#Kings meadow au | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jjoongstar · 3 months ago

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𝑯𝒊𝒔 𝑭𝒂𝒗𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆

𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒆𝒏'𝒔 𝒑𝒐𝒗

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

this can also be read as a stand alone! (prefer read the other parts too to feel more of the grief)

pairing: king!hongjoong x queen!reader (royalty au)

wc: 2.9k

genre: fluff, angst (like super angst)

a/n: i kinda went overboard with the wc, but please take note that this is the QUEEN'S POV. i don't want you guys to misunderstood the story, ok then, enjoy! sorry in advanced if there are any errors in it. reblogs and comments are very much appreciated <3

"do you want to be queen, y/n?"

"what?! you want me to marry your father?"

"NO!! Its not that,"

"then what is it, crown prince kim hongjoong?"

"I'm asking you to marry me and be my queen,"

"your proposal sounds like you're asking me out to play in the garden," you raised your eyebrow at him amusingly.

you both looked at each other and laughed whole heartedly under the shade provided by an oak tree on top of a hill.

the two of you have known each other since you were kids. as the daughter of the king's personal assistant, you two spent most of your lives running around playing with each other in the palace. you were always each other's company.

"CROWN PRINCE HONGJOONG!!!" the yelling of the maids and royal guards. looking for the young teenager.

behind the gate walls, you stood there with hongjoong, hand in hand, and your backs closely against the wall. he looks at you and shushed you to be quiet as he started running towards a direction pulling you with him by your entangled hands, forcing you to run with him.

passing through the village, over a small river, and a few trees not enough to be called a forest but enough to hid what was behind it. hongjoong closed your eyes with both of his hands, and carefully guided you. you gasp in amazement when he showed you the view. a wide meadow filled with tall bright golden petaled flowers. sunflowers.

"i know how much you really love sunflowers, so i planted them here myself, hidden and far away from everyone's sight," he said proudly to you. the only person who knew this meadow is just the two of you. you were left speechless, not knowing how to respond to him. it truly warms your heart to one of his love languages. his efforts showed his love for you.

"this shall be our secret place, my love," he pulls you into his embrace and you held him back tightly. feeling each other's heartbeat. he felt so pleasant and comfy.

"my future queen." he added and kisses the crown of your head.

after being officially engaged, hongjoong would always accompany you to all of your dress fittings. he loves the way every piece of clothing fits perfectly on you, and how it made you shine brighter.

"oh my god! you look so majestic in that color!!" he complimented you with doe eyes, adoring your figure.

you did a little twirl showing it off more to him and he squealed at how lovely you looked. it made his heart beats so fast and his face flushed red, he hid his face in his hands, too shy to show you his honest reaction. you can't help but laughed at him and took his hand away and lands a soft kiss on his cheeks. he felt so flustered with your bold reaction and not wanting to lose, he kisses your lips softly. he dragged you onto his lap and you both enjoyed kissing lovingly at each other and giggling in between.

it was the most grand and eventful wedding to ever be held. he was way more excited and thrilled than you were. he wanted the best for you, and he did. inviting guests from all affiliates, everyone in the country, every living being, he wanted the whole world to know that you're officially his. he had royal professional dressmakers custom you the most beautiful piece of wedding attire. gifting you rare and luxurious jewelleries. ordering royal cooks to prepare thousands of your favourite delicacies. he wanted everyone to know that its your signature dish. banners and posters of you two hung all over the country to celebrate.

he hired the most talented musicians to specifically play your favourite tune. fresh flowers decorated the entire palace walls. he ordered well know artistic painters to create the most magnificent portraits of you and so he hung them in his office. he loved you so dearly with all of his heart. though his words were not enough, he expressed them by showing you. tears of heartfelt stream down his face during the ceremony. you are his friend, his lover, his wife, his queen.

the people knowing their rulers were deeply in love with each other, they had hope for a very bright future for their country.

he had the maids prepared his quarters as to fit the two of you. he opposed the tradition of you having your own quarters. he wanted to be close to you at all times. sleeping next to you. waking up with you in his arms. spending night and day with you. share all those intimate times together. you had always have each other.

hongjoong appointed personal maids and servants to always accompany you and take care of your needs when he's not there beside you.

after years of reign, hongjoong was suggested by his royal advisor to have a concubine. it has always been a tradition passed down by generations. but he banished all of his father's concubine after the former king died and closed down the harem. knowing that only you holds his heart, he shall not need other women. but a dark hidden part of him wanted to agree with the advisor.

it took him months trying to figure out the words to you, but no words were needed. his actions spoke louder. he grew distant. he was less affectionate. and his mind wonders around whenever you talk to him. he didn't noticed he had neglected you until you finally spoke up when you knew about his plans during dinner.

"you want to bring back the harem?"

he choked on his food and you couldn't help but laugh at his reaction first then helped him before he suffocates himself to death.

"i understand with our current situation, i shall give you my permission, under one condition," you added.

the man didn't have time to explain it to you. but you were so understandable with the 'current situation'. he wanted, needed a successor. a child. a continuation of his bloodline. he looks at you attentively. his heart felt sorrow that you agreed to this idea.

"let me have my own quarters-"

"i object your request, my queen," he cuts you off. he denied your suggestion to be places further away from him.

"then do you want me to sit and watch in your room while you and your concubines bang and do your things??" a hint of amusement in your tone and a smirk on your face.

realisation hits the man in front of you and he averts his gaze away from you. he had never felt so embarrassed and stupid.

"its called giving privacy, you foolish king," flicking you fingers softly on hongjoong's forehead. he replied nothing but an amusing laugh at your humor. you called out for your head maid.

"prepare the empty quarters, move out all of my belongings from his majesty's quarters to there. it shall be mine from now on." the head maid was beyond shock when you gave her the orders. she kept on asking the reasons and you told her everything. she was one of the closest people you have in this palace.

even after the opening of the harem, and king's night was full of lust with his new concubines. every after intimate night he would head over your quarters, knocking softly on your door, begging you to let him in.

it surprised you at first but day by day it became a normal routine.

"it just doesn't feel the same without you. it felt so wrong," hearing out hongjoong's rants while having him laying down on your chest, his face snuggled in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent. you ran down your fingers softly tracing indescribable patterns, comforting him.

but those nights and regime slowly vanish after he spent most of his nights with the same concubine.

during your usual stroll, you stumbled upon a young woman crouching at the bank of the small stream in the palace grounds. you approached her slowly not wanting to startled her but your shadow caught her attention. she stood up and bowed at you respectfully. glancing at her outfit, she must be the one.

"you must be his favourite," you stated and she looked up at you with a confused look.

'she does look adorable, i understand him now.' you thought to yourself.

"its nice meeting you my dear. be careful not to hurt yourself, okay." you smiled, patting her head and left her alone while you continue on your evening stroll.

you stumbled upon the same concubine again from a far on a lovely evening. she noticed your figure and came running down at you with something in her grasp. stopping in front of you, she squealed in excitement and bowed as usual.

"what's gotten you so excited?" you chuckled merrily at her behavior.

"i plucked these out for you, it reminded me of your beauty." she handed out a small bouquet of mix flowers to you and you took them wholeheartedly while your head maid looks at them in disbelieve.

"its so nice of you plucking out flowers in my own garden and gifting them back to me like this."

the woman in front of you gasped in shock. repeatedly muttering apologies. she wasn't informed of your garden. you were furious but it all faded away because they're flowers. and its because it reminded her of yourself.

flowers reminded you of someone too. someone who used to gift you endless fresh flowers everyday. it made you smile to yourself like a fool. you accepted her pleas and pats her head as usual and made your way.

"put these in a vase and place them in his majesty's office." you handed out the flowers to your head maid walking beside you.

your time spent with hongjoong was getting less day by day. some days you didn't even see him in your sight. you've miss him. his laugh. his smile. his voice. his touch. his kiss. his mere presence.

"hongjoong, would you-"

"not now, I'm busy, tell me later." he cuts you off when you stumbled each other at the hallway.

"what?" you mutter in disbelieve.

"I'm sorry, y/n, love, we'll talk tonight." and he left. leaving you with no further explanation.

you felt your knees weaken and you dropped down on the cold floor. all these time, he had never dismissed you. no matter how important the work was, he always puts you first. even during meetings with the ministers, he dismissed them all just to give you all his utmost attention.

tears streaming down your face unknowingly. your hands clawing at your aching heart.

you asked hongjoong for his opinion on your appearance, for you had dolled up a bit for him today. trying to win his heart back.

"you looked gorgeous as always, my queen," he replied as he held your face in the palm of his hands.

"i love you, hongjoong." you spoke and leans in onto his touch. eyes straight into his. a soft smile on his gorgeous face, but his eyes betrayed the words he admitted. there was no spark as it used to. your heart starting to swell in pain.

"i love you too, sweetheart," he replied with still flutters at the nickname he called you. sweetheart.

somehow it suddenly felt wrong. it felt one sided.

the day you needed someone. someone to hear out you rants. someone to hold you close. consoling you with sweet words. someone who understands you. a person? a friend?

your lover, you yearn for him.

making your way to his office asking his assistant for his presence but was denied as it was said he was busy. again. he's busy. turning around in defeat, but you did not take any steps away from the door. your ears perked upwards at the loud laughter emitted from behind the door. loud giggles of a woman. a very familiar woman.

you looked over at the servant and he bowed to you, understanding your feelings, he apologise in the king's behalf.

you gave him a bitter smile and made your way to your awaiting quarters. every step you take, the more you weep in silent.

every morning the king greeted you at breakfast but it doesn't sound sincere anymore.

every afternoon the king spent his time in his office. laughing away with another woman.

every evening the king enjoys his time strolling around the palace hand in hand with that other woman.

and every night the king made love with his woman. his dearest concubine.

your usual evening routine was disturbed and it felt like your world stopped moving when you laid your eyes on the king and his concubine walking side by side towards your direction.

you gasped in shock when you saw the flower in the concubine's hands. a bright golden petaled flower. a sunflower.

"y-you took her to our meadow?" you voice laced with hurt.

you clutched your heart filled with sorrow and ran away as fast as you could without looking back. not bothering the call of your name by the king and your maid. not minding either the tears gushing out of your eyes as you kept on running aimlessly. somewhere in the forest, you sat down leaning back against a random tree and wailed your heart out.

hongjoong looked for you everywhere. your quarters. the meadow. the oak tree. the palace grounds. the whole village. before the search order was executed, you made your presence in front of the gate.

all eyes were on you, especially his. your maid slowly approach before you stopped her and everyone else's movements and words with a simple raise of your hand.

"don't."

a simple word you uttered, but your tone holds more power to it. with an numb expression. your eyes bore into the king's eyes in nothing but emptiness. he felt hurt for once. but it wasn't even the slightest near as much as how you felt. he gave you space and dismissed everyone, including your loyal head maid. even the maid was more loyal than your own lover.

you waited for hours in your room, on your bed. waiting for hongjoong. you still had some faith in him and hoped that he would come knocking on your door. a part of you still wants him. then there it was, a knock.

"hongjoong!?" you sat up abruptly, eyes gleaming at the door in hope, but it died down in an instant when you saw the person.

"sorry I'm not the person you hoped for, your majesty," your maid.

"the sun has already risen." she added. you looked over the window. she's right. how could you not notice the light? maybe its because the light in you died.

you never expected to find the other woman in the throne room. your throne room.

"what's a whore lurking around in my throne room," you looked at her with arms crossed over your chest.

"sorry to disappoint you, but your king isn't here," you added with a sneer and you kept on insulting and hurting her feelings with nothing but the truth of her service to the king. it was until you were interrupted by the king's voice himself.

"Y/N!! i have never heard you speak with such obnoxious words. mind your language," you responded him with a simple scoff. rolling your eyes at him.

"you are to never speak ill of her ever again," he added while wrapping his arms around the woman's waist as she clings herself onto your man.

"you're joking..." you utter in disbelieve.

"my queen-"

"no, to make things clear. i am the queen of this country, the ruler of my people, and most of all, i am no longer the queen of your heart."

"don't say that, my love. you know how much i love you," his nickname of you still made your heart skip a beat. but his body was still attached to the other woman.

"your actions speaks louder than your words, your majesty."

his felt pain in his heart. for once you addressed him by his tittle. you had never done that. you said it would made you feel so distant from him. you both dropped all formalities between you two. never was a day was those nonsense tittles was used in your conversations, until today.

and the days after.

to my beloved,

the man who stood tall and proud,

the man who ruled my heart.

never have i regretted spending most of my life with you,

growing up with you,

enjoying my childhood with you,

going through my teenage years with you,

living my life with you by my side.

the oak tree that witnessed our bond,

the same tree you confessed your love to me,

the same tree that heard my pleas of missing you,

the same tree that witnessed your betrayal.

for the sunflower meadows we grew up with,

running chasing each other till our hearts content,

for we always awaited every year for them to bloom,

and every season they enjoyed our laughter,

until you had her,

leaving me to wither away.

your mere presence next to me,

you're so close yet so far,

my heart still yearns for you,

but does your heart yearns for me too?

your kisses felt nothing,

your embrace felt numb,

you've lost your spark,

what have i done?

what have you done to me.

you may have deceived my heart,

and i pray for you to not taint hers,

as you did with mine.

my king,

my husband,

my lover,

my friend,

whoever you are,

whoever you'll be,

I will endlessly love you till my last breath.

from yours beloved,

once ruler of your heart.

dividers

taglist: @seonghw4ffles @hwasong @julianatadesmaiada24 @engentiny @cloudy-lilly

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 7 months ago

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Winter's King 15

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: One more day and I'm a homeowner

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. 💖

You slow to a crawl amid the retinue of carts and horses. The sun beams down relentlessly on the summer fields. As you laze in a sheen of sweat, Bryce works to tie a swath of linen over the cart in a makeshift canopy. You thank him for his effort, his own brow slick with sweat as he tugs at his mail.

“I admit my winter’s hide is not made well for this sun,” he utters as he reaches to pet Daisy, the loyal steed tied to his new one as he rides in step with her. “Let’s hope we might reach the tundra in due time.”

“Mm, it is rather hot,” you murmur, exhausted from the endless blaze. It’s three days thus far and many more ahead of you.

“Little maid, cannot complain even when you should,” he tuts.

The cart rolls on, rocking your body as the hooves clomp down on dusty grass. As the train passes over the lands, they leave a trodden path in their stead. The progress is steady but sluggish.

The wheels creak and lurch to a halt as Bryce reins in both horses. You sit up and peer ahead, unable to see more than horse tails and overloaded carts, the helms of soldiers shining under the sun. The knight on his dark steed sits up straighter, alert as he leans forward.

“Eh, maid, keep watch on the mare,” he tosses the reins at you as the royal party comes to a halt.

His horse kicks up dirty as he gallops around the edge of the train. You watch him bend over the beast’s long neck and hurdle ahead of the clog of vehicles and bodies. Something is amiss.

You wait, nervous, as other servants cluster together and wonder aloud. Soldiers mill up and down the winding retinue, themselves sharing no more than looks. You climb out of the cart and walk on your cramped legs. You stroke Daisy’s head as she huffs through her nostrils and nuzzles your shoulder.

“I don’t know either,” you tell her softly.

The pause stretches on and Bryce returns, his horse in a lather. He swings off and lands solidly on his feet. He looks between you and the grey mare.

“Some hold-up, nothing to worry for,” he explains, “enough time to find some water for these beasts.”

He takes Daisy’s reins and hands them to you, “come, there is a river near. I can smell it.”

You peek ahead and squint. You don’t know that you believe it is nothing though you can’t find a reason to argue. You nod and tug on Daisy’s bit.

The soldier leads you across the grass, well away from the front of the train. Others disperse to sit in the meadow and chew on their rations. You continue into the trees and the trickle of the promised water has Bryce proudly exclaiming. He weaves his way around the trunks to come upon the bank, putting his dark brown horse to drink. As the larger stallion laps noisily, Daisy lowers her head and patiently gulps up the ripples.

“Where did you find Chestnut?” you ask. “He must be a castle horse.”

“Aye, he was locked away in some stall. They said he is vicious. Due to be horse pie.”

“Horse pie? But he is fast.”

“They did not lie. He likes to nip,” Bryce warns as you step between the horse, “watch your fingers, mouse.”

“Perhaps he only did not like being locked up,” you suggest and gently touch the horse’s long mane, working out a tangle in the hair. He doesn’t seem to notice.

“Chestnut?” Bryce says, “you’ve given him a name of your own.”

“You didn’t say if he had one,” you brush your hand over the fine short hairs along the horse’s shoulder. “I thought it suited him.”

“Mm, I might call his Hellion but Chestnut is kinder, I s’pose.”

You chuckle. The horse lifts its head and you near the river’s edge. It turns to sniff you and Bryce reaches for your arm. The horse drips water onto you as it sniffs your neck. It lifts its lip, showing its square teeth, then touches its nose to yours, turning back to the water to nicker.

“Mm, you do have a way of taming the wildest creatures, eh,” he muses as he lets you go. “Come, I saw some berries back in the bush.”

You leave the horses near the water and follow the soldier between the trees. As he squats to pluck out dark blackberries, you sway on your feet and glance back toward the road.

“Why have we stopped, sir?” You ask.

“Told ya, no matter to worry for,” he stands and offers you a handful, “be thankful for it. We’ve found a nice horde and it will do ya good to be out of the sun. And to eat.”

You accept the bounty and frown. You know he isn’t telling you all but you know he wouldn’t do so without reason. You stand and pick at the berries, biting in hungrily as the juices coat your mouth. The soldier eats as he picks, plucking a few into his purse as well.

“How do ya like squirrel meat?” He stands again, “I could find us a morsel for the evening fire. Perhaps a hare if I can.”

“If you like, sir,” you accept. You chew your lip and search the trees. “Is there truly nothing wrong?”

“I told ya not to worry,” he growls. “So don’t trouble yerself.”

He beckons you back towards the river. You follow, not asking any more questions. It’s expected that the road won’t be easy, something just feels awry.

⚔️

The party makes camp at the point of the delay. You return to the road as Bryce grumbles about the evening warmth. The dry heat lingers in the air even as the sun begins its descent.

“Come, you will need look in on the queen, I’m certain,” he ties the horses to the cart and urges you along.

You notice less soldiers as you stride through the train. It’s not so crowded as before. The missing bodies add to your uneasiness. Still, the queen’s tent has been erected and guards keep vigil right outside. You enter and find her alone. She has a veil over her hair as she taps the brim of a cup with her fingernail.

“Alas, a maid!” She snaps as she sees you, “I’ve been calling for wine all night and those damned soldiers only bring me water.”

“Your highness,” you back out of the tent. The soldiers do not move.

You go to the luggage and search for a bottle. You grab one and return to the tent. The soldier at your right extends his arm before you can enter.

“No wine,” he snatches the bottle, “king’s orders.”

You blanch and look ahead at the silken flap. You nod and thank the soldier as he keeps the wine under his arm. You blow out between your breath and once more push through the draped fabric.

“Your highness, there is to be no wine. The king has commanded it,” you say meekly.

“Pardon me? Who are you to refuse me?” She stands and snarls. “My head is on fire, I need wine.”

“Yes, your highness, but the king--”

“I am the queen. My order is a good as his. Bring me wine. Now. You little twit.”

You stare at her unmoving.

“They won’t allow it, your highness--”

A flurry of veil and skirts rushes towards you. Before you can react, a scalding heat radiates over your cheek, the force behind the queen’s slap rattling your head. You stagger back and clutch your head between your hands.

“You stupid girl! I am the queen! You are a dumb maid!” She strikes you again, her hand glancing off your forearm, “stupid stupid twit!”

She continues to hammer you with blows, closing her fists as she hits your shoulders and stomach. You shrink down, curling into yourself as you keep your head shielded. She huffs, tired from her assault, and twirls away.

“I don’t want to see you unless you have a bottle in hand,” she snarls and kicks over the stool. “Go before I have you gutted.”

You wine and stand straight, lip quivering. You turn and hold your left shoulder as it thrums. You step into the night air, aware that the soldiers could no doubt hear the queen’s fit. They say nothing and you don’t either.

You continue through the train of bodies. You feel your cheek pulsing and your brow swelling. You keep your head down and as you reach the cart, you relieved to find it alone but for the two dozing horses. You climb up and turn towards the wooden wall, hiding against it as you hug the cushion.

It isn’t so different from Debray, only that you don’t have Merinda to hold you, to share in your pain. You always preferred that it was you who faced the rather of the ladies. You only hope Lady Rezlyn isn’t issuing the same displeasure upon your companion.

⚔️

The morning comes with the tweeting of birds and a distant rumble. You sit up and look towards the sky. There are no clouds to forewarn a storm. You stare into the horizon where the thunderous noise rolls over the plains.

You see the figures on their approach. Men on horses. As soldiers rush to confront them, their alarm is eased by the wave of a familiar banner. It is the king and his party.

Bryce grumbles as Daisy sniffs him and the coughs into his hand. He shakes his head as you lean out of the cart, watching the specks on the tapestry of green grass. You gasp as you feel him grip your wrist.

“Eh, mouse, what’s happened to ya?” He demands as he pulls your attention back from the distance.

You look at him and the tenderness in your cheek reminds you of the queen’s wrath. You wiggle free of his grasp and sit back against the side of the wagon. You shake your head.

“I went to... the bushes to relieve myself, sir. I tripped.”

He squints at you, his square jaw gritting. He stares daggers at you. You’re not a good liar but you can’t tell him the truth.

“Tripped?” He echoes as his thick brows furrow.

“Yes, sir, it was dark,” you say. “I’ll be alright.”

“Mm, you look as if you were caught by a bear.”

“Really, sir, I am well,” you put your head down.

He growls under his breath and turns away. He fiddles around with his saddle bag before he returns to the cart. He reaches over the top, holding a folded cloth with an acrid smell roiling off of it.

“Put it on ya face,” he demands. “It’ll soothe ya, make you a little less puffy.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“You don’t go trippin’ no more. If ya do, ya let me know,” he scowls.

You nod, sinking into a tense silence. You both know it’s a lie but neither of you will admit it. You put the cloth to your cheek and exhale. It cools your skin though the smell burns your nose.

⚔️

That night you don’t return to the queen’s tent. Bryce claims there’s no need for it. She needs her sleep, as do you. It’s another lie you won’t call out.

Several days pass in the cart. Short nights followed by sweltering days. It’s as if there is no end to the road or the heat.

You sit on your knees, looking ahead as Bryce chews sweet leaves and spits onto the ground. Daisy’s tail sweeps behind her as she keeps a steady trot. You watch the progress with impatience, each moment feeling more and more trapped in the cart.

“...down in Debray...” you hear a voice drift back.

“...don’t like traitors, suppose...” another returns and you search over the carts to try to place the speakers.

“Careful, mouse,” Bryce warns, “you’ll fall under the wheels.

You sit back and face him, holding onto the side of the cart, “sir, what happened?”

“What do ya mean? We’ve been riding,” he sniffs.

“No, days ago, when we stopped. Something... in Debray?”

He grimaces and spits out the leaves completely. He shakes his head, clearing his throat.

“Nothing a maid needs worry about,” he girds.

“I know, sir, my apologies. I’m only curious...” you hang your head, “I... I was raised there, is all.”

He hums and rocks with the motion of Chestnut’s steps, “skirmish up a ways. Party on their way to the castle. Certainly, you know your former master’s deceit has bought him little good will.”

“A skirmish?”

“Ah, so it was, but nothing very dire. The king returned in good spirits, that rat lord—the duke with him,” Bryce explains, “course, it only suits that the lord should see to the defence of his own castle.” He chortles, “shouldn’t tell ya, maid, so ya keeps your lips sealed, but the duke meant to hide in the queen’s tent.” He shakes his head and sighs, “in the Hinterlands, them sortsa lords aren’t lords for long.”

“Mm,” you purse your lips thoughtfully, “but... but the duke, he helped end the war.”

“By betraying his kingdom. We didn’t come to conquer; we came to unite. Turns out, there’s more fractures than those between winter and summer. Shoulda know by Yellow Waleran’s deeds.”

“Yellow?” You wonder.

“Mouse, it is a lot you needn’t worry for. All I can say is a king isn’t much of one if he don’t keep his word,” he sighs, “any lord or man lacks substance if he melts like ice.”

You look down and watch Chestnut’s legs. You slant your lips.

“King Geralt, did he have some agreement with Waleran then?”

Bryce snorts, “too clever. Promises. Broken promises. Deadly things.”

You nod and hold your chin, “and King Geralt, he is a good king?”

“Do you not know by now?” He asks with a smirk, “he is a man who keeps his word. A man who fights for his people, not for gold and a name. No good winter lord would kneel to a man built on coin. Blood, that buys crowns. It buys loyalty.”

You lower yourself onto your bottom and draw your knees up, “for his people?”

“You heard him say it, you summer’s blood are one with us now. Once he has his heir, it will all be set in flesh. A prince to join the realm,” Bryce says, “let us hope he comes soon. The king’s done his part, he’s fought his battles, now it is up to your queen to claim her victory.”

#winter's king #geralt of rivia #dark geralt #dark!geralt #geralt of rivia x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #au #medieval au #the witcher

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pandora-writes-one-piece · 4 months ago

Text

Memento Amoris Aeterni

Source for Pic

Word Count: 7155

Tags: Fem!Reader, NSFW - Oral - you receiving, reader is VERY inexperienced (it's medieval times and you're a princess. You know nothing), Angst without happy ending (!), some fluff, Protective Ace, Caring Ace, some gore, blood, cutting of limbs, medieval times AU. MDNI!!! 🔞

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Summary: You are a princess, the sole heir to the kingdom and a prized possession for your father, until he can sell you to the highest bidder. Because of your value, you have a personal guard, Sir Portgas, who seems bored to death with the task of watching over you. However, you realise that he's just hiding his feelings behind a mask. Yet perhaps now it is too late?

Notes: So I saw this post, and I just had to... I was going to do something very short, I swear, but it escalated! Hope you enjoy!

The meadow looks beautiful this time of year. The vibrant reds from the poppies, the purples from the lavenders, the whites from the daisies, and scattered here and there, some yellows from the sweet buttercups and blues from cornflowers.

It feels like pure freedom.

Your dainty fingers caress the grass as you run, hoisting your long dress over one arm, ignoring the way your white stockings are showing and laughing nervously at the way you almost lose a slipper.

Freedom.

Except not quite. The very ground shakes beneath the thunderous hooves of the galloping horse and you curse beneath your breath, running a little faster, with much more carelessness. Almost there, you almost made it across the meadow this time!

Your hastened breaths leave your parted lips in short puffs while you overexert your tired lungs. You already know freedom is not ahead of you, but you'll be damned if you're going to give him the satisfaction of your surrender.

Two more strides are all you get before an armoured arm circles your waist and effortlessly pulls you on top of the brown steed. You are now trapped between two arms while your legs dangle on the side of the horse. Still fighting to catch your breath, you grunt, curse and frown while clenching your hands into tight fists.

“Curses upon you Sir Portgas!” Akin to a child in the midst of a fiery tantrum, you cross your arms over your chest and point your nose to the clear sky. “I was almost out!”

The horse steadies its pace into a trot while a deep chuckle graces your ears. “You were nowhere near ‘out’, Princess.” He tsks and you can almost feel his dark gaze upon your face. “Of all the jobs in the guard, I had to draw the short stick and land this one…”

Another grunt emerges from your gritted teeth. “Some knights would die for the honour of guarding the princess!”

“Those knights are idiots.”

“At least they're not insufferable!”

Another rumble of laughter is all you get and just as well because you are not willing to give anything more.

You are the sole heir of the Kingdom and the most prized possession your father holds. As an heiress and a princess, he will get to pick and choose of any noble to be your husband. And he will pick either the wealthiest or the one who can bring him more advantages, be they military, political or financial. You are sure that whoever he picks, will either be hideous, decrepit or disgusting.

With your luck, all three combined.

As you are of utter importance, the King has assigned a permanent guard to you, Sir Portgas D. Ace. The best knight of the Guard, known to possess some mystical fire abilities, though you are sure that is just mere hearsay, and a known heartbreaker. Of that, you don't doubt.

He is as handsome as he is unbearable. And that is saying a lot.

“Your father the king will be utterly displeased at, yet another attempt to escape.” He says dryly.

You grunt in response, busy plucking tiny burdocks from the hem of your dress and throwing them at Sir Portgas’s cape, unbeknownst to him. “Then don't tell him.”

“When I took this job, I thought I would be fighting brigands, thieves or assassins.” He scoffs. “Instead, I'm stuck as a milk nanny of a brat.”

“The job suits you. Takes a brat to recognize another one.” You mumble and hiss, a particularly nasty spike from the burdock protruding from your bleeding thumb.

“Oh, heavens. The Princess is bleeding. Call the priest.” He guffaws and you scowl, your eyes turning into slits.

“Amusing jest. Perhaps you should try your fortune as a court jester? Mayhaps you wouldn't be so bored?” Using your nails, you try to pick the spike, but it just breaks with the force and you curse, stifling a low whine.

Sir Portgas removes his steel glove, settling it on his lap, and grabs your delicate hand with his. Your hiss this time has nothing to do with the pain, but with the electric feeling that courses through your body, leaving a tingling sensation on your extremities.

His dark gaze bores into yours as he presses your thumb into his mouth and sucks. The day is not even hot, yet you feel as if your skin has set ablaze. He uses his tongue on your digit, procuring the spike and, once he finds it, he nibbles and sucks again.

If you thought his hand on yours had caused a tingling feeling, his tongue has somehow made that tingling seem insignificant. You are aching and burning in places you shouldn't be.

Your teeth clamp hard against your lower lip to stifle some weird sound that means to get out, yet your breath comes out in heaves through your nose and your peculiar mind says you must look like a tired horse: nostrils flaring, sweat dampening your mane and hot, flushed skin.

Sir Portgas removes your thumb from his mouth after what resembles an eternity, and he spits towards the ground, gracing you with a smug smile. “There. No more vile thorn can harm you, my lady. I took care of your foe, as I was hired to do.”

Yet, for once, you are speechless.

There is no counter jest, there is no witty remark. You cradle your hand against your lap and remain silent the rest of the way to the castle, your eyes never leaving the safety of the horse’s head.

If Sir Portgas finds it peculiar, he does not say so.

-*-

“I do not understand this need to escape, child! Do you not have all you wish for here in the castle? I give you all the gowns you desire, the pretty jewels, the fancy shoes! If you get bored I send for jesters, for animals, for dancers or plays! If you wish to meet new people, I host tournaments and gatherings! What is it you wish for that I cannot grant you? Pray, tell!”

You face the floor, your hands clasped in the front of your ruined and tattered gown. Your shoes look as if they had been through war and your hair has never been in a more dishevelled state.

Sir Portgas stands at attention behind you, to your right. His gaze facing forward, his gloved hand on the hilt of his sword. He doesn’t even flinch. You know he didn’t tell your father anything, he was with you the whole time. It was the guards by the gate that relayed that information.

Now you are being scolded for yet another botched escape attempt. You had already lost count of how many there were. You had nineteen springs to your name, now. And your time must be near.

“I do not hear your words! Speak up! What do you want that I have not given you?”

A single tear escapes your eye and runs freely down your cheek.

“Freedom.”

You catch a slight movement from Sir Portgas from the corner of your eye. His gaze meets yours, even if only for a second, as his jawline tightens and clenches. An almost soundless clank from the armour as his hand grips the handle harder.

“Preposterous. You will never be free. You belong to me now, child, and soon you will belong to your husband. That is the way of things. Begone!”

You hold your head high and your shoulders square as you exit the throne room and pass through an entire contingent of guards. Yet, as soon as the door closes behind you, your hands lift your skirts once more and you flee to your room as fast as your tired feet can take you. It does not matter that you are half-blinded by tears as you know the way around the castle as if it were the back of your hand.

You do not hear Sir Portgas following you, yet, he will find you. He always does.

Curse him.

-*-

The rain hits the carriage roof with extreme intensity. There’s mud on the road and the horses are dragging the vehicle to the best of their abilities, but the rain is cold and harsh and you can see smoke emerging from their flared nostrils from where you’re standing.

You’re returning from a visit to a cousin, in the next kingdom. You have been away for three weeks and nothing has changed. Your life is dull and you are still trapped in it like a hare in a string trap, just waiting for the hit on the head so you’re fed to the hunter.

Sighing you let out a loud huff. Your handmaiden keeps staring out the window with dreamy eyes and she ahhs and ohhs as if she has an affliction. You have half a mind to ask her if she’s constipated or in pain when you realise she’s staring at Sir Portgas, who rides next to the carriage.

He has removed his helmet because of the rain and his dark locks cling to his face and forehead with the heavy rain. His eyes are steely and dart from one side to the other, ever alert to any danger. Handsome as ever.

You roll your eyes at yet another insufferable sigh from the woman across from you. “Enough!” You bite. “I cannot stand another moan from your mouth. What is so interesting?”

“He is, my lady.” She giggles like a little girl and you feel your chest clench and contract as anger boils within you. What is this feeling?

“Are you jesting?”

“I would never! He is so gallant and valiant. And his freckles? His smile? The way he fights?” Another sigh. You have had enough.

You’re about to order the carriage to stop because you wish to feel the rain on your face at the back of a horse. Instead, you hear dry thuds followed by screams and then, the tip of a spear protruding the carriage door and opening your maid’s skull with a sickening sound.

Your scream gets trapped in your throat, but your lips tremble incessantly. There are tears running from your eyes and you start to pant fast as your eyes never leave the gory image in front of you.

She still has her eyes open, her mouth shaped like an ‘o’ as blood and grey matter are splattered around her. Did the blood get on you as well? You dare not look. She was just laughing and now she’s so still.

You’re trembling. The screams and shouts outside increase in volume and proximity and the carriage halts to a full stop as you hear a pained neigh of a horse. The thuds of your heart grow louder and louder, as if it's beating right in your ears and your pants come in shortened gasps as your head gets lighter.

The plush of the seat you are on gives in as your fingernails dig and scratch to ground yourself. There is so much blood.

So much screaming.

Suddenly the door to the carriage jolts open and you turn in terror, barely having time to scream, and even if you meant to scream, you wouldn’t be able to. A wet, clammy hand finds its way to your mouth to keep you quiet and you’re inundated with the nauseating smell of metal.

Blood.

Another hand grabs you by the arm and yanks hard to pull you out of the carriage. You’re sure it will bruise. Yet, you couldn’t care less. As soon as you’re out of the carriage and you clumsily find your footing, before the man - whose appearance you are yet to perceive - manages to take you away, you bite his fingers with all the strength you possess.

Blood. Again.

This time it fills your mouth and you spit it on the floor as soon as the man drops you, with surprise. Your knees scrape against the rocks and mud below you and you claw your way forward until you find the strength to be on your feet, preparing to run.

All around you men clash swords. There’s agonised screams and blood everywhere. You need to go!

Yet you barely get one step in before a bloody hand clasps around your neck and squeezes. ��Going somewhere, you little princess whore.” The man lifts you easily off the ground and your throat aches and your lungs burn. You try to gasp for air but nothing but wheezes leave your parted lips.

Your fingernails scratch relentlessly against his hand but he does not relent. Around you the sounds of battle seem to fade into the distance. Legs dangling, your feet try to kick the man holding you, but strength fails you and you are sure this is the way you die. “Just pass out, little whore.” He whispers in your ear as his wet tongue swipes your neck and ear.

You can’t squirm away. You can’t fight back. You’re useless.

You feel your eyelids drooping as your chest trembles and your arms fall limply beside you. But just as you’re about to dive into sweet oblivion, a sword swings and cuts right through the man’s arm, making you fall and stumble forward, right into the arms of your knight. Your guard, your protector.

Sir Portgas.

He holds you against him effortlessly as you gasp for air and cough. A pressure on your throat that burns and hurts. But you’re safe.

“Breathe, Princess. I won’t let anything happen to you.” The man that was holding you mutters incoherently. Begging for his life, pleading for mercy, asking for aid from the gods. Yet you know that all is in vain. Your knight was made to protect you. He will kill anyone or anything that attempts to take your life.

Still holding you he moves his blade effortlessly and you hear a blood-curdling scream. Trying to normalise your breath, you turn your face to look back, but Ace holds your head against him with a gloved hand. “It’s best if you don’t look.” You nod against him, feeling your legs faint from fear.

“We are going to run. Close your eyes and hold my hand. I will guide you. Do you trust me?” You lift your head to look into his eyes and there is tenderness, determination, courage and something else you can’t quite place, as he looks down at you.

“With my life.” Your whisper comes in shaky gasps and he nods, holding your hand in his.

“Run.” He orders and you do. Your eyes clenched shut as you still hear screams and the sound of colliding blades.

Something whooshes past you and you hear a roar of sorts, at the same time as Sir Portgas mutters something under his breath. There is another scream - close, too close! - and the stench of burning flesh.

“I’m going to pick you up. Keep your eyes closed, Princess.” He doesn’t need to tell you twice. And as he hoists you over his shoulder by the waist, you clamp your hands against your ears to keep the sounds away.

But the screaming doesn’t stop.

It never stops.

-*-

You feel yourself being set down on the ground but it’s as if the shock has left you in a rigid state. Your hands remain on your ears and your eyes shut tightly. There’s someone calling your name and shaking you but you have retreated so far into your mind that you can’t come back easily.

“..ss… Princess!”

Your eyes snap open as you gasp and a loud sob leaves your parted lips. Tears flood down and you try to release yourself from the firm hands that are holding you down.

“It’s me, it’s me! Ace! Everything is fine! Princess, calm down!” He whispers your name. “Please calm down. Look at me.”

Still panting and gasping for air, your nails digging into his bloodied armour, you lock eyes with his dark gaze. He looks worried and pained, and you focus on his freckles instead, counting them to ground yourself.

One, two…

“It’s over, we escaped, we are fine.”

Three, four…

“I’m not sure anyone else survived. We have no horses, no food, no clothes or shelter.”

Five, six…

“The rain has given us some truce for the time being, but it won’t let up the whole night. We will rest for a bit, and then we have to go.”

Seven, eight…

“Princess, are you with me?” You don’t know when he took the gloves off, but his warm hand makes contact with your cheek and you gasp, your eyes focusing back on his. “There is nothing to fear. I won’t let anyone or anything harm you. You have my promise.”

You nod and gulp. Another tear escapes your eyes and he wipes it with his thumb.

“It could have been me.” You whisper and your voice is rasp. Your throat is sore and raw and you realise you are quite thirsty. “The spear… it just… her head… she was… she…”

He nods and mumbles some soothing words. “You’re alive. You’re fine. Try not to think of what you saw. I’ll take you home.”

You nod as your hand scratches your throat. Sir Portgas reaches and hands you a leather pouch. “Drink. It’s water.”

He sits on the floor for a moment as he sheds his steel armour.

“Should you be taking that off? What if there are more enemies?” You ask, concerned.

“I am faster without it, anyway. And all the noise will just give our location away to those listening.”

Makes sense.

He gives you another moment to rest and then extends his hand to help you up. Your eyes fall on your dress and you frown. It is splattered with blood, mud and all kinds of stains. Not to mention that it is soaked through.

“Come, we need to find shelter. It’s almost nightfall.”

You are surrounded by forest, you have no idea what kind of shelter he means to find, but you trust him completely. He was assigned to you two years ago, when you were presented to society and your father started entertaining nobles who wanted a claim on your hand.

Luckily, none suited his fancy enough to tempt him.

Sir Portgas has never left your side once. He sleeps when you sleep, eats when you eat, gets up when you get up. His duty to you is never-ending. He knows all there is to know about you. And you only know what he wanted to share with you. Next to nothing, because he always found the job boring.

As both of you walk through the woods, feeling the gentle pitter-patter of the slow rain, you feel as if you have calmed down enough. There is still adrenaline rushing through your veins, and you release it by holding a long, thick stick and swiping leaves with it, as if it were a sword.

“Who attacked us?”

He keeps his eyes ahead, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword so tight, his knuckles are white.

“I’m not sure. There were no banners.”

“Brigands, you think? They saw the coach and decided we might have treasures to steal?”

“Most likely.” He grunts.

“But you don’t think that was the case?”

He stops and you bump into his hard back, as you were staring at your stick. You mumble an apology and feel your cheeks warm up. Never had you noticed how taut and defined he was, beneath the steel armour.

Looking at you, his eyes now permanently creased with concern, he sighs. “They were too organised to be simple brigands or thieves. They had military precision so they had to belong to an army. An enemy army, perhaps. I need to take you back home.”

He tugs at your arms and starts walking again.

“No.”

“What?”

“I don’t want to go back home.” You whisper, but you keep walking alongside him. He divides his attention with your surroundings and your face.

“I can understand that, but it is far too dangerous. We need to know if the King received some sort of ransom note or-...”

“I don’t care! You can leave me wherever and go back to my father saying they killed me! I cannot return home to be sold like cattle to the highest bidder!”

You refuse to let tears leave your eyes this time. He stops again and stares at you. You can’t read him.

At all.

“There.” He points behind you and you turn. It’s a small cave. “It will have to do. Come.” And just like that he decides the argument is over and drags you to the entrance, collecting some random sticks along the way. It is actually a rather large cave and Sir Portgas takes the wood from your hand, rips a piece of his tunic and ties it to the end of the wood.

Muttering a few words, a flame shoots out of his fingers and he lights the cloth easily. You look at him, flabbergasted and awestruck. So it is true. He has fire powers.

“Fascinating.” You can’t help but exclaim under your breath.

“Thank you, Princess.” He replies with a smirk and tells you to follow him as he delves into the bowels of the cave.

Deeming you far enough not to be spotted, he drops the sticks he collected in a neat pile, adds some more wood that’s scattered inside the cave, and lights it with the flame he’s already holding.

“Undress, Princess, you don’t want to catch a cold.”

“Pardon?” You should really stop blushing. It is embarrassing.

He is already removing his tunic and breeches, leaving only his undergarments on for some modesty and you look away.

“If you worry about modesty today, you will be dead of pneumonia tomorrow. Undress your gown and set it to dry.” He says as he drapes his clothes on a large rock near the place he built the fire. “I promise I won’t bite.”

You take a moment to consider, but you know he’s right. You’re already feeling tremors for staying out in the rain for so long. So you do know you will get sick if you don’t get out of the wet clothes.

With a heavy sigh you try to remove the ribbons that hold your dress together, but you can’t reach them.

“Sir Portgas…” You start, your voice a mere whisper.

“It’s Ace.”

“Ace.” The name rolls off your tongue like something sinful and you lower your gaze. “I require your assistance, please.”

As he raises his head towards you, he immediately understands your predicament. He gets up and approaches your back with slow steps. Catching your breath, you lower your neck a bit.

His fingers are soft against the bare skin of your neck as he moves your hair from your nape to the side, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind. The shiver that crawls up your spine has nothing to do with the cold.

His face draws near as he untangles the ribbons and you can feel his breath against your neck and upper back. The tingling sensations return to your body, leaving you breathless and panting. There is a need deep within you that you don’t quite understand or know how to fulfil.

Yet, you have an inkling that Ace could very well fulfil it. And he would certainly know how.

He removes the last ribbon and steps back a pace. “There.” Ace's voice sounds deeper than before and, when you turn, his eyes are all pupil as he stares at you. Your heartbeat accelerates as you lock eyes with him, silently begging him not to look away as your fingers gently tug at the gown, undressing.

Your chest heaves and you see his eyes fall to your chemise-covered bosom as the muscle in his jaw twitches.

The need for something intensifies and you reach forward, touching him through the fabric of his linen shirt, feeling the firmness of his chest.

“Princess…” He whispers.

“Ace…”

You take a step forward and hold his hand. It's big and calloused from the swords but it's so warm.

“Touch me.” You plead. You could order him, though you're not sure he would follow that order.

“I…” He seems torn. You know he's a loyal knight. He serves valiantly and believes in the kingdom he protects. Touching you would be treasonous and could lead to execution.

You decide to be honest. “I feel… I don't quite know how to explain it, but when you touch me, like when you did with the thorn I had on my finger, or when you lift me up to place me in your horse there's…” You exhale deeply. “A warmth, a fire within me that I don't know how to handle.” Lowering your gaze and swallowing a lump in your throat, you make a final plea. “Teach me how to handle it, Ace.”

He groans but doesn't take his hand away from yours. So you brazenly place it above your chest. Watching him closely, you see his eyes darken as his hand twitches and he grits his teeth.

“Princess, I…”

“I have been told that men lie with women to procreate. I wasn’t informed of all the details, but I've heard the maids whisper about things that can be done that do not get a woman with child.” Could you be burning up more? Are you seriously asking this of Ace?

He remains frozen in place, his hand still on your chest and you feel like a fool.

Sighing you swat his hand away and turn. “Forget I said anything.” Yet his strong arm envelops your waist and he pulls your body against his, burying his face in the crook of your neck and inhaling.

“Gods above and below…” He mutters against your skin and you tremble. “Is this really happening?” You feel something hard against your lower back and flush. You know what it is. But you've never seen one. You don't know what to expect. “Princess… You are correct, there are things we can do that do not get you with child and assure you remain intact until your wedding night.” His voice seems pained. “Are you certain that-...”

“Yes!” You moan, No longer able to contain the need inside you. Not when his hot breath is fanning against your neck, not when his hand is squeezing your waist nor when his hardness presses against your back. Your need is him! You're sure of it.

“I have dreamed of this for so long…” He whispers. You want to ask what he means by that, but then his tongue draws circles on your neck and around your earlobe and you gasp, all thoughts dissolving into nothingness. His hands fall on your shoulders and he hooks his fingers on the sleeves of your chemise. “Princess…”

“Take it off.” You command.

He tugs at the fabric and the garment crumples on the floor, leaving you with nothing but your white stockings. You blink as you focus your eyes on your body. You're not cold, yet your nipples are erect and there are goosebumps all over your skin. It's a reaction to his touch.

You turn slowly, cheeks ablaze as you seek his eyes. Ace gulps as he takes you in. “Can I kiss you?” He starts but then shakes his head and groans. “No, forget it, that should be reserved for your husband.”

Yet you don't care about a possible husband in a future you can’t yet forsee. You want Ace's lips. And you want them now.

So you grab his face and pull him down, clumsily pressing your lips to his and bumping your teeth together. After a moment he chuckles into your mouth and you flush and pull back, embarrassed.

“Don't get mad at me, Princess.” He says, a glimmer in his eyes and a softness you’ve never seen before. His hand grips your hip as he pulls you towards him. A thumb gently stroking the bone of your hip, sending a warm wave of heat towards your centre. Lowering his head, he gently pulls your face to him by putting a hand on your nape. This time, when your lips collide, it's with softness. He moves them and you moan involuntarily. His sinful tongue licks and teases and you open your mouth, gasping as he takes your tongue in his and swirls.

The sensation is divine.

You had no idea a kiss could be like this. None of the books mentioned it! It’s making your heart flutter against your chest and causing an ache and a burn between your legs. You still don’t know how to handle it.

But Ace does.

His hand finds its way to your breast and he slowly teases the nipple, flicking it softly with his thumb. You pull away from the kiss and gasp again. “Oh, my!”

“Did that feel good?” You nod vigorously. “That's good, Princess. I'm going to make you feel even better.”

He lowers you down so you sit on top of your dress. “If you don't like something, tell me.” You nod.

“Can you take this off?” You grab his shirt and he smirks, pulling the linen garment over his head. His muscles are very defined and you take your time pressing your fingers against his chest and abs. There is a dark trail of hair that leads to the inside of his underwear but as your fingers trace it, he grasps your hand in his and kisses your fingers.

“Let us take care of that warmth you feel first, shall we?” You nod and lie back, nervous.

He starts slowly, his gentle fingers tracing patterns on your skin, lingering on the nipples, watching the rise and fall of your breasts as he finds what feels particularly good. And then he devours you.

His eager mouth latches onto one of your nipples, sucking and teasing with his tongue.

“What?” You arch your back against his touch and the fire keeps spreading. Fiery tendrils climbing all over you. He's just building the fire higher and higher. When does it stop?

And do you want it to stop? Because this feeling burns marvellously.

His tongue licks towards your belly button and then your mound. “Wait!” You gasp and he raises his head.

“I can stop if you want, but I promise you it will feel good.”

You don't know if he's telling the truth, but you trust him completely. So you nod. “Don't stop.”

He uses his hands to raise your legs and place them over his shoulders and when he stares, you feel yourself shrinking with embarrassment.

“So beautiful…” You hear him murmur before he leans in and you feel his tongue swiping a hot streak across your folds.

“Oh!” Throwing your head back, you immediately arch your back against his touch. “Oh, my!”

He stops for a moment and meets your gaze. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No!” You almost plead.

“Make all the sounds you want, Princess. Please.”

You're not quite sure what he means by that but you still agree. And then his tongue repeats the same movement and you smile. Dear Gods, this can't be true. His hand disappears beneath you and you feel his finger inside you touching a spot that makes you want to scream with pleasure. So you do.

He mumbles against you and the vibration of his lips on your sensitive nub makes you roll your eyes.

“Oh, Gods! Ace!”

Your hips buckle against his face involuntarily and you want to feel ashamed but you can't because it feels too good! His tongue is hot and slippery and he laps at you with such vigour that it makes you writhe beneath him. His fingers - yes, more than one - move inside and out with ease continually touching a spot that feels so, so good.

“Oh, my! Oh, my!” You can't stop a string of curses from escaping your lips. The warmth builds up, spreading to your legs and toes, and to your belly, until suddenly it snaps!

You see bright lights as your head falls back, moaning loudly and incessantly while you pant and scream his name. It feels good, it feels so good!

Ace continues lapping at your core and it feels like it's very sensitive now, so you whine and he stops. “You did so well, Princess. You taste so good.” His lips are glistening and he looks dazed. You are smiling as you pant but you pull him to you, eager to taste what you’ve left on his lips. He gives you exactly what you want - lips, tongue, taste - and you mewl against him, lost in pleasure and dizziness from your previous orgasm.

As you break apart you lock eyes with Ace, an exhilarating feeling coursing through you. “That was…” You laugh.

“I know.” He says cheekily as he caresses your cheek. “You're so beautiful.”

You feel yourself flush again, he’s never spoken to you like this. He was always arrogant and insufferable. Acting as if watching over you was the most boring task he’d ever had to do. Yet, now it seems he’s ready to write you love poems.

“What else can we do?” You touch him again, where his hair starts to disappear below his underwear. He clenches his jaw as your hand traces the shape of his cock. “Does that go… inside me?” You ask, biting your lip. It seems big. Will it fit?

“It does. But that's for the wedding night, Princess.” He says, his tone sad.

“What if I don't want to get married?” You frown. “I told you I don't want to go back. I shouldn’t have to marry some old lord I don't care about.” You hold his hand, entwining your fingers with his. “Maybe we can be together.”

He looks downcast as his forehead meets yours and lets out a deep sigh. “Don't tempt me, Princess.” He says, placing a chaste kiss on your forehead. “I've been in love with you since we met. The constant fear of losing you to another man keeps me awake most nights. I cannot bear the thought of never being able to have you. So don't tempt me, please.” His fervour leaves you breathless.

Love?

You thought he abhorred you! You believed he only put up with you because it was his job. Nothing more. Love?

Cupping his face in your hands, you stare deeply into his eyes. “Let's run away. You and me. Away from my father's kingdom, from duties, from everything. He will think we're dead, anyway!”

“No, Princess. I have a duty to my king and my kingdom. I cannot do it.” He says as your eyes fill with tears. “And you have a duty to your father as well. Don’t forget that.”

“Ace… Please…”

“No. I can't.” His eyes squeeze shut as he presses his forehead against yours once more. “Don't ask me this. Please.”

Torn between love and duty. And you wish he would simply choose love. You pull away from him, covering your face as you shed more tears.

Ace sighs and picks up your chemise, gently helping you dress even though you don’t look at him. Then he pulls you against his chest as he settles against a rock. “Sleep, Princess. I will keep watch.”

And you do.

By morning, even the air feels bleaker. There is no more rain, but dark clouds hover above the sky. You can’t change his mind. He’s set to bring you back to the castle.

Back to your prison.

“My father will marry me off…” You whisper, feeling your face crackle with dried tears. Your clothes are stiff from caked mud and blood and you’re pretty sure your heart stayed behind in that dark cave.

Ace’s eyes remain fixed on the road ahead, but you notice him swallowing a lump before he speaks.

“It is your duty, Princess. You have yours, I have mine.” He sighs. “I never meant to burden you with my feelings. A knight is not worthy of a princess’s love.”

“Clearly you have not read the same novels as I have.” You scoff and your response elicits a small chuckle from him, your easy banter slowly returning to normal.

Ace continues his slow walk and you follow, feeling as if you’re walking towards the gallows and every step brings your demise a bit closer. “Ace, please…” You beg once more. “Please…!”

Yet he does not stop.

You see him struggle as his face hardens and his eyes grow blurry, but he does not stop. And the noose tightens around your neck.

-*-

You’re received with cheers and ovations. A joyous celebration for you and for your valiant knight. Ace is offered a promotion. Finally a way for him to leave your side, to stop nannying you as he always complained.

He does not accept it.

Your heart warms for a moment, though you find it very hard to fall back into a routine of entrapment when you were free, albeit for a few hours.

Yet doom envelops you and the noose tightens and elevates you once your father makes the announcement. He has found you a husband. You’re to be married in a fortnight.

Breath catches in your throat and it’s hard to seek air. But your eyes search and find his. A reflection of your own, you’re sure, for they seem pained and drained of life. Yet the moment passes and your father keeps telling you all about how delightfully rich and important your future husband is.

And how you have a duty to him and to your kingdom, as their princess. It all comes down to duty.

That awful word.

-*-

The guests are arriving and the groom has been presented to you just in the morning. He is not old or decrepit. In fact, he seems quite polite and is rather handsome.

But he is not Ace.

And you realised that the warmth he made you feel, and the anger you felt when your late maid spoke of him with desire, were all because of one thing alone: love. You love him back. And he needs to know it before you leave.

Because you will not bring him with you. You cannot forget him, nor allow him to forget you if he is to remain forever by your side.

-*-

The day of the wedding dawns cold and grey, a reflection of your own thoughts. An array of maids dresses you in the best finery you possess and you are a beacon of elegance and beauty. Though the veil you wear over your face might as well be a shroud.

Ace stands in the shadows, his face masked and sombre. You have not spoken more than two words to each other since you returned. But you have to let him know how you feel before it’s too late.

“Everyone out, now.” Your voice is cold and commanding and the servants scurry and hurry out of your chambers. Ace is last, but you stop him. “Not you.”

He closes the door with a soft thud and turns towards you. Hands folded behind his back and eyes fixed somewhere behind you. As you approach, however, you notice him blinking and clenching his jaw and it takes nothing more than one touch of your soft fingers on his cheek for him to let his knightly countenance crumble into pieces.

Holding your fingers to his lips, he kisses them with fervour. “Princess…”

“Ace…” Your whisper brings sorrow and despair, and he feels it. “I need to tell you something before the wedding, though it changes nothing. You were right. This is my duty, and you have yours, escaping it was nothing but a fleeting dream.”

A sigh parts your lips and he uses his knuckles to caress your cheek.

“I love you.” Your eyes bore into his and your lips curl into a tight smile when a flicker of surprise crosses his eyes. “I didn’t know it was love and it took me a while to realise. But it’s true.” You take both his hands in yours and tears start to stream down your face because you can’t contain them any longer.

“This is breaking me apart, but it is for the best. You will stay in the castle and accept the promotion you were offered upon our return.” Ignoring his protests you continue. “I will leave to fulfil my duty and live my new life.”

His head falls forward, shoulders slumping and a string of curses leaves his pursed lips. Though it pains you more than he can ever imagine, you force a smile, using your hand to lift his face so he can look at you. “You’ll always be in my heart. That will never change.”

Ace’s voice is barely a whisper, strained with emotion and effort to keep his tears at bay. “You’re asking me to stand and watch as you walk away? To stay here and live a life without your presence?”

“Yes.” You sob back.

“How can I do that?!” A heave rocks his shoulders as he leans his forehead against yours. “It’s like asking me to live without a beating heart.”

“I pray you forget me soon, Ace, because if you were to come with me, we would never be able to move on. And we would be miserable.”

“I am already miserable.”

Tears stream down both your faces, and you stand on your toes to kiss his tears away. Cupping your face with tenderness, Ace’s thumb crosses your lower lip and you nod, giving him all the permission he needs to lower his head to yours and take your warm lips with his.

This time, the kiss you share is desperate. He claims your mouth with his tongue, his arms embracing you and pulling you against him. You return the gesture with equal devotion, your tongue begging for more as you embrace and melt into each other, knowing you’ll have no other chance to do so.

A rapid knock on the door breaks you apart. “Princess! It is time!”

Panting and wiping away tears, you answer with a shaky voice. “I’m almost ready.” Ace helps you fix your dress and veil, his eyes cast downward, sorrow filling them with shadows.

With trembling hands you remove a ring from your finger. A ring your mother gave you on her deathbed. Setting it in his palm, you close his fingers around it and kiss them tenderly. “A memento to remember me by, my love.”

He doesn’t want to let you go and you don’t want to leave him. It would have been so much simpler if you had run away in that forest. No one would know. And you would have been happy.

Perhaps…

You drop his hands, take a deep breath and square your shoulders, opening the door and leaving your childhood home and your one true love.

Ready to face a new life, an old duty, and an eternity of sorrow.

#one piece #one piece x reader #op #x reader #ace x reader #ace x you #portgas ace x you #portgas ace x reader #portgas d ace #knight ace #portgas d ace knight #medieval times au #angst without a happy ending #Spotify

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romcomeon · 2 months ago

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𝟎𝟎𝟏. 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐄

✒ 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐋: life and fate are scary; and it takes immense sacrifice for one to be legendary.

✒ 𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐓: reader as calypso, solomon as odysseus, barbatos as athena, luke as telemachus, mammon as hermes, + a few special guests!

✒ 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: solomon x gn! reader, epic the musical au, odyssey au, greek myths reimagined, unreciprocated love, signs of manipulation, angst, angst, angst, mentions of grief and death, character death [lightning strike], solomon has a breakdown at the end, "penelope" is gender neutral

✒ 𝐄𝐗𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐒: wc: 7k+ | read on AO3 .ᐟ

✒ 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐓 𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐒: @mammonsrockstargf ﾉ @satangcrush ﾉ @eraofkalki ﾉ @sadpancakeface ﾉ @torchvic

He whose fate was swallowed by the high seas was no less of a love-driven fool.

For years he never returned, yet for centuries, his legacy strives within legends. Epic poems crafted by the most renowned of writers, curated to accurately depict his outstanding feats whilst making them a tad more magical. All these stories were sung in praise by orators as crowds gathered around—eyes, ears, and minds working wonders.

They themselves create their own interpretation of fantasized play for their greatest hero. The crowd’s silent roars, begging for a glimpse of a life once treasured.

A valley without its savior. A court without a martyr. An army without a leader.

Ballads and tragedies dedicate themselves to the fallen. With scholars utilizing this artistic medium as a bloodless graveyard for the ghosts of those who never returned. Their souls rest in peace among the wrathful flames of the underworld, dancing to the chants of the oracles. When the songs are as beautiful as the late Michael’s melodies reeking to the echoes of a meadow suffering drought to the god’s ear, perhaps, the scholars prophesied, Olympus would be merciful.

Of course, that would be if the world were as harmonious as the plays of the great Mephistopheles, with his cult's undying joy of wine and lust. Gaia was born from the depths of Chaos; Chaos had never been one for mercy.

By Satan’s decree and Barbatos’ valor, ruthlessness prevails in war. War was a testament to humanity’s own morals and beliefs. To relieve the growing surge of bloodlust when conflicts arise, bathing Troy in deep, luminous crimson. Screams of the deceased haunt these barren lands, filling the ruins of a grotesque landscape. Resembling the numb trauma soldiers possess murdering women and children, the hubris of the rulers sought to persuade them to do more.

Ruthlessness was mercy upon themselves.

Amidst hamartia, these idols were worshiped by their men. Allowing their flaws to be redeemed, gifting them with celestial grace to guide them away from danger. The scholars call this peripeteia, the reversal of one’s fate. With bad turning good or divine turning corrupt, the choice was given to Chaos’ more prominent writers: the mortals.

Peripeteia never guaranteed a positive turn, even as most stories seem to suggest. The loud guttural roar bounced off stone walls, spreading across the vast lands. From the skies to beneath the sea, his name repeats itself.

“Praise him, oh great Solomon of Ithaca.”

Whispers of that name make the masses perk their heads up and gauge the source. The majority shake their heads in a low huff, mourning the disappearance of Greece’s greatest warrior and his crew of men. Tales depict him as one who matches Achilles in glory, Alexander in rule, and the gods in intellect.

Ask a cowardly soul about their view of the king, and they’d bashfully avert their gaze. Sealing their mouths shut lest they’d be able to speak for another day. The braver minority ridiculed the king’s rule, even as to boast about the castle remnants. With no hero, there was no order. Hundreds of suitors flock to the palace, offering sexuality for power. To them, this legend was no less of a dead man.

A kingdom without a king. A queen without a lover. A prince without a father.

Being the God of Wisdom, Barbatos made sure his greatest warrior survived the most gruesome of trials that rivaled Hercules’ challenges. Molding the king to fit his ideals; triumph basking in newfound glory with every ferocious beast his hands slay. Well trained to become a warrior of the mind; cunning and wit, quick to produce a plan for his own benefit.

The making of a warrior comes with many pitfalls. Intelligence carries a heavy burden of excessive knowledge, and with owning knowledge comes humanity’s impuissance—kindness. For knowledge is a gift of victors, but why supply ruthless killers with a force opposing their ideals? That was considered torture. A strong, well-respected legend was merciless. Never was it that there’d be justice, that was part of the reason, yes, though being just was clemency.

That marked the beginning of Solomon’s peripeteia. His virtue to spare one of Leviathan’s cyclops turned the narrative against him.

It’s what turned his own god against him.

Albeit, those were years ago, and the said old god knew that. Barbatos lets out a sigh, trailing his gloved hands along the cold tread of marble stairs. He took off the old rusted helmet, dark and vibrant green locks swaying along to the warm breeze. The headpiece was set aside, carefully gracing the dark turquoise cloth adorned with embroidery of owl feathers and slippery snakes.

He never pictured that in all these years he’d be reminiscing of those fond moments with that lily-livered soul. Each faint ‘tap’ ticks for every second, recalling a memory as if it only happened yesterday. The time before the great fall, watching the familiar tufts of white hair, black robe with an ombre of white and night-sky blue, and stars; stars that marked a better time.

He stood tall at the forecastle deck of his ship, raising the sword up high in his hand. Gray eyes fall upon the cyclops’ wounded figure, his face ridden with specks of blood. For he was no man nor mythical, his form casting a large shadow looming over the terrain. No man, but the reigning king of Ithaca. Leading with peace, working to save his comrades while the titan feeds. Hundreds of men’s deaths shan’t go in vain.

Remember him for if the beast chooses not to spare another weary soul, so be it. Perish. Solomon raised his chin up, pointing his sword to whoever sees. “I am your darkest moment,” he says.

“I am the infamous Solomon.”

Stupid. Foolish. Mortals were always foolish. Barbatos shakes his head in disapproval upon the memory. Perhaps, maybe, things would’ve been much different had he himself…

What could he have done? He was a god, a divine force of nature, either a friend or foe to a benevolent protagonist. Yet perhaps if he had done something. Perhaps if he hadn’t simply lashed out at Solomon’s blatant naivety of showing mercy, then he’d be fine. They’d be fine. Barbatos already knew that mortals were susceptible to demons lurking in their minds, waiting to coerce an unintelligent soul’s light to go dark. Maybe, if he had just been a bit wiser, they’d be fine.

"Your friend?”

"Hm?" Barbatos lifts his gaze up, hearing the curious sound of a bright young boy, There he stood balancing on the stone balustrade. The boy, well, man, fixed his balance before walking towards the god. He swept the fabric beneath him before sitting beside the other, slowly inching closer.

"I do not know who your friend is, or the mistakes, and..." he trailed off, averting his golden blue eyes to the side whilst his fingers fidgeted with the hem of his chiton. He cleared his throat, possibly to not be any more awkward. "Well, my time with you has been splendid!"

Barbatos glanced at him, cocking his head. "How come?"

Stars glint within the boy’s eyes. Clenching one of his fists as if to grab an imaginary sword, before eventually exclaiming filled with excitement. "'Cause I got in a fight and I didn't die!"

He catches himself for a moment, blushing bashfully before scratching the back of his neck. "I've never felt strong before,” he admitted. Sure it was surprising, but the young prince wasn’t necessarily like his father. Though it’d made sense, had the young lad last seen the king when he was an infant.

Barbatos could remember earlier events. Antinous and the other suitors, flocking the palace and picking fights with an unarmed little wolf. Barbatos knew that he can be stronger with the right guidance, so he did what he could; go into the warrior’s mind to quicken his thoughts, and make him effortlessly lunge attacks towards the bullies.

The prince had the motivation, the dream, and the intellect. Much like when Solomon was younger, he too had a good heart.

Then again, Barbatos knew this was different. This was no longer the same man who he grew apart with all those years prior. Rather of a hair as white as the brightest clouds, he was greeted with a soft, gentle blonde. And his eyes, not a harsh, stone cold gray, but a bright blue with golden ombre. That detail made Barbatos perk a smile, as in his thoughts, both of them looked like parts and recombinations of a certain godly messenger.

Those similarities turn to not be as glaring when he sees the fresh sparks of pure adoration on the prince’s face. Barbatos watches as the other composes himself, careful to choose his words but not holding back from ever portraying the swell of giddiness of his demeanor.

What shocked the god was instead was the words that escaped him. He spoke gently, invitingly even, but still nervous. He seems to not be so sure if these were acceptable to say, but he did. “You're my friend, I couldn't ask for more," he said. “Maybe if life wasn't spent as planned. Though, I think it's time that you lend a hand— and I don't think he'll mind.”

He reaches out, raising his hand. “If not his friend, then mine.”

Barbatos stared at the boy’s palm, confused. For as many long years as he had lived, he had never seen this generous act of… celebration? Nevertheless, understand the traditions and gestures mortals made with other mortals. Although, he understood that the divine weren’t necessarily mingling with these mortals in the first place.

Nevertheless, it was a new start. And the bridge between gods and mortals have slowly become invisible in the time of war.

So Barbatos also raised his hand, slapping his palm against the boy’s—if that’s how you do it. He thinks he did it correctly, seeing the prince’s smile widen. "You're a good kid, Luke," Barbatos sighs, smiling more in ten minutes than he ever had in ten years.

Luke only nodded his head. "Thanks!"

A billow of clouds seize themselves over the mortal realm. Hidden within the trenches of the sea of indefinite wonder lies the peak of mount Olympus. At the foot of the temple, a black owl swiftly glides through the air. Once it reaches the foot of the temple, it shapeshifts back into Barbatos’ figure, dusting off any dirt that got on his clothes.

“So… Barbi,” a voice lurks within these halls. It didn’t take long for Barbatos to recognize that diction: zany and all reminds me of tricksters. “Still missing yer mortal?”

“Not now, Mammon.” the god of Wisdom sighed. “I’m busy.”

Mammon, the messenger of the gods, groaned. “This ‘bout the ‘moni guy again?” he complains, crossing his arms as his winged sandals lift him up in the air, allowing him to lie down on almost nothing. “C’mon, it’s been years.”

The god almost circles around Barbatos, with how his gold and silvers clang with his every movement. “Haven’t moved on, hm?” Mammon flipped himself over, resting his face on his palms while kicking his feet in the air. “Say it, Barbatos, you miss the guy as much as the last one.”

Barbatos only walked away. “Keep yourself out of this. This is simply urgent,” he said.

Mammon scowled, standing upright while clearing his throat. “Well I supposed the time he went hookin’ up with Thirteen wasn’t as urgent—”

“Thirteen?”

Barbatos stopped in his tracks, turning back to look at the messenger. “What about Thirteen?”

“Ah,” golden boy realized his mistake. He gave a faint whistle, tugging a few strands of dusty beige behind winged ears, averting his gaze so as to not directly anger the literal god of wisdom and war. Thirteen, daughter of Helios. Protector of nymphs, and known for turning men into swine.

Mammon cleared his throat. “So ya didn’t know.”

Barbatos’ eyes narrowed, the shadows in the temple deepening around him. Suddenly his spear was pointed at Mammon, inches away from scarring the other’s throat. “What happened?” he pressed, his voice a low growl.

Mammon shrieked, hands in the air. “‘was that for!?”

“Say something,” Barbatos smiled, patience growing thinner.

Mammon groaned, shrugging. He leaned casually against a column, twirling a golden coin between his fingers. “It’s best if ya see it for y’self,” he said, sapphire eyes subtly hinting at mischief. “Sol’ gone be damned to do a billion more fuck ups than fraternalizing the old man.” He turned away, running a hand through his hair as he paced restlessly.

Barbatos raised an eyebrow, retreating back his spear. “I beg your pardon?” His voice was teasing, but there was an edge of concern in his tone.

“‘s speakin’ the truth ‘ere.” Mammon stopped, casting a piercing gaze back at Barbatos. It was rare to see the troublesome messenger of the gods be so serious. Though moments like this don’t last long, before a smirk breaks itself on his face. “Don’t thank me,” Mammon waves off, fanning his hand.

“He might as well may die.”

The sirens’ songs scream through ocean waves—no longer in an alluring tone that stops seafarers in their way, but an eerie melody whom irks many sailors to change their trajectory. “Spare us, oh spare us please.”

Wailing cries die out with the thunderous waves reaching alarming heights, a yard longer with every second the sea god’s fury boils. The storms guard Sparta from any unwanted pests, for a simple step was met with a bolstering beam of light as the gods’ roar echoes through the mortal’s ears. Although what tickled his ears, or the contrary, was how quiet it got. Immensely calm; the sounds of despair long gone with every wave hitting the shore. In a matter of life and death, it was odd that it suddenly got so peaceful.

Specks of sand reach his eyelids. Solomon begrudgingly opens his eyes, greeted by the harsh golden rays of the sun. Lifting himself up off the shore, he lets out a low groan as his hand dusts off the rest of the sand. Long strands of hair fall on his face, his fingers scratching the bit of fuzz on his chin. The last time he recalled, he only had bits of stubble that he planned to shave off with the remaining beeswax they still had on the great ship.

The ship. Curse godblessed cattle.

He stays sitting there, eyes cautiously observing the surroundings. Unlike in the past years of his voyage where it was filled with dull, brooding shades of life and the underworld, this place almost hurts the eyes. Instead it is filled with light, soft yet vibrant hues of lush trees and serene waters: even the sand, finer than Spartan shores, colored in a beautiful light peach brown. Cupping a handful, the sand only smoothly glides through his fingertips; not a particle on his palm.

The sea greets him with little seafoam meeting the outline of his body, but not once wetting the worn out fabrics of his clothes. And at that moment, he realized, this was no ordinary island.

“Where am I?” Solomon whispers out, feeling the well of dread picking up from the deepest swells of his stomach. This place looked lively; and by his induction, too lively. No land on Gaia would be this swell when there was that god’s ongoing rampage.

As Solomon was about to go and try to scavenge the shore for more clues on this mystery island, a loud, sing-song voice booms in the air. Your voice, waving your dominant hand while the other holds the woven basket filled with sweet fruits. You had a feeling he’d wake up sometime soon, though you underestimated the speed of time. “Good morning sleepyhead!” you cheered, walking towards him in rhythmic skips and hops on the sand.

You slowed down as you got closer, seeing the other flinch and take a step back, with his arm at his front and his brows furrowing. On the contrary, you softly smiled, humming. You extend your hands toward him, though not touching his skin quite yet. “You’ve been resting for a while,” you said, almost with a small bit of laughter. “I swore you were dead.”

Solomon clicked his tongue. “Who are—”

“Did you know you talk in your sleep?” you asked, your hand now resting on his scarred check. Carefully running your finger to the trace of his jaw while you gush about how adorable it was, hearing his gentle murmurs even when most of his words were incoherent. Pristine snow-colored hair, marvelous earthy gray eyes, delicate and commanding diction.

Though you do wonder of a word that you could understand. Or well, not a word to, but a name. A name you heard through every gasp while his body twitched on the sand. They seem to grow more desperate with each repetition, a poor soul calling for someone in an endless void. Naturally, this had you curious, questioning him while your hand began to trail down his neck. “You keep mentioning their name quite lot. Who’re they?”

You didn’t expect him to grab your wrist, clenching his fists around it. You winced at the pain, though you observe how his actions may be harsh, yet his eyes, expression, looked happier. He wasn’t looking at you, no, far from it; he looked zoned out, catching imaginary glimpses, a loving smirk ghosts his face.

Solomon spoke gently, fondly even. Similar to his restless whispers of the night. “They’re my spouse.”

Suddenly that smile you had faltered, replaced by a confused expression. Your lips formed a small “oh,” your hand retreating back to the basket’s handle.

You weren’t exactly terrified. Very much on the relative opposite; disappointed. It’s common in the legends for great to be utterly devoted to their lovers. A waste, your eyes falling back and inspecting his figure head to toe. The man looked ragged. Hurt. Malnourished. Dirty. Your thumb wipes itself on your index finger, remembering the rough, but smooth sensation of his imperfect flesh.

“Well they aren’t here now, no?” you tilt your head.

Solomon looked appalled, his eyes widening in offense. Was it something that you said? You weren’t lying— his spouse wasn’t here. You’re far from his homeland; whisked away to the safest, luxurious cove that you kept hidden away. That’s what there was with you, you’re rather secretive. You keep what’s yours hidden from peering eyes, where no mortal won’t get the privilege of seeing.

It took you a second to note your slip of the tongue. Noting that honesty may come off as rude. “Ah, forgive me,” you said. You bashfully averted your gaze, small hues of pink flushed on your cheeks. Being lonely on this land has made you too excited to see someone who even survived getting here. You worried that once his pulse came to a halt, you had to send his corpse away from the creatures to wholeheartedly devour. “It’s been a while since I’ve met someone.”

You were honestly starting to love this change of pace. It’s no fun if he leaves so soon. Perhaps the fates could care less if you allow yourself to adore him—even with his conflicting feelings

So you shake your head, giving him the basket as you take his hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. “Anyways, come my love!” You chime, small stars sparkling in your irises. ”The island awaits us!”

His face grimaces, pulling back his hand yet your grip was just too strong. Solomon spouted bitterly, raising a brow in offense. “Your love?”

You paid no attention to his words, instead touring him of this wonderful landscape. Open arms, twirling around taking in the bright greens and luscious blues of wild flowers and old trees. So giddy, even come to admire this lonesome place even more. “We have everything we could ever ask for!” you jolly along, taking a brief glance at Solomon.

The other still looked to be so perplexed. His hands gripping the basket’s handles, his feet dragging themselves as if they were leashed to your arms. His eyes seem to wander, but not once purposely in your direction.

Still, he must still be processing being in such a wonderful place, isn’t he? You giggle. You stroll around, slowing down as to not yet lose your now forever lover. A small crab scuttles near your feet, pinching at the air with its tiny claws.

It’s a vivid shade of red, almost glowing in the sunlight. You crouched down, opening your hand as you waited for the little one to climb on it. Sadly, it didn’t seem to reciprocate your friendly actions. Instead it waddled away, strutting as quickly as it could with its little crab feet. You pouted as you watched, inching closer to instead grab it by the shell, before placing it on your shoulder.

“Much better,” you laugh. Now that it’s there you twirled around, eager to prove to Solomon how wonderful heaven feels. How wonderful it’d be if he sees the joy soon. “Oh, we thank Queen Rose,” you giggled again. Ogygia was just as bountiful as the maiden you used to serve’s magical prowess.

You noticed that Solomon had placed the basket on top of a moss-covered rock, feeling his hand along the bark in a calculated expression, mumbling something.

You spoke aloud in a melodic symphony. “The place is beautiful,” you coaxed, stepping closer with your hands behind your back. Closer and closer, you watch him stiffen up and he faces you, right hand quick to grab the handle of his sword.

“It is.”

There was no denying that he was supporting your sentiment. For the first time.

You thought about how to get more from him, with each slow footstep you took forward. It couldn’t be helped that you felt cheeky, seeing the brave, powerful warrior back up against the tree; defensive, but oh so helpless. Tattered robes with rusted pieces of armor, worn out sandals and puffed up bruises. Stunning, you thought.

“Perhaps,” you cheekily say, the back of your hand running along his chest. “Soon into bed we’ll climb and spend our time.”

Solomon swats your wrist away. “I’m not your man.”

‘Not yet,’ you thought. Again, you ignore all possible signs of rejection, clinging towards him.

“I’m what you want. What you need, dear,” you murmur, your fingers tracing the outline of his armor. “It’s just you and me, my love in paradise.” You step closer, your breath warm against his skin.

“Now until the end of time, from here and out, you’re mine.” You smile, leaning in just enough to brush your lips against his. “All mine.”

Solomon pushes you away, causing you you tumble back. As you were about to recompose yourself, you see a dull, rusted blade pointed at your neck

“I could kill you where you stand,” Solomon spouted bitterly, lifting your chin with the tip of his sword. “I’m no pet. I’m a married man.”

Oh. He’s feisty, and can wield a weapon well. You left out a soft chuckle, holding the blade with two fingers as you moved it aside. “Oh handsome, you may try, ” you tease, even as you trace the sharper end of the sword, “pricking” your finger at its tip.

“But last I check, gods can’t die.” You kiss your own fingertip, one eye open to gauge at his reaction.

Solomon furrowed his brows, lowering his sword. “God…?”

You smile, resting on one of the larger rocks. You spoke not a word, but your cheeky smile and prominent glow at the ends of yours hair settled your case. You weren’t just some creepy owner of a secluded island that doesn't seem to appear in any of the olden maps. No. Of course you had to be a god.

This was bad. Very very bad. Solomon wished not to mingle with the gods.

Solomon wished that you weren't a god.

“But fear not, I bring no pain!” you reassure. “We’re stuck in paradise. Where no one can come and go, as my island stays unknown—”

“This is no paradise.”

You raised a brow. Had you heard it correctly? It was a plethora of beautiful flora and fauna. “What are you talking about?”

Solomon only shook his head, giving a coy, but per say partly polite smile. “I won’t be drawn to ‘love in paradise’. Get me out this instant.”

“Oh! You really are such a fool.” You pout. Your eyes scan over him, lifting your hand to your chin. Humming, you spot a small, beautiful hyacinth blooming beneath the rock. You crouched to pick it, examining the wondrous petals.

“We could fix that starting with this bit of hair,” you said. As Solomon was about to interject, you had placed the flower up at his ear, making sure to lightly touch his skin. “Aww, poor you. I’m here now.”

“Not ‘till the end of time.” Solomon takes a step back. “There is NO way—”

“But you’re mine,” you take a step closer once more. The man felt trapped, as every step he moved away only got you to inch closer. For gods, he expected a bit of decency. As far as he was concerned, mortals were more like puppets, only keen to serve every whim. Gods weren’t particularly opposed to mortal relationships, so why not?

Had he a choice?

You give him a sudden, tight hug. “All mine.”

“They’ve kept you out of your control,” Barbatos muttered, watching Solomon all the way from Olympus.

The god pinches his temples, processing what he just saw.

Not only was Solomon truly making a barrage of avoidable mistakes, but now he's stranded in an island with a homewrecker and no crew.

"Time can take a heavy toll," the god sighed once more. He's quickly to splash along the waters, hopeful to catch small glimpses of progress. What kind? anything that can safely get him back.

'Seven years...'

It was the break of night, calm bright festive colors all reduced to the dark, lonesome blues and grays. You woke up to the cold gust of wind hitting your skin, feeling the warmth retreat back. You flutter your eyes open, only to be met with emptiness; the only indication that he was there was the subtle dent on the white silk.

You sighed, running your hand along your hair as you set up, blanket on your lap, staring at the cold bedside. You loathe the routine of getting up and fetching your lover, muttering silent prayers that he hadn’t whisked himself away and droned in hellscape. The only sign of warmth was only the moonlight peeking through the window of the wooden hut, and even that sent a chilling sensation down your spine. It was a matter of time before his thoughts would begin to unravel, and for his nightly cries to spiral.

You turned to your side, legs on the ground as you stood up from the kline.

“Solomon?” you yawned out, stretching your arms in the air before grabbing another silken sheet to cover yourself. It was during night where there were the harshest of colds, after all. Deafening silence, only exposed to the loud dining of crickets and other critters that lurk in these darkness.

At day time, you would catch Solomon often sulking along the shoreline. His head hung low as he sat on the sand, arms crossed over his knees, pulling them closer to his body. In rare instances, he’d trace his fingers along the grains of sand, marking it with countless words, names, and symbols.

One that stood out to you one time was his repeated scribbling of a certain phrase. You swore to have heard of it before, but watching as the perfect bed of sand and seashells instead was carved with constant repetition, seeing him grip whatever his hand got a hold on tightly as he goes to recall memories of a past he once lost.

Of how it was to be kind. “Greet the world with open arms. Relax, my friend.”

It felt psychotic. You had to lull him out of his wicked trance before he went to hurt himself physically. Wiping off the dirt that stuck to his face, trimming his long hair to a more manageable length, and having to watch so he doesn't starve to death. He was a lot, going for hours without uttering a word or making eye-contact. Every time you nudge his arms and join you, whether it be in an act of passion or whimsy, the sparks in his eyes only continue to fade. Void of any speck of hope.

“Solomon?”

You call out once more. Walking out the safe confines of the hut, you went into the now quieter, eerier, more maniacal-driven call of the night. Every night, you’d wake up to sniffling whispers and faint sobs coming from the other side. You’d attempt a soft hum, hopefully soothing him to a calmer state of mind, caressing his sides and watch him twitch his body away from your touch. On more restless nights, he’d swat your wrist away before you’re able to touch him, huddled in a fecal position and shivering with the hour growing colder.

It’s at night where you feel helpless. Every attempt proven futile, every act of service ignored or unsupported. Every word working to console him only worsens his cries. Long periods of solitude have rendered Solomon uncomfortable in the company of others. Within your shared hut he laments, and there was nothing you could do.

You find yourself at the foot of a steep cliff, all from following smudged footprints on the grass. You squint your eyes, making out a figure on top of the cliff, only illuminated by the bright moonlight as this figure stares down into the mellow waters. Slowly, as to not hopefully startle the figure, you inch closer, carefully tracing your eyes along his form.

Subtle white glow basking in the moonlight, the freshly woven chiton you made for him reflecting the rays through golden crewels of birds, waves and stars. When you made that, the symbols were supposed to represent hope and longing, a fortunate outcome if he gave you more time. Though when he adorns the garment, signs of hope turn into withering longing. Only engraved memories of the past that forever haunts him.

He stood as still as an oakwood tree, mildly resisting the harsh waft of air. As you inch closer you reach out to him once more. So that please, he’d turn around and see you eye-to-eye.

You desperately called out for him, worrying exuding through syllables when you took a momentary pause to utter his name. It was familiar, but foreign. “Solomon?” you pleaded, fingers clenching your palm when you still see him stand there. Still. A man who can’t be moved or accept the present; always stranded in the labyrinth of the past.

“I hear them,” he uttered. Catching his breath with every word, stifling a sob with every annunciation. “All I hear are screams.”

Solomon takes a step forward. Tiny pebbles drop themselves towards the water. Ripples that marked tiny specks of heaven sunken beneath the surface. You flinch, rushing towards him yet still shy of a few steps. Small comets that guide the sky fall down and crash as a meteor, falling into seas where ripples turn into tides when they reach the shore.

“‘Moni, get away from the ledge.”

“Quiet,” Solomon snarked. “You don’t know what I’ve gone through. You don’t know what I’ve sacrificed.”

The scholars would call this anagnorisis. How a tragic hero discovers the cruel reality of his circumstance. How despite any attempt for kindness—for mercy—all is worthless in his peripeteia. Loss was something you couldn’t understand. Being alien for a majority of your life had you numb to the thought of loss just yet.

Yet.

Perhaps you were instead afraid of experiencing that loss.

“Every comrade I long knew,” you hear Solomon say. Drowning in anagnorisis. Panting. He lifts his hand up to grab tuffs of snow locks, tugging on the strands. “ Every friend. I saw them die, and… all I hear are—”

“It will be fine, dear.”

Solomon turns his to the side, as if catching even a small glimpse. You held your ground, staying firm. Comforting him with gentle melodies, singing a small ballad to soothe his nerves once more.

“ Come back inside, dear,” you said. You hesitate, inching closer but make sure to keep your pace quiet. Your voice cracks, feeling the burning drops of tears trailing down your cheek. “Love of my life, please.”

“Come back to paradise.” “Just let me close my eyes.”

You hear him resisting the melody, dueting your ballad with hoarse dissonance. Still, you continued, all until you were able to palace your hand on his shoulder. Squeezing it to give a blink of reassurance, pulling yourself closer to coddle him in your embrace. Though you don’t plan to hurt him. Never did, and never shall. You lean near his ears, whispering, “I know your life’s been hard. I’ll stay inside your heart.”

“If you could just see…” “All I hear are screams.”

“I love our time here,” you pause, gulping. “I love your company, It’s just..”

“Life would be so much worse if you had died.” “JUST LET ME CLOSE MY EYES!”

Solomon snaps, pushing your hand away as he strides forwards, turning around and finally facing you. Finally seeing you. This was what you wanted, wasn’t it? There you were, gray eyes with bits and the tiniest stars dying out in lonesome nebulae. Tears stream down the corners of his eyes as he takes erratic, shaky breaths. His hand still grabbing tufts of his own hair, running itself along it and pulling at the string begging for an ounce of control.

He noticed you, and you can vividly see the absolute madness swirling in his eyes.

“‘Moni,” you call out, grabbing both his wrists and gently grabbing him off the end of the cliff. He follows you, eyes now trailing downward, brows furrowed. His lips quivering, his lungs gasping, his hands warm from cold sweat; from all the stress of these memories.

“Please stay away from harm,” you lull him further, wrapping his arms around your waist. They’re dead, but you’re here. He wasn’t alone, you had a splendid time together. Flowers, petals, birds and bees—this was all you thought a man could ever want. There he stood, the only time ever acknowledging you since his first arrival was one of terror. One urging you to leave him. You run your thumb gently on his cheek, wiping those streams of regret.

“Stay in my open arms,” you cooed. You carefully caress his hair, your hand gliding through each silken strand. You were here, and you welcomed him to a palace where he’d otherwise may die.

You hear Solomon’s breath hitch, staring at you in shock. Irises turn into pinpricks, flinching as he grows appalled by your words. Suddenly, all in his view twisted off into blurs and blobs of a series of different hues and arrays of various colors. Shades of blue, yellow, browns and pinks littered his vision, and your form melted away into nothing but just a color of shapes.

“Moni?” Solomon could hear a voice. A voice not like yours: it wasn’t melodic, in a sing-song tone that’s as soft as the flutter of butterflies. This was more kind, more earthy, more human. And lastly, more familiar. Your voices swallowed by the whispers of a distant past, silken velvety words in a calming diction. It wasn’t yours. It was no longer you who clouded his mind.

The image of your gentle smile was gone; turned to instead to be more genuine. One of excitement. Suddenly, Solomon saw the day at night. Sun kissed skin and curly, dark brown hair, with the figure’s bright cerulean eyes becoming clearer with the second. The hand was no longer on his cheek and the base of his neck, but tightly grabbing both his shoulders while lightly shaking him in glee.

“This life is amazing when you greet it with open arms!” the figure cheered, taking a step back and he did just as he said: he opened his arms wide open. As if welcoming Solomon in a tight embrace.

Solomon gasped, reaching his hands out. A small, hopeful smile ghosts his face. “Simeon?”

Simeon chuckled, moving his hands around before slowly, blobs and blues start to resurface along the base of his arms. Colors of light, periwinkle blue contrasted with specks of black and wave strands.

The king’s smile fades, squinting his eyes to focus more on the mysterious figure that his friend was holding.

These blobs and sharp shapes of diamonds and triangles instead morphed into the innocent figure of a young baby boy peacefully asleep in his blanket. Solomon’s eyes widened, even shaking his head while closing his eyes. To do a double take as to make sure the child he saw wasn’t who he thought he was.

The child from the wooden crib back at Troy. The child whom the gods had ordered him to… to…

Simeon hummed, rocking the baby in his arms. Solomon’s ears perked up from the soft, childish giggles exuding from the blanket. Simeon chuckled, letting the young prince play with his finger. “He’s wonderful,” the lad crooned, chuckling before slowly going back to a playful tune. “To think a man like Hector was able to have a child. Tell me, Moni, why didn’t we get to keep him?”

He raises a brow as he pouts to confront Solomon. Though it doesn’t last long, a simple sneer quickly puts him back in his playful act. Simeon gave Solomon one final look, nodding his head. He said: “Whatever we face, we'll be fine if we're leading from the heart.”

After that, Simeon’s figure soon faded away, carrying the down sleeping child. ‘Right,’ Solomon thought. He’s dead. He’s forever damned in the underworld; taking care of that Trojan. Although the man couldn’t help it. The image of a boy who once resembled his son before he left for war was too much for the king to bear.

And Simeon was too kind to be a father that he couldn’t be, unlike someone who would match Solomon’s lack of mercy.

“Captain?”

There it was another voice. From Simeon’s warmth it shifted to coldness. Bitter. Solomon took a brief glance—not that you were able to perceive any coherent shape—and was only met with blurred circles and squares of gray and muted browns. And unlike Simeon, he didn’t need clarity to focus on who it was, nor was he really willing to face the obscured face. Hair and body perfectly matching a memory, yet face scribbled away as to not recall his mate’s dismay.

Solomon held his stance, tilting his head up whilst staring back at the figure. “Raphael,” he said.

Akin to the lack of facial features, Raphael never focused on his captain. Instead, as a mouth starts to clearly come into view, he seems to be talking to someone far in the distance. He’s quick to grab the handle of his sword, his grip tightening. And Raphael repeats it once more, “Captain?”

“I have to see them.”

Solomon turned around again, as he heard a more uncanny resemblance. Instead of the ghost of the past haunting him, it was instead a clear image of himself. The only difference would be how ragged and scarred he used to look before being under Ogygia’s care. This wasn’t a blurry spectacle spawning itself to hurt it, this was just torture.

Not bearing to look at himself, he goes back to staring at Raphael. His mate’s eyes came into a clear view, and he wasn't mad. No. Instead he looked to be that he respects Solomon’s decision, but that wasn’t enough to ignore the stifling of his nose watching. “But we’ll die,” Raphael tried to reason out.

Raphael tried even as he knew that what Solomon said was final. Even with the regret lingering on right after, he was a man of his word. Even with his back facing his double, he could imagine himself hesitantly raising his hand, pointing towards his crew. Hearing the phrase he told the thunder bringer.

“I know.” “I can’t.”

Solomon watches Raphael’s shoulders relax. He sighs, clicking his tongue before bowing his head, only giving a cold, bitter gaze in dark, lapis irises. “How much longer till your luck runs out?” Raphael shots his gaze to the real Solomon. The flashing lights of lightning reflect at the of his shoulders and hair, illuminating a bright white light from behind.

The roaring sounds of thunder fill the air, as the flashing grew more erratic. “Wait, no! Raphael!” Solomon exclaimed. He tries to take a step forward, but knees betray him, instead falling down to the ground. “You can’t do this to me!”

The lightning’s flickering worsens, and with ragged deep breaths, he looks up. Raphael looks down at him, shaking his head in disappointment. “How much longer till we all fall down?” he asked one last time, before closing his eyes and taking a long, deep breath.

“RAPHAEL!”

The sky rips open. A jagged bolt of lightning arcs down, striking Raphael with a blinding flash. Time seems to stretch as Solomon watches. Horrified. The air crackles with energy, and the sound is deafening, a roar that drowns out everything else. The light envelops his mate’s body, and for a heartbeat, he was only a mere silhouette against the storm. All suspended in the surging flames of chaos.

And all Solomon can see is the silhouette of Raphael collapsing. “No…” Solomon cries, scrambling to his feet, adrenaline surging through him as he races toward the fallen figure. “No. No. No. No..”

Each step feels heavy, every step conspires to hold him back. “Raphael!” he shouts again, desperation clawing at his throat. Once he reached where the lightning struck, it was over. Raphael’s body was no more.

Solomon falls to his knees, grasping at coarse sand. His other hand reaches out to scramble along finely combed locks, ruffling it up in a tangled mess. “Please don’t make me do this,” Solomon wept. “Don’t make me do this.”

The voices of sirens fill the air, trapping him in an endless echo of screams, terror and revenge. Melodies of “waiting..” bounces through imaginary walls, each note striking his ears to bleed. He covers them lowers, lowering his head down to deafen the silence.

“Waiting…” Make it stop.

“Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.” Make it stop.

“And it’s no longer you.” Make it all stop.

The loudest of the voices resemble yours. A loud, brash symphony that’s louder than any of his other demons. Your figure walks towards him, pulling his hands away from his and placing them on your cheek, whispering to him to open his eyes.

Your figure meshed with the colors of someone else from a distant past. As if your forms blended into one, where one can no longer be separated from the other. Washed out imagery of the bed made of trees that lies in their shared bedroom could be seen behind you, as leaves carefully drift down in a steady pace.

You smile, making him open his eyes. In a sing-song voice, you cooed. “Let me take the suffering from you.”

Solomon was quick to hug you back, sobbing into the fabric. You playfully scoffed, caressing your hands along his hair, murmuring sweet nothings. For judgment was blurry in watery eyes.

You also weren’t real. Not this mashed, stitched together doll that only took to keep half of your figure.

And Solomon realized that too soon, when you come tumbling down as nothing but sand along the shore. Grains clinging on to his clothes, specks reaching his eyes as they grow even more red. He can’t bear to understand. He fought to save lives, but not killing ended up leading all his men to perish.

Had he avoided it all if he hadn’t shown mercy.

And how foolish he looked begging for it. The gods were right; he was a Greek who reeked of false righteousness. The worst kind of good for he cannot be great.

The cauldron had overflowed, as the voices grew louder once again. Taunting him as their endless comedy, in his peripeteia, suffering in anagnorisis. In a final, desperate moment, Solomon went back to the safe confines of closing his eyes. To shut himself off from the truth. To move on, and hopefully get back on track to returning to Ithaca.

His queen. His child. That was who he fought for.

Hands clenching his chest, Solomon screamed.

“BARBATOS!”

Call him a fool. He’ll never allow himself to indulge in hubris once more.

a/n: this was honestly too much for the heart. so uhh, i hope you enjoy! also if anyone is able to spot all of the references then you'll be getting a small little bonus

thank you all for your support for this event, and for your patience as this was published a day late. Never fret, we still have more stories to come! and i hope you're there to follow me along through this journey.

and also, don't forget to greet the world with open arms! <3

event materlist | main masterlist | divider by cafekitsune

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chirpycloudyrobin · 5 months ago

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Devil Flute Upon Graves AU Masterlist

A masterlist for my Calamity!Wei Wuxian AU where Wei Wuxian died and became the Ghost King of the Burial Mounds.

Not formally written (for now), just a collection of rambly posts

NOW IN FANFICTION FORM EYYY

Main Tag

MAIN STORYLINE

>> TUMBLR POSTS <<

Beginning, general rundown/outline of the AU

Part 1 - covers wwx's emergence from the kiln, the (failed) sacrificial summoning, mo village, dafan mountain. also has notes on wwx's fake names

Part 2 - return to the cloud recesses, bit of a backstory on how wwx recovered after self-destructing and also how he met hua cheng and xie lian

Interlude 1 - jin ling being raised by gods!xuanli, their deputy gods, and jiang cheng

TBC

>> AO3 FANFICTION <<

counting crows - scenes of when wwx discovers he's actually a ghost, to his adjustment to ghostly life (lol), to his first "death" during the first siege

when does a comet become a meteor? - wwx's journey from being a weakened ghost flame to his triumph at the kiln. features hualian as his emotional support parents and the burial mounds as the tiger mom no one asked for

stories from the resplendent skies - jiang yanli, jin zixuan and wen qing as heavenly officials

and thus the crow flies - main AU fic ! so basically everything that happens within the AU

HEADCANONS & AU LORE

wei clan of xianle - my headcanon for the origins of the wei clan

The Bleeding Meadows of Yiling - what became of the Burial Mounds after Wei Wuxian leveled them

Eyes as Windows to a Dead Soul - discussing Wei Wuxian's eyes

CHARACTER SHEETS

Devil Flute Upon Graves, Wei Ying

Lady Water Master Yanli, Lady of the Lake

Fu Liang Jiangjun, Jin Zixuan

Goddess of Freshwater Springs, Zhang Shu

Wind and Rain Cutter, Fang Minrui

Triple Ghost Guardians of the Bleeding Meadows

WIP

#mdzs #grandmaster of demonic cultivation #mo dao zu shi #wei wuxian #wei ying #mine : devil flute upon graves au #calamity wei wuxian #ghost king wei wuxian #my au #tian guan ci fu #tgcf #heaven official's blessing #mdzs x tgcf crossover

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kingkenzieofmold · 3 months ago

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Hello! It’s been fun on the whiteboard and so here is the final pokemon au designs! A complete master post of all the characters plus close ups! I really hope you enjoy!<3

Who’s That Character? It’s the Creators!

It’s Ashley Jang! @mai-mai-lim

It’s Brutus Belong! @smoresthehalloweenqueen

It’s Cameron Calvin! @rarestdoge

It’s Mary! @jaytoons7

It’s Amelia Copperbottom! @androidcharles

It’s Pollo Miller! @00lari00

It’s Pike Cassino! @kursed-curtain

It’s Danny Felizima! @capturecharlesau

It’s Gabriel Evans! @icilarastudios

It’s Misha Petrov! @flamingredanon

It’s Pablo! @skittisketch

It’s Hatty and Alnar King! @justpainterrobot

it’s Aidan Brannon! @bluetorchsky

It’s Naza! @naza1

It’s Devin Copperbottom! @populousgraph

It’s Daica Madelian! @leonightwater25

It’s Brick! @jaedoesart

It’s Circus! @ask-the-menagerie

It’s the Music Husbands! @bluetorchsky

It’s Ethan Min! @mai-mai-lim

it’s Jeanine Ahn! @mai-mai-lim

It’s Shelly Burns! @bluetorchsky

It’s Ulle Meadows! @jaytoons7

It’s Liam and Lin! [Anonymous]

It’s Alex Stickerson! @mercifulbutbroken

It’s Morgana Price! @smoresthehalloweenqueen

It’s Gayle Fiesta! @smoresthehalloweenqueen

Listen Up! Go Check out all of the creators of these amazing characters and follow them! Every one of them creates awesome content! Like a character here go check out their creator where they have more cool art, stories, and more! They are the ones who created the original character that I adapted into my little funky AU! Thank you for support and thank you creators of these fabulous characters for allowing me to pokemon-afi them! I saw all the comments and doodles left and every one of them made me so happy! Feel free to ask me questions about my pokemon au and even questions about design aspects of the characters you see here, I 99% guarantee that I have an answer! Thank you and enjoy!<3

#the henry stickmin collection #henry stickmin collection #henry stickmin fanart #henry stickmin au #henry stickmin oc #thsc fanart #thsc au #thsc oc #thsc #Respectfully I will not be tagging every character go check out the creators and look through their tags!#Please go check them all out they deserve so much love and recognition!#Again thank you!<3

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sweetbonniebel · 5 months ago

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Jaes's hen jēdar

god's of the sky

Three

Daemon x reader, Rhaenyra x reader, Qoren Martell x reader

Masterlist <-previous , next->

108 AC Dragonstone

Vermithor screeched circling the castle of Dragonstone along Caraxes and Syrax. You sat next to your brother as he showed Rhaenyra his sword Darksister. The waves of blackwater bay crashed against the many cliffs of the island.

Rhaenyra quickly lost interest in her uncle's sword and ran away to play in the grass, you stayed watching your niece.

"What are you thinking about?" Daemon asked placing a stray strand of your silver hair behind your ear.

"I think that... that Aemma will die soon." You muttered staring at the endless sea, Daemon stilled and stared at you curiously.

"What makes you say that?" He questioned following your gaze.

"The pregnancies are killing her, Viserys is adamant about having a son. Until she delivers a boy he will not stop." You said watching seven year old Rhaenyra play in the meadow.

"He wants a son so I can stop being his her." Your brother answered.

"You are not his heir." Daemon furrowed his brows staring at you expectantly "Viserys never named you his heir, you chose to believe that you are but you're not. I do not think you would make a good King... You're a formidable warrior and dragon ride yes but you lack patience."

Daemon chuckled

"If I'm not his heir then who is? He has no son, by law I am his successor." Your brother was quick to anger, you sighed as you saw rage bubbling inside him.

"Rhaenyra is his heir."

"Rhaenyra is a girl. The council of 101 AC established an iron precedent on matters of succession. The Iron Throne could not pass to a woman, or to a male descendant of a woman." Daemon said remembering the succession crisis.

"I know the law Daemon I was there. Times change..." You refused the Andals tradition of male primogeniture. "In old Valyria men and women were equal, the eldest child was the heir. The decision to put our brother on the throne was made because we rule a country populated by Andals with different customs."

"You're too smart for your own good. If you weren't as pretty you would be a second Vaegon." You chuckled at Daemon's joke. Uncle Vaegon was an archmaester in the citadel, a brooding and cold man. You have met your uncle a few times, he wasn't welcoming or nice but he knew of your passion for books. He lend you many books that resided in the citadel.

"Uncle Vaegon is smart." You smiled at your brother.

"Vaegon is a boring, cold old man."

"He is one and forty."

"You're very adamant on defending Vaegon, perhaps you hold something more than fondness for your uncle?" Daemon laughed and a blush of embarrassment coated your cheeks.

"I am defending our uncle because he doesn't deserve your insults." You muttered bringing your knees to your chin. Your brother chuckled and threw his arm around you and he kissed the top of your head.

"I am merely jesting sweet girl."

"I know... Will you be leaving again?" You asked your brother quietly.

"Perhaps, I have to return to Runestone by the order of our brother." Daemon said with venom in his words. You hummed and leaned on his shoulder.

"I do not want to see you go, the court is so boring without your squabbles with every noble." You mumbled, your brother chuckled.

"And you are better?" He questioned "You hate court with every fiber of your being."

"I do not hate court is it simply boring. With Grandsire no-one cares about me, it is Rhaenyra they want." You said tears burning behind your eyes. "It is her they call the realms delight while I rot in the shadows."

"Hmm... perhaps you could use a change of scenery?" Daemon muttered and you immediately perked up.

"Can we go to Essos?!" You asked quickly, your brother smiled.

"Perhaps, or you can go to the Vale with me." You nodded happily and hugged Daemon.

"I wish to see Valyria." You whispered in his shoulder, Daemon tensed.

"I know but you mustn't... Do you know our great aunt's story?"

"Which great aunt? Rhaena?" You asked curiously sitting in Daemon's lap.

"Not Rhaena, her daughter Aerea."

"She died of a fever." You answered remembering your great aunt.

"Not entirely sweet girl. One night Aerea snuck into Dragonmont and claimed Balerion, no one has seen her or the black dread for over a year but one day she returned. Aerea was severely ill as was Balerion, she was almost unrecognizable; she was stick thin, and whatever clothes she still wore were nothing more than tatters. Her hair was matted and a tangled mess, and her eyes were bloody. The knight that carried her to the maester said that he felt her fever through his armor and something was moving inside her body." You listened intensely to the story "Aerea's fever was one unlike anything he had seen before. The septon described her as burning, with a red skin and having barely an ounce of flesh upon her bones, appearing gaunt and starved. Swellings moved under her skin, Barth said she was cooking from within. Smoke came from her mouth, nose, and her nether regions. Aerea's eyes cooked within her skull until they burst. When the princess was lowered into the tub of ice, "slimy, unspeakable things" making horrible sounds emerged from under her skin—one as long as his arm—but the "creatures of heat and fire" died from the cold of the ice."

You listened horrified to the story your brother was saying, it was during your grandsire's rule. But what did Aerea's illness had to do with Valyria. Daemon noticing your confusion continued.

"Septon Barth speculated that Balerion, not Aerea, had chosen their destination; as likely the only living creature in the world that had known Valyria before it was destroyed in the Doom, Balerion had returned home, where accursed creatures as those found inside Aerea now lived."

“Does that mean that dragons live in Valyria?" You asked curiously only one thing on your mind.

"Those creatures inside Aerea were not dragons sweet girl." Daemon responded. "If you wish to know more of these beasts Septon Barth wrote a book about dragon origins."

"That book is looked down upon..." You mumbled.

"The citadel only wishes to give us information they deem suitable, that doesn't mean you shouldn't read the book." Your brother mused "I just happen to have a copy..."

"Brother please! Can you lend it to me! Please!" You pleaded grabbing Daemon's shoulders and shooting his body with little strength you had. Your elder brother laughed and nodded.

"In return I have a favour to ask of you..." He said mysteriously you quieted down and nodded.

"I'll do anything!" You said, Daemon tapped his cheek with his finger. You smiled and left a smooch on his face.

"We should be returning soon or else our brother might strangle me." Daemon mused.

"Rhaenyra!" You shouted, the girl turned quickly and ran towards you. "Come, we must return." You said and grabbed her hand, you glanced up at the sky to see your dragons in the sky. It was as if they could read your thoughts, quickly abandoning their chase and landing on the ground.

You smiled and skipped towards the bronze fury, you scratched the scales under his maw. The dragon purred happily leaning into your touch.

"Once we return I shall order that a deer be brought to your cave." You said in your mother tongue, knowing of your dragons preference for deer. You easily climbed the large dragon and left Dragonstone.

...

You entered your chambers clad in bronze dragon leather mimicking the scales of your mount.

"Your Highness." Mya, your maid bowed as you approached your desk throwing the gloves off to the side.

"Good morrow Mya." You said glancing at the books and parchment on the wooden table. "Any letters?"

The maid shuffled and retrieved a scroll, sealed by the familiar sun and spear. You smiled breaking the insignia and read the letter send by Qoren.

"Is the prince still smitten?" Mya asked curiously, you nodded a small smile on your lips. Despite seven years apart you and Qoren often wrote to each other.

You said placing the parchment on your desk. Grabbing a spare parchemnt and dipping your feather in quill you begun to write a response. "Mya, if you could pass this letter to the rookery." Pouring the hot wax over the letter you placed your seal. A bronze dragon on a black background.

"At once your highness." The maid said, bowed and rushed to the rookery.

You giddily smiled and left your chambers searching for you eldest brother.

Ser Harrold Westerling dutifully stood before the King's chambers. His silver armor illuminated by the torches.

"Princess." The knight bowed his head, and announced your presence.

"Viserys!" You smiled and rushed to hug your brother.

"y/n, to what do I owe the pleasure of your presence?" He asked hunched over his model of old Valyria.

"Can't I visit my brother the King?" You mused glancing at the Valyria sculpture. Viserys laughed and ushered you inside.

"This tower is wrong." you said pointing at the build. Viserys curiously looked to what you're referring to. "It should be holding liquid fire as an heraldry to Gaelithox."

"My, you are right."

"Of course I'm right... Valyria is a fascinating civilisation isn't it."

"If only we could bring it back." Viserys sighed sadly.

"But we can Viserys... your are the King, your word is law."

"It is not that simple y/n" He started "You know how hard grandsire fought for the doctrine of exceptionalism."

"Excactly, grandsire laid the fundaments we need. Now we can use them to build!" You exclaimed "Uncle Vaegon has a chain of Valyrian Steel, he could help us."

Viserys chuckled at your childlike wonder.

"The world will never see a civilisation as magnificent as Old Valyria, we barely know our history. We have to learn more."

In the next few weeks you barely ate or slept, consumed by various books on the history of Valyria. Uncle Vaegon per your request send you as many books from the citadel as he could. Many letters were exchanged between the two of you. You offering various theories and Vaegon negating them.

"Brother! Brother!" You shouted bursting to his chambers, starting him and Aemma.

"Seven hells y/n, it is barely dusk." Viserys mumbled leaning into his wife's side.

"Good morrow y/n" Aemma responded

"It could not wait." You exclaimed placing as many parchemnts and books you could hold in your arms.

"What could not wait?" Viserys groggily asked sitting in his bed.

"Valyria dear brother!"

Aemma stood from the bed clasping her swollen belly. She slowly waddled to you and glanced at the books.

"What is this?"

"This my queen is our ancestry." You responded helping her sit.

Drawing depicting the great city of Valyria, towers occupied by dragons, rivers of fire, colourful plants that grew everywhere, temples dedicated to the fourteen flames, great structures build from dragon glass.

"In the age of heroes there were hundred of thousands of dragon roaming the world. And yet only the people of Valyria tamed them. Some texts say that our ancestors were dragons, that we are their descendants and that is why we can form bonds and ride them."

"y/n this is..." Viserys mumbled glancing at the knowledge before him. "How did you find this?"

"Uncle Vaegon helped me, but I found knowledge about Valyria from books and scrolls that depicted the history of other Essosi cities."

"What would the faith think of this?" Aemma asked appaled.

"The faith of the seven was brought by the Andals, Valyria worshipped many deities but the main one were the fourteen flames. The faith does not influence us as were are not of Andal decent. We have magic in our blood, magic that no one else possesses. That is why the North does not preach the faith of the seven. They are the descendants of the first men and they follow the old gods of stream, forest and stone."

"y/n is right we are not Andals we merely rule them." Viserys agreed examining the various books, scrolls and parchments.

"This would make a lovely tapestry." Aemma said picking up a drawing of dragons dancing in the sky. "Perhaps the Red Keep would benefit from a little renovation."

"A marvellous idea, my love." Viserys said pressing a kiss to Aemma's hand. "This is extraordinary y/n. Father would have been very proud of you."

Gradually the Red Keep got rid of the emblem of the seven, replacing them with tapestries and statues depicting old Valyria, dragon lords and dragons. Many lord gathered at court to posses even a drop of knowledge of Old Valyria. The change didn't disturb the faith as the renovation have been done over a course of many years.

You smiled seeing the changes knowing that you were the one to influence them. Things however were not as happy as they could have been. Queen Aemma has lost four children in the span of three years, two pregnancies ended before her terms and two stillborn children. This time however the King was sure that the Queen will deliver a healthy son.

The tourney in honour of the heir inside the belly of Queen Aemma has begun. Many lords and ladies came to King's Landing to celebrate such a joyous ocassion. The dispute of the realm would vanish when the baby boy is born.

Not fond of tourneys y/n decided to visit Aemma. To her there was nothing the least bit enjoyable about men knocking each other off horses with long sticks. Such violence and bloodshed was redundant.

The princess stopped at the tall doors of the Queen's chambers, two guards with solemn faces greeted the princess, announcing her presence.

"Your Grace." y/n walked in, curtseying before the Arryn. The princess raised her eyebrows once she saw of the condition Aemma was in. Pained expression, body and hair damp with sweat.

"Oh, sweet y/n, how good of you to come." The Queen visibly brightened up seeing the princess. "Has the tourney begun?"

"Not yet, but everyone is awaiting impatiently." She answered, sitting next to the Queen.

"I must say, I fear of what will happen." Aemma sighed finding it easy to confide in her good sister. Despite being just ten and five she possessed an intellect rivalling her uncle Vaegon.

She enjoyed politics and history. Vaegon was not fond of children or anyone else for that matter but he made an exception for his niece. The two exchanged letters and the Archmaester lend her books from the citadel.

Princess y/n often whispered to her niece of politics, history, economics when it was needed. Being on the quieter side, y/n did not posses many friends. While being exceptionally smart she did not enjoy being at court, she did however enjoyed bards that sung the tales of her ancestors.

Beside Rhaenyra y/n was very fond of her brother Daemon as he was of her. He often gave her many gifts from his travels from valyrian steel jewerly to books and other trinkets. It was a common occurrence to see Vermithor and Caraxes together in the skies.

"As a mother you are prone to worry for your children, even the unborn ones.” y/n said, sensing the distressed state Aemma was in. Not wanting to deepen her fear of labour she tried to console the pregnant woman.

"It is the burden we posses as royal women, our duty is to produce heirs. We give the realm new princes and princesses." Aemma sighed sadly. "Soon enough you will be in my place." y/n smiled sadly, she knew that Aemma was right and yet she preferred to not think about the near future.

Aemma thanked the princess and ushered her to join the celebrations her husband so desperately adored. y/n felt guilty for leaving the Queen alone, but nonetheless she obeyed leaving the chambers.

"Sweet y/n! You have finally graced us with your presence!" The king rejoiced, the princess bowed and took her seat on the left of Viserys.

"Unlike you brother I do not enjoy seeing men knocking each other off horses." y/n whispered and took her place on the left of the King.

y/n engaged with the aristocracy, exchanging greeting and pleasantries with the lords and ladies in the royal balcony. Despite the happy aura of the day, she could not help the worry that bubbled in her gut. Turning to her brother she took him by the hand.

"Brother, I worry for Aemma." y/n said her eyes sad worry swimming in her red orbs. "She says she fears the labour, you have to ensure she will be safe."

"Dear sister, Aemma will be fine. She will deliver a son and the realm will rejoice at their new heir." Viserys said confidently, he seemed to not worry for his wife's wellbeing as much as the sex of the baby that she might deliver.

y/n tugged at the skin's of her fingers in nervousness. The crowd grew larger and larger with each minute, the lords and ladies helped themselves to cake, wine and other delights. y/n refrained from eating, her stomach twisted in nervousness.

From the corner of her eye she saw the hand Otto Hightower whisper something in Viserys's ear. His eyes visibly lit up, he made his way to the railing of the balcony.

"Queen Aemma has begun her labours!" Viserys shouted and the crowd erupted in applause. y/n glanced at Rhaenyra, a worried look painted on both of their faces.

The announcer took everybody's attention, introducing today's tourney participants. Knights and sons of lord from all over the seven kingdoms joined the joust.

"Prince Daemon Targaryen!" The crowd erupted in applause; the dragon prince strode confidently on his white horse. The black dragon armor shone lightly in the sun.

"May I ask for the favor of princess y/n?" Daemon asked, she rolled her eyes but smiled, nonetheless. She stood from her chair and retrieved her black and violet bouquet throwing it at the lance of her half-brother.

"Let my favour guide you in this challenge." y/n said loudly for the crowd to hear "I hope someone knocks you off your horse and humble you, my dear brother." y/n teased the prince and he gave her a sly look.

"Let us pray you do not hope to hard, my dear sister." Daemon said and trotted away on his horse. y/n turned around to see Otto whisper something once more to Viserys, his skin turned paler and his breath shallowed.

Aemma

Quickly abandoning the joust, she quickly slipped away from the balcony and ran to Aemma's chambers. She could hear the Queen's screams from far away. Her heart ached to think of her mother figure in such agony.

"Aemma!" y/n shouted and her blood run cold. The bed and the linen cloth were stained with scarlet blood. Aemma cried and wailed, her skin and hair sweaty.

"Your royal highness, I advise you to leave. This is no place for children." The maester Mellos said turning his attention away from the Queen.

"I care not for your advice Maester, I am here for the Queen." y/n said sternly and turned towards the contracting Aemma. "My sweet Queen I am here." She whispered

"y/n?" Aemma panted. "My sweet daughter..."

The princesses eyes filled with tears, she held the hand of her sister enduring the pain just like Aemma. The doors burst open moments later, Viserys walked in.

"Brother you must stop this!" y/n shouted

"Please get it out of me..." Aemma wailed and clung to the hand of her sister in law. She could smell the faint notes of milk of the poppy on the Queen. From the corner of her eye she could see her brother and the maester talking. Then two guards stepped towards y/n, she looked at her brother but saw fear in his eyes.

"Guards escort her royal highness to her chambers." Viserys whispered.

The two kings guards took her by the arms, she looked around confused. Her gaze landing on the knife in the maester's hand, the servant took Aemma by her legs and pulled her down.

"NO!" y/n screamed "Viserys stop this!" She begun to trash in the guards hold. "It is not worth it!"

"Viserys?" Aemma whispered "What is going on?"

"They’re going to bring it out now... I love you, Aemma..." Viserys whispered and kissed his wife's sweaty brow.

"What..?" Aemma looked around scared "No... Viserys. I'm scared. Please."

"Viserys!" y/n screamed her voice hoarse and raspy. The guards dragged her away from the scene. "Aemma!"

Queen Aemma smiles at Viserys before fading away again. The maesters go to work in the king’s periphery. Aemma suddenly begins screaming in agony. Her body jerks as it is tugged, pulled and cut.

Viserys holds her hand to his cheek, sobbing. He tries to block out the noise, but Aemma’s pain spears through him.

Then, the Queen goes silent. Time passes in a vacuum. Until the faint wail of a newborn shatters the quiet. The king lifts his head to see the midwives wrapping the baby into swaddling.

...

The body of Aemma and little Baelon laid on the pyre wrapped in cloth. King Viserys choking on his own tears, unable to speak and think. Mourning the death of his wife and his son Baelon.

Rhaenyra stands apart from him. Her eyes are red from crying, but there’s another emotion on her face...anger. Hand in hand with y/n, their expressions similar. The black dress on y/n’s body swayed delicately in the wind.

"Ñurho valonqro paghyro jēdunna, lo tolijī kepa ñuha kirimvī rhēdos pendan?" Rhaneyra asked rhetorically tears escaping her reddened eyes. y/n squeezed her hand leaning onto the princess’s shoulder. (I wonder if, for those few hours my brother lived, my father finally found happiness.)

"Kepa aōha avy sīr ojūdo tubiro toliot jorrāelza." Daemon spoke boring holes into the Kings head. (Your father needs you more now than he ever has.)

"Trēsy dōrī kesan." Rhaenyra whispered and strode towards her golden steed. (I will never be a son)

"Kesā sagon tolmiot sȳrkta than mirre dārys" y/n whispered to Rhaenyra as she left. Daemon wrapped his arm around his siter bringing her into his embrace. Knowing that y/n saw the brutal scenes of Aemma’s labour, he felt sorry for the little princess. Gently caressing her silver locks. The two dragon rider’s stood in solemn silence watching Rhaenyra. (You will be far better than any king.)

"Dracarys, Syrax!" Syrax opens her maw and expels a column of dragonfire, which sets alight both the biers. Queen Aemma and Prince Baelon are consumed by the flame. Twin columns of black smoke, bent by a strong morning wind, rise from the twin funeral pyres as mother and child burn.

...

The two princesses dreseed in black mourning attire laid in Rhaenyra’s chambers. Their hands intertwined, tears falling onto the bed.

“Aemma was a good woman.” y/n whispered caressing the silver haired girl’s cheek, she leaned into the warm touch.

“She was… I know she saw you as a daughter.” Rhaenyra whispered her voice hoarse from crying. “And I hope you know that I see you as my sister, the one I never had.” The red-eyed princess sobbed hugging the motherless child.

“She loved you deeply.” y/n whispered.

...

She wanted to scream, cry and rage. She held her emotions back, seeing the state her brother was in. She sighed and walked towards his grace in the small council chamber. Putting her palm on Viserys's shoulder.

"y/n?" Viserys asked, his voice tired and sad.

"Yes dear brother." She answered. "I come to ask how you feel." Tears escaped the king's eyes, he banged his fists on the table.

"The council is pressuring me to name an heir and re-marry. As if my son and wife didn't just die!" He cried angrily. y/n sat in silence helping her brother mourn the loss of his family, placing her palm on his back offering some comfort.

"What should I do?" He asked defeated, glancing at his sister. Silence befallen the two siblings.

"Put your trust in Rhaenyra. Name her heir like you always desired." y/n whispered.

Viserys nodded solemnly, standing from his chair he hugged the young princess. She sadly smiled caressing his back.

...

y/n found Daemon in his chambers, the man dressed in a linen shirt and leather pants sat comfortably before the fireplace, a goblet of red in his hand. She stormed to her brother and took the cup from his hand slamming it on the table next to her. The rogue prince raised an eyebrow, glancing at the red-eyed girl.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your presence, dear sist-” Daemon spoke, his voice laced with sarcasm. Not being able to control her anger she slapped the prince on his cheek ending his words.

“Issi ao hen hen aōha ribazma!” She shouted, the prince took off guard by the unusual behavior displayed by his siter. He palmed the red spot growing on his cheek. “Skorkydoso could vestrā bona!” (Are you out of your mind!/ How could you say that!)

“Ivestragon skoros?” Daemon asked feigning cluelessness. (Say what?)

“Gaomagon daor tymagon doru-borto lēda nyke, Daemon!” She accused standing over her brother. Her hands squeezed in fists that she barely held back. The princess sighed and took a seat next to her half-brother. (Do not play dumb with me)

“How could you say such a thing. You should be offering Rhaenyra or Viserys comfort! Not celebrating the death of your nephew!” y/n said, bitter tears ecaped her green orbs. Daemon finally looked ashamed; his gaze lowered onto the crackling fire. “Well… say something!” But the prince stayed silent.

“You should beg Viserys for forgiveness on your knees. He could have your head for this.” y/n whispered.

“He has no spine for that.” Daemon mused, breaking his streak of silence.

“Perhaps he does not. His patience with you however runs thin...” y/n whispered glancing at the silver haired man.

“He always wanted to get rid of me. Sending me away to that bronze bitch, the city watch anywhere by near him.” He spoke words laced with venom.

“You have not given him any reason to put you by his side!” The princess said raising her delicate voice. “I know you want to protect him, but this is no way of showing it.”

“If it is his wish to exile me from court then go ahead. I hold no sympathy or love for these pompous nobles, you know that.” Daemon countered.

“I do not want you to leave especially in exhile.” y/n whispered. “You should be here by your family’s side, by my side.”

Daemon stared at his sister the flames of the fire illuminating her Valyrian features. He stood up from his seat and stepped towards the silver haired girl, he sighed and kneeled before her. His violet eyes staring into her red ones.

“I do not want to leave you, you know that.” Daemon whispered the princess stayed silent. The prince placed his head in the lap of his half-sister, he could feel as her fingers threaded through his straight silver locks. “You should come with me.” He could feel as y/n stopped her fingers.

“I will not leave Rhaenyra.” Her voice stern, moving her brother’s head she stood from her seat, eyes filled with anger and resentment stared at the mighty prince. Without a word she left, the prince on his knees stared at the retreating form of the princess.

...

Princess Rhaenyra dressed in the red and black of the House of the Dragon stands at the foot of the Iron Throne. The throne room is packed with lords, ladies and knights from every corner of the realm. The mood is one of celebration. King Viserys crowned and dressed in the ceremonial armor of his house and with the Targaryen ancestral sword Blackfyre sheathed at his hip, sits upon the Iron Throne. y/n stands next to the King, her own gown in the colours of Targaryen's. The lords of the realm gather one after the other. Lord Corlys Velaryon kneels first, glancing at the royal family.

"Corlys of House Velaryon, Lord of the Tides and Master of Driftmark." Grand maester Mellos announced.

"I, Corlys Velaryon, Lord of Driftmark, promise to be faithful to King Viserys and his named heir, the Princess Rhaenyra. I pledge fealty to them and shall defend them against all enemies in good faith and without deceit. I swear this by the old gods and the new."

y/n looked from above, the crowd's gaze was focused on Rhaenyra, now heir to the iron throne. She glanced at the princess and smiled deeply at her niece. Observing the realm bow at her feet and promise loyalty to her as heir.

The high septon lays a golden collar around Rhaenyra’s shoulders, King Viserys addresses his lords and subjects.

"I, Viserys Targaryen, first of his name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm do hereby name Rhaenyra Targaryen the Princess of Dragonstone and heir to the Iron Throne."

The three and ten year old princess looks out across the lords of the realm that she will be responsible for holding together. A proud smile etched on her feauters, welcoming her new future.

y/n stared solemnly at Viserys, knowing the dispute that happened between him and Daemon urged him to name Rhaenyra heir. She knew that her niece will face have to face many hardships as the only female heir to the iron throne. Knowing that she decided to become her protector help her in any way she was able to cement her status as the rightful future Queen. With that the princess begun her works at court. Servants, knights, septas and many nobles have fallen into her grasp. She spinned the web of spies and informants throughout the seven kingdoms.

Princess Rhaenyra was named princess of Dragonstone at only five and ten, as her father’s only child the nobility quickly accepted the heir. Many speculated that naming the princess heir was the doing of her aunt y/n Targaryen. It was known that the princess held much influence at court as her brother’s secret advisor. With her influence she worked for the good of the people, improving the crown’s reputation. The nobles as well as the smallfolk admired and loved the princess for her kidness and generosity. – From the dragon bringer by the feather and quill of Grand Maester Roland.

#aegon ii targaryen #aemond targaryen #alicent hightower #house of the dragon #house targaryen #hotd x reader #hotd #rhaenyra x reader #rhaenyra targeryan #daemon x reader #daemon targeryan #viserys targaryen #qoren martell #Qoren x reader

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fanofstuff01 · 16 days ago

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So here’s the King of Purgatory AU @beef-brisket. @things-arent-what-they-seem66 Helped me with this one.

Adam looks like Beetlejuice in this lol

Adam dies on Earth and ends up in an almost completely grey place -Only his body outside of his gray skin and some plants still have colors- similar to Earth. It’s like an imitation of that place, only devoid of all the joy or pain you can get from it, completely neutral and bland. He’s also still a human as he guesses, only now he’s.. Not exactly solid. He can touch things, but he doesn’t feel anything from them or around him. And he’s floating all the time if he’s not making an effort to step on the ground.

He doesn’t understand where he is or why he is there at first, that is until Sera eventually shows up after he spent about 7 years there. He’s excited as he thinks he’s finally going to be out of this place he doesn’t even know what is, and finally get to see his wife and kids again maybe, but that’s not exactly the case.

Sera tells him that the place he ended up on is Purgatory, a small dimension they JUST learned the existence of that managed to get in between Heaven and Hell like some sort of a waiting room.

And the reason why he was there is because his soul is completely divided in between being good and being bad. He’s too pure for Hell but too corrupted for Heaven so he’s stuck there as a ghost. (If you know the Asphodel Meadows from Greek mythology it’s like that)

Adam begs her to let him come to Heaven but she refuses all the way. They can’t just let a soul like him go and live with the winners. Then she leaves after warning Adam of other souls possibly coming too since he can’t be the only one completely divided among humans.

So Adam stays there alone until some souls start to show up after one point. He's not sure how much time has passed so it's just an assumption but it's about 30 years after since he died did some start to come there. The people coming there are just like him, they can't feel anything (physically that is), taste anything and they slowly lose all their colors.

At one point Adam declares himself as the King of the place but it's mostly just symbolic and because he's the only one that is allowed to talk with the angels (They have an embassy on their own that is being protected by Heaven) whenever they come to check the numbers. Though over time he does gain some power over time because he figures out that soul contracts are a thing and gains some of them. (He's the only person that can do it in solid numbers because other souls simply have nothing to offer to others but he does as they get to keep their colors at least. Souls there are that desperate to have something new you'd be surprised how many people give themselves to him completely just so they can have this at last.)

Purgatory isn't like Hell or Heaven, there isn't a ton of ghost population there as it gets like five times less souls per ten years. And also because souls in Purgatory can fall and rise to heaven given what they do there even though it takes a fairly long time, like they are given a second chance at life -For this reason Purgatory is completely divided of people trying to get to Heaven and Hell, there's a decent bit of chaos there-

Well except for only one of them.

Adam.

Even Adam himself nor do the higher up angels know why he's stuck there no matter what he does. He's simply not allowed to leave Purgatory permanently no matter how much or what he desires, begs and does purposefully to get out of there.

But there's a reason why I said permanently.

Over time -it takes a long time-, Adam slowly finds out that he can open portals to a specific spot in Hell -Heaven is way too protected from the outsiders compared to Hell so he can't to there- and be there for about a week before he has to go back to his "home", completely invisible to the people there and unable to interact with them unless he tries really hard.

That specific spot is the Morningstar Manor obviously. He's like an actual ghost haunting there lol.

And, it takes him even longer to figure this one out, but once every 100 years, he has enough power to be in Hell and be around people just fine for a day. (And if someone there says his name three times, he can stick there longer, even as a sentient being, but it needs to be "refreshed" once every year. Yes Beetlejuice.)

Over time, Adam went kind of insane. Lost all hope about himself and his ability of going anywhere, but unlike Lucifer, he is mostly just having fun the entire time not caring the slightest about what happens to what.

What's the point of caring anyway, when it doesn't even have consequences? The ghostly folks will respawn just fine. The plants will regrow just fine. His body will return to normal after just fine.

He's mainly like Alastor but with even more insanity and with the power of at least a sin. He basically has everyone there by default. If souls there were worthy like sinners' are he'd be more powerful than the Morningstar family.

Speaking of them, they're the only people left that he hates almost religiously. Maybe not so much the kid, he's basically watched her grow from afar, but definitely Lilith and Lucifer, he blames them for the entire thing of himself as you'd expect. His hatred for them is the only thing keeping him from going completely off rails ironically.

Well he does dream of fucking Lucifer to his bed and then bashing his skull but that's not our point

During one of his days spent in Hell, he sees the daughter of Lucifer on TV promoting a stupid hotel, so he decides to go help her. He likes and is familiar with aimless, stupid and doomed to fail projects, he had one himself a long, long time.

WHEW- This was a long one lol. Hope you liked it!

#adamsapple #lucifer x adam #guitarduck #adam x lucifer #hazbin hotel au

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thewickedspinster · 6 months ago

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The Protector & the Prince (Aedion Ashryver x Reader)

a/n: this character and plotline has been in my head ever since i read throne of glass, so i'm lowkey thinking of making this a series? to explore the character and also her relationship with aedion? because there is a criminally low amount of aedion love out here (i'm happy to provide). lmk your thoughts in the comments!

content: aedion x fem!reader, aelin x reader platonic, rowan whitethorn ofc, spoilers for empire of storms & kingdom of ash, slight au where reader is taken by maeve instead of aelin

requested by anon

The Protector & the Prince

The dawn was chill and damp against your cheeks. Dew rose from the meadow below, kissing your hair and skin. Welcoming you home.

In the rocky hollow behind you, the Bane packed up camp. They were battle-weary, exhausted to the bone after years of fighting in the mountains. Last night at dusk, when the company had stopped, you had just been able to make out the spires of Orynth across the next hill. It had been a trial in will to halt, to take stock, to rest before making the final push across the Staghorns.

Today, you would return to the home you had been forced to abandon, to the people you called your own. To your queen. To your friends. The war had been won, they said. Word had come over the mountains in the form of a white-tailed hawk; the king himself had come to find you and call you home. He had said his queen commanded it.

Against your will and better judgement, the memories of the past decade flowed freely as you and your company hiked down into the vale, then up the other side, crossing the last line of mountains. The loss of Aelin, the fall of Orynth, the Assassin's Guild, the land of Erilea, the return of magic, and the nightmares of war. Yet by midday, Terrasen unfolded before you, green and golden as ever. Your heart strained against its cage, and the Bane's pace hastened to the city's gates.

When you had last seen this city, it had been white and glistening, a kingdom in its prime. You were but nine years old, a nameless child with no family, no wealth, who had been taken in by King Orlon, of all people, to guard his young niece and heir, Aelin Galathynius. Since, your fae lineage had been revealed, and his choice in you had become clearer; only you could have followed Aelin to the ends of the earth as you did. Only you could have kept her safe.

Now, Orynth was rebuilding. The people had begun to return, but their wariness was palpable as they turned from their work to observe the Bane walking down the main thoroughfare. Some bowed, but there was no fanfare. There was little room for celebration as the dust of war settled, and the work began.

Your mind was a muted whirlwind of thoughts. You had little idea what to expect upon seeing Aelin. You hadn't seen her since the day on the beach, when you had been taken by Maeve in her place. The war done, you no longer knew your place.

Besides all this, your heart pounded for entirely different, unwelcome reasons.

Aedion would be here.

Aedion, Aelin's cousin, the Wolf of the North, fearsome general and protector of a fallen kingdom, had always been your best friend. Your first friend in Orynth, the lifeline you held onto while training with Arobynn. Your closest confidant. The only person you needed. And gods, did you need him now, with the uncertainties rising and the past creeping in... As you approached the towering doors to the castle, you actually considered whether you could do this.

The walk up the sweeping marble steps took a millennium. Untouched, no one had been able to steal their grandeur, though the great doors were still missing. One step over the mighty threshold, two steps, and you had yet to collapse. Three steps, and you were blindsided, barreled into with such force you stumbled.

"Y/N," came Aelin's shaky breath in your ear. She clutched you close, her fingers digging into your leathers. You clung to her in turn, holding her as tightly as you could, breathing in the smell of her, free of blood and iron. "You made it."

"Hi," you laughed breathlessly. "Gods, Aelin. Hi."

And suddenly, everything was entirely right in the world. You were home. You were with your best friend. You had made it.

Reluctantly, Aelin let you go and addressed your company. The Bane, ever having been Aedion's to command, had been given to you in the wake of your return to the continent. You had earned their respect, earned your place as their general. But they were, of course, Aelin's to command. Her arm still around you, she thanked them and dismissed them.

Before you knew it, you'd been swept up to a grand chamber, Aelin with you, to wash and eat. Your head swirled with the welcome, with the shock of being back in this place you'd once called home. She spoke softly, bringing news of Rowan, Chaol, Dorian, Elide, and Manon. She skirted talk of fighting, of that day on the beach, and for that, you were grateful.

"How is Lysandra?" You asked, pulling a comb through your wet hair. The sun was setting, but you would luxuriate in this time with Aelin for as long as she'd allow. "I heard she became a sea dragon."

"She did. That, and more." Aelin laid out a tunic on the bed for you, and it all felt too much like evenings at the Guild, preparing for grand soirées (and murders). "Her and Aedion have finally made up. Thank the gods for that - the tension was borderline unbearable."

Your eyes flicked to hers in the mirror, but only just. You blamed the exhaustion for the way your heart stuttered. "I'm glad to hear it. One big happy family, right?"

She snorted. "Yeah, a right happy home we've got."

A knock came on the door, and a servant entered, summoning Aelin to her council chamber. The young queen groaned, but you saw how she straightened - how the mantle settled on her shoulders in a way that no longer looked entirely unbearable. She turned to you, saying, "You should rest, Y/N. Eat up here, and we'll talk more tomorrow."

You turned to look at her in full, smiling faintly, strained. "Tomorrow."

Your queen disappeared. In the sudden dimness of twilight, you were alone.

But, you supposed, there was a tomorrow. That alone was enough to help you breathe.

~~~

Dawn came too early. Despite your fatigue, you'd hardly slept. First, it was the dreams. Then, it was the contemplation. Would Aelin send you away? What would she have you do in service of her court? Would you even have a place? As a demi-fae of no noble birth and little standing, all you had was your training. Your violence.

You supposed that was worth something.

It was what drove you down to the training yard in the gray light before the sun, moving through the familiar dance of swordwork. Before long, sweat poured down your spine. As the sun rose over the yard, more soldiers came to train, though they hardly had a swordmaster to tutor them. Quietly, you placed your weapons back on the racks and slipped away, unnoticed.

It was down the second stone corridor you turned, then, that you first heard the soft laughter, the hushed tones.

"Isn't it too early for this?" A gasp, a giggle. "Surely there's a better place."

"No one will come down here. Besides, it's never too early for this."

You stopped dead. You knew that voice. You'd know that voice anywhere. You'd heard it in your dreams. You'd followed it in your darkest moments, guiding you home.

You turned on your heel and stalked in the opposite direction, chest aching, as the sounds of Aedion and Lysandra's tryst faded behind you.

~~~

Aelin had called a meeting for midmorning, and you were notified last moment. You were still straightening your fancy new attire - silver, threaded with dark vines - as you entered the privy chamber. It was nearly exactly as you remembered. Eerily exact, as it was. You kept thinking you'd see King Orlon leap out from behind the curtains to say it had all been a cruel jest.

Luckily, you'd had plenty of time to right yourself, as Aedion was embarrassingly late. Though you knew the likely reason why, you kept your mouth firmly shut, instead braiding your hair and reporting to Rowan Whitethorn on the state of the Bane. When that was through, and only then, did the doors open once more, and Prince Aedion swept in, not a hair out of place.

"Forgive the delay, Aelin," he said softly when his cousin gave him an arch look. "There were... urgent matters to attend to in the yard."

Rowan grunted, "Those soldiers need a proper swordmaster."

"Which is why we're all here," Aelin said, as if it were obvious. She was clearly bored with the court business, but she looked between you and Aedion as though she were expecting something... more. After an awfully long pause, she continued. "Now that we're all together again, I figured some rearranging of duties is in order. Aedion, the Bane are yours, should you want them. And Y/N, my Queensguard is yours."

Aedion looked satisfied, but you were rooted to the spot with shock. "Aelin, your Queensguard? Why not have Chaol do it, or something?"

"Because Chaol has his own wife, child, and parcel to handle."

"You're more capable," Rowan chimed. "Wouldn't have anyone else protecting my wife."

"I'd also like you to be my envoy to Rifthold, for the time being." You actually had to take a seat. The closest one was a large armchair adjacent to Orlon's massive, ancient desk. "You know the city - and the affairs of Adarlan - better than any of us. And Dorian asked for you. You're a far better diplomat than I ever was."

"You were simply never a diplomat," Aedion said flatly, but his attention was fixed on you. Had been since he entered the room.

"Thanks, I know." Aelin flipped her hair over her shoulder, perching on the edge of her uncle's desk. "Much more of a decisive type, don't you think? Anyways, Y/N, would you accept both positions?"

You truly had to think a moment. You were reeling, your breath coming shortly. You had feared that Aelin wouldn't have work for you, and now, you were to captain her Queensguard and act as envoy to Adarlan? The responsibility almost seemed too much to take on.

Without thought, you glanced over to Aedion, who was still watching you. You caught his scent as you did so, and the desire to launch yourself into his arms after so long apart, after such hardship, after thinking you'd both die, took your breath away. But he was steady as he watched you, and as he nodded once.

You returned it. Rose, squared your shoulders, and bowed to your queen. "I'd be honored to accept both charges."

Aelin and Rowan shared a glance this time, before Aelin said, "Don't answer right now, Y/N, but there was something else I wanted to ask." You quirked a brow. "If you'd join me, I'd have you as one of my bloodsworn. You've followed me through everything, given up everything for me, and there is no one I can count more loyal than you. I would have you by my side, in all things."

The blood drained from your head, but you felt uncommonly steady. You couldn't give her an answer, but you could reassure her that you weren't going anywhere.

You stepped forward and wrapped your arms around her, and she returned the embrace fiercely, burying her face in your shoulder. "My path has always been beside yours. Past and future. Not going anywhere."

Aelin lifted her head, eyes teary and brilliant. "Never again."

Flashes of the smell of iron, the taste of iron, the smothering of iron. Of a cell, of shattered realities, of a white wolf. They haunted your sleeping and waking moments. Had consumed you for so long.

The meeting was, for all intents and purposes, over. After parting, you gave barely a fleeting glance at Aedion, unable to deal with that emotional disaster at present, and strode from the room, already calling for all soldiers to report immediately to the yard.

You had work to do.

~~~

A month had passed, and your life was consumed with dust, sweat, the grunting of fighters, and the clash of steel on steel. You had selected a Queensguard from the soldiers who'd been in the city, but training them was something else entirely. They'd all seen combat in the war, of course, but that didn't mean they even knew how to swing a sword without tearing a muscle. It had been nigh on ten years since Orynth had had an organized militia of any kind. You were starting from scratch.

The men and women you'd selected were, of course, learning quickly. You wouldn't have chosen them if you didn't think them trainable. But they were reaching a plateau, and their progress was slowing. You were spending long hours training under the blistering sun, and even longer hours planning rotations and the coverage of major events in the castle. Aelin needed two guards with her at all times, and given the state of the Queensguard at present, you hardly trusted any of the new additions to protect her without you present.

Aelin's queendom was in its infancy, making it particularly fragile. Anyone could come for her - or the king - in an effort to change the political balance. It was something you couldn't chance, even if both king and queen could protect themselves admirably on their own.

All that being said, it was well into the evening, and you couldn't recall the last time you'd slept more than three hours. Or eaten a meal, actually. You sat back and threw down your quill, rubbing at your eyes. They'd grown weak and scratchy as you wrote by candlelight. The moon hardly helped, casting a silvery glow across the floor of your chambers.

A knock came at the door, and you didn't bother to sit up before calling, "Come!"

"Prince Aedion, Commander Y/L/N," the servant said. A second later, Aedion stepped in, shutting the door behind him in the servant's face.

You were still, watching him from under your brows as he approached your desk.

He stopped before you. "You look like hell."

"Thanks."

"That's a compliment."

"An absolute charmer, you are."

"I only mean to say you've been working hard. Aelin appreciates it."

"I know she does."

He suddenly looked like he was at a loss for words, something he hadn't been around you for... ever.

"Have you slept?" He finally managed.

"Do I look like it?" You gestured to your desk. "Lots to do. And I'm due in Rifthold next week."

"Are you going to take the blood oath?"

You sighed. "Don't you have something more useful to do than interrogate me?"

"I don't, actually," he snapped back, anger sparking. "Nothing more important than making sure you're alright."

"Funny, I thought you had a kingdom to defend. My mistake."

"The Bane are getting well-deserved rest. And thank to you, they're in top shape." He crossed his arms. "You led them well."

"I'd assume you'd know that, considering it was you who wanted me to lead them."

"Only because you needed something to do that would keep you safe."

Silence swallowed you whole as you stared at him. Fury turned your chest cold, your fingers numb. "Keep me safe?"

"You had no business being near the final battle for Terrasen," he snapped back. "Considering what you went through at Maeve's hands, you couldn't have been ready."

"So you sent me to babysit your troops?" You hissed, rising to your feet abruptly. "Are you serious, Aedion?"

Aedion sighed, exasperated. He held out placating hands. "This is going all wrong, Y/N. I'm not trying to upset you. I'm trying to make sure you're okay."

"What, because I was tortured? I can assure you, I'm a big girl. I can handle a few nightmares."

"Because I can hardly believe that you've healed," he nearly shouted. You leaned back. He said, quieter, "Because I know you haven't. You're throwing yourself into work to distract yourself. But it won't work forever."

He couldn't know just how right he was. It hurt, like a raw blister, the way he saw right through you. The way you wished you could bare your soul to him, let him comfort you, let him take care of you. You'd never had that, but you'd only ever wanted it from him. Your jaw was tight with hurt, and with fury.

"I gave you command of the Bane because I needed someone I could trust in the Staghorns. No one else could have earned their respect as you did." Aedion's gaze softened. "And selfishly, I wanted to keep you safe."

"I can take care of myself," you said, rather childishly.

"I know that."

"I don't need you to look after me. Not when you have other people to worry about."

The last had slipped out, unbidden, and you immediately cursed yourself for even saying it. Straight away, Aedion knew. His eyes sharpened, and you were glad to have the desk between you as his eyebrows rose.

"Lysandra," he said simply.

You stared back at him. "It's only natural."

"What? That I... frolicked with her, or that you're jealous of it?"

You scoffed. "'Frolicked?'" Seriously, Aedion? Are we twelve again?"

"We may as well be, for how well I feel I know you right now."

"You've known how I've felt about you for ages, Aedion. I know you have. You're blind, but you're not that stupid."

"Well thank you for that," he said, anger entirely abated. The snark of his remark missed its target. "Honestly, I only knew because Aelin told me."

"She told you back in Rifthold. I know. Before Arobynn was dead. Before I was free of him. Right in the midst of a shadow war." You gave a one-shouldered shrug. "But you always knew me best, Aedion. You had to have known before. But whether you did simply doesn't matter."

"How could it not?"

You straightened under his piercing stare, under the question in his eyes. "Because I have a job to do, and so do you. Aelin will always come before me, and I would never let anything, even you, come before her."

Aedion's mouth curved into a sad smile. "I know that."

Put off by the starkness of his honesty, you added, "And to be clear, I wouldn't be jealous of Lysandra. Her and I have been through enough. She's beautiful, and more than that, she's good. You deserve her."

"Lysandra has gone to Wendlyn."

"What?"

"We... I thought we'd gotten over the deception leading up to you being taken by Maeve, but we hadn't. She requested to leave, and Aelin gave her a job across the sea."

You were dumbfounded. So much so that you had to sit down. Lysandra, Aelin, and yourself had been the only ones to know of your plan to glamour yourself before arriving on the beach that day to greet Maeve's forces. As demi-fae, you had few powers, but one of the strongest was casting glamours. It was part of why you'd been so successful as an assassin at the Guild. Glamoured as Aelin, you'd been the one to be taken that day to Doranelle.

Anything for Aelin. Anything. Always.

Your voice shook as you said, "I will not be your second choice, Aedion."

"I'm not asking you to be," he murmured. "I'm asking you if you're alright."

Nearly. You nearly bent and broke, straight into him. Your mouth wobbled, but you managed to stand straight as you whispered, "I don't know who I am, now the bloodshed has stopped." When he said nothing, you drew a deep breath and continued. "Which means I'll keep fighting until I can sleep through the night."

"That's not how this works," he said evenly, and finally, he reached out, stopping himself just as his fingers grazed your sleeve. "You don't get to do this on your own, Y/N. We've always done this together - let me help you."

"You couldn't understand, Aedion."

And it was true. The things you'd gone through at Maeve's hands, at Arobynn's before her, no one could understand, least of all this prince. But as he touched you, for the first time in years, you felt your will against him falter.

You could have him, you thought. He's right there.

"Let me try," he breathed. His gold-rimmed eyes were desperate, soulful. Full of something you'd hardly dared admit to seeing before. Before Lysandra, when it was just you and him against the world. Desire. Admiration. Love? "Let me take care of you, Y/N. You've spent your whole life caring for us. Let me shoulder the burden, just for a little while."

The space stretched between you and Aedion, infinite. A breath. There was the truth, you realized. And you whispered:

"I'm scared, Aedion."

"I know, sweetheart."

He sensed it before it happened, and was around the desk in an instant, even as you fell back into your chair. Your breath came shortly, your chest crushed beneath the iron vice of memory. You'd failed to realize what it was to be rid of the constant routine of fight or flight, and now, that freedom came crashing down upon you as a wave, crushing your breath into teary gasps of air. Into sobs.

But Aedion was there, perched next to you, drawing you as close to him as he could. He pressed his mouth to your hair, your temple, your cheek, murmuring that he had you. That he was sorry. That Lysandra was only ever a distraction. That he'd loved you since you were children. That he had you. That he wouldn't let you go.

That you were safe now.

When the sobs subsided, you managed to lift your head, to look up at him through bloodshot eyes. He gazed on you fondly, his own eyes limned in silver. His hand smoothed over your hair, a gentle caress.

"You are the strongest female I have ever known," he murmured. "You may feel lost now, but we'll take this on together. Alright?"

"You have some explaining to do," you replied with half-hearted severity. "Frolicking with Lysandra isn't entirely forgiven, I'll have you know."

"Figured it wouldn't be."

"But... Together?"

"As it's always been, Y/N." He leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours. "I swear."

"I'll hold you to it."

"Wouldn't expect anything less from my most fearless warrior."

You smiled, and leaned up just enough to take him by surprise, kissing him softly. With the tenderness of ten years of longing, of ten years of sacrifice and love.

He tasted of beginnings.

#aedion ashryver x reader #aedion ashryver #aedion x reader #throne of glass #tog #aelin x reader platonic #aedion x lysandra #aelin ashryver galathynius #rowan whitethorn #aelin galathynius

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thecupidwitch · 3 months ago

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Anzar (ⴰⵏⵥⴰⵕ): Amazigh God’s Of Rain

Introduction:

Like in Greece or Egypt, pre-Islamic Amazigh people across North Africa also had their own mythology, gods, rituals and sacrifices. Anzar was god of the sky, waters, rivers, seas, streams and springs and rain. "Anzar" is an amazigh world that mean "rain", he also has others names such as Agellid n Ugeffur (King of the Rain) Agellid n Waman (King of the Water) and Agellid Anzar (King Anzar) among others.

The God Anzar is with no doubt of particular importance in the beliefs of the Amazigh people since antiquity, as he is the personification of rain itself. Ambivalent in nature, tyrannical, ruthless yet vital and essential just like rainfall, his tradition has came down to us thanks to the ancient fertility rites of "Tislit n Anzar" still practiced today in some Amazigh regions and villages. Sadly over the decades these ancient festivals receded and came to disappear almost completely due to religious zealotry and fanatism denouncing native pre-islamic traditions as despicable pagan rites.

The Myth:

According to oral folklore and poems:

There was once a time where gods took human forms, a powerful Sky God named Anzar; Master of the rain, water, seas, clouds and thunder fell madly in love with a beautiful peasant girl of marvellous beauty. She shone like a full moon on the water. Her face was resplendent and luminescent, her clothing of gittering silk. She was accustomed to bathe in a river of silver reflection every night. Transforming into a giant eagle he came to contemplate her everytime ; one day he spoke to her and asked her to marry him. But the frightened girl refused his request and fled, she would shy way from fear everytime the Master of rain approached her.

This rejection made Anzar so furious and angry that lands and crops started to be turned into piles of dust, famine was imminent as it would have ended up affecting the herds, cattle, the rivers, lakes and all the essential resources for the survival of the tribes. But Anzar didn't give up hope of seducing the woman he wanted most. And he threatened her;

- "Like the thunder I have split the immensity of the sky, O You, Star brighter than the sun itself, lend me your treasures, or otherwise I will deprive you from this water!"

The beautiful woman, frightened and in complete shock responded to him;

- "I beg you, Master of the skies, of coral crowned head. I know we were made for each other... but I fear the wrath of my people and what they will say..."

With these words the rain God abruptly disappeared once again and turned the ring he wore on his finger to make the entire river she bathed in suddenly dry up.

Out of desperation and fear for her people, the girl fell to the ground in sadness, and began to call out for Anzar as she bursted into tears. She remained naked as she stripped off her silk dress, and then cried to the sky:

- "O Anzar, O Anzar! O You, blossoming of the meadows! Let the rivers flow again, and come take your revenge!"

The latter suddenly appeared in the shape of an immense lightning, he took her and hugged the young girl tightly against him. After that they flew across the sky and all the rivers across the country began to flow again as the whole earth was covered with lush greenery.

With this romantic and supernatural ending, this myth comes to an end, which gave rise to an ancient ritual. Berber tribes began to symbolically sacrifice a virgin girl by offering her in a nuptial ceremony during any time of drought to summon Anzar, ask for his help and call for rain. Since then, every time after it rains, the legend says that Tarenza appears in the sky, in the form of a rainbow. She sacrificed herself for the greater good of humanity and left her people to become an immortal entity who spreads her iridescent colours across the sky after the fertilizing rainfall. Nowadays in the Amazigh language, 'Tislit n Anzar' simply means 'rainbow'.

The ancient ritual was based on five main steps:

In early autumn during the plowing period, take the most beautiful girl in the city, prepare her and addorn her of the most expensive and luxurious bridal jewelries and clothings.

Villagers have to organize processions and accompany her to the doors of the sanctuary or temple with an escort of women standing on the threshold to spray holy water on her.

Offer the ritual sacrifices (food, candles etc) in the sanctuary.

After having undressed the bride, go around the sanctuary 7 times begging and praising Anzar, and as the women sing, dance and praise Anzar, the young girls all have to play a game before dusk named Zerzari in which the ball is supposed to fall into a hole undergound prepared for the ritual.

Make a somptuous meal (generally chicken couscous) to share with the all the people in the village. One can be sure that a few days after the celebration of Anzar, the rain will begin to fall again.

This sacred ritual has survived to some extent and has taken different forms all across North Africa. The ritualistic ladle which now bears the common name of Tarenza, Ronja or Tarundja depending on the region, is always dressed as a bride and is worn by women in a parade all across the village or a nearby sacred mountain, while all singing for the God of rain to bring good harvests.

Several observations and accounts suggest that the current ladle doll is only a simulacrum and parody intended to replace the real original bride offered to Anzar. As it is stated that originally women were supposed to offer themselves completely naked to the Sky God. With the arrival of Islam in the 7th century, such traditions couldn't be tolerated and by then the practice changed and adapted to better suit the new religion. Since then the wooden ladle or spoon now called 'Tarenza' represents the coming of holy waters.

*Sources: [x] [x] [x]

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#thecupidwitch #amazigh mythology #witchcraft #witchblr #witch community #witches #witchcore #witch #grimoire #mythology #myths and legends #myths #deity work #deity worship #deities

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theteasetwrites · 2 years ago

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Merciless Beauty

Chapter 6: Through Life and After Death

❧ Pairing: Knight Daryl Dixon x Princess Reader ❧ Era: Medieval fantasy AU ❧ Pronouns: she/her ❧ Warnings: SMUT (18+)―missionary, body worship, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex (do not endorse), loss of virginity, vaginal fingering, sir kink if you squint, "fucked dumb" (lol), language ❧ Word Count: 15k (I am so sorry.)

❧ Before You Read...

❧ Glossary

❧ In This Chapter: With the threat of Negan and the Saviors' imminent return heavy on your mind, you find solace in one last excursion outside the castle walls, with your knight. A chance discovery, and the knowledge that this may be your last moment alone with him, leads you to the logical conclusion of your longing.

❧ A/N: Babe, wake up. The knight and the princess are about to boink. Btw I wrote most of this while I’m on my period so that might explain a lot.

The night before last had haunted you, tormented you, until you saw Sir Negan’s arrogant face in every shadow in your bedroom, every darkened corner of the castle, and even every forlorn hollow amongst the foliage in the courtyard where you took your afternoon strolls.

Your own home became a house of horrors, and now, you could not stand to be there another minute.

Before that night, the castle was only a place of sadness for you, but now, it was a looming threat, with each rising and setting of the sun marking another day closer to the day he would come back. You couldn’t even bear to speak his name, so you didn’t. You couldn’t, as though somehow even using your voice to acknowledge his existence was giving him more power. And yet, it was impossible to avoid the plague of unease that the man had infected you with.

Afterall, your situation was dire, no matter what transpired in the coming days leading up to his return. If your father decided to appease Negan, the best option for the survival of the kingdom, it would mean you’d be given to him willingly, taken to the Sanctuary to be his wife. If your father refused to give you to him, you’d be taken by force, and there was no way that Alexandria’s now weakened defenses could fight the Saviors from taking you―they were going to take you, no matter what. There was no outcome that would be in your favor. You were going to be Negan’s now, and you had to accept it.

But you didn’t.

Late last night, the king had left Alexandria in the hopes of making alliances with neighboring kingdoms against the Saviors in a last ditch effort to fight them. It was a noble pursuit, but worthless. Even with the help of the other provinces, the Saviors had weakened those kingdoms as well. Their armories were ransacked, and their numbers were increasingly dwindling. Still, you took advantage of your father’s absence―for one last excursion outside the walls before you’d surely be ripped away from your home in a matter of days.

It was the easiest breakout yet, given the lack of guards roaming the corridors of the castle. The journey through the tunnel was quiet, none of the usual talk of knighthood or herbalism or the knight’s stories of his adventures in exotic, faraway lands. It wasn’t until the meadow when you asked Sir Daryl to treat this day just the same as the others―as if nothing had changed, and this wasn’t your last journey with him.

And so, the knight being simply unable to refuse your wishes, he buried his sorrows to speak of things that pleased you, and you continued regaling him with quotes from your favorite tales and poems, all of which he listened to attentively, pulling Phantom’s reins as you both approached the familiar little cottage, its new outer walls now the first thing you saw.

It was only recently that Sir Daryl had commissioned a mason to build the protective border round the little house, an additional safety precaution to keep the walkers out, he said. Sometimes, you wondered if he’d had that built just for you to be safe, but perhaps that was a self-centered thought. The notion still produced a fluttering feeling in your abdomen, one that you became accustomed to since you first felt them with him. It was the most pleasant feeling you’d ever had, and no matter how you experimented to see if any other source of happiness could replicate that feeling, you always failed.

The sun was setting now, the usual ending to the usual day out, only now, the knight had offered to prepare you a real supper, not just the usual loaves of bread and rosemary butter. This eve, he was set on something special―venison he’d hunted himself just days prior, accompanied by vegetables you’d collected from the cottage garden, many of which you’d never even tried before. “Peasants’ grub” the nobles called them, but they were simple potatoes, onions, cabbages, leeks, carrots… Everything you’d need for a good stew.

But Daryl would not let you lift a finger, relegating you to sitting upon one of the straw-filled pillows strewn about on the floor, just a handful of feet from the warm lit hearth, where Daryl stood laboring over a steaming pot.

“Are you sure you do not need any help?” you peeped, though you and he both knew that you had less skill in cooking than him. In fact, you’d never even cut a vegetable before today. That was simply not your responsibility.

He looked at you through curling smoke, his eyebrow raised at the notion. “Told ya I’d do it. Isn’t much left to do, anyway… Just gotta let it cook a bit more.”

With your posture as straight and perfect as ever, you nodded and wrapped the blanket he always gave you tighter around your body. At this point, it smelled distinctly of your sweet perfume. “Thank you again, Daryl. I know… I know this is not the most ideal time to leave the castle, but I could not stand to be there another second. I swear I can still smell that man’s stench.”

Daryl swallowed hard before clearing his throat, disturbed by the very thought of him, the man who he knew he could not stop from taking you, but he’d do anything in his power to prevent it from happening.

He’d thought of many things, in fact. He hadn’t slept in two nights, the time spent instead thinking of ways to stop Negan, but they all had their weaknesses. Of course, his first thought was to hide you, to take you away from the castle and keep you somewhere else, but that wouldn’t stop the Saviors from pillaging Alexandria, from killing more people. The one thing keeping Negan from destroying the kingdom was you, and even then, it was still uncertain.

And killing Negan and enough of the Saviors to render them powerless was next to impossible. Alexandria was a small kingdom anyway, and now it had dwindled down to almost the size of a large village, with hardly any defenses or military-trained citizens to even stand a chance against an army of the Saviors’ size. The situation was hopeless, and he hated that all he could do was wait.

“But it’s nice to be here,” you said. “I like it here… With you.”

He met your sweet smile with a boyishly lopsided one. The man was quite a bit older than you, but he had a youthfulness about him you couldn’t quite place. Perhaps it was in his eyes, which glimmered just as brightly as you’d imagined they had when he was closer to your own age. His face was weathered, but mostly, he was very handsome to you, with a softness to his features that mesmerized you at times.

Particularly, you’d developed a fascination with his lips, the way they moved. He had a habit of folding in his lower lip and chewing on it, especially when deep in thought. Sometimes he’d purse them to the side when he was frustrated, or the top lip would snarl a bit when he killed a walker. You’d become attuned to the patterns of his smiles, grins, and smirks. Your favorites were the ones like this, uneven and slightly bashful, as though you’d said something that flattered him.

You’d been flattering him a lot more lately, you realized. Perhaps your attraction to him was becoming more and more difficult to hide. Strangely, you did not feel the usual urge to combat it. Maybe it was the particular kind of heat from the hearth that evening or the way his hair was pinned behind his ears to keep it out of his way as he cooked, but the fluttery feeling in your abdomen was more persistent than usual, more continuous. At some point, you knew it would be impossible to hold back, but you had to.

“I like being with you, too,” he replied, sprinkling some freshly ground herbs into the cast iron pot. “I wish I could…” He trailed off, stopping his train of thought before he spoke improperly in front of you.

“Could what?”

Gut Negan ‘fore he lays another finger on you. “Nothin’.”

You huffed in amusement at his shyness. “Keeping secrets from your princess,” you teased with a wiggling brow and a squint of faux offense. “That is not very knightly behavior, sir.”

My princess, he thought. Mine.

He shook his head with a huff, ridding himself of his intrusive thoughts. “Wish I could… do somethin’ for you, s’all.”

“Oh, Daryl,” you said. “You’ve already done so much for me. There’s nothing you could do… It is in my father’s hands. Well, it is in Negan’s hands, really.”

“But it shouldn’t be like that.”

“No, it shouldn’t, but it’s how it is, no matter what. Even if Sir Negan had no interest in me, my father would expect me to marry a noble, or a prince or king from some other kingdom. He’s a good father, but he is still a king. Really, I am quite lucky he has not married me off yet. Many princesses marry men they do not love. My mother, her marriage to my father was arranged. Somehow, it worked. They grew to love each other very much. I do not believe I could ever love Sir Negan, though… Not ever. He is evil.”

I won’t let him take you, he wanted to say, but he knew that would be an empty promise. Tonight, for all he knew, could’ve been one of the last nights he’d ever see you again. One thing was certain, this was going to be the last time he took you outside the castle. The last time he could truly be alone with you. And yet, he could not work up the courage to tell you how he felt, how he cherished you much more than he should’ve, how he believed he loved you.

“Wish I could take you away from here,” he said, his lips moving faster than his brain could process his words. “Wish you could stay here, and Negan would never find you.” When his rationality caught up with him, he cleared his throat and shook his head in an attempt to take back what he just said, even though he meant every word.

“I do, too,” you said, surprising him a bit. “I wish I could, but then what would Negan do? He’d destroy Alexandria. He’d kill my people… He might even kill my father. I couldn’t let that happen. No, I have to face it. There’s nothing anyone can do, Daryl, though I appreciate how much you care about my safety.”

I love you.

Instead of voicing his thought, he eyed the weakening fire of the hearth, its flame no longer adequately heating the bottom of the pot. “I’m sworn to protect you,” he said. “As your knight.” He felt your soft gaze caressing his face like an invisible hand, though he tried to remain nonchalant as he poked at the fire. “If I let you get taken against your will, I’m not protecting you.”

That was almost amusing to you, as Daryl seemed to rarely care about performing his official knightly duties. When it came to you, though, he took his job quite seriously. In fact, you began to wonder if he cared more about protecting you than his own lord to whom he owed fealty. What he owed to you meant much more than mere feudalism, though. What he owed to you was his mind, body, and soul.

“And I am sworn to protect my kingdom. If I run away, I am endangering my kingdom.”

That all being said, the idea of Daryl taking you far away from all your troubles was dangerously tempting, to the point that you forgot to breathe for a moment, until it came back to you in the form of a heavy swallowing of air.

“I do not want anyone else to die,” you continued. “I… certainly do not want you to die fighting for me, Daryl, though I am so very grateful for everything you’ve done for me. In truth, I don’t think I have ever felt as close to someone as I feel with you.”

There was more you wished to say, and it seemed as though Daryl had something on the tip of his tongue, but once again, he held himself back, despite every cell in his body screaming out to you professions of love and adoration that had only grown stronger with each passing moment he’d known you. With every way he’d begun to see you for who you were, he fell harder in love. With every angle of you he feasted upon with starving eyes that tore themselves away despite their hunger, he grew more desperate, more bereft of your warm, soft, supple body that he dreamed of cherishing and worshipping every waking moment of everyday.

God, he couldn’t keep you from his mind, your presence overwhelming and intoxicating and mesmerizing, even in this moment when your voice spoke so innocently and with the dignity and poise of a princess. That’s what you were, he had to remember—a princess. He was a knight. He needed to know his place… Though it was becoming increasingly harder to do so.

With the heady air of silence meandering between you in the tiny hovel, Daryl concentrated on rousing the flame of the hearth, but there was nothing he could do to build it up again without collecting more firewood to fuel it. It was the perfect moment to excuse himself and go out to gather tinder while he collected himself, before he did or said something… improper.

In fact, he swore that if he opened his mouth now, he’d wax poetic about all the sinful thoughts he’d tried to keep at bay. Only your voice stopped him from heading out without an explanation.

“Where are you going, knight?”

He palmed at his forehead with a huff, remembering that he was in a social situation, with a sacred woman he cared for too tenderly. He couldn’t just leave you without saying what he was doing, after all.

“Hearth needs more tinder,” he spoke over his shoulder as he donned his black wool cloak. “I won’t be far, just at the splitting log right outside.”

“I shall stir the stew,” you said dutifully, rising elegantly from your seat, with delicate handfuls of your dress to lift it as you crossed to the hearth.

“Don’t poison it,” the knight replied, to which you flashed him a smirk.

“Why ever would I do such a thing? That would be foolish, anyway. I am going to eat the stew, too.” He turned to look your way. It was a mistake. He got lost in your face, your cheeks high and full with your smile, and your eyes sparkling with the reflection of the dying fire. “Hurry along, now,” you said, your voice low now, almost husky. “You mustn’t keep me waiting.”

You did not intend the phrase to sound… suggestive, but perhaps your emotions were beginning to cloud your better judgment, and now every word you spoke betrayed you.

“I won’t,” he replied, a barely audible crack in his voice, though you chalked it up to his already raspy way of speaking. “Be right back.”

Before leaving, he took up the splitting maul he kept beside the door, a burst of cold from the spring night air chilling you for a moment as the door swung shut. Absent-mindedly, you found yourself studying the stew as you stirred it. You tilted your head in amused curiosity at the simple, yet appetizing, concoction. Whatever mix of herbs Daryl had thrown together had created a pleasant kind of aroma that filled the small one-room cottage with a comforting warmth.

A mischievous grin spread across your face as you thought to taste a bit of the stew before Daryl came back. Afterall, it couldn’t hurt to get a small sampling. Careful to get a little bit of everything in your spoonful, you purposefully sought out a large chunk of perfectly cooked-through venison. Raising the large wooden spoon to your pursed lips, you tasted the warm soup, letting it sit on your tongue for a few thoughtful moments as you attempted to study every flavor and texture.

Though the stew was undoubtedly delicious, it was still missing something. You’d seen Daryl sprinkle several different herbs and spices, but it lacked the savory, peppery taste of one of your favorite herbs: sage.

There was a tall wooden pantry across the room, where Daryl had stored most of his dry ingredients. You quickly crossed to the cabinet, your eyes looking back every few moments to keep an eye on the rolling boil of the stew. The pantry doors opened with a creak, you biting your lip and furrowing your brow as you scanned the dim shelves for the dried herb you sought. Daryl had an impressive selection of both culinary and medicinal ingredients, each jarred in their own glasses with a label of faded paper glued to its side, indicating the ingredients’ names. You’d pushed back several jars, all of which weren’t the dried sage you were looking for.

He had everything—rosemary, saffron, ginger, grains of paradise, cloves, parsley, cinnamon, spikenard, alecost, thyme, southernwood… Everything but sage. “Good heavens, sage cannot be that difficult to come by, can it?” you spoke to yourself. “Sage… Sage…” You began to impatiently rearrange the jars, rereading each one a few times to ensure you weren’t going mad, though it began to feel like it. “How could he not have—”

You’d reached the back of the dusty old shelf, where no more pesky jars of spices and herbs could taunt you. Instead, a lone small chest of plain cedarwood sat undisturbed against the back wall of the cupboard. It wouldn’t have fazed you, as you’d most logically assume it was just another container for some special exotic spice, but what had silenced you and your mumbled self-ramblings was the chain of iridescent white pearls that poured out from the little chest, rendering the lid slightly ajar, but just open enough for your to catch a brief sparkle twinkling in the darkness.

And those pearls… You recognized them.

They weren’t cheap freshwater pearls, the kind you could get from any silver-tongued peddler on the street in Alexandria’s market district. No, they were distinctive… Their luster and nearly perfect roundness betraying their expensive nature. Akoya pearls, you recalled the explorer saying. It was not long before the Scourge broke out, when you were just fifteen. The only jewels you had kept now were those inherited from your mother or family heirlooms. The pearls were beautiful, and they were important to you, but they were sacrifices you had made in the name of gratitude for the knight’s kindness.

You gave them to him, but under the impression that he’d sell them.

Why would he keep this?

But it wasn’t just one necklace, no. The faint glimmer of light from deep within the box enticed you, leading you to lift the lid, despite your high-society etiquette telling you that snooping around in other people’s things was hardly becoming behavior. You believed, though, that you had a right to see. That was once your necklace, after all.

There was more, just as you’d suspected. The box was brimming with a colorful assortment of precious jewels from your collection, all of which you’d had distinct memories of gifting to the knight after each excursion he’d accompanied you on. Pulling the box forward, you stared wide-eyed as you rummaged through, recognizing each and every piece—the pair of pearl and amethyst earrings, the ruby and silver brooch, the gilded ring of jade with an intricate claw setting, the red coral rosary given to you at your first Holy Communion, the repoussé chaplet set with refined diamonds and sapphires… Each trinket was unique, and undeniably yours.

There were a few possible explanations you could think of. The first explanation, and the most logical, was that Sir Daryl was saving your jewels for a rainy day, intent on selling them all together for a larger sum. The second, and the most amusing to you, was that he was wearing the jewelry himself, and he was hiding them to spare himself the embarrassment. The third, and the most worrisome, was that there was a lady he was intent upon giving your jewelry to, or at least that he was keeping the jewels in the event that he would find a lady to woo. This thought made your heart race, but not in the way it usually did when the knight crossed your mind.

But all these explanations were useless to you. There was no way of knowing now exactly why he kept your jewelry. Perhaps it meant nothing at all, but you couldn’t let it go. You needed to know, otherwise you’d never think clearly again. Without your sage, you replaced the chest and its contents to close the cupboard and return to the boiling pot, though not without a nervous pitter patter in your chest.

You were startled from your thoughts with a jump and a gasp when the knight kicked open the front door, a pile of freshly cut logs in his arms. He cursed himself for his lack of grace.

“Y’all right?” he asked, keeping a concerned eye on you as he crossed to the hearth to prepare the fire.

“Fine,” you replied with a nod. “Stew’s ready, I think.”

He furrowed his brow at that statement, then responded with a slight chuckle to his voice. “How do you know?”

“I tasted it,” you said. “It’s ready.”

“Yes, your highness,” he replied with a huff, amused by your certainty.

At length, he procured two wooden bowls and two silver spoons, the both of you settling for casual seating in front of the hearth, sitting upon the floor cushions with criss-crossed legs and a strange silence between you. Silences like this were uncommon. Of course, whenever it was quiet between you, there was always this presence of heaviness, as though something needed to be said by one of you, or both, but right now, there was no comfort to it. Now, the weight had become so unbearable that there would be no comfort to this usually pleasant silence until one of you spoke.

And it had to be you. You were the one who had seen the chest, who knew now that Daryl kept all those payments for whatever reason instead of cashing them in. You had to know why, there was no other way around it.

You only hoped he wouldn’t resent you for it.

“Daryl?” You let your spoon clink against the side of the wooden bowl as you relished the recent aftertaste of the savory soup. “May I ask you something?”

He was hoping you would. He’d spent enough time with you, had known all your habits and quirks and idiosyncrasies, that he knew when there was something on your mind. Given the weight of this silence, it must’ve been important.

“Yeah.” He wiped his lips with the sleeve of his off-white chemise. You took extra care not to become distracted by the crop of pale brown, wiry chest hairs just barely visible at his loosely laced up collar.

Without even noticing, you licked your lips as you thought of what to say, hoping he wouldn’t be offended. Afterall, you’d gone snooping about in his pantry. Still, you believed you had a right to know.

To focus on your words, you set your near-empty bowl on the stone edge of the hearth. You straightened to sit up taller, your hands carefully folded in your lap. You looked like the picture of a princess, except in your eyes. They were downturned, as you couldn’t bear to look him in the eye in case your actions were misconstrued as mischief. “When you were out chopping wood,” you began with a small nervous croak in your voice, “I… Well, I tried the stew, as I said, but I thought it could use some sage, you see, and so I—I looked in your pantry.”

It was then that the knight began to choke on a chunk of venison, having swallowed it too soon with the realization that you could’ve seen his jewelry box, the one he hid because of his embarrassment to admit that he kept those jewels because they were yours. No practical reason at all, just the thought of you, something part of you belonging to him. It was silly, he knew that, but to him, there was a comfort in having those trinkets. If he’d sold them, all he’d have would be measly bits of dirty metal that had been in thousands of different hands and would be in a thousand more. Those jewels were worth more than that. They were once yours. As far as he was concerned, they were still yours.

The man turned away from you, covering his mouth with the inside of his elbow as he coughed to help the meat pass down his throat. You leaned forward, reaching your hand out to touch his shoulder. “Are you all right?”

“Mhm,” he mumbled between his coughs. “Just… just…”

“Here,” you said, scooting closer to hand him a tankard of water. He waved you off, but he was still hunched over to the side and refusing to face you, both as a result of his embarrassment and his coughing fit. You huffed and spoke more harshly now. “Daryl.”

He knew that voice well enough now to know you were serious. He turned towards you slowly, taking the cup from your hands as he still sputtered our grunts between coughs. “Th—thanks.”

He choked a bit more on the water now, but only because he felt your hand soothing his back in slow, languid, yet careful, movements. “There…” Your voice was smooth and velvety, like sweet whipped cream. With each pass of your hand, you felt the silk fabric of his shirt pucker against your palm. The heat of his body drew you closer subconsciously, til you felt his strong, hard shoulder nearly digging into your chest. Despite your attempt to pull away, it felt too good to rid yourself of his closeness. “Better?”

With the delicate pressure of your hand caressing him, of course he felt better. He grunted in acknowledgement as he nodded, setting the tankard on the floor beside him. “Yeah… Please forgive me.”

You shook your head and laughed at that. “For what? Swallowing your food too fast?”

He felt like a blubbering fool, wiping his lips and chuckling under his breath to match your contagious giggles. But then, with a diminuendo of laughter, he realized he’d interrupted you, and he needed to know now what you were going to say, just in case you did see his hidden treasure. Well, your hidden treasure.

“For interrupting you,” he said. “You were sayin’ something… D’ya find the sage?”

He knew full well there was no sage in that pantry. He’d run out just a few days prior.

“Oh,” you sighed. “Well, no, I…”

You’d made the grave mistake of lifting your wide eyes to meet his, though the both of you were trying to hide your gaze from one another. It was inevitable that they would meet at some point this evening, but now that they had, you could not bear to look away, neither could he. For several moments, you could not even blink for fear of missing him and his deep, almost dark blue eyes, filled with the mystery of something nearly inscrutable, but not impossible to figure out. In fact, the more you looked, you swore you got closer to finding the answers to all the questions in his eyes.

“Daryl,” you started again, this time holding his gaze with a nervous, fluttering blink of your curled eyelashes. “Why… Why have you not sold the jewelry I paid you with?”

There were many replies he could have made, but the only one that was remotely coherent was the one with the fewest number of words: Because I love you.

Several heavy moments passed in silence, with only the crackling of the now roaring hearthfire filling the space where words might’ve existed if only he had the courage to speak without thinking first in this moment. This, however, was a delicate situation, and he could not face it with the usual impulsivity and carelessness that he might’ve had in other situations.

There was a contradictory sense of both a need to profess his love to you and a need to brush it off with some lie, but how could he lie to you, his sweet princess? You were worth so much more than that to him, so much more than a paltry lie, but you were also worth more than every jewel in that box.

“You, uh… You saw that?”

Your shoulders shrugged as you smiled bashfully. Daryl’s cheeks seemed to heat up, too. “I did. I know I had no right to look, but with the gold those jewels are worth, you could purchase your own manor and petition to become a lord. My father would happily grant you that position, I’m sure. You would not have to be a vassal. Of course, it is your property to do with as you wish, but I cannot help but wonder why.”

Titles and property were of no consequence to Daryl. They never meant much. He grew up with next to nothing, raised by poor merchants who struggled to buy a single loaf of bread. Perhaps one would think that growing up so poor would make him value money, but it was quite the opposite. It made him hate it, how it could make or break a man. No, what you gave to him was worth so much more.

“I—” He paused to think more thoroughly about what he was to say, but there was no way around it. He had to say it. “I couldn’t get rid of them. Couldn’t just give ‘em to somebody else.”

Though his words seemed sentimental, his eyes still strayed from you. Leaning forward, your heart aching with a desperate hope, you tried to coerce his eyes to meet yours. Your hand still traced invisible shapes across the broad expanse of his back.

“Why?” You wondered if perhaps your secret fourth explanation had been correct. The more he stalled, you began to realize that it was. “Daryl…” Your other hand lifted cautiously, its movements foreign to you as your fingers delicately cradled his chin, then brought his head up until those soft, deep blue eyes greeted you. Perhaps you were torturing him, begging him to admit his feelings despite his fear, but you needed his words. That was all you’d need. You smiled to comfort him as you spoke. “Why could you not bear to sell my jewels?”

Your touch was in two places now—his back and his chin. Both points of contact were burning, a fire that spread through him and touched him in places he didn’t dare even think of at this moment. Your touch was innocent, it had to be. He wouldn’t let himself believe otherwise. His task was to keep you safe, to never let harm come your way. Indulging in his desires, no matter how much he wanted to, would only take advantage of the trust you and your father had in him. But, oh… The way your chest heaved against his shoulder. You were so close. So incredibly close. Almost as close as he’d imagined, in his darkened bedroom where his sordid thoughts took root. Even his dreams were full of visions of you, hazy and ethereal, like you were made of clouds. So soft, so warm.

“Daryl?” you pressed again. “Won’t you answer me, please?”

“It’s wrong,” he said quickly. “It’s all wrong.”

“No, it is not.”

“I just couldn’t… Couldn’t give part of you away.”

“Part of me?”

“Part of you,” he repeated. “Someone else, with a part of you… I can’t let anyone else have you. Those things belonged to you, so they’re precious to me. You’re precious to me.”

There. That was enough. Enough for you to know the truth, enough for you to lean even closer, your eyes nearly closed despite a sliver of vision focused on his lips, slightly agape and quivering. With your hand still holding his chin, you pulled him closer, too, his body and mind paralyzed for a moment, rendered helpless by you.

But for a moment, when your lips were just an inch or two from his, you fluttered your eyes open to meet his. “My knight,” you whispered, the soft wind of your breath tickling his aching lips. “Kiss me.”

“I—I can’t.”

“Yes, you can…” Just like that, you spoke in your most regal tone of authority, the same you’d used to threaten to have Negan executed, though this time, a little more sultry. “I am your princess, and you will do as I say, knight.”

Yes, your highness.

With a burst of desperation rising up in his abdomen, he leaned forward to close the gap between you, not just at your lips, but at every part of you. His hands grasped hard at your waist, pulling you nearly onto his lap. Your chest was pressed so tight against his that you gasped for breath from his mouth as he kissed you, heavy breaths exhaling from his nostrils like a wild animal just freed from its cage.

You felt one hand wildly rise up your back and tangle in your hair, loosening the lone braid at the back of your head, until cascades of hair hung freely over your shoulders and back. Your hands had no choice but to cling tight to his shoulders as his hands explored you to the extent he would allow himself, though it felt so wonderful that you wished he’d unrestrain himself even more. Just when you started to think he was becoming more unhindered, his hand slowly melting down your lower back and inching closer to your bottom, he stopped himself.

His mouth tore away from you, the cold of the night air stinging your moistened lips as they trembled, and you felt your throat already begin to swallow back a lump. “What is it?”

His hands were still on you, but he panted as he looked worryingly at you, his head shaking as if to reprimand himself, though he couldn’t hide his blown out pupils and the increasingly noticeable hardness of his lap. Still, you feared he’d deny you.

“I can’t control myself,” he said. “If we… kept goin’…”

“I want to keep going,” you said. Your hands moved to grasp at his shirt collar, where your fingers began to undo his lace. “I want whatever you would do.”

“You don’t know what you want,” he said. “You don’t want me, princess.”

“I do want you, knight.”

“You can’t. I can’t. If your father—”

“I love you.”

He fell silent. Scared. Not of your words, but of himself, of what hearing those words in your voice did to him. They ignited a deeper, inextinguishable fire.

“Don’t say what ya don’t mean, milady.”

A single shiny tear glimmered as it rolled down your soft rouged cheek, settling into the corner of your mouth. You weren’t sure exactly why you began to cry. Perhaps it was the idea of rejection, or the thought of Sir Negan taking you away before promising yourself to the only man you’d ever cared for, but one thing was certain: your love for him was strong enough to bring tears to your eyes.

“I do not say things I do not mean, Sir Daryl. When I say I love you, I am speaking from my heart, and my heart would not lead me astray. I love you, and that is the truth.”

And it was his truth, too. Now, your words were enough to convince him.

He lowered his eyes, his lips turned stern. It was an earnest, serious gaze. He said what he’d been thinking for months, what he would never stop thinking no matter what. He would always love you. He would always do anything for you. It was time he made it known. “I love you.”

It was simple when he said it, but you knew it to be true by the way his hands clung tighter to your waist. Hesitantly, he raised his right hand, allowing the back of it to caress your cheek. His touch was rough, but only because of his worn skin. The way he moved was soft, gentle, sweet. Even in his evident lust, he still touched you with the innocence of a white daisy’s petals brushing against your skin.

Hesitantly, he let his lips ghost your other cheek as you exhaled a heavy breath against his neck. “Daryl,” you whispered. He kissed your skin, his lips spread open and tongue just barely stretching out to tickle you. As he moved his mouth lower, dragging sloppy kisses along your jawline, his arms wrapped fully around you, tugging you against him. Your hands held tight to his shoulder blades, and you felt them flex and jolt with each movement he made as his lips met yours again. This time, his tongue breached the entrance to your mouth, finding yours and almost attacking it. In your inexperience, you only gasped against his lips, then jutted out your own tongue in an attempt to keep up with him.

“Daryl,” you panted between his kisses. He grunted under his breath, still indulging in your taste. With your fingers on his cheeks, you pulled back for a moment, looking into his darkened eyes. You’d never seen his eyes like that before. It almost frightened you, but mostly, it only made you realize exactly what you wanted. “I want you to take my maidenhead.”

Of course, he wanted to. It wasn’t a question of whether or not he wanted to, it was a question of whether or not he should, and he knew he shouldn’t. He knew such a thing was against his code, perhaps the most egregious way to break it. The law of chivalry held all knights to a certain standard, a law that governed their every action. Sleeping with the daughter of the king he served, much less taking her virginity, would certainly be cause for execution.

“I can’t,” he said, though his eyes portrayed another answer. “You know I can’t.” You shook your head, opening your mouth to latch onto his jawline, kissing him as he’d kissed you. He muttered your name, though he could not tear you away, your sweet lips wetting his skin as your hand combed through his hair. “It would…”

Your hand lowered to his chest, grasping at his bare skin underneath his chemise. Your fingers seemed to tremble, your body not knowing what to do without his guidance. He grasped at your hand, though he did not push you away. He kept it there, keeping it steady. He turned to face your lips, and they trembled, too. To steady them, he raised his thumb to your plump bottom lip, moving it gently side to side. It felt like sacrilege to touch you like this, but it also felt like the most holy, sacred kind of worship.

“It would be wrong. I’m not your husband. It would be against… Against my code of chivalry.”

It nearly made you laugh. “You’ve already disobeyed my father and taken me outside the castle walls into walker-infested woods. You’ve done a hundred things that broke your code.”

Leaning ever closer, you pressed your soft chest against his firm one, the heat rising between your bodies almost as strong as the roaring hearthfire that painted his face in rich, warm burnt oranges and browns. The smile on your face curled delicately as you brushed aside the curtains of his hair till they were pinned behind his ears. In this light, his face was both worn yet youthful, like an old painting of a young man.

In a hushed, honeyed voice, you whispered against his cheek, “What’s one more?” Innocent lips coated with that floral musky balm grazed his stubbly cheek. It was not scratchy, though, it was soft and ticklish, like how your fingers felt on his chest.

For a long, torturous moment, he only held you close, his grip still tight on your waist. He leaned into your kiss, though he still was trying to cling to the last thread of chivalrous honor he had within him. That rope was threadbare, though, with only a fiber or two to hold on to, and the more your lips grazed his skin, trailing to his neck in clumsy, inexperienced movements, you felt his hand return to your hair to tangle itself in your now tousled locks.

The low, dulcet moan escaping your lips marked the moment the tether snapped, and no longer could he say he had any respect for a code of conduct that left him bereft of your body and the pleasure he could give you, as your servant, your escort, your knight.

With a throaty grunt, he took your mouth in his, devouring it much more deeply than he had before. There was no cautiousness now in his embrace, his hands lowering to cup both sides of your bottom as he lifted you more fully to his lap, with his legs outstretched underneath you.

Both of you became engulfed in a tangle of limbs, furiously clawing at each other like you were both tearing at your own flesh to escape from its confines. Yourself now made taller than him as you sat upon his lap, you parted from his lips for a moment to look down at him, panting and lips shiny from your saliva, and made plump and red by his impassioned kiss.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said, looking up at you with hazy, dark eyes. Indeed, you were the most beautiful sight he’d ever had the chance to behold. Sometimes, he did not even think himself worthy to utter your name, or to have his name uttered by you… You in your sweetness and kindness and sensitivity and grace and—

Your small laugh reawakened him. How dare he even begin to wax poetic about you in his own head when you were in his arms now, your hands on his shoulders and your chest heaving with each beautiful breath. To know you were so alive, warm and trembling in his strong arms, safe and protected… That was the greatest pleasure of all.

And yet, the carnal desire for you was quick to overwhelm him. He squeezed you tighter before leaning forward, taking you with him. “Mm!” you laughed against his lips as he kissed you.

How he could be so gentle and yet so strong you did not know. With your back arched and your head cradled by his hands, you felt the support of your floor pillow underneath you, your legs now wrapped around his waist.

Propping himself up by his arms to look at you, he gazed in awe, your hair sprawled out from your head in every which way like an angel’s halo made from a sunburst. Where your gown of sage green silk brocade met your breasts, he let his gaze linger. Finally. Without the worries of being improper, he could admire the gentle, supple curves of your décolletage.

And now your gown sank down to your upper thighs, exposing much more skin than he’d ever seen—or felt. He sat up straight, his hand gently petting your soft bare calf, then moving down slowly, torturously, to touch your thigh.

Never had you been touched like this. Not even by yourself. In fact, you felt rather foolish, stiffening a bit as your eyes widened the more he moved his hand, now lifting up the rest of your skirt.

“Daryl…” you all but whined, a moan somewhere between a begging lust and a nervous embarrassment. “I know nothing,” you said simply. “I—I—”

Your own gasp cut short your stuttering admission. “Oh.”

All you could feel was his hand cupping your mound, now completely exposed without the cover of your gown.

He couldn’t tear his eyes away, each fold and crevice and speckling of your dainty hairs that matched perfectly the locks on your head. In fact, he ran his fingers through the little forest above your womanhood. It was soft, warm, untouched until now.

“You’re beautiful,” he spoke again. “Very… royal.”

“Royal?”

He laughed under his breath, biting his lip as he trailed his pointer finger around your lips, tickling you as you writhed a little. “Everything about you,” he said. “Even this… So perfect and clean and royal.”

Flushed with rose-tinted clouds of excitement and shyness, you rolled your shoulders as you watched him lick his pretty pink lips, over and over. “Have you seen many women like this, sir?”

He returned his gaze to yours with a raised, mischievous brow. Sir had never sounded so intoxicating as it did now. “None as sweet and virtuous as you.”

Indeed, he slightly feared his first movements towards intercourse. Never before had he taken a maiden’s virginity, and he was sure he’d hurt you if he was too hasty. He would have to tread carefully, though the subtle glisten of your entrance beckoned him, and those soft, intricate folds of supple flesh sparked a fire in him he’d never felt before. This was the image he’d dreamed of—your untouched womanhood naked before him, just waiting for him to release you from the bonds of chastity forevermore.

And, oh, that moan, of which he had only gotten a sampling of. He needed more, he needed to be drowned in that sound. He needed to be the one who showed you the carnal pleasure of love, and to experience it himself, too. It would be the most potent kind of intimacy, and he wanted the both of you to be consumed by it. Together.

All he could think of, all he wanted to do, was get a mouthful of you. Drink from the fountain that was your body.

“Can I… taste you?”

A genuine expression of innocent confusion spread across your face. “Kiss me?” Your eyes fluttered shut as your lips gently pursed, prepared to receive his sweet kiss.

“Nah, not like that,” he said, a subtle laugh under his low, gruff voice. Two calloused fingertips grazed the top junction of your lips, where an almost overwhelming tingle spread through you. Then, his fingers moved apart as they descended slowly, spreading you open. The reddish, taught flesh seemed to pulse on its own accord as your breath shuddered and your eyes widened at the strange feeling. “Here. I wanna taste you here.”

Finally understanding, and yet not understanding at all, you looked up at him with a furrowed look of concern. “Why? Is that not… unsanitary?”

An amused grin spread across his face. “Looks clean to me… They bathe you good, my princess.”

His princess. Oh, that sent an entirely new shiver through you.

But only with your permission would he do such a thing. Only with your word would he let his common tongue invade your royal maidenhead.

So he’d beg for it, like he knew he should.

“Please,” he said, voice sweeter and softer than you’d ever heard. He even lowered himself, his lips hovering above your navel as he looked up at you with those crystal clear eyes. “Please, your highness… I will be gentle.” His hands held firm to your thighs, rubbing them softly, up and down. When his lips met your abdomen, just below your navel, you sighed unexpectedly, and he could feel your heat.

“I’ll beg for it.” The reverberations of his rough voice tickled your lower stomach. He dragged his lips progressively lower, to where the hairs upon your mound began. A trail of kisses began to form between each mumbled plea.

“I’ll beg to taste you…” Kiss. “Lick you…” Kiss. “I’m beggin’…” Kiss. “Let me taste how perfect my sweet princess is.”

Though you were still puzzled by his desire to kiss you there, you decided to oblige, especially as the strange tickly feeling became more and more intense with each kiss he bestowed upon your mound. Somehow, his begging even excited you.

“Yes,” you sighed. Blindly, you reached for him, your hands tangling in his chestnut colored hair, strands messy and wild. The ends of those locks tickled your skin as they hung around his face, dragging with each movement of his mouth downwards. “You may taste me… Though I do not understand why you want to, sir.” You laughed as you looked down at him, kissing the soft little hairs you always found to be unsightly, but it was not in vogue to shave, of course. At least, not for a lady of your status. He seemed to like it, though. “You are rather strange,” you teased. “Do you think I will taste nice?”

“Know you will,” he said, and you watched as he wetted his fingers with his tongue, then circled them over your now puffy lips.

With a little gasp, you giggled girlishly at his touch. It was all so strange to you, but it felt nice. You’d had no idea this part of you was so sensitive, as you’d never bothered to touch it besides your daily baths. Even then, you hardly touched yourself only to clean, and when you felt an unfamiliar tingle as you’d slide your wet hand between those little folds of sensitive skin, you’d quickly pull away. All you knew of that part of you was that it was for your future husband, and you’d never cared much for trying to find one, especially since the world was the way it was.

Now, you could only dream of a husband like him, the knight who lowered himself once more, slotting his head between your bare thighs. His hands holding them, he coerced your legs to spread wider, allowing that crevice to widen and open the small fleshy hole. He could already tell you’d never even touched yourself, your entrance half-obstructed by a small stretch of skin-colored tissue—your maidenhead.

He’d not touch that for now, instead only focused on slowly licking a stripe up your open slit, marking his first taste of you.

There was a strong reverberation that jolted through you, causing your legs to flinch closed, Daryl’s head now sandwiched between the fat of your thighs. “Oh!” you cried out, back involuntarily arched against the cushion and hands tangled further in his hair until your fingernails clawed at his scalp. There was a muffled growl between your legs in response. At first, you assumed you’d hurt him. “Oh, I—I am sorry, my love…” you sputtered, almost with a nervous laugh at your sensitivity, and massaging his scalp more gently now. “Did I hurt you?”

On the contrary, your scratching and pulling and squeezing only excited him. He did not answer your question, only pressing his face harder against you, smothering his nose and mouth between your folds, wettened by his saliva. If he suffocated between your legs, he’d die happy, as the taste was intoxicating, sweeter than the finest honey wine he’d ever had, and the feeling a more lovely warmth than the hearth that illuminated the dim cottage with that dreamy glow.

With a renewed lust, he moved his head wildly, licking up and down and swirling in tight circles round the bundle of nerves above the entrance. It seemed to elicit the most beautiful moans and gasps and sighs from your pretty mouth, of which he often took a glimpse when he raised his eyes to admire your innocent beauty.

And though he could lick you like this for hours on end, he’d grown desperate to taste you deeper, just a little. So he parted your legs with a jolt. “Keep ‘em open,” he ordered, voice more hoarse and throaty and deep than before. His desire was becoming more urgent, more primitive as the very last of his decency was chiseled away by his need. “I want more of this pretty cunt.”

You nearly gasped at the vulgar word, having only heard it once or twice in your presence—both times from a slightly inebriated Lady Margaret, who used it to pejoratively refer to Lady Caroline behind her back, but now you knew where it came from. It sounded devilishly dulcet on his low, panting voice.

Legs spread further apart, he caught another glimpse of that hole, coated in a sparkling sheen that was damp to the touch. The corner of his lip lifted slightly as he spoke. “You’re gettin’ wet,” he said, much to your confusion. “D’ya like what I’m doin’ to you, princess?”

“Y-yes,” you stuttered. His fingertip traced the rim of your wet entrance.

Before he dove down once more, he couldn’t help but just admire the beauty of your womanhood with his eyes. He felt a sudden wave of unworthiness well up in him. After all, this sight was never for him. It was forbidden, and yet, you’d decided he was worthy to have you.

You, his lady, his mistress, his princess, his queen. In every sense of the word, you ruled him, and he had no choice but to bask in the glory of your trembling body, every inch perfect and unique and, soon, his.

He’d make you his, but first he had to make him yours.

“Oh!” His lips spread open wide to envelope the hole, where his tongue flattened out to lick at the source of your arousal. All you could feel was his long tongue poking inside you, wiggling to adjust to how small the entrance was.

Meanwhile, the tip of his soft button nose pressed up against your most sensitive spot, where a fresh tingle surged through you. To get a better angle, he slid both hands underneath your bare rump, pulling your body closer and angling your core upwards as your legs found their home upon his shoulders, just the perfect width to accommodate your thighs.

“That’s it,” he spoke against your inner thigh, where he left a series of frantic, desperate little kisses. They weren’t just lustful, but affectionate, as though he was bestowing these kisses to reward you for your obedience. “Sweet royal cunt.”

That word again made you flinch, or perhaps it was the suction of his lips around that bundle of nerves that pleased you so.

“Y-you’re so vulgar,” you sighed with a gentle laugh rolling under your voice. “Where… is my gallant knight?”

“Between your pretty legs, milady.”

His tongue wiggled in spastic movements between his lips, reddening and engorging the sensitive spot as a strange tightening feeling formed in your lower belly. Unbeknownst to you, the walls of your passage squeezed involuntarily around the empty space inside you. In this moment, you never felt more empty, in fact. All you wanted, the longer his mouth devoured you, was to somehow feel whole.

“Please!” you cried out, voice strained and high-pitched with a desperate plea for him to satisfy you, somehow. You did not know how, but you needed it, whatever it was. “Oh, I…”

The knight knew what you needed, and he needed it, too, but you were so close to ultimate pleasure. The wetter you became, the more of his saliva that soaked into your crevices and your increasingly gaping entrance, the more your body would accept his. That much he knew.

But the feeling was so powerful, so overwhelming. Each burst of pleasure erupted within you, like a volcano that had lain dormant for a millenia or two, and only now was that red hot magma spewing forth, until one final eruption would leave you satisfied. It terrified you. Was this normal? Surely a woman should not feel such euphoria. All you’d known of your womb was the pain and shame of that period in which blood would flow from you. You’d been told it was divine punishment for women. Eve’s betrayal, the fall of Eden… Why should you pay for that? Now, there was only pleasure, no pain.

The pleasure, though, was so intense, so frightful, that you panicked, your thighs clenching tight round his head once more as your back arched in agonizing bliss, his tongue now thrusting into you again. “Oh!” you cried out. “I… Wh-what… Daryl, I’m frightened!”

His eyes flashed up to look at you. “What is it?” he asked. He tore himself away from you, while his hand reached up to cradle your trembling cheek. “What’s wrong?”

“I—I…” Gasping for air, you writhed and wriggled underneath him, squeezing your thighs together as if to provide some relief. “I do not know… I feel so strange.”

Tears trickled down your cheek, and the knight’s brows furrowed in concern. He brushed a few away with his fingers. “Why’re ya cryin’, girl?”

And you knew now why, as your hips gyrated and bucked up towards him, as if demanding for him to return to you. The sensation was just so strong, but so lovely. “Please,” you whimpered. “Do not stop.”

Now he knew, too. A laugh forced his mouth into a wide grin. “Oh, I see,” he said, hands moving achingly slowly back down to your thighs. He spread them apart again, a feeling which made your breath hitch for a moment. “Feels good, doesn’t it? My tongue…”

“Yes,” you gasped. “Please, more.”

And so he gave you more, his mouth quickly returning to that puffy, reddened flesh between your thighs, eliciting from you a visceral moan as your head fell back against the cushion. “Ah!” you cried out.

After the brief period in which he’d separated from you, you now felt the sensation returning, this time even more intense. Sounds of wet flesh being licked and sucked and kissed surrounded you, accompanied by soft, muffled groans from your knight.

How he’d wanted this for so long, to have your taste and to feel your restless, writhing body involuntarily grinding against his tongue. For a moment, he pulled your outer lips further apart, allowing more direct exposure to the now throbbing, swollen protrusion that gave you so much pleasure. He sucked at that flesh again, this time bringing his finger to the hole that begged to be filled.

“Oh, oh!” His finger breached the entrance, just a few centimeters, but enough to stretch you more than you’d been stretched open ever before. “My god!”

“Come,” his voice murmured between furious sucking. “Come, my princess. I want you to come.”

“C-come… Where?”

“On my face,” he laughed.

“Wh-what… are you… talking about?”

The vibration of his laughter tickled your flesh. “You’re too innocent,” he said. “You’ll see what I mean.”

He knew you must be close, so it did not take much more effort to get you to the brink of orgasm. All he needed to do was curl his finger upwards inside you as he swirled his tongue with more pressure, practically digging a brand new hole with the tip of his tongue.

And, with your hands shooting out to claw at his shoulders, the tingling and tightening and tickling finally reached its peak as the feeling of the final, strongest eruption came forth, exploding from the pit of your abdomen and spreading throughout every cell in your hot, squirming body.

Moans of his name were falling softly, repeatedly from your lips, where bite marks had embedded themselves after several minutes of your teeth digging into the skin. He’d never heard his name being spoken so much, so sweetly and with so much bliss. After all, it was the name of the person who’d given you the greatest feeling you’d ever experienced.

You were left jolting, your body gently rocking up against his face, which was still buried between your lips as his tongue gathered every drop of the arousal that slowly dripped from you. His own arousal caught up with him, too, a noticeable feeling of a strain, and a tightening in his chausses.

Panting and moaning under your labored breaths, you felt the pleasure begin to die down as his lips praised you with small kisses all over the outside of your pulsing entrance. Deviously, he stuck his tongue out to deliver short, sweet licks to your still throbbing bundle of nerves.

A soft, delirious giggle erupted from your lips as your fingers tangled in his disheveled hair. All you could see was his head bobbing between your legs, and all you could hear was the crackle of the hearthfire and the sounds of his pursed lips kissing your wet folds. Feeling his finger curling at the shallow part of you, you squeezed on purpose, much to his amusement.

“I feel ya,” he mumbled. “You feel so good.”

“Daryl.” Your hands grasped both sides of his head with some pressure, as if to pull him up. “Come here.”

He let you guide his head until his lips met yours and your arms wrapped loosely around his neck, weighing him down. His body weight covered you completely, a sensation which excited him even more.

On your lips, you tasted yourself, his tongue and lips now coated with your arousal. “What did you do to me?” you asked between his kiss. “Your tongue is magical… Some kind of wicked sorcery.”

His laughter tickled your cheek as he kissed you there. “I jus’ made ya come,” he said simply. “S’why you’re so wet down there now. Got you all ready.” His hands raised up to tug on the collar of your dress, as if trying to yank it off you.

“Ready for what?” you laughed, though you had a few ideas of what he could be referring to, as innocent as you were, but you hadn’t heard the word he’d said next before.

“For my cock.”

In genuine confusion, you furrowed your brow. “You have a rooster?”

“Yeah.” The mischievous, lop-sided smirk on his face as his finger traced your jawline told you he was messing with you. “I’ve got a big, red rooster.”

“Oh?” you said, playing along with him despite your ignorance. “Well, won’t you introduce me to your rooster?”

By now, you knew what he meant.

When he dragged your hand down to his clothed erection, a deep blush bloomed upon your cheeks. “Oh,” you sighed. “Hello, rooster.”

To say you hadn’t thought of it before would be a lie. Of course you had. While you did not know much about sex, or that part of the male anatomy, you knew that part of a man was meant for that complimentary part of a woman. You knew that was the part of him that would put a child in your womb, though you knew not the exact details of the whole ordeal.

Interrupting your thoughts of his “rooster,” you were suddenly lifted from the ground and tangled in his arms, with your feet dangling off the ground as he dragged you towards the hay-stuffed mattress you’d rested upon a few times before. You exclaimed a laughing, “Daryl!” before being laid gently, yet almost impatiently, upon the bed.

You propped yourself up on your elbows to see him at the foot of the bed, lifting his shirt above his head as he panted.

Eyes wide, you felt your heart thump in your chest when his broad frame was bare before you, his chest just as bulky and strong and wide as you’d imagined. Your eyes were drawn to the charming smattering of little hairs, and the small pink nipples that hardened against the air.

You couldn’t help but follow the trail of those same hairs that began at his navel and led down to the waistband of his pants, which he began to untie frantically. Meanwhile, your mouth fell agape at the shape of his… cock, you supposed it was called—so big it looked like it could rip through the cotton of his chausses at any second.

Involuntarily, your thighs rubbed themselves together, where you could now feel your own wetness seeping from you. Seeing the size of his cock, now you knew why you’d need to be wet.

Just like that, he was naked, his cock springing up as soon as he pulled his pants down enough. It nearly startled you, almost eliciting a gasp. Never had you seen something so… odd. You couldn’t even wrap your head around the testicles just yet.

But he left you hardly any time to think about the new body parts you were faced with. Instead, he laid himself down on his side next to you, his hands rubbing up and down your arms. The motion soothed you, though his dark, lusty stare made you shiver.

“Sit up for me,” he said. You did as he told you, as an unspoken dynamic had appeared: he would lead you, as you were much too inexperienced to know your way around this territory.

And yet, he was not forceful, nor domineering. Indeed, he knew you were still his princess, his ruler. He knew that you held the utmost power over him, and that whatever you’d say, he would have to do it. There was no mistake of who was ultimately in charge, whose body he was compelled to worship and please. Still, he’d lead you physically.

Now sitting up, he scooted back to unlace the back of your gown, each silk knot coming undone with a beautiful cascade of fabric, until your back was nude, and he pressed a kiss to the top of your spine.

He pulled on your sleeves gently, but with a noticeable waning of his patience. “Lay back now,” he said. Like a mindless servant, you obeyed him.

Your surcoat was loose enough to pull off you now, so he did, letting the expensive garment sink to the floor. Now, your kirtle, which he pulled over your head, manipulating your body like a rag doll. With each movement he made, another sweaty, glistening muscle flexed under that tan, workworn skin, stretching across which were many faded scars from battles and jousts and God only knew what else.

Lastly, your chemise kept him from your supple nude body, so he pulled it off with a slight growl under his breath. Now, you laid back fully, your completely divested skin meeting the thick, buttery soft pelt of the fur blanket beneath you.

Your body was a sight to behold, so marvelous that he stood up again, stepping back to let his eyes roam all over you.

It was enough to bring him to knees, literally. He sunk to the floor, where he attached his lips to your ankle, which had caused him some trouble in the past. The many times he’d caught sight of your ankle, he felt perverted, sinful. Then your calf, soft and smooth against his lips. He covered as much skin as he could in his kisses, then he reached your knee, and your thighs, where he spread apart your legs to leave more kisses at your womanhood.

“You’re insatiable,” you laughed, watching as his lips trailed through the hairs on your mound. “You cannot kiss every part of my body, sir.”

“I can try.”

His tongue circled around your navel, then he continued his kisses to the slope of your left breast, where he quickly latched to your nipple, causing you to flinch at the new feeling.

His other hand found your other breast, squeezing it just enough to make you gasp a little. After all, with his lips and hands worshiping your entire body, you weren’t sure how else to react.

“You’re so perfect,” he mumbled against the pillowy surface of your breast. “I’d die for you.”

Even the thought made you shiver and cling to his flexing shoulder blades. “N-no, my love… Do not say such a thing. My… my heart c-could not bear to even think of it.”

“I’d kill for you,” he said now. “I’ll do anythin’ you ask of me… I belong to you.”

As you processed his pledge, you hadn’t even noticed two of his fingers digging into your entrance, spreading you open, little by little. His sweet, raspy voice soothed the pain.

Now, his lips trailed to your collarbones, where he left dozens of kisses and licks across your skin.

“I live to serve you,” he whispered. You gasped, not at his words, but at his two thick fingers going deeper, a sound of flesh upon wet flesh. “Only you… My sweet princess.”

“Oh, my sweet knight… Ah…”

A slight tearing feeling at your entrance made you wince in pain, but the knight paused for a moment, nudging his nose against your cheek to get your attention.

“Am I hurtin’ ya?”

“No, no.” If he stopped, you might die of emptiness. The stretching hurt, but you could not go much longer without him filling the emptiness within you. Once he started, you wouldn’t be able to be without him.

“Need to stretch your cunt a little,” he said. “My cock’s gonna hurt ya more if I don’t.”

Judging by the size, you believed him. Your eyes were transfixed on the thing as you wondered how in the world he’d get it in your tight hole, but you trusted him to take care of you.

And you wanted it. You couldn’t explain it, but your need for that big length of flesh, with engorged veins and a droplet or two of clear liquid beading at its reddened tip, was greater than any pain you might’ve felt.

“I want it, sir,” you practically purred. “Your…”

He smiled against the cheek he was busy kissing. “My rooster?”

“Your cock.”

He tore his lips away to give you a wide-eyed stare as he tried to fake a serious look of shock, but the upturned corner of his snickering lips betrayed him.

“Your highness,” he scolded in jest. “Where’d ya learn such a dirty word?” His fingers inched deeper, so deep that your back arched as you laughed a visceral moan.

“Oh, you scoundrel!” Your hand delivered a very weak slap to his chest.

Pulling his fingers out, he laughed as his hands gripped both of your wrists. His face turned serious, yet still soft. “You think you’re ready for my cock?”

“Yes, but… I mustn’t have your child now.”

You weren’t totally unaware of the true purpose of sex. In fact, it had been drilled into your head by archbishop Gabriel, whose responsibility seemed to be deterring you and all other maidens at court from engaging in premarital sex that was not for the express purpose of procreation, as such an act would brand one “a whore in the eyes of God.” Conveniently, the archbishop’s sermon had overlooked any consequences for men.

“You won’t,” he assured you. Indeed, he had intimate knowledge of one of the world’s most time-honored methods of contraception: coitus interruptus. “I’ll be careful.”

Removing his fingers from you, he rubbed his palm up and down your slit, spreading the wetness of your arousal all over you. He leaned back for a moment, looking down to spread apart your lips and see your hole, which opened quite a bit wider now for him. Redness pooled around the opening, but you couldn’t notice the dull pain, not when his eyes held yours so intently. “Think you’re ready,” he said. “Tell me to stop and I will.”

Don’t stop. “All right, my love.”

The hard, spongy surface of his tip grazed over your clit, and slid with his body as he rolled forward over you. “You ready?”

At this point, the suspense was killing you. Each drag of his length through your sodden flesh was agonizing. Your body grew restless, arching your back up to meet his chest and pull him down. “Yes,” you sighed, then ghosted your lips over his. “Make me yours now. I want to be yours.”

He eased himself in as your mouth latched to his, your whimpers of combined pain and pleasure melting into his kiss. The tip was inside you now, just beginning to stretch you further to meet the wide girth of his thick cock. The slow, tearing feeling was enough to make you bite down on his tongue, nearly drawing blood. He only growled into your mouth, digging his cock deeper.

Your suffocating tightness tested his willpower, his ability to keep himself from moving so fast that he’d lose control of his cock, but it felt so good, so warm and snug. As he sank further into you, he tore his lips free to whisper against your ear, “How ya feel?”

With a deep swallow, you held back your tears. “Fine,” you said. “Just… it hurts a little. Does it fit?”

He looked between your bodies, where half his length was inside you, the other half twitching with bulging veins and redness only darkening. He stayed still, brushing back your tears as you sniffled. “Yeah, it’ll fit. You just need stretched, s’all.”

He pushed himself in a little further as his lips caught another tear. Clawing at his back, you let out a sharp gasp. “Oh! Daryl! It’s too big, you’re too big… I can’t…”

His hand reached down to tickle his fingers against your clit, attempting to ease your pain by giving you more pleasure. He knew his cock would hurt you before it felt good. “Sh… sh… D’ya want me to stop, princess?”

“No, no!” you cried out, nearly startling him. He felt your arms tighten round his back, as if to keep him exactly where he was. “Please don’t stop. I—I…” Tears trickled down more now, like a torrential rain over your cheek.

He stopped again, this time pulling himself out a little to prop himself up and look at you with the utmost earnestness. “Why are ya cryin’ now? I don’t wanna make you cry. Am I hurtin’ you too much?”

In truth, the physical pain of being stretched by him was not strong enough to elicit these tears. What made you cry, in fact, was the simple truth that tonight, you’d give yourself to your true love, but in a matter of days, Sir Negan would take you away from him, and you might never see him, or your father, or anyone else you loved, ever again.

To think you may never be here, like this, with him again… It broke your heart, though every cell in your body was demanding for another burst of euphoria. It was all too much emotion, too much stimulation. And yet, you’d never want him to stop. You’d like to be this way forever, if you could. If only you could.

“It’s just… Promise me…”

Furrowed brows contorted his face. He brushed the back of his hand over your cheek. “Promise ya what?” He wasn’t sure of the point of asking, as he knew that he would promise you, his lady, anything anyway. A knight’s ultimate test of chivalry, afterall, was his undying, unyielding, uncompromising devotion to his lady.

“Promise you won’t forget me.” When Negan takes me, you wanted to say, but you hesitated to even mention him at this moment, when the only man who really mattered to you was looking at you with his own tears beginning to well in his cunning blue eyes.

“I could never, ever forget you, milady.”

And he knew now what you meant. He knew the fear in your eyes, the same fear from the other night. He could feel this fear inside him, too. The fear of never seeing you again, of you being trapped in a place you could not escape from, not unlike how you’d been trapped in your own castle. Yet, this would be so much worse, for you’d be chained to that wretched, evil man, who would do God knows what to you.

But those thoughts were poisonous. “Don’t think about that now… Just feel me.” So he came into you again, just as far as he’d gotten before. “That’s it… Can you take more?”

That was all you wanted, actually. More. All you needed was him, filling you as deep as possible, taking you over and marking you as his. You’d never be Negan’s now, and that gave you a sense of power, a relief in knowing that there was at least one thing Negan could never take from you—your chastity.

“More, Daryl. Please.”

By now, he was almost all the way inside you, but he could go no further, for his own fear of hurting you too much. He pulled out a bit then, to which you grasped at his shoulders and pulled him back against you. “Where are you going?”

“Nowhere,” he laughed. “I’m just movin’. Calm down, you’re all rigid. Ease up.” Taking his words to heart, you let out a deep breath and relaxed your muscles, allowing you to settle more comfortably into the plush fur underneath you. Slowly, he pushed himself back in, your body welcoming him in with the hug of your slick tightness. “There ya go… Look, your cunt’s already gettin’ used to me. You’re takin’ it good.”

So good, in fact, that you couldn’t help but smile at the feeling—the warmth, the hardness, the fullness… The feeling of his cock sliding back and forth, but never completely leaving you. The sensation was beautiful, far more intimate than anything you’d ever imagined. When he lowered himself down again, his chest laid snug against yours, the feeling of his nipples rubbing yours hard and slow the more he thrusted. As if on their own accord, your legs loosened to lift and wrap around his lower back, taking him in just a little further. There was pain again, but not enough to hurt you. It only felt good.

He had to be careful not to move too fast, though the involuntary squeezing of your walls drew him closer to his breaking point. He could feel both your arousal and his, surrounding him inside you. But he had to make you come again, he thought. He needed to know that his cock had pleased his princess just as much as his tongue.

Your soft, whimpering moans made it clear that he was, indeed, pleasing you, your tearing pain having given way to that tingling feeling again, making your writhe and shiver underneath him.

“Daryl,” you panted. Spurred on by your pulsing body, his movements became faster, more sloppy, more passionate. Now you could really feel his size, his length digging into a particular spot that made you roll your head back against his pillow, your lips trembling and gasping for air as you spoke. “Oh, it feels so… Yes, my love, my knight… You’re so big.”

“Princess… I feel your cunt squeezing me.”

“Oh, I—I am s-sorry.”

He huffed a laugh against your cheek. “Feels good,” he said. “Keep squeezin’ me.”

He pressed a firm kiss to your cheek as his hips thrusted non-stop, now molding you to fit his cock perfectly, forever. Well, for however long you had left together.

“God, you’re soakin’ me,” he said, his voice nearly drowned out by the sound of wet skin on skin.

Your well-trained manners urged you to apologize again, but the sensation of his cock hitting into you was enough to render you speechless, except for the breathless sighs and sultry moans escaping your lips as you clawed at his shoulders, fingernails digging into his scarred flesh to nearly break open new wounds.

He continued on for a while now, though you could not tell how long he’d been thrusting, you only knew you were drowned by his mouth, his lips finding every part of your skin that he could reach in this position and leaving sloppy trails of open-mouthed kisses. That tightening and tingling within you strengthened with each movement he made, each thrust reminding you of how deep inside you he was, and how strong he was, his body weight driving the force of each hard, deep stroke.

Only when your moans had faded into heaving breaths and your body had loosened into jelly did he speak to you again, though not stopping his thrusts, as he couldn’t bring himself to even think about stopping now.

“Hey, sweetheart? You all right?”

You were hardly responsive, only opening half-lidded eyes to gape at his reddened, sweat-dripping face. His chestnut hair hung wildly, tickling your cheeks, though all you could feel was the pounding, the swelling of his cock inside you, the growing sensation of that volcano about to erupt again.

“H-hey.” You felt his hand cup your cheek as he said your name, his own voice shaky and stuttering as he began to lose his ability to keep himself in control. Tears welled up in your eyes once more, only now, they were those same tears of overwhelming, astounding satisfaction.

Stimulated to the point of near-catatonia, you were released by a sudden wave of vibrations that surged through you like electricity, bringing you back to life. Your legs clenched tight around his waist as your head shot back, exposing your strained neck. His lips did not spare you in your moaning, crying state. They attacked your neck as you pulsed all around his cock and grinded up against his pelvis by instinct. He held his hips still now, though, letting you ride the multiple waves of your intense orgasm until you shook like a leaf in a cool autumn wind beneath his strong, stabilizing body which your hands clung to desperately.

“Oh, Jesus!” was all you muster. You’d never said the Lord’s name in vain as many times as you had that night. Granted, you had never said the Lord’s name in vain before. “Christ!” Surely, you would be going to Hell.

“Shit,” the knight muttered into the crook of your neck. “I—I’m…”

Ears pounding with the sound of your heart, you could not process a word he said. You could only allow your glassy eyes to roll back as your lips formed a delirious, open-mouthed smile. “Oh, Daryl.”

He propped himself up on his bulky arms, dripping with sweat and bulging with flexed, aching muscles. As if to soothe them, you ran your hands up towards his biceps, holding onto them for dear life as he began thrusting again, almost completely inside of you.

All you could do now was smile up at him, murmuring his name, interspersed with declarations of your love and breathy moans that tortured him the closer he came to releasing himself.

“You’re so beautiful,” he panted. “You’re mine.”

“Yes,” you agreed. “Yes, yours. Forever.”

“Mine.”

With an almost helpless groan, he pulled himself completely from you, sinking down on his arms to press against you, but with his cock angled to release on your heavy stomach. Though you missed the feeling of him inside you, you moaned at the feeling of warmth near your navel, where he spilled himself onto you.

Curiosity overcame you as you looked between your bodies, watching his strange… attachment release a silky, cloudy white liquid in spurts. For a moment, your eyes widened in slight fear. Truly, you had absolutely no idea what was happening. For all you knew, he’d suddenly contracted some strange disease that caused his cock to leak a new humor.

“Wh-what is… Daryl, are you all right?”

Once again, he laughed at your innocence. “I’m just fine… Better than fine,” he said, sinking down into a deep kiss. He only parted from them for a moment to say, “That’s s’posed to happen. Did they not teach you anythin’ about sex?”

“Th-they said…” You laughed at your lack of breath. “They said my husband would show me.”

He sighed as he lifted himself off you, then rolled over onto his side. With a huff, he yanked the fur-lined blanket from underneath you, then draped it over himself and you, much to your relief, as it was cold without his naked body on top of yours.

“Your father,” he began to say, wrapping an arm around your rather limp, flimsy body to pull you close, “he wanted ya to marry my lord, didn’t he?”

A puzzled look contorted your face. “How did you know?”

“He tells me everythin’.” The touch of his calloused fingers tickled your hairline as he brushed back your bangs. “Told me the king brought us here because he thought Richard would make a good husband for you… Why didn’t you want him?”

Duke Richard hadn’t crossed your mind much since that night he first arrived, though you never thought too much about why exactly he did not attract you as much as Sir Daryl did. Now, it was quite clear.

“Because he isn’t you, my love.” A laugh escaped your lips as you settled your hand upon his chest, twisting your fingers between the hairs that intrigued you so. “The duke is… He is a good man, but you are better. That is all.”

A rosy blush blossomed on his cheeks as his mouth curled with a lopsided smile. You admired the lines in his face, the crows feet and tired bags around his adoring eyes. “He would’ve made a good husband for you.”

“Mm, perhaps.” Your pointer finger traced lines over his sharp collarbone. “Lady Michonne is rather fond of him, though. I think they make a lovely couple. Besides, my heart does not belong to him. It belongs to you.”

Shaking his head, he offered you a somber smile. “You know you can’t marry me, even if Negan didn’t want you. I’d be killed.”

“My father would not kill you.”

“You don’t know that for sure. If he… if he knew that I took you outside the walls, let alone that we—”

“We could go somewhere, someday.”

Your name fell on his lips, but you interrupted him again. “Negan will take me, I know I cannot escape that, but someday, when Alexandria is strong enough, you can find me, and we’ll go away, somewhere you’ve been on your travels. My father would understand. We could be together, we could marry. Someday.”

But you knew it was a pipe dream. You knew that, if it could ever happen, it would happen so long from now, and you could not leave your father without him knowing you were all right. It seemed as though there was nothing to stop the world from caving in. For someone who had so much power by birth, you felt so powerless, the most powerless you’d ever felt in your whole life. That was saying something, as you never truly felt in control of your own destiny. You never thought it could get worse, until now.

“You know I won’t let him take you,” he said. “Maybe we can be together like that someday, but right now, all I care about is you, not me and you.”

“But… I care about you.”

And for the first time in his life, he believed those words.

“I know you do.” Upon your forehead, he placed a chaste kiss. “Ya know, once a knight gives his heart to a lady, he can never give it to anyone else, and he’s bound to her forever.”

Of course you knew that. There wasn’t much about knights you didn’t know. If only you had as much knowledge of human sexuality as you did of knighthood, but alas.

“Does that mean you will marry me one day?”

His eyes narrowed in playful suspicion as he pretended to think it over, mumbling a pensive, “Hm…”

“Sir Daryl,” you teased, “if you do not agree to marry me, I will send you to the stocks.”

“Your highness,” he said, his arms pulling you in closer to his chest, “I promise myself to you.”

“And I, you… My sweet, brave knight.”

That evening, you did not return to the castle until the sun began to rise again. Sleeping on a straw-stuffed bed was quite the adjustment from your feather-stuffed one, but he did not let go of you, not even in his sleep, and that made all the difference to you.

Despite the uncertainty that loomed in the air all around you, the fear that settled in your heart from the moment you realized you might never see Daryl again, you had a strange, persistent sense that, someday, every night could be like this one.

Someday, you repeated in your head, lulling yourself to sleep in his arms.

But that was the future, and this was now. Now, you knew only one thing to be perfectly, virtuously true: you were his, just as he was yours.

Through life, and after death.

Thanks for reading! Likes, reblogs, and/or comments are always appreciated!

Series Masterlist Next Chapter ➳

439 notes · View notes

aphroditesmoon · 1 year ago

Text

♡-;meadowlarks (I)

gwen stacy x fem!spidergirl!queen!reader (medievel au)

summary: when miguel accidentally sends gwen into a medievel timeline instead of her own after revoking her watch privileges, she sees it as a curse, but you, currently facing multiple challenges after the death of your father, the king, and the escape of a wild beast, finds that you'd appreciate the help.

warnings: hurt/comtort ,fluff, typical medieval sexism, trauma, kissing/makeout(INCOMING CHAPTERS), gore, grief, hesitant partners to friends to lovers, reader has fire powers, tiny bit internal homophobia, reader needs a nap, reader is touch starved, death, mutilation, witchcraft.

taglist; @kamaluhkhan @rissslays-parttwo @marytargaryen @darkstreaks @gwenisasilly @asher-kaden @macncheesemonster @miikshook @marianeski @reeags @goosetheluce @4cepink @yuennie

@primaviva

wordcount; 6.5k

a/n: testing out the waters w this one! 100 notes and I'll do a part 2 <33

▪︎ “AS THE WINTER TURNS THE MEADOW BROWN, YOU GO WHEREVER YOU GO TODAY” ▪︎

°°°°°

THERE ARE THREE thing anyone who’s lived in Old York Meadowlarks for at least a year would notice. The first, is that there had not been any Meadowlarks for nearly two centuries. The specific bird had been declared extinct. The second thing is that it never snows here. There are colder seasons sure, seasons where the winds could freeze you. But no one existing in the realm knew what snow even was. And finally, the third one is, there are no beasts in Meadowlarks.

The people survived through their fair share of thieves and criminals, and wild animals too. But monstrous beasts had remained a folklore. Bedtime stories to scare the children into doing their chores and stay off the woods past 8 O’clock.

And yet, here you are. Not a week after your father’s death, his only heir, now queen, and of course, the secret but very much known Lady Spider, standing inside a layered forest, currently covered in thick white flakes and ice-cold snow , meeting your fate against a minotaur.

Unlike the folktales, this minotaur doesn’t speak. He only growls and chases you to your death with incredible speed. “What the fuck?” was the only thing you’ve been asking yourself for the past 8 hours. You’ve caught mutants before, deformed humans, a consequence of their own black magic curse, but nothing completely inhuman as such.

What’s next? A unicorn?

The beast claws at the tree you’re currently hanging on, climbing up quickly despite his heavy weight, forcing you to latch on other trees faster. It wasn’t that you were incompetent, but merely confused. You wonder if you’ll just swing yourself at him if you tried to fight one on one. You weren’t taking the risk. Making sure he stayed chasing you, the path you were leading him on was into a bear trap. Something to keep him still for a while. Your fingers ache as they clench and unclench with your jumping from tree to tree.

Bold and dim as you expected the beast followed and fell into the hole with a roar, the net set immediately tying themselves around him. “Silly bull, should’ve stayed on all fours.” You muttered to yourself. It grumbles incoherently. Not a second of peace after, peasants from the further parts of the wood scrambles to view the dangerous state you were in. The bear trap being set off, including the terrible sounds the minotaur made, had called for attention. “Armageddon is coming!” An older woman shouted, shielding her son. The crowd makes a circle around you and the monster. Clutching their crosses in fear yet remaining like they're enjoying a circus show.

“Please, everyone. Unless you’d like it eat you first once it breaks free, run.” You yelled out, only gathering more people in. “Gods above, help me.” The minotaur growls again, tearing itself through the net. The people flinched and took steps backwards as the beast tosses and turned. “Move away or get burned.” You shouted, warning them for no less than a minute before blasting fire towards it. Smoke flew all around you as the children and their parents screamed while running off. That’ll do it, you thought as the air began to clear.

But gods no, the unconscious beast jolted, and your heart dropped. It’s fur and skin were already burnt off, but it’s still moving. You swung yourself on a tree above it, sword sliding off your hips into your hands. You hesitated at first, but once the creature’s eyes snapped open, You jumped. Your sword pushed through its right eyeball, earning a screech from it as blood flowed out from the now empty socket.

You pull your sword back out and flung your webs around him, tightening the trap.

The monster clawed at you then, from his restraints. The aggressiveness making you flinch and drop your sword to the ground. “Fuck.” Its arm stretches out against your web, and shoved you hardly off the net. Your balance fails and you a screamed a rare scream as gravity wins. Flinging your arms around, you panic when you found no stable source to swing yourself on. As quick as a flash, your heart lept when instead of banging your head on hard and now apparently cold snow, You’re swung hard to your left, making you scream louder before your hands make quick to wrap themselves around the body that just saved you.

“I’d love to just be fighting minotaurs all day, we don’t have that much in New york.” It was a girl.

And that wasn’t the most bizarre fact. She was wearing an apparel like no other, and she was swinging with you attached to her like a monkey, the same way you could. “Oh my god this is a dream.” It had to be. You must be hallucinating. The priests had told you it could happen. Grieve often leads to hysterics, especially for women.

But what the church and council didn’t know, is that you do not grieve your father or the man that he was. The man he could’ve been, maybe. But that was a different story.

You feel the wind howl harsher, the cold feels like a bitter sting at your skin. "This is not a dream, unfortunately for us both.” The girl spoke before she loosen her grip for you to swing yourself again. “This doesn’t make sense. Who are you?” You countered. Too many questions to ask. “I’m spider-girl, like you.” She answers simply, retangling the creature. “You’ve got any idea how to fix this?" Rationalizing enough remaining stabilty, you nodded. “Yeah.” You let her try to maintain the grip while you snatch your sword back up and move towards it, aim sharp.

“Back down.” You warned before slicing it through it’s neck, cutting off the minotaur’s head.

You land on your feet the same time the head falls. Your toes are freezing as it steps on the ground. The blood from the bull's decapitated head spreads all over the snow. It's body still inside the worn out net. That is a problem for the townsfolk to handle today.

The girl lands behind you, footsteps gentle when she moves. “A sword, pretty cool. Pretty heavy too huh?” You turn around to meet her. She wears a skin fitting white suit with a hood over her head, the type of clothing that would’ve had her burned as a witch a few hundred years ago. “If you’re not careful with your next words, you’ll feel just how heavy.”

She backtracks immediately, putting her hands up in defense. “Woah-hey, I just helped you kill that thing.” She reasons with you, hesitating to come closer. “That thing, came out of nowhere, and so do you. For the past 5 years, I’ve been the only Lady-spider here, how do I know that everything going on has nothing to do with you?”

You were fiercer than usual, maybe. But you would take no chances with the amounts of passings and tragedies your kingdom has gone through this past week. “Lady-Spider? That sounds old, no offense.” You frowned. “Look around, you’re in Old York!” Her shoulder drops. “Oh, yeah. That makes sense.” You realized then that she’s probably not a threat to you. But it does not mean she’s not the cause of all this.

Sighing tiredly, you cracked your knuckles and rubbed them together to ease the sharp winter it’s feeling. “Why are you here?” You demanded again as you begin to walk back out the forests, eyes tracking the dead beast's footprints againts the snow, now beginning to fade. Following from behind, You hear her talk distantly. “I’m…from a different universe. I wish I could give a better explanation, but that’s it. There’s a whole spider society of other spidermen like us in other universes, and I kind of accidentally got thrown here.” You stop in your tracks, turning to her again.

“Other Spidermen?” She nods. “So, you’re me?’ Her eyes widen through her mask as she shakes her head. “Oh no, not at all. I mean sometimes there’s a version of you somewhere else that is also Spiderman, but I’m pretty sure you’re not me.” You take a moment staring at her, trying to process the most insane thing to happen today.

“Take off your mask?” She cocks her head. “Take off your mask, and tell me your name. Only then I’ll believe you.” She scoffs at your words. “I don’t owe you anything, and what would I need you trust for anyways?” It was your turn to be amused now, smiling under your mask. “There is nowhere in this place you could roam freely, without my permission. And no, I’m not exaggerating.” You notice her hesitancy and waited for an answer. “My name is Gwen. Gwen Stacy.”

She would not take her mask off yet, but so far, her name would do. Giving the sky a quick glance, the sun burns a bright reminder for lunch. You wondered how much chastise you’d get from Alistair. “You’re coming with me, Gwen.”

^^^

You had made sure you’d be left alone after your coronation for grieving’s cause. The ceremony was a gloomy one for both you and the council. Dislike was etched all over their faces as the crown was fitted on your head. A 17 year old girl was not their idea of a good ruler. But everyone who knew the game of politics would also know well that the worst kind of law breakers are the ones who made the laws in the first place. They'd rather a corrupt man for their own advantages than a queen of peace.

Slinging back into your room with Gwen, you decided that grieve had to wait, for the worst part of all this was yet to come. She takes a seat on the edge of your purple sheeted king bed, eyes roaming around the rest of the large bedroom. Soon, you noticed how she focuses on the large painting of your late mother. Your hand instinctively went the long necklace with a single pearl on your neck that she had worn for the painting. “Maybe, this is your canon event.” You hear Gwen suggest as you change into a black dress with silver lines drawn by the waist. Your hood and leather jacket is tossed into your closet after you stuck your mask under a drawer.

Giving yourself a glance at the mirror, running your fingers through your dishevelled hair and hoping everyone else would excuse the red rims under your eyes for a state of mourning.

“Your father died, and not a week after, things you claimed to be impossible here, happened.” You trusted her words easily, though the terrible anxiety you’re feeling in the pit of your stomach worsens with the thought of something even worse was to come.

“Maybe you’re right. But that would still mean that there’s a cause for all of this, a starting point.” You could feel her stare as you fix your hair. Her existence was both nerve-wrecking and comforting. To play two roles in one life, is the kind of tiring not every person could understand. “So, are you like, a princess?” She asks finally. “Was” You clarified. “Oh…wait-“

You cut her off impatiently. “I’ve been queen for less than a week, and the worst weather phenomenon just happened, a non-existent mythical appeared, and there’s two spider women. Do you realize just how bad that looks for me, in the eyes of the people, the council?” You challenged brazenly, hands holding your waist as you stared at her. Gwen turns silent again, though her eyes held the same old sympathy that you hated.

“If…” You began, eyes moving from her back to the floor again. She raises a brow. “If I dared to ask for your help..” Her gaze brightens in understanding as she fiddles her fingers. “I would help you. At least until I figure out how to leave here.” Your body relaxes at that, finally seeing the shape of your plan. “I need you to pretend to be me.”

“What?” her voice was incredulous. “If I am to fix this situation, then I’ll need to be both the queen, and Lady-spider, which is impossible. So, I’ll need you to be me.” Gwen stared at you in confusion, “And what exactly will you and Lady-spider be up to?”

“That, will be explained in the meeting.”

The meeting was set that afternoon. The letter was sent the morning you woke up. An emergency meeting with the councils of the state from all over Old York. The men were easy to read. They had attended the meeting with the expectation of the queen’s begging for help and guidance. But you’ve already seen more than you should at a young age to consider yourself a lamb given to the slaughter. You could hear them from behind the doors before you entered.

She’s 17, and unmarried. What will the kingdom be with a child as a queen?

Her ruling is already cursed, It’s a fucking blizzard out there. Have you seen anything so white and cold?

A minotaur was killed by Lady-spider this morning. I would’ve thought it a lie if Jim himself didn’t see it with his own two eyes. A minotaur! What insanity-

The door pushes open with a loud creak as your guard, Alistair, announces your present loudly, stealing away the mayor and minister's attention from their gossiping. The room is silenced as they move to stand in honor of your entrance. Taking your seat at the end of the table, you meet their false smiles with your own. "Please, sit." 7 men are sat around the long table while a thick white candle is lits in the middle of it with the carvings of ’WITH GREAT POWER, COMES GREAT RESPONSIBILITY.’ written.

Till this day, you refuse to read upon the lines with any devotion or loyalty. You had carried the responsibility since you were born. What has it done for you in return?

Ignoring the changing glances shared right in front of you, you intertwine your fingers together, placing your fists on the table.

“I apologize for the late notice, and I thank you for being able to attend.” You said, with a pretense of gratefulness. They nod their heads in a respectful manner. “As you all can see, dark days are upon us.” Murmurs of agreements spread around the dark room. “If I was superstitious, I’d call it god’s wrath. But the falling out of this kingdom is happening too strategically, too clean. I’m aware I might not have seen this kingdom in it’s worst a thousand years ago, but I’ve been quite lucky to live long enough to know that only black magic could be the answer to this.” The table becomes a dash of confused expressions along with agreeable ones. You notice how some of them have taken to leaning on their wooden chairs with irritable expressions.

There's one thing men do not like than being told what to do by a woman, is being told what to do by a little girl.

“Magic is powerful, but it would take a terrifying level of sorcery for one to be able to summon impossible weather, and, mythical creatures.” Lord Jameson interjects with a raised brow. You could hear the tapping of the heel of his shoes on the stone hard floor amidst the eerily quiet room. It was like a small sign of defiance. "How are you so sure in something that's not even fully investigated yet?" You slowly spin your head at him, a glare embedded in your expression. “-Your majesty,” He adds too slowly.

”Yes, well, a powerful witch, given our kingdom’s track record, is much more believable than one of the gods purposely turning your bulls into beasts. And i'm sure if the gods were to punish us for our sins, they would have done it ages ago, it's not like we've been angels these past few years." You responded, reminding him of his slave trading scandal that happened two years ago. Snickers were heard from the other seats.

Glances were exchanged at your words and his, a gist of hesitance and cowardice amongst other things. “Word from my men is that this drastic weather change first started in the east, where most of our plantations are done in. Half of this year’s profit from it is gone, ruined. The people there will eat nothing but last month’s stock, and hunt their own animals, if they’re even lucky to find any in this weather. But afterwards it all went down like dominoes, snow, everywhere. And yet, the minotaur was found here, in town, 2 casualties, only because Lady-spider was quick enough.”

Lord Haycinter acts as the first to actually ask the question you yourself have been. “And what’s the correlation of those two?” The secret glances and talking stops, and all eyes are on you.

“Significantly? Nothing. But if you pay attention, both the town here and in the city have one similarity, their massive population.”You give the old men a few seconds to understand what you mean, the light switch in their brains finally clicking.

“Whoever is causing this, is trying to cause a purge.”

••••

Hours passed after the meeting, you’ve found yourself soaking in the tub for at least an hour now. Your fingers were wrinkly and the water had turned lukewarm. The rose colored walls of the bathing room were bringing back old memories, memories you can’t afford to remember.

So, you closed your eyes and think of the white snow again, and the blood the minotaur had splattered when his head fell off.

Tomorrow a scout of your men, alongside you and Lady-spider will be heading east. Food stock would be divided before an investigation started running. Lord Haycinter and a few others had triedbto persuade you to stay in the castle, let them and the given guard handle the investigation. But you needed the people to see their queen strong and contributing. You needed them to know thate whether they liked you as their ruler or not, you would not abandon them. The good and the bad, they are all under your responsibility.

The last time a deformed beast was made, it was by a witch who managed to create an group of brain eaters, solely to end her rival family’s bloodline. Aethella, old, wicked and spiteful. A long time witch of Meadowlark. Those were the stories spread of her. But you had met her, right before she was executed in your father’s order. She looked 60 in age, white hair clashing with faded black, a single gold tooth that made her look demonic when you see the whole mix of the look.

What would you do if all 8 daughters of yours were murdered with their hearts ripped out and hair shaved off for another man’s magic spells and joke. For another man’s ego and amusement, she has asked you at the ripe age of 15. So she killed his sons back in return. A punishment he deserved, but your father never gave. And she brought them back as the living dead and made them feast off of their father’s living body until he too, ceased to exist.

“But she’s dead now.”

How many witches are there in this town anyways? None as powerful to turn animals into mythical beings.

Your eyes are closed. The tiredness forcing it shut. What you would you would give to not have to carry the realm’s fate on your shoulders for a week. You flinch at a touch against your shoulder, slipping from unconsciousness to consciousness again. “Gwen.” You could tell. “You’ve been in here for 2 hours, I got worried.” Has it been 2 hours? It only felt like 1. Gwen kneels by the tub, palms remaining on your shoulder. You say nothing in response, too tired to speak. She wears one of your long dresses that you had given earlier. It was becoming of her, despite the clashing of the style with her odd hair.

Seeing how your knees buckle as you try to stand she slips an arm under yours and helped pull you out. Her eyes are trained on your neck until she could grab a hold of your robe and passed it to you. Tying it up in a ribbon, you give her a light push when she tries to help you into your bedroom, refusing it. You revel in the comfort of your dimly lighted room and it’s warmth, the candle by your bedside as the only source of light for you to get dressed. Feeling Gwen near, you say nothing until she’s walked over to your side.

“We need to go over the plan.” You stated in a matter of factly tone. “Alright.” She agrees. “Tomorrow, before 9 possibly, we’ll ride to the east side of Old York, Fullmar. My people there are made of farmers, hunters, you get the gist."

"They’re the most independent of us. They live near the crops and mountains, so every year, their supply of food are always checked off first. But with the unexpected snow, a lot of the folks are not sure how to maintain healthy crops and plants, they’ve never gone through the extremes like this. So first things first, we’ll divide 10% of Meadowlark’s fruits and vegetables spring stock for them, and then afterwards, I’ll have half of my unit guards search the seaforest for any signs of wild animals or witchcraft.” Gwen listens carefully, her gaze never leaving yours as you continue to explain.

“I thought you said the beast thing only happened once this morning?” She asks in confusion. You shook yourself and gave her a sarcastic smile. “I thought so too."

Rubbing your hands on the back of your neck, you fought the urge to pass out. “An official letter was sent to me from the minister of Fullmar from three hours ago, who unfortunately could not attend today’s meeting, that apparently two girls who had gone missing 3 days ago have been found dead in the woods, their flesh chewed and bitten off.” Gwen grimaced, “fucking hell.” You pursed your lips tiredly. “You’ve got that right.”

You muster up the courage to sit on your own bed next to her, the soft cotton sheets calling you to sleep. Eyeing up Gwen as subtly as possible, you feel guilt crawling it’s way into your moral consciousness when you realized how tired she looked too. Her eyes were slightly red, as if she had been crying. You wondered if she noticed that you have too. “I’m going to figure out how to send you home.” You said aloud, making her laugh slightly. “That’ll be great,”

There was an unspoken bond made when the two of you met eachother. Something along the lines of, 'never actually mention your fathers, even though his name lies on the tip of your tongues.' She missed him, you could tell, despite her only mentioning him once that day.

You have not missed yours. In fact, you suffer in every second that you can't forget him.

“You mentioned something about a watch this morning, my Queensguard, Alistair is quite the technician. Perhaps he could help?” The blonde smiled sadly. And at that moment, all you wanted to do was wipe it off in any way you could.

“Thank you, but I don’t think your timeline’s technology are the same as Miguel’s or mine.” You hummed in understanding, deciding that you’d ask Alistair of it anyways. A sudden realization makes you jump as you quickly move to grab a pillow from your bed. “We should sleep. I forgot to tell you, you’ll be sleeping here for a while. I can’t risk the servant’s gossip of Spider-girl sleeping here, you can have the bed.”

Gwen makes a noise of disagreement, making you halt. “You do realize your bed is a bigger than an elephant, right? We could share, princess.” You feel your face physically heats up and frowned at her. “That is indecent, if we were to be seen even sitting on the same bed, the punishment is worse than tangling with a man.” Gwen’s eyes widen and her mouth hug open. “But that’s bullshit! What kind of man feeding patriarchy system is this?”

You shrug at the obviousness. “The kind that is a man feeding patrhiarchy.” She tilts her head and accepts the answer after considering it for a few seconds.

“Yes well, either way I’m not letting you sleep on the carpet. So we share, or I’ll sleep on the ground.” Her persistence was annoying. You can’t understand how she fails to see the problem in this. Women have been killed for far lesser sins. This was as if you’re asking to get tied to a stake. But her eyebags are deep and her back is hunched. So you put your pillows back down, and slipped under the covers next to her before turning the opposite side.

”You love your people.” She whispers out in the dark once you’ve blown off the candle. You could feel the slow rhythm of her breathing next to you.

“Someone has to. God knows my father and his father didn’t.” The both of you let the silence lingers between the space you make, concluding the conversations. “Goodnight.” She wishes, her voice caressed you like the soft winds that pushed through your lilac collored window curtains. “Goodnight."

You could feel sweat rolling down your forehead in an excruciatingly slow motion. The ice was beginning to melt as you ride to the east side with Gwen. The sun now had taken over in the case of extreme weathers. You fixed the shawl covering your head and face and presses your horse to move faster. It’s been at least an hour and a half since you started your journey. You made sure all royal sigils were hidden for now, not wanting to catch any unwanted attentions until the stock arrives.

Despite Alistair’s insistence on you riding in the royal carriage, you stuck through your horse, Merry anyways.

You decided to ride for an hour earlier than the food stock carriages to get some privacy with the investigation. And although you do not regret your choice, a 5 minute break in a carriage doesn’t sound that horrible now. The road was wet with melting ice and it stank of cow shit, but the fogginess from the cold had disappeared and the road seemed clearer. Gwen, who apparently has not rode on a horse for years, ended up behind you on Merry so you could save more time.

You could hear the amusing jokes the rest of the guards made about Lady Spider not knowing how to ride a horse and internally curses her for embarrassing your name.

Your loyal guard rides closer to you until he is side by side, and you could see him giving sideway glances to the girl behind you, judging her. He eyes her up and down. You raise a brow when he turns to you instead. “You know, I’ve been wondering since this morning when you announced that the infamous lone ranger Lady spider would join us, how did you two meet?” He asks, cocking his head at Gwen who’s currently holding onto your waist like her life depends on it as the horse gallops harder. “That’s none of your business, is it Ali?” He hums quietly, looking back on the path in front of me. “Forgive me for questioning you, your majesty. I just worry you trust easily.” You hear Gwen scoff as she sits up straighter. You would punch him in the face for saying those words, if you could. Being treated as a child by someone you trust was worse than being treated that way by a council of slagging, sexist old men.

“I know what I’m doing.” You silence him before giving your horse a light kick to move faster before it’s lunch time.

Alistair was 5 years older than you. He was assigned to you as a personal guard since you were 12. He was more like a brother than a bodyguard. And seeing how most days, he would be the only one willing to risk the king’s rage to save your arse whenever you’d sneak out or disappear entirely to do your job as Lady spider, his worry and protectiveness was warranted. And yet, as much as cared for you, he was still older, stronger, and still a man. He could not understand you if he wanted to. He was not made as you were.

Gwen eyes Alistair until he’s out of sight again, behind you. A glare embedded on her face. “Is he always like that?” You hummed positively. “He could use a smile and a less condescending tone.” She says sarcastically, making you smile.

“Don’t be offended, He’s like that with everyone I’m around. He’s just protective.” Gwen makes an ‘ooo’ sound and pushes you with more questions. “What, are you guys like, what’s the word?- Courting! Yes, see I know some slangs too. So are you guys courting?’ You were grateful that she’s behind you so she can’t see how wide your eyes are, hearing her question. “Heavens no.” You breathed out. “He’s like a brother to me, hell, I’ve once made him play tea party with me when I was 12.” Gwen laughs in surprise, eyes brightening. “Him? A tea party? What I would give to see that.” You hummed as an answer, trying to forget the insinuation she just made.

You were never comfortable with questions of courting or marriages. And it’s already terrible enough how much proposal letters you receive from many of the ministers and their sons, even the north King with already two wives had sent you a proposal. When it comes to marriage for politics, there was simply no one good enough or beneficial to help your kingdom so far. And in case of marriage for love, you just haven’t met any man you’re genuinely interested in.

The flat surface of the road was beginning to get bumpy, as are the short cut grass that’s mixing with overgrown weeds. If that wasn’t a sign that you have entered the borders of Fullmar, the broken and faded signboard that lays on the ground with the words ‘FUL M R’ is.

Your bend your neck and letting it stretch while you continue to ride on poor tired merry. “We’re here.” You tell Gwen who’s trying very hard not to fall asleep or fall of the horse. “Finally.” She mumbled back with a yawn. “Now, remember what I told you, no talking unless it’s completely necessary, no showing off your spider tricks, and no w-“ “No wandering off, yeah I got that.” She cuts you off in annoyance. “So do you guys talk like that all the time?” You frowned slowed down your horse. “Like what?”

“Like you’re in a Pride and Prejudice book?” You tilt your head up and try to remember a book with that title. “I don’t think I know what you’re talking about.” Gwen lets out a short laugh. “ Of course you son't."

You waited until the rest of the guards that came with you caught up. “what’s your call?” Alistair asked. “We’ll ride further east until we reach the seaforest, I’ll need at least two guard checking the waterfall area and the caves. Any prints of blood, any signs of hair or human body parts, you take it with you or you call me. Alistair, you search up the old church and the houses near there. Ask questions if necessary. Lady Spider, and the rest of you will be searching the rest of the forest with me.” A murmur of agreement and ‘yes, your majesties’ were said quickly before all 8 of you part ways as you’re told. You pull your horse into a left as you ride into the seaforest’s direction with 3 men behind you.

5 minutes more into riding, you finally reach the said forest. The seaforest was the most known forest of Old York, The trees there are a mix of greens and blue tints. It is known for growing rare fruits and plants mysteriously. Back during the age of witch burnings, is was rumoured that if you were to take anything without the forest’s permission, they would die before they could set foot outside the woods.

But you were sure that it was just an excuse to burn women who used the herbs they got for healing purposes from there without actual valid reasons. Still, you notice how your men quiver and flinch at any small noises of the birds and tree branches.

“Do not get cold feet now.” You attempt to motivate them weakly. “Oh wow, that’ll help them.” Gwen whispers as you help her off Merry after you. “Shut up.” The 5 of you spread ways, two of the guards headed to your right while the other one goes forward.

You were quick to your left, checking the condition of the bushes and trees to see if the extreme weather had affected them. They hadn’t. “Well this is odd.” You said to yourself.

“What? What did you find?” Gwen asks, basically sprinting from your right. “Nothing. Everything is fine.” She makes a face of confusion. “Okay…?” You ignore her and move to call your men. The three guards came quick to the center. “So far, everything looks fine where you were, yeah?” you questioned them, receiving fast nods.

“And what about snow? Has any of you seen even a bit of melted snow or ice, even a hint of it? Water?” You can feel the tension filling the space between all five of you when you said that. “None…” One of them spoke, the others not disagreeing. “Alright then.” You sighed in frustration. “If all of you are sure there’s nothing, we head over to the waterfall. It's all too good to be true.” The dark skinned guard who spoke up earlier raises his hand to speak. “You don’t have to- just, you know what, just speak.”

“Oh, right, um. Well, we can’t really call it a clue that, everything, is normal, right?” He asks. You shrugged at that and pursed your lips. “Perhaps not, but the fact that the forest is too normal, while the whole realm was in a shitshow of a snowstorm yesterday, is in itself very odd, yes?” The men make a face, considering what you just said. “Uh, I guess?”

“Good. Now let’s see if the others are going through something just as weird.” You spare them no more explanation, walking off to Merry with Gwen to help her on the horse.

The ride was short as the waterfall area wasn’t that far and is still inside the seaforest. You keep a straight face despite your awe in the colorful grown trees. The leaves are almost turquoise and from a far, the whole forest, illuminated by the brightly shining sun, looked almost as blue as the waterfall.

The heat was starting to get to you, you wiped you’re your shawl across the beads of sweat on your hairline, feeling how warm your face is. “I don’t see any of them.” You stated out loud. “Wait let me-“ One of the guards gets off his horse and sprints closer to the caves near the waterfalls. “Tristen?” You heard him call out. But Tristen, hadn’t went alone, he had another one with him too.

“Who was the other one with Tristen?” You ask one of your own. “Fred.” You frowned and looked back. Fred was a shitty name, did not fit him at all.

You watch the guard, Emery, disappear into the cave in search of his friend. A few second later, he exits it alone. “I can’t find him, your honor!” He shouted. “It’s your majesty, dingus.” The guard next to you yell. “Oh.” You ignore their banter, heart sinking at Emery’s earlier words.

“What about Frank?” “Fred.” The guard corrects you in a whisper, “Fred! Yes, not even a sign of Fred?” You can see Emery tilting his head with his mouth hung open in confusion. “Who’s Fred?” Gwen chokes out a laugh, quickly hiding it with a loud cough. You groaned loudly, rubbing your face with your palms. Sweaty and annoyed, you called for Emery to come back before he too, disappears.

Gwen squeezes your shoulder once she realizes how worried you actually were. "Hey, I'm sure they're just with Alistair." You huffed. "I told them to be here, not with Alistair." She says nothing, eyeing you worriedly. "I hope for their sake, they are with him." You sighed out before you rode to the church.

•••••

They were not with Alistair. The concern he looked at you with when you yold him that you couldn't find them, haunts you still.

You made sure the stocks were divided quickly, asking your guard of the news spread around here of the forsests and homicide tragedy that recently occured.

"The twins, Alia and Ana, both had their organs taken off, and their hair shaved. It's textbook dark magic." He exclaimed. And you agreed with his words. Witchcraft wasn't hard to spot. it's the witch, that is. "Their skin looked like it was bitten and chewed off by dogs, beasts. And that's not the worst part." He speaks in a grave tone.

"Their corpes was hung for all to see." You felt a closh shiver running down your spine. Their blood is in your hand. As a rulerr, you've failed. And now your own guards goes missing. "The air here is haunted, Alistair." You had told him after the stock dividing was done.

"There is a stench so foul, only some could smell. And an ugliness only some can see behind the faux magical looks of the forest." And yet, many times have you been in Fullmar with your father, but this time, something sinizter hasve found it's home in the city. He knew what you meant, he felt it too. "We'll camp by the church tonight, alright? We'll wait for Tristen and Fred." He pulls you into an embrace, and you ket yourself relax slightly. Whatever was to happened, you're not leaving anyone behind.

The 6 of you make camp a bit further from the church in the woods, but not in the seaforest. You made sure the spot you chose was still near to the church and streets, in case of medical emergencies.

The moon was currently making it's appearance, in replacement to the sun. The men are talking amongst eachother as they finish their portion of porridge, a fire made in the middle of your circle.

Gwen watches as you stand still by a tree, gazing out at the empty darkness, searching. She places her finished bowl by her pack before slowly pushing herself up from her crossed legged position to walk towards you. She was worried for you. The way you held yourself and your position was respectable, but how yoy deny yourself personal satisfaction and joy is harmful.

You could drive yourself to madness. You cared for your people, too much, to the point where you thought that you'd do a much better job as a queen if you cared for yourself less.

You flinched when you feel her arm on your shoulder. Somehow missing the sound of her loud footsteps meeting the noisy sound of leaves crunching together. "Princess." Your cheeks warmed at the title despite the situation. "Are you trying to cause a scene, starving yourself like this?" She scolds softly, pulling you by your arm to turn around and face her. "I can't eat when I'm too worried." You defend yourself. She raises a brow before dragging you to the circle again.

You don't fight against her, knowing that she's right. You were punishing your body for the mistakes you didn't mean to make.

But it had been 9 hours since your two guards vanished. You wonder if you had sent them to their deaths.

Emery and Yusof is singing together, a soft melody on their tongue to fill the uncomfortable silence and elephant in the room. "I thought I was going to die." Emery serenades slowly, dragging the last word. "But you taught me how to fall, before you taught me anything at all." Both he and Yusof sang.

Gwen is nodding her head to their singinv as she scoops a spoon of your porridge. "Open up." She wiggles her brows as the soon moves in a wavy motion to your mouth. "No! You're not spoonfe-" The words die at the tip of your tongue when she shoves the spoon in your talking mouth, making you swallow it by force. She grins proudly at her victory, making it hard for you to be angry at her.

You glare at her as she continues to feed you a few more times, enjoying the act of embarassing you. The group of 4 men are gently clapping their hands now, making a beat of their song. "I'll take first watch." Alistair announced. "Emery can take after me." The younger whined at that, earning a slap on his shaved head.

He meets your eyes momentarily before looking away at the same emptiness you had just gazed upon before. They're not coming.

Your eyes shut closebin frustration and painful acceptance. Gwens fingers finds yours, intertwining your cold hands and her warm ones together as she leans closer to you. "It's not your fault." She whispers in your ear. You open your eyes to stare back at her, your back against a tree. "They went there on my order." You replied, evidently.

"You didn't know what would happened, no one did." Her gand tightens on yours. "Gwen." You called out tiredly, fighting the urge to cry. "Yes?" She leans her head on your shoulder, her breathing hot in the crook of your neck. "Don't let go, please." She squeezes your fingers. "I won't."

You notice just how blue her eyes are when she's sitting this close to you. And so you fell asleep with her eye color as the last thing you thought off.

You weren't sure how long you had slept for. But when you awoke, it was still dark. You were shaken by the cold wind, jolting you up. Gwen was stuck to your arm, your fingers still intertwined.

She snores slightly, mouth slightly open whem she's dozing off into a dream. You let yourself smile at the girl clinging onto you. Out of all the things you've done wrong, trusting her hasn't been one yet, so far.

Your daydream was shooked away when a sudden sound or rusting leaves makes you flinch. You turn to your front, seeing none other than Alistair. He has his back towarfdyou as he's staring far up front. "Ali?" You called.

He stands still, voice low when he finally speaks. "Do you hear that?" You frowned. "Hear what? And how long have you been up?" He turns his face to look at you. His expression was full of the deepest fears. His hands were trembling. "I've been hearing that for an hour now, but I can't find the source." You say nothing, trying to listen to what he mentioned of.

"Come here." He beckons you in a whisper. You shook your head. "You're scaring me Alistair." He sighs. "I'm sorry, I- look, I'm serious, I heard something, but you can only hear better here." Your fingers squeezes Gwen's arm, making her mumble in her sleep. "Come on." He repeats, stretching out a hand to you. You move from your position to slowly crouch betore standing up, taking his hand.

He walks slowly to where he stood, shielding you as he walks front first, a protective hand still holding yours. "Now, listen." He whispers. And so you follow.

You try to clear your mind as best as possible, searching for the sound he told you off. And right when you were about to tell him off, you heard it. A howl. You gasped and meets his eyes. "Wolves?" You asked. He shook his head. "That's not an animalz that's human. And it's too visible to be far in the seaforest."

You understood then what he meant. "We need to see." He takes a deep breath. "I know but-" you huffed aloud. "No but, I'm going." You push off his grip on you as you stride towards the deeper parts of the woods, with only your missing guards' condition in my mind.

"Damnit, wait!" You hear Alistair curses before foorsteps were hearf getting more far from you, he was waking the others.

"Tristen? Fred?" You whisper yelled. A howl of pain, alike to a scream was heard, louder. Oh my god. You called for them again. Your hands hold onto the tree barks like walls in the dark, the trees being too tall, limiting the moon's light. You curse yourself when you accidentally tripped on a stick, hands finding a tree bark immediately. "Gods sake- Tristen!" You yelled out once more.

"Princess." You jumped at Gwen's voice. Her eyes were droopy and hair messed up, and yet as she watches you longer, her eyes beginnto widen. "Princess. " she repeats, slower. "Gwen." You breathed out in relief. "You scared me." She says nothing, eyes moving up before it remains staring above your head. Her lips quiver as she stutters out incomprehensible strings of words. "I-I heard them." You explained plainly before following the arrow her eyes pointed at.

Your body detaches itself from the tree, and a hysterical scream escapes the deepest parts of your chest and throat.

On the stealthy branches of the tree you held onto just now, were two naked men, with the middle parts of tbeir body torn open, and hung on it. Their blood smears the leafs and bark, and it drips still, falling down onto the grass. Their faces stayed intact, and you recognizes the looks of Tristen and Fred easily.

#gwen stacy fanfiction #gwen stacy x reader #spider gwen #ghost spider x reader #atsv #spiderman across the spiderverse #across the spiderverse #gwen stacy

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