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illyrianbitch · 5 months ago

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Of Our Own Devices — Part Two

For @erisweekofficial Day 2: Legacy

Pairing: Reader x Eris

Summary: Eris Vanserra carries a legacy of cruelty, a reputation forged in whispers and fear. But something doesn't quite fit anymore. You’re beginning to think that the male doesn't truly match the legend he's left behind.

Warnings: brief mentions of abuse, cruelty, injury, battling to death, introspection? like a lot, readers head is soooo big from these big thoughts

Word Count: 3.1k

did someone say eris week mini series???? technically can be read as a stand alone, just squint

Part One | Part Three

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

When Eris Vanserra was born, his mother wept in the bathroom for hours after.

Her trembling hands muffled her soft cries as her handmaidens swaddled a newborn Eris in fine cloth. Beron hadn’t been there for most of the birth—hadn’t held her hand the way her father had held her mother’s. He came only at the end, just in time to praise the heir as he left her womb, presenting him like a trophy before promptly leaving for court business.

She was still young, felt like a child herself— at least in her own mind. So, while she loved her son dearly, his birth had cemented her fate to a male she didn’t love, a male whose hands she feared more than death itself.

His mother loved him, this Eris knew. Even at a young age, he felt that love. It burned in him like a comforting flame, the same warmth as the heavy blanket she would tuck around him at night or the sunlight that seeped into his skin on warm afternoons.

And yet, even surrounded by that love, Eris grew up lonely.

His loneliness led him to finding a home in curiosity, in sticking his pointed nose into matters that often didn’t concern him, picking out small details he'd unconsciously store for later. He was a collector from the beginning—of people, of excuses, of emotions he had yet to name.

Perhaps that was why he was so sickeningly fond of you, so starkly different from the others, equally curious, equally lonely.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

It wasn't Eris who people met first.

It was his reputation.

Eldest son of the High Lord, equal parts cunning and cruel, a loyal soldier with the venom of a viper. Anguish seemed to follow him, seemed to follow any with Vanserra blood, but there was something distinct about Eris, something divinely alluring. Terrifyingly sinful.

It was all true. So you weren't sure why it bothered you so much when your patrons talked about him, when his name was thrown into conversations surrounding the High Lord.

Your family's tavern was always filled with stories. Its dimly lit, worn wooden tables had overheard more whispered secrets and slurred confessions than you could ever count. Most nights were like this, with drinks spilling over into the laps of locals, the hum of conversation swirling in the air like smoke from the hearth. Tucked in a corner of the court’s lands, it was a place for those not high enough to feast in grand halls but not low enough to beg in the streets. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was home. A comfortable middle ground.

You placed a handful foaming drinks before the three males at the bar, taking a moment to analyze their appearance. They were relatively large, muscular builds hinting at some form of laborious profession. The callouses on their hands told you that they handled weapons often. But their clothes weren't nice enough to be one of Beron's men, weren't tailored enough to be one of Eris's either. Perhaps they were border patrollers, the lowest and grimiest of the forces.

They thanked you with lingering, appraising eyes as you moved away to fetch more drinks.

“I heard,” one of the them said, leaning closer to his companions, “that the eldest boy has a new game he plays with those who cross him. A real spectacle.”

The male next to him, the oldest of the three, nodded eagerly. “They say he’s got a private arena where he forces traitors to fight each other to the death. It’s supposed to be brutal—nothing but blood and screams. And Eris just sits there, like it’s a grand show.”

You clenched your teeth, turning around to face the wall behind you, forcing yourself to attend to the pile of glasses waiting to be wiped down. You tried to focus on your task, hoping to drown out their disturbing conversation, but it was no use. You could feel your grip tightening on the material of the rag, knuckles white as they continued to talk, their voices growing louder and louder with every drink they took.

It was a lie. A rumor. Nothing more.

Yes, Eris was cruel. He was manipulative and calculated. But you'd seen slivers of something else, something brighter, kinder, even. While you believed that a male should face the consequences of his actions, there was no honor in perpetuating lies that simply weren’t true.

It made no sense, anyway. Eris had done plenty of questionable things. There were multitudes of actions to choose from, many things worthy of criticism. There was no need to indulge in falsehoods. The image they painted of Eris—a male reduced to a sadistic spectator in a grotesque spectacle—seemed far removed even from him.

“A grand show?” the third scoffed. “He’s not just watching. He’s placing bets on who’ll survive, like it’s some sick sport. It’s all for his amusement. I’ve heard he gets pleasure out of the carnage. Let's his hounds ravage the bodies.”

A knot tightened in your chest and you gripped the glassware harder, cloth bunching in your grasp. Before you could register the motion yourself, you spun around, the movement abrupt enough to make the males flinch.

"You have no idea what you're talking about," you sneered. The males stiffened, large angry eyes boring into yours. You continued. "Bold of you to traverse around spreading rumors of a High Lord's son. Be grateful he isn't around to correct you himself."

You blinked, the anger draining away as quickly as it had surged, leaving a wave of embarrassment in its place. You took in the male’s faces—initially stunned, then quickly morphing into anger. It was an expected reaction from those who felt their pride wounded, especially from males who had just been scolded by a low-court fae like yourself.

You straightened, trying to regain your composure as you cleared your throat.

The largest of the men leaned forward, his eyes narrowing with a sneer. “Well, well, boys,” he drawled, his voice dripping with disdain. “I think our pretty little bartender might be one of the Princeling’s whores.”

You weighed your options as you stood there, hand still gripping the glass. For a fleeting moment, you were tempted to shatter it over his head. The thought of the glass breaking, of the shards embedding themselves in his skin, was almost satisfying.

But you didn't. Your father would be angry, would be disappointed above all. You needed the business.

You took a deep breath and your grip on the glass loosened.

“Allow me to apologize,” you said. “It seems I’m more sensitive about our court’s reputation than I realized. I don’t know what came over me. How about a round on the house?”

Their faces shifted to smug satisfaction as they accepted the offer with eager grins and, soon, their cups were filled once more. As they happily downed their next round of drinks, you slipped out from behind the bar.

The door’s bell chimed softly as you stepped outside, itching to find the heir that was imprinted into your mind.

Strangely enough, you knew exactly where he'd be.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

You found him in a clearing south of The Forest House, an expansive area bathed in the warm light of the afternoon sun. It was a dedicated space for the hounds, adorned in various obstacles that Eris used during their training—wooden jumps, tunnels, and agility courses set up with careful precision. You'd seen the area of land a handful of times before, times when Lucien found Eris to argue or hurl curses.

You approached carefully, watching as Eris kneeled by one of the hounds, gently tending to what seemed to be a cut on its paw.

After a moment, he finally looked up, his gaze meeting yours. The corners of his mouth quirked upwards and a playful glint manifested in his eyes.

"Even after all these years, a vixen without a fox at her side is still a strange sight."

You gritted your teeth, taking a deep breath as your eyes roamed the face of the male before you.

It was an unnecessary jab.

Lucien hadn’t been by your side for centuries now. Though you had visited him as often as you could, the friendship you once shared had changed. He had changed. You had, too. You'd grown into your life at Autumn—managing the tavern that bore your family’s name and living vicariously through the stories that came your way.

The last time you had seen Lucien was marked by a change. You'd looked into his eyes and somehow understood that things were different beyond what had been anticipated.

"Why do you do that?" You asked. "Be a dick when you don't need to be?"

Eris stood, brushing his hands clean as the hound trotted away to rejoin the rest. He narrowed his eyes at you for a moment, a scrutinizing, analyzing moment. Then he offered you a shrug, something so casual and dismissive. You were sure it would've warded off anyone else, that his disinterestedness would have begun to tired them already, turn them the other way.

"Maybe it's part of my charm," he finally responded, "Or maybe I'm just a dick."

He made no attempt to hide the amusement in his voice as he emphasized your insult. Eris had been called many things— you'd heard them, even delivered a few of the titles. But so far, you were the only one to call him two things: a dick, and a prick. Perhaps it was delusion, but you swore that he seemed to enjoy it when you said such things, seemed to smirk in a way that wasn't just cruel, but impressed.

You rolled your eyes. "Most wouldn't wear that title with such pride."

He narrowed his eyes for a moment, the corners of his lips twitching upwards. "What's the use in denying my nature?"

You sighed, a sound of frustration, of annoyance. "Do you not grow bored of your little games?"

Eris rolled his shoulders and straightened his back. He always had immaculate posture, his stature was often so perfect that it was almost uncomfortable to witness. It emphasized his wealth, somehow— emphasized his power. He towered over you even more now.

"Did you seek me out solely to criticize me?"

You bit the inside of your cheek. "No."

"Then why?"

You still weren't entirely sure why you had come.

"Perhaps I was bored."

Eris raised an eyebrow. "Do you not have any friends?"

You bristled. "I have plenty." You paused, allowing your gaze to settle on the view before you, on the open land and the animals that in the open expanse. You turned back to Eris. "It's you that doesn't seem to have any. Your only companionship recently seems to be those hounds. I'm surprised you're not running on all fours."

Eris's expression shifted. He let out a small chuckle and you fought against the twitch in your lips, cursed the warmth that blossomed in your chest. But the amusement dissipated from his face soon after, replaced be a resolve of cold indifference. His eyes seemed tired in this light.

"As much as I…enjoy our little talks," He began after a moment, "I didn't ask for company. You should find someone who wants it."

A small sense of rejection passed through your skin like a cold, morning chill. You were never foolish enough to think Eris would welcome your presence with open arms and a smile, never naive enough to consider yourself anything more than semi-peaceful acquaintances. But still, there was something deep within you that wished he’d show you something beyond the disregard he showed others.

That wasn't a fool's wish— because you knew it was possible.

You'd seen it.

Strangely enough, you had. In the stolen glances when he thought no one was looking, how he lingered after you stumbled, offered a hand before quickly retracting it. There had been flowers at your door after your mother passed of Autumn fever, an unusual number of wealthy patrons who had frequented your father’s tavern for months afterward, tipping generously despite only having a drink or two. They all adorned attire of a specific, deep green that you’d come to recognize easily—the shade often worn by Eris’s personal guard.

His name was never attached to any of it, but you could trace it back to him. You'd always wondered why he'd never taken credit, never basked in somehow proving your presumptions about him wrong.

Twenty-nine year old you, freshly bonded to Lucien after he'd stumbled across your father's tavern, would be shocked that centuries later, she'd be spending more time alongside his cruel brother than Lucien himself.

You’d had an image of Eris back then—an image painted by Lucien’s words. It was accurate, to an extent. You never doubted your best friend’s judgment, never questioned the stories of cruelty and ambition that followed Eris like a shadow. He had, indeed, made Lucien suffer. There were reasons he disliked his brothers so deeply, reasons you knew were valid.

But you were curious by nature, always craving to understand things deeply, intricately. And Eris Vanserra called to you like a riddle from an ancient tale—dangerous, alluring, and impossible to ignore.

Above all else, you wanted answers. Throughout the years, Eris had never called upon your bargain, never asked for a favor, never even mentioned the price you’d paid for that first visit with Lucien. Not once.

It unnerved you.

"I don't understand you," you said, without realizing the words had fallen from your lips.

You hadn't intended on voicing it so blatantly. You weren't quite sure how Eris would respond, how he would interpret your words. It was a tossup, really, between a snarky response or something condescending, something to make you feel silly, naive.

Silence.

Eris shifted, turning his body to look out into the horizon before him.

"Not everything in life is meant to be understood."

You paused.

Eris was complicated. Unfortunately for you, you loved complicated. It wasn't boring. It made you think, made you wonder. You gravitated towards the eldest Vanserra more often than you'd like to admit. It was easier now, you decided, since Lucien's watchful eye wasn't around. He didn't have to witness your betrayal first hand, didn't have to see as you attempted to find something in his brother. You weren't sure what that something was, but you were certain you were searching for it. You had been for years.

"That's not true. I can understand things if I try hard enough."

Eris played idly with the rings on his hands. "You set yourself up for disappointment, Vixen," he said to the empty air before him, not turning to look at you. "Why does everything need to have a deeper meaning?"

You studied his face further. Noting the lines etched around his eyes and the set of his jaw. He was beautiful. You weren’t one to deny it—all of the Vanserras were. But where Lucien had been handsome, radiating a gentle charm that made you blush with every lingering gaze, Eris was more akin to the sharp edge of the season’s chill—striking, with an air of regal severity. His amber eyes alone seemed to hold the crisp, unyielding essence of autumn itself—beautiful, but not without its bite.

"It doesn't need to," you replied. "But it often does. I think details are important."

He didn't respond as he turned to face you. You glanced up at him, his eyes fixed on yours with an intensity that seemed almost tangible.

"You've never lied to me," you stated. It was a statement more than it was a question.

"No," Eris replied.

His gaze didn't waver. You were almost impressed that you'd managed to hold his stare for so long. No one had ever looked at you like this before—so deeply, so penetrating. You understood now how his mere gaze could make people crumble, understood the rumors of how he only took his partners from behind, how he never made eye contact.

You pushed away the burning thoughts that arose.

"Is it true?" Your gaze bounced around his face. "Do you force your traitors to fight for your amusement? Place bets on them like animals?"

Eris's eyes flickered with something dark, but he didn't move.

"Do you think it is?" he countered.

You shook your head. You were certain of your answer, but you needed to hear his. "No. I don't."

The corner of his mouth twitched upward, and he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. "Then it’s not," he said simply.

His expression revealed nothing more as you scanned his face. He didn't seem startled by your question, didn't seem confused at the context. He was aware of the rumors, of the stories circulating like the last morsels of food at a feast—passed around, savored, and eagerly consumed.

"It doesn't bother you? That these lies exist?"

A hint of confusion crossed his features, as if the question itself was somewhat absurd.

"Why would it?"

You blinked, momentarily retracting into yourself.

As a hound trotted up to Eris, his attention shifted. He crouched down, meeting the beast at its level. The gentle manner with which the hound regarded him, the affection in its eyes, stirred something inside you, deep within your gut. Your father had always said that a male’s nature could be understood through how animals responded to him.

Eris clearly cared for his hounds, and they, in turn, cared for him.

You found yourself wondering if, deep down, Eris was ever troubled by his reputation.

Lucien always had been.

He cursed the blood than ran through his veins, spent every moment trying to prove himself to be better than the legacy of his family— he did everything he could to avoid the curse of a wicked kin.

But then there was the male before you.

Eris, the rightful heir and firstborn son, was different.

You had always assumed he was bestowed with the legacy of the kingdom, that he was born for the role of High Lord, eagerly embracing the title and its accompanying glory. He seemed built for it, seemed to thrive under its weight.

You watched as more hounds approached him, watched as they surrounded him like a loyal fleet.

Could it be possible, you thought, that perhaps it wasn't all gifted. That it was possible Eris was burdened with the legacy of a Court?

You realized, then, that you'd never truly acknowledged that what he had become allowed for a kinder brother to grow in his wake.

The thoughts came faster, hazy, so many that your vision began to blur. It all made you itch, made you uncomfortable, made you overwhelmed and desperate for more.

None of this felt right.

You stared at Eris for a few more moments. When he stood up straight once more, about to turn toward you, you turned and ran to your horse.

You could feel his stare burning into you as you left.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

reader panicking when she has deep intellectual thoughts about sexy man as he tends for his dogs. shes so me fr

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lirotation · 7 months ago

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This set is done =D

Putting it together with a fanfic.

Dancing Across Faerûn

Spawn Astarion X Female Tav, fluff. Post game, on the journey to search for a cure.

The aged tome lay open before Amaara. She leaned in, squinting to make out the faded text as the nights blurred together. A promising lead at last began to take shape...

Suddenly, familiar arms encircled her from behind as Astarion's chin came to rest on the top of her head. "Still poring over those dusty books, my dear?" he purred, "It's well past time you retired for the evening."

Amaara waved him off distractedly. "In a moment. I'm so close to..."

Astarion turned her chair around, “Oh, no, eyes on me.”

With a sly wink, he began to unbutton his shirt with exaggerated slowness. Amaara's eyes widened as she realized his intent. Piece by piece, his clothing puddled to the floor until he stood gloriously nude before her.

Then, as only he could, Astarion launched into an impromptu lap dance - swaying his hips and running his hands over his body in a practiced routine that would surely make even the most experienced courtesan blush.

By the time he finished by straddling Amaara's lap and crushing his lips to hers in a searing kiss, any thought of research had completely evacuated her mind. She could only gaze at him with a mixture of desire and exasperated fondness as he broke the kiss with a self-satisfied smirk.

"Bed. Now," Astarion commanded with a husky growl.

"Only if you teach me how to dance like that."

“It’s too advanced for you just yet, my pupil, let's continue your lesson for the horizontal dance first.”

Amaara couldn't help but laugh, even as she allowed him to tug her to her feet.

She knew she had a tendency of being single-minded, rushing headlong into everything as if it were a critical mission. An intense focus that had served her well in battle, but often caused her to neglect the simpler pleasures in life.

She was grateful to have Astarion by her side. He was full of life. His very presence was a reminder to occasionally pause and truly savor the journey they were on together - not just endure it.

There were the inevitable hardships of life on the road - long days of hard travel, scratching out camps in the wilderness, and more than a few close brushes with dangerous beasts and unsavory folk. But those challenges seemed insignificant compared to the wealth of fond memories.

Amaara's mind drifted back to the spectacle of their first stop in Waterdeep, where Astarion had effortlessly charmed them into one of the city's most exclusive noble's balls. She could still see the look of devilish glee on his face as he bowed deeply and offered his hand. "My lady, would you honor me with this dance?"

Who was she to refuse such gallantry? With an elegant curtsy, she had taken his hand and allowed him to whisk her into a waltz amid the candlelight and champagne.

For once, she just enjoyed the moment and the swirl of the dance.

Sometimes their travels found them staying in decidedly lower-end dwellings. Amaara vividly recalled one particular evening at a rather disreputable brothel.

She had been casting cleanse spells on everything in the room when the raucous sounds of music and laughter filtered up from the lobby below.

Before she knew it, Astarion was at her side, eyes gleaming with mischief. He grasped her by the wrist, flashing that irresistible smirk. "Shall we dance, my dear?"

Amaara tried to pull back with an awkward laugh. "Oh, I couldn't possibly. I don't know the steps..."

But he simply tsked, refusing to release his gentle grip as he tugged her toward the door. "Then you'll follow my lead."

She didn't have a chance to protest further before he swept her into the rowdy fray below. courtesans and patrons spun energetically to the driving beat. Before Amaara could catch her breath, Astarion pulled her in close, one arm snaking possessively around her waist.

Then, they were moving - his hips rolling sinuously against hers as he guided her into the smoldering rhythms of a tango. She could only gaze up at him, wide-eyed and flustered, as he led her through the heated, intimate steps.

His eyes burned into hers with a look that made her heart flutter. One calloused hand traced tingling lines up the curve of her spine as he dipped her into a deep backbend, bodies melding together. By the time he drew her backup, chest heaving, Amaara's face was flushed bright crimson.

The memory of that dance, of being so utterly undone in his arms, still brought a fierce blush to her cheeks.

Amaara's mind drifted to another fond memory - this one taking place in a small town they had passed through. The townsfolk were in the midst of some local celebration, gathered in the square as lively folk music spilled out into the streets.

She had always harbored a secret longing to join in the kind of unbridled communal dancing she witnessed, but had never had anyone to dance with. This time, however, she turned eagerly to Astarion with an huge grin.

"Oh, will you dance with me, please?" she asked, giving his arm a playful tug. "I've wanted to take part in one of these since I was a little girl."

Astarion raised one elegant eyebrow, “How unsophisticated.” Before her smile faded, he continued, “but how could I refuse such an earnest plea?”

He seized her hand and led them out into the swirling dancers and began leading her through a series of joyfully choreographed turns and circles.

Soon they were whirling amid the crowd, all cares forgotten in that moment. Amaara couldn't resist throwing back her head with a pearl of unfettered laughter, brown locks bouncing freely.

When she turned her bright smile back toward Astarion, she was surprised to find him chuckling as well. His deep crimson eyes sparkled with mirth, face awash in an unguarded expression of pure delight she didn't often see him wear.

Amaara's wandering mind was abruptly pulled back to the present as Astarion rolled them over, pinning her to the bed with his weight. His lips found hers in a deep, searching kiss that made her toes curl.

When they finally broke apart, breathless, she gazed up at him. This passionate lover, this mentor who had taught her to seize life's pleasures with unbridled zeal - had once been subjected to centuries of unspeakable torture and abuse. The fact that he did not merely survive that unimaginable hardship, but emerged with his radiant lust for living defiantly intact, left Amaara in awe.

She nuzzled her face into the crook of his neck, breathing in his intoxicating scent. Despite the dark horrors he had endured, despite the vampiric curse inflicted upon him, Astarion still embraced each new day as a precious gift. His rich laughter rang out freely and without restraint - the most triumphant of melodies after the dissonance of his past. To him, the scenery unfolding with every winding mile was worthwhile in itself. Each experience, no matter how small, was relished and savored to its fullest.

He is living proof that no burden, no matter how oppressive, could extinguish the indomitable essence of the soul.

Yes, they are on a mission, but there will be no frantic marching or single-minded zeroing toward the end goal. Instead, they will dance every step of the journey, spinning wildly through every rise and fall of the Realms.

#astarion #astarion fanfic #astarion fanart #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #tavstarion #astarion fluff #astarion romance #amaara ashvale #illustration #my art

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vigilante24ish · 3 months ago

Text

🌙 Moon Phases 🌙

Agatha Harkness X Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1652

Chapter 38:

"Time to finish The Road. We are one trial closer to the big score!" She exclaimed and started to lead, making you all follow her down the path.

"Earth magic with no Green Witch." Jen reminded Agatha, since Rio had gone to do her duty and left them behind.

"We're back to square one." Billy agreed.

Agatha rolled her eyes. "Oh, there's plenty of overlap between Earth and Potions, right, Jenny Kale?"

Jen bit back a sarcastic remark. "Some."

"Please. Your last name is a vegetable. Worst kind," Agatha said, reverting back to mean unnecessary comments. "Plus, we have Sugar over here. One extra set of hands. Oh, and don't look at her like that; she is more capable than you think, " she continued, focusing on you.

She even went as far as to slow down so you could catch up with her; only to pinch your cheeks in a playful manner.

At that moment, though, you clearly did not share her humour or her fake optimistic side. You grabbed her wrist and gently lowered her hand away from your cheeks.

"Ags," you called out her name, in a tone she knew too well.

You were catching up to her facade, and her fake smile disappeared. She did not like it when you were using that tone, expecting she would confess what was on her mind.

Sometimes Agatha did that, but right now, those things were the last thing she wanted to think of. And so, she continued on; not truly caring what kind of image she was giving to the others.

She knew in the end, you would never hate her or walk away; and Billy needed her to find his brother. So she had the two of you secured.

Now, if Jen chose to be upset and offended, she didn't care. She was just... Jen.

"I have to be honest," Agatha continued agter giving the small group a dramatic pause. "I'm surprised you survived this long, Kale. My money was on Lilia."

You chose to put your foot down at that moment. No matter how annoying Jen could and had proven to be, that did not mean she deserved to be attacked that way.

"Agatha, enough. This is not the time for comparisons or disrespecting the dead," you commented, making her stop in her tracks. "Show some respect cause we are only here because of Lilia's sacrifice."

Especially when she was still mourning, perhaps being the only member to truly care for Lilia's loss. Cause let's ve honest, Billy never truly came close or cared that much.

And you... well, you hadn't truly bonded with anyone cause you didn't want to. You knew they might die. They might turn on you on the road, and you were strictly there for Agatha.

One last chance to stand by her side for good this time and not let her slip through your fingers, unknown when and if she would return back to you.

But you had failed in that initial plan. All because you had started to warm up to a lost boy with hidden potential under the name of Billy Maximoff.

Agatha fought to keep that fake bitchy smirk and not react to your words. She expected you to comment once in a while, since you akwys did, but to go against her so strongly? So often?

She was not sure she liked that. Perhaps she had been away from you too much, and you had forgotten... forgotten the rules she had laid for you. Rules you had obediently followed.

She would have to change that when this would be all over. You had been astray from the path for too long, but she was not going to let you continue that way, especially with Rio so keen on entering your life and being part of it.

Agatha cleared her throat, controlling her thoughts. "Come on, Sugar. Cheer up!" She said, putting on a mask once again. "What fresh horrors await us! It's's the big finish, so close to us!"

She started to walk again, trying to keep her moon by being dramatic; talking of fireworks and spectacles and.... she tripped..

However, it was what she tripped on that surprised all of you.

"Our shoes." You exclaimed and moved to investigate, ensure your eyes were nor deceiving you.

Much to your surprise and even slight horror, those were your shoes. They were nicely tucked and placed where you all had removed and left them. When you had first started the Road.

It felt as if it had been too long since that took place, while it may as well been a few hours; perhaps a day.

Only then did you truly realize how time disoriented you all had been. How you had almost forgotten where you were and when you started, feeling so much longer than it truly was.

"We're back where we started." Jen realized but did not dare to approach the shoes any closer, as she was reminded of the witches that died before; whose shoes were the only reminders of them left.

"The Witches' Road is a circle. And this is the finish line?" Billy questioned, looking at you and Agatha; since you were the last and only ones to survive the road.

Or so you claimed.

Agatha had the strongest reaction to everything, clearly upset by the sight. She had been through so much in the past few trials, especially that damn spirit trial.

She had been humiliated, trickef, trialled, tired, and by the gods had her patience be tested.

"That's it?" She exclaimed, anger bubbling within her, mimicking a volacon about to erupt or a tsunami ready to sink a whole country with one hit. "That's it?!" She yelled, glaring at the sky at whatever entity our there might be watching and most likely mocking them.

"Well, maybe we passed the trial." Billy suggested, trying to be the optimist in the group and calm down Agatha from pulling her own hair or finding a way to set the whole place in flames.

Agatha turned her head to look at him, her face hard. "Then how exactly do we get off?" She asked rhetorically.

Of course, Billy didn't realize it and tried to anseer it. "Well, maybe we..." she didn't let him finish.

"If you don't know, then keep quiet."

Billy bit his tongue, feeling his own anger flaring up as once again he was treated with so much disrespect; it was ending up to become both annoying and tiring.

"We keep going." Agatha suddenly suggested.

"What?" Jen and Billy exclaimed while you stared at your lover, trying to make sure you heard her correctly.

"We go again. It'll work the second time." She explained, trying to sound certain, but everyone could see that she was not convincing enough.

"Ags, this won't work, and you know it," you said, trying to be the one and get her both to listen and calm down.

Your lover simply pushed her hair off her shoulder. "Of course it will. We have nothing to lose"

Before you could argue or reason with her, Jen interfered; though this time she had a very valid point.

"There is absolutely zero chance, I'm m going to endure that experience again." She said snd you silently agreed with her.

The trials have have exhausting and if by some twisted turn of fate you had to endure them again... you were not ready.

No matter the answers that might be the same, you could also not pass through that again; let alone so soon.

As the three witches argued, with Jen and Agatha being the loudest and you caught in the middle; Billy chose to act.

He was also tired from everything, and he wanted to just be done. He wanted to find Tommy, have his answers, and return to his civilian life. It might not be truly his, but it was a stable thing in his life that didn't consist of backstabbing, people dying, and lies being told so often they mixed with the truth.

"We took them off out of respect for The Road." He started as he stood in front of his shoes and grabbed one . "Screw The Road." And with those words, he put his shoe on.

Yet in that exact moment... he disappeared from sight.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sudden disappearance made the three of you gasp in surprise, none expecting it to happen. Worse was the fact that you didn't know where he went and if what he did was the right choice or the one leading him to his doom.

"So, what do we do know?" Jen dared to ask and look at you and Agatha.

You exchanged a look with your lover, first time sering this. You were unsure of what you should truly do, let alone what you might experience next.

Yet the more you remained in that annoying creepy lurking forest. The more you were reminded of your limited choices and the fact that you had come back to the beginning... the more certain you were of what to do.

Worse case scenario, you were kicked off the Road or killed. Both of those theories felt so much better within your hearts, than spending a minute longer on this hellish road.

"Time to wear our shoes," Agatha said and went first, disappearing as soon as she put her shoes on.

This left you and Jen to exchange a look, your fellow witch clearly not thrilled with the idea and not fully confident that this was the right choice.

She did not want to take any more risks. It was too stressful.

"Not much of a choice," you said, doing a not so good effort in sounding reassuring.

She watched you head for your shoes and put them on, the sight of her watching you the last thing you saw before your vision turned black.

Chapter 39

#agatha all along #agatha x reader #agatha harkness x reader #moon phases fanfic #agatha fanfic #marvel #kathryn hahn #aubrey plaza #agatha harkness #agatha spoilers #lesbian

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kedsandtubesocks · 6 months ago

Text

blood on your name

Cowboy!Ezra x F!Reader

summary: Texas 1885 - the town’s ranching competition brings in new souls out from the desert, one unfortunately happens to be a ghost haunting you & he’s still as handsome and dangerous as ever

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY. MDNI, old Wild West AU, slight enemies to lovers, very morally!gray Ezra, fingering, oral (f receiving), pussy pronouns, one moment of spit kink, allusions to p in v, scoundrel but soft!Ezra, themes of violence & reader enacting violence on another, use of guns, blood & injury, morally!gray reader, time period views of marriage & shaming women (brief use of derogatory terms against reader), minor character deaths, light gender language usage, use of nicknames

word count: 7.2k

a/n: here’s to finally putting my 7th grade tx history lessons to some use plus I’ve been really missing west texas so here we are lol! Fun history fact - Pecos prides itself as the birth place of the rodeo so this competition is the inception of that! It took me a while to get here & this truly wouldn’t be here without @gasolinerainbowpuddles @julesonrecord & @perotovar i can’t thank you babes enough, and to you, if you decide to read this too, thank you so much ♡

The newcomers that blew into town stand around the edge of the fence.

Pecos had become famous for hosting this rope wrangling event, and you’re not surprised it’s brought others in to observe the spectacle. Just last week it seemed like more wagons wandered into the edge of town.

You’ve been living here among the desert’s harsh eyes with your aunt for a few years now. When your mother unleashed her wrath after she found you with an unmarried man who had drifted into town, you fled with the caravan heading out west. So far west it brought you to the Pecos River. You’re thankful your aunt welcomed you with open arms. The desert proved to be a harsh host. But you’ve managed.

The actual event in town wasn’t taking place until the end of the week. Except so many already want to see the cowboys proudly warming up, showing off.

It’s why you even stop on your way home from the tailor shop.

Duke Williams currently tries his hand at practicing. The handsome young star all the way from Austin shows promise while he maneuvers his threadbare rope with ease.

He lands a solid catch against one of the practice sheep running around, and the crowd claps already impressed.

His bright face, angelic almost, brightens when he smiles triumphantly. When he spots you among the on looks, he beams even wider. You smile back politely.

However, Martha, the mayor’s youngest daughter, nudges you.

“I don’t know why you haven’t let that man swoop you up yet?” She giggles with a slight tease however, her words sting.

Duke’s been pursuing you ever since he came into town last spring. He reminds you of a newly built chapel, lovely coated in pristine and full of holy hope.

Yet, you don’t care for him.

You understand you should be married by now. Especially at your age, you’re becoming a dusting antique on the shelf by the town’s whispers. You even understood your mothers anger after discovering the man she caught you with had simply scurried away without another word.

Everyone in town seems to see Duke almost as your god blessed savior on a white horse sent to rescue you from a desolate destitution.

But you don’t hold any sense of attraction towards Duke. Even as you watch how handsome and sturdy he looks, a fierce cowboy among the other competitors, you simply admire his skills. And that’s it.

You wonder if you’re simply destined to the life of a happily secluded cactus like creature.

Something tickles against your skin, a sensation of being hyper aware of being caught in another’s gaze. Living in the desert has brought you a heightened awareness to make sure no critters lurking among can strike you.

So your eyes flicker around and find the crowd still enthralled by the sight of the cowboys.

Until you find one man isn’t.

One of the newcomers.

Sun kissed skin, an absolutely striking hawkish nose, sparse facial hair and then, the deepest dark earth eyes you’ve ever seen stare straight at you. The dusty black cowboy hat he wears casts a strange shadow across his features, cloaking him almost sinister.

Your breath hitches fast like it’s stolen from you.

You know this stranger.

One of the other newcomers nudges against him drawing his attention away from you. But your face stays stuck on him.

The men discuss with each other low and close, clustered together like a pack of desert weeds sprouting fast.

Except after the mystery outsider relays something back to the group, his eyes flicker back to you.

There’s a simmered wildness to him.

The commotion of spurs clinking comes and so many giggle around you, drawing your attention away.

Duke moves towards you with a shining grin on his face.

A desire to scurry away tugs at you. So with a polite smile, you silently duck away and decide to head home.

“Hey! Why ya leaving so soon?” He calls out. “Did you see me?”

His voice is so bright but also, so slightly arrogant, as if he can maybe keep you from leaving.

“Yes, you were incredible.” You’re truthful in your words.

Thankfully the others all around begin greedily vying for his attention.

As you turn to head home, that strange itch crawls over you again. Someone’s watching you.

So glancing around you think it must be Duke, but his attention is preoccupied.

However, it’s the handsome black cowboy hat stranger who again blatantly stares so direct at you.

A moment passes of you simply staring back at him.

However you break the contact first, needing to head home. But the entire way you sense his eyes blazing a hole on your back.

By the time you hit the edge of town towards your aunt’s cabin, the day creeps into early evening.

Above, vultures circle around high. However… there isn’t any sign of decay nearby.

- ☾𖤓 -

Your walk towards the tailor shop passes by the large stretch of land where the cowboys practice. Duke cries out your name excited. Politely you turn to greet him good morning only to find he’s not alone.

Other cowboys of course have come to wrestle in their skills. One of them surprises you.

The man you saw a few days ago is here.

His deep midnight eyes flicker to you immediately. That handsome face of his stays entirely composed.

Duke rattles on about his day. Yet you pay no attention as the new cowboy has stolen all your focus. The black cowboy hat he wears is dusty, weathered, and for some reason, you feel as if it both does and doesn’t suit him.

Duke chirps out your name again. Apologizing, you blame your dazed attention on lack of sleep.

Your night has been restless

“Hope ol’ lady Julie isn’t working y’too hard at the tailor shop.” He grins boyish and charming.

“Oh, Duke.” A smooth twang of a voice floats out. Waltzing in besides the cowboy, the newcomer arrives.

“You didn’t tell me your bird was so lovely.” His voice is curled with a smile and his voice, a deep drawl, draws an acidic venom in your mouth.

“I’m not his bird.” You politely reply.

“Not yet.” Duke adds warm, shy. But that only causes your stomach to squirm even more.

“Name’s Ezra, dear honeysuckle.” The newcomer introduces himself with a tip of his hat.

You nod back quietly giving him your name.

“Ezra came for the competition, traveled all this way just to try his hand at it!” Duke, ever the competitor, explains excited for the new competition.

Your eyes unfortunately stay on the newcomer rider.

Compared to Duke, Ezra’s frame is lithe. Then again, Duke with his incredibly tall stature is built like a terrifying boulder. Ezra’s broad shoulders and his striking sleek build makes you think of a river, fluid yet quietly powerful.

As unfortunately handsome as he is, his frame does not seem like a cowboy’s build.

Instead he reminds you of the traveling con man you once knew.

Duke continues rattling on and on about how proud he is to show off the town and this event.

You however hate the way Ezra’s eyes still on you make your skin tighten.

Excusing yourself with a soft nod, wishing them both well, you return on your way to the seamstress. Your body burns the entire way.

The day goes by slowly at the shop. After working on a few ruined blouses, Julie, the elderly shop owner, keeps you busy with tidying up. When the sun starts setting, the door clings open, and you wonder who’s coming in so late.

Ezra saunters in, and your throat tightens.

“Welcome in, newcomer!” Julie greets with a grandmotherly grace. “What can we do for you, good sir?”

Ezra smiles with all the charm of a gilded cactus.

“Seems I am in need of a new stitch for these gloves of mine.” Ezra explains pulling out worn gloves.

Leather frayed along the straps speak of the weathered and worn attention they’ve been given. But they seem too big for his hands. You even swear you’ve seen them before on his old business partner. But you don’t want to think too much on it.

Good dear sweet Julie chatters with the man. You simply stay quiet, not even turning to greet or address him.

You don’t even work on his gloves, deciding to let Julie handle them.

You even hide out in the back room, not even listening to when Ezra leaves.

Julie ends up heading home, and you’re left to close up. The sun sets a dusty fading apricot against the shadow of the tailor shop.

As you pass by the alleyway, suddenly you’re handed into the dark shadows. You’re about to scream, maybe even yelp, until a hand goes flying across your face, silencing you.

“Now now, pidge, don’t need you making too much of a holler.” Ezra.

Anger seethes in you, boiling. Violently and with a harsh yank, you tear yourself away from his grasp. You’re almost tempted to storm away.

“Didn’t think I’d ever be graced by your beauty again. That mother of yours still got that shotgun she threatened me with?” He smoothly asks with the amount of dangerous charm a rattlesnake would carry.

“What? This your last attempt at selling that watered down snake oil you call elixirs and tonics?” You snap back razor sharp.

When you first met Ezra, which now feels like lifetimes ago, he was a smooth talking traveling salesman. A drifter, as your mother so harshly called him.

Instead of the cowboy hat he wears now, he looked more stately in his bowler type cap.

He charmed so many of the women in town, trying to sell them the secrets to youth, vitality, beauty, and anything else he could promise in his elixir vials. You however, were not interested, saw right through his ruse.

Though, you realize now you were just as foolish as the others in town rapidly buying his lies. Because you had been just as charmed and fooled as they were.

This man, who’s sharp wit intrigued you, who spoke to you as an equal, became so dangerous because you were willing to give him everything.

Your heart, your body - all of you should have been reserved for your husband. Instead you freely gave everything to this thief.

The swindler swore he would take you with him, make you his wife. But when your mother’s fury came, he fled like a petrified jackrabbit.

You suppose he is more coyote than jackrabbit, greedily stealing anything he can then sneakily moving on.

Ezra’s composed grin on his face flickers, like all the history resting between you and him resurfaces within him.

“Didn’t you hear, pidgeon? My elixirs were plundered. Even my poor partner, god rest his dear soul, was shot down in cold blood!” Ezra explains with sorrow.

You had heard about that. At the edge of town, on the dirt road leading out into the hills, one of the sheriff’s found the large carriage and Ezra’s associate dead. The carriage crashed, run off the road. The damage screamed of the work of bandits. However, Ezra was nowhere to be found.

“I’m just supposed to believe you miraculously made it out of there alive?” You narrow your eyes suspiciously.

You don’t want to say it, but your instincts twist dangerously in your stomach. You wonder if Ezra did the deed himself, killed his partner and took the valuables.

Ezra shrugs sheepishly.

“That’s the way the desert works, honeysuckle. It’s a harsh landscape that only protects those who can survive its wrath.”

You forgot how much he spoke like a preacher sometimes, so elevated and otherworldly. You hate how badly your heart races just being this close to him again, hearing his voice again.

“So you’re telling me you came all the way here just to try your hand at the competition? Never even seen you ride, much less thrown a rope. Can’t imagine a con-man like you being a cowboy.” You reply skeptical.

He barks a laugh. “You'd be surprised. I’m a man composed of many unrevealed talents.”

You knew that very well.

Cautiously, treading like he’s approaching a mountain lion, Ezra steps closer to you. Out of instinct you step backwards closer to the other shop beside the tailors.

“Now don’t tell me you’re pondering the idea of telling everyone about my past life, pidge?” His voice is low, calm but brewing like an approaching storm.

“Because it pains me just imagining the repercussions that could arise if ya did.” He mutters, and your throat gets tight.

There's an underlying threat below his words.

Fiercely, stubbornly, you glare at him, refusing to speak. But you know you won’t say anything. He must know it too. You’ve left your past far back at home. And you don’t want him reviving your ghosts either.

Suddenly the back of Ezra’s hand gingerly, barely touching your skin, grazes against your cheek. He whispers out your name.

“The years out here have made you bloom, like a beautiful desert petal.” He mumbles with hazed eyes.

Out of spite you snap your face away and scowl even harder at him.

“I have to get home.” You snap angrily, managing to finally remove yourself from him.

“The motel houses me for the time being,” he declares from behind in the shadows.

“Unless that blonde Galahad cowboy of yours is keeping your bed warm now?” Ezra adds almost amused.

Rage bursts a furious fire in you, and it consumes you in its heated path.

“Rot in hell.” You snarl whipping back to him.

“As long as you keep me company, beautiful.” Ezra replies coy.

You’re about to curse his soul when he stomps towards you, fast and steady. His hand flings to your face, pulls you back to the shadow of the tailor shop.

He kisses you with the fierce intensity of a sudden dust storm. It even shakes your soul, spins you around, as if you were caught in an actual twister.

He tastes like the faint hints of a cigar, but something still so deliciously sinful and him. Your knees want to buckle when he easily slips his tongue inside and immediately coaxes his against yours.

You whimper, don’t even realize he’s maneuvered you to the wall of the shop, until your back gently hits the cool wood building.

It’s like your body is imprinted to his, completely answering his call, willingly and wanting to be closer to him while your hands clutch at his broad shoulders.

His body pins you firm against the building, and already he grinds his hips into you.

Then the laughter nearby bursts the bubble, snaps your attention clear.

You scramble and rapidly shove Ezra away. You don’t say another word and simply walk away.

However your lips continue to sting, as if bitten by a bee. Your hands ache empty like they’re missing the presence of his body in their grasp.

You can’t fall for this trap again.

But by the time you arrive back home, greet your aunt warmly, the lie spills from your lips before you can stop it.

“Julie wants to start the inventory sooner. So I’ll be heading back and staying over at the shop.”

Your aunt doesn’t question you, simply grins sweet and wishes you a safe trip back to town.

The sun barely sets in for the night over the horizon. The sky is a dusty blue, the softest color before bleeding into a dark midnight. The desert at night is another creature entirely. Even as you walk into town, you try to stay aware and low from any curious eyes.

The motel approaches fast. The caretaker gives you a curious look but before he can, he’s called away.

Ezra already waits for you at the top of the stairs, hidden in the shadows but still so distinct among them.

He doesn’t tease you, doesn’t even greet you. His presence seems so different with how intense he stares at you. Simply moving to intertwine his hand with yours, he guides you to his room. Inside it’s like the world melts away. It’s only you and him.

He devours you, ravenous, like trying to both make up for lost time and also feel like not a day has passed. Your hands run through his hair, knock off his cowboy hat.

You hate how badly you’ve missed this, missed him. He’s the only man your body has known, and the nights you’ve ached for him your fingers never did him justice.

When you’re bare among his bed, and his fingers slide into your wet core, you whine against his lips.

“This cunt still mine, pretty girl?” He asks mutter.

You wearily nod then all thoughts shatter when he rubs against that certain spot you can never reach. Your body crashes in a climax so shakily fast you have to catch your breath against him.

Ezra kisses the top of your head over and over.

“That’s my sweet peach,” he says in awe.

You greedily now pull him towards you, aching even more for him to be inside.

But he’s not finished with you. Ezra greed swallows your sigh before his lips move down your bare body to your core and kisses you with reverent devotion.

Your body melts into the sheets feeling his tongue trace paths among your wet cunt.

Ezra firmly calls your name. It sounds like your soul is being brought back. Wearily you sit up to see him peering up at you between your legs. Slowly he lifts himself away from your cunt, his face glistening with your arousal.

Those obsidian eyes of his blazing in the candlelight lock you in their gaze. Keeping eye contact with you he suddenly spits down to your wet aching sex, and your mind spins.

It’s obscene, you should be disgusted and horrified. You even wonder if you’ve been transported to the brothel a few ways down the road. But it feels absolutely divine especially when he does it again.

“Oh she likes this.” Ezra coo’s then presses ever the softest kiss against your soaked throbbing pearl. “This pretty little cunt, my lovely lady, ache for me huh?”

You don’t argue with him. You don’t want to. He makes you come again and a creature raw and hungry awakens in you. You claw at him, now needing him inside.

It’s like a piece of yourself returns when Ezra slides into you. It’s hot, heavy, frantic but feels sacred.

Ezra must sense it too, because he doesn’t last long. When he spills over your tummy, his hands become claws and keep you caged in his grasp. Your con artist kisses every inch of you he can.

Sweaty and tangled in him, you still feel a tinge of sadness creep in.

“You left me.” You whimper against his lips.

“And it will haunt me until my dying breath.” Ezra sighs back, his voice weighing heavy. “I was planning to come back for you, my bird. But your mother…”

She had put a bounty out on your drifter, managed to get the sheriff on her side. You knew even in your anger at Ezra leaving, it was smart of him to escape.

His hand cradles your face, and his thumb strokes your cheekbone. Those endless eyes shimmer in the low light.

“But I’m here now, pidge.” Sincerity radiates from him.

You’re now able to bask in his beauty - his gorgeous jaw, his beautiful nose, the striking streak of blonde hair that has been hidden under his hat and you’ve been dying to see.

You nuzzle your face into his palm.

“What are you doing here? Truly?” You ask.

“I told you,” Ezra says, drawing your face towards him to kiss you tender again. “I’m here to try and prove myself victorious.”

You’re not sure you believe his words.

But you end up staying with him. Early morning, before the sun reaches over the desert, his fingers trace your face waking you up.

“Dawn bathes you in her glory.” He mutters. Embarrassed at his words you burrow your face into the pillow.

He doesn’t chase you, but instead lets his fingers draw aimless shapes against your shoulder.

“There wasn’t a day where you did not occupy my mind, even after all these years.” Ezra admits low, as if he didn’t realize those words escaped him.

Slowly you turn towards him and discover those deep eyes hazed over staring at you.

“I hate you.” You tell him without any malice. In fact an emotion something very opposite of hatred soaks your words.

“I know. I’d hate me too.” Ezra agrees muttering then leans down to kiss you gingerly.

You have to leave before the town wakes up, and to seal your alibi.

With a final kiss goodbye, you head to the tailor shop.

Julie finds you in the shop when she arrives and applauds you for your diligence and wanting to get a jump start on inventory. You’re thankful the lie worked out this way. You even manage to convince her to let you finish inventory the rest of the week. Of course she happily agrees.

Ezra drops by to pick up his riding gloves and winks at you shamelessly. You roll your eyes but hate how badly you fight against a grin.

The next few days are spent between the shop and the motel. You already brace your heart for Ezra’s departure approaching once the tournament is over, but you try not to face that.

“You’ve been in a rather good mood.” Your aunt notices when you stop by to drop off goods for her.

“Thought you hated inventory.” She comments.

“Guess not.” You reply with a shrug.

This blissful cloud you’re walking in however does cloud your mind. It makes you sloppy. Instead of taking the longer path to the motel, the one that kept you away from the views of the main road and town, you walk straight into town.

Running right into Duke Williams.

He says your name bright and clear. Dread dawns on you fast.

“Haven’t seen you ‘round. Heard Julie’s got ya working extra hard.” Duke smiles.

You hate this small town and the small whispers that spread like wildfire.

You reassure Duke you’re fine and are even glad you can help Julie.

All his friends, in their sleek cowboy hats, and dusty spurs, stand off to the side snicker. They crowd around each other like an ominous pack of wolves.

One of them even calls your name.

“Might wanna enjoy this freedom while it last!” He proclaims, and your stomach twists.

The other guys snickers, shushing him playfull, and even Duke turns around to reprimand him.

“What does he mean by that?” You cautiously question.

Duke simply waves the conversation off instead offering to walk you to the tailors.

You politely decline.

“Aw come on, sweet thing like you shouldn’t be walking alone at night.” Duke smiles but even with his sweet eyes you’re reminded of a crocodile now.

“Well gentleman, that’s why i’ll accompany this lovely bird to her destination.” Emerging from the shadows Ezra grins warm.

He must have come to find you after you hadn’t shown up at the motel.

The men including Duke go eerily silent. Ezra is older than Duke and the younger men. So he holds seniority now. But besides that, Duke now seems wary, and you don’t blame him. Ezra is a man that radiates a sort of unpredictable energy.

“You sure you don’t want me to walk ya back now?” You almost appreciate the slight genuine worry leaking into Duke’s voice. But shaking your head you move to walk with Ezra by your side.

You do hate how all eyes are on you, even walking away from Duke and his mindless followers.

“Just remain calm.” Ezra mutters.

You do especially with him by your side. By the time you open the tailors you thank Ezra, worried Duke and his men are still watching.

You whisper for him to meet you behind the shop, and he does. Your swindler willingly steps into the back room with you.

“Not my ideal choice for our evening, but I do love a good change of scenery.” Ezra comments amused browsing around the storage. Playfully, you throw a ball of yarn at him.

You’re surprised he even helps you with the small bit of inventory you do.

“That young buck…” until his voice comes out low. “He’s fond of you.”

“Unfortunately.” You reply back unamused.

“Earlier at the saloon…he was boasting.” Ezra continues with the same serious tone.

“About enjoying the last days of being an unmarried man.”

That causes you to pause.

“Must mean he’s gotten over me.” You sigh, thank goodness.

“No pidge…” Ezra stops to turn towards you. “He was proclaiming how you were to be his bride.”

Your stomach drops.

You think of the way the boys just now snickered almost knowingly, and that strange comment one of themselves said -

All of it makes your stomach sick, and you have to sit down.

No. There was just no way.

“I’d never accept his proposal.” You snap out hating how badly your body feels frantic, almost skittish like a cornered road runner.

Ezra kneels before you rubbing your hand with his, a strange solid comfort.

Eventually he gathers you into his arms and calms you with soothing soft words.

“We’ll figure out a solution.”

You still don’t know if you can trust his words. But that's all you have. Your drifter stays with you overnight in the tailor shop. You even feel sinful fucking him in the back room but it’s deliciously sinfull all the same.

Sitting and resting against the work desk you fade in and out of sleep. Tender fingers brush against your fingers, ghost like. Ezra is gone by the time you wake up and Julie’s entering the shop jolts you awake.

Her eyes are frazzled.

“Did you hear? Mister Johnston’s eldest son was shot down early this morning.”

You hadn’t heard. Dread fills you fast when you realize Johnston's boy was the one who had made the joking comment to you last night.

There’s talk about postponing the competition. But others in town, especially Duke, argue to continue the tradition in a way to honor the fallen young man.

An ominous terror looms in you.

Later that night, you return to the motel. Too many thoughts swarm in your head, and Ezra even seems distant. He even slides his duster jacket one before kissing you.

“I have some personal matters to attend to, pidge. Get some respite here.”

His boots echo down the hall and then down the stairs.

You can’t sleep. So you move to slide open the window and let some of the night air in.

The faint mutter of discussion very close outside in the alleyway floats into the room.

It’s muffled at first, but once you step closer and concentrate, you pick up the very familiar cadence of a certain drifter.

“No no, I have it covered. As long as you make sure to double the bets on me tomorrow.” Ezra explains in a hush.

The others with him explain the different amounts they’ve collected, and it hits you.

He’s gambling on the competition.

That’s why he’s here.

You knew the men at the saloon often bet, but this feels heavier.

A new clicking of spurs arrives.

“Y’know, you fellas look like a dangerous bunch all here hidden in the shadows.” Duke.

Panic prickles all over your body.

“Now young buck, we’re just here partaking in a fun and friendly wager.” Ezra with his smooth talking skills deflates the tension easily.

“Waggerin’ on what?” You’re surprised Duke immediately quickly jumps in to gamble.

Ezra and the other men begin conspiring on how to make sure Duke wins to favor the odds of their bets.

“I like the sound of that.” Duke grins.

He makes a hefty wager on himself to win, the price even makes someone whistle.

They offer to place their wagers on him as well and with Ezra even in the competition, he’s argued to be an even better reassurance that the outcome falls in their favor.

Ezra even swears by this.

They’re fixing the match, going to cheat. You don’t know how to feel about any of this.

They end their discussion, and you quietly slide back into bed. Before long Ezra returns, the smell of tobacco and the cold air lingers in the room.

His fingers dance against your shoulders while your back stays to him.

“You’re only here… to make money, and cheat.” You mutter hollow.

His fingers stop.

“You overheard.”

You don’t reply to him. Ezra sighs.

“Indeed I am. But I’m no different than the gentlemen that place simple wagers on a game of horseshoe.” He explains low, under the whisper of the candle flicker.

“But it’s like you’re wanting to play with a weighted or lighter horseshoe.” You argue back.

“Is it not in our best natures to make sure Lady Luck favors us by any means possible?”

You don’t know how to reply to him.

“…I’m doing this for you, for us.” He adds.

You turn to him, your face scrunching up in fury.

“Bullshit.” You tell him.

“Believe me a liar, but I’m honest in my endeavor.” His face becomes a firm steeled frown.

You can’t look at him anymore, turning your back again to Erza in bed.

“My hope was to gain enough funds to pay for the bounty your mother placed on me, return for your hand, and make our way into a new life together.” His voice is steady.

“Unless you wish to stay here and wed that Duke.” He offers.

You whip back to glare harsh at Ezra.

There’s a silence heavy and ancient like the desert that settles between you. But it doesn’t last long before Ezra leans down and sweeps in to capture your lips

The discussion dies immediately as passion burns in its place.

You don’t think of gambling cowboys, or of your mysterious drifter, only of the moment consuming you now, and you almost pray you never leave it.

- ☾𖤓 -

Late in the night, wearily half sleep, the bed shifting jolts you awake, and you even hear the door creak open. Before you can ask Ezra if he’s alright, your eyes so sleepy flutter close for a moment. Then he’s sliding back into the warmth pulling you close into his arms. You fall right back to your dreams.

In the early hours of the morning, Ezra kisses your jaw.

“My lucky charm, are you going to observe our tournament today?” He mutters.

The competition was today.

“You nervous?” You had never seen him ride much less try ranch hand work.

“Never.” He says smoothly.

Eventually he slides out of bed and lets you get ready. But soon Ezra walks over and places something in your hands.

The pistol weighs heavy, cold. And your eyes snap open wide now fully awake.

“Why-”

He cuts you off gently. “You know how to fire, yes?”

You nod weakly.

A small smirk tugs at his handsome lips. “Figured as much, after seeing your mother.”

It’s an attempt to tease, but too much terror bubbles in you.

“I just need to know you’re protected.” Ezra reveals, but with a croak you ask why.

“Cause unfortunate as it might be, it’s even more dangerous for a criminal like me to cherish something.”

Your eyes water. There are too many questions in your head, but the day will be starting soon. You need to leave before you’re spotted.

“Tell me you have another gun.” You snap at him.

Ezra simply taps the side of his head. “Don’t need another firearm when I have this weapon.”

You angrily throw the pistol down back to the bed, refusing to take it. That’s when he snaps your name, hard and serious.

You’ve never heard his voice raise like that.

“Take it.” He grabs the firearm and hands it back to you. His midnight eyes are ominously serious with no room for argument.

His hand grabs your face firm in his hand. Your eyes search his endless midnight lake eyes.

“I call you pidge, my little pigeon bird. But I’ve known right from the start you’re a fierce creature. Don’t ever forget that.”

Ezra’s words are beautiful but barbed. They rip up tracks in your heart. He kisses you quick, fierce and short. You hate how it feels like a goodbye.

With shaking hands and confusion, you slide the gun into your satchel. You walk back to your aunt's cabin in a daze. So much so that you barely notice she’s already awake when you sneak back in.

“You have fun at the motel again?” She asks, and fear freezes you.

“I wasn’t-”

“Mac, your uncle’s good friend, gave me the heads up.” She cuts you off softly.

Mac, the innkeeper. God damn this small town. Venom, anger, indignation, they all swirl violently in you.

“Whatever you’re doing there, you’re only gonna find danger.” She says somber, and you stay quiet.

Your aunt sighs.

“You’re lucky this hasn’t gotten out yet. What would young Duke say if he found out?”

Frustration bursts in you, and you snap furious about why would you even need to care about that man’s opinion of you.

“Because he plans on weddin’ you, and I plan on letting him.” Your aunt fires back and her words shoot right through you.

Your legs feel like they’re about to give out, even have to steady yourself against the nearby chair.

You thought your aunt understood. She’s been alone, a widow since she was around your age, longer than your mother had been a widow. You thought she’d never fall into the trap of forcing marriage.

“It’s for your own good.” She argues, watery urgent m. “You need protection, a home, a husband to provide for you.”

You rush out of the house even ignoring the screams from your aunt.

You’d have to think of a plan fast. Maybe leave with Ezra once the competition ends today. It’s all too much. You swallow back a sob and walk back into town.

The competition was today after all.

The day at the shop is very short. Julie doesn’t even notice your somber atmosphere as she’s completely caught up in the excitement of this day. So many more wagons stretch around the edge of town.

Pecos flutters alive with life.

But there’s already commotion, a dangerous kind that chokes the competition tense.

Duke yells loud and furious. The sheriff along with his deputies are nearby. Thankfully you spot Martha and quickly move to ask her what’s going on.

“Duke’s horse is missing.” She whispers.

From what Martha says, when Duke went to the stables this morning the gate was open and his horse was nowhere to be seen. His trusty companion, you even knew how serious an issue this is.

“Well young buck, if you’re that upset then maybe you shouldn’t partake in the festivities.” Ezra, out of thin air, offers.

He looks confident as he strolls up.

“Or you simply ride with another mare?” He proposes with a coy optimism.

“Fuck you!” Duke snaps at Ezra and even looks as if he’s going to lunge.

Your heart hammers hard in your chest. Thankfully the sheriff settles the commotion down.

Angered but stubborn, Duke declares he’s staying to compete and will simply use another horse. He is favored to win after all.

Other cowboys from out of town have blown in like packs of tumbleweed. So many of them are excited to participate and try their hand at showing off their rancher skills

Some are good.

But it is Ezra who proves to be the dark horse, the surprise underdog.

Watching him on his stallion, your throat goes dry seeing how effortless and strong he manages his horse. You never knew he could ride. The way he maneuvers and stays a quiet presence, he reminds you of an outlaw.

“Moves like a bandit.” Someone in the crowd even whispers.

His rope throwing skills however surprise everyone, including yourself. The calf he manages to wrangle takes you by shock. A dangerous lust slithers over your body watching him wrangle the animal with his strength and sturdy form.

But you realize -

This wasn’t what had been planned. From the discussion given last night, Ezra was meant to perform poorly to make sure Duke did better.

But this is exactly the opposite.

He’s the lead runner for champion of the competition.

And then Duke’s turn arrives. The crowd mummers curious, on edge waiting for the favored cowboy to make his move.

The horse he uses is not cooperative. Duke screams, unable to hide his frustration in wrangling the creature.

But once he stabilizes a manageable ride, he goes to lasso the calf. His rope lands and the crowd cheers. He’s already faster than Ezra.

Until the frayed rope snaps and the calf yanks itself free.

The crowd gasps.

It’s not an immediate disqualification, but it doesn’t look good. Duke argues that his rope was frayed and that someone must have slowly started cutting at it. However it’s a long shot argument. There’s no way to prove that and even the sheriff seems a little wary of the accusation.

“That’s just the way rope is son, you just gotta keep an eye on it.”

Duke screams in anguish canyon splitting anger. You’ve never once seen him like this. It’s like it’s a whole new man, or maybe, his true self being revealed.

He’s offered another rope, but it’s almost horrifying to watch that one as well snap. The crowd again gasps.

This wasn’t the outcome meant to happen.

“Duke’s cursed.” Someone mumbles.

The crowd is in disbelief, you even are. The last remaining competitors try their luck, but none can beat Ezra’s speed.

You can’t believe it. But he won.

And Duke is livid. The crowd tentatively applauds Ezra’s win because of the somber mood clashing.

“You bastard! You goddamn cheated!” Duke screams at Ezra while the deputies try settling him down.

“Poor boy,” Ezra says sympathetically before turning to find you in the crowd.

There’s a gleam of something proud shimmering in his dark eyes.

You don’t question it, don’t want to.

Ezra truly is a man of many facets, dangerous ones, like looking at a raw gemstone that could cut your fingers.

The competition spills into the nearby saloons, and the festivities only seem to intensify as the sun starts setting. You can’t even reach Ezra from the groups swirling around him and want to get as far away from Duke as possible.

So you return back to the tailor shop. Julie urges you to join her and the other women at the mayor’s large property, but you decline.

You simply sit in the store trying to muster up a plan. But in a blink, the night arrives and you have to find Ezra.

So after locking up the shop, you head to the motel.

Until the sound of Duke’s screaming and the rage of violence roars nearby.

You freeze, terrified.

Until someone wearily coughs. “That’s what ya get for gamblin’ with bandits, boy.”

Your swindler’s distinct twang drawls smug and now your body rushes to the secluded alleyway.

You swallow back a scream at the sight you stumble upon. Duke with blood fists has Ezra pinned against the wall, like a mythological creature, terrifying and large looking over with violence in his wake.

Ezra’s face is bloody and one of his arms even hangs limp.

“Pidge.” He coughs, and your heart aches.

Duke whips around to see you and barks for you to leave.

Shakily you snatch down to your bag, and whip out the gun to point it to him. Duke’s face falls a bit confused.

“Honey this man wronged me, I’m only enacting my justice.” He argues.

You snap at him to let Ezra go or else.

That’s when a sinister evil darkens Duke’s golden boy face.

“So, ya little god damn whore…you’re workin’ with this man aren’t ya? I knew I should’ve listened to all the rumors about a slut like you.” He spits with venom leaking from his voice.

“Don’t you touch her.” Ezra snarls, but Duke pays him no mind keeping his sinister eyes on you.

“What?” Duke slowly mutters. “Do ya really think you’re gonna shoot me?”

Tears fill your eyes. You don’t want to, but the way your heart races like a terrified Jack rabbit it screams at you to flee. But… you also wonder if your heart races because it’s urging you to attack, to bare your fangs.

Instead of releasing Ezra, Duke moves to grip his coat harder. He slams your drifter hard and fast against the wall. A painful crack-like smack comes, and you scream.

You fire the gun instantly.

Duke blinks, you even wonder if you landed a hit.

Until deep dark crimson, almost the color of dark sludge, leaks across Duke’s side. He crumbles like a fall leaf.

You cry scrambling to Ezra who thankfully is still standing. Duke wheezes out obscenities and even tries hollering for help. You’re however too worried about Ezra.

“M’fine,” your drifter reassures with a wheeze.

“Hand me the gun, dearest.” Ezra somberly mutters. When you do, without hesitation Ezra fires the gun point black down at Duke. And your eyes shut hearing the pistol strike. Duke goes quiet and stays silent.

“Come on, we gotta hurry.” Ezra urges.

Supporting his body, you manage to get him into the tailor shop to tend to his wounds.

Ezra coughs out your name. “M’dearest, I need to make my escape out of town once more.” His breathing his heaved, he needs to rest.

“Don’t leave me.” You cry sharp, unable to focus on anything now.

His hand slides to your face and he cradles you tenderly. You clutch at his wrist as you blink back tears starting at him now.

“It will not be a pleasant life, staying with a devil like me.” He mumbles.

Doesn't he realize, you’re just as tarnished as him now? Blood is on your hands. You simply turn to kiss the palm of his hand feeling more reassured than ever.

“I’d rather be with the devil than live without him.” You speak soft into his skin while tears dry on your cheeks.

He barks a hollow but watery thick laugh as he says your name. “You foolish bird, my lovely dangerous creature.”

The desert is unforgiving to those who do now learn to grow fangs or become just as fierce as its landscape. You wonder if that’s what has become of you. But you don’t question it. You simply gather all you can, steal one of the horses from the saloon and keep Ezra close to you on the saddle.

If Ezra is a devil, then you’re grateful he saved you from your hell. And for him, you will gladly stain your soul.

Under the eternal eyes of the desert, you wander into the night keeping your bandit close to you.

In the distance a lone coyote howls aching at the moon.

You don’t look back once.

#hi howdy yeehaw if you’re reading this cowboy Ezra & I think you’re the bees knees and I thank you truly!!#cowboy!ezra #ezra (prospect) x reader #ezra x reader #ezra x f!reader #ezra x you #prospect fanfic #Ezra 🤎#pedrostories

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critical-skeptic · 2 months ago

Text

Distract. Divide. Desensitize.

For those just finding out about the destruction of the Georgia Guidestones in 2022: this is exactly how they keep you blind. The monument—designed to endure and provoke thought about humanity’s future—was quietly erased, just like countless other significant events that vanish beneath layers of noise. Why? Because you're meant to miss the real moves while they orchestrate chaos to keep you fixated on distractions.

Take the recent CEO assassination—a so-called act of “vigilantism” being spun to desensitize the public to oligarchs calling anyone who isn’t with them an enemy. Or Trump’s absurd strawman nomination of Matt Gaetz for AG, a spectacle that was never serious but designed to feed the outrage machine. These aren’t random—they’re calculated distractions, conditioning the masses to accept heightened division, alarmist rhetoric, and creeping authoritarian control.

The destruction of the Guidestones wasn’t just about wiping out a controversial monument; it’s part of the playbook. They erase history while feeding the public "heroes" and manufactured conflicts to keep you too distracted to notice the chessboard being reconfigured. So while everyone’s eyes are glued to the spectacle, the powerful move in silence, building the structures they’ll use to lock you out of the game entirely.

Wake up. If you’re only now learning about the Guidestones, ask yourself what you missed today while being fed your latest dose of chaos. This is how they operate: distraction, division, and silence over what truly matters. By the time the dust settles, it’ll be too late to stop what’s been quietly built around you.

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scarlethexelove · 6 months ago

Note

The reader is concern about dating a centuries-old witch, Agatha. Feeling like a fleeting moment in her long existence can be daunting

Fleeting

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Reader

Word Count: 1067

Warnings: A bit of angst, Some fluff, A little bit of magic talk

A/n: At first I was really struggling with a way to write this out but I'm happy with how it turned out. But I got to put in that happy ending.

NO ONE IS PERMITTED TO STEAL, COPY, OR REBLOG MY WORK AS THEIR OWN

The tv plays on as Agatha talks over it. This isn’t anything new to you and you love to listen to her explain the inaccuracies of history. You think of how amazing it is that your girlfriend is a great and powerful witch who has lived centuries. She knows history better than anyone you have ever met before in your life.

But it always makes you think. Your mind wanders to another aspect of life with the witch. While right now things are good and happy between the two of you it won’t always be. You will slowly age until you look older than her and she will stay looking the same as ever. You love Agatha so much but it’s hard to think about the future. Having kids with her and growing old together, but the problem is she won’t grow old. She is already centuries old having lived so many lifetimes already.

You don’t notice the tear that has fallen until a hand cups your cheek gently wiping the fallen tear away. “Sweetheart what’s wrong?” Agatha asks her voice soft and calming to your racing mind. Despite her calm demeanor your breath quickens as your mind spirals and you panic. You didn’t think you could love someone so much and to think of losing her is crushing you. “Woah, woah, woah baby please talk to me.” Agatha cups your face in her hands forcing you to look at her as more tears stream down your cheeks.

Agatha has no idea what happened. You were just smiling at her as she droned on about how wrong the history books got the Salem witch trials. When her eyes landed on you she noticed the tears and the far off look on your face. How your body slightly trembled in front of her. She doesn’t know what triggered it but she wants to help. So she pulls you in her lap and hugs you close. Your hand grip the front of her shirt tightly like she is going to disappear from right in front of you. It breaks her heart to see the sudden change and having no idea what is going on. How can she help you? The only thing she can do right now is hold you tight and try to calm you down.

It takes time for Agatha to calm you down. Your grip on her shirt never falters even as your sobs turn into sniffles. You don’t want her to go, to leave in the past like all the others. So you hold on. It doesn’t bother her though she lets your grip stay as she cups your cheeks in her hands again. “Please sweetheart tell me what’s wrong.” You’re quiet for a bit trying to collect the thoughts, too scared to tell her how you really feel. You know you have to tell her, but how do you explain it? Would that mean she starts to age and dies. Can she even do that, you know she is powerful but how powerful is she really.

“I’m scared.” You mumble slightly nuzzling her hand for comfort. “Scared of what baby?” Agatha is truly lost on where all of this is coming from. “I’m just a fleeting part of your life Aggie. You have lived many lives and loved so many people. I’m nothing special in the spectacle of your whole life. I’ll be but a memory soon enough to you but to me… to me you mean everything.” More tears cascade down your face as your voice shakes. “I want to hold on to everything in this moment, but how can I? I’m just another chapter to a book that already has so much. I’m not worth you wasting your time here with me. I’m nothing in the grand scheme of your life.”

Your words break Agatha’s heart. “No sweetheart, you are not nothing. You are my everything. I can say in all of the lives that I have lived on this earth not one person compares to you. You are the earth, the moon, and the stars to me. You want to make me keep living.” Tears start to flow down her cheeks. “I need you more than anything in this world Y/n. You are my love, my one and only.”

Agatha leans her forehead against yours. You want to accept her words to believe that all of it is true but the question that still remains is that you will age and she won’t. There isn’t anything that can be done about that. You are human with no way of extending your life beyond that of what your own body can handle. “Aggie-” You breath out a watery sigh. “I’m still mortal. One day I will leave you.” Agatha shakes her head with her forehead still pressed against yours. Her hands encasing yours as they still hold onto her shirt. “What if I told you that I have a way.” You pull back looking at her face searching for any hint that this isn’t real. “H-how?” You question her. “There’s a spell. It’s dangerous but it would bind our life forces together. As long as one of us is living, so shall the other.” Agatha leans in kissing you deeply before pulling back again. “I have never met a person in my existence that I would have wanted to risk it all to spend my time with… That was until I met you my love. I want you now and forever.”

Your once sad tears turn to happy tears. “Yes!” You shout. “I want nothing more than to be with you forever.” You kiss her again, excitement coursing through your veins, hope rising in a once sorrowful heart. “Baby it will be dangerous. I-I don’t know what will happen if it doesn’t work.” Agatha’s voice laced with concern. As much as she wants to do it she doesn’t want to kill you in the process. “I trust you Aggie. I’ll do whatever it takes to be with you.”

And so that is what you two did. It took many extensive conversations and many nights of practice before Agatha was sure she was ready to try. It wasn’t easy and with a bit of a scare the spell was successful. You never expected to see so many different lifetimes pass by but with Agatha by your side those lives were worth living.

#syd answers #agatha harkness x reader #agatha x fem reader #agatha x reader #agatha harkness #agatha x reader fluff #agatha harkness x fem!reader #agatha harkness fluff #agatha harkness x reader fluff #agatha harkness x reader angst #agatha harkness x you #agatha harkness x female reader

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writingfics-passingtime · 2 months ago

Note

Hi! Just want to say I love your blog and this the first time I’ve ever asked regarding a prompt. Stairway to Heaven is my favorite Led Zeppelin song (if it’s too long, I have a back up song) and my marvel character would be Loki. Thank you, this is such a cool idea!!

The Road You're On

This one-shot is part of JJ’s Mixtape - a mini series based on my followers’ favourite songs and characters. You can read more of them here!

Song Prompt: Stairway to Heaven - Led Zeppelin

Pairing: Loki x female reader

Word Count: ~3400

CW: swearing, innuendo/sexual jokes, discussions about sex, mentions of death, alcohol

Minors DNI: this work does not contain smut, but contains a romantic/sexual relationship between the reader and an adult-aged character. I am not comfortable with engagement from anyone under the age of 18. Thank you for your understanding and respect.

Note: Hi @princessdragon23 ~ thank you very much for sending this song in, and for your lovely message. It's hard for me to describe the way this song made me feel, except to say that this story truly unfolded before my eyes as I listened to it on repeat. I hope you like it x

The streets of the coastal town were eerily quiet as you made your way home, the damp cobblestones glistening under the dim light of the street lamps. The weight of the night clung to your skin, mingling with the faint scent of salt and smoke from the bar where you’d just finished your shift. Your boots scuffed along the uneven ground, a rhythmic reminder that you were still here, still alive, still kicking despite everything.

You hated this walk. Too quiet. Too empty. Too much room for your mind to claw at the past.

A group of locals had been arguing about something at the bar tonight - a football match or politics, you hadn’t cared enough to listen. But their raised voices had sent a pang through your chest, reminding you of the way the Avengers used to argue over mission strategies. It was stupid, really. You'd never been perfect, but you’d convinced yourself you were unbreakable. Found family, or whatever bullshit term people threw around these days.

Until it all fell apart.

Your jaw tightened, and you shook the thought off. No sense picking at old wounds when they were still festering. Instead, you focused on the here and now, the comforting weight of the dagger tucked up your sleeve, the streetlights’ flickering glow, the faint hum of distant waves.

And then you felt it.

A prickle of awareness shot down your spine, and you slowed your steps. Someone was behind you.

You didn’t stop, didn’t look back right away. You kept walking, casually adjusting your sleeve so the blade was easier to draw. Your senses honed in on the sound - soft, deliberate footsteps matching yours at a careful distance.

Not a drunk. Not a thief. Someone who knew what they were doing.

When you reached the corner of a dark alleyway, you pivoted sharply, hand twitching toward your weapon.

“Alright, asshole,” you growled. “If you’re looking for trouble, you’ve fucking found it-”

The words died on your lips as a figure emerged from the shadows, moving with a fluid grace that was both menacing and magnetic. The streetlamp cast a halo of pale light over him, illuminating the sharp cut of his cheekbones, the curve of his smirking mouth.

“Loki.”

You said his name like a curse, but the breath hitching in your throat betrayed you. He’d always had that effect - chaos wrapped in charm, danger dressed up as desire. And here he was, standing in the middle of your carefully constructed exile, looking as smug as ever.

Your heart slammed against your ribs, not in fear, but in something far more dangerous.

He stepped closer, his black coat sweeping around his legs, the faint scent of leather and ozone curling in the air between you. “Imagine my disappointment,” he said, “returning to this wretched realm only to find its so-called heroes scattered like ashes. It seems I missed quite the spectacle.”

His words hit their mark, as they always did, but you refused to flinch. “You’re late to the party,” you bit out, your voice laced with venom. “It all went to hell months ago.”

“And yet, here you are,” he said, his gaze sweeping over you, slow and assessing. “Playing bartender. Hiding in plain sight. How... quaint.”

You scoffed, though your pulse betrayed you, quickening under his scrutiny. “Cut the bullshit, Loki. How the hell did you find me?”

He smiled - a sharp, wolfish thing that sent a shiver down your spine. “Do you really think there’s a corner of this universe where you could hide from me?”

The weight of his words sank deep, pulling at something you weren’t ready to face. You clenched your fists, feeling the cold press of the blade against your wrist. “Why are you here?”

“For you.”

The words were simple, but the way he said them - low and deliberate, with just the faintest trace of vulnerability - made your stomach twist.

“Don’t,” you said, taking a step back. The cool night air suddenly felt too thick, too heavy. “Don’t come here and start with that shit. I’m not in the mood for games.”

“Neither am I,” he said, stepping forward, closing the distance you’d tried to create. “But you, my darling, are nothing short of a temptation. One I couldn’t resist.”

Your breath hitched, heat flaring in your chest and spreading like wildfire. His gaze pinned you, dark and electric, his presence filling the empty street until it felt like there wasn’t enough air to breathe.

“No. You're carrying yourself differently,” you said, desperate to shift the focus, to wrest some control back from him. “Something happened.”

His smirk faltered, just for a fraction of a second.

"What happened, Loki?"

His eyes flicked away, then back to yours, and for the first time, you saw it - the crack in his armour, the weight pressing on him. Whatever had brought him here, it wasn’t just you.

You glanced around, your gaze darting to the shadowed streets around you. Too exposed. Too vulnerable. "Fuck," you grunted under your breath, passing a hand down your face. “Come on,” you said, nodding toward the alley that led to your apartment. “We can talk at my place.”

“An invitation?” he asked, tilting his head, the smirk returning, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “How scandalous.”

You gave him only a severe and warning look in return. One that dared him to hide the truth from you. One that dared him to try and deflect from whatever horrific news he'd come to deliver by rekindling some old flirtatious banter.

Whatever storm he’d brought with him, it was about to collide with the chaos you’d been holding at bay.

Your apartment was a sanctuary you hadn’t realised you needed until it became yours - a quiet haven tucked into the upper floor of a modest building overlooking the Spanish coast. It was small, cozy, and uncomplicated. The exact opposite of Stark Tower.

It was everything you’d craved since your life had gone to hell. No mission briefings, no JARVIS, no one barking orders at you. Just you, the sound of waves crashing in the distance, and the occasional hum of the town below.

You hung your jacket on the hook near the door, left in nothing but a tank top and your worn jeans, both smelling faintly of the beer you'd been pulling all night.

The apartment was small enough that you could feel Loki's presence fill it the moment he stepped inside, bringing with him that same palpable energy he carried everywhere.

It was stupid, inviting him here. Bringing a piece of your old life into a place you'd so carefully curated to banish all thoughts of what you used to be. And who you used to trust.

You didn’t look back at him as you moved to the kitchen, flicking on the warm overhead light and reaching for the bottle of liquor you kept on the counter.

You grabbed the bottle of gin without turning around. “If you’re going to bust your way back into my life, at least make yourself useful. Lime’s in the fridge.”

Loki chuckled, the sound low and dark, vibrating through you like a physical thing, as he walked past and retrieved the lime. He came up beside you, setting it on the counter. “It's fascinating, this domesticated version of you. But it's almost... disappointing.”

“Oh, you're disappointed?" You sliced the knife into the lime, then looked up at him with something equally as sharp, refusing to back down even as he loomed closer. "Must be rough, dragging your sorry ass across the universe just to insult me in my own fucking kitchen.”

His grin only deepened, eyes glittering with something sharp and dangerous. “You’ve always had such a filthy little mouth. Has no one here put it to good use?”

The air between you snapped taut, his words hanging there like a dare. Heat flushed through you, but you wouldn’t let him see how much he got to you.

You’d always stuck to your guns of never mixing business with pleasure; anyone remotely related to work was off-limits. Loki knew this - your infuriating little rule as he called it - and found much entertainment in tempting you to break it. You, in turn, had found a great thrill in the game. The flirting, the teasing, the desire. A welcome distraction from the heaviness of the work.

“Maybe,” you said, raising your glass to your lips and taking a slow sip, testing it. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Loki laughed, a rich, dark sound that made your stomach tighten. “Darling,” he said, leaning against the counter beside you, his voice dropping to a murmur. “You’re a terrible liar.”

Instead, you turned back to your drink components and muttered, “It’s hard to trust strangers when you know what humanity’s capable of.”

"Humanity... or your former comrades?"

You didn't turn to glare at him again, but the weight of his words lingered. What you said hadn’t been a total lie - not really. You didn’t trust anyone enough to let them close, and the few who had tried didn’t come anywhere near the bar Loki had set just by existing. But you weren’t about to admit that to him.

You pulled a glass down from the cabinet, and began mixing another drink.

You didn't need to respond about your former comrades. He could see the answer in the half-empty bottles littering the windowsill. In the way that everything about this place - about your new life - was the exact opposite of the one you used to lead.

By the time he leaned against the counter beside you, you could feel the heat of his gaze, and you handed him a drink without making eye contact, focussing on replacing the bottles as he sipped.

He hummed slightly as he pulled back, the faintest sound of approval in the voicing.

“Impressive,” he admitted.

You smirked and picked up your own drink. “Killing isn’t the only thing I’m good at.”

Before he could respond, you hopped up onto the counter beside him, letting your leg rest casually against his. The contact sent a flicker of heat up your spine, but you masked it with another sip of your drink, watching him over the rim of the glass.

“We could’ve used you here, you know,” you said, your tone quiet but pointed. “... I could’ve used you.”

Loki’s jaw tightened, his smirk fading as he looked away briefly. “Asgard needed us,” he said after a moment, his voice lower now. “I always intended to return.”

You raised an eyebrow, tilting your head as you brought your glass to your lips. “Would’ve been nice to know that when I was rotting in an off-grid prison,” you said bitterly, letting the words hang in the air like smoke.

Loki flinched, but only slightly, and his voice softened. “I didn’t know.” He looked at you then, fully, his eyes heavy with something that almost resembled regret. “If I had... I would’ve come for you.”

The weight of his words pressed against your chest, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe. You believed him. The edge in his voice, the way his gaze lingered on you - it cut through your defences in a way nothing else could.

You took another sip of your drink, trying to swallow the lump in your throat. “Doesn’t matter,” you said finally, shrugging as though it didn’t ache to say it. “Steve didn’t take that long to bust us out.”

He didn’t reply, just sipped his drink, and for a moment, the two of you drank in silence. The warmth of the liquor settled in your stomach, mixing with the heat radiating from his proximity.

Then you set your glass down and looked him in the eye. “Why are you here, Loki?”

His gaze locked onto yours, sharp and unflinching, as he drained the rest of his glass. He placed it on the counter with deliberate care before answering. “Thor and I stopped an apocalypse, known as Ragnarok,” he said, his voice measured but edged with exhaustion. “It would have destroyed Asgard, and all its people. It very nearly did.”

Your stomach dropped, shame crawling up your spine. All your bitter complaints about his absence felt suddenly small and selfish in the face of what he’d been dealing with.

But he wasn’t done. “But that doesn't matter now. Thanos is close,” he continued, his tone darkening. “He is coming to Earth to hunt the remaining Infinity Stones. And he will tear your world apart to get them.”

You stiffened, the weight of his words sinking in. You scoffed, more out of instinct than disbelief, and reached for the bottle to pour yourself another glass. “Sounds like a problem for what’s left of the Avengers,” you said, forcing a note of bitterness into your voice. “Talk to Tony. Or Natasha, or Fury-”

“Thor is with them already,” Loki interrupted.

Your hand froze mid-pour, and your stomach churned again. You set the bottle down, gripping the edge of the counter as the realisation hit you. “They sent you to find me.”

“No.” Loki’s voice was firm, steady. “I came because you need to understand what is coming. Anyone who can fight... must.”

The words hung heavy between you, cutting through the faint hum of the night outside. You swallowed hard, then grabbed the bottle again and poured a shot straight into your empty glass.

"You don't know what you're asking me."

"I do."

You downed it in one go, letting the burn distract you for a fleeting second before setting the glass down with a sharp clink.

"No, you fucking don't. They watched. They stood there, and watched as we were being cuffed, sedated, carted away to the Raft-"

"I understand-"

"I was arrested for treason, Loki!" Your fingers tightened around the bench as that familiar burning fear raced through you. You shut your eyes and breathed through it. Trying to figure out a way to explain... "Treason carries the death penalty. And... they stood by and watched."

Loki's hand slid over yours, and you felt your grip ease. Felt the fear ease, too. Into something much more like the lingering scar of betrayal.

“After Steve got us out,” you said, your voice quieter now, tinged with something raw and broken, “all I wanted was to leave that life behind. To be normal. Have a dead-end job. Read books on the beach. Drink coffee on long mornings. Have meaningless sex with hot strangers. Just... exist. Enjoy humanity.”

Loki's thumb brushed over your hand. “If you don’t want to fight,” he said, his voice soft but serious, “I will get you somewhere safe.”

You scoffed, giving him a sharp look. “Don’t be stupid,” you said. “Of course I’m going to fight."

A slow smirk tugged at his lips as he pulled his hand away, and you rolled your eyes, running a hand down your face. “I’m not really in fighting shape, though,” you muttered.

Loki’s gaze raked over you, and his smirk widened. “You look as deadly as always,” he said, his tone dripping with suggestion. "I've certainly no complaints."

You shot him a glare, though the heat rising to your face betrayed you. “Sure,” you said dryly. “Cause how I look will help take down an intergalactic warlord. Asshole.”

He chuckled, low and rich. “Did the meaningless sex at least help?”

A laugh slipped out before you could stop it, and you shook your head, smirking. “Never got to that part,” you admitted. “I guess you could say my former life left me with some trust issues."

Loki let out a low breath through his nose, allowing you to voice your bitterness. You shook your head, bumping your brows as you looked at your empty glass, then back at him. "You’re actually the first person I’ve let into this apartment.”

Loki’s smirk shifted, softening into something more thoughtful. “But obviously, you're not here for that,” you added quickly, your voice tinged with defensiveness.

“Obviously,” he echoed, though his eyes sparkled with mischief. “But you never know. This could all be an elaborate ruse to make you agree to one night of passion and fun before our inevitable demise at the hands of the Mad Titan.”

You flushed deeper, glaring at him even as a laugh escaped you. “That would be an elaborate ruse indeed.”

The tension between you thickened, charged and electric, as his smirk lingered. His gaze was unwavering, piercing through every defence you’d built over the years.

Finally, you broke the silence. “Do you really think it’s inevitable?” you asked, your voice quiet, the weight of the question heavier than you wanted to admit. “That Thanos will win?”

Loki’s smirk faded, replaced by something far more somber. He held your gaze, his expression unreadable.

“I don’t know,” he said finally, his voice low and steady. “But knowing you’ll be fighting... tips the scales in our favour.”

The silence that followed was thick, almost suffocating, broken only by the low hum of the refrigerator. You tilted your head, biting back the flood of emotions threatening to spill. “We’ll leave in the morning.”

His sharp gaze didn’t waver, but the set of his jaw tightened.

“Tomorrow, we’re back to being allies,” you said, the word tasting bitter in your mouth. “And my rule goes back into play.”

"Ah, yes. Your infuriating little rule." His lips quirked into a faint smirk, but his eyes stayed on you, unrelenting. “A sensible boundary, I suppose. Though hardly foolproof.”

“Yeah, well,” you said, shrugging as casually as you could. “It’s kept me out of trouble so far.”

His gaze dipped, flickering over you in a way that made your skin flush. “Has it, though?”

You ignored the jab, focused instead on setting the glass on the counter. Then, before you could stop yourself, you said, “So, if tonight’s my last night of normal…” You met his eyes, your mouth quirking into a bitter smile. “You up for helping me fulfil my dream of having some meaningless sex before I give up this life?”

Loki stilled. The teasing glint in his eyes dimmed as his expression shifted, unreadable. He set his own glass down deliberately, his long fingers tracing the rim as if to gather his thoughts. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, deliberate, and edged with something you didn’t dare name.

“Let me be very clear,” he said, his eyes pinning you in place. “I would gladly give you anything you desire in the bedroom. Anything. I would show you things that would shatter your mind, ruin you for anyone else. Pleasure so profound, so exquisite, you’d never be able to look at another lover without laughing at how pitifully inadequate they are.”

Your breath hitched, the heat in your cheeks spreading down your neck, but you refused to look away.

Heat prickled up your neck, but his eyes pinned you in place, his tone softening as he added, “But the one thing I cannot give you, is meaningless. Not with you. Never with you.”

Your heart stuttered, the weight of his words landing like a blow. He wasn’t teasing. He wasn’t mocking. He was standing there, raw and unguarded, and it made you want to take his hand, run far, far away, and leave the universe to defend itself.

You exhaled sharply, grabbing the edge of the counter to steady yourself. “Maybe,” you started, your voice softer than you intended, “after this whole Infinity Stone bullshit is over, we can indulge in something that’s just about us. Not about the universe. Not saving it. Just... something we've both wanted for a while.”

His eyes darkened, and for a moment, you thought he might kiss you right there. But instead, he nodded, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. “If that promise keeps you alive,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, “I’ll happily make it.”

You huffed a dry laugh, shaking your head as you pushed off the counter. “Well, aren’t you a hero,” you muttered, grabbing your jacket and slinging it over your shoulder. “Let’s get this over with.”

Before you could brush past him, his hand shot out, fingers wrapping around your arm with a grip that was firm but not rough. The contact stopped you cold, and you turned your head to look up at him.

His face was inches from yours, his voice a low murmur that felt like it was slicing through the air. “You will stay alive, won’t you?”

The sincerity in his tone knocked the air from your lungs. He wasn’t taunting you. He wasn’t playing games.

You forced a smile, one that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Hell isn't ready for me yet,” you said, your voice steadier than you felt.

He held your gaze for a moment longer before releasing your arm. His hand lingered, just slightly, as if reluctant to let go. But his hand fell away, and you felt the loss of his touch like a physical ache.

You took one more deep breath, one more indulgent glance over his face, before turning headed for the door. “Come on,” you said without looking back. “Let’s go save the world.”

Behind you, Loki followed, and the quiet promise lingered between you both: something more, something meaningful, if the universe allowed it.

#answered #loki x reader #no y/n #loki x you #marvel fanfiction #loki fanfiction #loki reader insert #marvel reader insert #loki x female reader

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analviel · 4 months ago

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Xanxus' mother: Your father is someone very important, I will bring you to meet him, and this is totally not because I'm about to die and never to be seen in the story ever again, and here's a keepsake from my favourite thing, for you to hold on to and ponder over alcohol.

Xanxus:...

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Timoteo: Hello, child. I am absolutely your father. I am the boss of the undisputed most powerful mafia family of the world and starting now, you will be living with me, I will provide you with the best of everything, you will grow under the best tutors and a silent weight of expectations, you will never want for anything except my attention and acknowledgement as I hold you at arms length, and make you feel like you're always on the verge of failing a test you don't know the details of.

Enrico: Hi, I am your eldest brother that will actually be taking care of you and who will provide the majority of your emotional needs, I will see past your feral cat behaviour and be undaunted in reaching out to the scared but fiercely loyal person you truly are.

Massimo: I am the temperamental second brother who will always loose his cool with the slightest provocation but have and will continue to throw fists with those who question your place, especially the ones in all those stuffy parties and galas we are required to attend all the time.

Federico: I am the cool, perfectionist older brother that will hold you at arms length like our father but secretly want to approach and just do not know how to, and we also might have gotten on the wrong foot, but I eventually help you in your studies and adapting to our noble- er, high class mafia life since our eldest brother is too busy with preparing to inherit father's position and I wish to lighten his responsibilities.

Xanxus: Hi-

Enrico: I will die and upend the life you know so far, your Great tragedy but only a precursor to the secret that will crush your heart and trigger your downfall as you question your identity and purpose.

Massimo: I will also die.

Federico: So will I. If only you can regress to a time we are all alive and you can do it all over again. But it's not this plot.

Enrico:...... Maybe.

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Xanxus: So the Academy -that only accepts mafia-born or mafia-sponsored students- are having a tournament, and the parents and alumni are allowed to watch the spectacle.

Enrico: Look at that silver-haired sword-wielding boy taking down his opponents and quickly advancing through the brackets, he is strong and quick and decisive and seems like someone that will swear his life, specifically his arm, to someone that impress him by their ambition and steady belief in themselves.

Massimo: He's really good.

Xanxus:.... I suppose.

Federico: Let me introduce to you to Dino Cavallone, who is your peer and share many similarities with you, including the fact that he cannot look away from the rabid silver-haired swordsman. I encourage you to attend the tea parties he hosts though I know you will not actually do so.

Dino: I am from a doomed and disgraced family but I will raise it to yet unprecedented greatness, so you will take note of me but will otherwise ignore me.

------------------------------------------------

Mammon: I am a mysterious hidden ace character of unknown age but at least older than your father and appear in the form of an avatar of cuteness, I was only briefly mentioned in the original story but am actually more than meets the eye and since you amuse me I will stay around you and watch over you and drop random helpful tips while also needling you, for my amusement, all the while demanding tribute be paid to me by chocolate and money, and inevitably get attached to you. And don't worry, no one else can see me if I don't want them to, and I speak to you through telepathy so you can ask me secret favors. Also my powers are currently limited due to reasons, so I may choose to hold back at certain times to help you grow and save it for truly life-threatening moments. And sometimes impart to you emotional lessons that help you mature.

------------------------------------------------

Bel: I am the token little brother figure to be both cute and not so secretly scary.

Lussuria: I'm always all out to make you look the best in those stuffy parties you are required to attend.

Levi: I am the overly loyal butler henchman.

------------------------------------------------

Squalo: So you are actually adopted and have no claim to the inheritance of Vongola, and because of your previous actions have essentially been disowned by Don Vongola, and left with practically nothing, while the legitimate heir, the one considered over you who'd been raised to fit this position, is actually a no good civilian who knows nothing of this world and stutters and stumbles over his feet. This is unfair and I, as your loyal friend who has stayed with you and waited for you all this time, will help you reclaim your rightful place, use me as the sword of your will and I will do anything to get you where you want as long as you want it, even at the cost of my sanity and morals.

Xanxus: You don't have sanity or morals.

Squalo: Fine, then my other arm. Happy, fuckface?

------------------------------------------------

Reborn, for some reason holding a handbag in the crook of his arm: Stay away from, Viper. You don't know them, you don't know what's best for them.

Fon: *standing silently behind Reborn and handing him an envelope.*

Reborn, sliding the envelope on the table between them: You don't need me to explain. We've tolerated you long enough but now that we're free, Viper no longer needs to be held back by you so they can meet a proper Sky.

Xanxus: No. That's not for you to decide. Not for us. Mammon can be whatever they want to be, and follow whoever they want to.

Reborn: *cocks his -water?- gun*.

Mammon: *stops Reborn with a tendril wrapped around his wrist* Muu, what is the meaning of this.

Fon: We only want to do what's best for you, Viper.

Reborn: He's not good enough.

Mammon: No one is good enough for you.

Reborn: Well, obviously. We've preciously and carefully raised you and you'll just settle with this?

Mammon: You don't know him. You don't know what he's done for me, you have no idea what we've been through.

Reborn: But-

Mammon: It's true he's not what you envisioned, but I don't care, he's fine just the way he is.

Mammon: Also, it's Mammon. Let's go. Boss. *grabs Xanxus by the hand and storms out of the Mafialand Cafe they tracked them down to*

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Xanxus: Oppa- I mean, fuck! Squalo come here dammit!

Squalo: What? Did you lose your favourite branded set of clothes again?

Xanxus: No.

Squalo: Do you want the chefs to prepare a meal with your favourite wine?

Xanxus: No- Oi, listen. Don't you think something's weird with my life.

Squalo: Yeah. After all if you were anyone else, you'd probably be dead at this point.

Xanxus: No I don't mean the mafia part. Hmmmmmmm.....

Squalo: Well, I mean it is strange that after a life altering incident you've eventually settled in this quiet and peaceful-

*Bang! Goddamit get back here Bel! Mammon stop him!*

Squalo: -out of the way place and not concern yourself with the heart of the chaotic events, doing what you excel at. Which is killing.

Xanxus: You're right, nothing's weird.

Extra:

Xanxus to Tsuna: Ah, so you're the main character- I mean the true heir of the Vongola, and I also see you have your own Avatar of cuteness.

Tsuna: Please don't call him that.

Reborn: He says it how he sees it.

Kind of got carried away but you see it, right? Can't stop thinking about that post saying Xanxus is the villainess in manhwas.

#Xanxus di vongola #A k-drama heroine #Of multiple genres #He's got it all #And I write #katekyo hitman reborn #Xanxus di Varia #sawada tsunayoshi #katekyo home tutor #Khr mammon #Khr reborn #Enrico di Vongola #Massimo di Vongola #Federico di Vongola #Timoteo di Vongola #Vongola nono #superbi squalo #dino cavallone #Khr Viper

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h4n47105 · 3 months ago

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[ Intertwined Fates ]

Hi, hi!! I promised that I'll explaining more of the newest rosters in the Destined One's journey!! Take note that these OC' info/biodata can be changed and adjusted accordingly in the future (once I fully understand and watch BMW gameplay properly) But regardless, here are my so-called takes on the Six Eared Macaque's and the Red-Buttocked Baboon's 'destined ones' if they ever had one! Click [READ MORE] for the entire thing!

The Veiled One "Stoic and unflinching, the Veiled One carries himself with a quiet resolve, his words as measured as his blade is swift. Beneath his calm exterior lies a relentless purpose, though his heart holds compassion even in a world that demands its silence."

Name: "蒙面" (Méng Miàn)

Nickname: Miàn

Epithet: The Veiled One; Child of Fractured Eternity

Age: ???

Height: 182.88cm/6'0ft

"A soul bound by fate, yet defiant in spirit. The Veiled One seeks to shatter the celestial and mortal laws, to carve his own path through realms forbidden. Yet destiny is a prison with walls unseen—no matter how he struggles, his path coils ever closer to the mantle he rejects: the cursed legacy of the Six-Eared Macaque."

The Blazoned One "Proud and unrestrained, the Blazoned One strides forward with a smirk that challenges the heavens themselves. Arrogant and flamboyant, he revels in taunts and tricks, turning every encounter into a spectacle—but when his amusement wanes, his wrath is swift and unforgiving."

Name: "炽耀" (Chì Yào)

Nickname: Yào

Epithet: The Blazoned One; Bearer of the Tarnished Flame

Age: ???

Height: 182.88cm/6'0ft

"Wrapped in pride, the Blazoned One carries the weight of a legacy shrouded in uncertainty. Echoes of a legendary ancestor linger, yet doubts whisper of a cowardice hidden beneath the surface. Was the Red-Buttocked Baboon truly a hero, or merely one who retreated when the tides turned? In the aftermath of fallen brothers and forsaken vows, he stands, torn between a glorious facade and the shadows of unspoken truths."

#black myth wukong oc #black myth wukong #bmw the veiled one #bmw the blazoned one #h4n47105 art #h4n47105 writing #bmw the spiritual primates' legacy bearers

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queenvhagar · 5 months ago

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So I do think one thing that’s strange(besides everything) about the whole “presenting Joffrey right after birth” is that from a historical standpoint that’s kinda normal? Public births to prevent baby switching were common in the Middle Ages and presenting the infant as well. While women were typically in confinement leading up to and directly after the birth, babies were presented. It’s really only there to make Alicent look bad(we haven’t seen any of her births she very likely could’ve had the same thing happen, her kids being presented to Viserys/court immediately) and to prop up Rhaenyra “overcoming her physical limits”

Similar to "bedding ceremonies" where it could be proven that marriages were consummated, births were also semi-public or at least had witnesses who could confirm the birth and the nature of the child being born.

This does make me wonder about the bedding cermony for Rhaenyra and Laenor's wedding. In the show, the addition of a death in the middle of the wedding feast and then a private ceremony for the heir and her future consort can somewhat explain why this ceremony might not have taken place. However, in the show, Joffrey doesn't die at the wedding itself, which goes off without a hitch, so presumably there was a bedding ceremony that occurred. I wonder how that would have gone down.

It is reasonable that a newborn would be closely looked at following the birth, especially one that would conceivably be in line to inherit the throne, and especially considering the bastard status of the first two, it makes sense that Alicent would want to confirm that the third was also the same.

It is important to remember that Alicent's order was that the baby be brought to her by a servant following its birth. The instructions were not 1) the exact second it is born tear it from its mother and run it to me 2) I expect its mother to immediately bring it to me personally despite having just endured potentially days of labor and a birth 3) give the two zero time together after the birth I need it ASAP.

Another thing to consider is that Rhaenyra is the heir and the favorite daughter of the king. She knew she did not have to do anything that anyone wanted her to do if she didn't want to do it (and this is how she effectively lived her life). That did not change here. What did happen is this: Rhaenyra realized the attention on this third bastard, who she knew was a bastard like her first two, and she knew that the baby would likely be checked once it was born. She knew that Alicent would ask for this baby and she knew people would see the baby being delivered to Alicent. So she decided to distract from the issue by bringing the baby herself, despite it being basically physically impossible, in order to show her strength in overcoming her physical limitations and to let others see her suffer as she fulfills Alicent's request to see the baby herself. This was a choice by Rhaenyra to try to deflect from the bastard issue and throw it back onto Alicent.

But of course the intention with this scene was to introduce Alicent post-time skip as a borderline sadistic villain to Rhaenyra's suffering hero. The show also clearly failed to accurately represent the bastard issue and highlight just how massive as a deal that it truly was that these babies were illegitimate and what that meant for future succession.

#asks #anti hotd #anti team black stans #<- for filtering

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mirrorbvllhoon · 6 months ago

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Still Monster (Eros!Sunghoon x Psyche!fem!reader)

She looks at me With shadowless eyes But I know The abyss within me

₊˚ ✧ Still Monster, Enhypen

word count: 3.6k

CW: apparition of Jay x y/n (the Hades and Persephone y/n), kind of suggestive, angsty, fluff, mentions of death, and I think that's it

The princess Y/n stood in the carriage parading through the city where her father ruled, there was no doubt that the beast of beauty stood in all fours demanding for more of her, until she was left alone, when she came to age everyone seemed to notice her beautiful factions, the curves in her body, some even worshiped her as the reincarnation of Aphrodite because of the dazzling stun that adorned her existence, yet her two sisters were already betrothed to promised young men, while she was alone, every man of the village wished to marry her yet she longed for something different in her insides; the punishment of her life was the beauty she was given with.

A princess who would become a queen because of her captivating beauty, everyone seemed to look at her as an attraction, being loved by the outer part of her existence, always the “most beautiful creature to roam earth” never y/n, yet the superficial love people had for her made y/n’s sisters blood boil, then how could she be considered a new deity? people stopped paying tributes to aphrodite and decided to give them towards y/n instead, if only they knew it wasn’t tributes what she longed for, all she needed was love.

But how could she know that while she was giving the town a spectacle, the goddess Aphrodite had conveyed her son, Sunghoon, god of love and passion a commandment to punish the young girl who people played to be their new god.

“Use your arrows and make her fall in love with a hideous creature…maybe that will teach her to not mess with the gods” Aphrodite’s words echoed through Sunghoon’s mind as he flew to the palace where the young woman lived, searching in every window for her already asleep silhouette, when finally arriving at her chambers he stealthily entered the room, with curiosity roaming through his mind he decided to get close so he could admire her so-called beauty, what was his surprise to see the most perfect woman he had ever encountered with, there were truly no other mortals who could compare to her beauty, overwhelmed by her splendid beauty he could understand how his mother’s jealousy was not a coincidence, for y/n’s beauty was to sunghoon the most splendid thing, there was no one among nymphs or goddesses that could even be compared to her.

While being contemplated by Sunghoon, y/n turned in her sleep, admiring for the smallest glimpses of seconds the shadow figure that crept over her, identifying only the beauty marks that adorned his face, she thought it was only a dream, so she closed her eyes and slept, however this simple action caused Sunghoon to stumble, and now the arrow that was in his hand caressed his skin, drawing blood, and in that very second, he fell in love with his arrow only intensifying the turmoil of emotions that were already triggered in him when he first saw her, and because of that love he failed to accomplish his mother’s mission. How could he harm the person he loved the most?

Y/n’s life continued normally, not even understanding what had happened, and while time passed and her sisters were already married, she couldn’t understand how anyone had wed her yet, her sisters cruel words reminding her of the situation only made her existence more difficult, her father promised her that soon enough the suitor she was waiting for should arrive, yet doubts and worry flooded his mind, he was worried about her daughter’s situation, unaware that the lack of suitors was now fault of the god of love, Sunghoon, and because he refused to allow any other man to be with her, they didn’t even know her as he did.

Desperate for answers the king arrived to the oracle of Delphi, where the god Apollo pronounced himself:

“Your daughter will marry a winged monster whose life only consists of causing pain to mortals and deities, the princess shall be left on the edge of the abyss dressed in matrimonial attire to be presented to the monster that will cause her death”

The monster that Apollo was talking about was no other than Sunghoon, yet because of his beauty he had harvested big resentment towards him, that being the reason behind his cruel harsh words and the false prophecy that he had announced to the king who was now left in tears, afraid to lose one of her daughters to such a cruel fate, but y/n’s sisters had insisted that they must follow the prophecy otherwise they would unleash the gods fury above them and curse their kingdom for the centuries to come, afraid of the decision the king ought to take he revealed everything to y/n, revealing the day that awaited her, her beauty a magnificent curse that had now caused a fatal fate to arrive.

This time the parade carriage resembled more a funeral procession, contrasting the white of her wedding attire were the sorrow-filled eyes of her father and the satisfied smirks of her sisters that watched from afar the look in her face that showed the discomfort she felt, how could everyone go from loving her to hating her in such a short period of time, they gave tributes towards her as if she was the new goddess they were worshiping and now she was just another woman that had ever roamed earth, their rejoiced chants turned into sorrows and bemoans, as if they didn’t know the blasphemies that they had committed pinning every ounce of their guilt into the young girl that was now alone in the cliff where she would await for her fate.

On the edge of the abyss Zephyr, the west wind, levitated her delicately through the sky, when her feet touched solid ground again she awoke in an unknown place, with flowers adorning every inch of grass and an even bigger palace than the ones she had ever seen or lived in, she climbed through the stairs that led her though the palace, where every centimeter was adorned with gold, silver, marble and jewels, there wasn’t any blank space that wasn’t adorned with splendid stones, luxury exceeded through the air, yet there was no sign of anyone in that place, until she heard a sweet voice.

“My lady, everything that you see is now at your disposal, and you can ask anything of us. We are here to serve you and assist you”, said the butler of the house, y/n later noticed that the servants of the house were invisible.

The day went by and she was treated as a queen, being served and bathed, even serenaded until the night arrived and she was instructed to wait in their chambers for her husband to arrive, the happiness she had felt turned into fear.

“How’s your master like? I’ve been told that he’s a monster”, y/n asked with unease setting in her stomach

“Some say that, but I can assure you he is not a monster, just… turbulent on some occasions” said the butler while guiding her to the room.

She stood looking to the cloak of stars that adorned the night canvas, until she saw a winged figure arrive, her body tensed and in a matter of seconds he felt his breath fanning over the nape of her neck, with no idea of what would happen she closed her eyes, until a sweet voice disrupted her chaotic thoughts.

“I won’t hurt you sweetheart, what do you want me to do?”, Sunghoon asked, getting both of them back into the chambers, putting her in the bed while he fawned over her “Could I kiss you?” he asked and she nodded, their lips finally meeting in a sweet connection that turned heated and passionate in a matter of seconds, when his lips started to meet the nape of her neck and his fingers swirled through her hair and body, the night passed shortly and unlike everything she had thought of her husband, he was sweet and attentive, giving her a night of sublime pleasure and love as she had never imagined could exist, but now the bed was empty, and she had no idea what her husband looked like.

The day passed by and while continued to roam the new facilities she was given with she couldn’t wait for the night to arrive so she could have a glimpse of the passionate love she could only dream of, finally Sunghoon arrived and they loved each other for hours until their breaths gave up and they were covered in each others arms, the safest place she had known, the routine repeated itself night after night and day after day, being one of those nights where y/n decided to ask him “My love, why do you always hide? I would love to see you”

“Is the love I give you not enough? All I have asked for you is to not see me, in the darkness we are equals” His voice heightened, which caused her to jump and to get away from his warm hold.

“I’m sorry, I never meant to annoy you”, y/n whispered

He sighed, “No, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have talked to you that way or have risen my tone, I apologize sweetheart that wasn’t my intention, all I ask is for you to not see me”, He took her closer, hugging her and not letting her go, until the night went by and she fell asleep.

She had decided to respect his husbands request and stopped asking or touching the subject, instead she decided to ask him to allow her to visit her family, because although her life was as magnificent as it could be, she missed her parents, Sunghoon loved her so much and trusted her that he of course said yes, and although he would miss her, he only wished for her happiness and well-being.

“Love, I hoped that you would allow me to visit my family, the last thing they knew about me is that I am dead, please, allow me to visit them, so they know I’m well and happy”, y/n asked, sunghoon’s arms holding her tight and her head resting on his chest, he knew that when freeing her she could choose to never come back, but he hoped that the love he felt towards the young woman was requited, if she came back he would know that the love she had for him was genuine.

When y/n arrived to the mortal realm once again and encountered with her family astonish surrounded their expressions and for the sisters false smiles that they wore with such decorum, filled with rage and jealousy of how y/n was now being adorned and treated as the richest of queens, with jewels and festivities celebrated because of her glorious arrival.

“Mybeloved daughter is back, again” chanted the king, if only he knew that her daughter wouldn’t be staying for that long.

Finally the most important question was asked, “How’s your life with that mysterious husband you have?”, her mother still holding her daughter’s hand, hoping to hear sorrow-filled laments…

“It couldn’t be better, he does everything to please me, he is sweet and dedicated”

“Don’t fool us y/n!” one of her sisters said in exasperation, “You always talk about your life as if it was wonderful compared to ours…”

“You don’t need to believe what I tell you, come with me and allow me to show you everything myself” interrupted y/n

Both of the sisters and y/n stood on the cliff awaiting for the arrival of zephyrs wind to elevate them to the heavenly palace, when they awoke in the flower-filled garden, the jealous sisters couldn’t believe their eyes, everything y/n said was true, and the jealousy flooded their minds to try and ruin her perfect state of life.

“But you do remember what the oracle said, don’t you y/n?” the other sister started, her voice filled with false sadness, “You have married a monster that eventually will cause your death”

“Yes, while you are sleeping, you shall take a light and see the monster’s face and after you do that, slash his throat and be freed from this awful prophecy”

Her sisters had already left but their words still flooded her mind, distrust setting in and once the night fell and her and her husband lied down on the bed, she decided to break his trust and with the light of the lamp see his face.

As she approached the men and contemplated his ethereal beauty, she saw again those beauty marks that adorned his nose and under eye, as if the stars themselves had decorated his face, she finally concluded that the man in front of her was neither mortal or monster, but a god.

She tried to admire him even more when a drop of the lamp’s oil fell down, landing on his chest, stirring his sleep and waking him up.

“Y/n are you alright?”, his first thought after he felt the burn in his skin was of her but once his eyes opened to see the guilt filled eyes and the lamp and hidden knife, his expression changed “How could you be such a fool? I’ve asked of one thing only, and you betrayed me”

“It’s not what you think, please my love forgive me…”

“Not what I think? it’s not that you believed that I was a monster and planned on killing me? Am I wrong?”, his voice filled with sadness and lament, oh how he wished to be wrong.

She maintained her head low, while he headed to the window to leave and never come back, she tried to explain herself once again, but in her attempts to jump and catch him she fell to the ground, with no wounds but her broken heart.

She arrived once again to her homeland that no longer felt like home, her sisters however arrived to the cliff in a desperate attempt to be flown away to the lands of pleasure that once belonged to y/n, but Zephyr was smarter than that, allowing them to levitate for the shortest of seconds before dropping them in the abyss, where the furies would punish them for their sins, y/n on the other hand, started to serve Demeter’s temple, but the thoughts that flooded her mind belonged only to Sunghoon and the days that once revolved around them.

Finally Demeter felt sorry and decided to advise her on what to do to get her lover back.

“Y/n, you must go to the temple of Aphrodite and with humility surrender yourself to the goddess, then you will soften Aphrodite’s wrath and even gain your lover back”, Demeter started, y/n’s image reminding her of her own daughter.

“It would be foolish of me to not follow the advice of such a wise goddess”, y/n answered, taking a decision to get Sunghoon back.

Finally arriving at the temple of Aphrodite and partially meeting her mother-in-law, she threw herself to the ground when finally encountering the goddess.

“I humbly throw myself at your service” y/n started, her head low and her knees touching the ground, “...in search for your forgiveness”

“To earn my forgiveness is a difficult task, and to do that you would have to accomplish the most difficult tasks, some that may even cost you your life”, said the goddess with disdain

“I will do anything to gain your forgiveness”, answered y/n, hoping that the tears that fell through her face wouldn’t be as noticeable.

The first task arrived, and y/n was met with three big piles almost mountain-like of mixed seeds of poppy, lentils, barley and beans, her job was to separate each and every of them the difficulty of such a task would’ve overwhelmed even some of the most powerful gods, however Sunghoon watched from afar, and knowing that he may have hurt the woman he loved the most he decided to send ando so they could help her with the task, she ended with her task before the sun could set, astonishing herself and the goddess.

The second task arrived and this time she had to collect a hank of golden wool that belonged only to the golden sheeps, the animals however were vicious but with her ingenuity she decided to collect the wool that the animals left when crossing through a thorny path, and thus completing Aphrodite's second task.

When faced with the third task that according to the goddess would be even more difficult than the passing ones, she was set to collect water from a fall that was connected with the styx and cocytus river, however this time, Zeus decided to help her by sending an eagle that would retrieve the water for her, the goddess was exasperated by seeing how the young woman with help of the gods could accomplish her trials, and so the last triple arrived.

“You will need to go to the underworld and ask its queen to fill me this box with her beauty since your presence has tired my beauty so you shall accomplish this task and this way I will regain my strength, If you do accomplish this task you will have my forgiveness and will be free to reunite with Sunghoon once again”, Aphrodite pronounced before dismissing the young woman to accomplish her task.

Y/n felt the sadness of a thousand oceans crippling over her cheeks, she knew that her end was near, maybe the prophecy was right after all and she was fated to die such a lonesome death, she stood on a tall window while admiring the night sky and the stars that decorated it, reminding herself who she was doing this for, hoping those memories would give her the strength to jump and take her own life, when she was about to jump a mysterious voice started to whisper-talk to her.

“Don't do that, I know a way that you can arrive to the underworld without dying”, Sunghoon advised her, too afraid of losing her for eternity this time, “You will have to give Charon, the boatman who will guide you along the styx river, two silver coins, and give Cerberus the three-headed dog and guardian of the underworld barley and honey bread mixed with sleep pills so he can calm down and allow you entrance, the path to the underworld is rough, but you can easily accomplish it by following the path, however you must know that under any circumstance you can’t open the beauty filled box ”

When y/n finally arrived at the underworld and met with Charon, she handed him the coins as payment and explained the reason for her visit, and this way she crossed the river of souls and sorrow and arrived at the palace where Jay and his wife lived.

“What does a mortal like you search for in this place?”, the queen asked

“My queen, I serve the goddess Aphrodite who sent me here to ask you to fill this box of your beauty, so that she can restore hers”, y/n explained

The woman stood from her throne and carefully filled the box with beauty, and although hers would restore eventually, in that very moment her husband stood by her side, cautious of the effects that giving away her beauty would cause.

“You’re still the prettiest”, Jay whispered to his wife’s ear, pulling a chuckle out of her, announcing to y/n the queue to leave.

When passing through the Underworld’s path she encountered Cerberus, however as she previously knew, she handed him the bread which put him to sleep almost immediately, allowing her to pass and arrive at the styx river, when the boat had already sailed she stared at her reflection in the river, her tired eyes an evidence of the hard work she had done, for a second she thought of the box, maybe if she just opened it slightly, she could look even more beautiful for her husband, but when she opened the box a black mist swirled her, and she fainted.

Sunghoon felt that something was happening to his lover, so he came to her rescue, seeing her already cold cadaver on the realms of the underworld, and the angel of death standing next to her, ready to claim her to the death lands, nevertheless Sunghoon wouldn’t allow that, and using his powers he retrieved the mist from y/n’s body, feeling the warmth flooding her body once again, and giving the mist back into the box.

When opening her eyes, she stared at the winged figure of her husband, finally able to look at his eyes, both of them smiled before kissing once again, as if their lips were the heaven the other pursued, drunk on each other’s presence as if they had been hit by one of his arrows once again.

“Although I would love to take you back to our home, you must finish the work first sweetheart”, Sunghoon pronounced before kissing her forehead, handing her the box to hand it to Aphrodite.

And while she handed the box to the love goddess, Sunghoon flew to Mount Olympus and begged Zeus himself to allow y/n to bond with her and have Aphrodite’s blessing as well, the day finally arrived that all gods and goddesses reunited to celebrate, and from the hands of Zeus himself and under Aphrodite’s blessing, y/n drank the nectar and ambrosia of the gods, bestowing her with immortality, and a love that would persist forever and always.

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

a/n: had fun writing this one, hope that you enjoyed it as much as I did, let me know what you think ;)

#enhypen au #mirrorbvllhoon #enhypen #enhypen fluff #sunghoon #hyung line #greek mythology #sunghoon imagines #enhypen scenarios #sunghoon x reader #sunghoon scenarios #sunghoon fluff

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edwin-paynes-bowtie · 1 year ago

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No, but Gracetopher is Thomastair's tragic mirror and I think it's time we talk about it.

We have Alastair Carstairs and Grace Blackthorn. Both abuse survivors; both in unspeakable situations. Both people who have done horrible things at a young age because that's what they had to do to survive. Both very alone, with no one to love them but a sibling that they have a forced distance with.

Both perceived as monsters.

And then there are the Lightwood cousins, inseparable since birth. Thomas, a poetic dreamer with his head in the clouds, and Christopher, a scientific innovator who's well up there, too. (Both are also almost certainly autistic imo, but I don't want to derail this canonical analysis with my headcanons.)

They forgive.

And they're the first people in Alastair and Grace's lives to show them kindness, to reach out a hand and give them the grace they need to grow.

Thomas sees the best in Alastair, teaches him that he is loveable, that he deserves to be happy and share love, because love is the best thing we do.

And Alastair, as he deserves, is now "perfectly happy with everything exactly as it is." In Thomas's eyes, he has found hard-earned joy; he has found peace he never had.

Christopher sees the best in Grace, too. Where Thomas sees the pure and unfiltered love that Alastair holds, the selfless sacrificial affection, Christopher sees in Grace a will of iron and a beacon of strength. Grace, who has never been valued for anything more than her beauty, is finally seen as intelligent and passionate in Christopher's eyes. And, because she is these things, because he asks for the "honor of her opinion" and believes her "brilliant," she is, for a short time, herself.

And then Christopher dies.

Thomas and Alastair grow closer, and they have the chance to bring out the best in each other. Alastair opens up emotionally; Thomas becomes more confident. In the end, they become who they truly are because they find solace in each other. But Grace...

Well, Grace is right where Christopher left her. He left her no choice but to stay there forever, dust collecting on her pinned-up hair.

Without Christopher, she no longer has that mirror. She loses the only person to see her as she is - a strong, smart, brilliant girl with unfiltered and unlimited mental potential.

That's the tragedy of Grace Blackthorn. With a mirror, with those eyes (or crooked spectacles) that she could see her true reflection in, she too could have been happy. Alastair is the proof. But now, she does not get that. She is alone again. Dare I say that she is doomed by the narrative.

And yet. Yet.

There is a glimmer of hope, because Grace saw who she really is in Kit's lavender eyes, if only for a moment.

It's a far cry from Alastair's happy ending, and the story of Grace Blackthorn is in my opinion probably the most tragic in TSC.

But still.

She knows, deep down, that she can be more than a monster.

She can be a scientist.

#grace blackthorn #christopher lightwood #gracetopher #alastair carstairs #thomas lightwood #thomastair #chot #chain of thorns #tsc deep dives

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rise-my-angel · 2 years ago

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Heart of the Great Wolf

3 - An Intrigue Drenched in Blood

Pairing: Jon Snow x F!Baratheon!Reader (Slow Burn), Robb Stark x F!Baratheon!Reader

Length: 8.6k

Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, animal death, discussions of child murder and infanticide, brothels, blood and violence, slight canon divergence

Notes: Previous Chapter Here, Things pick up from this point on, I assure you. Series Masterlist Here.

Bright and noisy was the state of Kings Landing as knights poured in from every corner of the most populous cities. All with their shiny armour and polished bravados like they were every bit of confident that they would win the winning gold and glory. They were never your kind of attraction even in your younger years here. The play fighting that so many of these men staked their life on, and of all the days to miss it was yesterdays which had the worst of action.

Not allowing the chance to even truly approach for a question, Ser Gregor Clegane otherwise known as The Mountain had speared the newly knighted Ser Hugh with a lance right through the throat. A space in his armour seemingly perfect for such an action and it felt hard to believe that it was nothing but a coincidence. Nothing in this city was a coincidence anymore it felt.

Walking towards the stands you passed by where curiously your King uncle was absent from his seat. Not a man to miss a spectacle you toyed with the ridiculous notion that he would ride in the event. Even now you could recall a time when you were thirteen and a tourney was on just like this one, you had stopped by the tent King Robert was in and admonished him for being so foolish to join.

It was easier to be comfortable with him in those days. You were sat up on a table, popping grapes into your mouth as you casually would remark that not only would no man dare hurt the King even in jest, but that the armour he was trying to fit in was about fifteen years too small. Were you not so close, he might have gotten you in trouble for such a comment. You couldn’t imagine even having a conversation with him that would allow for fun now.

The King was less miserable, and typically more reasonable and sober back then and you were still full of a youth like pep in this city. You still had the urge to explore the nearly fifty miles length of tunnels hidden about by the former dynasty and the pretty colours, bright sun, and vast diversity of lords and ladies impressed you. You still could walk into this city with a smile, unlike now. Maybe it was the loss of a childhood trait, or more realistically it was the adult understanding that this was a dangerous place and you’d be a fool to think otherwise.

You still wore the pretty dresses, and entertained the noble daughters whom were some degree of friends but the spark was gone from your eyes despite it all. This place and it’s people no longer giving you joy, instead just now a place of bloodshed and the tediousness of cleaning up after your King’s messes. No wonder your fathers scowl had deepened the lines in his forehead so much, you were beginning to think you’d return to Robb in Winterfell, stress having doubled your age on him.

Spotting Renly, he gave you a closed mouth smile of surprise as you pulled your skirt upwards to climb the steps before flattening it all out as you sat next to him. His voice was as light as ever, not that you expected much. “When you asked if I’d be here, I didn't actually expect you to show up. I thought this wasn’t your kind of thing, my dear niece.”

Tilting your head with a slight grimace you relented. “No, I can’t say I see the great appeal in cheering about men whose claims are they are young and very good at knocking men off horses with a stick.”

Nudging you with his arm, Renly smirked. “Shame, you could do with some fun in your life, shake up the terribly boring personality my brother passed onto you.” Glaring with only a flicker of your eyes to the side, you felt back a slight smirk as he just sauntered onward like nothing. “I hope for Robb Stark’s sake you aren’t such a rigid, bore in bed as well. Last thing one of those northerners need is less enthusiasm in their personal lives.”

Rolling your eyes, you took a breath before just passing him onto the truth. “I promised Shireen I’d go see a tournament, so I can write to her all about it.” You dared not look at him, knowing it was something unjustly vile about her on his tongue.

You think you could see him shrug somewhat beside you. “At least it gets you out for once, you and Lord Stark seem to be working way too hard for a King whose never going to thank you for it.”

Watching the very man approach, he nodded with an unblinking stare for just a second before sitting next to his daughter. No one thought your jobs, certainly not Hand of the King’s job was done for the sake of thanks. Not when the King had attended maybe two or three small council meetings over the course of the six years you’ve been sitting in on them to some degree.

Squinting in the bright sun, you shrugged with an otherwise flat expression. “Someone in this family should do the hard work for once, I may as well take over that mantle.”

Chuckling, Renly and yourself glanced over to the King making his own way to his seat finally, the bumbling sack of nerves and apologies that was his squire following suit with the wine. “Don’t be so harsh on our King, takes a lot of energy to fuck as many whores as he does at that age.”

The contenders next begun to ride up. Ser Gregor large and as brutish as ever on a large yet skittish black horse that seemed to be as unsettled as many felt looking at the man. On the other side, dressed in a bright and ornate armour with poise was his opponent. Curls atop his head neat and styled and a rose in his hand as he looked towards the stands near where you sat, for a subject to give it too.

Settling on the young redhead in the front stands a few rows from you, you could see the elation in Sansa’s shoulders as she gently accepted it. “Thank you, Ser Loras.”

Unnoticed to her as he took steps away, glancing up to the rows where you sat he glanced with a pointed glint in his eyes. Renly did not respond, but the words were there as there was solidarity in your silence. You would tease your uncle as he would you, but something between the dynamic you two had build up seemed to have been discussed in the men’s private affairs. Your teasing was never meant as anything but fodder for banter.

The shared look was not romantic, but they tended to stay away in public due to image. Much of the court knew about Renly, you weren’t as sure many, if any at all, outside of the small collection of whisperers, knew enough to say the same about the son of Mace Tyrell, heir to Highgarden.

In the seat below you and one above the two Starks, Lord Baelish turned with a jaunty grin. “A hundred gold dragons on the Mountain.”

Renly beside, did not hesitate. “I’ll take that bet.”

The two knights made their way to each side of the procession as the lower man begun to brag of his confidence. “Now what will I buy with a hundred gold dragons? A dozen barrels of Dornish Wine, or a girl from the pleasure houses of Lys?”

With a quirk of your eyebrow, you glanced at him. “You could even buy a friend.” The reaction was as satisfying as such a man could emote. A smile as if he knew a secret you didn’t and it only reminded you why bothering to speak to him was so grating. Lord Baelish not allowing for a moment to let another get the one up on him even in words he always felt compelled to have the final look, the final say.

The trumpets sounded out, both riders finally going towards the other as it only lasted for a mere moment. Loras’s Lance striking Ser Gregors shield and pushing him back. The large black horse fumbling in it’s steps as it fell into the wooden railings and knocking the large knight himself to the ground. The crowd cheering with delight as you felt the pride next to you.

Pride in both energy and voice as Renly shouted down smugly, “Such a shame, Littlefinger. It would've been so nice for you to have a friend.”

Standing up and turning to face you both with a quieter tone and a wider smile, you felt the creeping below your skin with a narrowing of your brows. “And tell me, Lord Renly. When will you be having your friend?”

Both of you said nothing, but the glares spoke many things all at once that the man only found amusement in as he turned back. You and Renly glancing at the other for only a moment of seriousness before you glanced back to the waving Ser Loras at the people. “Dare I ask how much gold you two are playing around with to come up with that little stunt?”

Renly laughed, the one thing about you that separated from your father is that you didn’t have to lecture to disprove. If the rich wanted to play with their money like jesting boys, you’d just let them it didn’t matter to you. Leaning in to whisper closer to your ear, “To be fair my dear niece, it wouldn’t have worked as well on any other horse. A man’s animal is only as wild as it’s owner they say.”

The next words didn’t come out of your mouth, as the sounds combined with what image flashed in the side of your vision gathered a mix of yells and stunned silence. Ser Gregor at some point having acquired his sword, took it through his horse’s neck in a single slice. The anger in him wild and untamable as he turned on his opponent, knocking Ser Loras to the ground only just missing from by strikes to his shield.

Both you and Renly standing at the action, Loras was good, but not good enough for that. Strike once twice, enough that you felt the bubbling anxiety in your chest before a growling voice came down from that of the King’s Stand to leave him be.

Striking his sword against his before each pushed away from the other, brother against brother stared the other down in a hatred that spoke more about themselves then it did defence of another. Ser Sandor Clegane, the brother of the giant Knight in front of him with half his face burned in a sear of fire for life. Half the hair on that side barley able to cover it beyond the strands coming from the top of his head that weren’t destroyed.

It wasn’t of any interest to you, nor did it matter, but you recall learning what such a mark meant and how it happened. The two now clashing swords, your eyes narrowed and your nerves grew tense in your muscles. This would get out of hand until more bloodshed arrived but only one man dared to interrupt such a commotion.

“Stop this madness in the name of your King,” The roar from the stands as King Robert stood was strong and echoing. Ser Gregor taking a final swing as the other ducked the blow with a surprising grace as he bent down to kneel, sword stabbed in the ground with a bow of his head.

You felt Renly’s own nerves ease beside you as the Mountain threw his sword to the ground with a raging huff and stormed off. The King yelling to let him go as the crowd parted in a justified terror. The Hound was not a man you enjoyed associating with, found too much pleasure in the necessary harshities of life and considered you to be as aggravating and dull as he did your father. However, he did follow around your wretched cousin for most of his days and that would make anyone angry.

The crowd cheered for Ser Loras and The man most just called The Hound as the smaller and younger raised the others hand in the air of victory, you and Renly sitting back down slowly.

Glancing at him, you could see a brightness in his eyes looking at the proclaimed Knight of the Flowers, and you couldn’t see it within you to give anymore passing jests at the matter. His new close association with the Tyrells struck you as an odd choice, and it pinged a distrust in your brain but you in no way had let it effect what a terror that would be for him.

Renly wasn’t a fighter of any kind, you weren’t even sure he had ever held something longer then a stick to play fight with and certainly had never been hit hard enough to bleed. It’s scary to imagine that you are forced to sit there and do nothing as the man you love has a blade shoved into him.

You perished the thought, you dared not let yourself imagine anything for the two faces which struck you as the scariest.

Sighing to yourself as you walked through the Red Keep you were thankful for the silence, the handmaidens appointed to you were fine girls, good at their jobs, but they were also giggly and chatty and fussed over you a bit too much. Having to tell them day after day, “I can walk myself through the castle halls my ladies, I assure you.”

When you were younger, it was either one of your fathers household guards that would keep and eye on you, or another who wasn’t sworn to serve but seemed to always know when you snuck off. Ser Barristan was in the sworn brotherhood of the Kingsguard, but he took a liking to you the day you arrived in Kings Landing. Not quite good at holding your tongue just yet, but you were still serious and respectful like your father taught you.

It was one day he had been sent by the King to fetch his niece so he could spend some time with you that he came across the most unique of sights. A wide area of Lord Stannis’s quarters had been pushed up against the wall and he stood in the middle with you, only aged thirteen, with a wooden sword in your hand.

He watched for a while, seeing the clever instruction your father was giving you. Ser Barristan knowing your lord father to be a formidable opponent and one that he would not wish to fight on the other side of a battlefield. Yet it wasn’t that style which he taught you.

You were less hacking and slashing, and more about swift movements and carefully timed slices that would cut down faster then your strength could overpower. After that, it was he who often found his way to accompany you when the King had no immediate need of him.

Days like this, you almost missed that. You didn’t want the hen chatter of girls fussing over you like you were the princess but you did miss the company of those who didn’t see fit to treat you like a dainty doll. Sometimes you had wondered if your strange mix of ladylike properness and a tendency to more lordly tasks was because of your father. He gave you and Shireen a lords education and such teachings led you to other interests.

To many you weren’t ladylike enough, but it wasn’t as if you pretended to be anything but the highborn lady you were born as. You enjoyed the company of other women, you took pride in your appearance like many, but you also spent much of your days as a teenager being kicked in the mud and hit with wooden swords by three teenage boys that had no qualms of making you feel like you were fine at being both.

However, as you heard a groan of frustration and tiny pattering of feet scampering beside you as it dodged into the hall, you were met with an amusing sight. Arya was covered in a layer of sweat and grime as well as what appeared to be scratches along her forearms when she stopped. Bending forward to rest her palms on her thighs as she caught her breathe, only flinging back up in surprise when you chuckled.

Slowly approaching, you didn’t bother hiding a smirk. “Such a ghastly state of dress for a highborn girl such as yourself, Lady Arya.” Your chuckle bellowed to a much heartier laugh at how quickly she told you to shut up.

Coming closer to you, she plopped herself down onto a small series of steps as you carefully sat down to join her. “Syrio has me catching cats. If I can be quick enough to catch them, then I’m quick enough to move around my opponents.” You smiled fondly at her, exhausted and covered in scratches that looked unseemly like looking at your once self.

Glancing up, you kept your eye on the black cat hiding around the corner. Peeking it’s one ear’d head out occasionally to eye it’s chaser. “You’re smaller then a normal target. They’re stronger but if you’re faster then them, that’s how you get them before they get you.” When she looked at you with a curious question in her eye, you shrugged looking back to the black cat. “It’s what Jon told me when he started to teach me how to swing a sword.”

Looking up with narrowed brows she asked, “I thought your father taught you?”

Nodding, your fingertips started to tap at the other in a fidget. That memory was still clear as it was when it happened. “Sort of. You were just born, you wouldn’t remember any of it. But it was one night I couldn’t sleep and I ended up wandering into the training yard. I was fooling around with one of the training swords, no idea what I was doing at all. And before I knew it, Jon had snuck up behind me and hit me in the legs with one and I just fell to the ground.”

Arya looking a bit taken back, but you laughed. “We all used to rough house a lot more back then, me and your brothers. He and Robb were around fourteen or fifteen by that point, and I was twelve. So just shy of being too old to pick on girls anymore.”

Moving to tuck her knees closer to her chest she wrapped her arms around them. “So what, he hit you and then..?”

You mimicked the same position, “At first he joked that if I was going to play with swords I should at least learn to not turn my back unguarded. But then he asked if I really wanted to know how to use one.” Feeling far away, the girl next to you disappeared as well as the castle walls around you. “I think we met up after everyone went to sleep for three weeks straight. He taught me some basics, then realized I would learn a bit better if he didn’t teach me how to fight like him, but how to fight against someone like him.”

Smiling to yourself, it was during those nights all to yourself that had done you two in. You weren’t a lady in that moment, and he wasn’t a bastard. You were just you and Jon, your best friend guiding you how to fight simply beacuse you wanted to know and he wanted to teach you. You got roughed up a lot, in the privacy of the night, Jon certainly didn’t shy away from grabbing and throwing you around when you got too cocky.

“When I returned home, my father recognized what kind of cuts and bruises they were, instantly. I never told him who did it, I was scared he’d write to Lord Stark and Jon would get in trouble. But he never got mad at me. No, he figured if I wanted to learn and I already was, then he saw no reason to not continue himself.”

Those days you think were some of the last time you and your father so easily got along. He smiled and laughed during those lessons in his quarters, proud of his daughter so keen on learning the things that helped made him the Lord he was. You hadn’t seen your father so freely smile like the did on those days in a very long time. It was the last time he felt truly like your father, and not more like your Lord.

Lost in thought for more then you assumed, Arya’s voice startled you. “Does it bother you?” Glancing down at her, but she was looking at her feet not you. “Having to act like a lady when you want to do things the boys do?”

Considering for a moment, you saw no reason to sugar the truth. “For a while it did. When I came to Kings Landing for the first time, everyone treated me like a fancy highborn lady when both on Dragonstone and in Winterfell, people just treated me more like who I was already.”

Formality of such high luxury certainly was not common on Dragonstone. Being doted on and cared for like it was a waste of your effort to lift a finger that much was not the way of your father. You didn’t have so much done for you, that you forget what it means to earn your keep through your own means.

“But, I think I had to learn that it wasn’t being a lady that I didn’t want.” Glancing down to her, who now was looking at you with wide eyes. “It was just that I didn’t want to be the kind of lady people like the Queen wanted me to be. I’m nothing like Sansa, but I’m as much a lady as she is.”

Arya looked away quickly, a flash of long hurt in her eyes that you knew stemmed from a sister who didn’t treat her well. “My father wants me to be like her.”

Not even a second hesitation did you spend, “He doesn’t.” Turning to face her properly, you called her name firmly. “Arya. Fathers will always want things for their children, things that they have no way of knowing what we’d like about it or not. He’s not a mind reader, he can’t see the future you want for yourself and sometimes accepting that it’s different then what he envisioned takes time. But he adores you, and he would never tell you to be someone you can’t be.”

Running a hand over her hair, you could feel her trying not to lean into it. Trying to look impassive instead of upset as you continued. “We’re not all going to get the future we dreamed of, but that doesn’t mean your father wouldn’t support your choices no matter how different from Sansa’s they are at the end of the day. He went out of his way to hire Syrio to teach you something he first said wasn’t for girls. He wants you happy, even if it doesn’t lead you to the future he wants or you want.”

“Like how you didn’t get the future you wanted?”

Taken back, you didn’t understand her words but there was no anger or judgment in them as she elaborated. “You didn’t get to marry who you wanted, but every time I see you writing or opening a letter Robb sent you, you still smile in the same way my father does at my mother.”

Not in these open walls would you broach that. Not sure of what she knows or suspected or if you were just projecting onto her. You smiled, and your next words echoed the very thing Jon told you would be what was in store for you. “I’ve known Robb since I was eight. He’s easy to fall in love with.”

Your lips remembering his, and how easy it was to let his touch and his deep words make you lose yourself in him. But also the boyish grins whenever he teased you, the lack of worry you had knowing you could say anything to him and there’d be only support. Even before.

Somewhere in your heart was something far different that needed not thinking of now, or even if you had to think long enough to be real with yourself. But it was locked away for a reason. You couldn’t take that feeling with you, you had to let it go in order to give Robb who you really were. Not just pretend.

That part of your heart, had been captured protectively by the other. That part of your heart now sat heavy alongside that of the wolf who took it with him. That part of love was tucked away safely at the Wall with the one who insisted you not take it with you. You were with Robb now, and no matter what one part of you said, the other part of you yearned to see Robb and actually be happy. You did want it.

“Sometimes the things we want, aren’t the things we originally asked for. But that’s part of duty, how to be just and firm in our choices. Whatever your duty becomes, you have to learn to want it. Otherwise it’ll just eat away at you.”

Glancing up, you saw the little tomcat start to inch away down a stairwell, pulling a smirk as you nodded your chin over to it. “I hope you really want that cat, Arya because he’s about to bolt.”

Her head whipping up, you watched her leap to her feet sprinting down the hall as the little black cat sprinted off faster. As Arya grumbled loudly, you laughed freely.

Much true of words, you didn’t come here wanting to be wrapped in the tendrils of liars and spiders, but as you entered Lord Stark’s room? The very spider sat in the seat across from him, his face somewhat less apprehensive as it was you who entered, not one of mistrust. “My lady.”

“Lord Varys.” You did not sit int he seat beside him, coming to the end of Lord Stark’s desk and leaning back against the wall closest to it, arms crossed as you and him shared a look. His eyes steady and serious as you nodded. “Am I interrupting?”

Cordial and showing no intent, yet he never fooled you. “Not at all, in fact it makes it easier to share such sensitive information while you both are here.”

Lord Stark stared intently at the man, trying to gauge just as you. “Lord Varys seems to think the Kings life is in danger.”

“Oh I don’t think, Lord Stark. I’m afraid I know.”

Your posture couldn’t be more uptight and rigid as your stoned face, but you found no patience in playing nice as Lord Varys did. “Are you speaking of the same kind of danger that killed Jon Arryn?”

A slow nod, his voice was even as if none of this effected him. Despite his very presence and confidence of truth saying otherwise. “If you suspect Lord Arryn was poisoned, it would need to be one that was fast and utterly incapacitating if given the proper dose.”

“If we suspect?” Your emphasis on the doubt of we as in you and Lord Stark had Varys raise an eyebrow to you.

“I assure you my Lady, I don’t act on questions or doubts.” Glancing between you and Lord Stark he settled on what appeared to be the one who relaxed his trust more. “The tears of Lys, they call it. A rare and costly thing, as clear and tasteless as water. It leaves no trace.”

Lord Stark rose, pacing in thought towards the open air of his balcony. Your jaw clenching in consideration of the idea. What Grand Maester Pycelle had said, he seemed confident at first it must have been natural causes. If he didn’t sense a foul attribute then this ran deeply, did it not?

Asking who would give it to him, his voice was muffled as he still looked out to the city. Lord Varys playing such a game that irritated you. Telling you what you already know, but in a riddle to avoid any prying listeners to the subject. Never close to a man who says what he means. “Some dear friend, no doubt. But which one, there were so many. Lord Arryn was a kind and trusting man. There was one boy, all he was he owed to Jon Arryn.”

Squire to Knight upon his masters death, and yet once the master was dead soon was the squire turned knight. Something was tying up it’s loose ends but the ends of what? Lord Varys only saying whoever paid Ser Hugh would’ve been someone able to afford such a price.

His hands pressed against the top of his chair, the same yarns spun in Lord Starks head. You looked from him to Lord Varys. “Jon Arryn was Hand for over twenty years, why kill him now?”

Leaning forward, he spoke of something he knew the answer to and yet still forced you and Lord Stark to form more of that very thing on your own. “He started asking questions.”

There was no way of knowing how haunting this meeting would be to you one day.

The ferocity of your Uncle as he called a meeting of the small council himself told everyone whom didn’t already know the newest update, that something was about to explode. King Robert was the most blatant example of the fury of a Baratheon as any of you living now.

Something akin to madness was in his eyes as you watched him arrive, there was a calmness in both Lord Varys and Renly, a curiousness in Grand Maester Pycelle as he arrived and a difficult to read Lord Baelish who was the only other one present then Pycelle who didn’t know. As Lord Stark finally arrived, walking in you wondered how much of a unified front it appeared to be.

Niece and brother on both sides of the King Baratheon and a horrific message displayed. The only time your King uncle did not mince words, was now. Drenched in anger and vengeance that did not sit comfortably in your stomach. He looked at Lord Stark with all the vitriol he could, spitting out in anger “The whore is pregnant.”

Lord Stark hardly finding it in him to care for hiding his disgust but they fell on the Kings deaf rage.

It was like he didn’t even hear the man speak. “I warned you with would happen. Back in the North, I warned you but you didn’t care to hear. Well hear it now. I want them dead, mother and child both, and that fool Viserys as well. Is that plain enough for you? I want them dead.”

You hadn’t been born until two years after the rebellion ended, you’d never seen him in a place that wasn’t in times of peace and yet he ranted and raved as if all three of them were armed and blooded at the gates. This was not a man you recognized, this was a man who spoke of an unborn child with the same he did of Rhaegar Targaryean.

Lord Stark’s tone was deep, cracking with a shocked twinge at who this man was. “You will dishonour yourself forever if you do this.”

The fury grew louder as he spoke. “Honour? I’ve got seven kingdoms to run. One king, seven kingdoms. Do you think honour keeps them in line? Do you think it’s honour that’s keeping the peace? It’s fear. Fear and blood.”

Your father had a similar idea but never in a lifetime would it be in a manner like this. Lord Stannis felt that if people don’t fear you they won’t follow you. That if you can’t scare the wicked away then the good will not stick around to be picked off by what you refuse to pluck out. If you don’t pull the weeds out by their roots with determined force, then they will overtake the garden and nothing good will stay to grow between the rot.

Your voice was rough, as if your throat was scratched in need of water but it was hissed out without much care for hiding the feeling building. “Fear and blood isn’t far from fire, now is it?”

The King turned to his left to look at you, but you did not flinch back at the rage nor the spitting words from his mouth as he said your name. “Careful now. You’re my niece but you watch that.”

“You’re chasing shadows twenty years removed, shadows you can’t even be sure are real.”

Lord Varys far calmer then the other member still glaring your way. “My lady, you wrong me. Would I bring lies to the king and his council?” You both stared at one another, and in just a brief moment so quick you could’ve imagined it, there was a flash of something in his eyes.

Something like what he found in yours unsettled him. The way you know for a fact, he had looked at Lord Stannis many times over. Lord Stark asked who even provided the information. The spider’s answer did nothing but leave the wolf and little stag unconvinced. Or you supposed, given the calm manner which Renly refused to challenge and the true fury in the other?

Perhaps the two unconvinced members of this council, were indeed two wolves.

“Jorah Mormont. He is serving as advisor the Targaryeans.” You huffed a breath of disbelieving laughter at such a spy. As Lord Stark looked as unimpressed, he himself having much more direct reason to press to them that he wasn’t to be relied on.

“Mormont? You bring us the whispers of a traitor half a world away and call it fact?” Lord Baelish trying to reason that being a slaver is not the same as a traitor and yet only traitors would betray their loyal family and flee across the sea to escape whatever sentence justice demanded from him. You took no part in entertaining slave traders.

“And if he’s right?”

Glaring once more at your king, “And if she miscarries, if the child dies in infancy? We do not plan murders based on a whispers of what if, your grace.” Your name spat once more but you did not hear. “You mean to fear someone who doesn’t even exist yet so much, that you’d murder it in their mothers womb and call that anything but that of a coward?”

King Roberts face almost red from fury as he once again hissed your name. “I told you to watch yourself or have you forgotten who is king here?”

You stared at him as still as possible, not recognizing this as your uncle. This King was a stranger.

“No, your grace. Have you?”

Lord Stark speaking up before the King took a chance to raise his voice so loud it booms through the seven kingdoms. “The Narrow Sea still lies between us. I’ll fear a Targaryean child the day the Dothraki teach their horses to run on water.”

Looking in shock between you both, he yelled at the others to talk sense into you two.

Lord Varys took his chance, looking to Lord Stark notably as opposed to you both. “I understand your misgivings, my Lord. It brings me no joy delivering this news to the council. It is a terrible thing we must consider, a vile thing. Yet we who presume to rule, must do vile things for the good of the realm, however much it pains us.”

Grand Maester Pycelle took his reasoning, a rational approach to a fruitless endeavour. “I bear this girl no ill will, but should the Dothraki invade, how many innocents will die? How many towns will burn? Is it not wiser, kinder even, that she should die now to tens of thousands live?”

Tell that to the unborn child you refuse to give a chance, you thought to yourself.

Renly finally spoke, and you felt that weight in your chest plummet down and slam you hard into the floor. “We should have had them both killed years ago.”

Your eyes blazed as you looked at him, across the table. His were with no guilt even. Of course, the brother handed everything he did not earn nor deserve by the brother he now sat beside advocating for what he sees as the least amount of effort for the most unfair of results. Lord Baelish spoke somewhere to your left but you did not break your eyes from Renly.

“When you find yourself in bed with an ugly woman, best close your eyes and get it over with. Cut her throat, be done with it.”

The men here all sickened you but none as vile as Lord Baelish. Not even King Robert’s rage made you feel as if you were covered in the slime from a swamp from his voice alone.

Lord Stark looked his old friend right in the eye. “I followed you into war, twice. Without doubts, without second thoughts, but I will not follow you now. The Robert I grew up with didn’t tremble at the shadow of an unborn child. I will have no part in it.”

“You’re the Kings Hand, Lord Stark. You’ll do as I command or I’ll find me a hand who will.”

Lord Stark’s only action, was to look his friend in the eye as he pulled off the pin of his position, and tossed it onto the table as it landed with a clunk. “And good luck to him. I thought you were a better man.”

The yelling went on for some time. Not a single one of you with the capability to have him calm his fury and the unravelling of what once made him a King fell before your eyes. As some finally begun to leave, you sat in your seat before projecting loudly. “Your grace? A word?”

Room emptied out, he turned to you. His voice quieter but not without it’s rage. “You have a lot of gall to speak to your king like that, girl.”

Not moving an inch your eyes blazed towards him with a narrowed brow. “Speak to you like what? Like you’re a coward afraid of an unborn infant?”

“A coward-”

Slowly pushing yourself up, you braced your palms on the long table. “Tell me, your grace. What happened the last time a half Targaryean babe was murdered along with their mother? How well did that serve us in the long run, or I am I just supposed to assume that House Martell has forgiven all of that?”

King Robert stormed closer, leaning his fists much like you did your palms. With a tilt of his head you felt as if he somehow still towered over you. “They were that son of a bitch’s own children or did you forget that too? You’d have them alive now and walking around doing gods know what just beacuse doing what needs to be done isn’t honourable?”

“This isn’t about honour,” Your own voice finally rose to a proper shout and your uncles head jolted back as his eyes widened for a moment. “I’m talking about justice. You aren’t an honourable King for doing this, but you’re certainly not giving Lyanna justice by murdering women and children who’ve done nothing.”

“She hasn’t been done right by until every member of that family is dead-”

He leaned forward and so did you. “You served her justice. You killed Prince Rhaegar at the Trident, you were the jury and executioner for his crimes and blaming those who weren’t even there or alive for it has nothing to do with Lyanna and you can’t serve a just sentence for something that isn’t even close to have happened yet.”

You weren’t fool to think you got through to him, but he was lost in thought for just long enough for you to find the limit of your handling be reached. “Don’t do anything to people who haven’t proved a harm to you. That unborn child is someone you’ve never met, you have no idea what they could grow up to become, uncle.”

Passing by, he was simmering down as you were when you stopped beside him. “I’m not even telling you what to do about the girl. You choose to kill her, and just her I will not argue. But you cannot punish an infant just beacuse they have drops of Targaryean blood somewhere in their veins. You have no idea what that child could turn into, and if they are a threat? Then we serve out that justice. But only when justice is required.”

You got to the door before he spoke, voice raised to catch the distance as he turned to look at you.

“It doesn’t matter what you two do. If I won’t give it to him, I won’t give it to you.”

You shook your head, a sad sigh breathing from your lips. “I wasn’t asking for it, your grace. And with all due respect, I’m not just your niece. I’m his daughter. Not yours. I wasn’t raised to think you were ever in the right towards him.”

The door which closed behind you sealed you and Lord Stark inside. You have to admit, there was nothing more of a bizarre shock to the day this had been, then being told Lord Arryn and Lord Stannis had visited this brothel together. You father alone being here was enough to conjure an image of him that you wondered how rigid and emotionless you came across to these woman as he likely did.

Lord Baelish had urged you and Lord Stark to visit his establishment, to see the last person Jon Arryn visited before his death.

The girl in front of you, her name Mhaegen, was little more then a child. Younger then you, but you doubted with your heart that were you to ask Lord Baelish how old she was, that he’d give you an honest answer. In her arms, was a stunning baby girl.

Bright green eyes, already the makings of a strong face of dark hair and once more a ping inside you clung. Two actually, but the first one was how much of a Baratheon this little girl was. “She looks like him, don’t she, My lady? She has his nose, his black hair?”

You stood slightly in front of Lord Stark, running your finger down the girl’s cheek. She looked so much like Shireen did at that age, you wondered if you held her, would she yank at a stand of your hair until your head was leaning cuddled against hers. Something your new baby sister had loved to do when you could still hold her at that time.

But this baby wasn’t just a reminder of your sister, it wasn’t even a clue of mystery about how this all connected to Lord Arryns death. No, you were looking at this baby girl, your raging Uncle’s bastard daughter and you were stunned by this was your cousin.

This small girl was your cousin like Joffery was, and yet this girl smiled weakly as you tickled the side of her neck with a coo and a smile. How many of them were in this city alone? How many of them didn’t have a clue that they belonged to a family that could give them life outside of the poverty of flea bottom?

Lord Stark stepped up beside you, as the no doubt teenage girl looked to him. “I named her Barra. Tell him when you see him, my lord. If it pleases you, tell him how beautiful she is?”

Lord Stark said he would, but you both knew it would not matter. The King barley had any love in his heart shown towards his own children, for as many faults as Queen Cersei had no one could doubt the love for her children was a real as her hair was blonde.

Children, babies, that meant nothing to the man your uncle had become.

“And tell him I’ve been with no one else. I swear it my lord. By the old gods and the new. I don’t want no jewels or nothing, just him. The King was always good to me.”

The gods have mercy what a web of lies King Robert had played this girl up to, to think he’d ever entertain her as more then something to warm his bed and little Barra as anything but a bastard to cast out beacuse highborns like the King had no use for anything that didn’t bear his name or his house’s titles.

Perhaps becoming a Stark was the final nail hammered in that deemed you not one of him anymore.

Lord Stark asked what it was Jon Arryn wanted, and to the only amusement you found that day, she looked almost worried she painted the wrong idea of him. “He wasn’t that sort of man, my lord. He just wanted to know if the child was happy. And healthy.”

He looked at the glee on the young mothers face at her babe, the longing and tragedy deep within your eyes barley hidden by a steel mask that weight you down. He ran his hand over the baby’s foot gently as he spoke, “She looks healthy enough to me. She’ll want for nothing.”

He didn’t have to pull you physically, but it seemed like tearing away from the girl was a cruel task. Just an infant who had a lifetime of poverty and neglect in front of her all beacuse your King Uncle had no taste for self decency. You thought too of the one in the armoury, Gendry. How learning of who his father was, would come as no comfort considering the sort of man Robert Baratheon was proving himself to be.

No child deserved to grow up fatherless, but perhaps knowing who they are could hurt or disappoint then thinking they were just a no one. Joining Lord Stark into the next room where Lord Baelish looked as relaxed as ever and you felt as rigid as ever.

It wasn’t such a place that bothered you, but it certainly was the eyes and ears of who owned it and for what. You wondered if there was even any women in this establishment who didn’t fuck just to fill Lord Baelish’s need for information.

“What do you know about King Robert’s bastards?” Lord Stark had asked him.

With a sly grin, it was impossible to tell which he looked at more. The proper Stark, or you. “Well, he has more then you for a start.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you pushed it down as far as it could go.

“How many?”

Lord Baelish glanced at you with no doubt this time, before sliding them back to Lord Stark. “Does it matter? If you fuck enough women, some of them will give you presents.”

Presents being children who will never feel like their apart of a world that respects them.

Lord Baelish gave you no answer as he walked slowly to you, Lord Stark, and the accompanying Jory to the door. Something inside you was screeching and yelling, like it had the answer to something you weren’t quite at yet. It made your heart pound, but it also set your blood alight like it burned. You didn’t know why, and yet what arrived outside for you was it’s own present that intended to ruin.

Members of the Lannister guard surrounded the area, standing two to one of the Stark’s own household guard their spears at the ready. All three of you slowly wandering into the streets slowly, your lips parted as galloping came forth until a horse with Jaime Lannister sat atop came by. “Such a small pack of wolves.”

He was not a foe you could beat, nor were you prepared for such at all kind of fight. Not truly. Jory using a calm reason to such aggression. “Stand back, Ser. This is the Hand of the King.”

The eyes on him were glinting with smugness but anger. “Was the Hand of the King. Now I’m not sure what he is, Lord of somewhere very far away.” Climbing off the horse, he paced every so slowly with a bravado only a true dangerous fighter could pull off like he could. “I’m looking for my brother. You remember my brother, Lord Stark? Blond hair, sharp tongue, short man.”

Lord Stark steady and calm as you were with a heart that wanted to strangle your lungs from within, “I remember him well.”

Looking to the side at nothing, there was as smirk that seemed to think the northerners cared to play such a game, or you for that matter. “It seems he had some trouble on the road. You wouldn’t know what happened to him, would you?”

He had done none of that, but Lord Stark did not go against his wife’s actions even for a single second as he declared, “He was taken at my command. To answer for his crimes.”

Lannister men shaking their amour as some reached for a better hold on their weapons as the lion pulled his. “Come, Stark. I’d rather see you die sword in hand.”

Moment of anger, or naivety, or just a helpless love you stepped forward with sharp narrowed eyes, “If you threaten my lord again-”

Lord Stark held a hand out, gently keeping you in place and by his side despite the lion pointing his sword with a smirk. “Threaten? As in, I’m going to open your lord from balls to brains and see what Stark’s are made of?”

“You kill me, your brother’s a dead man.”

It all happened so fast, Jaime turning to his own, “Take them both alive, kill his men.”

You had little on you, a small blade that you pulled from a pocket that fit in the palm of your hand almost. You sliced it at the weak softness on the Lannister armour of the one who approached you, crying out as blood split from the cut and you ducked to avoid his counter.

You were fast but it was against too many and a woman whom had no armour, only a dress, and no real weapons to speak off as the Stark guardsmen were taken out most by surprise. As you moved, almost punching into the neck of a Lannister one it punctured a wound enough to have him sputter up and fall to the side as Jaime Lannister shoved a small dagger of his own into Jory’s eye.

Stood in shock for just long enough that the rest were overwhelmed until it was them against the two of you. Lord Stark pulling his own sword, you were suddenly hauled backwards by two arms which didn’t feel like armour was behind them.

Lord Baelish’s voice in your ear as you fought against him was a whisper, “You’re far more useful alive then dead, my dear.”

You were not strong, something Jon, Robb and your father all trained to to keep in mind. Even a man like Lord Baelish could keep you as long as he tried harder then your muscles did, but you couldn’t. You watched the two men clash swords, Jaime confident and Lord Stark desperate. You had hardly seen the Lannister fight in person, but he must have been quite good as for the briefest of seconds?

Lord Starks sword pushing him backwards, his eyes flickered between the man and the weapon worried that there might be a possibility that he loses. Just as Jaime lost the upper hand, one of the Lannister guards stepped forward.

With a harsh push, stabbed his spear into Lord Stark’s leg bringing him to his knees. Already shaking, you gasped with what little breath remained as the hold keeping you from the fight loosened. Enough to slip your arm just enough to lunge back into the middle of his chest.

Jaime standing back in hesitation, watching as you rushed to his side, uncaring of the sweat and blood staining your arms and dress as you grabbed Lord Stark to keep him from collapsing entirely. He shook from the pain and blood loss, you shook from the shock and pathetic cry of how useless you were in a place like this gods forsaken city.

Jaime Lannister climbed atop his horse, turning in place as he gave you both one last look that radiated of both anger and something like a sympathy that you wished you could snatch away and shove down his throat until it choked him. “My brother, Lord Stark. I want him back.”

The City Watch had found you like that, a barley conscious Eddard Stark with a spear in his leg as you looked to the dead around you. Killed for what? In retribution of a man who tried to have a ten year old boy murdered twice?

The weakening look in Lord Stark’s eyes as he grew weaker, your lungs did not breathe nor did it feel like your heart ever stopped threatening to explode from your chest.

For a reason you could not explain, the sight or the light and angle making his appearance remind you so close to that of his son, you for a brief second imagined Robb in his place.

You didn’t understand why your mind conjured such an image, but you knew it horrified you all the same.

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