Ofbracken - Bastard Boy

Why does tragedy exist? Because you are full of rage. Why are you full of rage? Because you are full of grief.

Anne Carson, in the preface to Grief Lessons: Four Plays by Euripides (via the-first-of-her-name)

Why did I do this dead meme? Idk.

I don’t know how to stay tender with this much blood in my mouth

Ophelia, Act IV, Scene V  (via sumiremiu)

You have such a February face, so full of frost, of storm and cloudiness.

William Shakespeare, Much Ado About Nothing (via ameliathermopolis)

darklionheart: 

                                     and behind the mask of m a t u r i t y                                                        that you wear,                                     a pair of eyes belonging to a ( CHILD )                                          stares back at you in the mirror.

                                                 you are not a warrior,                                                           MY LOVE,                                                  you are merely a boy. 

tag drop

I never even got to live my life…

                        I was just a kid. And I didn’t even get to know what being a kid was like.

                                   THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT.                                                                THIS ALL BECAUSE OF YOU!

                                                                                  why did you make me this way?                                                                                   what did i ever do to you?

I keep wondering, how many people do you need to be, before you can become yourself.

Iain Thomas, I Wrote This for You  (via wordsnquotes)

laenahs‌:

A feeling of being out of place was not something that was particular unfamiliar to her - in fact it was perhaps quite ironically the one certainty in her life despite how deeply uncertain it made her feel. Being from so many places and yet really none at all left her feeling untethered and as though she had been simply floating from place to place, steered only by her whatever father’s wishes for her were in that moment. 

Her mother had always told her that she would be a daughter of two kingdoms - not quite Dornish but not quite a Westerlander either - but she had never spun it in such a way that Laenah had ever found herself worried about it. Instead her mother had made it seem to be this gift that she had been bestowed, blessed with the chance to understand not just one place but two. ( Little had they both known that it would be four by the time Lewys Lydden’s whims were met ) Though time had sadly not proven her words to be true when so many seemed to deem her blood as more of a curse, never quite sure what to do with the girl who’s mother’s dark looks had erased her father’s fair ones.

It was events such as these that only made what she considered to be hard facts appear starker when she had no core group of people that she could easily slip into and feel included with. Even now that she was back in her father’s home of Deep Den things were more complicated when their land had been deemed part of the Riverlands and not the Westerlands. Stranding her once again in that so frustratingly familiar limbo.

There was something of a longing for a familiar face, one of those who had left an impact on her life. Perhaps there was only handful she would freely class as important to her but her mother had always said that it was quality over quantity that truly mattered. With Jeyne having found her place among the Ironborn and Mychel still within the Vale she knew that she would most likely have to face the remainder of the festivities by herself.

Or at least she thought she would until a voice that brought a hundred memories flooding back all at once, stunning her into silence as her gaze shifted to lay eyes on him. Even with her own sight as proof it still seemed impossible that Harry Rivers was stood before her and not simply a figure in her dreams or past.

Soft, tentative smile touched her lips with such gentleness she was sure that any other might have missed it. The meaning behind his words was not lost on her but she still found herself unable to accept that he could be talking about anything but the scenery that they had both witnessed in their teenage years. “Most would say that all kingdoms have their merits.” Words leave her lips like a sight, barely finding enough air in her lungs to exhale let along made sound. 

A shyness that feels so foreign around him creeps over her but she can’t shake the feeling that perhaps the two of them are more strangers than friends now. So many years had passed and she found it difficult to fathom that his views towards her would not have changed as time drove a wedge between them. Still with all of those worries pushed to the side, all she cared about was knowing more about the life he had had without her in it, hoping that the Seven had been kind to him. “How have you been, Harry?” A little pause settles over her as she remebers the last news of him that she had received.  “Or should I be calling you Ser Bracken now?”

“Always the peacekeeper, Laenah.” He sighed at her response. “One of these days, I’ll get you to share and honest to Gods opinion.  Just once I will get you to say you loathe something.” He couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped with his words as he shook his head.  “But then again, perhaps I’m biased due to my time spent there--although one would think with the scars I earned there, I wouldn’t be, but alas---” He smirked at her as a finger crept up to his shoulder to itch the scar she had given him, before taking a swig of his wine.

He knew that it had been years since they had last communicated, and even longer since they had last laid eyes upon each other.  But all Harry could see as he looked down upon her was his old friend from his formative years, and all he wanted was to scoop her into an embrace, lift her from her feet and swing her through the air, just as he used to do all those years ago.  Despite her stature being longer and leaner than most other ladies, even at their young ages they spent in the Vale, Harry had always towered over her, having practically reached his full height by then, and he always loved to show this off to her, by swinging her around, picking her up, letting her hang off his back as he transported her to and fro.

“That is a deeply complicated answer, my old friend.  Perhaps I’ll enlighten you another time.”  He had never been able to lie to her, and with being unable to announce that all was fine and he was in high spirits, he decided simply not discussing it would be best due to their estrangement as well as their surroundings.

He groaned as the words ‘Ser Bracken’ fell from her lips, and as he brought his goblet up to his own, he quickly downed the rest of the dark liquid.  

“Call me that and I will be havin’ to walk away before even gettin; a chance to ask you how you have faired all these years.  And I don’t want that. --- Speaking of, what do I call you these days?  Lady Lydden or is it Lady H--Forgive me, I can’t remember your lad’s name.”  Unknowing of the man’s fate, Harry couldn’t stop the words, full of bitterness from slipping through his wine primed lips.