over everything here shrink & be replaced with something different. Something that made him feel so small, in a way that reminded him of days long, long gone. A boy, looking up at her, tad of distrust in the blue eyes, but the excitement, excitement of having a person side with him, overflowing, smothering anything else.

& then she'd disappear.

He was supposed to feel happier now. When he imagined this as a child, it was always something special — them running towards each other, & hugging, & her telling him something, that'd magically explain everything. I was gone because I had to, there was no other choice, but it would all be over now, it would all be just like before. Of course he was long past believing in this, but what she'd have to say now — Gryff was not sure he wanted to hear it. Still unable to wrap his brain around her reappearing here, at their enemies’ keep, but deep inside he already knew

It would not be like BEFORE now, regardless of what she'd say.

peggyoung replied to your post: “™— : Child!Character my muse would adopt.”:

Daaaaad

DAUGHTERRR

((How are we gonna explain this to Warrick tho))

Am I really like that..?

FINALLY DONE

My Overwatch oc, Serpentii, is complete for all to see!

She’s an offense character.

serpentii replied to your post: “Does anyone know why @a-whitehill-is-still-a-whitehill ‘s/...”:

i can't find it.

“Forgive me for staring…”

She had not meant to. Staring was rude, Father said. You only stared if you wished to intimidate.  Greta stared to remember. Every person she came across —- the girl wanted to sketch their portrait with her eyes to store for later viewings. Something she’d wished had been done when Mother was alive. If not for the tapestry — the wrinkled, moth-bitten thing — Greta would forget her face entirely.

The girl before her now had a prettiness she could not help but admire openly. She hoped it would not startle her. Most of the young ladies Greta met thought her strange for being so quiet, so gloomy, refusing to speak more than a few sentences. Staring — always staring, because she feared what she might say. Who might be listening.  

❛ oh ? my brother’s wellbeing isn’t my business ?         my cousin’s wellbeing isn’t my concern ? ❜

emerald eyes were devoid of the warmth that clung to her like the burs of thistles and weeds; dappled in her constant smile…   it was true when they said the eyes were the window to the soul.  she would spare deceit with this lady. somedays, it was simply too hard to be the pretender.   rarely ever did she radiate a sense of danger but the other’s words made her slip. her head tilted, the smile stretched, iciness bled through. sharp like a dagger, edges could cut into flesh. timberwatch was no home of her’s, truly, but it was quite familiar to the broken girl who had once refuged in its halls under ebbert’s care.   that was before she had disappeared, when she swallowed the agony, and left it to fester in her veins.

on the occasions she visited and stole ebbert away in the desire to spend time with him, she never quite did remain long enough to know those of timberwatch.. it had simply never been much to her despite  her eyes here within their walls. and when she had wallowed in her pain, her losses — what had she ever done beside lie in a bed when she was not trying to drink herself to death or being forced to move around by ebbert ? she shifted. her smile was a lie, a weapon; it hide the truth and created a degree of safety for others. ah, did they never see? perhaps so, perhaps not.  maybe this lady would be the first to understand. it wasn’t hard to see her for who she was

         ❛ would you deny me such knowledge ? ❜

The words had been snapped without thinking — she had trouble filtering,     trouble deciding what was correct to say aloud and what wasn’t ....     It wasn’t her fault for being so defensive anyway. This woman — Oriele did not know her. Had seen her a few times with the maester     ( a man she already found difficulty in trusting ),       but had never once interacted with her. In truth, the woman’s presence left her uncomfortable. The smile she wore —    unnatural. Oriele herself never smiled. Never saw the need to. Aaren smiled, Aaren laughed.   She relied on his happiness to put others at ease while she stood beside him, sharp in her gaze of icy blue, mouth sour and twisted.

“This is not your home.” Voice, cold and even, no hint of warmth or feeling in it at all. Was how Oriele always spoke, even to those she had affection for. “One does not have the right to intrude on another’s home and demand things of the people who live there.”

It was only to protect — she wondered if the other understood this. Her family had lost so much already — Father to war, to the hands of Whitehill scum. Mother to madness.    She could not let anything else happen to them — she refused to. They were better off without strangers coming and going from their halls as they liked.