#(yes...that shall be her character tag)

[cuteniaarts]

Small drawing collection of my latest creation Emran as a teenager/freshly minted Air Acolyte, for my dear partner in unhinged OC shenanigans @katkastrofa, as promised <3

[sisterdivinium]

Think "necessity" of evil in the ultimate doing of good ("For God judged it better to bring good out of evil than not to permit any evil to exist"); sin/failure for the sake of elevation, personal and otherwise, and how each of the characters "falls" so that good may come of it somehow, be it in general knowledge, assistance in pursuing good or personal enlightenment.

I'm far too lacking in dogmatic understanding to pursue this specific angle of investigation the way I'd like to and it's driving me crazy.

[middle-earth-mythopoeia]

Uh, guys? Don't confuse your crappy televised fanfic for the story that Tolkien actually wrote.

Galadriel was never "under Sauron's thrall." That's something ROP made up. In Unfinished Tales, she was the only one in Eregion who suspected that Annatar was lying about being an emissary of the Valar. Celebrimbor was deceived by him. She was not. She was certainly not "under his thrall." No, not even because she had Nenya.

Yes, when Frodo offered her the One Ring, she was tempted. It could have given her the power to prevent the fading of Lothlórien. But when she makes this speech in the book, and in the Peter Jackson movies, it's her own thought, she's not repeating something that Sauron said to her once:

“You will give me the Ring freely! In place of the Dark Lord you will set up a Queen. And I shall not be dark, but beautiful and terrible as the Morning and the Night! Fair as the Sea and the Sun and the Snow upon the Mountain! Dreadful as the Storm and the Lightning! Stronger than the foundations of the earth. All shall love me and despair!”

These are Galadriel's words. Her words. Not Sauron's. And she was tempted by the One Ring because she could have been a more powerful queen, not Sauron's queen. Like, you guys really took one of the most powerful and complex female characters in Tolkien's works and you made her story all about a man and his power over her and his manipulation of her. Fuck off.

And stop tagging ROP as Lord of the Rings.

[zhongrin]

honey, can you…. un-sick me please?

© zhongrin | 2023  ✼  no repost・translations・plagiarism of any kind・ai data mining. rebloggers get a free cup of tea ♡

✼ characters ┈ zhongli, al haitham, wriothesley, neuvillette, diluc

✼ tags ┈ gn!reader, fluff, crack, 'puppy' nickname used (wriothesley), you’re sick but nothing life-threatening (common cold/flu/fever), they’re all just so soggy for you

✼ a/n ┈ i did change my formatting recently, yes. i like this one better methinks hehe

ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪᴀʟ ᴍᴇɴᴜ (ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ) ✼ ᴏᴜʀ ꜰᴜʟʟ ᴍᴇɴᴜ (ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ)  ✼ ᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀꜱʜɪᴘ (ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ)

“dear, i assure you, the ‘passing on the sickness by kissing’ method has never been proven to work... ah, please don’t give me such downtrodden eyes, you know i cannot help but give in when you look so saddened…”

zhongli was ever so patient with your whininess, clinginess, and overall annoying (your words, not his) self when you were sick with this kind of fever. he personally thought it was adorable, the way you insisted on following him around, asking to be pampered and spoiled in such a vulnerable moment…

… and boy, did he spoil you rotten.

though his mortal vessel is incapable of catching mortal diseases, he had seen the ever-evolving medical treatments throughout the millenia to know that your request to ‘kiss me so i can heal faster’ was meant to go unfulfilled. but how could he refuse you when you look so cute? he sighed fondly and ended up peppering you with kisses all over your flushed face, a gentle smile curling his lips when you giggled and clung to him even tighter in response.

anything to soothe his treasure.

“you’re delirious. go back to bed.”

your boyfriend might sound blunt and mean, yet the way he cradled your sickly self carefully and the gentleness in which he tucked you back into bed behind the blankets was everything but uncaring. al haitham was as complex as the books he read, but if you were thorough enough, you would be able to see the worried lines creasing his eyebrows and the turmoil behind his usually impassive green eyes fringed with bright terracotta lines.

al haitham became a mirror of his grandma ever since your body proceeded to shut down on you. he would make you soup and helped you eat it when you couldn’t muster the energy to do it yourself, and he fussed over you in his own way. admittedly, he had secretly sneaked in some herbs - grown with the help of his dendro vision - into said soup, which he read would aid you in your recovery… but that was a secret he shall keep to himself.

wriothesley looked torn between wanting to laugh at you or being incredibly worried if the fever was affecting you too much. he opted to shake his head with a chuckle and hoisted you up into his arms before tucking you back to bed despite your feeble protests.

“sigewinne told you to take plenty of rest, remember? you’ll get ‘un-sick’ed soon enough if you just listen to her, you silly puppy.”

your whines and pouts did nothing to convince him otherwise. your beloved seemed intent to keep you on the bed. he was very much tempted to threaten you with a promise to cuff yourself to the bed if you keep being stubborn, but he decided not to. instead, he stayed by your bedside like a loyal hound until the medicine kicked in and you fell into a deep slumber.

“let's have a picnic under the sun when you recover, yeah? but for now, let me just guard you while you're at your most vulnerable, sweetheart.”

neuvillette, the infamously aloof and diligent iudex, was anything but austere when it came to you. one might say he takes his role as your husband more seriously than his role as the chief of justice - and considering his accomplishments as the latter, it was an understatement to say that he excelled as your lover.

the day you got sick, rain fell throughout fontaine, persistent and seemingly neverending. it mattered not if it was just a common cold. you might as well be on your deathbed judging from the saddened gaze of your dearest’s sharp eyes and the way he was calling upon all doctors in fontaine to check up on you. even when you tried to lighten up his somber mood with your words, he merely grasped your hands tighter and brought them to his forehead, silently vowing to do all he could to make you healthy again.

“it is maddening that i do not have the power to heal humans, but rest assured that i will ensure that you can recover in the fastest and most efficient way possible, my love.”

the only time master diluc would be present in the kitchen is when 1) it’s a special day to you or the both of you, or 2) you’re cooking, or 3) you’re sick.

and currently, you’ve fallen ill from your recent adventure of dancing in the rain with your beloved. it was an addition into the romantic moments which the two of you would no doubt engrave in your hearts, yet while his pyro vision had subconsciously kept your lover’s body temperature from droppimg, it failed to do the same to you - hence why you were left with a bad case of flu and sore throat.

still, being sick while being diluc’s lover had its perks: for one, there were the maids who would take a good care of you, and they were always so considerate of your needs, especially when you were in this condition. but the best part would have to be your devoted red haired man doting after you like an overly attached falcon, personally taking it upon himself to nurse you back to full health. he was ever so patient with you, chuckling when you babble nonsensically, brain fogged and loose-lipped.

“yes, dear. i shall take it upon myself to ‘un-sick’ you. now, it’s time for your medicine. i’ll help you sit up... my love, don’t make that face… i promise to give you a forehead kiss if you finish the medicine.”

✼ ᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀꜱʜɪᴘ (ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ) ┈ @abyssmal-skies | @hamdehlesmis | @depressivecomforts | @sunnshineflxwer | @yuutasbabe | @queen-belial | @stygianoir | @silentmoths | @niktwazny303 | @dustofthedailylife | @marina-and-the-memes | @mixed-kester | @lordbugs | @anonymousficreader | @shizunxie | @ansy-tea | @irethepotato | @sassy-cat-in-town | @syrenkitsune | @smokipoki | @cakeboxie | @crystalflygeo | @ciexuvia | @illaasya | @celestewritestoomuch | @pams-comfortzone | @spidermanluvr444 | @ourstrawberryclouds | @ryuryuryuyurboat

[alastor-simp]

Sickly Deer - Sick Alastor X Female Reader

❥Summary - Alastor is a very proud man, and he will almost never admit that something is wrong. However, you noticed he seemed a bit off today and wanted to know what was wrong?

❥Tags: Sick alastor, sick day, alastor becomes sick, female reader, reader takes care of a sick alastor, stubborn alastor, fluff , adorable fluff, taking care of someone sick

❥Notes: Always wanted to do a sick character story and I finally get to do one with Alastor.

Was a quiet day in the hotel today. Usually there was the occasional chaos, but surprisingly it was peaceful. Charlie and Vaggie were out shopping for groceries for the hotel. Angel was lounging in his room, relaxing with Fat Nuggets. Niffty was reading a book, most likely manga in the lounge room, with Husk taking a cat nap on the couch next to her. Sir Pentious was in his ship, crafting some devices with his egg bois.

You were lounging in the hotel library, enjoying some quiet time to yourself while reading. Well it was quiet for a second until you heard the sound of static-like cough coming from next to you. Alastor happened to be in the library as well, reading his weekly newspaper. He's usually very quiet when he reads, except with the occasional sound of humming or static. But this was new, as you almost never heard him cough or let alone sneeze for that matter. The coughing started slow, but then it kept getting rougher as he kept doing it, causing you to worry. "Hey Al?" Your eyes were gazing at him with concern. Alastor turned his head towards you, wearing his signature smile: “Yes? What is it my dear?” “Well, are you alright? I noticed you have been coughing a lot. Once you said that, Alastor let out a boisterous laugh. “Oh-ho! It is nothing my dear. Just a small tickle. Nothing to concern yourself with!” He waved his hand in the air, after he finished talking. You still felt unsure, but if he said it wasn’t a big deal, you wouldn’t question him.

How wrong you were, the more and more you saw Al throughout the day, the worse his cough got. Not only that, his face was slightly paler and a bit drenched with sweat. He still was acting like everything was alright, but you knew he was lying. Enough was enough. You caught up with Alastor, as he was walking down the hallway. “Alastor! Stop!” You yelled his name out. He stopped in front of you, and slowly turned around, head tilted in confusion. “You’re sick, aren’t you” Alastors face stayed neutral when you said that, but you knew you got him. “I told you already, my dear. It’s nothing to concern yourself with.” Alastor just smiled wider and turned away from you to continue walking. He was stopped again when he felt a hand grab one of his coat sleeves. His body grew tense and he turned back eerily, not appreciating you touching him. You gave him a strong look: “Well, I AM concerned. And you should be resting cause you’re only going to make it worse.” His garnet colored eyes locked on to yours, static in the air getting louder. “I am the radio demon, my dear. I do not get sick, so please remove your hand, n̸͚͇̏̉o̸̼̓ẇ̷̹̓.” His eyes flashed into radio dials for a split second, causing you to remove your hand from his sleeve quickly. “Thank you. Now then, I shall take my leave.” He turned back around and began to walk away from you. As you were watching him walk away, you noticed he drew to a stop again. His body was still up, but then he began to fall forward. “AL!”

**Alastor POV**

“Ugh….huh?” Alastors eyes opened slowly. He recognized he was in his hotel room as the ceiling was covered in grassy moss and leaves, as he was the one to change it due to his magic. He soon realized he was laying on his bed, wearing his pajamas as he slowly got up from lying down. He doesn’t recall heading back to his room, as his head was still a bit fuzzy. His head was throbbing and his throat was feeling sore. Alastor knew he was feeling sickly, but he refused to believe it. He hates to be perceived as weak, so he preferred to play it off that he was fine.

The sound of the door opening alerted him, causing him to look up. He sees you walking into his room, carrying a tray along with a plastic bag hanging from your arms. “Oh your awake? How are you feeling?” You bear a smile at him, as you walk closer to his bed, setting the tray down on the night stand. “How did I end up here?” Alastor questioned you, still confused at what happened. “You don’t remember?” Your eyes gazed at him back with concern. Alastor shook his head. “You fainted Al. I stopped you in the hallway cause I knew you were sick, but you said you were fine and as you walked away, you stopped and fell forward.” Al’s eyes widen at your statement, as he kept listening to you talk. “I carried you back to your room after that.” You gave him a small smile.

“I see. I’m sorry for the trouble you had to go through my dear, but I’m quite alright now.” Pulling the covers off, Al swung his feet to place them in the floor. He was stopped by a hand on his chest. “Oh no you don’t mister. You are staying in bed and getting better. Understand?” Your eyes were filled with determination. “My dear, I am qui-” “Understand?” His words were cut off by you. He continued to look at your face, seeing that you were refusing to budge. Heaving a sigh, he nodded his head. He positioned himself back to how he was on the bed. “Does anyone else know about my ailment?" He said, as you turned his head to look at you. You were removing some stuff out of the plastic bag and set them on the night stand before turning back to him. "The only ones who know are me and Niffty. No one else, I promise you. I had to tell her you were under the weather, and she told me to head to the store to get you some medicine while she made you some venison stew." Alastor continued to listen until he asked you another question: "Did you change me into my pajamas as well?" Your face flushed at that, and you shook your head no. "Your shadow happened to appear when I brought you to the bed. I told it to change you." Alastor just nodded his head at that, smiling at bit wider at your adorable reaction.

Grabbing one of the chairs from Al's desk, you brought it over to where his bed was and took a seat. Reaching for the bowl, you placed it on your lap. He observed you blow a bit on the spoon and hold it out to him, causing him to raise an eyebrow at you. "Come on Al. There's nothing wrong with me feeding you." Alastor sighed, and opened his mouth, allowing you to give him some of the stew that Niffty prepared. He was able to finish it all off, which pleased you. Placing the bowl back, you grabbed the medicine and a glass of water and handed it to him. Alastor grabbed it and quickly popped them in his mouth, chugging the water to get them down. Sighing, he laid back on the bed, placing his head on the pillow, turning it away from you. "I despise this feeling." He whispered that to himself, but you were able to pick up on it since you were still seated next to him. "What feeling?" you said back to him, tiling your head. "Alastor continued to look away. "The feeling of being sick. Makes me appear weak." Alastor grumbled out the response.

Alastor remained quiet after that. A hand was placed against his cheek, allowing his head to turn back towards you. His eyes widen at you, as he saw you wearing a kind smile. "You're not weak Alastor. Everyone gets sick from time to time, nothing wrong with it. Also, you should know the others would never think about that, they would rather you get some rest and get better." Your thumb stroked his cheek. Alastor listened to what you said and gave a sigh, closing his eyes. "I know, my dear. Just.....feels strange." Moving his hand, he placed it against the one on his cheek. "Thank you, my dear. If there comes a time where you are ailing, I will return the favor." His lips curved into a soft smile. He heard you chuckle, as your hand moved away from his cheek. "Get some rest, Al. I'll come back to check on you." Smiling, you got up from the chair, and grabbed the tray, heading over to the door. Alastor just watched you walk away, leaving his room, and closing the door. His eyes began to grow heavy, as his body started to relax, drifting into a deep sleep.

TAG LIST:

Tag List:

@pepperycookie , @yourdoorisunlocked, @ghostdoodlen, @aceofcards0-0, @jyoongim, @saturnhas82moons, @unholycheesesnack , @luujjvi , @forbidden-sunlight, @pinkcrystal44 , @veethewriter , @rains-sleeping , @danveration , @demoarah, @cookiekyo , @iiotic, @delectableworm , @91062854-ka , @alastorsgoldie , @lokis-imaginary-friend , @themysteriousslenderman , @huntlowfan , @pawstrey , @futureittomainn , @christinaatyourservice92 , @littledolly2345 , @just-trash-yeah-thats-it , @angelinevalentine89 , @yunimimii , @staryosh1 , @mihawksdemoness , @crystalreads , @blahblahbruhmeow , @madam-strawberryrose , @inkslayer , @azazel-nyx , @lixanjewel , @ainsliemac , @sweet06tart , @nobuharashinyao , @aria-tempest , @fluffismystaplefood , @darischerry , @nightmarenaya , @mooniee123 , @yakultt-art , @ktssstuff , @blakedbeanss , @sweet06tart , @ihyperfixatedagain , @alastorssimp , @sadnessiscoldtea , @artemisandhunters , @crystalreads , @thereeallink

[simp-ly-writes]

Gentle-Fellow's

─────── · · A Smosh Fanfic

Pairing: Spencer Agnew x gn!Reader

─ · · SUMMARY: You, Spencer and your fellow cast mates Angela and Shayne all star in yet another Don't Win Mario Party, Gentlemen addition!

─ · · TAGS: gender-neutral pronouns, part social media au, use of dated terms as comedy, swearing, smoking, fluff, attempt at humour, cute.

─ · · MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 1,463

─ · · A/N: thank you so much for the ask, anon! sorry it took so long, had to brainstorm some jokes and scenarios but it was a load of fun! 😄

─────── · ·

"Oi! 'ello Chaps, I'm here with my fellow gentle-lads and t'day we'll be playing some good old fashion mario party, just how I like my liquor-" you began to intro to the camera before Spencer was slapping you gently on the shoulder, his body acting out more impact than you actually received but you still fell off the couch for comedic benefit as he put his shoes up on your supposed 'corpse' in good taste.

"Well enough with what that fellow was going on about, I must say we shall play. This game is better suited for a trio rather than a quartet- the same philosophy can also be said for working in the navy. Was much better to night-watch with a trio-"

"Ah yes, I do believe three-and-some is an adequate amount. I have yet to try four but it sounds you would not recommend?" Shayne leans forwards on the couch to fully face Spencer who adjusts his tophat while looking down at you, silently asking if you were okay while laying down off camera. You shot him a smile upwards, rolling over and returning back to the couch.

"Yes, I would not recommend such activities. Too many men with not enough places to go and scope out. Much better to have three, did you not serve to learn this?" Spencer asks with a tilt to his head, his top hat already falling off again as you hold back a chuckle to his playful glare in your direction.

"I in fact did serve! I was a leader, and I good one at that too. Took my whole group to one of the colonies, we had to strip ourselves of layers from how humid the climate was," Shayne clarified, pretending to light his cigar as Spencer lit his own, passing his lighter towards you.

"Thank you, gentleman," you responded, lighting your two cigarettes, wearing them like vampire fangs that had Angela near tears at the end of the couch. "I do remember being down to my undergarments at multiple points with my men, I'll have you know we were all in position within the ama-zone. Quite the discoveries we made there, so uncivilized."

"AYE!" Angela corrected, pointing a finger, her moustache slipping down her face, "I'll have you know my third mistress is from those parts, and she is the best. You mustn't make such hastily claims gentlemen, it is unbecoming of you!"

You nod your head, "yes, yes, very unbecoming. What are we? Boys like our sons? I can't remember the last time I had ashes in my lungs with that child's work," you continue as Angela agrees with a huff, the game seemingly long forgotten as you all carry through conversation, trying your darnedest not to break character.

"Ah yes, I think I have a son or two, I can't quite remember. I think to name them all William, a strong English name," Shanye comments once you all get... gently reminded to play the game you intro-ed over half an hour ago, you hoped that the editors would be able to find something distinguishable in these files.

─────── · ·

"I do believe it is your turn, gentleman," Spencer comments, casting you a wink. "My, I have seen to misplaced that powered-device. Does anyone see it?" Everyone starts to feel around the dips in the couch, Spencer was the first to stand, walking closer to the cameras from where you rolled to during the introduction bit and comes back with your controller, dipping it towards you with a bow.

"Thank you, my, you must be quite the bachelor, charming a fellow like me, oh my," you add with heated cheeks as Spencer returns to your side, his leg nocking against your own as you shout out in disbelief to obtaining a star you DID NOT want. "This is outrageous, I demand a re-play of my turn! I did not intend-"

"We must play by the rules," Shayne cuts you off, tilting his hat down as you stick out your tongue. Angela is focused on not winning the next mini game as you and Shayne continue your staring contest in the following two rounds before you claim victory. "Haha! I have trained with only the best, you can read a lot about another man through his eyes. Have you been hunting before? I love that wild look." Spencer jumps to respond.

"Yes, I must say, you really can tell a lot..." and in that moment you both look at one another. Shayne and Angela are both screaming over something on the screen but you both sound it out, lost in this little moment before realizing your both won... or well lost.

"It appear we have lost," Spencer says, emitting a sigh. "No, I would say we have won," you tease loving the way his cheeks heat up to his ears before you both return to the game more driven then ever to not win.

─────── · ·

Jokes have you all toppling the couch at some point from your rambunctious laughter, Angela is struggling to breathe through her sentence much similar to you over just how funny Spencer manages to be wearing sweatpants and a cheap half tux.

Spencer immediately went to protect your head with his arm as you all fell backwards with a large crash, the crew all gasped out in shock before your laughter only grew more boisterous. "I think I hear a little man again," Shayne comments, forcing himself upright to look over the couch as stars begun to be distributed.

Like snipers at position you all kneeled, your eyes only visible from the turned over couch. Top hats giving away your cover and you had placed second, falling back to the ground in fake shock and relief. Spencer teased mouth to mouth that had you pressing a hand to his mouth and narrowed your eyes at his large ones filled with glee and adoration.

─────── · ·

Angela had lost in the end in first place. you second place. Shayne in third and Spencer being the ultimate winner in fourth.

"FUCK!" and the video ended abruptly to quickly cute to her wearing a dog cone while trying to light a cigarette, only for them to keep collecting down by her neck.

"Thank you all for viewing our game time today, I have had the most splendid time today with you chaps, as I hope you all have ventured the same?" Shayne asks the now upright couch and cast.

"Yes, I was quite filled with delight," you replied, nodding your head and tipping your hat to everyone on the sofa.

"I do agree with my fellow gentleman, here" Spencer replies, clapping you on the wrist this time, very much close to holding your hand, your fingers interlacing while watching Angelas 'winning' speech.

"I hate you all-"

"Why that id not very gentlemanly of you, do you wish to handle these matters outside in more space for our thoughts?" Shayne rebuttles.

"Yes, I rather have a few thoughts to show you," Angela challenged, brow raised as she begins to roll up her sleeves, Shayne doing the same. Alex closes the video by panning upwards and the screen fades to black.

─────── · ·

🔔 Smosh Games just posted! watch now?

─────── · ·

Gentleman's Rules: Don't Win Mario Party (Again!)

Smosh Games ✓ [Subscribed] 👍 67k | 👎 7.78M subscribers 300k views 1 week ago only the politest of games... click to read more

1,110 Comments

username01 (name) and Spencer out here being the cutest even while cosplaying as colonizers, iconic behaviour you two!

username88 09:45 "Ah yes, I do believe three-and-some is an adequate amount" - Shayne Topp 2024

↳ username70 OMG why did I not catch this earlier LMAO 🤣 ↳ username91 or what about 20:01 " What are we? Boys like our sons? I can't remember the last time I had ashes in my lungs with that child's work..." - (name) was UNREAL for sayin' this XD ↳ username70 OMG YES! 🙌😂

username22 I don't know about you but I'm feeling like I'm ready for a whole series of just this cast and just this game. I have had this video and repeat since it's come out! Please. Make. More. 🙏

username14 Literally so in love with how gentle Spencer was being with (name), dropping the persona to held them find their controller and even making sure they didn't fall hard?? 😭

↳ username91 and did anyone notice those little winks? UGH 😩

username40 this is not good material to be eating to, almost choked from laughing so hard, would not recommend.

userame66 That little exchange about seeing into one another's eyes was so poetic, like that bit did not need to go that hard 💗

─────── · ·

─ · · SPENCER AGNEW TAGLIST: @lisiliely @missflufffanfics @little-stitious-studios @thejourneyneverendsx @sibsteria @lizzylynch1 @babble2 @delaneyburghardt @thevintagefangirl @uniquely-haunting @maricarorp

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Winter's King 28

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: It might be my only full length chapter this week but pls enjoy.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The king keeps you within his sight. As promised, the cloak is brought to the tower chamber. You dawn it as the king pulls on the layers of his duty; tunic, breeches, leather armour, boots, cloak, and the small accoutrements to ward off the cold. For how hotly he burned beside you in the night, you would think he could not feel the winter. 

It is early still. The gray of the sky never fully recedes but it is neither pale nor dark. Even so, the day has come. 

There is a single tap at the door. The king backs away from the hearth. You sit at the table, restless in the cloak with the wolf patch. He calls for the knocker to enter. 

Bryce appears from the other side, his saddles bags over one shoulder. "My king. Roach is ready." 

"Very well," he nods, "summer maid," he turns and beckons to you with two thick fingers, "the good lord will take you ahead." 

"My leige?" Bryce wonders what you do not dare ask. 

"Only be concerned that she remains safe. Warm," he nears and shamelessly caresses your check. You flinch as you refuse to falter.  "You will get her to the capital ahead of us. You will be fleet without so many to slow you." 

You meets Bryce's gaze. In all that you've known him, he has never looked afraid. There is fear gleaming on his eyes. 

"I will always serve you, my king. And never have I denied your command, but might I speak plain?" The soldier faces his master. 

"I prefer you for your candour," King Geralt returns. 

"This will not go without note," Bryce says. "Not least of all by the queen." 

"The queen cares little for the maid. She only cares she has someone at her whim." 

"Be that as it may, but it is not her who would notice. Yet, whoever did, would be certain she hears of it--" 

"I fear not my wife and her temper. She is tawdry. A child. Let her whine and stomp her feet," the king dismisses. "Your concern is appreciated. I understand you only mean to protect me, but I care more to keep her safe." 

"Yes, my king," Bryce accedes, "I will not let any harm come upon the maid. As I've not yet done." 

"It is why I trust only you and Roach. Be gone before the party is abreast." The king faces you, surprising you as he kneels before you. You blanch as you notice the shift in the soldier's posture. "My tender maid, keep you well. I regret that it need be this way but after last eve, I must have you away from this tumultuous party." He takes your hand and pets your knuckles before kissing them. He admires your fingers as if they are adorned in gems. "I will see you in the capital. There, then, we can be happy." 

“My king,” you breathe, ��what about the queen?” 

“I shall tend to her should she be dissatisfied. That is no longer your worry. She does not deserve you, treasure.” He avows. 

You stare at him. His eyes are eerie in the low light. You would not and cannot deny him. 

“Yes, your highness, as you wish,” you concede. It was never truly your choice. 

“Before we part, pet,” he squeezes your hands. “A kiss?” 

You hesitate. The soldier turns to the door and feigns ignorance. You dip your chin. The king tilts his head up and you lean forward. As you aim for his forehead, he brings his lips to yours.  

He releases your hands and quickly cradles your head as he braces your hip. His tongue pokes along your lips and you relent to his will. That is as it will be. As it has always been. You have ever been servant. 

He finally parts, humming as his bright irises glimmer, “my treasure, my love,” he rasps. 

“My king, I wish you a safe journey,” you utter. 

“And I shall bid the fates the same of you,” he drags his hand down your thigh and stands. “Safe and quick. Off, before my weak heart gets the best of my mind.” 

Bryce’s sole scuffs and he clears his throat, “come, maid. Put your hood up.” 

You stand and bow your head. You pass close to the king, your cloak stirring against him, and you cross to the soldier. He opens the door and trails you out. You do as he bid and pull your hood up. You descend the twisting steps in silence. 

The corridors are no less hollow and a bitter draft wafts through. The roiling of Bryce’s thoughts ripples from him as he marches next to you. You can only sense him past the fabric of the hood. 

“I shall make you tea for the road,” Bryce says at last. “It should keep you warm.” 

“Thank you, sir, but it isn’t needed,” you say. “We should leave quickly.” 

“Aye, we will be away ‘fore any know,” he agrees, “but not without the tea.” 

You offer no further protest. It isn’t your right to argue. You haven been bidden and so you will do. Obedience never chafed before. Obedience was safe, it was sustenance for any maid. 

You go to the kitchens and wait as Bryce boils water and brews a dark tea from leaves in a pouch he digs from his tunic. He offers it. It carries a pungent aroma. You blow over it and sip. You make a face. 

“It is... strong,” you murmur. 

“So it is, but the leaf will help warm your blood,” he insists and paces back and forth. He is restless to be away. You are as well. 

You drink and he ushers you away to the stables. You stride along the row of stalls and he dodges the nip of a dark steed. He flattens himself against another door and snarls, “the damned beast. ‘Less you can tame her, the king’ll have to keep her ‘neath his stubborn arse.” 

You recognise the mare. It is Roach, the king’s mount. You stare at her and she turns her nose to you. 

“Be wary lest she chomps off your face,” the soldier girds. 

You have little mind to worry for your own nose. You raise your hand pet the creature’s long snout as she plumes hot air from her nostrils. He pushes against your palm and eases, leaning into your touch as you brush along her long head. 

“Come, Roach, we have far to go... I believe,” you say. “Be kind to Sir Bryce. He is brave and kind.” 

“Aye, she seen me ‘fore and I never think she’s thought so,” he snorts, keeping his distance. 

You drag your touch down her neck and put your hand on the latch of her door. She nuzzles your hood and you free her. She steps out as Bryce lingers behind you. 

“Can you saddle a horse? Else I’ll have to brave her bites,” he says. 

“I can. Fetch it and her bit.” 

You dress the horses. Daisy is left behind as Bruce claims Chestnut as his own. You’ll miss your usual mount. 

You get astride and head off into the cold dawn. Your stomach churns as you descend the treacherous mountainside. You’re not sure if it is the thin air, the turmoil of what you ride away from, or ride towards. Perhaps it is all at once. 

Bryce stops you in a natural alcove, away from the winds as he searches his saddle bag. He hands you a leather packet. There are oats and nuts within. He spits out the red leaf he chews so often and nibbles on dried meat instead. 

You eat in silence. The food does not aid in the condition of your stomach. You feel rotten. 

The soldier squints and glances out from between the rockface. He tuts and shakes his head. He puts away the jerky and struts out into the open. He looks up the pass. 

“Eh, I know you’ve been there since we left. Better you show your face before I show my steel,” he warns the wind. 

You frown and fold down the flap of the packet. You hear scratching, then it comes clearer, footsteps. How did he know? Why did he not say a word? 

“It is I, sir,” Ezme declares. “Lord Vesemir--” 

“Aye, I know he sent ya. Why?” Bryce crosses his arms. You step away from Roach as she stomps. 

“He did speak with our great king last eve,” she appears just at the edge of your view. “He offered to keep the made. That the king might return to his throne ‘fore he come back to claim her.” 

“And he was denied.” Bryce says. 

“The king was not amenable, no, yet... Lord Vesemir acts only in accord with his duty. He vowed to protect King Geralt--” 

“And to serve him. As I have,” Bryce insists. “No, you will not have her. I’ve been commanded to take her away.” 

“You could remain. Lord Vesemir knows many secret places. Those that are not on maps. It would be as if the two of you were lost. The king wouldn’t know--” 

“He would,” Bryce growls. “I am not fool, even if all others in this forsaken realm might be. I do like my head on my neck.” 

“It is not safe. Not for the king or the maid. Not for you,” Ezme counters.  

“There is nothing safe in this world. Never has been,” Bryce scoffs. “Be away before I prove that.” 

“Sir Bryce, you have never been unkind.” 

“You ask me to commit treason. How should I be?” He retorts. 

Her head shrinks down. She slowly turns to you. Bryce moves to block her. She stops short and speaks over his arm. “Dear friend, know that Lord Vesemir’s invitation will remain. Always. Even after you leave this day.” 

You blink at her. Your heart is racing. You feel sick. Knots tie into themselves in your chest and stomach. You blow out a cloud of warmth breath into the frigid mountain air. 

“Thank you, friend,” you reply. “I shall follow the king’s command.” 

“I understand,” she purses her lips grimly. She steps back and faces the soldier again, “safe journey.” 

He sighs, “you know I cannot accept.” 

“And I had to try,” she says then spins and disappears back up the incline. 

“So is our call to keep on,” Bryce strides back to you and the horses. “Better sooner, the road will unwind on and on. I tire of it already.” 

You climb back into the saddle and set off again. The further you get, the worse you feel. As if you might be sick, or even as if you might need to lift your skirts in some hidden brush. You feel so wretched you can hardly focus on anything but your body. 

“Sir,” you say, “I must stop.” 

“Aye, mouse, we might,” he reins Chestnut as you tug on Roach.  

You nearly fall off of her in your panic. You are going to spew. You stumble and turn to hide the eruptions. You spit up onto the dirt. 

“I have water,” Bryce offers from behind you. 

“A moment, sir,” you breathe as fullness pulses in your pelvis. 

You go around Roach and hide behind her. You pull up the front of the dress, letting the skirts and cloak shield your back. You reach between your legs as slip your hands down your wool underclothes. Your palm comes away streaked and red. Your blood has come. Early. 

“Are you well?” The soldier asks. 

“Sir, I am,” you assure him and wipe your hand on the underside of the skirt. “It is only a womanly trouble.” 

“Aye, oh, aye,” he grumbles awkwardly. “Take ye time, then.” 

You lean on Roach and close your eyes. You are horribly sore already and exhausted to the bone. Still, you can do nothing but persist.  

“I’m ready, sir,” you lift yourself back into saddle. “I would away.” 

“If we are swift, we will be on flat ground by nightfall,” he says. 

⚔️

The days wear on. The first week is counted by the days of your cycle. The pain and the fatigue has you aware of each moment. Then it is the moon that marks the waning of time. 

The road winds away from the mountains and onto the flatlands. Only for a time before trees rise around you and shroud you in shadow, both dusk and dawn. Between the fir needles and veined bark are those noises that keep you unsettled. 

You camp before a small fire. Bryce works at planting the posts to drape canvas over. The snow is kept off the ground by the thick canopy of branches above. There is some dusting here and there, but it is mostly dry. 

“What can I do, sir?” You ask, as you have done every night. 

“I tell ya again to sit and warm yourself,” he sneers as he hammers in the post. 

“And I repeat I would like to help,” you insist. 

“I can manage. I’m not old man,” he sniffs as he grabs the canvas roll. 

“I know...” you pause as you hear another faraway whine. It sends a shiver through you. “Sir, what are those sounds?” 

He chortles as he works at spreading the canvas over the poles. “Why those are the frostwolves. And the low rumbles will be the bears. The skittering the snow foxes, and the shrill ones, those are the winter birds.” He explains, “they leave ya alone, so long as you keep the fire burning.” He ties a corner into place, “besides, they hate the smell of me.” 

“What?” You gasp, amused. 

“Aye, the don’t like my stench. I came eye-to-eye with a bear. Oh, he didn’t stick around to get a second look,” he scoffs. “And I said to the beast, I don’t mess with ya, don’t be gnawing on my leg. See, I’ve got a truce with the winter beasts.” 

You laugh and sway as you hug yourself. It is awfully cold. Your ears and head hurt almost constantly, even with your hood in place, and the gloves only do so much to keep your fingers from tingling, or your boots for your toes. 

“I s’pose they might be lured by the sweet scent of a summer’s maid. A new flavour,” he teases. 

“You scare me, sir.” 

“Scare you? Oh, but this beast is your friend. You needn’t fear the others.” 

You smile through chattering teeth. He stands straight and eyes you with hands on his hips. “Get close to the fire. You don’t want to catch the ague. Not around here.” 

“I am well, sir,” you promise. 

“Then stay well,” he nears and grabs your wrists. He drags you to the pit and guides your hands over the flames. “Keep close to the horses even. They reek but they put off heat more than cinder.” 

You nod and keep your arms out. It is nice by the fire. The further you get on the road, the colder it is. You could never dream of anything so frigid. It makes you wonder how any can survive in this place, let alone build castles or sow a field. And the more you think of what you don’t know, you are faced with what you do know. 

Your fate is as certain as any of the king’s commands. You will remain in the Hinterlands. It will be your home thus you should acquaint yourself to it. You should become tolerant to the winds and the snow and the wailing beasts. 

“Sir Bryce,” you eke out. “Will you tell me more about these woods?” 

“These woods? Trees, wolves, dirt,” he shrugs. 

“No, sir, I want to know more. I want to know everything. About the Winter Kingdom and the people who built it. What about the king? Not our king, but the one before? I hear much and yet I feel I know less.” 

He huffs and tilts his head, “it is best you know as little as possible about that one.” 

“Was he very bad?” You wonder. 

He sniffs, “I can’t tell you all but what I can is that he was selfish. He was negligent of his kingdom and his people even his own son. He let these lands go to spoil. His name is not one any speaks lightly. It is the reason our king is so loved. Because he is all that his father was not.” He dusts off his hands and shakes his head. “At least, we all hope that proves true.” 

[space-mango-company]

Stranger | Chapter 2

Chapter Links: [1], [2], [3], [4], [5]

TW: Descriptions of Violence, Mentions of Cannibalism

Tags: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Atreides!Reader, Arranged Marriage, Eventual Smut (still not in this chapter lmao), No use of y/n, Original Characters, Canon what canon

Word Count: 2k

A/N: So... this was posted prematurely a couple hours ago. This is the actual finished longer version. If you don't know what I'm talking about, thank god. Sorry this took so long, lmao

Just letting you guys know that my knowledge of the lore is purely based off of the movies and the Dune wiki rabbit hole I fell into right after watching part two. I also took a few liberties with the canon here.

I'm super open to constructive criticism, or any criticism at all (feel free to absolutely roast me). Like I mentioned, I've never written fanfic before so I'd love to hear your thoughts!

The evening of your first day in Giedi Prime was celebrated with a banquet where you were introduced to the most important people on the planet. You've heard many stories of the ruthlessness and brutality of the Harkonnens, hence surprised by the courtly welcome during the dinner. Although you did your best to politely ignore the Baron who floated at the head of the table being fed by servants.

You were sat beside his nephew who, despite your mother's education, has evaded your insight. You couldn't quite get a read on him.

Feyd-Rautha whispers to you amid the buzzing conversations of the banquet hall, "are you enjoying the food, little hawk?"

You shoot him a questioning look.

"I like your hairpin," he sneers.

You resist from reaching to touch the Atreides symbol affixed in your hair.

"We don't see such ornaments often here." He quietly laughs in his devilish way, only too amused with himself.

Ah, you realize. He means to torment you.

"Seems early for pet names," you say, picking at your plate, "we've only just met."

"Oh, and yet we are to be wed in less than a week's time," his raspy voice rings in your ear, "I should like to be familiar with my future wife, Lady Atreides."

The marriage pact had been signed when you were only a little girl. Inheriting your father's inclinations, you swore you would uphold your duty, undeterred by the gruesome and abhorrent stories about the Harkonnens—because you knew that centuries of conflict could end within a generation with this union. You were a willing bride.

And yet.

You give him a smile that, to those not privy to your conversation, would seem genuine, "You know nothing of me, na-Baron."

"I should like to learn," you doubt his sincerity but care not enough to discern it. He takes a smug bite of a forkful of meat, "perhaps tomorrow, you shall learn something of me."

The following morning Iassa helps you into another black gown, this time with a veil in anticipation of the black sun.

"Is it not dangerous for Feyd-Rautha to wager his life for a show?" you question.

"The na-Baron is a skilled fighter, my lady. He will emerge victorious," Iassa is straight-faced as she drapes the veil over you.

"Yes, I do not doubt it, but given he is the Baron's heir. Does it not seem a touch irresponsible to even risk it at all."

Not that you actually cared for his life, you just expected that the Harkonnens would be concerned with the preservation of their house regardless of their brutality. You recall your grandfather who got himself killed fighting bulls for sport.

"The na-Baron will be fighting war prisoners. They will be drugged beforehand. It is perfectly safe, my lady."

"Oh." You couldn't decide if you were disappointed or not, "I see."

Iassa seemed intent on dropping the subject, so you do.

You stand before a mirror and take a look at yourself. It is impossible not to be reminded of your mother. She was never one for vanity, but you like to think there was a part of her that always enjoyed the elegant dresses she and you 'had' to wear. You allow yourself a somber smile behind your veil.

"You look beautiful, my lady," Iassa curtsies.

"Thank you," you look at her bowed figure, gray robes made more dull by the stark black choker on her neck. You were sure she was at least 2 standard years younger than you are and it had only been a few months since you came of age. You wondered if she liked pretty dresses too.

Before you can ask her, there is a knock at your door.

The house steward, Jaromir, clears his throat when Iassa opens it for you, "The na-Baron requests your presence before he enters the arena."

Heavy doors open for you in one of the chambers beneath the arena. You are greeted by the sight of a half-dressed Feyd-Rautha being helped into his armor by a servant.

"Lady Atreides," he looks you up and down, "I hope you slept well."

You bow your head in acknowledgment.

"Your knives, master," a large man whom you assume to be the bladesmith presents Feyd-Rautha with two daggers.

The young Harkonnen takes one and caresses the blade with his fingers.

"I've come to wish the brave na-Baron well before his fight in the arena," you say in false earnestness.

He smiles at your inflation of his ego.

"Though I must say, I am relieved it is all for show. I would not like to see my groom wounded before we are wed."

"For show?" Feyd-Rautha tilts his head and you see his arrogant facade show the slightest crack.

"Yes, I've heard your opponents will be drugged will they not?" your voice dripping with innocence, "to ensure your safety, of course."

His grip on the dagger tightens, "and where did you hear this exactly?"

You sense the awkwardness and tension in the servants. The one who had helped don Feyd-Rautha's armor has quietly retreated to the far side of the chamber. There is a subtle tremble in the hands of one holding a plate of towels. You finally notice the three women piled upon a raised platform glaring at you.

"Just voices around the fortress," you shrug.

A deep breath recovers Feyd-Rautha's smug expression. "Call for the warden," he orders one of the guards by the door, "tell him to prepare new prisoners. Sober ones."

"My lord, you need not endanger yourself," you feign worry.

"Nonsense." The na-Baron walks closer to tower over you, "My lady bride deserves to see my true prowess."

He sees through your challenge, but you don't care. Seeing his self-satisfied smirk wiped from his face for even just a second was worth it.

"Besides," he turns away from you to inspect the second knife, "my darlings enjoy meat that's fought for its life."

The three women sneer at this and you see their sharp teeth as they hiss amongst themselves.

You've heard of Feyd-Rautha's concubines long before you arrived on Giedi Prime. Tales of their taste for human flesh were one of the things that tested your resolve in fulfilling the marriage pact. You didn't mind that the na-Baron would keep other women. It would result in less of his attentions on yourself, you figured. It was their perverse appetite that nauseated you.

A look of revulsion hides behind your veil which you sense they would be all too happy to rip to shreds.

"I will see you in the stands, little hawk," Feyd-Rautha whispers to you as he waves for a guard to escort you out.

You do your best to drown out the noise of what seemed to be a countless audience that came to see the na-Baron fight. You could understand now why they uphold such brutal traditions. The people are so excited for it.

On the other side of the arena, you sense Vladimir Harkonnen watching you from the Baron's Box that towered over the whole arena. The blazing sun only helps you avoid looking in his direction. You were sat at a viewing box, still for nobility and separated from the masses, but much lower and closer to the sands of the arena. Jaromir had told you that you were to 'give the na-Baron your favor'.

Before long, the master of ceremonies announces Feyd-Rautha's entrance in Giedi Prime Speech. They are celebrating his betrothal to you and the union of Harkonnen and Atreides, you translate in your head. You wonder if the people care for the politics of the Great Houses. They seemed no less excited to cheer at your name despite the centuries-old blood feud.

Massive doors open as the na-Baron walks into the arena. His arms outstretched holding his knives like an extension of his limbs. He riles up the crowd as he walks towards the Baron's Box and kneels to his uncle. He then rises and walks toward you, smirking under the stark light of the black sun.

You may not fear earning the Harkonnens' contempt, but you were the Duke of Caladan's daughter and you knew that the favor of the people was invaluable.

You stand and walk to the edge of the viewing box. The glowing smile you reveal as you lift your veil draws cheers from the crowd that rival what Feyd-Rautha received. You produce a pure white handkerchief from your dress pocket and make a show of kissing it and waving the cloth at the buzzing crowd. You throw it off the edge and it floats toward the na-Baron who had moved both daggers to one hand to catch it. He looks up at you with what you think could be the seeds of respect and tucks the cloth into the tight armband around his right bicep.

He turns back to the audience and raises his knives in a war cry. The crowd explodes in guttural cheers and applause. Feyd-Rautha takes his position in the middle of the arena as his first opponent is released into the white sands.

You've heard of the Harkonnen heir's aptitude in single combat. It's time to see if the stories were true or if it was just another part of their menacing facade.

You were handed a pair of spyglasses to observe with. The two fighters approach each other, the prisoner wielding a knife of his own. Feyd-Rautha holds a taunting stance. The prisoner was sober, you were sure, but even without the spyglasses, you could see he was weak. You surmised the Harkonnen cells weren't very hospitable. He attempts a swipe but the na-Baron parries with ease. Another and the na-Baron dodges. Zooming in, you could see Feyd-Rautha's twisted amusement. He was toying with the poor man—and the people loved it.

The crowds cheered at the clashing of metal, thundering when the na-Baron drew first blood by slashig his opponent's arm. It wasn't long before Feyd-Rautha's dagger had impaled the prisoner's heart. There was no pause before a second prisoner was brought out to meet a similar fate.

Feyd-Rautha stood unwounded, seething with exhilaration. He enjoyed this; the thrill of killing. He basked in the roar of the crowd. You had never ended a life before, but some deep part of you could almost understand how he felt in that moment.

A third prisoner enters the arena. He looked older than the first two, bearded and taller. He reminded you of Gurney Halleck, the Atreides Warmaster. This man certainly wasn't at his prime but you could tell he would not go down as easily as the first two.

The warrior holds his blade out in a firm fighting stance, refusing to make the first move. You notice picadors in black suits have entered the arena, circling the na-Baron and his opponent. Feyd-Rautha lunges at the prisoner and a quick series of parries from both sides occur. You see the finesse in the na-Baron's movement. He recognizes his opponent's skill and he is taking this one seriously. You were not sure what you expected of the Harkonnen's fighting style but Feyd-Rautha was vicious but precise. The crowd gasps when the prisoner disarms one of the na-Baron's knives. The warrior manages to get a grip on Feyd-Rautha's armed hand and aims to pierce the na-Baron's neck with his blade. The na-Baron struggled against his hold and the arid air was thick with anticipation.

You were unsure what outcome you desired as you stared through your spyglass. Perhaps this warrior kills your betrothed. What then? Would you really be able to go back to Caladan's windy cliffs again? Return to the arms of your mother as if it were all a bad dream? You wonder if when Feyd-Rautha becomes baron, and you his baroness, could you convince him to let you see your family.

The warrior's blade was dangerously close to your future husband's throat when one of the picadors lashes at the warrior. The na-Baron growls at the offending picador as the warrior is weakened. Feyd-Rautha pushes him off and allows him a moment to recover, taunting him to try again. Blades clash once more and after a sequence of quick ferocious movements, Feyd-Rautha's blade slashes the warrior's throat. Blood made black by the infrared of the sun splatters onto the na-Baron. He licks the darkness that landed on his lips. Heaving, he takes your bloodied handkerchief off his armband and raises it to you and the roaring crowd.

You did not even realize you were already standing, breathless at the sight.

Chapter Links: [1], [2], [3], [4], [5]

Taglist: @torchbearerkyle @austinswhitewolf @dreamlandcreations @emeraldsgirl @strawberryfieldsforevermore

[oepionie]

BELOVED BAT-WIFE. lilia vanrouge

Characters: Lilia Vanrouge x Fem! Reader, Platonic! Sebek x Fem! Reader

Synopsis: Lilia's wife makes an impromptu visit at NRC. Sebek is dragged into this mess and has to help her sneak into the campus.

A/N:: This is the first fic I've written in years!

Tags: Fluff, Established relationship, Maybe a bit OOC?, Reader is not Yuu and is said to be a mage

Word Count: 800+|💌Masterlist | Batwife masterlist

"Lady Vanrouge! When you told me you planned to visit, this wasn't what I had in mind!" Sebek hissed, staring at you through the gate's frame. He responded to your SMS asking him to meet you at the school gates as soon as possible. Despite the fact that it was two in the morning, he ran to your position right away. How he arrived in under 10 minutes is remarkable.

"I did say it was a last-minute decision." Shaking your head, you pulled the hood to your robe up and slipped on a pair of leather gloves. Indeed, you did send Sebek a letter to inform him of your plans beforehand. Leaving out the fact that you planned to sneak in like some petty thief.

"Now hold this gate steady for me, ok?"

Sebek's eyes practically sprang out of his head when you started climbing the tall gate. He yelled at you to be careful as he grasped the gate with both hands, firmly grasping the metal bars. You easily climbed to the top and laughed as you tossed yourself to the opposite side. Shrieking, Sebek ran to catch you, nearly toppling over from the force.

"Nice catch, my boy!" You grinned, patting his shoulder and setting yourself down. Sebek heaved, kneeling over and pressing a palm over his chest to calm his racing heart from the stunt you just pulled.

"You-Lady Vanrouge-!" Sebek started. "You're a mage! Why would you do that!"

"Teleporting or flying would definitely be easier…but that's boring~" You drawled, a cheeky grin on your face.

"Now, which way is that mirror again? It's been ages since I last set foot on this campus-literally!"

You linked both your arms together and began to pull the boy towards the academy, ignoring any and all of his complaints.

"I really think we shouldn't be doing this." Sebek muttered, begrudgingly pushing the doors to the mirror chamber open. You both slid inside, the door behind you closing with a snap.

It was already late at night, and the moon shone through the windows, its light reflecting off the mirrors. You took a step closer to Diasomnia's portal, tracing the engravings on its frame.

Had they changed parts of it? You noticed certain details that were not previously present.

"Well, too late to back off now. You're making me start to think you don't actually want me here." You pouted, shifting your gaze to Sebek's rigid body beside the doorway. He jumped and dashed over, his cheeks flushed pink.

"Of course I do, Lady Vanrouge! Your presence is always appreciated! I only wish you had chosen safer means to visit!" He yelled, his booming voice practically rattling the walls. Chuckling, you ran your fingers through his hair before patting his head.

"I jest. Now, let's not keep them waiting. Shall we?" You clasped Sebek's hand with your own and stepped into the mirror.

A blur of colours hit you for a moment before you found yourself whisked away to the dark brooding castle Diasomnia calls a dorm. Standing atop the cobblestone steps, you took a deep breath. The air was thick with smothering moisture, like a fog.

The dim light of a window in the distance drew your attention. Among the many windows in the castle, it was the only chamber that was lit up.

"O-Oh? Is someone still up at this late hour?" You wondered, still light-headed from the teleportation. Sebek placed a hand on your back to stabilise your wobbly form. "Ah yes. That's probably Master Lillia, he tends to hold gaming sessions at this hour."

"Is that so?" You huffed, brows furrowing as you glared at the window. "...That damn bat."

Of course, this wasn't news to you. Silver frequently wrote to you about his father's long gaming sessions, which sometimes lasted days or even weeks. Just as you were about to march up to the castle, an arm wrapped around your chest, pulling you back.

"No need to look so mad, dear." A deep voice lulled.

Behind you two, Lillia appeared with an impish smile on his face. Sebek flinched before greeting Lilia vigorously while maintaining a stiff posture of attention.

"Good evening, Sebek! Would you go and get Silver and Malleus for me? This is going to be a lovely reunion." Lillia spoke, crossing his arms over his chest. He was perched upon a nearby tree, hanging off one of the branches.

"Yes Sir!" With that, Sebek was off, dashing towards the castle.

With a frown etched onto your face, you turned your gaze back to the fae who was still upside down. Lillia hummed, leaning forward to press his lips against yours. "Hello there, beastie."

"Still pulling the same old trick, I see." You grumbled, grabbing his arm to pull him down. Lillia smushed his cheek against your shoulder, peering up at you through his lashes.

"It's a classic of mine, isn't it?"

Likes and Reblogs are greatly appreciated and really motivating on my end!

[bamsywrites]

And Comes Dawn pt 9

Pairing: sauron/halbrand x reader, isildur x reader, sauron/halbrand x reader

Word count: 2k.

Summary: dudes just gotta stop deceiving people.

Tags: angst, insecurities, isil being a Good Dude, Galadriel and the reader still hate each other

Notes: I'm very tired (two sick kiddos will do that to a mom) and not too happy with this one. But it's a filler part. As always love yall and the feedback

You stood in silence as Halbrand left. His revelation of his past with his father and uncle had broken your resolve in your anger towards him. Confusion still sat in your chest and itched the back of your mind, but you had forgiven him. He seemed so passionate in his intention to earn you, but you had no idea what he meant by that. His deeds had already shown his character. He had saved you so many times it would be useless to count. You could only wonder what had plagued him so that he felt he still felt as if he was too tainted for you.

You thought this over, getting lost in your thoughts and thoughts of what had transpired the night before. You had never felt anything like that. Sure, you'd had desires that crossed your mind late at night. You’d had a rather large crush on one of the local farm hands, and he had entered your dreams many times. However, nothing compared to the heat that burned through you at Halbrands touch, the gruff sound of his voice, the feel of his hot breath. You had to close your eyes, and your teeth dug into your bottom lip as you willed the thoughts that filled your mind to go away.

Soon, though, you found yourself wishing for the sound of the waves and smell of the ocean air, so you made the venture outside the inn. You watched the hustle and bustle of the locals, the sound of children's laughter. You never wanted to leave this place. It was so different from your home.

The sound of your name being called made you stand straight and tall. Soon, Isildur was running up to you, breathing heavily. “I don’t have much time, I have to be at the beach in…well, very soon,” He looked at you with a smile, placing his hands on your shoulders. “I came here to apologize for making a scene and for putting your honor to question. That was never my intention, and if you wanted to, I would completely understand if you wanted to slap me in the face a time or two. I have more than earned that.”

You couldn’t help but smile, shaking your head, “I don’t think that will be needed.”

He laughed, “I am relieved, I was not looking forward to explaining that black eye to my father.”

His smile faltered for a moment as he searched for words, “If your heart belongs to another, I hope you know that I would find contentment in your friendship as well. Perhaps it would not be my first choice, but being your friend would be an honor beyond measure.”

You nodded, reaching out and squeezing his hand, “I would be content with that too. I hope that I did not lead you to believe there was more.”

Isildur shook his head, “You did not. You are simply beautiful and kind and funny, and I am but a man. I still would like to show you more of my city's culture. There is a massive library and halls of art and food better than what we were treated to last night. That is, if you are indeed interested in that.”

“Of course,” you grinned, excitement bubbling in your belly.

“Yes? Yes! Well, then I shall see you later this evening? Right before sun down. I’ll meet you here?”

You nodded, your lips parted to answer when you heard one of his friends call his name, and he simply smiled at you before running off. You remembered what Halbrand said. He wanted you to have friends, and so you would. Isildur was kind. He was respectful, and you had no reason not to trust him.

~

“Where is Halbrand?”

You looked from your lunch of rice and fish, your spirits dropping at the sound of the elf's voice. You had avoided her as best as you could, and it had been successful for the most part. You knew she hated you, and while you did your best to understand her hatred, there was part of you that blamed elves as well. If it weren’t for them, your mother would still be alive, and you’d have the baby sibling you had been so excited for. But you knew it was unfair to blame Galadriel for that. You just wish she would understand the same for you.

“Where is Halbrand?” She repeated, sounding annoyed. You noticed that in her hand, she held what appeared to be a scroll.

“I do not know. I have not seen him since this morning.”

“Did he give you any idea to where he was going?”

You shook your head, turning back to your food. You did not want this conversation to last longer than it needed to.

“You seem rather content to sit and do nothing, to feast on the food of a people who have earned prosperity. I seek to fix the wound your ancestors and your family caused. Do you not seek redemption?”

You stared at the rice on your plate, your expression hardening as you tried to keep your tongue. A fight would solve nothing. You knew she was hurting as were you but the smugness in which she carried herself, the arrogance that radiated from her, it was fueling an anger in you.

“I have committed no crime to be redeemed for.” You spoke softly, not bothering to look up at her.

“Do you not feel guilty for the 37 elven souls your father, brother, and uncle took. Are they not worth redemption? Are they not worth trying to right your fathers wrongs?”

“And what of the families in the Southlands that your kind oppresses for a sin none of us committed. Crops die, money is scarce and yet we have to give a portion to the great elves who want not for food or medicine.”

“It is a reminder…”

“A reminder that to elves, we will always be less than. You act as if the Numenorians were bestowed greatness by your kind as if man can not achieve that on his own. You act as if children are responsible for the sins of their fathers as if the elves have committed none.”

“You speak of which you know little,” Your raised voices were beginning to draw a crowd. “Do you feel no guilt or remorse for what was done?”

“I feel remorse every day. Do you forget I was a child? Do you feel no remorse for your people making me watch as your people executed my only family.”

“It was what had to be done.” She replied, coldly staring you down.

“You are but a petulant child. Your callousness and arrogance will leave you without friend or affection, and I can not imagine what a lonely existence that will be for someone who does not die.” You stood up and pushed past her, walking fast to escape the eyes following you.

`

It was after Isildur took you to the grand library and to get dinner that you had learned of Halbrands fate from the whispers of locals as you walked past. You had enjoyed your time, feeling a true bond of friendship between the two of you. You were falling more and more in love with this island and hoped upon hope that you would be able to stay here. There was nothing for you at home. Orcs had burned down the only home you knew, but this seemed so far away from that. As if evil could not touch it.

Halbrand wasn’t evil, but he may be ruining your chances of being here with his antics. You had come to the realization that wherever you went, he was likely to follow. It was a strange sentiment to have in such a short time, but you knew you’d follow him too. No matter where his temper might land him. It was for this reason you had found some food and skin of wine and were down to the dungeons.

It seemed you weren’t the only visitor he had. You heard the elves' voice before you saw her and waited in the shadows, listening to the conversation unseen. Perhaps you shouldn’t but your curiosity got the better of you. A dispute about a woman? You could tell from the way he was speaking that it was about her.

Of course it was.

You wanted greatly to believe all that he had told you that morning, that he had shared something personal with you and that was a sign of how he trusted you but here he was so freely telling her of his past. The heir to the throne of the Southlands, how his ancestor was who swore a blood oath to Morgoth. All of those had been lacking from the story he had told you. You didn’t think him a liar, but you didn’t know what to think as it seemed he so easily opened himself up to the elf.

You heard as the elf mentioned fate bringing them together, of him going to Middle Earth with her, and he did not argue against any of it. If his intentions were truly with you, why then did he not make that known to her? You were able to see his expression as she ascended the stairs. He watched after her as if she was some grand prize with a twinkle to his eyes and a smirk playing at his lips. She was a prize, you supposed, she was an elf. Truly unattainable, with beauty that men merely dreamed of finding. She was mysterious and strong.

And what were you?

You had nothing to your name. Your only talent was in what your mother and the family kept you as a ward taught you - healing and gardening. You didn’t suppose you were all that beautiful. No one had attempted to court you. You were not mysterious or battle hardened or the daughter of a noble bloodline.

You were just you.

Of course, she would be the prize.

Quietly, you slipped from the shadows and made your way to where Halbrand stood. You saw his smile, and perhaps if you hadn’t been so caught in your insecurities you’d see how he looked at you as if you were the dawn itself. But his smile faded slightly when he saw your face.

“Sweet one?” His hands reached through the bars for your hand, which you simply pulled away from him. His brows furrowed in confusion.

“I brought this for you,” You slipped him the cloth full of bread, fish, fruits, and cheese along with the skin full of wine.

His eyes never left yours, sitting it all behind him on the bench as your eyes looked at the ground. “Will you not look at me? Are you upset about this? It was simply a…”

“Dispute about a woman,” you repeated his words back to him. You saw his expression shift. He knew you heard his conversation.

“Sweet one…” He started.

“I could find contentment in a friendship with you. That would be an honor,” Your words echoed what you were told mere hours before.

“Friendship?” He laughed softly in disbelief, looking at you as if you grew two heads, “I told you of my intentions, and I meant it.”

“I do not know if you did. I do not know if you know what it is you want. I do not want to fight in a competition with the elf when I know I would lose it.”

“What are you talking about?” He breathed the words out.

“I see how it is you look at her. I hear how you two talk. I am not stupid enough to think that you do not want for her as she does for you. In talks of what your future holds, you never mentioned me.”

He scoffed, “You are reading too much into it.”

“I do not think that I am.”

“Do not reduce this to mere friendship. Please, sweet one.” He looked at you as if his heart was breaking, his eyes frantically searching your face for an answer.

“I need to go,” you backed away from the cell.

His fingers reached for you, but you pulled away, “Please, sweet one, please do not go when I can not follow.”

You spoke no more words, turning on your heels and wiping at the hot tears that were spilling from your eyes. You ignored the desperate calls of your name as you ascended the stairs. The only thing you could see was the way his face lit up when he saw Galadriel.

[fantasyandshit]

Replaced part two

Omg I’m so upset- it won’t let me tag like anyone with dashes in their name at allll soooo if you commented on that post I am so so so sorry I couldn’t tag you guys

Type: one shot turned more

Part: 2/2

Part 1 here

Masterlist here

Pairing: Azriel x reader/ mystery character x reader

Seriously guys thank you so much- I’m so glad that the first part had so much love and I hope this one is just as good.

“So, what did you need my love?” I lean down to kiss my fiancés temple. He’s stressed, I can tell. His fingers tap away in rhythm with his foot. “Baby- what’s going on? Why are you so stressed?” My hands run down the length of his arms in a soothing motion. “How can I help you?”

The new high lord of autumn’s head meets my shoulder, a small smile gracing his lips. His head raises till his lips meet mine in a soft kiss. “Baby I need you to sit down.” His smile disappears as soon as it came and I frown, moving to the seat on the other side of his desk. I raise my brows expectantly as his hands move to reach mine. “Love- we have a high lords meeting in two weeks time. They have requested it be held here in order to see how I’m handling the court now.”

“Ok? And?”

“Darling I want to introduce you as the new high lady of Autumn. I want you come along.” He sighs, “it means you will have to see all of them again.”

The realization hits me like a ton of bricks. I breath for a moment, thinking about it, it’s been nearly five years since I left, the last time I saw any of them was the battle with Hybern, and even then Eris kept me mostly away from them so that I wasn’t distracted. “I’ll go.”

“Are you sure darling?”

“Very. I want them to see me as the high lady of autumn. Not the girl that left all that time ago.”

He smirks his signature smirk, pride filling his eyes. “Very well. Shall we begin planning?”

———

Everyone has finally arrived- or what is usually everyone, confusion sets in as Eris seems to sit in waiting, an empty chair beside him at the head of the table. “Are we waiting for someone Eris?”

“Yes actually. Shell be here any moment, she likes making an entrance.” Something bothers Azriel with the way the high lord smirks. He didn’t know who was going to walk through that door but he had a feeling he wasn’t going to like it.

The door swings open, a woman stepping through, decked in a gorgeous burnt orange dress, green and gold accents around her body, a golden crown, one looking like leaves woven together rests on her head. As her eyes catch Eris’ she smiles. “Sorry I’m late. Hope you haven’t started without me.” She surveys the room before stepping towards the empty seat. Eris stands, going to pull it out with one hand and take hers on his other. The pause for a moment, facing the table together.

“Everyone. I’d like you to meet my fiance and the high lady of the Autumn court. Some of you may already know her.”

As the female turns to kiss Eris, it clicks for Azriel. “Yn.” He can’t help but gasps and that is when it finally hits the inner circle of the night court.

“Hello guys. Long time no see.”

Cassian speaks this time, his brows furrowed and mouth agape, “you- your with him? Your the high the high lady?”

“Yes, in fact our wedding is next month. I am terribly excited. Especially after being named the high lady of Autumn.” She and Eris sit finally, hands staying tied together

An agony Azriel has never felt tears through him as he stares at his mate. She looks back to him as he gasps, clenching his chest wildly.

“Azriel. I’d like to get through my first meeting as high lady. So if you could stop…flailing. That would be preferred.” Yn clears her throat before turning to the others at the table. “I’ve seen some things. I see Koshei. I thought we took care of our issues with him, however I-“

The meeting continues, the night court still trying to process the news. After the meeting is finished, the high lords are given a walk through of the new Autumn court. “Yn. Yn can we speak please.” It was towards the end of the tour, courts had been led to where they’d be staying, only the inner circle trailed behind, minus Morrigan and Cassian who had been dropped off to their respective rooms.

I choose to ignore the shadowsinger, instead stopping at the next door and turn back to Rhysand and Feyre, “You two will be staying here. This castle works much like the house of wind. It will cater to you, we do tend keep things much warmer here for obvious reasons so if you are uncomfortable with the temperature just say the word and it will be brought down by the house.”

“Goodnight Yn.” I nod before turning back to lead the final male to where he’d be staying, Eris never leaving my side. We barely make it three steps down the hall before I feel Rhsyand pry at my mental walls.

‘What do you want Rhysand.’

‘You should talk to him Yn. He’s been devastated since you left and see you with Eris killed him I-‘

I shut it down. I don’t want to hear some sob story from my mate who didn’t even want me till I was gone. “You will be staying here Azriel. What I said to Rhysand and Feyre goes the same for you.”

Me and Eris turn to leave before I’m grabbed by the arm. “Wait. Yn can we please just talk.”

Eris growls. “Get your filthy hands off my fucking finance.”

The shadowsinger seems to get just as upset, opening his mouth to speak before I rip my arm from his grasp and turn, a glare resting on my features.

“Don’t you fucking dare! You have no right- no fucking right to get angry at my fiancée! Do you understand, you didn’t want me and I don’t fucking want you so go wallow in your self pity but stay the hell away from me!” Eris rubs soothing circles on my arm, a glare that could kill sent towards the shadowsinger as he grabs me, winnowing us to our room.

—————

Sooo I hope this lives up to your guys’ expectations!

[rapunzelbro]

The amount of times I have refreshed the angel dust x reader tag----Anywayyyy, I dunno if you do hurt/comfort (if not that's okay please ignore this lol) but here is a idea for a oneshot! GN!reader x angel dust where they're in a secret relationship because he's trying to protect you at all cost from his boss (reader can know about his situation or not its up to you!) but Valentino somehow found out about it and is pissed about it. You can use creative freedom to fill in the angst parts and whatever happens next, but please make it have a happy ending ^^

Imagine being in a Secret Relationship with Angel

Omg yeah I can! I wish there were more too so haha I shall provide I suppose. This is uh. Super angst. But I promise it’ll be a happy ending lmao I promise. Thank you for requesting. Just a reminder yall my requests are still open! Just give as much details and I’ll make it happen. Anywho enjoy!

Masterlist Character Taglist

Being in a relationship with Angel Dust wasn’t often easy, Well at first that is.

When you first met Angel he always had his guard up, on some sort of drug at all times, and pushed serious conversations aside with Sexual remarks to drop the conversation entirely

So when you were able to actually break his walls months later, it was honestly a shock to you. Because damn was he stubborn. Honestly you didn’t think it would be possible

He started telling you small things about himself after the first month of letting his walls down, introducing you to Fat nuggets, and watching movies with you.

After the third month, he tells you his real name is Anthony. You said it suits him and you swear you see him blush

The fourth month is when you ask him out. He is super hesitant on accepting, but you don’t push him for an answer, he later comes in your room

“Y/N.. I.. I want to say yes, but I’m so terrified ya know? I just can’t I don’t know what would happen”

“Why would you be terrified?”

He tells you everything. Everything about the man who tears him apart, the man who hurts him on the daily.

He is trying to hard to explain how terrified he is of you getting hurt, and all you can do is gently take his hands as you look at him

“Angel, nothing will happen, no one needs to know but us. If you’re scared still, I get that, I’ve been there before. But I’m not scared of that prick, and he won’t find out okay?”

He finally makes eye contact with you and he begins to calm down, hugging you as you two just sit in silence before he quietly responds

“Then, I accept”

It’s months after that when he introduced you to his Best friend Cherri. You two are super hesitant about telling her, but you eventually decide to.

She’s super super happy for you two but don’t think she won’t get super protective

Will pull you aside at the club when Angel isn’t there

“If you hurt Angel you and I are going to have a problem okay? You break his heart I break you”

Yeah she scared the fuck out of you for that. Angel never did find out about your conversation.

It’s been almost a year of hiding your relationship when it suddenly begins to turn sour

The calls from Valentino, get more frequent, more violent on the phone.

Angel comes back to the hotel limping, bruised and bloody

You practically sprint and grab him, carrying him to his room take care of him the best you can, talk to him when he is ready, or be a shoulder to cry on.

Angel doesn’t know why Valentino is being more violent, he didn’t do anything wrong, he kept your relationship so quiet that it was basically impossible for him to know about you two

Except Valentino did find out. He heard Angel talking in his dressing room to you, he investigated throughly after Angel said I love you, to you.

Valentino got Vox to look at the cameras around Hell, he saw you two together. You don’t hold hands at all, not in public, if it wasn’t for that phone call, he wouldn’t of thought anything of it

“That little whore is going to fucking pay”

You and Angel are at Val’s bar after Angel reassured you he wouldn’t be there. You two are talking when Angel stands up to grab you more shots

That’s when Valentino appears, gun pressed up to the back of your head

“I Wouldn’t move an inch if you want to live perra tonta~”

You’re absolutely frozen as can be. You don’t move a bit as he leans closer to you

“I have all eyes on you, I know you’re with Angel Dust, you’re fucking with my property. Now here’s how things are going to go down tonight if you want your precious Angel Cakes to live. You’re going to break up with him, and stay the FUCK away from him. Do I make myself clear?”

You are silent visibly shaking as he presses the gun harder as he becomes impatient with you

“Do I make myself clear!”

He sounds absolutely pissed as you quickly nod your head frantically

“Perfect, now fucking leave”

You don’t have time to explain to Angel Dust but you leave before he makes it back with your shots, Valentino is no where to be found.

“Y/n? Where did you go” “Amore mio?”

You didn’t reply to his texts, you didn’t know what to do, you were trapping yourself in your room.

You were in a panicked state as the tears just didn’t seem to stop, nothing made sense, you two were so so careful? How did you fuck up?

Angel knocked at your door. No answer. He knocked again before he eventually used the spare key you gave him, which you forgot about

Angel instantly rushed over to you when he saw you crying, which caused you to flinch

He instantly froze in his tracks when he saw you flinch, concern building

“Y/N what happened.. why are you crying”

You are struggling through sobs as you explain what happened, Angel is so fucking pissed he can hardly contain it but has to for you, he just listens as he sits next to you

“Amore mio, i shouldn’t of I left you alone I’m so sorry. I don’t know how that asshole found out but I’m not fucking this relationship up because of him”

“But he will kill me”

“Sweetie, there’s a thing called acting you know, all we have to do is play the part, pretty easy for me, as you’ve seen.”

He takes your hands with a slight smirk

“I’m not letting him fuck this up okay? Who cares what he thinks? Val is literally blind as shit, I’m surprised he even knew it was you. Probably had to have someone point you out to him”

Yeah that made you laugh, which Angel was thankful for.

For then on, you two had your ‘breakup’. You were never seen in public together, or not without disguises. You had most dates alone at the hotel together

You weren’t letting the one good thing to happen end because of a stupid fucking moth

And he wasn’t going to either.

Angel Dust tag list: @vendetta-ari @brithedemonspawn @satansmanager @storydays @saturnhas82moons @zamadness @fizziepopangel @saitisfied @the--rebel--fae @mcueveryday @rainbowbunny15 @molarloo

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Push the Sky Away - Part Three

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x original female character (Lorra Stark) Chapter warnings: Mild angst. Smut. Word count: ~6.7k

Summary: Aemond writes a letter and makes a thousand mile journey.

Author's note: I don't have a tag list. Please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

Lorra,

Since we are parting ways, perhaps forever, I feel I must unburden my heart. You are the fond object of my affection and my desire.  You, and you alone, are the keeper of the key to my heart.  Please don’t be alarmed -– I don’t expect your favour -– but I can’t, in good conscience, not reveal myself.

I do not wish for a betrothal -– nor will I -– unless it is to you. Since the moment I laid eyes upon you, it has always been you. 

With love, Aemond

Aemond casts his eye over the ink as it dries on the parchment, a hot wave of embarrassment flowing through his body and flushing his cheeks. He has never spoken so plainly with regard to his feelings before, though he has never had such strong feelings to express until now. He quickly rolls it up, before he has the opportunity to change his mind and cast it into the fireplace, sealing it with wax and ordering for it to be sent by raven to Winterfell straight away.

The days pass without word from Lorra. Each of Aemond’s visits to the ravens’ tower end in disappointment when he finds no reply from her. Barely contained rage causes him to clench his hands into fists, stalking away from the maester every time he is told that nothing has arrived.

He wonders if his letter arrived in Winterfell before she did, if perhaps the lack of her response is due to her not yet having had a chance to read it. He ponders on whether he had chosen his words carefully enough, if he could have made his feelings clearer. Will she return to him, or grace him with a letter of her own? As the days bleed into a week, and then another week after that, Aemond’s frustrations simmer to despondency as the sad realisation dawns upon him that Lorra has no intent of writing back to him.

“Your mother asked that I give you time, and I feel that we have waited long enough.”

Otto’s voice rouses Aemond’s attention from the flickering flames of the hearth that he has been staring into, lost in thought, and he turns his head watching as his grandsire settles into the seat across from him.

“It has only been a fortnight since Lorra left King’s Landing,” Aemond replies quietly, returning his focus back to the fire.

“Yes, and almost half a year that you have wasted on a failed courtship,” Otto shoots back, his tone sharp. “Time is not on our side, Aemond. You must marry before the King passes, to strengthen Aegon’s claim to the throne. I intend to write to Lord Baratheon to–”

“I do not want a Baratheon girl!” Aemond hisses, head snapping towards Otto, eye wide and nostrils flared in anger.

Otto sighs in frustration, shifting in his chair. “What you want is of little consequence. You will take your dragon, once I have dispatched a raven, and you will fly to Storm’s End.”

Aemond draws in a breath as the realisation of what he should have done two weeks ago dawns upon him. He gives a slight nod, his eye meeting the weary gaze of his grandsire. 

“Yes, I will take Vhagar. But I will fly North to Winterfell.”

“That is reckless.”

“I can win back the favour of the Starks. Without recklessness I would not be the rider of the world’s largest dragon.”

“An impulsive act that cost you dearly.”

“Yes, my impulsivity may have lost me my eye, but I shall not allow my own inaction to lose me the woman I love.”

Aemond rises from his seat, walking towards the door. In his mind the matter is closed.

“And what if you fail?” Otto calls after him.

He stops momentarily, bowing his head as he considers Otto’s words, then turns to look at him over his shoulder. “If I fail then I will accept whoever you choose for me to wed.”

The journey North the following morning is one of the longest that Aemond has ever taken on dragonback. Even wrapped up in riding leathers, he can feel the bite of the cold at his flesh as he leaves behind the temperate climate of the Crownlands, his body shivering as his gloved hands grip tightly to the reins of Vhagar’s saddle.

Usually Aemond leans into the ebb and flow of the weightlessness that he feels while in flight, but all sensations are dulled by the racing of his heart. No journey feels like it is long enough for him to prepare what he intends to say when he eventually faces Lorra. Will she be prepared to see him, or will she simply turn him away? The idea of the latter causes dread to gnaw at the pit of his stomach.

He glides in a slow circle above the fortress of Winterfell, scoping out where best to land his mount. There is no way he can land close to its walls due to Vhagar’s size. It is insult enough to the Starks to arrive uninvited, without the claws of his dragon causing their walls to crumble.

Satisfied that he knows the layout of the land, Aemond brings Vhagar to land on a grassy embankment on the southern facade of the castle, dismounting and making the rest of the journey on foot.

It is early evening as he approaches, and he is met at the gates by several members of Winterfell’s garrison, their man-at-arms demanding he state his business. Unsurprisingly, there are no Starks present to greet him, but his dragon has doubtless been spotted and alerted them to this arrival.

“I am Prince Aemond of House Targaryen. I request an audience with Lady Lorra Stark,” he states simply.

He is escorted to the Great Hall, disappointed at the absence of Lorra as he enters. Her father, Rickon, is seated alone, his gaze stern as he looks upon the Targaryen Prince. Rickon does not stand to greet him, the informality taking him aback as the garrison bustle out of the hall, leaving just the two of them.

“I hope you will forgive the lack of formal greeting,” Rickon says gruffly, “the raven carrying news of your arrival must have been waylaid.”

Aemond swallows thickly, clasping his hands behind his back. He had not expected a warm reception from House Stark, however, this appears to be outright hostility.

“My visit is unplanned, my Lord, and I apologise for the intrusion. I will speak plainly, I have travelled to Winterfell with the intention of resuming my betrothal to your daughter. I had hoped to speak with her.”

Rickon scoffs, his eyebrows raising slightly. “If I could, I would send you back the way you came. However, it is not my intention for the people of the North to fall foul of the Crown, so I am obliged to offer you the hospitality of our House. You will dine with us this evening and leave upon the morrow.”

Aemond’s heart sinks, fearing he has failed before being given the opportunity to redeem himself, and he has not even laid his eye upon Lorra yet, let alone been allowed to speak to her.

He is shown to his bedchamber, changing out of his riding clothes into more appropriate attire for dinner.

As he enters the dining hall, he freezes, feeling his throat run dry as he spots Lorra seated at the table. In their time apart he had forgotten just how beautiful she is and the sight of her is enough to steal away all the air from his lungs.

“Come, sit, eat,” her mother, Gilliane, beckons from her seat beside Lorra.

Cregan and Rickon flank one side of the table, while Lorra and Gilliane are sat at the other, leaving the only available spaces at either end of it, either next to her mother and father, or Lorra and her brother. Aemond opts for the latter of the seating arrangements, hoping it will give him an opportunity to speak to her.

“I hope the food is to your liking. We were unaware we were to have a Royal visitor, otherwise we would have prepared something befitting a Prince.” Gilliane tells him with a tight smile.

Once again, Aemond is reminded of his intrusion, feeling the tips of his ears burn with embarrassment. He forces himself to look at her, keeping his tone polite.

“It is a fine spread, my Lady, you have my thanks.”

He lowers his voice, inclining his head towards Lorra. “The food is of little importance to me, I wished only to see you.”

“And now you have,” she replies simply without looking at him.

Her response is like a dagger to Aemond’s chest, he recoils slightly, opening his mouth to speak, but thinks better of it. There are a thousand things he wishes to say to her, but not in the company of her family, and so the rest of the meal passes in slow, uncomfortable silence.

When they retire for the evening, Aemond seizes his opportunity to talk with Lorra alone as she walks back towards her quarters. 

“Wait,” he calls after her, striding ahead of her and standing in front of her to block her way. “Did you get my letter?”

Lorra sighs. The expression upon her face as she looks up at Aemond makes his heart ache. She looks tired and sad, and the guilt he feels at knowing he is the cause seems as though it may swallow him whole.

“I did. Pretty words, though they are empty and expressed far too late.”

Aemond’s stomach drops into free fall. His fingers twitch uselessly at his sides, eager to reach out and stroke the soft skin of her cheek, to comfort her. Though she is standing before him, it feels as though a chasm stretches between them, she has never felt more far away.

“Is it too late?” He asks quietly.

“You are leaving tomorrow.”

“Give me one week. A week is all I ask to win back your affection, to prove to you I am a man worth marrying.”

“I gave you six months!” She cries frustratedly. “I am not prepared to waste anymore of my time on a man who does not know how to love. I have no interest in a match that is purely political.”

“Nor do I, not anymore, and I will prove it to you. One week, please.”

Lorra bows her head, toying with her fingers for a moment as she thinks, before looking back up at him. “I shall give you three days.”

She steps around Aemond, walking away and leaving him alone in the castle corridor.

As hard as he tries, sleep will not take Aemond that night. It is not the chill of the Northern air that robs him of rest, as he had anticipated, the hot springs upon which Winterfell is built keep the castle surprisingly warm. He is exhausted from the long journey, and yet his mind will not quiet long enough to allow sleep to take him.

He has just three days to prove to Lorra that he is worthy of her. His station alone is not enough, a royal title is of obvious no concern to the Starks. Aemond has spent his entire life believing that duty alone is sufficient, that love in a marriage is a fanciful, unnecessary component. Lorra has challenged all of that – for her, it is a requirement – and it terrifies him, not the change in mindset itself, but how readily he is willing to accept it.

Aemond drifts off eventually, awakening to the metallic clash of blades outside his window. He rises slowly, groggy with fatigue and walks towards the sound, watching quietly as Lorra and Cregan spar together in the early morning light of the training yard below.

He smiles softly as he looks upon her, noting how quick she is. She is steady with her blade, yet light upon her feet. Though they had trained side by side many times at the Red Keep, he was always too preoccupied with the movement of his own sword and opponent to appreciate her skills fully. Immense guilt washes over him as he remembers how poorly he had treated her the first time she had asked to spar with him.

Now he has the opportunity to remedy that. Aemond dresses quickly, making his way out into the courtyard.

Cregan and Lorra come to a stop at his approach, eyeing him carefully as they lower their weapons.

Aemond gives a polite nod to the elder Stark, before turning his attention to Lorra. “My Lady, would you care to train?”

“I already am,” she says cooly, earning an amused smirk from her brother.

“With me,” he adds, straightening to disguise his discomfort.

“You wish to spar with me? I thought such things were beneath you.”

“I was misguided, allow me to correct the error of my ways.”

Lorra looks questioningly at Cregan, who gives an easy shrug. “Blades are over there,” he nods towards an assortment of weapons propped against the stone wall of the yard as he walks away.

Aemond snatches up a sword, walking back towards Lorra as she takes up a fighting stance. As he takes in the fire that blazes in her bright blue eyes he wonders if perhaps he has made a grievous error in judgement. Challenging the woman he has wronged to a fight would give her ample opportunity to exorcise her vexation, and he half expects her to simply run him through with her blade.

“I am not a child,” Lorra breathes heavily, the flat of her sword pushing back against Aemond’s as she blocks his attack. “You will not appease me with a disingenuous attempt at feigning interest in me.”

“A thousand mile journey is far from disingenuous,” he retorts, side stepping as she swipes at him. “You took the time to get to know me, and I have the genuine desire to do the same for you, though the time I have puts me at a disadvantage.”

Lorra scoffs, dodging as Aemond strikes forward, meeting the resistance of her blade once more.

“You fight well,” he tells her, stepping closer, his chest heaving with exertion. “Visenya Targaryen was said to be a fearsome warrior queen, I dare say even she would be impressed. A trait I would be proud for my wife to possess.”

She blinks rapidly, lowering her gaze and her sword as she steps back, light pink dusting the pale skin of her cheeks. “Flattery will not work upon me.”

Aemond finds boldness in Lorra’s sudden coyness, dropping his sword hand to his side, he closes the gap between them, crooking the finger of his free hand beneath her chin and tilting her face up to his. “Are you certain of that?”

He smirks when she says nothing, and pulls away to place his sword against the wall.

“Come with me,” he tells her, gently grabbing her arm and pulling her along with him towards the gates of Winterfell.

“Where are we going?” She asks with wide eyes as her steps hurry to keep up with his lengthy strides.

“To do something I should have done months ago,” he replies, never slowing his pace.

They pass through the gates and around to the south facade, icy wind nips at their skin and Aemond regrets his impulsive decision for a moment, wishing he had given them both the opportunity to don a coat before heading out, but he supposes in a moment it will not matter, not with the warmth of what he is to show her.

Vhagar is exactly where he had left her when he first landed, though she is now curled up in a sleeping position, the vast expanse of her having squashed the long grass around her completely flat.

Lorra slows, hesitating as the hulking frame of the dragon comes into view and Aemond looks back at her, his grasp slipping from her arm to her hand and giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Do not be afraid,” he reassures her, “when you are with me, Vhagar is no danger to you.”

Lorra shakes her head, though she does not pull her hand from his, a gesture that causes Aemond’s heart to soar.

“I am not afraid. I just do not understand the meaning of this.”

“I mean to introduce you, something I ought to have done in the first place, but I foolishly refused. Vhagar is the most important thing in the world to me…well, she was, now I find that someone else occupies that place in both my heart and mind.”

Lorra’s face softens, her big, blue eyes filled with uncertainty as she looks between Aemond and the sleeping dragon.

“Come,” Aemond beckons her forward as he resumes walking. “She is most docile when she is sleeping.”

The air turns humid from the heat that radiates from the great, slumbering beast as they approach her, and Aemond rubs a hand across the hardened heat of her scales, earning a gentle rumble from the dragon which gently quakes the ground upon which they stand.

“Does she not get cold? I cannot imagine the North is a suitable climate for such a creature,” Lorra says, staring up in wonder at Vhagar.

“She is fire itself,” Aemond explains softly, “she is not fond of the cold, but she is able to keep herself warm. Here–”

Aemond takes Lorra’s hand, feeling it tremble beneath his own as he presses it gently against the dragon’s scales, encouraging her to stroke them.

Lorra giggles, continuing to run her hand across them, even after he has pulled his away. “She is not as soft as I expected her to feel.”

“Hmm,” Aemond agrees, watching with a faint smile. “She is old and battle hardened.”

“What will you feed her while she is here?”

He grins, a faint chuckle escaping him at her question. Heat spreads rapidly through his chest at the care that Lorra shows for Vhagar, enquiring after her comfort and wellbeing.

“She is large enough to feed herself, too big even to house within the Dragon Pit of King’s Landing. I have never had to feed her, she fends for herself well enough. I daresay whatever sheep happened to be roaming here have met their end at her appetite.”

“My father gave me a direwolf pup when I was a child,” Lorra tells him, as she continues her absentminded stroking. “When he was old enough to fend for himself, I released him into the forest. It did not seem fair to keep such a creature cooped up in the confines of a castle. Direwolves are not like dragons, they cannot be controlled.”

“The idea that we control the dragons is an illusion. They obey because they choose to. My bond with Vhagar is the only reason she listens to me.”

Lorra turns, her eyes meeting his. “Is there anyone that you are bonded with strongly enough that you will listen to them?”

“No,” he whispers, leaning down so that his nose brushes against the tip of hers, “at least not until now.”

She blushes, turning her face away. “We should be getting back, but thank you for this, truly. I shall not forget it.”

Though Lorra had declined to kiss him, Aemond’s hope feels restored as he sits beside her at the supper table that evening, stirring his spoon through a steaming bowl of rabbit stew.

“We should go hunting tomorrow,” Lorra says to him with a bright smile.

“Making the Prince earn his keep?” Cregan asks with a chuckle.

“If luck is on our side, we may be able to serve Aemond’s favourite for supper, he is fond of roasted venison.”

Aemond sips his wine to hide the smile that tugs at his lips that she has remembered such a detail about him.

“Do you hunt?” Cregan asks Aemond, raising an eyebrow.

“I have never needed to,” he responds simply, doing his best to ignore the feeling of shame that washes over him as Lorra’s brother regards him with narrowed eyes.

“You will need more than luck if you hope to fell a deer between the two of then,” Cregan scoffs, returning his attention to his stew.

“We do not have to go, if you do not wish to,” Lorra tells him apologetically.

“No, I want to,” Aemond insists. “Even if we are fruitless in our endeavours, the time spent with you will not be wasted.”

She grins at him. A dazzling, brilliant expression that lights up her entire face, and makes Aemond’s heart squeeze in his chest as he realises just how much he has missed the sight of it.

Aemond walks Lorra back to her chambers later that evening, stopping as they reach the door. 

“Well, I suppose we both ought to get some rest. We have an early start tomorrow, if we are to go hunting,” she tells him.

“It is still early,” he reminds her, “and I have only three days. It would be foolish to cut the first of them short.”

She raises her brows in surprise at this. “What are you suggesting?”

“I thought perhaps you would permit me to come inside so that we can talk for a while? I promise not to overstay my welcome.”

Lorra chews her lip in uncertainty as she considers his offer, before nodding. “Very well.”

Aemond looks around as he walks through Lorra’s chambers, he has never been somewhere that is so personal or intimate to her, and is eager to learn what he can of her from the space. The rooms are decorated with soft furnishings in greys and pale blues, the colours of her house, with ornately carved wolves’ heads and figures upon the shelves that house her books and personal effects. It is clear she is proud of her Stark heritage, just as he is of his Targaryen ancestry.

He casts his eye over her bookshelves, until his attention is drawn to the parchment upon her writing desk. He recognises it as the letter he had sent to her, picking it up as he reads the familiar words he’d written weeks before.

“You kept it…” he utters softly.

“I did,” Lorra confesses, seating herself on the edge of the bed.

Aemond allows the note to flutter back down upon the desk, turning to face her. “Can I ask, what had you planned to do?”

She sighs, fingertips plucking anxiously at the cotton of the bedspread. “Truthfully, I do not know. I wrote back to you countless times, but tore all of my letters up before I sent them. They were filled with hateful, angry words, which I know I would have regretted.”

Aemond nods, though it pains him to know she could ever think such things of him. “And how do you feel about me now?”

“You have made a good effort to redeem yourself, though I would be lying if your rejection of me back in King’s Landing does not still hurt. I am ashamed to admit that I wept most of the journey back to Winterfell. I had not expected you to come all this way just for me, but I am glad you did.”

Cautiously, Aemond steps towards her and, seeing no sign of protestation from Lorra, sits himself beside her on the bed. “It pains me to know you believe your feelings are unrequited. I should never have let you go.”

“Then why did you?”

Aemond presses his lips into a tight line, a wave of unease washing over him. His first instinct is to pull away, to tell her he does not wish to speak of it, yet he knows if he is to have any hope of winning her back he needs to speak openly.

“When I was a child, I watched my father break my mother’s heart more times than I care to count. The irony of it is that theirs was not a marriage borne of love, yet he managed to hurt her just the same. I swore to myself that I would never allow myself to be placed in such a situation, that when the time came I would do my duty, and matters of the heart would not interfere. Then you came along, and you changed my perception of everything that I believed to be true.”

“That is not a bad thing,” Lorra says softly.

“No it is not. But I have lived my life keeping a comfortable distance from others, I always have. I was content in my loneliness, or at least I thought I was. It is disarming to have someone enter your life and feel that you are willing to risk the comfort found in solitude just to keep them at your side. I have never longed for anyone, and yet when you are not near me I find myself looking for you. I did not know what to do with that.”

“And do you now?”

“I am willing to learn.”

Softly, Lorra cups Aemond’s face in her hands. His eye flutters closed, leaning into the warmth of her palms.

“Will you let me in fully?” She whispers. “Let me see all of you?”

He feels her fingertips creep up his left cheek, gently tapping at the leather of his eyepatch, and lurches backwards, heart pounding.

“It would frighten you.”

“I do not scare easily,” she reassures him, placing her hands back upon his face. This time he does not pull away, though he sits rigid as he allows her to lift the patch away from his head, keeping his seeing eye downcast as he holds his breath, fearing her reaction.

Her touch is featherlight as she traces the scar that runs the length of his face, and when he dares to look back up there is warmth in her gaze, where he had anticipated disgust.

“You are beautiful,” she murmurs.

Shock paralyses him momentarily as she leans in, pressing her lips to his, but he is quick to recover. His fingers thread themselves into the silken ebony of her hair as he kisses her fiercely. The soft plushness of her lips feel every bit as divine as they had the first time, his cock stirring in his breeches as their mouths part enough for his tongue to brush against hers.

Lorra presses her forehead to his when they finally break for air, both breathing heavily.

“We really ought to sleep,” she tells him quietly, “tomorrow is an early start.”

“Oh…yes, of course,” he utters, a hint of disappointment in his voice as he rises, preparing to return to his own room.

She grips his arm, stopping him. “No, stay, please.”

Aemond’s pulse races at the suggestion, yet he nods all the same. Stripping down to their undergarments, they lay snuggled together beneath the blankets. It is an odd sensation to hold someone; she lays with her head upon his chest and his arms wrapped around her. Aemond has never done this with anyone before, but he finds that he enjoys the sensation of her flesh against his, her warmth is comforting. Pressing his nose into her hair, his nostrils fill with the familiar scent of rosemary and lavender. Sleep comes much easier to him that night.

As she had promised, Lorra ensures they awaken early the next morning to ready themselves for a day in the forest. They each take a crossbow and a quiver of arrows, though Aemond is uncertain of how much use he will be with his. His disfigurement leaves him at a disadvantage when it comes to the use of ranged weapons.

“I am assuming you can ride a horse?” She asks, as she leads Aemond to the castle’s stables.

“I am not as proficient as I am on dragonback,” he admits, “but yes, I can ride.”

“I have had the stable hand saddle Cregan’s steed for you,” she tells him, stroking a gloved hand over the velvety snout of a large, black horse. “He is more even tempered than any of our other geldings and less likely to throw you off.”

She winks at Aemond as she walks towards her own mount, and he watches with a smirk as she climbs into the saddle of a strikingly white mare.

“Her name is Nymeria,” she tells him proudly. “Cregan’s is named Rhoyne.”

The ride through the forest is peaceful, their horses trotting at a leisurely pace, side by side, beneath a blanket of deep green fir trees so thick that Aemond almost cannot see the sky above them.

“Your Baratheon girl must not be pleased that you are here,” Lorra says eventually, glancing over at Aemond with a demure smile.

“I have no Baratheon girl,” Aemond tells her.

“Oh?”

Aemond tightens his hold on the reins of his horse, his posture stiffening slightly. “It is…regrettable, what you overheard between my grandsire and I. The truth of the matter is that he had intended to send me to Storm’s End to petition Lord Baratheon for the hand of one of his daughters in marriage. I refused.”

Lorra laughs softly. “He cannot have taken that well.”

“He was not pleased, no. I came here instead, on the promise that I would secure an alliance with House Stark.”

She says nothing, averting her gaze towards the trees, and they continue to ride in silence. Aemond glances at her every so often, hoping to catch her eye, but to his disappointment she is always on the lookout for game, or is at least pretending to be. The quiet hangs heavy between them, the only sounds are the gentle hoofbeats of their mounts and the distant chirping of birds.

“I know it is not ideal,” he tells her, no longer able to bear her silence, “to have this obligation hanging over us, but it is my duty. But I need you to know, I am not choosing you out of duty. To have you in my arms as I did last night was no easy thing for me, and it is not something I take lightly.”

“I know,” she says softly.

“Do you think that joining our Houses is even possible? Your father and brother do not seem fond of me.”

“Lords of the North are not quite so tyrannical over their daughters as they are in the South. My father and brother are wary of you because they are aware you have hurt me. But my father will respect my decision and pose no opposition to an alliance with your House, if I choose to marry you.”

“So, you accept?”

Lorra laughs, rolling her eyes. “I said if.”

They lapse back into a more comfortable silence, though there are no deer to be found. Aemond can feel his teeth begin to chatter, despite how warmly he is dressed, he has not acclimated to the chill of the air of the North. It nips at his skin, feeling as though it seeps into the very bones of him.

“I think Cregan had the right of it,” Lorra sighs, “we are to have no luck today. I expect our chatter has likely frightened off any deer we might have hoped to see.”

“Do you wish to turn back?” Aemond asks hopefully.

“You are cold. Fortunately, we are close to one of my favourite places to warm up.”

Aemond’s curiosity is piqued, and despite the cold that stiffens his joints, he continues to ride alongside her, until the trees clear, revealing an opening in the side of the rock face.

Lorra dismounts from Nymeria, securing her reins to a nearby fir tree, and Aemond does the same for Rhoyne.

“In here,” Lorra gestures towards the rock face.

Aemond’s brow furrows, but he follows her in regardless, immediately enveloped in warmth and darkness alike, the furs and leathers he is wrapped up in suddenly feeling much too hot. He picks his steps carefully, walking slowly behind her until light from an opening above them beams daylight down upon a steaming pool of vibrant blue water, nestled within a basin among the craggy stone.

“Hot springs,” Lorra tells him happily, unfastening her cloak and allowing it to drop to the ground. “It is the best defense against the cold while out on a ride.”

She begins to undress and Aemond freezes, his first instinct being to look away, but he finds that as more of her flesh is revealed to him he cannot keep his eye from her. Desire flickers hotly in his lower belly as he looks upon the swell of her breasts, the inwards dip of her waist, and the curve of her hips as she peels her clothes away from her body, dropping them to the floor, before stepping into the water.

He is taken aback by just how brazen she is, unashamed as she turns, once submerged up to her thighs, and looks at him with a grin.

“Are you going to join me, or just stand there gawping?”

Aemond’s eye widens, he opens his mouth to speak, but finds no words will come to him.

Lorra giggles. “Shall I turn away?”

He clears his throat, shaking his head. “N–no…”

His breaths come shakily as he disrobes, wishing to get it over with as quickly as possible. Once fully bare, he steps into the water, his lack of modesty almost forgotten with the sigh of relief that leaves him as the heat of the water soothes the ache of the cold in his joints.

“You forgot this,” Lorra tells him, stepping towards him and reaching for his eyepatch.

“Wait.” He grabs her wrist, stopping her. “I need to know…if you have not decided if you wish to marry me, then why are you doing this? Sleeping in the same bed with me, bathing together. If this is all a game to you, then I can go no further.”

Lorra lowers her gaze, pursing her lips. “I do want to marry you, my feelings have not changed. But I cannot accept that you have changed on words alone. I need to see that you desire me as a husband desires their wife, I need to know it is real.”

Aemond pulls away his eyepatch, discarding it to the side with the rest of his clothing, and pulls her to him by her waist. He inhales sharply as he feels the softness of her dampened skin meet his. “Is this real enough for you?”

The ends of his long, silvery hair are beginning to form loose waves due to the humidity, and her fingers reach up to stroke through them.

“Do you think you could grow to love me?” She whispers.

Aemond’s thumbs trace lazy circles against her sides as he gazes down at her, carefully considering his words. “I am not certain I know what love is. I think of you often, I crave your presence when you are not there. I feel a sensation akin to physical pain when you are sad, and your happiness serves to elevate my own. Perhaps that is love? And if it is, then I believe that I already do.”

Lorra smiles, her blue eyes shining as she looks up at him. Her hands press gently against Aemond’s chest, pushing him back to sit on a ledge, submerged in the hot spring, where the water rises to just above his navel. She sits astride him, the brush of her thighs and womanhood against him making him painfully hard. His breath hitches, as he clings to her waist like a lifeline.

Her fingers caress his jaw gently, and she kisses him softly, their lips meeting slowly and tenderly in an unhurried gesture of affection.

“I would marry you tomorrow, if I could,” he utters against her lips, “wed you beneath the heart tree in your godswood, in the tradition of the Old Gods.”

“Really?” She sighs as Aemond presses his lips to her throat, his hands sliding from her waist to travel up her torso and palm roughly at her breasts.

“If you wish it, once we are married we can return to Winterfell and do just that.”

“Mmm…I would like that.” She tilts her head back as Aemond lowers his mouth to her chest, capturing a hardened peak between his lips and suckling gently.

Aemond has never desired anyone like this before, though he has never cared for anyone in the way that he cares for Lorra. He craves her touch, the need for her making him feel as though he teeters on the very edge of madness.

He removes his mouth from her breast, an appreciative groan rumbling in his chest as she begins to roll her hips against his, and his lips capture hers once more, gripping her hips to urge on her movements against him.

If he had known she would feel this exquisite, he would have barred the doors of the Red Keep and forbade her from ever stepping foot outside of it.

He pulls away, breathless as he stares up at her. “I want to marry you in the tradition of Old Valyria too. Once Aegon is King, and our ancestral seat is returned to us, we will travel to Dragonstone and do just that.”

“What does that involve?” She asks huskily.

“We shall wear the traditional robes of Old Valyria, red and white, and you will have a beautiful headdress.”

He pauses, eye fixated upon her as she raises up slightly on her knees, causing him to hiss through his teeth as she grasps the length of him, positioning him at her entrance. His stones tighten, mind going utterly blank, rendering him speechless, as the tight heat of her sinks down upon him, his fingertips push into the flesh of her hips hard enough to bruise.

She stills once seated fully upon him, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Keep going,” she urges, “tell me more.”

“We will use dragon glass–ah, fuck!” He screws his eye shut, hips bucking up to meet hers as she moves against him.

“Use dragon glass to what?” She asks teasingly, her pace never faltering.

Aemond swallows thickly, the pressure building at the base of his spine almost too much to bear. “To…to slice against our palms...the blood that spills is collected in a cup which we will drink from.”

Lorra whimpers softly in pleasure, the rise and fall of her hips becoming more urgent, causing the water to lap in gentle ripples against their bodies. Aemond snarls at the increase in pace, pressing the flat of his palm tightly against her lower back, as he buries his face in the crook of her neck.

“Is that all?”

“No…” Aemond’s voice is strained, struggling to get the words out against the haze of pleasure that overwhelms him. ��We will use the same dragon glass to cut our lips, the resulting kiss in addition to the combined blood we have consumed serving to bind us together forever.”

“If that is your wish…”

“Yes…bind yourself to me…”

Lorra gasps, her arms tightening around him as he feels her insides spasm around him in quick, successive pulses, her body trembling against his. He continues to thrust up into her, until the pressure within him gives way, causing his cock to pulsate as he holds her to him, spilling inside of her.

They remain as one, wrapped around each other in the steam of the hot spring as they each struggle for breath, slowly recovering.

Aemond strokes Lorra’s hair away from her face, running his fingers through it as he takes in her blissful, relaxed expression. In this very moment, he has never been more certain that this is love, and to experience what he has just felt makes him feel foolish for having pushed it away for so long. There is no doubt in his mind that there is no one else in the world for him, only her.

“So, will you?” He asks gently, continuing to stroke her hair. “Bind yourself to me?”

She gazes at him softly, a lazy smile upon her lips. “You have barely used two of your three days yet. I am sure there is lots more convincing you could do until they are up.”

Aemond smirks, tugging her against him in a tight embrace. That is an arrangement that he is more than happy to satisfy.

Chapter two || Series masterlist

[autisticandroids]

free space: "i forgor"

this is for fics that should have been on my other reclists for @spnficrecfest but, well, i forgor.

my other reclists are in this tag.

this list will be ordered by wordcount, but it will also be by category.

should have been on my season six reclist:

what a brave little ant you are by withthekeyisking, 2k

dean goes about his life. cas pops in, from time to time. dean is soooooo mad about it. the salmondean of it all is good too. great stuff. destiel.

there are no lies on your body by tiptoe39, 6k

post godstiel, cas is a poor little meow meow. dean's poor little meow meow. destiel.

the law of conservation of energy by peroxidepest17, 90k

an oldschool "what if cas capitulated in the man who would be king and they had to come up with a different plan" type fic. im kind of obsessed with this one. like the ways in which it's good and the ways in which it's weird. destiel.

should have been on my season nine reclist:

i shall not want by domesticadventures, 20k

a little season nine bunker depressionfic with good brother conflict.

should have been on my true au reclist:

après moi, le deluge by allthismusic, 11k

dean is an innocent hiker, and after he messes up his foot, he and his brother happen upon a nice cabin with a friendly cas inside. destiel. horror.

the fix by luulapants, 12k so far, chose not to warn

an au where dean is a conservative politician and cas is a fixer. this is like, the fic i have been longing for for literal years, and i can't think of a better author to take on the topic. wip, but my experience is that luulapants will finish what she starts. destiel

lillith's fayre by all_the_damned_vampires, 17k, chose not to warn

a strange and wonderful fic with a lot of fun character stuff. meg is the main character, and she's joined by casey and lenore, two favorite side characters from the early seasons. and cas, of course. it's a whole polycule thing. they're in the circus in the nineties. the demon circus. i was particularly compelled by lenore's characterization.

should have been on my canon-a-little-to-the-left reclist:

in the twilight kingdom by argentnoelle, 48k, violence and noncon warnings plus chose not to warn

so i am actually currently enjoying this fic right now and im not done with it. i'm like halfway through? which is maybe against the spirit of things. but im REALLY liking it so far. it's a rewrite of seasons four and five which takes place mainly in hell. deanalastair, destiel, megstiel, and deancasmeg. the deanalastair parts are particularly compelling to me because they're like written like, you know. it reads like a sugar daddy thing. except of course you know how things started. you KNOW. sickeninggggg. and of course dean and meg are brainwashing themselves a castiel. which i'm greatly enjoying so far.

should have been on my rarepair reclist:

a rock with a hole in it by de_nugis, 11k

cas has an interlude with soulless sam in fairyland. a kind of fascinating, unsettling pastoralism. and it's not even set in season six. sastiel, unrequited destiel.

should have been on my outsider pov reclist:

leave my body, moving up to higher ground by trieduntrue, 17k

post godstiel, cas has to switch vessels. an adventure from the point of view of the vessel. i'm kind of obsessed with this author. the vessel character is so charming to me, i enjoy her. yes: this is a female vessel cas fic, lol. destiel.

[countrymusiclover]

1 - Two Different Princes

Part 2

A Wolf Among Dragons

Tag list ( just ask to be added ) @tallrock35 @kmc1989 @starkleila @noirrose21-blog @lover-of-books-and-tea @immyowndefender

Author note - if I am getting anything wrong about Daemon or Aemond's characters please let me know how I can fix it for later chapters

At the age of ten and seven I was sent to King's Landing to get used to living my forever life with the King's brother who was to be my husband in the coming days. I wasn’t a fool who was going to believe that love would come from this arrangement. For he was much older than I was and had much more freedom. I thought wrong to my somewhat delight.

“Where are we going, Daemon?” I questioned once he had snuck down to my chambers and awoken me from my sleep.

He insisted that he must show me something that second. He was dressed in an all black cloak with the hood over his easily recognizable Targaryen white hair. “Just wait a minute and you’ll find out. Honestly I never thought you’d be this curious.”

“Simply because I was born a woman I’m told what things I am allowed to know and what I’m not.”

Daemon kept one hand around my forearm leading me out into a large pit like room with many torches lit to provide light in the room. “You’ll not be able to not do something when we’re wed. Just as long as you don't go against your new family. Does that sound like a good arrangement to you, little wolf?”

“Yes, my prince.” He squeezed my arm a little harshly, making me wince but I saw a smirk crossing his face once I had addressed him by his royal title meaning he liked it.

Daemon moved a few steps closer before I saw something coming to us in the light coming off the torch he was carrying in his other hand. “Drakari pykiros, tikummo jemiros, Yn lantyz bartossa , Saelot vaedis, hen nuha eleni, perzyssy vestretis, se gelyn irudaks, anogrose. Perzyo udryssi eztmptos laehossi, harossa letagon, aot vaedan, Hae merot gieruli se haros bartossi, prumysa sovili. ( Fire breather, winged leader, but two heads, to a third sing, from my voice, the fires have spoken and the price has been paid. With blood magic, with words of flame, with clear eyes, to bind the three, to you I sing as one we gather and with three heads we shall fly as we were destined ).”

“By all the gods and new.” I sharply gasped, hanging my mouth open in shock seeing a large dragon head appear above us.

Daemon gazed down at me then briefly at his dragon. “His name is Caraxes and he’s my dragon.”

Caraxes intensely stared down at me and Daemon but by some miracle I wasn’t afraid around the large creature. Especially when I had Daemon beside me, although if he didn’t want to marry me he could very well kill me right now and no one would know. “So what do you think of him-“

I cut him off mid sentence, crashing my lips up onto his letting whatever excitement I was feeling take complete control over me. He leans his body against my chest deepening the kiss and I couldn’t resist doing the same after I had wrapped my arms around his neck.

Daemon finally was the one to break the very heated kiss between two people who weren’t yet married so if anyone had seen it would be found indecent. “Daemon - forgive me , my prince. I shouldn’t have done that.” Looking into his purple eyes I knew I had messed up and done something I shouldn’t have.

“Oohhh Lehna you and I are going to have so much fun together.” He cupped my face in his hands, crashing his lips down onto mine with the same passion I had moments ago.

“Visenya, get back here!” I called out for my six year old daughter who was running so fast ahead of me I wasn't too sure I'd ever catch up with her.

She stuck her tongue out at me looking over her shoulder before rounding the corner and I heard her bump into someone and objects falling onto the stone floor. “Catch me, momma - ow!”

“Are you hurt - Prince Aemond!” I gasped finding her being helped off the ground by the youngest son of Alicent Hightower who had married King Viserys after the death of his former wife Aemma years after I had spent a majority of my life inside the Red Keep.

The current queen had produced two boys and one girl in that time while I had produced two at one time. Daemon’s son Caraxes, named after his loyal dragon, was always attached to his father’s side if he could help it. “You don’t need to be so startled, my lady. The young girl merely slipped on my sword is all. No harm to either of us.”

“Gods be good then. I must apologize again, my prince. We were simply playing tag and she got further away from me than I originally intended.” I gave him a curtsy knowing my place as the wife of Prince Daemon was no more. Meaning I needed to address the young man correctly before.

Aemond rose up from the floor scooping up my daughter with her white hair and my brown eyes into his arms walking up to me slowly. “She’s a little beauty just like her mother.”

“Thank you, my prince.” I smiled, taking her from his arms where he noticed a blade holder on the side of my hip that was hidden underneath one of the layers of my dress.

“Do you carry a sword, my lady?”

Nodding my head slowly, yes I simply answered his question. “I do. My husband saw no reason why I couldn’t be allowed to be taught most things most men think are beneath them or something they can’t comprehend like we’re dumb.”

“You are rather intriguing, lady Lehna.” Aemond smirked back at me.

I blushed uncontrollably. “Thank you, my prince.”

“Call me Aemond. It shall make the conversation much easier between us.”

Visenya laid her head on the crook of my neck, getting bored of our conversation. “Momma, I’m sleepy.” She rubbed her closed eyes with her tiny hands yawning.

“I should be getting her to bed, my pri - Aemond.”

Aemond tilted his head to the side suggesting an alternative option rather than letting our conversation end here and now. “Perhaps we could keep talking after you put her down for a nap. If your husband doesn’t need you, hmm.”

“I don’t have any other obligations at the moment. Walk with me and we can keep talking.” I gestured my head over my shoulder back in the direction of my shared chambers with Daemon.

Aemond raised up a hand forward before we began our walk back where I had previously come from. “After you, lady Lehna.” I wasn’t sure what was going to come of this yet I had no desire to see him leave while Daemon was down in the streets leading the Citywatch of Gold Cloaks.

[theconstantsidekick]

Lit Cigarettes (Part 2)

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Reader, Sam Winchester x BestFriend!Reader, Damon Salvatore x Stefan Salvatore x Sister!Reader (these are the main ones, there are too many others to tag) Genre: Fluffy angst

Summary: While Sam berates Dean for his choice of very pathetic reply, Y/n tells her brothers about said pathetic reply.

(Set after the events of Supernatural season 4 and yes, Y/n's dated a bunch of TVD characters.)

a/n: The two conversations are happening parallel-y, hope that makes sense?

Warnings: Smoking, mentions of smoking, more romanticisation of smoking, a lot of that yes, sorry. Don't smoke kids. Semi-explicit content? IDK, there's kissing.

Part 1 is here.

It’s only when they’ve crossed the Mystic Falls border does the silence in the Impala break.

“You’re an idiot,” Sam tells him. 

The car stops abruptly. “How long have you been awake?” Dean asks, taken completely off guard.

“Long enough to call you an idiot,” Sam answers before he opens the door to the back seat, exiting the vehicle. Dean takes a second to realize that Sam’s making the walk towards the passenger seat. 

Dean pokes his head out of the window just to be petulant and screams, “THAT WAS A PRIVATE CONVERSATION, you sneaky son of a bitch!”

Rolling his eyes, Sam opens the passenger seat door and gets inside., “You really think I didn’t know about it?.”

“Know about what?” Dean asks as the dumbest dumb person to ever exist as he starts the car back up again.

Sam looks towards him, and his eyes are louder than any words can ever be. His eyes are screaming at him, calling him the dumbest guy to have ever walked the earth. But then he says, “She’s been in love with you for 15 years, and I’ve been her best friend for 14 of them. You really think I’d need to eavesdrop on your conversation to figure it out?”

Dean opens his mouth to say something but thinks better of it and instead asks, “14?” He’s facing the road now, too embarrassed to face his brother.

“The first year was rough, we got off on the wrong foot,” Sam explains. “I think I was mostly just pissed at her for fawning over you like you hung the moon. Not the point. The point is, I don’t need to overhear a conversation to know that she loves you. Everyone and their mother knows that she’s in love with you.”

Dean stays silent for a second, because he doesn’t know what to say. What the fuck is he supposed to say to that? He… He doesn’t know what to say to that. 

“It was still rude, bitch,” Dean says lamely, because like he said, he doesn’t know what the fuck else to say.

Sam just laughs, without any humor but all the passive aggression in the world. “What was rude was saying—”

“He’ll pick you up on tuesday!?” Damon yells, mouth agape, hands covered in flour and sugar. 

“And what did you say to that?!” Stefan asks from where he sits on the kitchen counter, watching his brother and his adopted sister try (and fail) baking a cake for his birthday. 

“I said I’ll see him Tuesday,” Y/n answers with a magnificent amount of shame. She can see both her brothers are about to launch into an all out assault of questions, but she is categorically not in the mood. She cuts them off before they can even start. “He didn’t really give me a chance to say anything else, he just got in the car and drove off, okay?”

“Honestly, I don’t even think I can blame him,” Damon retorts, urging a cocked eyebrow from the other two Salvatores. “I blame you,” he says pointing his goop drenched whisk at her. “It’s your fault for falling in love with a NSYC reject.”

She just rolls her eyes and goes back to cleaning up the mess Damon’s creating at every step of his cake making process. “Do you really think you should be saying that? When you look like you could enter a Gerard Way Look-Alike Contest and win?”

While Damon makes the most absurd voices known to mankind (and vampire kind), Stefan just lets out a soft chuckle. “Okay, okay,” Stefan tries to calm them down. “Let’s just go over the events of the night again, shall we?”

“Can we please not?” She pleads.

Stefan carries on unfettered. “So you told Dean Winchester, the man of your dreams that you love him and he said he’ll see you Tuesday?”

She exhales audibly, “Yes… more or less. Yes. That’s how it went.”

“The fucker doesn’t deserve an announcement of love, if you ask me,” Damon counters, hands back at work, mixing the goopy and frankly probably unsalvagable cake mixture.

“That’s probably why no one asked you!” She throws back, throwing away the paper towel in the dustbin. “AAH! I just needed to say it, okay? Fifteen years is a very fucking long time to keep something like this to yourself. I needed him to know.”

“But you’d told him already, didn’t you?” Stefan counters. “Before he got dragged to hell?” She flinches at the mention of the incident—the memories are far from pleasant—but nods in agreement. “What did he say back then?”

“I know,” she tells them.

“You know what?” Damon asks, face souring at the sludge in his hands. Then he sneakily (not sneakily at all) grabs a bottle of Bourbon and empties almost half of it into the cake batter, mixing in the liquid.

“No, he said that,” she replies.

“Said what?” Stefan questions.

“He said, ‘I know’!” 

A look passes between Stefan and Damon and then Damon does the honors, “If nothing else, you gotta hand it to that Timberlake-wannabe, he’s got a great track record of having the shittiest responses to someone professing their love to him.”

“What the fuck else was I supposed to say?! I was about to be dragged to Hell!” Dean defends. “It’s not like I had the ability to focus on anything else.” He’s a fucking liar—his focus was definitely not on being dragged to hell when she said what she did. But Sam doesn’t have to know that.

“Anything, man! Literally anything else!” Sam countered, frustration evident in every single inch of his movement. And it’s always times like these, when Dean begins to think if Sam would side with him if he were to actually have a fight with her. Would Sam keep hunting with him if she decided to part way? “You are such a fucking dick!” Sam remarks. So no, probably not. He’d pick her over his brother for sure.

Dean can’t help but cower a bit at the strength of Sam’s annoyance. “I wasn’t trying to be,” he tries. “I just thought… when in doubt, Han Solo that shit, you know?”

And that apparently is the worst thing to say. “What is wrong with you, Dean? You know, you really are Dad’s son! ‘Cause my God. There’s only one other man who is so incapable of handling their emotions, and somehow, you’re even worse than him.”

Dean doesn’t appreciate the insult to their father but he lets it slide on account of Sam being really fucking angry. “Fine! If you’re so great at this chick-flick shit then tell me what should I say to her. You tell me and I’ll say it to her on Tuesday?”

“Tues—seriously?!” Sam’s veins are about to pop out, Dean thinks. The man is so fucking angry with Dean right now that he’s genuinely worried that he;s about to bust the vein on his temple. 

“What?” Dean throws back, cause actually he has no other fucking response.

“You know, I don’t even get what she sees in you. She’s crazy smart, and talented and funny. She’s so freakin’ funny!” Sam says, and Dean has to agree with all that. She really is. “There’s so many amazing people who’re just dying to get even one shot with her, and yet, she’s stuck on you!”

Dean’s jaw clenches. “Then why doesn’t she go after one of those amazing people?” 

“I don’t have a single clue,” Sam answers.

“What do you mean? She did give it a shot with one of them, didn’t she? Derek What's His Face?” Hale. Derek Hale. Dean knows his name by heart.

“Derek Hale. Yeah, Derek was pretty great,” Sam agrees, leaning back on his seat.

“Then what happened?” Dean is trying not to sound too curious about it. And if his grip tightens on the wheel, enough for his knuckles to go white, no one has to know about it.

“I’m not sure. I thought it was going great with him but she broke it off with him when we were at Stanford,” Sam tells him, eyes out on the barren road, looking so puzzled, you’d think he was talking about the mysterious phenomenon of raining toads. 

“When she dragged you to Stanford,” Dean corrects him, because as much as he'd like to know, the topic is so not his favorite. Neither is this one but it’s… It’s older and the wounds have since healed, become scars.

At his words, Sam’s confusion is gone in an instant. He sits up straighter—as straight as a giant can in a ‘67 chevy Impala. He turns to Dean with something like defense burning in his eyes. “She didn’t drag me to Stanford, Dean!”

“Yeah, right,” Dean brushes it off. “You and I both know, that’s some horseshit. She went there and you wanted to follow her, like you always did.”

“No. Dean,” Sam calls his name in a way that urges him to turn. Once he does, Sam continues, “I didn’t follow her to Stanford. I—I didn’t go to Stanford for her, she went to Stanford for me!”

“What?”

“Dude, she was the valedictorian. She got into 20 different Pre-Med programs, and at least 12 of them were better than Stanford. She just went there cause she knew I wanted to go,” Sam word hit Dean like a tonne of bricks. “And well,” Sam turns back to look at the road again. “She also kinda went there for you.”

“For me?” The fuck is that supposed to mean?

Sam sighs before he says, “She thought that maybe if she were there it would be easier on you cause you’d know that she was there to look out for me.” He smiles then, a small sweet thing. “She went there for you.” What the actual fucking fuck?

Sam turns to him again, and somehow “Don’t get me wrong, she went there for me, but she went there for you too. Everything she does, she does for you.”

“That is—and I say this with all the love I have ‘cause you’re the only Salvatore left other than that dick over there—that is the most pathetic thing I’ve ever heard,” Damon comments. 

She pushes a buttered up cake tin towards him and says, “Must be a genetic trait then, passed down from generations. Seeing as the only other Salvatores I know are still, to this day, hopelessly chasing after a girl who looks exactly like one Katherine Pierce.”

“ELENA IS NOTHING LIKE KATHERINE!” Both her brothers shout out in unison.

She has to smile at that. “Not even the—” she points at her own face as a demonstration.

Both of them just pass her a look filled with ire. She smiles wider. 

“At least we have hope,” Damon defends, pouring the ungodly mixture into the cake tin. “What’s your fucking excuse?” 

“I don’t have one!” She really doesn’t. “I just—I just feel the way I do, I don’t know what to do about it.”

“Move on!” Damon tells her.

“For once I agree with him,” Stefan says from the counter behind them. His words are softer than Damon’s, they always are. Stefan’s always understood her dilemma just a little bit better than Damon. She thinks it might just be because Stefan understands the feeling of helplessness a little bit better than their brother ever can. “You really should move on.”

“I want to,” she tells him, with all honesty. “I really, really want to. Don’t you think I’ve tried? I tried! With Derek, with Alaric… and it was working. It really was, until he rejected me.”

“Rejected you?” Damon mocks. “I think it was barely 4 months ago that Alaric died in your arms confessing his undying love for you.”

“Damon,” Stefan reprimands. 

“What?” Damon counters, clearly annoyed as he turns to look at Stefan. Stefan, however, just shakes his head, telling him in his small gesture to stop it. The wound is still too fresh, don’t touch it yet. And that’s exactly why despite being fond of Damon a little bit more, Stefan will always be her favorite brother.

“I am not ready to touch that topic with a ten-foot pole so I’ll side step that and tell you that I have tried, extremely hard to move on, and if I could do it. I would. It’s not like any of this is fun for me,” she tries to make them understand.

“It’s not as hard as you make it out to be either,” Damon comments and his voice is somehow softer than before because this isn’t a jab. This is more wishful thinking, she thinks. Damon, for all his nonchalance, hates seeing her pining for Dean. Not just because he doesn’t like Dean but also because he’s seen the most of it. He has always been her drinking companion on endless  nights. Pouring her one drink after the other, knowing no other way to sooth the pain on her features. He loves her differently than Stefan does. He would’ve killed Dean by now if he thought that could be a legitimate solution. He’s way more violent in his protection of her than anyone else.

Taking the cake tin from Damon, she opens the oven and shoves it in. She sighs audibly before she says, “Look, I have made my distaste for the Elena situation quite clear already—”

“And it’s still fucking unreasonable,” Damon retorts.

“You’re making me agree with him twice on the night before my birthday, now you’re just being rude,” Stefan chides, smiling.

“She pulls you both in opposite directions, which leaves me in the middle where I’m stuck and neglected!” She can see that both the boys are ready to fight her off on the matter all night but she doesn’t want to. “BUT that’s not the point I’m trying to make here. What I am trying to say is that, with Elena, you both feel what you feel. It’s undeniable and inescapable. You could let go of it even if you tried. You both know what it feels like to be hopelessly in love with someone with your entire being.” When both men stay silent, she knows they agree. So she continues, “Can you at least both do me the courtesy to try to understand that that’s how I feel about Dean? That maybe—”

“—She doesn’t know how not to be in love with you, you know?” Sam says it like it’s the simplest thing in the world. Like he isn’t breaking Dean’s world apart in half. “I mean, it’s definitely not easy for her.”

“Watching him flirt with a girl at the bar while I sit in a shady corner, drowning myself in Bourbon,” she says.

“Watching you come back to the motel, covered in hickeys, and sometimes watching you not come back at all,” Sam says with so much pain, Dean thinks maybe he sat with her on those nights. And then it clicks for Dean why he’d see his brother with bags under his eyes in the mornings after.

Her jaw clenches, she fidgets with the “It's always someone else. Either it’s a cheerleader or—”

“—A receptionist at a motel or anything with a pulse at a bar,” Sam says.

“It’s always someone else and it’s never me,” she notes solemnly.

“And it is so fucking painful to watch,” Sam notes.

“It feels like someone’s tearing my heart out and stabbing it in front of me with a fork just to play with it.” She can’t help but smile sadly at the accuracy of that description. “He smiles those smiles that charms the pants off of everyone. And I have to see it, because try as I might, I can never look away. I can never look away from the way he touches them because I can’t help but imagine how it would feel like to be touched like that… touched like that by him. I can never look away when he smiles like that. Which just ends up hurting a little bit more.”

“I’ve had to watch it over and over again for a decade and if it hurts me this much I can’t even imagine how much it hurts her,” Sam tsks so simply. As if he isn’t burning Dean from the inside out. 

“I just wish he—”

“Weren’t so loud about it. If you weren’t so loud about it I think it would be easier maybe?” Sam muses. “But then again, maybe it wouldn’t be. Not that she’d ask that of you, she knows it’s not fair to you so she would never ask you to be any other way than you…” And then he sits up again, facing Dean, and Dean has to try his best to keep his poker face intact, “But I can! So, I’ll do it for her—Dean, please can you be just a little less loud about it?” Dean turns to Sam at that and somehow the action is mistaken by Sam as an offended one. “I’m not asking you to change, just… I don’t know, just don’t do it in front of her. Don’t flirt with the cheerleaders while she’s sitting right next to you, you know?”

And man, Dean might be the one whose vein is about to pop now. “What is up with this cheerleader bullshit? She said it too? I wasn’t that fucking back in high-school!”

Sam just sighs in annoyance, “You ignored her Dean.” Dean’s about to protest, but Sam cuts him off. “And I don’t think it was intentional on your part. It was the first time you weren’t an outcast and it was so much fun to fit in, I felt that way too. But she… She was two years ahead of people her age. And that really doesn’t fly well in a small town like Mystic Falls, you know that. I mean, you were in her class, man! You know that the only person who ever talked to her was you but then you got so lost in the high-school of it all that you just ignored her.” Sam shakes his head. “It wasn’t your fault, you were young but it really wasn’t fun to watch either.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Dean defends very very lamely. “I never meant to hurt her, ever.”

“That’s what sucks about all of this. I know he never does any of it to hurt me, but…”

“But it still hurts anyway?” Damon provides, comforting and gentle. 

She nods with a sad broken smile as she says, "To be in love—”

“—And to be hurt, is to be made perfect,” Sam quotes.

“Shakespear, As You Like It,” Dean notes, to Sam’s utter surprise. Which, wow! He reads! And besides, it’s… it’s Y/n’s favorite of the Shakespear plays. Of course, he knows what it’s from.

“Sucks that it has to be this way,” Sam notes calmly, now looking out the window at the passing trees. “I know it’s not your fault, I really do. I also know you really care about her. I know that too. But I just wish I didn’t have to watch my best friend be in love with someone who doesn’t love her back.”

Dean’s had enough. He sees red. “WHO THE FUCK SAID THAT?”

“What?” Sam almost balks at Dean’s sudden outburst.

“You and Y/n keep saying that, again and again, and for all that is un-fucking-holy, I can’t fucking figure out who the fuck said that? Who in the name of fuck told you that?”

“Dean—Dude! What are you talking about?” Sam’s eyes are wide and confused.

Goddamn it, Dean thinks. “Who the fuck told you, EITHER OF YOU, that I don’t feel the same way?”

There is silence then.

It stretches on for a minute but it feels like an hour to Dean.

“Are—are you serious?” Sam finally questions.

Dean clenches his jaw. “You don’t think I have better things to lie about than this?” He’s being snarky but he can’t help it. It’s been a long fucking drive.

“Then—” Suddenly Sam’s excitement level shoot the fuck up. “THEN WHAT THE FUCK ARE WE DOING DRIVING AWAY FROM MYSTIC FALLS?”

There are reasons. Dean knows that there are. There was a solid reason why Dean decided to drive away after dropping her off without saying a (meaningful) word. But try as he might, Dean Winchester, cannot for the life of him remember what the fuck it was. 

He clicks his tongue, “Good question,” Dean comments before his hand finds the gear shift, and he swerves the car around.

“I am just saying that you cannot ignore it. It’s not a fictional concept. There have been countless tests on the subject matter,” Y/n argues. They’re at the Salvatore Boarding House and the party is in full swing. She’s got a glass of Bourbon in one hand and an unlit cigarette on the other.

“On rats,” Bonnie throws back, smiling.

“Dogs too,” Matt adds from behind her. She smiles at him for the support.

“That doesn’t mean it works on humans,” Tyler cuts in from the couch.

“Of course it does. It’s not a baseless theory. It’s the core facet of every training, ever. You do something good, you’re rewarded, you do something bad, you’re punished,” she explains. “Some people even go as far as to call it parenting.”

Everyone lets out a soft laugh. 

“But it doesn’t stick, not always at least,” Caroline counters.

Y/n nods, “Fair enough, it doesn’t. But doesn’t negate the fact that the pavlovian response is quite a real phenomenon. I mean, it’s well known. It’s quite literally used in conversion camps—mind you I do not approve of the abhorrent abuse of it—but that’s what they do. They show you something very straight, that according to their disturbing homophobic beliefs should make you feel aroused and don’t shock you. Then they show you something very gay, that makes you feel aroused and then they shock you. It tells your brain that somehow feeling aroused at this particular thing is dangerous. Then they do it again and again and eventually the entire process just trains your brain to be scared shitless of even thinking of being aroused, because well if you do, you’ll get—”

“Electrocuted,” Elena finishes.

Y/n clicks her finger and points at her. “Doesn’t work though,” she states, as someone plucks the cigarette out of her hand but her point is almost at the end of being made. “Doesn’t stop you from being queer, nothing ever can stop you from being queer.” The cigarette is placed back into her hands. “Queer is who you are, and queer is who you fucking should be.”

She takes a drag.

“Amen.”

Y/n turns instantly at the sound of that voice. 

“Dean,” she breathes out.

Dean Winchester and her lit fucking cigarettes.

It’ll be the death of her. 

“I thought you had a quota of like 5 cuss words a day,” Dean says with a smirk. Somewhere behind him she can see Sam but her world doesn’t really know how to focus on anyone else when Dean is standing so close to her—barely a couple inches between the two. “I thought you would’ve used them all up… after the conversation in the car.”

“It’s past 12,” she tells him dumbly. She can’t be blamed. WHY IS DEAN BACK HERE? It’s not Tuesday, is it?

There’s a few seconds there, which are just silent. He’s looking at her and she’s looking at him and it’s just silent. Sure, there must be a party in the background but she doesn’t really remember it. His eyes are so beautifully green, she can’t think of anything but The Great Gatsby. She can’t think of anything but the green light at the end of Daisy Buchanan's dock across the bay from Gatsby's mansion. The green light which represented Gatsby's hopes and dreams, particularly his longing for a future with Daisy.

“What are you—” she begins at the same time as he says, “I wanted to—”

Their words get jumbled up.

“You go first,” Dean suggests.

She gulps, quite noticeably apparently because Dean follows the motion of her throat with his eyes. “What are you doing here?”

He smiles then, unabashed and wide. “I should have gone first. Would have saved us time. I was gonna say that I wanted to talk to you…” he answers her question. 

“Oh,” is all she can muster.

“Can we do that somewhere… not here?” He nods over to the audience they have gathered.

She wants to look at what he’s motioning towards but she can’t really pull her eyes off of him right now. Instead she just says, “Yes… The courtyard.”

Dean nods and looks at her waiting.

What’s he waiting for? 

Until Dean just raises his brows with a soft smile and then she remembers. 

“Oh yes, courtyard, let’s go,” she says. And she’s about to grab his arm to drag him off but realizes that both of them are full. She looks from the cigarette to the beer. Thinks for a second—decision made, she downs the beer and places the bottle on the closest flat surface.

“What are you doing here?” She asks again once they’re at the courtyard. They are face to face again, but she has actively decided to put a couple of steps worth of distance between herself and the man of her dreams. For precaution.

“I had to see you,” Dean replies.

“Thought you were gonna see me Tuesday,” she chastises with very little heat, taking a drag of her cigarette.

But apparently Dean takes it to heart. “That—yes! That’s what I am here for. That is the stupidest thing I have ever said. Actually, no scratch that, that’s the second dumbest thing I’ve ever said, ‘I know’ is first.” Confused, she scrunches her forehead. So he explains, “When I was being dragged to hell?”

“Oh,” makes sense, she muses. She shrugs then another puff before she says, “When in doubt, go with Han Solo.”

Dean shakes his head but he’s wearing a smile which she can’t really place. “Yes but it—it was dumb, and I’m sorry.”

“No, no, Dean. No. I am sorry. I put you in a very weird position at a very, very wrong time. It was my fault,” she tells him, and she means it. “Even today, I dropped a whole freakin’ bomb on you without any preamble. Your response made sense considering the condition. I’m sorry to have put you in that position to begin with.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Dean says and his words carry so much determination it makes her shiver.

She waves it off or well, tries to. She has to take a couple steps back, pulling her arms across her chest, she leans on the steps just behind her. She takes a long drag before she asks, “Is that what you were here to do? Say sorry for your response?”

Dean nods. “Yes, and to ask you,” he takes a few steps towards her, “I had to ask you…”

“Ask me?” She urges.

“Did you mean it?”

And she has to roll her eyes at that, drawing on her cigarette again. “What kinda question is that?” 

“A serious one,” Dean says evenly.

“Fine, yes. Of course, I meant it.”

“You don’t regret it?” Dean questions.

“What?! No!” The idea seems so silly to her she can’t even come up with a sarcastic remark for it.

“And you still feel that way?” Dean asks, with a hint of… is that fear in his voice? “Do you still…?”

The night is quite forgiving to them. The moon is out but not in full force, otherwise there would be one less party guest and one extra dog in the boarding house. Her birthday party fell on a full moon night, sadly the patent group werewolf, Tyler, had to skip that one. 

But tonight’s not a full moon, it’s a crescent moon. Shining quite bright, bathing Dean in its light. That along with the warm yellow of the garden lights makes him look ethereal, she thinks.

“15 years I’ve loved you, you think I’ll be able to get over it in three hours?” She throws back.

“A yes or no would do,” Dean rebukes.

“Yes,” she says, sighing. “I still feel that way… but…”

“But?”

“But I think… I think I’ll try to move on…” she acquiesces, a long inhale of smoke, a shorter exhale of the same.

“Why?” Dean bites.

She pulls back a bit before answering, “I understand that the position I put you in isn’t entirely fair. And well, it isn’t great for me either, is it? It would be better for both of us if I just tried to move on… for good this time.”

“Don’t.”

“What?”

“Don’t move on, damn it!”

And that just pisses her off, she throws the cigarette on the ground, butts it with all her fury. “What? Is this some sort of fucking ego trip for you? Look at the hopeless girl in love with me?”

“2 out of 5 cuss words already used. The day’s barely started and you’re left with only 3,” Dean comments with a smile that makes her want to punch his lights out.

“Quit it!” She yells. “You just making fun of me now? That’s just fucking cruel, Dean.”

“2 left,” Dean states but at her glare he takes another step towards her. “I don’t want you to move on.”

“Why the fuck not?!” She’ll probably punch this guy very soon.

“Cause I don’t want you to.”

“Why not? You just want me to stay madly in love with you, keep watching you chase after girls at bars and keep letting my heart break? You want me to keep dying bit by bit, is that it?” Her voice breaks a little at the end.

“No. Of course not! But if you moved on, it would kill me, so I can’t let you do that, Y/n. I can’t.” Dean tells her. 

She doesn’t understand any of this. What even is happening.

“I think you’ve finally lost your mind. Hell has clearly gotten to you. You’ve gone mad! What do you want me to do, keep falling deeper and deeper in love with you, torment myself day in and day out when I know that you will never love me back. What is wrong with you, Dean? What the f—”

“Listen to me,” he cuts her off. “You really need to listen to me cause you’ve got just one cuss word left for the day and what I’m gonna say you might need it for that.” He breathes in, slow and deep. “I never said that.”

“Never said what?”

“I never said that I didn’t love you back.”

She… What?

Wait what?

“What do you mea—?”

He cuts her off again. “I saw you 15 minutes before you saw me.” She’s so confused she thinks she might just cry. And it’s all made worse because Dean takes a few steps closer to her. The gap is nowhere near as secure as it was when this conversation began. “I was getting out of the car and you were…” He smiles, so beautifully that her heart aches. “You were smoking, of all things. At the ripe old age of 13, by the way.”

“My parents had just died like, 6 months ago,” she defends like it matters at all.

Dean smiles all the same. “Smoking your first cigarette. That’s how I saw you, and you were—you were smoking that like a champ, honestly. I think you took four drags, before you decided it was too much and then butt the entire thing. You then began your mission to hide it like they were porno mags under your bed that Stefan and Damon could discover any moment.”

“Porno mags would’ve caused less trouble,” she comments absentmindedly.

He smiles wider then. “Fair enough.” He nods almost to himself. “But yeah. I saw you 15 minutes before you ever saw me. So, I’ve been in love with you 15 minutes longer than your 15 years.”

She doesn’t think she remembers how breathing works.

“I have been in love with you since the moment I saw you. And every single day I wake up and I think I could not love you more but then something happens, you laugh at some joke or you talk about how democracy is a concept built on the idea of inequality, or you sing karaoke at some bar or you just are, you just be and I just… I fall harder in love with you. Every moment I spend with you, is another moment where I find out that I can love you more than I already did.” Dean laughs then. “I was stupid, I was so stupid. I kept thinking that I couldn’t have you. I kept thinking that I shouldn’t even try because what would be the point? I was never gonna quit hunting and this life—it’s filled with so much shit. I thought there was something really bad around the corner, so how could I drag you into that mess with me? So I just—I never thought that I could have you but then I died! I fucking died, Y/n. And now apparently there is a goddamn apocalypse around the corner so clearly bad things will happen no matter what! Then why the fuck should I have to go through all of that alone? Why should I have to go through that without you? I can’t do it. I don’t fucking want to.”

He doesn’t want to.

She’s dreaming, isn’t she?

“I didn’t know, though,” Dean says sheepishly, with apologies all over his face. “I never fucking knew how you felt. Of course I didn’t know. I wouldn’t have—All the girls, all the bars, they were just—I didn’t think I could have you, I didn’t think you’d ever want someone like me so I wanted to numb the pain, I never thought I was hurting you in return. I wouldn’t have—”

She takes a step towards him. They are now standing too close, chest pressed into chest. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” Dean argues, still feeling so guilty that it’s almost painful to watch.

“It’s okay now,” she clarifies. “Do I get to have you now?”

“Obviously! Of course! I’m yours. I’ve always been yours, Y/n. Only yours—”

She cuts him off by pressing her lips on his. It’s a small, tentative thing, mostly to try it out, but also to shut him up. And shut up, he does. 

She pulls away, not too far, never too far, just enough to look up at him. 

Then Dean Winchester smiles. Wide, and cocky, and flirty and beautiful.

He pulls her back in, hands on caressing her jaw so gently that a part of her thinks maybe she was made of porcelain all along and everyone forgot to inform her. Because he is being so soft with her, his lips on hers are tender but there is so much love in every movement that she can taste it. 

Her hands find his hair, and she plays with the soft spikes, pulling him closer, and perhaps it’s her hunger for him or maybe his for her, but tenderness gives way to passion. They are all hands and lips and desperation. He’s grabbing onto her for dear life, pulling her closer and closer as he wants her whole and maybe he does. She understands though, because she’s holding onto his leather jacket like if she lets go he’ll vanish and urging him closer too. It’s mindless and mindful at once.

Lips slotted together seaking out all that they’d been wanting for, for the last 15 years.

Dean’s hand travels down to her thighs and instinctively she knows to jump up. He grabs her easily as she wraps her legs around him. It’s hungry now, they are so very hungry now. It makes her moan, Dean, ever the man of opportunity, takes that moment to slip his tongue in. Their tongues dance together in a heated embrace. She can’t help herself, she’s seeking some release from the tension building inside her, so she grinds against him, only for both of them to pull away, moaning in sickening pleasure.

And she can’t help it, she laughs. “Fuck.”

Dean laughs too. Pressing his forehead to hers. “That’s all of them, sweetheart. You’re out of cuss words for today.”

“That might be a problem considering the state you’re in,” she grinds against him again, to tease him, to feel him, to have him, cause she can now. 

Dean groans before smiling again. “Fuck me, sweetheart. I can cuss all I want, you’re the one who’ll be in trouble.”

“Maybe I want that?” She smiles.

Dean laughs again. “God, I love you so fucking much.”

She kisses him again, it’s a sweet, loving little thing. “I love you too, Dean.

Find Part 1 here.