#but it is whatever. this is life apparently.

[sassypotatoe1]

Absolutely would have been this person in that time but not because I'm dumb, just because I have auditory processing disorder and fear backlash upon asking questions because my questions are apparently common sense?

One time at gymnastics my partner had to leave early, and I wanted to keep training so my coach asked me to practice vertical splits, except he's Russian and asked me to do leg raises (repetitions of bringing my leg up to vertical split to work both strength and flexibility) but I, having only heard "leg raises" in the context of hanging from a bar and raising your legs 90° to work your lower abs and hip flexors, got up on the bar and started doing leg raises. My coach thought I was insane because I started conditioning an hour early. I was woefully confused. It could have been cleared up with a single question.

So like, ask the dumb question, if you get shit for asking tell them exactly how you understand the situation or request, and they will explain the correct course of action in excruciating detail. They'll be huffy about it, but in my extensive experience on the matter they're much more annoyed when you do it wrong than when you ask for clarification. I still chicken out a lot but life is much less stressful when you adopt an "insist on thorough communication" attitude, because eventually you'll come to learn that if you did everything in your power to get the right, complete and accurate information or instructions, if you fail it is on the other party for not being able to communicate like an adult.

Go forth and water horses I suppose, or explain that you are about to pour water over the horse so the owner can go "no that means take the horse to the water hole or stream or whatever they drink from and let it drink" and they might add "god are you dumb?" but if you pour water over the horse they will scream at you about it for a long time. And "god are you dumb?" is much less humiliating.

[heeseungiez]

the tower by the forest | lhs

part one!

pairings! sorcerer!lee heeseung x fem!reader

synopsis! the immortal sorcerer lives in a tower by the forest filled with dark creatures. he protects the surrounding villages from its dangers, and in exchange, every decade, a girl from one of the villages is chosen to live as his companion. this time, it’s you.

genre! fantasy romance, angst

content warnings! swearing and the fact this is unfinished so this is part one

word count! 11.4k

author's note! i'm scared of making this longer but i'm literally just halfway through...

Throughout your life, a girl from the villages has only been taken twice. And the first time, you were barely one year old, so it could hardly affect you in any way. The second time, however, you were eleven. At the time, you already understood what was happening and why. A girl around the age of twenty had been chosen to live with the lone and mysterious sorcerer who lived in a tower at the edge of the Forest to prolong his protection of the villages.

Nobody likes to talk about it much. How the girls are chosen, when he comes for them and what he does to them. None of that information is known. Although you’ve heard that usually, once the decade passes, the girls are free to go and live as they please with a solid fortune to their name. The girl you witnessed being taken away ten years ago has been released recently, and you heard from the whispers of the other villagers that she moved to the city and is starting her own business in dressmaking.

For that very reason, every village surrounding the Forest lives in restless anticipation. Any day now, a new girl will be chosen to join the sorcerer in his tower. Ten years, she will live with him and do whatever it is that she’s got to do to keep her family and friends safe from the darkness of the Forest.

You wish you could know how the girls are chosen to be better prepared. It’s glaringly obvious that some villagers think you might be the next girl chosen. You’re the perfect age for it, and apparently, there is also the fact that the girls that go to the sorcerer are usually deemed objectively beautiful or somehow talented.

You’re not exactly talented, but you’re not that beautiful either. You’d argue that Yeji or Chaeryong are far better choices in that regard, but somehow the eyes are still on you. It’s strange, knowing that everyone is convinced you will be next while you can’t see a single reason why. Maybe they just want to be rid of you. Although that is most certainly not the way the girls get chosen.

Everyone simply overestimates your talent with the violin and your voice. That has got to be it. You’re not a genius nor a prodigy, you play the instrument and sing merely because you want to. It’s a hobby, but it’s not something to make you a desirable choice for the sorcerer. And you don’t want to be his choice either. You’d rather stay in your village with your family and friends.

“Y/N!” One of those friends, Jaeyun, calls after you with a grin on his lips, waving enthusiastically. “Do you have time today? I’d like to practise together.” Because both of you play the violin. In fact, it was Jaeyun who made you fall in love with the instrument in the first place.

You smile and nod. “Of course. I always have time,” you say, although untruthfully. For Jaeyun, however, everyone makes time. He is the village’s golden boy. Loved and adored by everyone. He can talk his way into and out of anything. You’re sure he’s never paid for anything either because everyone is happy to give him everything for free — a gift for the beloved boy of Riverfeld.

Whenever you and Jaeyun visit the local tavern, the tab made on his name is never paid, and the owner has never even asked for it to be paid. It’s as if his mere existence is payment enough. But you guess that’s what happens when you’re the people’s happy pill.

“Awesome! Let’s go,” Jaeyun says, grabbing your hand.

You expect him to let you get your violin at home, but it isn’t necessary as he has done that for you. He prepared the whole scene, already knowing you would say yes because why would you not?

“Look,” Jaeyun says, grabbing a sheet that is laid by his instrument. “Sunghoon and I have been working on a new composition and I wanted to try playing it with you.”

You hum, waiting for Jaeyun to approach you. He practically sticks himself to your side with the sheet in hand, showing you the new song they’ve been working on.

It’s a love song. 

There are no lyrics, but as you imagine the sound of the melody, your imagination bringing it to life, you know it’s a ballad. A song of love meant for someone specific. A confession of adoration and admiration. 

“You think you can do this?” Jaeyun asks, solemnly looking at you.

Smiling, you nod. “Of course.”

Both of you grab your violins, sharing the singular sheet in between as you prepare. Sitting down on the ground, you settle the violin on your shoulder and rest your chin atop. A smile adorns your lips at the feeling of holding the instrument in your hands again.

“Can we?” Jaeyun asks softly, also ready. All he needs is a nod from you to lift his bow to the strings of the violin and start the melody. He acts as your guide as this is your first time playing the song. 

It starts off slowly. A sweet melody of two people getting to know each other, growing closer and beginning to care. The tempo picks up when the two lovers begin to realise they are in love. They struggle with the fear, the melody conveying the uncertainty, until finally, they gain the courage to confess. And by the time the song is over, the two lovers are together. 

“We named it Only If You Say Yes,” Jaeyun grins.

“It’s beautiful, Jaeyun,” you say, fighting the growing uneasiness within your belly. Not because of the boy across from you, but a general burning feeling in your body that spreads from your chest to the rest of your body. As if it’s pumping fire instead of blood. 

The frown that contorts your expression springs Jaeyun up to his feet, dropping by your side. “Y/N? Are you okay?” he asks, and while you’d love to nod and say yes, it would be a lie. Nothing about this scorching feeling is okay. 

You hiss and groan, grabbing onto your wrist where most of the pain begins to concentrate. It leaves your other limbs in favour of your right wrist where it burns so much you think your entire limb might melt.

The scream that escapes you is unintentional. You wanted to hold it in, but it was impossible with the pain coursing through you. Jaeyun grabs you by the shoulders, holding onto you. Confused about what is happening to you.

And as he holds you in his embrace, the pain subsides. Slowly but surely, it leaves your body the same way it entered, and you slump against the dark haired boy with your head buried in the crook of his neck.

“Y/N,” he whispers softly, one arm wrapped around your waist to support you while the other moves up to cup your face. He examines you, sweat coating your forehead. 

“My… wrist,” you breathe out, and try to pull away from Jaeyun, but his grip on you is strong, and you can barely do anything without him supporting your weight. So you wait for him to look for you.

“There’s a tattoo,” Jaeyun says, discomfited. Staring at it closer, he grabs onto your wrist. “Golden antlers,” he describes it while his fingers softly trace the pattern, and you furrow your brows, getting a look yourself. 

Jaeyun blanches with a realisation that pains him, glancing at you. “Y/N,” he mumbles, cupping both your cheeks to make you look at him. “It’s his sign.”

You both know who he is. 

Your eyes widen. “But… that can’t be,” you breathe out, shaking your head vigorously. “I know everyone thought it would be me, but I didn’t— I’m not special—”

Jaeyun smiles ruefully, disagreeing with you. “Clearly, you’re more special than you realise,” he says, voice low. “He’ll be paying us a visit soon, then.”

“I don’t want to go,” you say quietly. But what else is there to do? If you don’t go, you will put everyone you care about and other innocent souls in danger. And for what? For your own selfish reasons?

Jaeyun sighs mournfully, hands still cupping your cheeks. “What am I going to do without you for ten years?” he asks himself. 

“Live your life,” you say pragmatically, your hands grabbing his own. “It’ll be fine, right? As long as it means you’ll be safe.”

“Y/N.” Jaeyun licks his lips, wishing there was something he could do for you to make it easier. 

“It’ll be fine,” you repeat to yourself. 

It has to be fine. 

It was not supposed to happen so soon.

Usually, the Forest takes about a month or more since the previous girl’s departure to choose another. But the Forest is not dallying this time, having picked its next target.

Heeseung stares at the golden tattoo on his wrist that connects him with you, not knowing who you are just yet. He will, soon, however, as once the Forest picks a girl, she has to come to him as soon as possible.

He hates doing this, if he’s being completely honest. He’d be just fine living on his own and protecting the people, but in order to keep the darkness in check, there has to be some light. Heeseung isn’t exactly a good fit for that. Which means that every ten years, a girl with the purest of souls must live near the Forest to control it. And with a carefully crafted spell from him, the Forest gets to choose that girl by itself. 

That is the only reason he is now away from his home, riding his horse toward Riverfeld. The village where you live.

Nobody ever knows that he’s coming. He figured it’s better this way, since it stops the villagers from making a scene whenever he does arrive. He learned pretty early on, when it comes to this. He hated how awkward it was when they used to line up just to see at least the tiniest bit of his face, or when they tried to give him gifts instead of their daughters. 

Not how it works. Unfortunately. 

He’d rather take the gifts, too. 

But here he is, entering the small village almost unnoticed aside from the few glances here and there as people wonder who he is. To them, he’s a stranger, and they probably don’t get many of those. He did make sure to dress as a regular traveller, so hopefully they don’t suspect him much.

The tattoo on his wrist calls for its twin, and it pulls him toward the village’s tiny square. A stage has been set up in the centre, and a girl and a boy sit there, both playing the violin together, creating a beautiful song of wistful love. 

A concept Heeseung isn’t familiar with, but he does like the sound of it. It’s a youthful song full of hope. Asking for acceptance where it truly can be found. 

His eyes fixate on the girl playing. 

You.

You are smiling brightly despite knowing your fate, and you don’t stop playing until the song is well and truly over. Both you and the boy stand to bow to the audience when they begin to clap and fawn over you and your talent. 

You keep shaking your head, acting as if you deserve none of it. And the boy throws an arm around your shoulders with a grin, proud for the both of you. Another boy, taller than the other, joins and celebrates with you.

So Heeseung waits. Until everyone around you has said their praising piece to you. Until you’re well and truly alone, and the smile from your lips has dissipated the tiniest bit because you know what will eventually come. That these people who adore you will not be with you for long. That you will have to leave them.

You’re not surprised when he approaches you as a complete stranger. Instead, you look him in the eye and face him directly. “It’s you, isn’t it?” you ask, examining him from head to toe. “You’re the sorcerer.”

It takes a second for Heeseung to recover from it. He has met many girls over the years, each different but same in spirit, and he never thought much of them. But you stand in front of him with a pensive smile, accepting what is to come. There is a beauty to you that many probably don’t see. Though you are gorgeous in general, with big cheeks yet defined features, hair falling over your shoulders. One would have to be blind not to see it.

“Am I that obvious?” he asks, and you shake your head. 

“I think it’s the tattoo,” you reply. “I can sense it. You have it too, right?”

You’re quite clever.

Heeseung nods, and rolls up the sleeve of his cape to show you his identical tattoo. “It connects us,” he says plainly.

You hum. A playful glint enters your gaze, and your smile grows slightly. “I thought you’d be older,” you say matter-of-factly. “You look—”

“Handsome?” He cuts you off because he does not like it when people say he looks young. He knows he looks young. He’s looked the same for the past two centuries, and will continue to do so for as long as the Forest exists.

“My age,” you finish instead. Not young, just your age. That is certainly a new way to describe what he looks like. And he decides at this very moment that he likes it the best. Yes, he can accept looking your age — whatever it actually is. “But I suppose handsome is also a reasonable descriptor,” you add, eyeing his face.

This time, Heeseung is truly robbed of words. Whenever he arrives to take a girl to the Forest, they’re usually afraid of him. The last thing they’d call him is handsome. Yet here you are, standing in front of him, calm and accepting. You’re not crying, screaming or begging to stay. You just are. (a/n: Very demure, very mindful.)

“You should stay for a bit before we leave. My parents are making supper that could feed the whole village. It would be rude to leave before we got to taste it.” You don’t wait for Heeseung’s response before you are making your way toward what he deduces is your home. It’s humble enough, a house fit for a family of four, perhaps. But when you enter, it is filled with more than four people.

The two boys that Heeseung saw with you at the performance are both present alongside some older villagers and a girl some years younger than you. He’s not even sure why he followed you anyway. He should’ve stayed outside and waited for you to say your goodbyes. That’s usually the standard procedure for him, so why is he thoughtlessly breaking tradition all of a sudden?

“Y/N! Who’s—”

“That’s the sorcerer,” you say nonchalantly, shrugging.

“But why—”

“I’m not a monster,” Heeseung speaks, facing the boy you played the violin with. “I won’t take her away without saying her goodbyes… and it’s Heeseung.”

“Who?” you ask.

“Me.”

“You what?”

“Heeseung.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“My name is Heeseung.” He rolls his eyes, lips in a thin line.

“Oh! Well, I’m Y/N. Then this is Jaeyun, Sunghoon, Mum, Dad, Mrs Sim, Mr Sim, Mrs Park, Mr Park and Sunghoon’s little sister.” You point at everyone respectively with a soft smile upon your features. “I’m guessing Jongseong forgot he was supposed to come?” you say more to yourself, but Jaeyun hums in agreement.

“He’s been working on the new guitar that he’s trying to make,” he responds. “Forgets he has other duties or the fact he should, you know, eat and drink and sleep to live.”

“Said it’s for you, though,” Sunghoon mumbles, glancing at you. “He thought he’d have enough time to finish it.” Then he throws an apprehensive glance at Heeseung.

“But I don’t play the guitar,” you reply with a pout.

“He was going to teach you…”

Look, the next words that leave Heeseung’s mouth will probably make him regret it later, but watching you with your friends is doing weird things to the organ in his chest he thought had long been forgotten. So it’s a surprise to not just you and your friends when he says: “I know how to play the guitar. If your friend will not mind it, I will allow that guitar to be sent to you.”

The way your eyes widen in sheer surprise and gratitude makes Heeseung think that maybe it’s not such a regretful action. 

The Forest must’ve truly known what it was doing this time around. Everyone in this village seems to genuinely adore you. The purest of hearts among them all, living without the knowledge of it.

“I’m here! I’m here! I got it!” A boy bursts through the door with a guitar in hand, and Heeseung makes the safe assumption that this is Jongseong. Even in him, Heeseung can sense a very beautiful soul through and through, though the innocence is gone. 

It makes sense that you would surround yourself with people just as lovely as you on the inside. Whether you knew it or not.

“JJ,” you coo when he goes toward you with the instrument to hand it to you. “Why would you do all this for me?”

“So you remember me. Us. To come back to us.”

It occurs to Heeseung then that all three of these boys around you love you. As friends or more that is out of his field of knowledge, but the love between you is raw and just as pure and innocent as you are. 

“I could never forget you guys.” You smile and shake your head. “All three of you better be married and with kids by the time I’m back, though.”

“It’s not fair,” Jaeyun says, properly looking at Heeseung. “She’s a good person. Never done anything wrong in her life. Why—”

“I know,” Heeseung cuts him off, shaking his head. “That’s why.” Maybe being curt with them is not the best choice, but they won’t dare attack him.

“Nothing in this life is fair,” Jongseong murmurs sagely, his eyes finding you. But you are staring at Heeseung, brow arched with curiosity.

“Y/N! Boys! Come eat! Supper is done.”

Your parents did not say much when you introduced the sorcerer to them. They merely stared to assess him as if a mere look could tell them what kind of person he was. But, whatever their consensus was, they let him eat supper with you, so it was probably quite positive.

“Won’t deny supper to the man who fights to protect us on a daily basis,” your mother murmured before you all sat down at the table to eat.

You enjoyed yourself for the rest of the day because Heeseung let you. He was letting you say your goodbyes before ultimately whisking you away to his tower, and you appreciated it. 

Everything is going to be fine, you constantly remind yourself. 

Especially as you saddle your horse with Sunghoon’s help because he’s the tallest of your friends. Jay and Jake help carry your bags and attach them to the white mare. 

Heeseung says the ride to the tower will take a few days, which means that your mother packed enough food to last you a month. It’s a bitter kind of goodbye, knowing that you’re leaving to protect the ones you love. You still don’t really want to leave.

You never imagined yourself leaving home before. But now you have to.

“Are you ready?” Heeseung asks, his inquisitive gaze searching your expression for whatever lie you want to tell him.

And you smile, shaking your head. “Not really,” you reply honestly. “But I have to do this, don’t I?”

Heeseung blinks at you, discomfited by your transparency. “Yes,” he says. “The Forest chose you, and its decision is final.”

“Then I’m as ready as I can be.” You purse your lips, nodding. “Let’s go.”

Heeseung is not a very chatty sorcerer. Like, you haven’t known any sorcerers before him, of course, but the books usually depict them as these supernatural and immortal beings who like to have fun. Heeseung is anything but that. He is quiet and brooding. He only speaks up when it’s important, and you decided it would be better not to ask him many questions while you’re travelling lest you annoy him too much.

But by the second night of staying over at a tavern while on the road, it brings you a sense of peace. Usually, you’re not a fan of lack of communication, but with the sorcerer, it seems to be its own form of speaking and conveying what needs to be known.

You lie on the bed, reading a book provided to you by the innkeeper, biting your bottom lip as you wonder whether the sorcerer would scold you for daring to speak at him. He sits on the chair near the fireplace, merely gazing into the fire in silence.

Sighing, he turns his head ever so slightly to glance at you from the corner of his eye. “If you have something to say, then say it,” he grumbles before his attention is snatched away by the snapping fire again.

You shift in your seat, allowing yourself to fully stare at the sorcerer. His hair is as dark as night, loosely framing his face in waves. His honey-glazed skin looks slightly darker with just the fire casting light upon him, and despite his tall frame and broad shoulders, it seems he makes himself smaller in his chair. He must be exhausted.

“Can I ask a question?”

There is silence at first as if Heeseung ponders whether to say yes or no. Then, he responds, “Isn’t that already one? What stops you from asking another?” He doesn’t even look at you as he speaks, and your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. “I appreciate you being considerate, but if there is something on your mind, just say it. I’ll decide whether I want to answer or not.”

Closing your book, you put it aside. You allow yourself to admire the sorcerer from afar, quite taken by his beauty. Though that is not what you need to quell your mind. “So…” you start, unsure of how to word your question. Though what you come up with is not exactly an elegant way to ask either. “Why me?”

You’re met with another round of silence. It almost feels like a decade of stillness, the only sounds made inside the room being your breathing and the crackling fire. But the sorcerer finally turns to you, swallowing whatever comes to his mind at first to give you a composed answer. “Because the Forest chose you,” he says plainly. “And once the Forest chooses, it cannot be undone.”

“The Forest?” You furrow your brows in confusion. “I thought you chose the girls that stay with you?”

Heeseung shakes his head. “That is not how it works. I made the spell that chooses the girls, but ultimately, it is the Forest itself that chooses which girl must live near it.” The solemn expression in his eyes makes you stop for a moment and think about it.

The girls are taken in order for the sorcerer to protect the surrounding villages from the Forest. And now you know that the Forest chooses the girls itself at that. It makes sense, in a strange way. Because you still don’t understand why you only need to live near it, for it sounds like the girls should be some sort of sacrifice to the Forest. Except you will be allowed to go back to your old life after ten years.

“Then how exactly does that work?” you ask, frowning. “If the Forest chooses the girls, what are the specifics? And what do we do? We just live with you?”

“Yes,” Heeseung answers with a sigh. Licking his lips, he glances back at the fire, then at you. “The Forest is a dark place. In order to control it, there needs to be light. Which is when you come in,” he explains, pointing at your heart. He makes a pause, checking your expression to see whether you were still listening to him, only to find you intently staring at his face, not missing a single word that left his mouth. Clearing his throat, he continued, “I designed my spell in a way for the Forest to find the purest soul within the radius of the villages. This time, it’s you.” 

You purse your lips in thought. Never in your life have you thought of yourself as somebody with a pure soul, but apparently that is who you are, according to the sorcerer and his spell. Which is what got you into this situation of having to leave your childhood home and friends. Because the Forest chose you.

“Wait,” you say, a thought coming to you suddenly.

“Yes?” Heeseung raises his brow, watching your expression slowly change into that of distress.

“If the Forest chose me…” you start, frowning, “Does that mean that the creatures of the Forest would be after me? Whether I am at home or—”

“Yes.” The sorcerer nods in affirmation. “That is part of the magic. The Forest is drawn to you, and therefore, it makes my job of protecting the other villages from monsters that much easier. Since all of them are, well… headed for the tower.”

“For me, you mean.”

Heeseung gives a thin smile. “Even now, the Forest is already searching for you. But while we are on the way, and you are with me, you should be hidden until we reach the tower.”

“You didn’t have to tell me that,” you mumble, wondering how you’re going to fall asleep now, knowing that there are monsters specifically looking for you. Which means that, in a way, you are a sacrifice to the Forest, after all. The sorcerer just protects you and the other villages from them by killing said monsters.

“You asked,” he says with a shrug. “Nobody has ever asked before, so I’m not sure to what extent you’re interested in the topic,” he adds.

It occurs to you then, that maybe the only reason Heeseung hasn’t spoken much is because the other girls never had any interest in speaking to him due to the circumstances. He’s being distant simply because that’s how it’s always been for him.

“So, what exactly am I to do at the tower, once we get there?” you ask to continue the conversation. And unlike you thought, Heeseung does not seem annoyed by your questions at all.

“Whatever you want to do,” he replies. “I have an extensive library if you’re fond of reading. I can teach you to play the guitar your friend gave you. You can choose to pick up whatever hobby you want. All you have to do is just… live there as if it were your home for the next ten years so I can continue to protect your real home and other villages.”

“Okay,” you say, smiling, which takes Heeseung by surprise (again). “That sounds like a good deal, I suppose. I will miss my friends and family dearly, but I can do this.”

The Forest chose far too well, this time around, Heeseung thinks to himself and shakes his head. He’s been doing this for centuries, and he has never met anyone quite like you.

Home.

Heeseung lets out a huge sigh of relief when he finally steps inside the tower that has been his beloved home for many, many years. You trail behind him nervously, all of your luggage already sent to your room with a single flick of his hand. You’re not used to such magic just yet, but as time will pass, nothing will be able to surprise you later on.

Although Heeseung has still been keeping rather quiet around you, you felt more comfortable simply speaking at him because you knew he was listening. During the remainder of your travels, you told him much about your life at home and your friends. Oftentimes, if you asked a question regarding his life, you would wait for his answers even if it took him minutes to respond.

“Let me show you all the important rooms,” Heeseung says to you, the corner of his lips lifting in a smile. He’s not sure what it is about you that makes him behave this way, but your aura seems to wear off on him, too. He’s caught himself smiling more often than usual.

When you nod, he starts the tour with the library. You had told him you weren’t that big of a fan of reading, but whenever you had the time and the mood, you liked to nestle with a good book. He also shows you the kitchen, the washing rooms, his office and your bedroom. There are more rooms within the tower, but for now, Heeseung leaves those doors closed.

“Unpack and make yourself at home,” he says, pointing at the plain room. It is not the same one as the girls before you have had, for this one is much closer to his bedroom and office. He knows he probably shouldn’t have done that, but this strange feeling in his chest told him that he might need to keep a much closer eye on you than the other girls.

“Okay,” you say, nodding. “What will you be doing?”

“I’m going to make us supper,” Heeseung informs you.

“Oh. You can cook?” you ask brightly, and the sorcerer scrunches his nose, shaking his head.

“I hope you like bread with butter.”

You blink at him, speechless. “Who doesn’t like bread and butter?” You tilt your head to the side. “But that isn’t all you eat whenever you’re at the tower, is it?”

Heeseung presses his lips together. “No?” he lies, and you narrow your eyes at him.

“You must let me cook, then!” you claim, ready to storm past him into the kitchens rather than to unpack your things, but Heeseung places his hands on each of your arms to stop you from going anywhere.

“I don’t have any ingredients for cooking,” he says, shaking his head.  “Unless you are the one with magic, capable of making food out of thin air.”

“Well…” You pout, looking into the sorcerer’s eyes. “I do not have magic, but I know a hefty trick for getting ingredients.” You grin, aware of Heeseung’s hands still on you. “It’s called shopping.”

“You can’t leave the tower on your own,” Heeseung sighs. “It’s too dangerous. It won’t happen.”

“Then come with me,” you suggest nonchalantly, still smiling. “You will protect me, and I will make sure we have proper supper. Did the other girls truly agree to living on plain bread and butter?” Your brow furrowed, and Heeseung shrugged.

“Sometimes we had meat,” he says.

“I’m surprised they lasted ten years like this.” You shake your head in disbelief. “We live in modern times. There is much more food to eat than just bread and butter and meat.”

“I never needed anything more,” Heeseung grumbles.

“Well, now you do,” you say finally, crossing your arms. “Tomorrow, first thing in the morning, we are visiting the closest village and visiting their market for ingredients.”

“As long as it’s not too early,” Heeseung says defeatedly.

Living with the sorcerer was much easier than you thought it would be. Even if he constantly complains about you waking him up far too early for chores such as shopping for ingredients. 

Today, however, when you approach his door to wake him up as usual, he opens the door right in front of your nose, pushing a cloak toward you. “Here. With this, you can go to the village on your own.”

“But… it’s a cloak.” You pouted, eyeing the piece of black fabric. It had a slight purple shimmer to it, however, and when the sorcerer spoke next, it confirmed your suspicions.

“It’s enchanted. To protect you from the Forest. It shouldn’t be able to track you while you’re wearing it. So put it on and let me sleep.” Heeseung runs a hand through his hair.

You raise your brow at him, noticing the dark bags under his eyes. “Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed today,” you attempt to tease him, but he merely sighs.

“More like someone didn’t wake up in the bed because they haven’t even gone to bed yet, trying to figure out the enchantment on this damned thing.” He points at the cloak indignantly. “I need my beauty sleep. I can’t keep going to the market with you,” he whines.

This is the revered sorcerer who protects the people from monsters that you got to know. He’s not any different from your friends other than the fact that he’s centuries older, yet somehow his mind seems to be stuck at a specific age — perhaps that is a thing of immortality. Because one doesn’t age, their mind nor body does not develop any further.

“Well, I was never forcing you to,” you say, finally accepting the cloak from him. “But thank you. I’ll make sure to wear this well.”

“Good.” The sorcerer nods.

“You know you could’ve just told me to stop going to the market if you don’t like it so much, right?” you ask, tilting your head to the side. “You’re the one with power here. And I’m the one in danger.”

Heeseung licks his lips and shrugs. “That means you’d stop cooking, though,” he says, not keen on admitting that he prefers your meals to anything he’s had in the last several decades. “Just… go by yourself. And make sure to come back in one piece.”

“How are you so sure I won’t just run away?” you keep questioning him, and he rolls his eyes this time.

“You see this?” He grabs your wrist, pointing at the magical tattoo created by his spell. “We’re connected, Y/N, remember? I will find you wherever you go. But it also means the Forest could do the same thing. Eventually, the enchantment on this cloak could wear out, and if you get stuck somewhere without me and something from the Forest comes for you, then you’ll have nobody but yourself to blame.”

You bite your lip, nodding. He’s certainly made his point. Not that you ever truly considered leaving on your own. You truly are not well equipped to fight monsters on your own. “I understand,” mumbling the response, you yank your wrist out of Heeseung’s grasp.

“Sorry,” Heeseung sighs, rubbing his eyes leisurely. “I don’t mean to be so… irritable. I’m just—”

“Tired,” you finish for him, offering a thin smile. “I know. And I’m thankful for this, really.” You raise the cloak. “Get all the sleep you need, Heeseung. I’ll make sure to come back and prepare breakfast in the meantime.”

“Okay,” he says, allowing himself to grace you with the tiniest smile. Heeseung doesn’t smile often, so the few times that he does, it’s a precious sight. One to be remembered for days to come.

“I’ll get going now. Sleep well, Heeseung.”

As always, the market is buzzing with its early morning magic. Farmers from around the village and many other merchants have their stands prepared, beckoning anyone who shows even the smallest bit of interest in any of their wares. You always like to buy something from each to help them. Besides, the sorcerer’s resources are not exactly limited the same way your family’s used to be.

“No sorcerer today, Miss?” asks the farmer whose wares you’re eyeing. He’s an older man with grey streaks in his hair, and you remember him mainly because he’s always been the nicest to Heeseung out of all the villagers. While the others treat him with distrust and fear, this man has been nothing but respectful. 

“Unfortunately, he chose not to make the trip.” You give a thin smile, shaking your head. “But I plan to make a nice breakfast for him. So, what would you say are your best products today?”

“The sweet potatoes.” A new voice joins the conversation. A boy probably around your age steps into your view, grinning from you to the farmer. “They’ve been growing really well this season.”

“I see,” you hum, examining the newcomer. His big eyes and warm smile are incredibly inviting, and you hope you will see him more often from now on. “I’ll take five, then.”

“Great choice,” the boy says cheerfully, immediately getting to work. “I’m Taehyun, by the way. Are you the new girl living with the sorcerer? It’s a bit novel for us that you’re here since they used to always stay at the tower.”

You smile, making a noncommittal noise. “I’m Y/N. And I think this is new for everyone involved.”

“I’m glad you’re here. It would be a waste for someone so pretty to rot away at the tower,” Taehyun claims, handing you a bag of the best sweet potatoes that he could pick in their batch.

“Stop flirting with the customers, son,” the elder farmer scolds, glancing between you and Taehyun.

Your cheeks burn due to the unexpected compliment. While you are used to your friends telling you that you’re pretty, it’s quite different when it comes from someone you don’t know. “It’s okay, sir. Thank you.”

Taehyun grins, his doe eyes lighting up. “Do you need any more help? I want to ask you some things,” he says, and you turn to his father with furrowed brows.

“What about—”

“Don’t worry, Miss. I’m not that old.” He chuckles, letting Taehyun do whatever he wants. “Besides, you were always curious why I don’t regard the sorcerer with the same apprehensiveness as the others, no?”

You blink at the man. “I suppose yes, but how is that—”

“I have magic,” Taehyun answers simply. “It’s nothing quite grand like the sorcerer’s, but I have it. Look.” Lifting up a sweet potato, Taehyun makes it float in the air, just above his hand. Then, with a snap of his fingers, the potato vanishes and appears back in its original box.

“Woah. That’s still impressive,” you say. “Isn’t it rare, still? To have magic.”

“I think so. But apparently, I wasn’t powerful enough to be allowed to study about it more in the capital.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” You pout, but Taehyun shakes his head.

“Don’t be. I learned all I needed to know on my own. And now I get to help my parents with the farm, and don’t have to leave them.” Taehyun smiles, sharing a fond look with his father. 

“That is admirable.” You nod, your affection growing for the boy in front of you with every passing second. Besides, you’re possibly going to see him more often, so why not make a new friend?

“So would you like any help? I can carry a lot on my own.” Taehyun speaks proudly, and you giggle, watching him flexing his arms the tiniest bit just to show off.

“If it is okay with your father that I steal you for myself, then I wouldn’t mind another hand, since Heeseung decided to miss out today,” you agree, your heart swelling at the sight of Taheyun’s toothy smile.

“Completely okay,” the farmer says, shaking his head amusedly.

“So, what are you looking for?” Taehyun claps his hands, plastering himself to your side. “I can recommend all the best stands for everything.”

“That would be lovely, thank you so much.”

“It’s no problem, Y/N. I’m really just trying to spend the most time possible with you.”

You giggle again, taken aback by the boy’s frankness. “I’m not that special, you know?”

“And yet you’re all I want to see.” Taehyun’s lines are smooth, making your face feel hotter than the sun. “Come on, would you like to know where to get the best bread around here?”

And so you follow. 

Maybe you shouldn’t have let Taehyun help you all the way back to the tower, but he was so insistent. You couldn’t tell him no. Especially with his large deer eyes. They almost reminded you of Heeseung’s. 

Almost.

Until he stands in the kitchen, looking well-rested, glaring at Taehyun’s figure. To him, he’s a complete stranger in his home, and you invited him in without asking for permission.

“What is this?” he asks, pointing at Taehyun who has been diligently helping you put all your newly acquired items away. He intended to stay in his study until you’d call for him, but then he heard laughter bouncing off the walls of the tower, and it filled him with dread. “I let you out by yourself once, and you bring a stranger to my home?”

“Technically, it’s also my home for the next ten years,” you argue, shaking your head. “And Taehyun is very sweet.” Smiling at him, Taehyun gives you a grateful nod.

“Just because you think someone is sweet, doesn’t mean it’s still not dangerous to let a stranger into the Tower.” Heeseung scoffs, running a hand through his hair. “Do you realise how dangerous that is? Maybe I shouldn’t let you go out anymore…” he speaks to himself, but you and Taehyun can hear him perfectly well.

“You can’t be serious. Just because the other girls were fine staying inside, I’m most definitely not going to be,” you say, putting your foot down.

“It would be for your own good,” the sorcerer says matter-of-factly.

“My good, or your benefit?” You raise a brow at him. Heeseung’s face contorts in anger for the briefest of moments before he schools his expression, staring you down.

“My benefit? You think any of this is beneficial to me?” he asks you calmly, but it’s somehow more terrifying than if he had exploded with fury. “I have been fighting whatever creatures come outside of the forest for centuries, and I don’t even know why, or why I have to. How in the world could that be beneficial to me?” The question is aimed at you, but it’s clear that it is rhetorical — something he has long given up on finding the answer to.

If you weren’t furious with the sorcerer, you would’ve empathised with him, but all you could hear in your head right now was his threat to keep you locked away in his tower by the forest. “Sorry, I misspoke,” you correct yourself, frowning. “I just meant that you’re the reason why I even have to be here.”

“You think I enjoy that?” Heeseung tilts his head, glaring at you this time. “Fine! Whatever. You are free to leave of your own free will, Y/N. Since you’re, oh, so fine without me.” He says, looking at Taehyun this time. A different emotion flashes in his eyes as he presses his lips tightly together. “I’m sure he would love to protect you anyway,” Heeseung scoffs and runs a hand over his face. 

Your face falls as you glance at Taehyun and then look back at Heeseung. “What do you mean?”

“Y/N—” Taehyun attempts to speak, but Heeseung only laughs. It’s such a deprived sound it almost scares you.

“Are you telling me you don’t know that the person you brought here is currently the youngest Sorcerer General? That he works for the capital as one of the most powerful sorcerers aside from me?” 

“What?” This time, you turn to Taehyun fully. “But you said— did you lie to me?” you ask softly, and as Taehyun apologetically stares down at his feet, licking his lips, you know that he, in fact, did lie to you. “Was the farmer truly your father?”

“Yes! Yes, he was!” Taehyun exclaims immediately, shutting his eyes close tightly before meeting yours again. “That’s why I came to the village. Because he told me that Heeseung has been coming there with you… so the capital sent me.”

“Oh.” You step away from Taehyun, not knowing how to feel. “But you still lied to me.”

“Y/N, I’m sorry— I just didn’t want to scare you off—”

“So you made up a whole lie about how you were helping at the family farm with your magic?” you scoff, shaking your head.

“You should’ve been honest with her.” Heeseung chuckles, rolling his eyes. “Y/N is the most honest person I’ve ever met, so the truth would have hardly scared her off.”

You look at the sorcerer, surprised to hear those words leave his mouth. You’re never sure what exactly he thinks of you, but somehow, knowing that he considers you an honest person warms your heart. He certainly must’ve met many liars in his lifetime. And Taehyun is clearly one of them.

“Yes. So whatever you or the capital want from me, or from Heeseung, just leave us alone. Let them know he’s doing his job just fine.”

“Is he, though?” Taehyun questions, staring at you. “He did let you out of his sight this morning.”

“I have protections placed on me,” you claim, but Taehyun laughs dryly.

“If you mean that flimsy scuffed cloak, then I doubt it was powerful enough to protect you from a monster that wants to directly attack you,” he says, unimpressed. “So, I’d dare say he should do his job better.”

“You little—”

“Don’t.” You sigh tiredly, stepping in front of Taehyun. “I can sense animosity between the two of you, but I’m not willing to hear it. I’m sorry, Heeseung, I see your point, I’ve made a mistake.”

“You don’t need to apologise to him, of all people,” Taehyun says from behind you, and you turn to face him, meeting his big eyes with a blank stare.

“Whatever your problem is with Heeseung, I don’t care. You lied to me, and I don’t appreciate it. The last thing you get to do is insult Heeseung under his roof.” You place your hands on your hips, frowning. “Either be nice, or stay quiet.”

Taehyun clenches his hands into fists, glaring back at Heeseung. But he gives in, sighing in defeat. “He’s not just the reason you have to be living in this tower for the next ten years, you know?” He tells you quietly, enough for Heeseung not to hear. “He’s also the reason the Forest is as dangerous as it is. That’s why he’s the only one tasked with fighting it. So don’t think he’s being honest with you either.”

Colour drains from your face as you listen to him. This time, you’re certain it is the truth because of the graveness in Taehyun’s voice. Though you don’t understand why he’s being secretive about it. Why doesn’t he say it directly even to Heeseung?

Shaking his head, Taehyun moves to leave. “If you ever need help, let me know. I’ll be around, making sure that Heeseung is doing his job well.”

“Dickhead,” the taller sorcerer murmurs under his breath even before Taehyun departs entirely, possibly having heard him. But he didn’t react in any way, simply leaving you alone with Heeseung once again.

You look at Heeseung, not knowing what to think of him now. Though when he smiles at you as if nothing happened, you want to forget Taehyun’s harrowing words.

“Do you need any help with breakfast? I can fry eggs.”

Despite Taehyun’s words, you continued going to the market on your own. You noticed a deer following you around whenever you did so, and you assumed it was another one of Heeseung’s protective precautions to keep you away from danger.

Whenever you come across Taehyun now, he has this distinct look on his face of sharing a secret with you that Heeseung doesn’t know about. Of course, you didn’t tell him. How could you relay such information onto him, not knowing how he’d take it? How would one react to finding out they are the reason so many lives are in danger?

“Ah, crap!” you curse under your breath after what feels like the millionth time of failing to strike the correct chord on the guitar from Jongseong. It shouldn’t be difficult considering your expertise with the violin, but you’re struggling regardless. 

You close your eyes, knowing it’s probably because you can’t focus. You keep thinking back to Taehyun’s words and how it’s somehow his fault that the forest is dangerous. Which also means he is the reason why you’re in danger, and why the forest wants to take you. Though you don’t know how, or what it means.

“Do you plan to torture the poor instrument for long?” Heeseung, as if hearing your thoughts, appears in the music room with a soft, amused smile playing on his lips.

“Sorry,” you say instantly, looking up at him. “I simply can’t seem to figure it out.”

“Allow me.” Heeseung steps closer to you, outstretching his hand to take the guitar.

You let him, watching him nestle next to you on the small sofa that you had chosen for practice. With a smile, he begins playing a song that both sounds foreign and familiar to you. The melody begins merrily, yet as it goes on, the song turns into a mixture of fury and betrayal. A tale that strikes to the very core of your heart, leaving you breathless. 

“What song was that?” you ask once the sorcerer is finished. 

“I don’t know,” he replies honestly. “It’s just been on my mind for a while…” Heeseung tries to hide his confusion, but not even he knew that these emotions have been festering within him.

“Here.” He hands the guitar back to you. 

Accepting it, you let the instrument sit on your lap while Heeseung moves to kneel on the ground in front of you. He’s tall enough to still be at eye level with you, and you startle when his fingers brush against your hand. 

“Sorry, allow me,” he says quietly, taking your hand in his and placing your fingers on the strings of the guitar. “I’m going to teach you some basic chords first, so you don’t torture the guitar at random.”

You blink at him, not sure how to react. With the sorcerer this close to you, it’s hard to process anything, let alone his words. All you can hear is intense buzzing in your ears, and the storm within your heart. 

Gulping, you nod carefully. Heeseung smiles, guiding your fingers along the strings to show you each chord, making sure that you understand everything perfectly. 

It becomes easier when you know the chords. Now that you can connect each sound to what you already know, it doesn’t seem as difficult anymore. With a grin, you find yourself playing the very melody Jaeyun and Sunghoon composed, and it makes you miss home — though in a good way.

Being here means they are safe. That is what matters most. 

“You’re a natural,” Heeseung says, but the proud feeling is gone within moments.

He makes an expression unfamiliar to you as his eyes roam the music room, and you wonder what he is thinking. He abruptly stands up instead, walking toward the window with a frown.

“Stay here,” he commands, closing the window. You shouldn’t be surprised when he disappears as fast as he appeared, but it hurts the tiniest bit.

You watch him head to the forest from your closed window, wishing for him to have told you that he had sensed danger and needed to leave instead of departing almost without a word. 

After hours had passed, you considered running to the village over to find Taehyun so he’d help you find Heeseung somewhere inside the Forest. But as you open the door of the Tower, Heeseung comes stumbling through the entrance, collapsing on the floor with blood splattered all over his clothes. 

“Heeseung!” You cry out, going to examine him and his wounds instantly. He groans when you turn him to his back, and you notice a large bite from what you can only assume was an oversized wolf on his shoulder. “What happened?” you mumble. 

“Your music,” Heeseung whispers. “It’s—”

“No, shh.” Putting your hand over his mouth, you shut him up. “I need to treat your wounds first. Then you can explain yourself,” you say, heart pounding in your ears. 

Heeseung is an immortal sorcerer. This is probably not as severe as it looks to him, but it doesn’t change the fact that it worries you. That you are worried for him.

From the kitchen, you grab a dittany solution and a piece of cloth to wash the wound with, before finding a kit for wound-treating in the bathroom.

Your hands shake while you tear Heeseung’s tunic off of him for better access to the wound. It allows you to see not only his toned chest and stomach, but also the many scars that tatter his honey-coloured skin. 

Pouring the solution over his shoulder, you ignore the hiss he lets out, grateful that he isn’t fighting you. 

You do your best to wash the bleeding wound before dressing and wrapping it in bandages. See, being close to three boys of your age gave you some expertise in treating wounds, but it had never been this severe before. It was never a large bite from a monster of the Forest. 

“I need to get you to your room,” you say weakly, wrapping your arm around Heeseung’s torso. “Can you move?” 

The sorcerer doesn’t respond with words, but he doesn’t let you use all your strength to carry him around either. While most of his weight is still on your shoulders as he drapes his arm over your shoulders, he does his best to walk on his own. 

You never complained about the stairs in the Tower before, but today is the day when they seem to be your absolute doom. Luckily, Heeseung’s bedroom is not too far up. 

Huffing and puffing by the time you reach the door to Heeseung’s room, you’re happy to find relief in opening the door that leads into a large bedroom with… almost nothing inside. Sure, there are some books and a desk, but other than a bed, the room is painfully empty and plain.

You have no time to question it. Instead, you lead Heeseung toward his bed, helping him lie down. But when you want to leave him to rest, he grabs your wrist, not letting you go.

“Heeseung, you need to rest.”

“Don’t leave,” he says, shaking his head. “Stay, please.”

“Heeseung—”

“I need you here.”

“That’s—”

Heeseung, with what strength he has left, pulls you toward him onto the bed. You fall on top of his chest with a yelp, and you seem to be the only one bothered about it. Especially when the sorcerer wraps his arms around you, refusing to let go of you.

“It’s you the Forest wants. He won’t let you go. I can’t protect you if you’re not with me,” he rambles into your hair, strangely frantic. Though you write it off as a side-effect of his injury.

“He can’t have you, Eunjin. Please don’t leave me. You’re my heart.”

Eunjin.

Who’s Eunjin?

When Heeseung wakes up, it’s in a cold sweat. The room spins in his vision, and when it finally settles on the open window, he can only feel a strange sense of emptiness. 

Attempting to move is a terrible idea. Heeseung groans in pain, hand reaching for the bandaged shoulder that you treated. The wound is still fresh, but you made sure to keep it from getting infected. 

His recollection of yesterday’s events is blurry, but he does remember you helping him to his room and him asking you to stay. So finding his room cold and empty without your presence hurts. Not that he would admit such a thing out loud. 

Heeseung is supposed to be the aloof,  mysterious and brooding sorcerer from the Tower, yet you’ve made him smile more times than he can count in the past months that he fears more than usual for your safety. 

He always managed to keep a professional relationship with the other women during his time as Keeper of the Forest, one could say, because keeping distance between himself and people who didn’t want to be here was never hard. However, it proves to be difficult with you. Especially when you act like you actually enjoy his company rather than him being a nuisance in your corner. 

You enter Heeseung’s room without knocking. Though in your defence, you did not expect him to be awake just yet. Breakfast is clutched in your hands, ready to be served to Heeseung on an actual silver platter. 

“Oh. Good morning,” you say softly with a tiny smile. “Are you feeling alright?”

The sigh of relief that leaves Heeseung’s lips at the sight of you and the knowledge of your safety is unfamiliar to him. Obviously, he has always worried for the women staying with him, but never this much. Not when he is the one who got hurt. 

Besides, they never brought him breakfast to bed either. In fact, nobody has ever done that, as far as Heeseung is aware. So maybe the way his heart begs to jump out of his chest when you approach him is an entirely reasonable reaction. 

“I could be better,” Heeseung replies quickly, when he notices a frown forming on your lips because he was quiet for too long. “You didn’t have to do all this,” he says. 

“But you got hurt.” You shake your head in disapproval. “I feel like this is the least I can do,” you sigh, running a hand through your hair. 

A sigh of defeat leaves your lips. One that Heeseung is familiar with as he has felt powerlessness many times before. But the last thing you are is powerless. You don’t even know it, but the reason Heeseung had to leave yesterday was specifically because you’re too powerful.

Your music is its own kind of magic, and unfortunately, it lures the creatures of the Forest directly to you. But Heeseung can’t tell you that. Music is an important part of your life, and he’s willing to fight whatever comes for you rather than disappoint you or make you upset. 

There is also this underlying feeling of having come across this kind of magic before. It was from… he cannot not remember who had the magic or when exactly in his life he came across it. Yet he knows it’s important. This person who wielded this magic meant something. Whoever they were. 

“All I need from you is to be safe,” Heeseung says almost too intimately, surprising even himself. Your lips part in shock as you stare at him, hands tightly gripping onto the tray with breakfast. 

Gulping, you nod. “I am safe.” 

You dare moving closer to Heeseung, offering the freshly made breakfast to him with a timid smile, which he accepts gratefully. It isn’t just the tea you prepared that makes him feel warm inside. 

“Please, rest now. I promise not to leave the Tower while you recover,” you reassure the sorcerer.

“But how will you—”

“I wrote to Taehyun,” you reply, and Heeseung hates the pang of jealousy he feels within his heart at the mention of the other sorcerer. “I know he’s been keeping an eye on us, so it was easy to contact him and ask for a small favour.”

“You mean turning him into a delivery man?” Heeseung's brow raises, and you shrug.

“It’s the least he can do.”

Heeseung snorts, amusement filling his bones. Of course, you would be the one to reduce a Sorcerer General of a large army to something as measly as a delivery man. 

And the best part about it? Taehyun is going to do it.

“Thank you,” you say to Taehyun when he enters the Tower with bags of ingredients. Since Heeseung got hurt, you plan to make a large lunch and dinner to help him recover faster. 

“No problem.” The man shrugs. “You had something to ask me?” he adds, since your request for groceries was not the only one you made in your message to him. 

Pursing your lips, you nod. Leading Taehyun into the kitchen to put away the food, you think of the best way to form your question. Though the base is simple: you want to know more about Heeseung. Things that not even he knows, it seems. 

“Oh.” He chuckles in understanding. “You want to know what I meant before.” Looking at you, his brows furrow. “Why the sudden interest? Did something happen?”

You shake your head. “I just want to know what you meant by it,” you argue. “How can the Forest be Heeseung’s fault only?”

“It’s simple, isn’t it?” Taehyun answers with a question of his own. “It’s a curse that he’s not aware of because the curse itself makes him forget. He doesn’t know it himself, but he’s far older than two centuries.”

“He is?”

Taehyun nods. “I don’t know that much myself, but his history is something sorcerers study in the capital. It’s just that all the details are very blurry and every book that mentions him is merely a different interpretation of what could have happened rather than what truly did happen.

“A detail that remains the same, however, is that there used to be seven of them. Seven Sorcerer Guardians who protected a princess of the Old Kingdom. She was a powerful priestess and her magic was beyond anyone’s understanding, so she created these seven sorcerers who helped her as her power grew. But she died alongside them in a war that destroyed the Old Kingdom, and unlike her, the seven sorcerers were reborn in a completely new world with magic that likely came from the princess.

“Nobody knows where the other six sorcerers are. They’re likely alive and well, but we’re not sure where they are nor who they are. But Heeseung… The power he wields now is only a sliver of what he had two centuries ago due to a curse of an unknown origin to us all. And the speculation is that the power that he lacks is now what makes the Forest what it is.”

“Which is why he’s the only one fighting it…” you finish for Taehyun, and he hums. 

“I’m not saying he’s a monster or anything. It’s just that there is so much we don’t know about him.”

“I understand.” You nod. “Thank you for telling me.”

“Where is he anyway? Are you alright?” Taehyun worries for you, and you chuckle. “Do you need anything else?”

“I’m fine, don’t worry. But Heeseung got hurt last night, so I don’t want to leave him here all alone.”

“He’d be fine,” Taehyun scoffs. “We heal faster than normal people. Immortality and all that.” He continues to help you put things away in silence for barely a minute before speaking again. “You’re different from the other women Heeseung has protected in the past,” he claims. 

Biting the inside of your cheek, you glance at Taehyun. “Am I?”

“Something is different about you.” Taehyun nods. “Your aura is so much more… it’s stronger. Like… I think you have magic, Y/N.”

“What? No.” You shake your head in denial. “How could I have magic? Am I not way past the age for finding that out?”

“Magic manifests in many ways, Y/N. Yours could be so subtle nobody ever noticed, but it is there. It’s strong, just not… obvious,” Taehyun disagrees with you.

“But then… why wouldn’t Heeseung tell me that?”

“Why would he tell you that?” Taehyun counters. “I think he’s scared, Y/N. The Forest behaves differently than it used to. It no longer searches anywhere. It’s dormant.”

“But Heeseung fought some creatures yesterday.”

“Because something called them forth. I monitored the Forest’s activity, and it was like… they found what they were looking for last night.”

“Wait…” you pause, staring at Taehyun. “If you were monitoring the Forest, why didn’t you help Heeseung?”

“It’s not in my jurisdiction.”

“Bullshit,” you spit, shaking your head. “You could’ve prevented his injury.”

“He’ll be fine, Y/N.”

“But he’s not fine now!” you counter, shaking your head. “He was partly delirious yesterday and… he called me Eunjin.”

Taehyun’s face turns grave at the mention of the name. “Eunjin’s dead,” he says with a deadpan.

“Yeah? I figured,” you scoff. There are many things you could guess based on what Heeseung said last night. But you did not like the way it made you feel. 

“Eunjin was different from the other women Heeseung has protected,” Taehyun sighs, offering an explanation in an attempt to quell your indignation. “She was a sorceress studying in the capital before, you know, the mark.” Taehyun points at the one you have on your wrist.

“And she died? I never heard of anyone dying—”

“It was covered up well,” Taehyun says. “Besides, we don’t really know if she died. All we know is that she went into the Forest on her own and never came back. Heeseung searched for her, I think, but she disappeared.” A frown settles on Taehyun’s lips, and you study him with your head tilted to the side. 

“She’s the reason you don’t like Heeseung,” you say matter-of-factly.

Taehyun chuckles, shaking his head. “That obvious, huh?” he asks, running a hand through his hair. “Eunjin was my best friend in the capital; we studied together. She was… stronger than me.”

“Oh. I’m sorry,” you say, moving toward Taehyun with uncertain steps. Not that long ago, you were still upset with him, but now you want to comfort him somehow. The way he looks at you, with big sad eyes, you can’t resist the urge to take his hand in yours and offer a warm smile. 

“You really need to be careful around him.” Taehyun looks at you solemnly, covering your hand in his. “Eunjin wanted to go into the Forest because of him. Please, don’t make the same mistake.”

“I won’t.” You can’t promise that. 

Taehyun smiles ruefully. “Who’s the liar now, huh?” He clearly wants to say something else, perhaps a wish that should not be spoken aloud, but he doesn’t get the chance.

“Y/N, I think my wound started healing—” Heeseung walks into the kitchen, watching you jump away from Taehyun, yanking your hand out of his grip. Confused, Heeseung glances between you and Taehyun. 

“Woah, that— that is great news!” you exclaim hastily, a large grin breaking across your lips as you pretend not to have learned about Heeseung’s past. 

“See, I told you he’d be fine,” Taehyun adds lamely in an attempt to resume the conversation.

“It’s a relief.” You nod. “Do you need anything, Heeseung? More food? Water? Tea? Coffee?”

“I’m fine, thanks.” Heeseung gives you a weird look. He knows you’re hiding something, but doesn’t press the issue with Taehyun right next to you.

“You do realise you’re not his maid, right?” Taehyun raises his brow at you. 

“Taehyun—”

“Would you prefer it if she was yours?” Heeseung challenges in turn. 

“She’s not property to give out like that.” Taehyun glares at the other sorcerer. 

“Stop talking about me like I’m not here,” you say firmly, fixing both men with a stern stare. It’s especially pointed at Taehyun because of the conversation you two shared literally moments ago. “I know you two have issues, but do not make me a ball the two of you get to kick around to prove a point.” 

This gets both sorcerers to look at you, their expressions turning apologetic.

“I’m my own person, and I can do whatever I want. If I want to offer Heeseung a cup of tea then I can do that,” you say, looking at Taehyun. They seem to look regretful now, realising that their words may have been hurtful toward you, when that is the last thing they intended. “I think it’ll be better if you leave now, Taehyun.”

“Y/N, I’m—”

“I’ll walk you out.”

tags: @moonpri @addictedtohobi @superbbananananana @strayy_kidz

[ktownshizzle]

Friends & Fools | One-Shot

Pairing: Min Yoongi x female Reader

Summary: You and Yoongi have always been just friends—inseparable since childhood, roommates in the city, partners in navigating life’s chaos. At your high school reunion, the questions start: Are you two finally together? Uh, no. But as the night goes on, and Yoongi looks at you like that, hmm—has everyone else seen something you’ve been too scared to admit?

Genre: Fluff, Suggestive, non-idol!au, reunion!au, best friends & roommates to lovers, grumpy x grumpy, when reader is more yoongi than yoongi himself

Warnings: cursing, smoking cigarettes, kissing, allusion to sex

Word count: 2.8k

Posting date: November 26, 2024

Notes: This is a one-shot to celebrate my 500 followers milestone for the blog! Just a cute little something as a thank you making this writer happy. The story was inspired by two asks: 1) lovely anon who wanted to talk about Yoongi at Jimmy Fallon; 2) kookiewithluv who sent me the softest, smiliest, fluffiest d-day Yoongi photos that I just couldn’t help myself.

Enjoy, my lovelies~ 💕

Masterlist

MIN YOONGI 101 is a course you could’ve taught in school. It’s a subject matter you’ve mastered somewhere between the sandbox (when he was the kid hoarding plastic shovels in the playground) and the shoebox (the over-priced apartment that you both decided to rent together after uni).

It’s ‘cause you’ve always been good at watching him. You’ve picked up all his visual cues, his weird quirks, his tells.

Tonight is no different. From across the room, in the too-bright glare of your high school gym’s rented stage lights, you catch the tell-tale pinch of his brow, the mindless nodding that means he’s enduring yet another overly enthusiastic former classmate. Someone’s laughing too loud in his face, and he responds the same way he always does—with a small, polite smile and a glance at his drink like it’s his lifeline.

You’d know that look anywhere.

Yoongi catches your eye then, like he can feel your energy slicing through the crowd, and his lips twitch. The faintest ghost of a smirk, the kind he reserves just for you. He raises his glass, and you do the same from across the room. A silent message of we're too fucking sober to be in this joint.  He holds your gaze and you watch as he inadvertently inserts the straw up one nostril, giggling because that wouldn’t be the first time. He shakes his head and puts it back in his mouth for a sip.

It’s comforting, really. That tether between you and Yoongi.

Even if the two of you are apparently the only ones here who don’t see what everyone else does.

You are standing by the endlessly classy boxed wine on the buffet table, watching your old classmates get progressively tipsier under dim lighting. Yoongi stands next to you, unabashedly drinking whiskey straight from his flask. He looks real sharp in a tailored blazer, with a casual t-shirt underneath, mumbling earlier that day how he cannot be arsed to fiddle with a necktie, even though it’s always you who has been fixing it for job interviews, funerals, formal occasions etc. for him for the past years. Secretly you think he knew that wearing that t-shirt actually just made him look effortlessly cool.

Someone from across the room waves, and you recognize it to be Hyorin, your former lab partner who was also a cheerleader or something, making her way toward you. “Oh my God, you two!” she exclaims, beaming. “You finally got together, huh?”

Yoongi chokes on his drink, and you nearly drop your solo.

“Nooo,” Yoongi drawls, dragging the word out with a mix of disbelief and amusement.

Hyorin frowns, tilting her head. “Wait. You’re not a couple?”

You both shake your heads so emphatically it looked rehearsed. 

“Nope,” you say, popping the P.

“Not even fucking?”

The audacity of this chick, though?

“Not even close,” Yoongi answers, but his voice sounded oddly tight. 

Hyorin gives you both a skeptical once-over before laughing. “Okay, sure. Whatever you guys say.” She leaves, shaking her head like you’ve just told her the earth is flat, didn’t you know that?

They’re really starting to piss you off, ngl.

“Okay, but seriously,” Jihyo, who was in the band with you and one of the few people you’ve kept some form of contact with (hence can tolerate), hisses. “You’re really still not together?”

It was your turn to choke on your drink. “Hajimaaa! Why does everyone keep asking me that? Y’all wanna shoot your shot with Yoongi, go! I don’t give a fuck.”

Jihyo gives you a look like you’re the most oblivious person on earth. “This is exactly why I think you’re into him. Not everyone wants to date him, girl. We’re just curious about you two.”

“I—fuck you, actually. Give me one good reason why you think we’re a… thing.”

“Because you and Yoongi have been attached at the hip since we were all kids? Because you practically morphed into the same person? Because he’s literally looked at you the same way since he had that awful mushroom cut in fourth grade?”

“It wasn’t a mushroom cut. It was…” You cringe. “Yeah, it was a mushroom cut.”

You both giggle, then she asks, swirling the remains of her wine. “But seriously. Everyone thought you finally figured it out. You two moved in together a couple of months ago, no?”

“Yeah, because rent’s insane, I hate people, and he hates people, so we’re perfect roommates.”

Jihyo raises a skeptical eyebrow. “Mmhmm. Roommates. Sure.”

You roll your eyes, but the words stick with you as the night drags on, looping in your head as more classmates approach with the same comments. It’s exhausting. You’re about to grab your coat and drag Yoongi out of here when you feel a familiar figure at your side.

“You okay?” Yoongi asks, voice low, his shoulder brushing yours. 

“I’m fine,” you sigh. “Just… everyone keeps asking why we’re not dating.”

Yoongi scoffs, his tongue clicking against his teeth. “What’d you tell ‘em?”

“The truth.”

He smirks again, but it’s sharper this time, laced with something you can’t quite name. “And what’s that?”

“That you’re a chronically unavailable workaholic and are too emotionally constipated to be anyone’s boyfriend.”

He huffs a laugh, shoulders bobbing. “Ouch,” he says, but his eyes are soft, the way they get when he looks at you sometimes, warm and wistful.

You look away first, clearing your throat, suddenly remembering what Jihyo said about how he looks at you. “Well, you’re not exactly ideal boyfriend material.”

Yoongi shrugs, mouth forming a straight line. “Fair.”

Anyway, you know you’re no dream girl, either. He is just way too soft for you to say it to your face.

Between the two of you, your combined dating history looks like a collection of UN flags, except they’re all red. 

Him with his too-whiny, needy bitches, who have far too high expectations of him and he is just not the guy to validate their feelings 24 fucking 7. He has things to do (produce) and places to be (his studio).

And you, with your love bombers and commitment-phobes that have got you questioning if there’s something wrong with you because they always lose interest down the line. (Yoongi says they're all assholes btw, and you are inclined to believe him, despite lingering self-doubt.)

You always joked that no one else understood either of you the way you understood each other.

But aren’t jokes half-meant?

By the time the reunion starts winding down, you’re tipsy enough that the edges of the night feel soft and fuzzy. You’re outside, leaning against the brick wall of the building with Yoongi, his jacket draped over your shoulders because he’s simply gentlemanly like that. Raised well by his eomma who you equally adore.

“You didn’t have to stay this long,” he says, lighting a cigarette.

You watch the glow of it as he inhales, the faint tremble of his fingers in the cold. “Neither did you.”

He shrugs, exhaling a thin ribbon of smoke. “I wasn’t gonna let you suffer alone.”

Something warm pools in your chest. “Thanks. And, same.”

The quiet stretches between you, the kind of comfortable silence only Yoongi can manage. It’s strange how natural it feels, just existing with him like this. Like it’s enough.

You gesture to the stick, then he slowly brings it to your lips.

You exhale the smoke as you tilt your head back to look at the stars—or what few stars there are on this cloudy night—and ask the question that’s been sitting heavy on your tongue all night.

“Why do you think everyone assumes we’re together?”

Yoongi doesn’t answer right away, but you can feel the heaviness of his gaze on you like it’s settling on your shoulders.

“I dunno,” he says eventually, voice quiet. “Maybe because we act like we are.”

Hol’ up. “What do you mean?”

He takes another drag of his cigarette, exhaling slow. “I mean… we know each other better than anyone else. We live together. Spend all our time together. Maybe they think it just makes sense.”

Your heart stutters. “Does it?”

Yoongi stills, blinks like he’s trying to suss out where you’re going with this. “What’s up with you?”

“I don’t know,” you admit, your voice teeny-tiny. “Just… do you ever think maybe we’ve been—”

“Idiots?” he cuts in, a wry smile tugging at his lips.

You laugh, but it’s shaky. “Yeah. That.”

Yoongi looks at you then, really looks at you, and you feel like the ground might give out beneath you. There’s something in his expression, something raw and vulnerable and scared. Like he’s standing on the edge of something, just waiting for you to push him over.

“Sometimes,” he says finally, his voice rough.

It’s not an admission, not exactly, but it’s enough to make your pulse race.

“Yoongi,” you start, but the words catch in your throat.

He snuffs the cigarette against the wall and tosses it towards the can. Then, he steps closer, close enough that you can see the faint moles on his face, the curve of his lashes as he blinks down at you.

“You wanna go home?” he asks, his voice softer now, almost hesitant.

You know what he’s really asking.

You say yes.

The walk to the subway station is quiet. Tense.

The back of his hand brushes yours as you walk along the sidewalk, and neither of you moves away.

The subway ride back to your apartment is also quiet. Tense.

Yoongi doesn’t say much, but his knee brushes yours every time the train sways, and neither of you moves away. 

By the time you’re back in your apartment, your brain is mushy and your head feels like it’s about to explode as you keep rewinding and replaying the events of the night, every classmate that alluded to your relationship, his lingering glance, sharing the cigarette, every half-formed word between you... Fuck.

Yoongi kicks off his shoes by the door, pushing it under the rack. You stand there awkwardly, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on you.

“Tea?” he asks, already moving toward the kitchen.

“No.” Your voice comes out too abrupt, too sharp, and he freezes.

He turns slowly, eyes searching yours. “You ok?”

“No.” You take a deep breath, your heart pounding. “I think we’ve been avoiding this for a long time.”

Yoongi blinks, but you know he is just pretending not to understand what you meant. “Avoiding what?”

“This,” you say, gesturing between you. “Us.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then— “Mm.”

Mm. That’s all he says, like you haven’t just dropped a bomb in the middle of your tiny living room.

“Yoongi,” you say, stepping closer. “Do you—”

“Yeah,” he interrupts, nodding as he bites down on his lower lip. “I do.”

The air shifts between you, and suddenly you’re not sure who moves first, but then his warm hands are on your face and your fingers are tangled in his shirt and his mouth is on yours, and—

Oh.

Damn.

His lips are softer than you imagined—not that you spent countless late nights pining, but if you had, this would surpass every hypothetical. He kisses like he does everything else: deliberate, unhurried, sure. His hands slide down from your face to rest on your waist.

The sigh that slips from your lips is involuntary, but it’s enough for him to push further. His tongue brushes against your bottom lip, coaxing you open, and when he deepens the kiss, tasting you, it uncoils the knot that’s been tight in your belly all night. Yoongi tastes faintly like whiskey, like cigarettes, and something else so distinctly him and you’re endlessly intoxicated.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, nails grazing the nape of his neck, and the low, guttural noise he makes in response sends a shockwave through you. Heat settles in your core, spreading with an intensity that takes you by surprise. Because omg–this is not some hot stranger you met at a bar. This is your goddamn best friend, whose hand is now dangerously encroaching on the swell of your ass.

You hadn’t expected this—not the kiss, not the pleasure, not the way he makes you feel like you’re in some version of paradise.

You’re melting with every curl of his tongue, every shift in the way his lips move against yours. It’s the kind of intimacy that makes the rest of the world fall away, until the only thing you’re aware of is the feel of him—his warmth, his certainty, the way he kisses like he already knows this is how it should’ve been in the first place–a sureness you hadn’t expected. 

It’s not just passion—it’s belonging, the sense that every piece of you slots perfectly into place with him. Like the years of laughter, arguments, and everything in between have all been leading here. His hands now circling your waist feel steady, like they’ve always known where to hold you even though this is the very first time. 

And in that moment, kissing Yoongi feels like coming home—warm, certain, complete. A place you hadn’t known you were searching for, because you’ve always been with him, and now you can’t imagine ever leaving.

When you finally pull away, his lips are swollen, and his eyes are a bit moist, blinking blankly like he can’t fathom what just happened. His arms loosen their hold on you, just a bit, and suddenly, you can see the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes.

And for a second, your stomach churns, worried that the wheels in his head are turning and it’s telling him that this was not it.

Finally he speaks. “Was that weird?” 

You huff out a breath, a cross between a chuckle and a sigh of relief, because God. Yoongi could be pressed against you, breathless and flushed, and he’d still overthink. You really belong together.

“Not weird,” you say softly, brushing a strand of hair from his face. “Weirdly perfect, maybe.”

He exhales sharply, relief flooding his features. “Fuck, okay. Good. Because if it sucked for you, I’d have to move out. And in this economy???”

You swat his chest, laughing again, but then his arms tighten around you again, holding you close, and the teasing fades into something softer. It’s not lost on you that this is the longest you’ve ever touched each other. Two socially awkward fools who are secretly touch-starved now finally getting what they’ve been craving for but have been too shy to admit it.

“Seriously, though,” he says, a lopsided grin decorating his lips. “What happens next?”

You tilt your head, pretending to think. “Hmm. You could still make tea if you want?”

He groans, his head dropping to your shoulder. “You’re the worst.”

"Or…" you say, sliding your hands across his chest, your fingers lingering just enough to feel his breath hitch beneath your touch. You push his blazer off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor with a soft thud. "We could… you know."

Yoongi lifts his head, and the look in his eyes makes your heart trip over itself. There’s heat there, sure, but beneath it lies something deeper, something that feels vulnerable. "Are we really doing this?"

And you know what he means. Because again, you know Min Yoongi inside out. And he’s known you. But now you’re ready to bare everything that’s left to discover.

"I’ve never been more sure of anything," you say, your voice steady in a way that surprises even you.

His tongue presses against the inside of his cheek, his last bit of hesitation melting away as he nods.

You step back, your movements slow, deliberate. Turning away from him, you reach for the straps of your dress and slide them down your shoulders, feeling the fabric loosen as you take a few steps toward his room. You glance back over your shoulder, a smirk tugging at your lips. "Are you coming?"

He grins, gummy and warm, and it’s so achingly Yoongi that your chest tightens. "I would hope so…"

You roll your eyes stifling a laugh, because he’s stupid, because he’s him. And because you’ve never loved (wait... what?) anyone more in your entire life. "C’mere then," you tease, the words soft, daring, as your dress slips to the floor and pools around your ankles.

He breathes out, a sound that’s almost a laugh, almost disbelief. "Okay," he says, his voice low, quiet, like he’s agreeing to something more than just this moment.

And maybe he is. Maybe this is the easiest thing in the world, the most inevitable thing that’s ever happened to either of you.

And now, finally, you’re both ready to admit it.

:)

A/N: EEEEKKKK Please tell me what you thought about the story! I'd appreciate feedback if you loved it, hated it, and if it made you feel a certain way.

Thank you for reading this you lovely, beautiful human xo 

& If you want to read more of my work, please check out my masterlist. & If you enjoy my work and want to buy me a ko-fi, I'd appreciate it.& If you want to be tagged for all future stories, you can sign up for the permanent taglist.

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Story-requested Taglist:

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[awriterinthenight]

"I Have What?"

requested: @narkissistikos

words: 3267

warnings: swearing, suicide references, reader gets attacked, (I know the title is kinda bad, but if you read the story, then it's kinda funny), Miranda is actually a bitch like I hate people like her

summary: You're a mortal who keeps seeing weird monsters, but everyone thinks you're crazy, so when you're at an amusement park and get attacked by a monster, you meet the one and only Luke Castellan

Everyone said you were crazy, that none of it was real. Your parents didn't believe you, they thought you just had a wild imagination, your friends tried to ignore the weird things you told them about, and everyone judged you when they would you talk of monsters. Monsters weren't real was what everyone told you, but you would swear on the gods that they were, and that you could see them.

Eventually you were brought to a doctor, but they also called you crazy, an attention seeker, or that you just had a wild imagination. Everyone thought you just saw these things because you were always cooped up in your room drawing fantasy creatures from old myths. Your doctor recommended going outside, hanging out with friends, and trying to forget all the weird things you believed you say.

So once your parents told your friends, your friends decided what better to do than bring you to an amusement park. How could you not have fun there with the endless rides, greasy food, and the sound of hundreds of screaming kids? So fun (I'm being sarcastic).

You needed this, which was a major lie your friends and family told you. Just like every rich family, they can't have their little screw up who might be crazy, being shown out in public that way. So now here you are, three doctors, a bunch of medication that didn't work, and about 20 cover ups of your "stunts" (as your parents called them), later in your own personal hell, have fun.

"First we should do the Tilt-A-Whirl, then we can go on the bumper cars, then get food, then head to the Ferris Wheel," Stephanie said. With her everything had to be planned out, which wasn't so bad, but sometimes it sucked since then no one could divert from the schedule.

"I think that guy is looking at me. Do you think he's cute? Cause he's cute," Miranda said, looking at something that looked like it crawled onto Earth. Miranda was one of those girls who only talked about guys, and by the time you had a full conversation with her, you'd wish someone would pick her already.

Now you might be thinking, 'why would you be friends with those two if they made you want to jump off the top of the Ferris Wheel'. Well Little Sally, the only reason we hangout with them is because we have to. Stephanie was your mom's best friend's daughter, so if you two weren't friends then apparently your mom's had failed as friends, which made zero sense, but whatever. And Miranda was apparently a package deal (that no one ordered) with Stephanie.

The only decent one in your group was Christina. She didn't talk much, but the glances the two of you sent each other were louder than Miranda's laugh when a guy was around. Christina had been your friend since the beginning of middle school, and for some reason stuck around till now. She was your only real friend in your life, and the only one who cared. She might've thought you were also a bit crazy, but hey, it at least made you funny.

"Let's just get this over with," you said, walking towards the Tilt-A-Whirl.

Miranda groaned, "Don't be such a bummer, we're here to have fun," you and Miranda probably would've murdered each other by now if it wasn't for Christina reminding you that colleges don't accept you if you have a murder charge.

You rolled your eyes, turning away from her as Christina spoke to you, "If you don't upset her too much, then I'll buy you a slushie as compensation."

"Fine, but only if it's blue," you only drank blue slushies, they were like crack to you. You had made it through the Tilt-A-Whirl without hurling the two girls off the ride, and had made it through bumper cars with running them over either, so a wins a win I guess.

You were getting food now, since you were more likely to murder someone on an empty stomach, which was not a good thing when Miranda was around. Christina was busy getting you guys slushies like she promised you, while Miranda was flirting with the cashier when she was supposed to be getting you burgers. You stood in line for cheese fries when something caught your eye.

'Was that a snake!' you questioned yourself, as you swore you saw a snake slither out of the hat the cashier at the popcorn stand was wearing. You tried to slow down your breathing since it sped up from the shock. 'It's just another reason they think you're crazy. Don't let them think you're crazy’ the words everyone told you ringing through your head again.

The guy behind you seemed to notice that you seemed a bit out of it, "Cool shirt," he said, referring to your AC/DC shirt.

It caught you off guard, and you had to look down at what shirt you were wearing, "What- oh, uh thanks," you managed to stumble out, a bit embarrassed since the guy was kind of cute, but you have bigger problems right now.

"Are you okay?" he asked, seeming to be concerned about you in your shocked state. I'll take things that have never happened before for 500 Alex.

You looked up at him, taking in his brown hair and the scar on his face, "I-I'm fine," you told him, trying to think of an excuse since telling a stranger you saw a snake in someone's hair is something only bat-shit crazy people say, "I just witnessed someone sneeze into the popcorn, not something you usually want to see when you're about to eat," you lied, or at least tried to. How the fuck does someone know if their bad at lying or not? Welp, guess it's up the gods if he thinks I'm weird or not, oh look nothing new.

Surprisingly he let out a small chuckle, "I never trust any of the food here, I'm just getting some for my friends," he said.

You nodded, your mind still a bit distant. The strange guy nudged you a bit, "Hey, you're next," he said, since the person in front of you left.

"Oh, thanks, sorry," you said, quickly before walking up to the cashier. That was the last you said to the mystery guy, since he didn't talk to you again after you ordered. You made your way over to your friends, sitting down next to Christina.

"Oh my god," Miranda started, as you started to want to gouge out your eyeballs, "Who was that guy you were talking to? He was so cute, do you think he has a girlfriend?" she asked, then continued to talk about him, asking a million questions that you wouldn't know since you talked to him for not even a minute, and it was a lie you told, so that you didn't look fucking crazy.

"I don't know Miranda. I talked to him for like 30 seconds and it was about some lady who sneezed into the popcorn, by the way, don't get popcorn," you told her, fed up with her million questions.

Stephanie eyed you and said, "You don't need to be so rude, she was just asking," that's it you were jumping off the Ferris Wheel.

Christina could sense the tension, so she intervened, "Did you guys see Evan and Quinn walking around? I didn't even know they were going out," she gossiped, since it was the best diversion to use on the two. You zoned out, preferring to keep you sanity. Which was ironic since when you looked at the lady at the cotton candy stall, you swore she had wings, fangs, and claw-like hands. Okay, maybe you were fucking crazy.

The other weird thing was then when you looked back she looked like a normal person again. Even weirder was that the brown haired stranger looked at her too, then right at you. Something was definitely going on, but you sure as hell don't want to know.

You and your friends were about to head onto the Ferris Wheel, but something inside you told you not to.

"Stop being such a loser," Miranda complained, since she always had to have a problem with you.

"Stop being such a bitch, then maybe I will," you said, walking away. That wasn't your best comeback, but it'll do for now. You stood by yourself against a fence, contemplating why you didn't get on the Ferris Wheel. Was it A) the thought of being high up with Miranda was too tempting to push her off, and you didn't need a felony charge, B) that food was not sitting right, or C) did it have something to do with that the lady from the popcorn stand who now had wings, fangs, and snakes for hair, was about to attack the brown hair boy from earlier. If you picked C) then ding, ding, ding, we have a winner.

Shit.

You ran forward, pulling the boy back by his shirt before she could attack. His friends turned to look at the boy now on the ground, as you felt the greatest humiliation ever. The lady was gone, now making you look like a crazy person who attacked someone for no reason.

"What the hell is wrong with you," he yelled out in anger, dusting himself off as he stood up.

You stumbled back, confused to what had just happened, "I-I," you could barely make out any words, "I swore I...fuck," you said, running into the nearest bathroom to hide in.

You were crazy, you were bat-shit crazy. You were seeing things. Everyone was right. There's something incredibly wrong with you. Why would you do that?

In the midst of trying to call yourself down, you didn't even notice the woman next to you washing her hands, "You're really pretty, it's a shame what I'm about to do to you," she said, making you scared? confused? You didn't know anymore.

"Wha-what," was all you could stumble out, taking a step back.

She let out a breath, "You keep getting in my way, and I can't have that," she shouted at you, before lunging to attack. You had some self defence lessons, plus the skills from random rich people activities like fencing, plus great fight or flight instincts, so before she could rip your throat out, you dodged to the side. She ran into the sink, breaking it which probably hurt like a bitch.

Are you crazy, or are you crazy? Is what you kept asking yourself. The weird lady (more like a creature thing, since she had her wings and fangs back) lunged at you again, but you ran out of the bathroom this time.

You'd made it a good distance away from the bathroom when you accidentally ran into someone, literally. Your face hit their chest, making you stumble back a bit, and you would've fallen if it weren't for someone else catching you.

To your horror it was the boy and his group of friends from earlier. And to make it worse he was the one who caught you, "I got you," he said, "Now where is she?" he asked, his voice sounding rather urgent.

Your brain was still spinning as you tried to process everything, "Wha-what, you can see them?" you asked, entirely confused as to how they knew the things you kept seeing.

"Yes, but that's a conversation for later. Where did you last see her?" the girl of the group asked, and may you add, she seemed a lot scarier than everyone else.

You took a moment to catch your breath, "The bathrooms by the food stalls. It was the one from the popcorn stand, she tried attacking me," you told her, knowing that sentence sounded a bit crazy.

The boy still holding onto you nodded to the rest of the group, which consisted of 2 others, "Stay here," he said, as he started to head off with the others.

You snapped out of your dazed state and caught the boy's hand, "Wait, first tell what those things are," you demanded, finally wanting to know what the things you were seeing actually were.

"Later, just stay here for now," he said, trying to pull his hand away, but failing. Luckily for you (and unluckily for him) you were a pretty strong person.

"No," you said, standing your ground, "I've spent my entire life terrorised by those things, and now I have a chance for answers, so just tell what they are."

The boy seemed to have to bite back a smile, "You're feisty, you know that," he said, only making you more annoyed.

"And you're an asshole, are we going to spend the entire time naming each other's flaws, or are you going to tell me," you retorted.

He let out a sigh before speaking, "Let me go and I'll tell you, promise," he said, you had no other option so you let go, and trusted he would tell you, "Their gorgons, but I'm guessing you've seen other monsters. Do you know both of your parents?"

That was a weird fucking question, but not the weirdest thing to happen to you, "Why would you ask that, what relevance does that have to any of this?" you questioned.

"I-I just-" he said, trailing off when his friends had returned, but this time being attacked by gorgons, "shit." He then left you standing there, as he pulled out a sword from some random object. What the actual fuck is going on.

You watched the three people fight, as the people around you minded their own business, steering clear of the fight. How were they so calm, could they not see what was going on? You were too caught up in your thoughts to notice the dagger coming straight at your face. The boy turned around, a look of horror, then relief washed over him, as the blade went straight through you, falling onto the ground.

At that moment the boy realized you were mortal, and you realized your life is fucked up. Once again snapping out of your daze, you say the girl on the ground with the gorgon about to attack her. Without thinking (let's be honest, when do you ever think) you grabbed the dagger, throwing it at the gorgon. It hit her straight in the neck, causing her to fall to the ground and disappear.

The two boys quickly killed the other gorgon, helping up the girl as they made their way towards you, "You okay?" the brown hair boy asked.

"Oh, you know just another Tuesday," you said, your voice full of sarcasm.

"It's Saturday," the other boy said, not getting your sarcasm.

The girl hit him on the chest, "She's being sarcastic, dumbass. He's not the brightest person."

You nodded, "So, why can I only see the monsters, what are these monsters? Who are you guys? Why could no one see what was going on? Why did that dagger-" you were cut off by the boy with the scars, whose name you still didn't know, which was annoying.

"Woah, calm down," you shot him a glace, since that definitely wasn't the best thing to say in this situation, "You can see the monsters cause you have clear sight," he explained as if that made any sense.

"I have what?" you asked, still confused.

The boy seemed a bit apprehensive about telling you more, due to...issues we won't get into right at this moment, so the girl spoke up, "It means you can see through the mist," which once again did not help.

"That also doesn't explain shit, what even is the mist?" you asked, wanting someone to explain to you what was fully going on.

The other boy spoke up, "Should we tell her everything, or maybe bring her to Chiron?" he asked.

The boy went to speak, but the scary girl spoke first, "We can't just leave her clueless, we have to tell her."

"It could make her life worse though," the brown haired boy said.

They continued to argue until you spoke up, "Are you going to keep talking about me like I'm not here, or are you going to explain?" you asked, frustrated by what was going on.

"Look just let us talk for a moment," he said, before leaning closer to you, "Then we'll tell you everything, I promise," he said, his voice now rather low.

You knew better than to trust the word of a pretty boy, but dam was it hard not to, "Fine, but you better explain everything." The boy nodded, walking over to his friends as they huddled to talk. They weren't that quiet so you could hear almost everything. Something about a camp, and someone named Chiron, and how it would be a lot for you, and blah blah blah.

Their huddle came to an end when the other boy who didn't talk much shouted, "Would your parents care if you were missing for a little bit?"

Normally that would be a weird question, but nothing seemed to bother you anymore, "I don't even think they would notice if I disappeared for a year," you shouted back.

The boy approached you again, his friends standing a little ways away from you two, "We're going to take you somewhere where everything can be explained to you. You don't have to go, but if you want answers it might be your best bet, since it's a lot," he explained.

"I want answers, but why should I travel to some mysterious place, with three strangers whose names I don't even know," you countered, a bit sceptical.

"Fair point," he said, "Then here, I'm Luke Castellan," he held out his hand for you to shake.

The dumb gesture made you smile, something you hadn't done all day, "Y/N L/N," you introduced, still holding onto his hand.

Luke could feel his heart speed up a bit from how you were still holding his hand, and the fact that he made you smile, "Will you come with us now?" he asked hopefully, "I promise you won't regret it."

"That's usually something someone says before they do something regretful, but fine, I'll go," you said, watching his face light up with excitement.

"Great, my friends will get us set up to go, just know the way there may be a bit unconventional," he said, still holding onto your hand.

"I would expect nothing less," you joked, excited about what the future held for you.

You two waited for Luke's friends to come back, and made small talk trying to get to know each other, "I'm sorry for yelling at you earlier," he said, referring to when you made him fall down.

"In my defence I was trying to save you from a gorgon," you said, trying to not be embarrassed by your actions.

"My hero," he joked, as his friends arrived with the chariot.

"I don't think anything can surprise me anymore," you uttered, no longer surprised by the weird things you saw.

Luke let out a chuckle, "Oh trust me princess, there's a lot crazier things in this world that will surprise you," he said, the name sliding off his tongue by accident.

You tried to not let the effect the name had on you show, but you rather liked it. You didn't know what the future held for you and Luke, but you were rather excited for it. Unlike Clarisse and Ethan who already wanted to jump out of the chariot.

Current Taglist (ask to be added)

@almost-gabrielle @scarlett-8 @atashiboba @that1deerpersondownstairs @herondale-lightworm

[lemon-russ]

More lore for my insane porn.

Why am I doing this? Does human pet smut need a backstory? If there were a merciful god, wouldn't I be stopped? Some things are never answered. The important thing is I am having fun ✨

Mortarion x F!Reader (prequel 2? Part 3??)

Previous

CW: None for this specific thing. Many for the first one. Many for the future of whatever this is.

TAGS (no one participated in the prayer circle to stop me so it continues): @sleepyfan-blog @undeaddream @scriberye @lisikk @moodymisty

“Go on, pick.”

Mortarion holds you out at arms length, pointing you at a display of items in colors you couldn’t name, so bright and varied it made your head start to swim.

“Pick?” You parrot, “pick… what? What are they?”

You hear a small huff behind you. “They’re toys. Weren’t you saying you were bored?”

It had been boring. After a week of toting you around, quizzing you on your world, crops, government systems, and various other minutia, you found out that your world did in fact have a ruler, unbeknownst to a simple farmer like yourself, and had happily agreed to join the imperium of man, as it was apparently called.

All Mortarion asked for in payment was you.

“You entertain me.” Was all he had offered as explanation.

And thus you had been stuck in his quarters for two weeks, losing your mind at the lack of work to do. You’d taken up trying to draw, but that only entertained so long. You tried to read, but you were barely literate in your own tongue, let alone what your master called “high gothic”. What use did a farmer have for reading? You’d tried to clean up, but there was barely anything in the room to tidy.

You refocus on the colorful display, reaching out to touch one of the bright objects. ”It’s really soft...” You say, picking up one of the toys. It vaguely looks like some sort of animal, furry with stylized ears, but beyond that you can’t imagine a use for the thing.

“How is it a toy?” You ask, turning to try and look at your new masters face over your shoulder.

He frowns slightly. “What were toys on your planet?”

“Wooden blocks, mostly. Or the Hoop game.” You say, then add with a fond smile, “and dolls, made of water-reeds.”

He sighs. “Well, think of these as the… reed dolls. They are stuffed animals, you’re supposed to find them pleasant.”

You look back to the unnaturally bright creature in your hands. “what color is this?”

You yelp as you are dropped to your feet, stumbling a little.

Mortarion turns you around by the shoulder, face grimacing in disbelief. “I don't enjoy being teased.” He huffs.

You frown. “What-”

“You know purple.” He snaps, but it sounds less angry and more desperate. “You cannot tell me you don't know the color purple.”

You look at the thing in your hands. If you absolutely had to answer, life or death, what color it was, you'd only be able to say not red but not blue.

You look back up to see mortarion's face more stern. “your planet was quite brown and hazy, I suppose.” He said. “I can… understand that.” For a moment you see something flicker behind his gaze, but it is gone before you can guess it.

You tilt your head in a little confusion, intending to ask what he meant, but are turned back to the display instead. Mortarion leans over you to start pointing at the soft creatures.

“Purple.” He says, pointing at the one you held. “Pink, blue, orange…”

You pout. “I know blue-” you point at the pointy eared alien toy, “That's not blue. Blue has more grey in it.”

He sighs. “No, your rivers were not blue, they were just the only thing on that forsaken dirt ball that had a slight hint of blue in it. This is blue.” he says, picking up the bright, smiling creature and handing it to you.

Suddenly, you're being hoisted again, and tucked under the massive man's arm. “you're getting those two, I have chosen for you.” he grumbles. You think you catch him grumble something about doesn't know purple under his breath.

He forces you to pick out a blanket as well, as you'd been complaining about being chilly sleeping on the floor at night. That was true, but you more mean that it is a hard, metal floor, and wanted a bed. You had asked for some straw to weave yourself a proper mattress, but only got an annoyed look in response. He tossed you a pillow to sleep atop instead.

You chose a blanket in pink. You know pink too, but this one is an almost pastel, dusty version that you've never seen in nature. It was pleasant, and didn't hurt your eyes like the other new colors. Plus, it was quilted and full of feathers. He didn’t seem to mind buying something so lavish, so you figure you may as well be comfortable.

When you're finished shopping, Mortarion opens the large satchel he'd taken you out of his room in. You frown, looking up over the toys and blankets in your arms.

“Can't I just walk in…?” You ask.

He presses his mouth to a line. “No.”

You mimic the expression. “I promise I won't try to run again…” you say, referring to the ill fated attempt you'd made to avoid going into the belly of the flying beast when he'd first taken you.

He rolls his eyes. “No. In. And be quiet. I don't want my sons to see you.”

You sigh, shuffling up to the large bag and tossing your new toys inside first. “Can't you just tell them I am some sort of field hand?”

He shakes the bag opening at you. “No. We don't have those, and I don't want them getting strange ideas. In.”

“Stranger than this…?” You mumble to yourself as you crawl into the bag, curling up and situating yourself.

He peers down at you through the opening. “Don't talk back. And there's nothing strange about having a….” He glances away and back quickly, frowning. “A personal serf.”

Your scrunch your brow. “Serf…? But I don't do anything-”

Your words are cut off as he cinches the bag closed and hoists you up, making you squeak in surprise and have to scramble to reposition yourself where you can breathe.

“I said, don't talk back.” He grumbles, setting off on a quick pace that makes you jostle and swing as he walks.

[bugbyte]

This this this. I absolutely hold no ill will toward anyone who got a diagnosis in months. Everyone should have that option. Faster, really.

But it’s been hitting me lately about how many little oddities and weird injuries and other problems that made my life hell growing up were more than likely just undiagnosed EDS/POTS/the other muscular dystrophy situation I don’t want to think about yet.

There’s grief. Being told for decades that you just have weird knees, but being unable to explain why gym class makes you feel like you’re actually dying. I was a skinny little kid and I think doctors and gym teachers wrote it off as me just not wanting to try. I tried and I tried and I tried. I wanted to play a sport like my friends, and because that was apparently the only capital that would get you treated like a real person and serious student by the teachers and administrators. If I had known I couldn’t do it because of a disability, just, fuck. My self esteem would have been a whole lot better.

Doctors saying these kinds of things led me down a path of “well, I just have to work harder.” This turned into an escalator of “eat better” (actually helpful) and “work out more” (coulda been helpful with proper guidance.) So I decided over time to take it to an extreme so hard that no one could deny I wasn’t doing enough exercise: I started training to run marathons. And I did! Multiples of them! It was a unique and delicious hell.

Runner’s high is real, and so I’d spend the first 5 miles staving off agony through mind over matter, snacks, music. Eventually the bone-grinding pain turned to numbness and then the high feeling somewhere between miles 5 to 8, reliably. I could ride that for a while, but when it wore off, it wore off.

Whatever the remaining distance at that point felt like dragging my body through quicksand. Whatever pain I had at the start came back multiplied by ten. But seeing the folks around me, no one was having a great time at the end of the race and I assumed all of this was normal. I would be incapacitated for days afterward, but no one could tell me I hadn’t worked hard enough to get there.

I absolutely cannot do this now. I am sad because despite the pain and injuries, it was a lot of fun. I have no idea if I contributed damage to my body but I try not to think about it too hard because it’s so far in the past.

Anyway, to bring it back around, I guess my point is that not having a frame of reference for why your body seems “wrong” to you, and the people whose job it is to advise you about it just…don’t…can really, really make you spend a lot of time trying desperately to be “normal” and it can be potentially dangerous at worst, or at least a waste of time.

It took my entire life (with a decade in the middle where I gave up for a while) to find the right path and the right people to help me understand myself and my weirdo genetics.

I wonder a lot how my life could have been different if I had known more much sooner. But I try not to think too hard about it, either. Just keep moving forward like a shark, one of the things I’d repeat to myself during races. It still applies.

I’m going to be a bitch for a second, but when I’m conversing with someone newly diagnosed with MCAS/POTS post covid and they complain about “the long wait” to get diagnosed and that “long wait” is 3-4 months my entire brain blue screens.

Like on the one hand, yes those 3-4 months must have been so, so scary and I am so unbelievably glad we’re in a place where doctors know enough to reconize it now. Like truly, I am so sincere I am so happy for them.

But I’m also just like... 30 years, man.

I spent 30 years being told from the age of eight I was manifesting my allergic reactions through anxiety by health care professionals.

Fuck, five years ago when I was starving to death from how severe my MCAS had gotten an allergist told me it was anxiety.

And you got diagnosed in three months.

MONTHS

MONTHS

AND YOU’RE COMPLAINING

I’m not mad at them. I’m not. I’m just sad for myself.

But also, hey, yeah. If you come into an MCAS forum and wonder why a bunch of the old timers get upset when you complain it took months for a doctor to listen to you, this is why.

It's not that you deserved to wait longer. It's that we didn’t either and and sometimes even good changes can unearth a world of hurt.

[hyperbali]

If you're a Solavellan do not click here lmao

So I've seen that one post going around that's like "people who are shipping Rook and Solas are missing the point, they don't have a deeper connection than he had with Lavellan, Lavellan knew the real Solas"

And I have never seen such obvious cope in my life lmao

Fact of the matter is that they are both a blip in his existence. Solas knew Lavellan for 1-2 years, of course he's going to be more fixated on the romantic/platonic/situationship/whatever that lasted for millennia and literally broke the world, especially when the aftermath is that he feels like he's on such a different level than everyone left that they are pretty much Tranquil to him! This is a thought that he specifically expressed!

And claiming that Wisdom is the real Solas and Pride is not... also misses the point. Solas is Wisdom is Pride. Solas means Pride. At no point in his interactions with either the Inquisitor or Rook is he ever not lying, even just by omission. Neither of them see who or what he is as a whole, both are always operating at a disadvantage based on how much knowledge he's willing to give, and both have the opportunity to genuinely earn his respect.

As genuinely as Solas can get, at any rate.

Bearing that in mind, his chemistry with Rook compared to Lavellan is like a bonfire to a fireplace, in my opinion (bear that in mind oml). Even back in the day, I wanted the opportunity for a rivalmance with him so bad. I wanted to be able to call him out on his shit, to debate with his ideas, to meet him on a level that he was fully unexpecting and he hates that he loves it. Actively HATES it, not just that it makes him sad.

As it is, this "and so the wolf fell in love with the halla" shit is so cringy. Not at all helped by the fact that a romancing Lavellan apparently pined for him for a decade, couldn't do a damn thing to change his mind in the end, and willingly cuts herself off from her life, family, and friends to be a simpering, lovesick sycophant for the rest of her days. Because the Veil is STILL up. She IS dying in a few decades. And all of it will have been pointless.

Canon is a mess, I'm twisting it in other ways regardless, etc. etc. MY POINT IS

Shipping him with another character is not going to somehow make your ship invalid*. You can still make your favourite dolls kiss how you like. Relax about it.

(That last bit is not derogatory, as I am also proudly clanging my dolls together as usual. Just! Relax!! We are all in hell!!!)

*my 'ship and let ship' mantra has an exception and that exception is neve/lucanis. i'm sorry but it was the dumbest possible pairing for either of them and bioware should have let both of their nonromanced pairings be queer

[aventurineswife]

Kafka, Silver Wolf, Blade and Jingliu with Reader who cooks as bad as Yor Forger? 🤣 (Could be platonic or romantic, whatever floats your boat.)

Like Reader’s cooking is so bad it makes the actual in-game food item Sugarball Fried Viscorpi look normal in comparison, and even the most hardened criminal would balk and flee the moment Reader lifts the plate cover. A cycrane could be passing overhead and as soon as it catches a whiff, it just drops dead to ground with smoke rising from it. A devout follower of Lan might start praying to Yaoshi for a strong enough stomach to survive a bite, maybe a few bites if luck is on their side. That’s how bad Reader’s cooking is. It should be impossible for one person to be so terrible at cooking, yet Reader pulls it off without even meaning to, with desperate attempts to avoid it being terrible.

I just think it’s funny for characters that are meant to be super serious or “tough/cool” have that exterior suddenly shatter/freeze up when faced with something that is so awful and yet very much mundane. 😂

“When Love Cooks... but the Kitchen Revolts” | Part 1

Tags: Kafka x Reader, Silver Wolf x Reader, Blade x Reader, Jingliu x Reader, Humor, Fluff, Cooking Disaster, Slice of Life, Mild Chaos, Romantic Undertones but can be read Platonically, Lighthearted, Crack Fic.

Warnings: Slightly chaotic food descriptions, humor involving exaggerated reactions to food (no real harm intended), mentions of inedible meals.

A/N: was laughing when reading this req🤭, don't let this reader meet Solomon and Raphael 💀

[Part 2]

Kafka was rarely fazed. A Stellaron Hunter who could manipulate the minds of the toughest soldiers and bring entire armies to their knees with her charm and cunning—what could truly unsettle someone like her?

Apparently, your cooking.

“I appreciate the effort, darling,” Kafka purred, her tone masking the visible hesitation in her movements. Her hair fell over one shoulder as she peered down at the steaming… dish? It was hard to describe what lay before her, even for someone as eloquent as Kafka. The consistency was gelatinous, the smell pungent enough to make the station's security drones glitch and crash into a nearby wall.

You watched nervously as she poked the food with her fork. It wobbled menacingly.

“I followed the recipe to the letter this time!” you exclaimed, your hands wringing a dishcloth. “I even double-checked the measurements.”

Kafka gave you a patient smile, though there was a flicker of genuine fear in her eyes. She tentatively lifted the fork to her lips, her composure rivaling that of a woman walking into certain death.

The taste hit her like a warpstorm.

The fork clattered to her plate, and for the first time, you saw Kafka’s facade crack. Her lips twitched as she forced a smile that was as strained as the vocal chords of a cycrane caught mid-squawk. A bead of sweat slid down her temple.

“Exquisite,” she said, voice a touch too high. “Truly a flavor I’ve never experienced before.”

Outside the window, a passing cycrane plummeted from the sky, smoke trailing from its feathers. You gasped, and Kafka seized the opportunity.

“Darling,” she said, standing abruptly and pulling you close to her side, “why don’t we step outside? Some fresh air might do us good.”

“But you haven’t even finished—”

“No need!” she interrupted quickly, her polished calm returning. “I’m already full. Full of… new memories.”

As the two of you stepped outside, the dish quietly bubbled on the table, sending faint tremors through the floor.

Silver Wolf was sprawled across your couch, console in hand, her fingers flying over the buttons as she annihilated yet another level. She barely glanced up when you called her to the table.

“Hold up, just one more boss fight!” she said, her voice dripping with casual confidence.

“Silver Wolf, it’s going to get cold!” you called back, proud of your latest attempt at dinner.

With a dramatic sigh, she finally paused her game and wandered over. “Alright, alright. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

She froze mid-step when she saw the plate. Her usual smirk faltered, replaced by wide-eyed disbelief. The dish in front of her looked… pixelated. Somehow, you had cooked something that appeared to have graphical glitches. A faint buzzing sound emanated from it, and a small spark leapt from one corner of the plate.

“Uh…” she began, stepping back cautiously. “Did you… download this food? Is this some kind of DLC?”

“No, it’s homemade! I swear, I followed all the steps this time.”

Silver Wolf adjusted her purple glasses, leaning in like she was analyzing enemy data. “It’s moving...” she whispered.

“It’s probably just steam.”

“It has a health bar...” she countered, pointing at the faint glowing bar hovering above the plate.

You crossed your arms. “Don’t be dramatic.”

Before she could respond, a stray kitchen cycrane beeped as it flew overhead, caught a whiff of the food, and promptly crashed through the window. Silver Wolf stared at the wreckage, then back at you.

“…Yeah, I’m ordering pizza.”

Blade had faced mara, untold pain, and the horrors of his immortal existence. Nothing could break him—or so he thought.

“Dinner is ready!” you called cheerfully, setting a plate in front of him. He glanced at it, his eyes narrowing slightly. The dish emitted a faint purple mist, and there was a distinct hiss as it touched the table.

“Is it… safe?” he asked, his tone flat.

“Of course! I made sure it was cooked all the way through this time.” you said, smiling.

Blade lifted his fork, gripping it with the same resolve he used to wield his broken sword. He took a small bite, and for a brief moment, you thought he’d handle it.

But then his usually impassive face twisted. His mouth opened as if to speak, but no words came out. Instead, he slowly placed the fork down and stared at you.

“This… is a weapon.” he said finally.

You frowned. “You don’t like it?”

He shook his head. “No, I mean it’s literally a weapon. Whatever this is… it could end battles. Entire wars.”

Outside, a devout follower of Lan walking by your home dropped to their knees and began praying fervently. Blade sighed, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

“Next time, let me cook.”

[Header credits]

Jingliu was a woman of discipline and focus. Even as she descended into the madness of mara, she maintained an iron grip on her composure. That composure was now being tested.

She stared at the dish before her, her eyes narrowing. “This… is your cooking?”

“Yes!” you said, grinning nervously. “I thought you might enjoy something homemade for a change.”

Jingliu reached for her chopsticks, her movements slow and deliberate. The air around her grew colder as if her body instinctively activated her Path of the Destruction abilities in self-defense. She picked up a piece of… something. It sizzled ominously in the open air.

“Perhaps…” she murmured, her voice low, “this is a test of endurance.”

She took a bite. The room fell silent.

Moments later, a faint cracking sound echoed through the house. You realized it was the sound of her chopsticks shattering under the force of her grip. Her usually calm expression flickered, a subtle twitch betraying her inner turmoil.

“It is… unique,” she said, her voice tight. “You have… a talent.”

Before you could respond, a faint thud came from outside. Looking out the window, you saw a stray cycrane lying on the ground, wisps of smoke curling from its beak.

Jingliu stood abruptly. “I must meditate on this experience. Alone.”

As she disappeared into the night, you sighed, looking at the uneaten plate. “Maybe I should take a cooking class.”

[leeknow-thoughts]

Want So Bad - Prelude

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ warnings ! : minor injuries

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ chapters : prelude, chapter 1, chapter 2 , chapter 3, chapter 4, chapter 5

𐙚˙⋆.˚ chapter rating : PG

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ pairing ! : poly!minsung x f!reader

"Holy shit," it's a man, he must be behind you, the faint sloshing accompanied by the sound of wet footsteps can be heard through the ringing in your ears, "are you okay? You took quite a fall!"

Nervous was an understatement. Whatever you seemed to feel made your heart skip beats, honestly, you weren't ruling out the possibility that you are having a heart attack. You continue to place one foot in front of the other like your life depends on it. You have to get to the doctor's office. The walk - more like frantic jog - is anything but pleasant, the clouds above pouring rain onto your awaiting self, too hasty to grab an umbrella or tie your shoes.

You can only blame yourself for what happens when you step on your shoelace, falling forward, straight onto your face. All the air is knocked from your lungs and your ears start to ring all while rain drizzles onto your back. The pavement is rough under your body, no one in their right mind would be out right now, not with how it is storming. The discomfort really begins to set in, the wet clothes paired with the rough concrete and the ache in your chest all mix together to confirm that in fact there is something worse than being awoken by getting a charlie horse.

Sharp eyes, that's what you immediately notice, sharp brown eyes, he has a sharp nose as well, black well kept hair. He doesn't smile, only slightly grins when he sees that you are moving. He isn't soaked like you are. He holds an umbrella over his head, and both his shoes are double knotted. "Can you get up?"

Why didn't your chest hurt anymore, and why did everything just seem suddenly fine. The words are knocked from your mind, but apparently, you speak because the man is pulling you up. "The campus doctor's office is closed, it's a Saturday," he's so monotone when he speaks to you it is almost sobering, yet you're still so intoxicated for some strange reason.

What a stupid ass thing to say to someone who fell and isn't moving. As the man gets closer, you can almost pinpoint his identity. You're positive you've heard his voice before.

"My name is Minho," he is pulling you onto your feet, the feet of the same legs that feel as though they'll give out at any moment, "c'mon we need to get you inside, you can come to my dorm, it's just there," he points to his dorm hall and your legs nearly buckle together.

It hurts to speak when you realize that you can, "w-what?"

You feel a hand pressing on the small of your back. You can feel the warmth through your soaked sweater. The harsh grip on your arm startles you. Somehow, you find the strength to lift up your head and face whoever is touching you.

Normally you'd never go to a stranger's dorm, especially not that of a man, you were too smart to take that risk, but it feels like you've known Minho for years.

He is quick to catch you despite the best efforts of your knocking knees, not letting you crash and burn twice in one day. "Okay, okay, up, up, up, there you go, atta girl."

He assists your walking the best that he can. He lets you lean on him as you hobble to his dorm house.

The halls of the dorm house are cold, almost sterile-like. "There, second room on the right," Minho speaks to you.

In stark contrast to the hallway, his room is inviting, warm, and cozy. A boy is sitting at a desk, "Jisung-ah!" Minho calls out to the boy, "help me clean her up. She fell in the rain."

[arrowpunk]

God damn it all. I want to like Arcane. I really enjoyed everything up to like. The final two episodes. But then they had to go and make. The disabled guy who was trying to make the world a better place. Into a eugenicist.

And the stuff Jayce said to Viktor about how Viktor always saw his disability and sickness as flaws to be fixed/cured/perfected or whatever. Was like really gross. Yeah. Viktor didn't want to fucking Die. That doesn't mean that he wanted to? Remove disabilities in general from the world. He wanted to make the world a better place for everyone. He grew up in the undercity, and because of that he got a terminal illness that was slowly killing him. He wanted to make life better for people in the undercity so they weren't Suffering.

That doesn't mean eugenicssssssss.

And making it so that Viktor has actually been the big villain/antagonist all along? And that apparently?? In Every Single Universe? He becomes a eugenicist? Unless Jayce saves him from that???

Dude what the actual fuck. What the actual literal fuck.

[staticymaticyyourlifeisatravesty]

Guilliman's Soup

"Look, I'm not going to harm any of you, not unless it involves stuffing Guilliman in a room without his....." Fulgrim trails off, the demon prince's lower half coiling in discomfort as he stares at the abomination that bubbled within the pot. It smelled distinctly of both Mjød and cigarettes, appearing as something that Fulgrim was uncertain if even a Nurgling would eat. He certainly wouldn't. Actually he doesn't think any Slaaneshi demon is depraved enough to even attempt to make such a thing. He shakes his head. "Will I be allowed to help?" Calgar, who was certainly not at all expecting to see the demon prince of excess himself at the entrance to the Imperial palace, couldn't decide if this was a good thing or a bad thing. On one hand it meant that his primarch wasn't affected by any chaos god, if even Slaanesh was getting involved; on the other, did he really want to accept the help of a demon prince? Especially one that is well.... Calgar sighs deeply, "Fine, you might actually be a good deterrent to Dante anyway. He's been a pain in the ass" "Who is-" Fulgrim doesn't get to finish his sentence as a very old marine of what appears to be of the blood angel's chapter is shooed away by a serf with a broom, wacking the marine's shins with it as he hisses like an angry goose. Fulgrim has his answer on who Dante is but is now even further confused, "I thought Blood Angels were supposed to be noble?" "I'm hoping the soup will kill me" Dante helpfully responds which has the demon prince blinking in utter shock, because what the fuck happened to Sanguinius' sons!? Another Ultramarine, this one apparently named Cato is crawling on his hands and knees out of the room where Dante came from, coughing and generally being a rather sad sight with the stench of both vomit and the abominable liquid upon his breath. Slaanesh, who just briefly decided to turn her head towards whatever the fuck her demon prince was doing, vomits and mutters 'I can't believe none of this was Nurgle's idea; he actually wants the fucking recipe!'. Needless to say, Fulgrim doesn't really want to know what's exactly in that pot. Instead he dryly says "I'm amazed this hasn't summoned anything other then myself..." Calgor sighs "No, it has, there's the Sanguinor, and it's currently being kept back by some Sister of Silence out of fear that it's going to beat Dante to death with a sandle. Personally I'm not fond of trying to explain to the blood angels that we didn't kill their chapter master; it was the soul of Sanguinius, himself, that ended his life. I can't see that going too well...And Cato, please stop eating father's soup." "But-" "No buts or I'm throwing you into the same room as the Sanguinor" That stopped any more protests out of Cato who shuddered at the very idea of confronting the very angry warp spirit that was half of mind to possess someone.

The sound of what Fulgrim could still recognize after all these years as a very angry Leman Russ can be heard in the distance yelling "WHAT DID YOU FUCKING DO WITH MY FUCKING MJOD, ROBOUTE!?" This was going to be a long and terrible process, Fulgrim just knows it. ____ This short story was inspired by a convo between myself and @moociaoafterdark on this post.

[y-rhywbeth2]

The Temple of Bhaal, BG1 vs BG3 (aka, my god this place has gone downhill.)

Fun fact about the Baldurian Temple: the Bhaalspawn born to Bhaal's priests were, for the first few years of their life, raised here communally with their siblings by the priests (their mortal parents and guards). Then the vast majority of them who would not go on to be a video game protagonist or their villainous brother were ritually sacrificed to their father here.

Very long post, largely due to screenshots.

First things first:

The Undercity

If you're using the lore from the knife, this is the city Bhaal grew up in. I still cling to my headcanon that it's a former Netherese enclave/flying city.

BG1 (brightened a bit so it's more visible). Elevation didn't really come into play until BG2's maps, so it's a little flat. Still visibly a city. Inhabited by sort-of Bhaalists, lazy bats who don't understand that the temple doors opening is their dramatic cue to fly out, and the armed and bloodthirsty corpses of the formerly living citizens.

Crypts and sacrificial altar to the sides, presumably the altar is outdoors so that the ritual human sacrifice can be appreciated by the common citizen.

Buildings in the BG3 version are a touch more intact. The map is bigger and harder to get a shot of. The bats are still present, and apparently attempts to make them understand the needs of dramatic effect and the narrative were not successful, they're just wherever nowadays. The architecture somewhat resembles the modern city, and now that the temple is active it seems the Bhaalists are decorating. Sadly, all the corpses are immobile and made no attempt to murder visitors. Literally what even is the point.

The Undercity has also acquired mysterious deep crevasses to nowhere, which may contain the ruins of more city who knows.

Now has living inhabitants (no less full of craving for death and blood than the previous inhabitants). Priests are supposed to live in their temples, and in the case of Bhaalists, live a double life with a normal life in the city, but whatever. Let's live in ruins instead.

Corpses everywhere (which are supposed to go in the crypts with the rest of Bhaal's offerings, you messy bastards).

Everywhere we find giant pits going down into the earth into what I can only assume is the Upperdark (assuming we aren't already deep enough to breach the first layer of the Underdark).

The Undercity is still in the middle of a sea cave, or underground lake, or whatever this body of water is.

The designs of the doors reminds me of the Tourmaline Depths somewhat, which could imply dwarven influence. However the scale of the city structures suggests to me it was built by larger humanoids. idk.

---

Front Doors

So the BG3 one is a touch grander in scale. Also gets a bridge over a mysterious chasm that either leads into something volcanic or else Gehenna itself. Or they just enchanted it for effects.

BG1 gets points for having the correct colour scheme (black and purple, being the colour of the ceremonial robes should be his sacred colours).

'...the [sacred] colors of a deity remain the most common minor manifestation. [...] These colors also indicate the most common shades used in raiment by people of the faith, particularly divine spellcasters.' - Deity Dos and Don'ts

'...all Bhaalyn wore full ceremonial robes of deep purple or black with violet streaks...' - Faiths and Avatars

etc etc

We also have no pillars of bones, and I prefer the eerie figures of Bhaalist priests in their ceremonial regalia to whatever the horned things are.

---

The Temple

'Urban temples dedicated to the Lord of Murder were typically dark, spartan dungeons located beneath a city's streets featuring an occasional mosaic or sculpture depicting a violent death. Most contained several chambers of tokens taken from the bodies of murder victims and large crypts filled with the corpses of past victims who could not be left where they fell. (The inhabitants of such crypts were often restless.)' - Faiths and Avatars

I am noting a great deal too many immobile corpses and a distinct lack of tormented enslaved undead victims in this house of death.

Continuing the trend of giving BG1 points for the colour scheme: Purple and black! Golden skull bowls of purple fruit punch abounds. There also appears to be gold trim around, and that rug isn't cheap, so we're losing points on 'spartan.'

Points also deducted because the tears on the holy symbol are going the wrong direction.

Fulfilling the 'depictions of violent death' portion of the descriptions, we have an expensive looking rug depicting the hell portion of Angelico Giovanni da Fiesole's 'The Last Judgement.' Which carries interesting implications for interactions between the priests and Earth. Considering they don't expect to suffer for all eternity, one imagines it was just chosen for the violence.

Also some inexplicable Christian imagery in the form of crosses, which make no sense for Bhaalists.

The crypts should probably be in their own room, but whatever.

The statuary depicts Myrkul, for some reason. Why not line your house with statues of your bestie, I suppose.

-

Ignoring the black smudge where Orin is because just like I did with her father, I'm ignoring the sacred kinslaying duel in favour of running around taking screenshots.

BG3 edition sort of wins points for being spartan (but you look closer and realise it's actually very intricate, just damaged).

We have regressed from the ways of our forefathers: Sarevok's party at least knew how to clean up after themselves.

The gold trim has been switched in for bone decoration:

Ossuary: fuck yeah. Now either put all the other corpses lying around into a crypt or use them for artwork. As it is you all look like slobs, and if somebody trips over a bone or slips in a pool of blood and falls into the mystery pit or cracks their skull on the stone floor it's going to be embarrassing.

Contrary to the mess the Bhaalists have left their room in, the stonework done by the original builders is quite intricate. The various letter-like etchings all graffitied all over the city and temple look like Iokharic, at a half-assed glance over, which might indicate it's Netherese (I'm not suffering from confirmation bias or anything)

-

The Circle of Tears has migrated from the floor to the wall, (so that Bhaal can glare at his Primate/Primistress/Offspring when they are sent to their room.)

You pray to Bhaal by smearing blood over the eyesockets of the skull like tears. I have no idea how we do that in this temple. Water gun? Do we have big ceremonial paint rollers with long handles?

We have the 'several chambers of tokens taken from the bodies of murder victims' which for some reason contains minimal amounts of corpses and offerings. The corpses are supposed to be in large crypts by the way. Just pointing out. It would not kill us to be tidy and organised.

The pit continues. Actually:

These damaged bits leading downwards match the doors found around the city, so I assume that the actual temple complex is much bigger than it seems.

-

We have a dais, with apparently meaningless symbols and we couldn't be assed to light all the braziers for some reason. At least there's a sacrificial altar.

Also still some gold decoration remaining, if you look closely at that square and the braziers.

Also there's Orin and Halsin. Wave everybody.

-

Who decided we needed a library, anyway? I feel like it contains a mixture of the holy texts and the sacred tome (bible-type thing) all temples get, and the rest of it is Grimlark's poetry.

Moving onto the bedroom that wasn't on the original schematics:

Bhaalspawn don't know how to use space properly. The Sims player in me is screaming.

I assume the blood bath near the bed is for ritual purification, because using it as an actual bath would be stupid. I also assume the blood all over the place is kept fresh and flowing via magic, because killing enough people to keep it all replenished would be idiotic.

To the West; a secret escape tunnel for bypassing your dramatic sister and sneaking into your/her room to read her diary and also your diaries that she didn't throw out for some reason.

To the East: the study, where there is a lot of alcohol and corpses.

The rug is the only splash of purple in this temple and it's purely by accident but I'll take what I can get.

Did Orin get this bed for herself, or steal Durge's? It is - unlike the rest of the temple - quite expensive and comes with more gold accents. Considering she complains about Durge not running the temple properly, I am assuming that Durge is at fault for the 'decaying' of the temple, as Orin puts it, and she's in the middle of renovations right now. ...Who did they commission for the gold holy symbol embedded in the headboard? It's also a bit redundant, but now Father has two faces from which to watch you sleep while he visits you in your horrific nightmares...

[lance-space-mommy]

It’s Kind Of Diabolical

UA was a dream school that people all around the world tried to get into. Not only was it ranked number one in all of Japan, but the school was undefeated in all categories. Whatever category an individual could think of Dean Nezu did everything in his power to make the school the best in said category.

The 3% acceptance rate showed how picky the admissions team was.

Izuku Midoriya was considered one of the smartest students in the school. There were only two people that ranked higher than him in the entire building across all majors. Izuku was in a medical and pharmaceutical concentration of Biology and Chemistry. The double major was hell on earth, but he topped that off with a physics and psychology minor.

No one in the school, including the teachers, understood how he managed his time juggling countless classes all at once. Still, Izuku loved to learn, and he put his full effort into completing every class to near perfection. He worked very closely with his advisors Toshinori Yagi and Aizawa Shota. They complimented each other and it helped Izuku a lot with moving forward and making decisions based on their advice.

Everyone was always talking about Izuku and every move he made. Still, Izuku had something that he kept to himself. Izuku was a professional athlete.

The only reason no one knew was because he didn’t play for the college, making it significantly easier for him to keep it a secret. Well, to a degree he could hide it. He competed in high level competitions, and many were non-profit to raise awareness for important causes. His high ranking often led him to speaking in interviews about the cause.

Izuku was an angel on earth.

Katsuki Bakugo was average in school. He was naturally smart and put as little effort into his schoolwork as possible. Katsuki was a business major with two minors. One was in marketing and another in accounting. As long as he got an A in the class, he didn’t try to push himself harder. His main focus was on sports. After all, he was the captain of the football team and spent most of his free time training.

The school's meal plan was heavily abused by Katsuki as he was often seen inhaling food with his friends whenever he wasn’t in the gym or on the field. The training and consistent meal plan helped him greatly. Katsuki was well built with muscles that made half of the campus jealous and the other half lovesick.

Despite all the attention Katsuki got, he remained single. He appreciated his fans to a degree, but never engaged with them. He enjoyed the chase and the rush he got from the attention. Still, he loved playing football, and he loved his teammates. He’d never let a relationship, or other outside influences distract him.

That was until his best friend, also the vice-captain of the football team, decided it was time to flip his life upside down.

“Who’s that talking to Coach Toshinori?” asked Kaminari excitedly upon seeing a cute boy appear on the fields.

Katsuki didn’t bother looking, not interested in hearing gossip about some stranger. Kirishima on the other hand perked up when he noticed who Kaminari was talking about. “That’s Midoriya! He’s insane.”

Kirishima’s statement caught the attention of Katsuki and the rest of the team. Sero recognized Izuku as well and commented, “Yeah, isn’t he doing a double major and double minor?”

“That’s him! Mina told me that he’s already been accepted by every high end medical school he’s applied to,” revealed Kirishima, happy to say his girlfriend's name every chance he got.

Kaminari stared at Izuku from afar, letting his mouth catch flies. Once he let a couple of moments pass by, he snapped back into focus and smirked. “So, he’s smart and successful. Wait, how does Mina know him?”

“Mutual friends, apparently Midoriya is super popular. Almost everyone knows him, so I’m surprised you don’t,” responded Kirishima slowly, letting his gaze return to Izuku.

Toshinori flashed a wide smile at Izuku, ruffling the fluffy locks of green hair. The excited voices of the duo faintly reached the group's ears. Tetsutetsu chuckled to himself before jerking a thumb over to where they were standing. “Looks like he just got accepted to another school.”

Katsuki’s gaze was fierce, but he couldn’t stop the foreign rushing of his heart. There was something about this smartass chatting with his coach that irritated Katsuki. No matter how much he wanted to roll his eyes and redirect the conversation, he knew Izuku would be on his mind.

Fate had funny ways of bringing destined lovers together.

Three weeks was all it took for Katsuki cave into obsession. He hadn’t realized just how big of a figure Izuku had been in the school. After that fateful day, it seemed that anytime he’d be in the food hall or was hanging out with his friends, he’d hear chatter about the mysterious genius.

All alone in his room with thirty minutes until his bedtime, Katsuki started digging. He found some online interviews with Izuku talking about the charities he’s worked with. Then Katsuki found his social media account that talked about plans for his future, study tips, and a plethora of random school-related things.

It only took a minute of scrolling for Katsuki to realize this wasn’t Izuku’s personal account. No matter how much he dug, he couldn’t find any pictures of Izuku at these apparent parties or hangouts with his friends that Mina claimed he had.

The following morning came around and like clockwork, Izuku would become a part of his life.

The football team huddled around Coach Toshinori when he clapped his hands together with his usual blinding smile. “Look alive! As you all know, the season is starting to pick up and now more than ever, we need to engage with the public. We are the best school in all of Japan and we need to maintain that status. So, I want you to take to social media and hold mini interviews with people in busy areas!”

Katsuki shrugged, not bothered by the assignment. It wasn’t like he had any intention of being the one doing the interviewing. If he partnered with Kirishima who was more of a people person, then he could just record the interviews.

“Let’s do this Bakugo!” cheered Kirishima loudly, letting his manly persona take over.

Katsuki narrowed his eyes, tightening his grip on his phone. “Shut up Shitty Hair! Do you want to scare away everyone with your screaming?”

Rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly, Kirishima turned back to where people were moving in and out of shops. “Oops, you’re right. Sorry man.”

Huffing, Katsuki prepared his phone to record as Kirishima asked individuals if they’d be willing to be interviewed. Most of the time it took one look at Kirishima and Bakugo for people to say yes. It may have been the duo’s good looks, or their UA letter jackets, but people were fast to do an interview.

They had already held short interviews with ten people by the time their interest had fully worn off. Kirishima groaned, crashing on a nearby bench. “Why does Coach want us to interview fifteen people? We are going to have way too much footage,” noted Kirishima as he watched people pass by.

“Stop complaining, we are almost finished,” grumbled Katsuki, scrolling through the countless videos on his phone.

“Easy for you to say! You haven’t talked to one person,” scoffed Kirishima, failing at guilt tripping Katsuki.

Raising a brow with an unimpressed expression, Katsuki shrugged it off. “Not my problem.”

Kirishima spotted a familiar face in the crowd and his face lit up like a little kid on their birthday. “No way! Is that Midoriya? What are the odds we see him here?”

Katsuki was already handing his phone to Kirishima, not bothering to look back or wait for his friend. “Record me.”

The eagerness Katsuki displayed to interview Izuku let Kirishima know everything. Katsuki had a fat crush on Izuku. He’d never pass up a moment to record Katsuki making a fool of himself. Moments like these were rare and Kirishima usually failed to capture the moment in a picture or video.

Once the redhead caught up to where Katsuki had greeted Izuku, he caught the end of their exchange of pleasantries.

Izuku flashed a soft smile at Katsuki. “It’s nice to meet you in person! Toshinori tells me a lot about you.”

Kirishima was already recording with a bright smile. “Hi Midoriya!”

Turning his head to look at Kirishima, Izuku’s eyes lit up when he realized it was Kirishima. “Oh! Kirishima, hi! It’s been so long since we’ve last talked!”

“It really has been! I’ve been so busy with balancing school and football I haven’t been going to the parties lately,” sighed Kirishima defeatedly. He knew Izuku wasn't one to be petty but still, he felt bad about not keeping in touch with someone he enjoyed talking to.

“Nonsense! Anyway, Bakugo, you mentioned something about interviewing me?” inquired Izuku, returning to the initial reason he was approached by the hottest guy on campus.

Katsuki took a step closer to Izuku after letting his eyes trail all over Izuku’s body when the pretty boy had been distracted. Clearing his throat, trying to fight the nerves that flooded his body when he caught sight of muscular legs, Katsuki nodded.

“Yes, the football team is doing interviews with the public so we can post stupid shit to remind everyone why UA is the best.”

Perking up at the explanation of what was happening, Izuku eagerly agreed,” Of course. I’m more than happy to support UA and our football team!”

The three traveled to a more open area of the shopping center. The sun was warm on their skin and there was a gentle breeze. As Izuku and Katsuki waited for Kirishima to give them the go ahead to start the interview, Kirishima swore the scene looked like something out of a romcom movie. The school jock and nerd running into each other and having their worlds collide on a beautiful day with a cinematic breeze twirling their hair around.

Izuku was wearing a white tee shirt with the words “running shirt” on it. He paired the simple tee shirt with some black gym shorts that had white accents on the side seam. Both of his knees were strapped up with yellow kinesiology knee tape, paired with royal blue compression socks. The final addition to the horrifically discolored outfit was a pair of expensive red running sneakers.

Katsuki was in some baggy black pants, expensive white sneakers, and wore his UA football letter jacket.

Their outfits dramatically contrasted each other, but it wasn’t an eyesore like Kirishima thought it would be. Despite all of that, Kirishima cut the two’s ogling short. “Start anytime!”

Without missing a beat, Katsuki went off-script and asked a personal question. “What happened to your leg?”

Both Kirishima and Izuku seemed a bit taken aback by the question, but they quickly recovered. Kirishima knew he was going to use this as blackmail on Katsuki for the foreseeable future. Izuku on the other hand didn’t know what to expect from the interview and was happy to talk to the notorious football captain.

“I do a lot of running. A lot of cardio,” revealed Izuku, smiling shyly at Katsuki as he fiddled with the earbuds he had taken out.

Since he was a person with no filter, Katsuki dove straight into sly flirting. “Were you on your knees by any chance?”

“I actually was,” answered Izuku quickly, a bit surprised Katsuki asked the question. Still, he wasn’t too surprised Katsuki knew what to ask considering he was an athlete too.

Katsuki didn’t falter despite Izuku clearly not understanding what he meant with that question. “Oh. I picked the right guy for the interview,” commented Katsuki charmingly, his eyes looking at Izuku as if he were a meal to devour.

With the single comment, Izuku picked up on what Katsuki was indirectly saying and let his eyes widen and let out a breathless laugh. Katsuki knew he wanted to see that look and hear that laugh every day for the rest of his life. He wasn’t one to believe in love at first sight, but truly Izuku had him captivated. Izuku felt the exact same way.

He got me, hook, line, and sinker.

“How is your day going?” asked Katsuki calmly, reeling back into interviewing Izuku despite him not asking about UA or things about football.

Izuku pouted, looking at the hustle and bustle of the people around. “Pretty slow”

Seeing an opening to be mischievous again, Katsuki leaned closer. “Do you want me to make it faster?”

Perking up at the suggestive question, Izuku was ready to show he was just as interested. Using all the confidence training his teachers have put him through, Izuku tempted, “How would you do that?”

“How do you want me to do that?” fired back Katsuki with pure enjoyment. There was a little voice in the back of his head, wondering if the man before him was being a little shit to mess with him or if he was truly interested.

While Katsuki was overthinking everything, Izuku tilted his head down, looking up at Katsuki through his eyelashes with a shy smile. It was a very pointed look, and Katsuki felt his heart swoon. Katsuki was ready to bite those chubby cheeks peppered with the most beautiful freckles. Still, he was a college student and imagined pinning Izuku against his locker in the vacant locker room, and making those perfect lips spread to let out a scream of pleasure.

“I’m going to have to cut this video short,” half-joked Katsuki, struggling to keep his mind focused on anything but asking Izuku to date him in less than polite words.

The loud, almost manic laughter erupted from Izuku again as the implications of Katsuki’s words sank in. He was infatuated with Katsuki. There was something so thrilling about being the one that caught the attention of the untouchable football captain. In the back of his mind, he was scared this was all some elaborate prank to humiliate him, but he had to trust that Toshinori wasn’t lying about Katsuki being a good person.

It wasn’t uncommon to hear all his friends talking about Katsuki. It was close to impossible not to hear the name when football was such a major sport. Katsuki was the captain and the team's best player. Besides, Izuku often visits the games.

The only problem was he never got a good look at the blonde when their classes had no overlap and Katsuki was nothing more than a small blob down on the field.

Katsuki recalled Kirishima and Izuku’s short exchange. Kirishima mentioned something about not going to as many parties due to his busy schedule. If Kirishima equated not going to parties to a complete loss of communication, he wondered just how often Izuku attended them. “Do you ever go out to parties?”

“Maybe sometimes,” admitted Izuku slowly, raising a brow to gauge just what Katsuki’s aim was. While Izuku enjoyed some dirty talk, he had no intention of being a sex toy. He had standards and he hoped that Katsuki wasn’t just a closeted player.

“Do you ever see frat boys?” questioned Katsuki quickly, feeling anxiety bubble in his gut. He didn’t want Izuku to have his eyes on loser extras. Katsuki knew that some of the frat boys were persistent and relentless when it came to sexual endeavors. Jealousy was an ugly feeling, and Katsuki didn’t like being in a competition where he could easily lose.

Izuku stilled, a bit offended Katsuki was asking about his potential romantic interests in frat boys. How could Katsuki think he had no standards? Sure, Izuku was popular and flirty when it counted, but he didn’t think he gave off the impression he’d settle for a frat boy.

Truth be told, Izuku had a fear of drinking and drugs. He was a control freak after all.

In the end he’d be lying if he said he didn’t notice some of the frat boys at the parties he attended. No matter how many people tried to hide the parties from the frat boys, they managed to find and get into the private parties. “I do see some frat boys. I don’t go for frat boys though.”

Katsuki immediately relaxed and soon realized he had been making a lot of assumptions. Sure, he was gay, but he couldn’t just assume anyone he was interested in was. Yet, he saw Izuku standing across the field on one fateful day and decided the nerd was his. Still, he didn’t have to worry about some horny men getting their hands on Izuku.

With his skin practically itching from anticipation, Katsuki knew he needed to get a better confirmation of Izuku’s sexuality. Their not-so-subtle flirting wasn’t enough. “So, what kind of guys do you go for?”

“Literally any other kind of guy,” chuckled Izuku, feeling his cheeks heat up a bit. It was clear that Katsuki was interested in him no matter what the intentions behind that interest were. Who could blame him for being flattered that Katsuki was giving him attention in a world filled with gorgeous individuals who matched Katsuki’s interests better.

Even if he was a perfect mix of calculated and impulsive, Katsuki was quick to gather the courage and make it clear where he stood. “Like football players?”

The message was direct and Izuku’s face bloomed the most stunning shade of pink Katsuki had ever seen. The shade complimented his hair and made his freckles more apparent. Still, Izuku raised a hand to tuck a stray curl behind his ear. Ignoring the adrenaline pumping in his veins, he smiled confidently. “I’ve never gone for a football player before but…”

All composure was lost, and Katsuki’s buffer vanished. “Do you like dick?”

That was all it took for Izuku to burst out into laughter. Even if Katsuki only wanted him for his body, which meant a hard rejection to an only physical relationship, Izuku had no intention of living a life without Katsuki in it. The vulgarity in Katsuki’s speech and the lack of regret in everything he said was something Izuku quickly admired. “Uh yeah.”

Katsuki couldn’t stop the grin that spread across his face, unable to believe that with the dumpster fire their conversation was, Izuku was still laughing and engaged. If his last question wasn’t enough to drive Izuku away, he might as well try to ask, “Can I get your number?”

Not even a second passed when Izuku threw his head back in laughter once more, fully captivated by Katsuki. He enjoyed the directness after all the suggestive language. Waving a hand, Izuku took a deep breath before shrugging and nodding his head. “Yeah, I guess you can get my number.”

Suddenly Katsuki felt like an elementary schooler. He remembered watching all his friends ask girls out and being surprised when they accepted. Now he understood how they felt at that moment. It was a pure, unadulterated sense of belonging and acceptance.

Despite the train wreck he presented himself to be, Izuku wanted to stick around.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” confirmed Izuku as he laughed, raising his hand, messing with his phone to pull up contacts, and offering it to Katsuki.

Kirishima stood behind the camera, wearing a disgusted expression. Izuku and Katsuki were made for each other. He couldn’t imagine any other person in the world still giving their number to Katsuki after being aggressively asked if they liked dick.

Whatever rose-tinted glasses Izuku was wearing, Kirishima wanted a pair too.

Katsuki calmly put in his digits and his name. He knew Izuku knew his name, but still, he liked the feeling of making himself known to Izuku. As soon as Katsuki went to hand Izuku his phone, a calendar notification pinged.

“Sorry, I really must go! I’ll text you, Katsuki. And Kirishima, it was a pleasure seeing you again.”

Kirishima and Katsuki both waved to Izuku and sadly said their goodbyes. They were impressed that Izuku was able to spare them a minute in the first place with how intense his schedule must be.

Izuku walked away with a pep in his step. Kirishima had been busy sending the video to himself when Katsuki’s voice reached his ears against his will.

“I hate to see you go, but I love to watch you leave,” sighed Katsuki, clearly admiring Izuku’s ass-sets.

Kirishima cringed, staring at Katsuki as if he’d been betrayed. “Bro, I love you… but I’m going to need you to stop talking.”

Katsuki gave Kirishima a swift punch to the arm before snatching his phone back. “Never speak of this to anyone. Let’s grab lunch… fuck interviewing anyone else.”

More than happy to stop where they were, Kirishima started walking to the one restaurant nearby he knew they both enjoyed. Katsuki smiled at his phone when he almost immediately got a text from Izuku.

Katsuki wasn’t planning on letting Izuku go after having a taste.

[bright-and-burning]

nearly 800 words of norrussell-y stuff based on this post. idk if it's going anywhere so im posting it as is :)

Lando’s tried a lot of things, alright. He’s pulled out all the stops. Gone through all his tricks, and then some.

Last time, the young couple trying to make a home out of Lando’s home left after just a few slammed doors and a shattered plate. The time before that, it took nothing more than cold drafts and some banging on the radiators.

He’s not bad at haunting. He’s quite decent, really. Manages to get long stretches where he’s unbothered, which always has Charles in a huff at their quarterly meetings. He didn’t have to pick a flat in a tiny country with a very expensive housing crisis. Not Lando’s problem there’s constant demand in Monaco even for units with a nasty habit of seeping blood from the walls.

Either way. Nobody’s stayed in his home for longer than six months.

This dickhead’s getting pretty close, though.

He’s fucking infuriating, is the thing. Lando likes haunting. He has fun, snickering gleefully into the sleeve of his hoodie as whatever soon-to-be-former resident he’s fucking with packs frantically to move out.

It’s no fun when they won’t play his game.

George Russell is an accountant. Or a barrister. Or something equally boring and stuffy and un-fun that has him leaving every morning at 7:30 sharp in a nicely pressed suit with a leather bag just dinged up enough to be classy.

Even worse, he’s logical. To a fault. Hangs onto pragmatism like it’s going out of style.

Like he doesn’t keep his kindle stocked with fantasy novels. Lando had peeked. Couldn’t touch it, what with it only having been here a few months, not belonging to the house yet, but he hadn’t needed to. Not when George had set down the tablet to pour a glass of wine and left it face up on the coffee table.

Likes his fiction full of magic and romance and fucking dragons, but God forbid the guy consider for even a moment that he’s being haunted.

Icy cold air filling the hall in late July? Oh, freezer must be on the fritz.

Picture frames falling off the walls? The landlord had said not to use nails on the plaster.

Cupboard doors slamming open and closed at night? Loose hinges. Really, really, really loose hinges. And that pesky draft from earlier. 

Lando’s honestly not sure how that explanation could pass even a little bit of inspection, but George is satisfied.

He’d gotten all new furniture too, so Lando can’t even flop face down on the couch and groan about it for another month. He just goes through, when he tries. Ends up hanging out with the dust bunnies underneath; it’s nice enough down there, dark and enclosed, that he hasn’t stopped launching himself onto the sofa when he’s frustrated. 

He’s under the couch a lot. The dust bunnies have names now.

Lando’s started slamming doors in George’s face, just to see what’ll happen. He’s careful about it, timing it so George won’t actually get hit, but he makes sure it’s close. Maybe if the rush of air ruffles his hair enough, he’ll put the clues together.

Charles has started dropping unsubtle hints about how fast tenants leave when blood pours out of the faucets.

It would work, maybe. Or maybe George would call municipal services, concerned about contamination with the local reservoir and the quality of drinking water in his community. 

It’s not Lando’s style, anyways. Bloody handprints across the ceiling just isn’t as funny as waving his hands around to draw a fluffy dog’s eyes to an eerily empty corner. Takes a lot more concentration to float up high enough to reach, for one. And he likes dogs. They can see him; sometimes, he can even touch them, running his hands through fur and reveling in the warmth of life against his skin.

George doesn’t have any dogs. Or cats. Or fish, even, though Lando’s not sure how he’d get them to behave oddly enough to draw attention. He’s certainly not touching them.

George’s got nothing but his stupid fucking scientific explanations, apparently. Lando’s sick to death of it. Sick beyond death. Whatever.

He sends the door flying shut, centimeters away from sending the dirty dishes George was taking into the kitchen crashing to the floor with it. It's the closest he's cut it, so far.

When Lando sticks his head through the wall to see if he’s finally come to his senses, he’s already reaching for the doorknob, muttering about pressure differentials and open windows.

Lando goes and lays under the couch. His scream is muffled by the carpet.

Not that George would hear anything but a faulty radiator.

[rise-my-angel]

Heart of the Great Wolf

65 - The Cold and The Rats

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

Length: 16.5k

Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, past character death, mentions of trauma and distress, disturbing or gore imagery, blood and violence, threats towards children, implied references to rape

Notes: Everything is fine, don't worry about the chapter title or the warnings :) Previous Chapter Here, Series Masterlist Here

Still fast asleep he was, but you had continued what you started anyways. Why you had been drawn to that book in the first place you didn’t know, but you were. Standing by your bookshelf near the window, your fingers had traced over various names and pages, some you read, some you hadn’t yet. They weren’t books originally of your own collection, those had been lost. Or, not so lost, but you knew they would never be returned to you.

Most of your belongings had been in Kings Landing. Thus by the time Ser Barristan helped you flee, only the clothes he gave you were what you owned anymore. Not just clothes though, letters, trinkets, and of course, all of your books, all left behind. Who knew what Cersei and Joffery had done with them, but not a single thing any of you nor the Starks brought there was any longer yours. By the time you had come back to Winterfell proper, the Boltons were your captors and the only things you owned then were what little they let you borrow from their own. In truth, for the names you held in your life you had very little left. Jon though, had been trying to fix that.

Insisting his bedchambers were as much your as they were his, but you never added a thing to it. Never suggested anything or even came up with a single mention of something you’d even wish for. It was his space, not yours. That hadn’t stopped him though. It was not much and it was slow, but over time Jon had managed to get you some things. A bookshelf with whatever he could find to fill it that might interest you, and a chair more comfortable then it felt belonged in here for you to curl up on. His argument at first was you normally would read at his desk, but if you both were there you’d need somewhere to sit still, and this was his apparent compromise.

Now though, it served well. Large enough that you could position yourself where little Eddard could be wrapped up against your front while a book sat in your lap angled for you to read. When your fingers that evening had trailed along the shelf, you paused at one without initial thought, but it was little Eddard who chose it. Making a small sound of babbling as you asked if thats what he wanted, and you grinned. A strange choice for a story to set him asleep too.

But near an hour passed, and he was no longer awake and yet you kept reading to him.

Your voice was gentle, little more then a tender murmur for the baby’s ears. “The Tower of the Hand was less secure. The two men crept up through the walls, bypassing the spearmen posted at the tower doors. Ser Otto’s rooms were of no interest to them. Instead they slipped into his daughters chambers, one floor below.”

A small murmur came from the baby, but only a shift to snuggle closer to you. A soft smile falling over your face as one hand left the book page long enough to run along his back before returning back. Knowing if you didn’t keep going, he just as well could stay asleep or awake wishing you to have continued.

You knew the words on the page better then most, but for a strange reason you felt your heart race as they slipped from your lips. It was history, but too so removed from you life it felt only like telling a story but yet it felt as if your nerves were ragged and on alert. As if you were living what you read, despite your ability to look up and see otherwise. “Once inside, Cheese bound and gagged the Dowager Queen whilst Blood strangled her bedmaid. Then they settled down to wait, for they knew it was the custom of Queen Helaena to bring her children to see their grandmother every evening before bed.”

Again your eyes flickered up, and again you questioned why. No one still was here, if your ears could strain further then your eyes, you might have even heard the walking and chattering about in the corridors beyond the room.

So again, you tried to continue as you described out loud to the little one words of history you didn’t know why it bothered you so much now. And it only got worse the further into the page it went, describing the scene as Queen Helaena Targaryean came into the room, and her children held at threat. “Debt Collectors, said Cheese. An eye for an eye, a son for a son. We only want the one to square things. Won’t hurt the rest of you fine folks, not one little hair. Which one you want to lose, your Grace?”

The history of the moment was awful, a mother desperate not to make such a choice between her children, offering her own life up in pleading as they denied her. Your eyes looked down to your own for a strange moment as your heart lurched. It was not the same, you were safe in Jons chambers but the weight in your throat sat there even while you continued. “Cheese warned the Queen to make a choice soon, before Blood grew bored and raped her little girl. Pick, he said, or we kill them all. On her knees, weeping, Helaena named her youngest, Maelor. Perhaps she thought the boy was too young to understand. You hear that, little boy? Cheese whispered to Maelor. Your momma wants you dead.”

The voice speaking out next nearly startled you to the point it almost even awoke the baby. “Seven hells.” Your eyes wide looking up to see Arya standing by the door frame with an amused grin at what she caused inadvertently. Stepping more into the room as rose an eyebrow, “A bit young for that kind of violence don’t you think? What are you even reading him?”

Looking down, you closed the book before lifting it up to showcase the front, the words etched into it’s much more simple cover then the contents eluded to. The words of Fire and Blood, written by Archmaester Gyldayn. Written in the not so distant past when Robert Baratheon was still alive and still King over a realm full of peace, it was a well known history text by the time you were old enough to read it. A collection of histories of the Targaryean Dynasty, to a certain point.

Arya tilted her head in amusement as she closed the gap, reaching out her hand you read the intention. Handing it to her as she moved to the bookshelf to return it to the obvious spot it sat before. “I haven’t read this in ages.”

Carefully moving to stand, you ensured little Eddard was still asleep by the time you got to your feet. Easily pulling him from the wrappings into your arms, he shifted close to you as you moved more towards his cradle. “Trust me, there are far worse books on Dragonstone I could’ve read him.” Your hands slowly putting him down, little Eddard trying to worm his way closer to you, and only settling as you let one hand run along the top of his head before leaning down to press a kiss to the same spot. Confident you moved to pull a blanket over top of him and he much more settled as you begun pulling the wrappings from you.

You could hear Arya’s voice from the shelf, her eyes no doubt still looking at them. “What kind?”

Sitting the fabric down out of the way, you turned back to walk closer to her side. “More then I think most realize still exist.” Answering the question you knew would follow, your vision having caught at the side her turning her head towards you. “Baelor the Blessed had most of the Targaryean histories burned in Kings Landing. But, he died before he ever could think to touch the ones on Dragonstone.” Asking what was there, you tilted your head as your eyes squinted in thought. “Books, scrolls, scraps of pages, most of them in High Valyrian, but it was what the Targaryeans brought over decades before the Doom. Most of what’s detailed in those pages are far worse then anything Fire and Blood ever wrote.”

Not an exaggeration. The feats the Valyrian Freehold were capable of, the things known they had done and it was not a wonder why many of the free cities in Essos were not welcoming to their kind or their dragons to this very day. Arya seemed to catch onto your tone, something more low and dark then before. “Not sure what could be worse then that story.”

But your eyes only drifted back to the spine of where you knew Fire and Blood sat once more. That feeling in your gut making you uneasy, and not sure as to why yet. Only a vague idea based on what felt like nothing from your dreams putting you on edge thinking of the words on the page, how it was not a story but a history true to the life you lived now. Your voice little more then a whisper when you said it, and something not so angry nor resentful in it, but breathless and full of something you didn’t understand yet was fear, and in truth you had not a clue why you even said it. It slipped out as if a voice that wasn’t even yours.

“There is a beast beneath the boards.”

As morning light shined through the castle walls, you could only stand there, hands somewhat wringing together as you followed the path he walked to keep him in sight. Arms both preoccupied as either of yours were at any given time these days, Jon well balanced focusing on you with keeping his eyes consistently trained down and bright on little Eddard, whose small hands would occasionally reach up hoping to grasp at his father. He thus far, had not accepted your tone of concern.

Forcing the words out instead of biting down on your tongue, you looked to Jon in a hope that your eyes at least looked convincing of your plead. “He would be safer with you, you know that.”

Jon didn’t even bother looking at you with that narrowed gaze which could live on his face. Grey eyes trained down on the small bundle in his arms as he rasped out in a more smiling amusement to his son now equally as smiling back. “If you had to pick who to spend the whole day with, which one of us would you choose?”

Your eyes almost rolled in a playful manner but you swallowed it back down as the thought continued to rise. “Jon.” Only briefly did his eyes peek up to look at you, softening the moment the sight of the gaze over your eyes grew more and more distinct. Trying to open his mouth to reassure you, you cut him off. Head shaking, hands returning to wring together but not without you now more pacing along the longer edge of the room. “He’d choose me just to be fed. This isn’t about what he wants, or even what he needs. You know why he shouldn’t-”

Cutting you off, only Jons eyes turned to a sternness while his tone cut through as well but did not actually impede on the softness of his voice, despite the words. “I don’t know why. You’re worried about things that aren’t going to happen.” Trying to put forward he did not know that, but Jon entertained none of such insecurity. “I do know. We’ve had him almost a month now, darling. If something were going to happen to you when you had him, it would’ve happened by now. The only person worried about this is you.”

Biting down on your tongue roughly, your arms crossed one another over your stomach in something much more protective in motion. “It isn’t just me.” Jons walking stopped, an unknown in his eyes asking the question, but your lungs shook with the answer.

Not yet coming clean or simple, but picking one image in mind you seemed to use it as if a guiding force to tell him what was really going on behind the scenes if he read between the lines, which with you, Jon always could and did. You hesitated to answer, not wishing for it to paint anyone in any ill light but the truth was right there as you saw it.

Opening and closing your mouth, your head dropped, leaning back somewhat against the wooden cabinet behind where you stood. “Gilly’s worried.” Jons head tilted, eyes a softer plead for you to listen to him despite that you both knew how swiftly out of control you could turn something into. “The other day. When you were..” Seeking the appropriate word you elongated the length it took to speak the letters. “Explaining things to Ser Royce, I was sat down where Gilly was playing with little Sam. She would barley meet my eyes, looked at me holding the baby almost like she didn’t trust me.”

Stepping a bit closet to where you leaned, Jon didn’t even somewhat change the manner which he held and toyed with the baby’s attention. As if handling you was no more a strain then caring for his son, as if it came natural to him and only him, dealing with both. “Darling, that isn’t-”

He stopped his own words once you shook your head. The sting behind your eyes making it look a lot more clear what was brewing behind the demeanour you attempted to keep yourself with. “It is. She was looking at me like she didn’t trust me anymore. Everyone keeps looking at me like that. They watch me do something as simply as hold our son and they appear as if they expect having to jump in and take him from me for his own safety. As if I’m-” You cut yourself off as Jons eyes widened in a mixture of worry and a horror that you’d ever stray back down that path leading to such self destruction. Swallowing, the lump falling down the back of your throat did not clear the warmth in your face or the sting or even the rising heart beat with your now drastically increasingly working lungs. “I know what people are starting to say about me, and some days I’m not sure why you don’t believe them either.”

Jon only looked with that soft plead, the one which made it so difficult to say anything against. The baby in his arms only made such a task harder. You knew right away however, he was in a ploy against you. He and little Eddard looked so drastically similar that there was no way to deny he’d grow up to look just like his father. Cradling him in one arm comfortably, he was still small enough that Jon saw no issue with it.

Maester Wolkan had said he was the size which was appropriate for a newborn such as he, but it still felt as if he was small. As if that full month of days you had failed to provide him of growth, were which what would deprive him for good. As if there was no way to fix it now, and yet as he brought him closer to you, your insides melted regardless. Your softness was so close for both of them that he knew just what would make you listen to him with little push back. One hand coming up to gently cup your cheek, Jon turned you up to look at him better.

A gentle rasp which lived in your blood in comfort, your eyes almost fluttering shut at the sound easing the tension in your blood. “I’m not keeping you from him because of this. You’ve never hurt him before, you won’t now.” Adding before you had a chance to say it, “Not even on accident. I don’t care what other people think. They’re not part of this. You’re the mother of my child, I trust you.”

Nodding, Jon tilted your head up more to get a better look at him once more. Thumb running over what of your skin he could reach, almost denying himself the urge to lean in close to you as if not willing to sacrifice his ability to see your eyes. A peek into your truth better then any else could sometimes it seemed. Letting one hand leave your wrapped position on your stomach, you pushed the material of his sleeve up just enough to grasp his wrist, your own thumb finding his pulse. Still strong.

Tilting your head a bit into this touch, Jon leaned forward just the slightest to keep your gaze as you mumbled. “It’s getting worse.”

Shaking his head slightly, Jon never let up his gentle touch. “It was this bad before, we just don’t know why it stopped for a while.” He was not entirely wrong. Bran didn’t know what it was, he wasn’t doing anything to even remotely control it, which was how it had accidentally been functioning before.

He looked willingly into some memory you knew nothing of, and he would end up putting your eyes there with him, almost like looking through you made that easier. As if despite not being his blood, Bran could connect to these sights and sounds better with someone to channel this strange energy through, but this was different. This was out of nowhere, wild, lacking any one’s control and none of the times since this begun had it happened when he was anywhere near doing it.

Lord Howland wanted to speak to you however, he and Meera both had experience which seemed a bit closer to what you were experiencing as opposed to the complexities of Bran. Much of what was going on with him was going unsaid, and it felt as if time was running thin for him and you both to act vague.

“The only person who got hurt the last time was myself.” Jon tried to argue you had not hurt anyone this time either, but again, looking at the small bundle snuggled happily in his fathers hold, his son was so small. It would only take one bad day to ruin that and all of this. “How many times can luck be on my side at this rate?”

Sliding his had to the back of your head, Jon pulled you close. Pressing his lips firmly to your forehead and mumbling against them. “You won’t hurt him. You care about his well being, you don’t care about your own.” Opening your mouth, Jon pulled back with a raised brow with the briefest hint of amusement. “You can’t deny that one.”

Were you less on edge, you may have even huffed a breath of laughter. Glancing down, only the faintest trace of a jest came from you. “He seems fine right where he is now.”

That time, a much more real laugh came from Jon. Bright and wide as he kept his grip down at the back of your neck tilting you both to glance down better. “I’m warmer, you’re softer. Trade one for the other.” Prompting you to look once more at him better, Jon mumbled as he dropped the tone unbefitting of your still prominent insecurity. “You’re taking him. End of story.” Waiting for you to nod, Jon left one more kiss to your forehead before transferring the small bundle into your arms.

A weight in your chest at how easily little Eddard turned happily to snuggle into your touch, only brought a much more affectionate chuckle from Jons chest. Tilting your gaze somewhat to look at the baby better, you only muttered in a somewhat false bemusement, “Don’t rub it in.”

You didn’t quite know how much you bought into what he was saying, it all made sense logically of course, but there was a difference between agreeing and understanding. One which no doubt Jon himself was fully aware of, but the constant following of eyes both grey and red were something which never actually went away. Watching like a hawk, keen eyes of both white wolves on your state through the course of the morning. And of course, how much you were pretending as if you couldn’t see that while he watched with a gentle care and concern, the rest watched with trepidation and worry.

If not outright fear of your strange unknowns.

Sometimes it was luck when moments were of such calm. The ability to sit and listen while both you could be seen with a level head and the bundle in your arms too was quiet. Jon was not shy about it, he was not in any consideration to hide away his wife and son from the public court as you knew many would have done otherwise. But if he were to have you at his side, he was not going to keep you from it all just because of the child in your arms.

Little Eddard was scarcely disruptive anyways. Or perhaps you and Jon both merely found it easy for you both to pick up on when he needed something and why. Which was not terribly hard to do for most of your life. Being in and out of the Starks lives as the youngest were born and grew up, and too being there for the first many months of Shireen’s life you were familiar with what a fussiness looked like before it became an issue. Too it seemed, those who watched the proceedings of the court tended to enjoy the presence of the baby. Eyes always drawn to him and gods help when he’d begin making any innocent noises, did eyes and ears all turn to him instantly.

Were he to notice, the little one tended to turn shyly into your person from all of the attention. You’d shift to keep him closer to you and lower from the eyes of the onlookers but that too tended to draw attention. Never did Jon let that interrupt him, he hardly would falter on things which might draw others from the topic or issue at hand. Jon handled both seamlessly at the same time.

Still, it was odd to consider. Strange that despite everything, you sat beside Jon as a Queen and the son in your arms was not just your own, but to all others, a Prince. In your life within Kings Landing never did such a series of titles cross your mind. Princes were spoiled and rotten like Joffery, or sweet innocent blond boys like Tommen. Princess’s were elegant but kind like Myrcella. They were not things which belonged near you.

Born a highborn lady, daughter to the eldest brother of the King. In the royal family was what you were since the time you were born but never did it really feel as such. Why would it though? Where were you in the line of royal succession? Sixth you supposed. Beyond sons and brothers and passed the once supposed daughter of the King, then put you. In the only scenario one could have painted to you, would it lead you anywhere near the word Queen attached to you.

Looking passed Robert, his sons, brothers, and daughter would have to be wiped out to put you there and of course the thought was ridiculous. You’d stand to the side of the throne room in the Red Keep and feel fine knowing you’d never have reason to be placed so near the Iron Throne. Yet it was not being wiped out that put you as close as you technically could be now.

In one fell swoop of truth, were three of those spots gone. Joffery may have called himself a King, Tommen may do so now but that did not make it true. Not that you blamed the later, just a boy when all of this occurred and he was likely still none the wiser. How much people told him anything of significance regarding the rumours around him, you imagined was very little. Still though, with now not Baratheons but Lannisters unlawfully sitting on the Iron Throne, it put you down to third. Then Renly was gone. And the only rightful heir to the Iron Throne at the top with every right to it was Stannis Baratheon.

Were you to agree to it, you’d be second in line. The creeping words of Princess came to mind which no matter what any thought of you, sounded awful with your name. You were nothing like what a Princess was raised to be, nor did anything of the Iron Throne appeal to you. Instead, you found yourself skipping that step in a very odd way.

Greatjon Umber had stood up and declared the only King he’d bend his knee to was Robb Stark, and was declarations of King in the North rung out in the cool night air, did you by his side as wife, become a Queen. Even now, by the side of Jon were you still a Queen. The son in your arms a Prince and would become King next after his father. It was all such an odd place for your life to end up.

Yet it was nothing you knew, compared to Jon. He was born a bastard, not a scrap of this, you, or his son were something he ever thought he’d have because he was not in the rights of the land for any of it but here he sat beside you. The only King which Robb trusted to follow him in death, and every step of the way his choice was proven to be the right one. But there was a known which was entirely unknown to the rest of the country.

You doubted if by now there was any whom had not heard well of Aegon’s actions. Said to be the son of Rhaegar Targaryean and Elia Martell, he was once dead but apparently had lived. Now somewhere in the south he was preparing to take the throne of a family whom never deserved it, but it was not just him, was it? You had joked and jested but neither you nor Jon spoke a word about it in anything close to meaningful.

It was all there, the manner which Joffery had tried to have all of Roberts bastards killed, that were he not legitimate as was rumoured, that a known bastard connected to the father through blood might be the ones with a claim stronger. Yet the one which none of the realm knew about sat next to you as a Stark proudly named Snow, as was his wife and son next to him. It was all strange. A compilation of bloodlines drenched within that of Kings and yet none of it went addressed between either of you, let alone spoken to another soul.

As you sat there, Jons voice strong and his ability to listen keenly was unmatched. He was calm and as good of a King as a man could aspire to be and yet the insurmountable things working against him? It was hard to follow even the logic in your own head, everything felt like it was hard to follow right now.

Nothing felt right in your mind and little of it did you understand. Dreams were one thing, visions another, but it was as if you were unable to focus. A dark brewing cloud you did not really understand was following overtop your head and no one could make sense of it all. No words seemed to hit you from the past few minutes, likely more. Underwater and the speak above the surface was muddled and unclear, no matter how often you found yourself attempting to blink back into focus.

Small grabbing hands could sometimes draw you forth and your eyes drifted downwards with a soft smile only matched by the infant one giving you those bright curious eyes in the first place. Asking you in silence what was wrong, so easily picking up on your state of mind when no one else was able to outloud. Even if the little one could use words, you just knew something felt off. Moreso then usual, and you knew not what to chalk it up to without sounding as if you were dwelling too much on what already was going on with you.

Instead you sat, and only hoped that your silence was being taken as fair and dutiful rather then the confusion settling in your blood and bones. Only, if you thought you could hide that fact from Jon, you were rather wrong. His focus might have been on his people now, but still was there room in his mind for you, and the way you hardly reacted to anything was always a giveaway that Jon would store to handle later.

Only with a glance up, could you see the questioning eyes of Howland Reed. Something as it always was directed towards you, a knowing of something to what was occurring in your mind. And a flicker of his eyes to where the outside sat by the snow covered heart tree, you knew the question being posed. Your nod was small and a subtle yes, but he understood it perfectly well.

The sensation of Jons gaze glancing towards you came about, turning only somewhat to direct a small false smile which he knew did not meet your eyes at him. A public smile, one for the people watching to think everything was fine, and too one that was as disingenuous between you both which spoke that you could only hope he wouldn’t worry.

The narrowing greys looking back at you in something akin to a frown, gave away the opposite.

Grey eyes weren’t the only ones watching, of course you were right in a sense about people looking at you in a strange curiosity, but you knew Jon was not going to give credit to the ones he had encountered. Out of all of them left, Sansa was the most out of the loop. She didn’t know the details of what went on and why, or what led to this or that when it came to the whispers about you, or about Jon.

There was no way at this point she had not heard some or even most of it, but she had yet to ask. Gaze seeking out yours which did not reciprocate, and neither did Jons. Aryas however, seemed to be the ones who noticed where Sansa’s attention was drawn too, and keeping your eyes forward you hoped the girls discussed it together, and not went to you about it. Just one night you needed, one to yourself and Jon and little to interfere.

Your mind only tuning in near the very end it felt to the sound of Jons voice to whom it was he was speaking to at that moment. “Will that be enough to repair your walls?”

A thankful nod and bow given from the older man, “It is, your grace. Thank you, your grace.”

Looking to the room around for any standouts and then both sides to the council up with you both, “If that is all, my lords.” The sounds of chairs and doors and feet got moving, before you could even think to carefully swivel to stand easier, did you feel a warm hand grasping firmly at your side. Turning to look, Jon only moved to grasp at your hip on the other side of you to get you on your feet.

A hum close to something like a laugh in your throat as you looked up at him, arms still firmly holding the awake but calmly content baby. “I can still stand on my own, you are aware.”

Jon only tilted his head a bit, a smirk coming over him as he cocked an eyebrow at you for half of a second. “That doesn’t mean I won’t do it anyways.” Gesturing downward to the bundle in your arms as if pointing out the obvious. “Besides, you’re still carrying my child.”

Your brows narrowed in a more playful manner, but said nothing. You knew technically he was right, he was merely being smart about it. Leaving your hip, Jon let his hand run over the top of the baby’s head. A small nonsensical cry coming from him, prompting a bright and handsome smile looking back down at his son, almost causing a wider one back. A heartwarming sensation filled your chest at how similar father and son both were, how much fatherhood suited Jon without even trying.

An interrupting voice cut in from behind both of you, prompting Jon to turn you by your hip to follow and yet not quite leaving a hand from you almost in a stranger display with the amount of people still around. “What is going on with you exactly?”

Sansa stood with narrow eyes but not in what one would call suspicious. Jon withheld what was an instant twitch in his jaw, no doubt from the manner she said it but you took no offence for your own behalf. Adjusting your hold so Jon did not have to leave his gentle touch to his son as you looked up to her with much more of a purposeful calm. “I don’t suppose saying just having some odd dreams is sufficient?”

Only whatever temporary deflection Jon had in mind for you, it was interrupted with the just as curious Arya coming up beside her with an equally as narrow eyed look towards both of you. “We know something else is going on that neither of you are talking about. What is it?” A glance between you both, Arya picked up on it and cut in before a diplomatic response was formed. “Both of you, and Bran. You’re all hiding something weird that’s going on.”

Bran coming up behind all of you looked to you then Meera pushing behind with a hesitant look matching all four of you, Lord Howland approaching quietly much to your relief. “Perhaps this is a discussion best had elsewhere.”

Again, there was no confusion the manner which he looked at you. A promise that answers were had but you knew first there would only be answers upon answers which you did not wish to answer. You had not even wished to divulge a bit of the things which you saw when speaking to Ser Royce. You had only one saviour that day and there was no reaction but the overcoming of white eyes to accompany your disturbed silence. But those who could see you clearly, still saw it.

There felt like no hiding, everyone wanted answers to something you did not understand. You could know an endless amount about it and still not know how to word a single solitary part which one did not experience for themselves. A hesitant look wider in your eyes glanced up to Jon, the hand still at your side tightened with his jaw clenching a bit more. “Meet us in the godswood just after supper.”

Both sisters glancing at the other, but noticing the ones shared between yourself, Jon, Bran and both Reeds with something hesitant all in an understanding of what was to be explained, or even how.

Jon guiding you away however, he only got you as far as a quieter corridor before he gently pushed you enough for you to get the idea. Back finding itself resting against the wall, shifting the baby in your arms, Jon let that hand at your side rise up to cup your cheek much more firmly. His other grasping at your hip stepping into your space, more now crowding you against the wall with not an ability to touch him back.

His plan no doubt.

The bundle turning from looking out to the world, snuggling more into your front as the warmth from Jon cocooned him, tempting sleep as fast as could be. A mumbling rasp on his lips, thumb running over your cheek as you both looked down to little Eddard. “If you weren’t so possessive of her, I’d join you.”

A roll of your eyes was followed by a smile at his audacity, bright grey eyes peering up at you with something smug and prideful before he leaned forward. Not any shame as Jon captured your lips, pulling you by your cheek so you had nowhere to go. Soft lips guiding yours as you melted into him, only able to lean into his reach despite your hands itching to seek out something of him to grasp onto.

Slow he moved his lips with yours, each breath stolen deepening the kiss without failure. A needing feeling always flooded you whenever Jon kissed you, crowding you with his warmth as he stood over you with the power to keep you attached to his lips with no issue. Each time it seemed as if Jon was about to pull away from you, did he lean back into your kiss. Refuse you the thought that it would be brief as that word slowly died off the longer he kissed you.

Only, someone else no doubt had their thoughts on the matter. The small babbles sounded less and less happy coming from between you both as suddenly did the little bundle shift in your arms. Jon however, as if already having sensed it, kept you attached to his lips a moment or two longer. Lingering from pulling away, and only doing so enough he could tilt your head down from the back of your neck. Foreheads pressed against each other as your eyes were a bit dazed and his bright with a grin looking down to the now much grumpier baby.

His free hand shamelessly running along your hip as if he had no qualms with the competition for your attention occurring. “She was mine first.” You almost laughed at the sound coming from the baby, as if he were protesting loudly without the ability to form proper words. Jon only gave a playful look as his hand on the back of your neck tightened as did the one on your hip. “You spend more time with her then I do. Sometimes I need to steal some of your time for myself, you know.”

“Jon.” A huff of laughter came from him as Jon peeled his eyes back up at you. Shifting his grip so his thumb reached your jaw to tilt you back up to his gaze. Leaning close enough to gently run his nose along the length of yours, returning the gesture to him back did Jon steal another kiss. Shorter and more innocent that time, but still as lingering as the rest could be. Mumbling against his lips as he pulled back, staying close you could feel his breath dancing across your skin. “I’m sorry for the meeting.” Asking why, you thought it was obvious, very much sounding as if you were confused why he didn’t know right away. “I was hardly there. I don’t even know if I spoke the entire time. I should be more present at things like this.”

Shaking his head only once, Jon nudged your nose with his once more as if to keep the air of calm and intimate between you as he rasped so close to you. “We handled everything fine, darling. It’s enough that you’re there. I don’t need you feeling like you have to step in every step of the way. We’ve been over this. How many more times do you need me to say it before it sinks into your head?”

A shrug of your shoulder, Jon let a smile creep out onto his lips. That time you captured his lips first, albeit noticeably much more sweet and chaste then any he’d give you himself. “That doesn’t mean I’m not going to apologize.”

A deep exhale, Jon gave you another nod before moving from your hip to run over the top of the baby’s head. His warmth, just as it did for you, causing little Eddard to squirm closer to the heat without failure, pulling another gentle chuckle from Jon. Not yet looking away from the sight as you did, Jon spoke that time both a little more quiet but more with an edge of seriousness. “What are we going to tell them?”

Neither of you needed to specify what he meant. Your own turn to sigh, you leaned more against the wall comfortably as Jon instinctively followed suit, keeping your main sight of vision to himself. “That depends.” Asking you on what, you could only keep it as straight forward as possible. “On how much you and I are ready to talk about it. Any of it.”

Eyes narrowing as he looked back down to the baby, then drifting upwards back to you. Jons face twisted, something more troubled then before yet still soft as ever as he tilted his head a bit looking at you for a long, quiet moment. Deep and raspy when he spoke, the weight of everything seeping into his tone gave hints to his actual feelings on the matter only ever shown to you. “I talked to Sam about some of this. The other night after everyone else left. Some of the things he found while we were gone, it matches what we saw. I know you don’t like talking about what happened, but we’re not going to be able to ignore it forever.”

“I know that, I just...” Cutting yourself off, your eyes fluttered shut as your teeth sunk down on your tongue. Never able to rid yourself of such a habit. At such a young age, a girl of only three or four being told by your septa that you should bite your tongue to keep yourself from having such overly dramatic reactions. Keeping you as stone faced as possible as over the years the pain needed to do so kept increasing, Jons touch cupping your cheek and jaw running his thumb over knowing instantly what you were doing. But still waited for you to find your voice. “How are we supposed to tell them the what, when I still haven’t figured out the why?”

Brows furrowing, Jon kept his touch by your jaw as if to prompt you not to return to such a straining habit of nerves. “I told you-”

Cutting him off, your eyes were a glossy sort of brightness that were sunk in something more distressing then you wanted to give off, but at least here in the small bubble of only you three was it picked up on. “You were given the answers, I was supposed to understand the reasons. But I still don’t. I didn’t then, I don’t know, and I have no idea how any of this works with me to know how to do it.”

You wished Jon didn’t say it, but of course, he had the right answer for that specific conundrum. “Bran might know how.” Almost biting down again, Jons grip grew tighter to stop it in its tracks. To an onlooker, you both would look a mix of intimate but controlling. Close in the others alone proximity, but Jons grip on your cheek and jaw looked worse then it was for. He was controlling, just not in the way it may appear. Some days you wondered if Jon was almost more a Collie. Dogs bred to heard sheep and cattle. Not aggressive but they certainly came off that way to the untrained eye.

Looking to nothing off to the side, only a pillar Jon kept you by to shield from wandering gazes passing the halls, you muttered more under your breath as you shifted your grip on the baby almost as if to move him more so you held him in a comforting manner to yourself. “Bran still won’t even tell us how he knew we were out there, or how he knew what was happening. I don’t know how much it will help him with what he’s going through by adding what’s wrong with me on top of it.”

It wasn’t a blame, nowhere near that, but sometimes to an outsider, when Jon said something blunt and to the point it could come off as a bit on the judgmental side when you knew he didn’t mean it. “He did this to you. He needs to be the one to help you.”

You only echoed what Bran had told little of what he said to you. “He didn’t mean to do this.” Jon only specified that he still did it, you tried to shake your head a little. It was the first time either of you said anything outloud even alluding to the fact, but it needed to be brought out at some point. “The only reason he knew he could do it to me was because you did it first.”

Jon said nothing, he knew nothing about how to respond to it. What was going unsaid, but like you, Jon knew you did not say it with blame or ire, simply stating a fact that was uncomfortable to hear, and near impossible to comprehend with any form of rationality. It was all complicated. What Benjen had said was right. Everyone seemed to have a piece of this puzzle but none of you were willing to step forward and lay out the first one for the rest to connect towards.

Finding your voice first again, you asked in a low voice as if trying to take that first step on your own in a small way. “What exactly did you and Sam discuss? That he found out while we were gone?”

It wasn’t an answer that you picked up on, and for once, it felt as if Jon too was keeping part of that story to himself. Someone you didn’t even realize that he knew, which you didn’t. Or why he had told Sam but not you. Not anything enough to make you feel as if something of your trust had been shattered, but certainly you felt a growing dread. What you already knew, and Jon didn’t want to tell you something about it?

Instead, gesturing for you to come with him. A hand wrapping across your back to pull your hip, turning you to walk beside him and pressed right up against his side, letting that same hand drift once more to your back, sitting at your lower spine. His voice only for you to hear, but the darker shade painting over his eyes and the troubled furrow in his brow begged you to try and read between the lines of what you couldn’t even decipher in the first place. “One problem at a time.”

A thick layer of snow sat around the Winterfell Godswood at all times now it seemed.

Hardly ever enough time the skies gave for the snow to disappear before more fell down and blanketing the North once more in such a way that made the normally thought of dreary and grey waste, appear in the beauty it always deserved to be looked at in. Easy to track who or how many went where in such a state, footprints normally were always covered by the drags of a cloak down behind them, but the path could be followed none the less. The only things individually seen in walking form, were two sets of very large paw prints making their way to the same location. Too their size made normal tracks of wolves much larger and easier to detect.

It was as if nature was sending warnings in two forms against an outsider, that no matter where you went the wolves were never gone. Too was it however, a rare instance in which Jon agreed when you would suggest it may be safer for him to take the baby. For what you may need to do you couldn’t be holding him, but too did you find yourself peeking to the side.

Unfair how matching they looked. Father and son so natural out in the snow of winter, two men truly of the North. Jon kept him warmer without needing to hide him in as much layers as you would, his natural body heat so warm that you were surprised much of the time it didn’t simply melt the snow in his path.

As both of you made your path down to the Weirwood, there sat an air of uncertainty that no doubt only Sansa and Arya felt out of the loop on. The later spoke up first with a much more noticeable air of frustration. “What’s this all about?” Gesturing specifically towards yourself she added, “What’s so secret about what’s going on with you?”

Sansa seemed to match the air of her sister, a quieter spoken but equally as sensed irritation on being so out of the loop. “And why are we,” Gesturing between her and Arya, “The only ones who don’t seem to know about it?”

All attending looked at one another, and yet as you suspected, no one knew how to start, or what to start with. Did it begin chronologically? Paint a timeline and go from that, or where it had begun to pick up in the most important ways? Just as a knowing glance was shared between yourself and Howland Reed, did Bran find that courage and begin speaking where he seemed to think it made the most sense.

“I started having strange dreams after my fall.” Eyes all turning with a haze over most eyes of the Starks which was a sorrow for something each of the remaining ones had to leave before he even woke up from, but Bran continued regardless. No doubt enough time for him had passed that it seemed less important to dwell on those specifics. “They were always the same in a way. A crow with three eyes, he’d try to tell me things, show me things. I didn’t think much of them at first, until..” Brans own gaze that time welled over with something heavy that he refused to hide away. “Until one night, the crow brought me down to the crypts. And showed me father was buried there. But I didn’t know until the next morning that he had...”

No one finished that sentence for him. No one wanted too.

“They kept happening after that. I dreamt about the Ironborn invading Winterfell just days before it happened. The three eyed crow was always there, but the dreams weren’t the only thing.” It did not fail your notice that the only Stark sibling whom did not know what Bran was speaking of when he begun describing what they’d later all learn was being a Warg, that Sansa did not at all know what he was talking about. “We escaped after they tried to burn Winterfell down. We were trying to reach the Wall to get to Jon when-”

That time it was Meera who spoke up, and the heavy weight being forced back down her throat with each word spoke of a pain all here knew too well of loss. “That was when my brother and I found them.” Meera specifying to Sansa when she asked in a repeat of the word brother. “Jojen. A few years younger then me, he always had dreams. He saw things from the past, the future, things that were happening around the world in those moments even. The ones from the past were always true, and they were always stories we never even knew about until we looked into them after. He had the same dream as Bran, when his father was murdered.”

Only yourself and Jon noticed the overbearing weight within Howland’s eyes at the mention. Strange that none but you both understood in such detail what the truth of that friendship was, and you could only pray he felt the sorrow coming from your soul wishing to give any comfort to his. No matter how little it would do.

Meera went into detail, how Jojen begun seeing things, seeing Bran, and eventually when he too had the same dreams and visions of a three eyed crow and the coming winters, did they tell their father. And it was him who told them that they needed to find Bran as soon as possible. Already prepared he was, to answer the question on Sansa and Arya’s minds. “Both you girls grew up during the long summer. This is the first true winter you’ve ever known, and many of us could feel something in the air was different this time. Something was coming with this cold that didn’t before.”

Benjen did not need to even him to elaborate, he knew better then all here about that feeling. “My rangers kept coming back with disturbing reports. They saw men stand up after they died and tried to attack them. They’d flee south, claiming that the Others were awake.” Much like what Arya’s initial reaction had been, Sansa’s face scrunched up in a disbelief.

“The Others? From those spooky stories? They aren’t real. They’re just things Old Nan used to try and scare us with.”

Yet if that were true, the reaction between the rest of you wouldn’t have been so painfully serious and covered in a thickly coated dread. Bran took it back from there, not even giving her the moment of reprieve to accept what had been put out there. “Meera and Jojen found me, and knew we needed to go north. Beyond the Wall. The three eyed crow told Jojen in that dream that he needed to find me, and bring me to him.” Arya that time was the one asking that this crow even was, but it had you hesitate the moment you thought to answer. You..well technically you knew the answer to that in a way he didn’t. But you didn’t have a clue how to bring that up or what it would do or add. It merely sat in your mind as something only which pertained to you it felt. “It’s difficult to describe. The three eyed crow is a man, someone with powers to see the world in ways no one else can. The dreams I’d have but bigger, and almost endless if they train long enough. He wanted me to be brought to him.”

Arya spoke again for Sansa’s confused silence. “Why?”

All hesitated but Benjen. “To learn to be him. The three eyed crow isn’t a man, it’s a title. Like Lord of Winterfell or King in the North. It isn’t one person, just the title for whoever holds it. And eventually, men die, and someone needs to take over their role one day. And so this time, they chose Bran.” Another ask of why, and Benjen explained it bluntly. “Because he was the right one. He had the ability, and he it takes a certain kind of man to do that. To be able to handle knowing as much as that, and not let it corrupt you. Or ruin you.” His eyes glanced to you, and it was without a doubt, on purpose as if to give them a hint.

Sansa seemed even more frustrated then before. “I’m sorry, if this is all true, what does this have to do with her?” Gesturing to you and then to Meera. “Or your brother?”

Howland had that answer, and it was just as cryptic as it felt when such things were said to you from the same man months ago. “Whoever the three eyed crow is, can give others a similar power. The Sight it’s called. The ability to see and dream events from our past and future that can help the three eyed crow on whatever path he is taking. To be their eyes where they might not have any, and do the work they cannot.”

Meeting a guilt in Brans eyes, yours softened in an instant. A begging not to blame himself for what he did not mean to do. Somewhat beside you did Lord Howland continue.

“The three eyed crow gifted my son Jojen the sight, so that he could help bring Bran to him. That was his purpose.” The swallowing of grief, as his arm reached out to run in a firm comforting manner along Meera’s now much more tense and sullen shoulders, the implication was heard and not acknowledged for their sake before he found his calm beyond a strain in his voice and more distant eyes looking to you. “Now that gift is hers. The dreams and visions, that is what she is experiencing. That is what you’ve seen and heard. Her mind is connected through her blood to the great powers of the old gods now. A servant to the three eyed crow as the three eyed crow is a servant to the gods.”

That time your glance was shared with Jon, and one you both knew only you two had a single idea about. Another which you both dared not speak to others. It would be much easier for your mind were you only a servant with purpose to one thing or person. Instead your new existence was stretched thin, tied to posts of different camps and asked to fulfill the duty of them all. Your voice was fair and faint, but all heard your quiet nature anyways. “I have these visions because Bran gifted them to me.”

You felt for both girls, the overload of such strange information that none here understood completely themselves. As if mere men were not supposed to understand. You stood before a Weirwood, and only they knew the truths, only they could comprehend it. You all were merely here to act for them in whatever ways bestowed upon you, no matter how difficult to accept it was.

Sansa at least said it bluntly, “I thought someone else was the three eyed crow?”

Bran was quick, as suddenly only those who had met out beyond the Wall understood with a feeling of gravity weighing you all down. “There was. He isn’t anymore. It’s just me now.” Asking with a mighty confusion that Bran was this crow, he nodded with a solemn look that you shared. “He’s dead, and now I’m the only one left.” Saying your name in more detail, “It’s why her visions are connected to mine. I gave her the sight, so her power is tied to mine.”

Neither said it, but you and Jon both looked at the other in knowing. It was not only his, but neither of you dared explain the what or why or how if either of you brought said issue up.

Though it was Arya who felt no qualm bringing up something else then the path your mind tracked you on towards. “So, the thing that happened yesterday? Or what Ser Royce said happened the day before? That was a vision? It didn’t look like that. It looked..”

Trailing off, Brans eyes found yours, peeling over to Jons to speak an ask you didn’t even bother looking to read. You knew where this was going, it was why he held the baby. This time you didn’t know what you’d see, but it was like Bran said, it would be easier to show then explain it. With a nod from Jon, you stepped towards Bran.

His chair sitting beside the Weirwood as you gently knelt to the ground. Gloved hands braced against your thighs, your eyes looked far brighter with a radiating of trust towards him. Nothing needed to be said, you knew that he nerves already lived within him as they did you.

Behind you somewhat you could hear the shifting of feet through the snow, and Jon dismissing Sansa to just wait when asking what was happening exactly. Deep breaths kept your heart from racing and your lings from exploding from your chest with nervous air as Bran pulled one glove off. Reaching forward to the white bark just below the carved face, the moment his hand touched the bark, did his eyes seem as if they rolled over into a pure white, and within the next moment, yours followed suit.

Getting into the room when none were there was easy, staying undetected was another.

There were paths under the halls of Winterfell. Made for the Kings and Lords of the North to escape no matter where they were in the castle, but hardly were they used for any reason these days. Little did the Starks run from in such a desperation. Instead those who creeped within their path had seemed to know where they were going. Walking the halls at night was easy, but it could not be night which they traversed the path inside.

Soon enough the sun would fall beyond the skyline and the moon and stars would rise, taking its place in the darkness and those in the castle would prepare to sleep. They had to be ready. They were for the most part. A distraction would be needed, separating the two and when the unwanted party was a King, it was far easier to delay him for the night then it would be the Queen.

The room itself was not extravagant as they expected a King would hold. Much more simple, and much more of the cold winter air breezed through with a fire raging near one of the walls being the main source of warmth beyond the furs laying about otherwise. Out in the open everything was in the main room, nowhere to hide not even a screen some used to change behind for modesty.

Curiously, the older man noted the smaller bed tucked against one of the walls by the main bed. Blankets and small toys surrounded it as if for an infant. One looked to the other with a doubt, but the older man dismissed it with a gruff hiss through his cracked and discoloured, rotted teeth. “Deal with the she wolf first.”

The second room attached to the main was better. Smaller, and the largest feature a well put together tub that men such as them had never seen in their lives. Fancy beyond fancy, it paled in comparison to any other object in the side room. One had to cross a corner of tiny halls to get into the room, unseen by wandering eyes right away, they could hide here.

Only, as the main door opened, a gentle hum followed. High pitched and were it to sing, likely would be somewhat off tune but also followed by a deeper voice. Cracked somewhat as if attached to a growing boy as he gave orders to the other humming voice who came in, and the door closed behind them. “Make sure to set out extra of the darker oils, and small cloths hung by the edge in plenty.” A pause was heard as if a face was made, and the boy spoke with a bit more impatience, yet still attempting to be nice. “The King prefers to handle the tasks himself when the Queen takes her bath. He doesn’t want anyone around.”

The voice was less nice then the hum sounded, but the tone was quick and not at all refined sounding, even less so then the boy. “The King is so romantic-” The men could almost hear the boy rolling his eyes from where they were pressed against the wall.

“I don’t care if it’s romantic, I care that you have everything in order. It will be my head if the King or Queen arrive and find everything in disarray because you weren’t listening.” A new maid no doubt. One looked at the other, and there was no qualms about that one. No one would miss a nameless maid if it got in their way.

At first the door opened and closed once more, and firstly thinking that they were alone again, until the gentle patter of shoes against the stone tiles crept closer and closer. Just as the young woman turned into the main room, did the clang of a bucket hit the ground. Smashing of glass oils followed and other sturdier objects rolling onto the ground from it’s depths.

The only sound not heard, was what came beyond the initial start of a gasp before what joined the oils spilling against the floor, was liquid. A copious amount of red liquid, and the thump of a body hitting the bottom of the tub which kept it just out of sight. Then the main door opened once again and the boy called back out as if he had forgotten one more instruction.

It like before, happened before Bran could stop it, and once it begun it didn’t end no matter who did what.

Leaning forward did Bran grasp at your shoulder in one, Howland Reed kneeling calm by the other as Meera was perched to the side of Brans chair leaning more towards you with a concern which looked almost instinctual on her face. The oddity as your breath came to you in heaps that this was something the three closest around you were used to by this point.

Beyond your vision, Sansa now held the more perturbed baby as Jon made his way behind you, kneeling down as he just hovered over the top of your head. His warmth giving away his presence in your subconscious, leaning into his touch as he cupped the back of your neck with one hand, a squeezing pressure to tell you to stay in the moment, the other grasping at your hip under where Brans hand held by your upper arm.

Howland Reed stayed without making any contact but held the most steady expression then even his daughter did. Benjen and Arya both made their way to the opposite side of you both, and the strange feeling came about, that your display no doubt, must have been a horrid sight. Looking up with more gasping type breaths to Bran did your voice mutter out in weakness, “Did you mean to-”

Shaking his head, it only added to the weight in your heart filling with a dread that had been there since the morning. “I had to...it was like I lost you in there. I had to find where you were and couldn’t get you out of there even when I did.”

Meera looked between you and Bran before kneeling down moreso like her father in front of you, a skin of water she pulled from her side almost moving to make your hand grasp it. “You should drink something.” Even in the cold air, you felt the sweat surrounding your hair and brushing over your skin when everyone else could be seen with colour in their cheeks from the cold alone. Nodding with a thanks in your eyes, you never felt Jons touch leave you as you downed nearly half in one sip.

Jon rasping low in you ear of what did you see, but you didn’t know how to speak it aloud. Something odd felt about it and vocalizing it was a challenge. But yet the words you spoke, the sensation rippled through more then one person there that it was not quite from your own thoughts, but an echo of something else that Arya had already heard the night before, yet it made even less sense now. “There is a beast beneath the boards.”

Just as Sansa stepped beside Arya, asking what was going on, Jon took proper control. “Quiet, all of you. Let her breathe.” Prompting you to stand up, Jon acted as a guide to move you mostly for him until you were on both feet. Circling around to your front, Jon gently used a hand to guide Meera off to the side before bracing your upper arms as you reached out to rest yours against his chest. Fingertips attempting to dig into the leather as your head dropped, eyes closed attempting to shake this feeling off. Jon lowered his head more towards you with something muttered on his lips to keep you tethered to his voice. “Take your time, it’s alright.” Jon moving suddenly, your hand almost swiped to grab at his like he was leaving your touch, the hand falling flatly to his chest once more as he simply moved so one hand cupped your cheek. Voice even quieter, but with no care for the people around who heard him. “You’re with me, darling. You’re here, not there you know that.”

Nodding, you felt yourself taking deeper breaths before looking up to grey eyes watching you closely. Jon muttered quietly to Bran behind him what it was you saw, but when he paused, all eyes suddenly turned to him. Jons face twisting in an aggravation asking a second time when Bran looked at your weary gaze and back. “I don’t really know.” Questions came as quick as he cut them off with a bit of a louder anger seeping in. “I don’t know what every moment in history is, I only know what I saw when I managed to find her.”

As Jon asked what it was, you eyes glanced up to his as if something between the two of you already said you both knew. Picking at your brain you found nothing but it sat right there that something was trying to tell you and Jon what it was being shown to you and why, but still it didn’t come.

Seeing your breathing even out, Jon pulled you more into his front, your head dropping a bit to his shoulder as he let an arm come around to the other side of your head to keep you tucked there. Looking to his sisters, “You two asked what was going on with her, but we don’t know. She has these because of Bran and if he doesn’t know why hers are out of control..”

Shifting so you could see the baby looking wide eyed towards his mother and father, you glanced up to Jon, nodding your head in that direction with a question in your eyes. “You should take him for the night.” Jon protested, saying you already discussed this, but the urgency in your voice too was as out of the loop as most here all felt watching the rest of it. “No, Jon. I think you need to take him.”

“Why?”

Only, eyes looking at his skeptical ones, then around and around before landing on the now more fussy moving baby wishing to reach out to you, did you sigh. You didn’t know why, and he knew it. Kissing the side of your head, Jon only mumbled for you to take him from Sansa. Ignoring the others for the moment, he watched as you cradled little Eddard close with something weary deep within you.

Hardly moving from the spot did they talk around you. More and more you felt as you did earlier, your mind refusing to listen as again and again you felt your mind and body elsewhere. The morning was trapped in your own passed, but now it was trapped within someone else’s, and the horror you felt as theirs without knowing why you were hurled into such images.

Your voice recalling a pleading to take their place, your life instead of theirs but the faces of those whom were all around you were little more then blurs. Only the interruption of a guard coming forth had the voices all around come to a sudden halt. “My greatest apologies for the interruption your grace, but there is a situation I believe requires your immediate attention.” Your eyes flew up to Jons with a beg, but you didn’t know why. You cradled little Eddard closer to your chest protectively, but you didn’t know why. The air felt incorrect. Something felt as if it was not right where you stood or anywhere else around you.

Only Jons voice did you hear, a kiss to the side of your head as he muttered for you to put the baby down for now. “Olly should’ve had the maids draw a bath for you by now. Don’t do anything, I’ll handle things when I get back. I want you to relax first, alright?”

He didn’t let you go until you said yes, but again, you didn’t understand why you kept hesitating as you parted ways from him once leaving the godswood. But the halls were growing more and more quiet, and at the very least you could rely on that later in the evening did Theon listen to your requests to be left alone once heading to Jons chambers. Needing the quiet when all day surrounded by guards, you could rely on that peace to settle the strange feeling in your head.

The room was quiet as you entered, no sign that the maid had been close by any time soon, meaning that at best, the bath drawn was not as scolding hot as it would’ve been freshly poured. Laying little Eddard down in his bed, you ran your hand across his cheek as a smile finally graced your features.

Whispering with a gentle lull as you ran your hand over the top of his head as his eyes begun to blink, worming his way into a comfortable position. Not yet leaving him until he fell asleep, always doing so faster with your or Jons touch. “You and your father have your hands full with me, let’s just hope you you born with the best of him instead of the worst from me. Give you even a fighting chance at being taken seriously.”

A mumble of nonsense on his lips before his hooded eyes finally dropped and breathing in his chest evened out. For a moment, you felt more peace come over you as you stood watching him sleep for a good while. Gently pulling the fur from your shoulders and hanging it properly, you stepped from your boots and made your way to the side room, as the outer dress slipped from your body and draping it over the side of a cabinet, only a thin dress and your shift under left as you made your way into the much brighter room.

But there was no water. In fact, there was a mess of what looked like the starts of a bath, then a struggle of things to the floor, then blood. Blood trailing from the floor up the steps to the tub, and painted over a young woman with wide eyes drained of any colour or life splayed out inside.

Lungs stopping with a fear rushing through you, a muffled sound drew you up further to a sight which then put your heart into a painful pounding. Tied and gagged with a terrible fear was Olly, desperately trying to say something to you through a muffle but all you could think was that fear. That voice not your own but whispered aloud as if in the mystery of your mind did it all connect. “The rats..”

The moment you sensed it, you turned to face a large figure standing in the frame way to the main room of Jons chambers.

Two figures were knelt down on either side of Jon looking at the sight. Laid out by the courtyard, a body of a man Jon didn’t recognize but the sight was more ghastly then he had expected. The mans throat had been cut so deep that were one to pick his corpse from the ground, there was a mighty chance the head would detach and fall to the ground with a splat. But it was not just that which stood out, the clothes did not look fitting. As if they had been put on right before or just after having his life hacked away at.

Around his neck was a cheaply made cloak, the fur surrounding the shoulders was no doubt that of a small fox, but the head remained in tact save for the eyes which were bloody and gouged out, no doubt done so from the dead mans own supply as drops could be seen down his collarbones dripping to the fur. Theon knelt next to him on his right, gloved hand looking over the rest of the body, pockets and whatnot to see if anything else could give a form of an answer as Jon turned his head somewhat to his left.

“And you found him out here like this all alone?”

Nodding, Gendry kept a look similar to that which you would give when put off by an unseemly scene, an eyebrow raised as he frowned in a more well put together disgust. “I was alone when I found him, but what’s strange is that no one I’ve asked recognizes him.” Both men turned to the other as Jons face twisted in a more discontent as Gendry gave a single nod as if to indicate he understood how he felt about that. “No one even heard anything. It’s like someone killed them then dumped him out here.”

Hovering at his back, Jon could hear the passing speculations of the now more crowded onlookers as Arya circled around to join next to Gendry with a disgust in her own face. “Why would someone come into the castle walls just to dump a body no one recognizes?”

Theon piped up without even glancing from what he had been doing, “Divert attention so whoever did it can make a run for it through Winter Town?”

Mumbling more, Jon felt something was off about it. “Maybe.” Glancing upwards, he could see Ghost hovering by an edge of the crowd with stern eyes, both wolves making eye contact as Jon attempted to decipher what his direwolf was saying, but it was much like he was. Something felt off out of nowhere, but neither knew why. “Or, maybe it’s here to distract us.” Looking up and around nothing stood out as out of the ordinary right away. “Keep us here while someone does something somewhere else.”

Arya asking what that would be, and Gendry had the more blunt version of that answer. “Something they’re not supposed to be doing.”

Pushing up from the snowy ground, Jon turned to some of his men nearby as his voice projected more in the quickly darkening sky. “Start asking around Winter Town, see if anybody knows who this is or if they saw anything happen or someone suspicious making their way towards the castle walls.”

“At once, your grace.”

Arya and Gendry both made move to stand, making their way to Jons side as he held a furrow in his narrowed expression with something further bothering him about the sight. Arya asking what was on his mind, but Jon grimaced for half of a second before answering. “How many men turn up in Winterfell murdered? Every town or village has their fair share of thieves and rapers, we have more then enough tavern fights then I can count but this? When was the last time someone turned up dead this way in Winterfell that you can remember?”

Arya’s silence was balanced by a matching disturbed expression that she nor Jon knew what to think of. It was odd, that was certain, and turning up so suddenly as it got dark in the castle walls of all places when there was no other disturbance inside or out from what Jon or the guards had been aware of.

Jon appreciated the straight forward and simple manner which Gendry felt comfortable chiming in as he too stood there still. “I grew up in Kings Landing. Plenty of men turned up dead every day, no reason for more then half of them but they got drunk in the street and bumped into the wrong person.”

Shaking his head, Jons expression was withheld in thought. “There’s a million people in Kings Landing, I have a little over ten thousand in Winter Town at best. My people know my family have never taken that lightly. They have a problem that bad with someone, nine times out of then they come to us about it.”

Jon knew Gendry had a point when he said it, but it didn’t feel as if that was the whole answer. “Guess this is the tenth.”

The fox fur stood out to him, and he didn’t know why. It stood out and Jon kept looking back at it before turning away. Something about a fox was pricking at his mind, something which was but a piece of a larger series of clues to what about this felt like it stood out in a negative fashion. The eyes purposely left there to be gouged out with blood, but just as he opened his mouth with another order did Theon call to his attention.

Moving back to where he was still knelt, Theon raised up the leg of the dead mans pant, where he had somewhat pulled his boot down. A bite mark was left, small and not so serious but it was still stained red from the swollen flesh around it. “What kind of animal bite is that?”

Theon was to say he wasn’t sure, but Arya cut him off with a certainty. “A rat.” The men all turned to look at her, but she was as casual about her certainty as she was about most things. “Anything else small enough to make a mark like that he’d have to have come in from the wolfswood to have gotten it, but it wouldn’t look that fresh if he had to walk all that way before he died.”

In truth, were Jon not so preoccupied, he’d have more noticed with something aggravated in his chest at the ease which Gendry leaned his arm across Aryas back to kneel down close beside her, or how she didn’t seem bothered by it at all. Whatever in seven hells that was, he’d focus on how much he didn’t like it later. “What’s a bite from a rat stand out for?”

Jon answered first, “It’s too cold out here. Rats prefer the warmth, they’d huddle somewhere in a pile if they were out in this cold. If he came across one out here, we’d see more scattered. He got this somewhere else.” When asked where, Jon and Arya both had that answer. “The tunnels.”

Explaining to Gendry Arya did, “The tunnels are underground. Close to where the hot springs Winterfell is build on top of, if gets cold they’d all gather there. A bite that fresh, he must have been in the tunnels.”

An increase in Jons heart beat came about, that detail did not sit well with him whatsoever. The tunnels where few knew to navigate let alone knew even existed, and this man no one recognized walked through them enough to get himself bitten by a rat, stumble out where and get his neck sliced into? Theon’s voice captured Jons attention once more with a much more obvious hesitancy. “Your grace...”

Turning to him, Theon pulled his hand from the dead mans neck as if it were shoved in there after he was dead. It was small, broken and bloody but it was no blade of metal of sorts. Not something snapped from a cheap dagger, but put there on purpose. Holding it out between them did Theon and Jon stare at it with wider, disturbed gazes. Shoved in his neck as if a symbol, a sign, a message of what the body was really doing. A snapped piece of antler, from what appeared to be the very top of what belonged to-

Jon and Theon both turned to one another with eyes sharp and full of a wide fear as his stomach turned inside out, and his heart pounded in his chest. The fox, the rat, and now the antler of a stag. Within a second, Jon had called to Ghost and without a single order needed to be given did both turn to run inside the castle, barley giving anyone a chance to even blink before many followed suit, their Kings disturbance.

Your lungs both stopped and shook within you.

The large unknown man filth covered and wreaked as if they had been hiding away from anything close to a bath in years. The one in front of you was older, hair long and a stringy white as his frame encased most of the frame which you could not even see passed. Your foot took a step back on instinct, your muscles both frozen and tense looking at him as your face hardened into something like stone in smothering what fear outraged inside you.

A force sat within your voice, the shaking inside wishing to come out but not allowing it to yet take hold as you considered how little you stood around with. How far away any would be to call to help for at that instance. So instead you stood without moving and without fleeing with a hope of reason in your tone. “Who do work for?”

Their smile was obscene, the discolour in their teeth not just from a lack of hygiene but as if there had been rot set about. The look as bad as the smell which seeped from him as he chuckled too. “Smart girl, you are. Most would just scream and cry about what do we want. ‘Cept you. You could tell right away we ain’t coming in from the outside for no reason.”

Your eyes noting the rather large knife in his hand, trying to ignore it desperately from being the only thing you saw, but also not wishing to give away that you were looking for any opportunity to move.

It had been too late however, pulling it upwards in a display meant to look rather theatrical as he grinned further. “You wouldn’t believe the gold promised for you. Pissed off some mighty powerful people, girl. People who will pay in the hundreds.” Your eyes kept drifting trying to pass his frame, but he too caught that as distressing sounds of Olly muffled in the background. “Oh? Worried about your son, are you? I wouldn’t care about that, girl. Won’t mean much in a moment now, will it?”

You could not stop it, that hitch in your breath with pounded in your heart at the sudden horrific feeling, gone now or gone then you took another step backwards with a far less convincing sound coming from you, much to his pleasure. “Whatever you are being paid, I-”

“You’ll what? Double it? Can the Queen in the North pay me enough to buy me a new head? Because mine will be coming right off, if I come back without yours.” Your body burned hot, but instead of being put out by the fear you felt it grow and grow. Eating away at your remaining stillness as what would happen to your son, would would happen to Olly should you find the final end now.

What failures you would be providing Jon by leaving him now this way? You had to do something, anything. But the moment it seemed the man sensed you were about to try and shout for anyone, did you find yourself unable too.

Two large arms wrapped around you from behind, a rope thick and coarse sound it’s way over your face and into your mouth. Pulled tight behind you, your teeth had no choice but to try and stop from clamping down on it, but you were dragged further behind. Your arms flung trying to reach up and grab at the second assailant but the old man before you jumped to your front. Throwing you with them against the wall to hold you upward, the first came to you with the blade but your hands reached out.

Slicing open both still unhealed phantom wounds, the blade soaked your hand and the metal itself in red as you could hardly make any sound through the rope at the sting nor the struggle in front of you.

Trying to kick at the first, he merely stumbled before a growl came forth.

Lowering the blade only to snatch at the front of your dress as the fabric tore, tossing you behind him as the second man followed keeping your gag silent. But the struggle slammed and sounds muffled from both gagged and men aggressive did the sound of the baby begin to cry.

Stuck in his crib at the struggle ensuing beyond his sight he cried louder and louder with something that would catch attention better then you could yell for, but that fear turned into a genuine pain that if he made enough sound they might kill him to keep it quiet and again you tried grabbing at them to make anything stop.

Knocking you to your knees, the blade came to the back of your neck. Just as you felt it draw blood did you grasp again at the sharp edge and with enough energy, you lifted it up against his strength enough to try and fling yourself to the side to knock him off kilter. Free now you threw your head back against the man with a crack in your skull leaving you dazed as now every sound of distress and yelling and your sons cries was underwater, like a blur for your ears as the room too dazed out.

Trying to stand did the larger man behind you suddenly return, grabbing you around your entire body, and did your world spin being thrown across the air. A sting made by the top of your head as blood begun to seep down into your vision as that same weight slammed you face down into the floor. The older man before you now, grabbed you by your hair to yank your head up and used the other hand to force your teeth to part. Shoving the edge of a blade partially between your teeth he hissed with disgusting rot into your face. “You fight me again and I’ll carve a smile into your pretty mouth, got it?”

As if working in tandem, the anger flowed through the men as a sudden striking fear made you feel as if you were about to pass out, the only survivor in your blood the sounds of your baby crying in terrible distress in the other room but the blood mixed with your tears that you had no plan to get out of this.

The fabric of your dress and shift suddenly tore, a blade behind in the hand of the second man cutting through the fabric as if also carved into your skin without any care. The air of the room stinging the line of blood following as it reached close to the lower part of your spine when the second leaned into your ear as his older companion suddenly shoved your head roughly down into the stone floor. “The price was your head, orders ain’t said nothing about doing what we want with the rest of you.”

Through the blade keeping you quiet hardly any kind of crying protest could leave you, despite the actual cries from your son and the increasingly both distressed and angry sounds muffled from Olly behind being forced to watch. The older man only added to that fear as he ran his filth across your cheek, mouth and jaw almost cupping it in a violent manner to make a display of something you knew too well as it implied. “This is happening boy, so best shut it. Our friend here’s gonna fuck your Queen real good. You won’t even have to look her in the eye when he’s done, she won’t have any. Will you?”

The blood and tears melted together across your eyes as they stung as much as everywhere else did, but you knew from the feeling vibrating in your chest that you no doubt were making sounds of utter distress and panic that you felt so helpless against the heavy weight atop you. But the second the blade returned to finish tearing the rest of it from you, did a loud slam echo in the other room.

Before it even registered did the weight atop you suddenly double before leaving entirely, a mixture of growls and snarls as yelling and tearing hit your ears. Ghost tearing into the one behind you, you barley found it in you to push up at all the moment the older man moved. Turning up and leaping to the second approaching wolf, but this one was not the same was the first.

You saw none of it, happening so fast before your eyes there was more blood as a body dropped to the ground before and behind. Whatever fight to the death these men thought they’d give, it did not end as brave or as valiant as two wolves would ever allow.

The sounds from behind stopped as well, Ghost suddenly appearing at your side as you shakingly tried to push up in your palms but hardly could put any pressure in your muscles as they shook, as your whole body shook. More and more people suddenly poured into the room but your eyes hardly left wide and terrified from the man slumping down dead to the ground before you.

Himself still covered in blood, Jon dropped down in front of you, a seething mixture of fear and burning anger raging through him as he helped you sit up. Your shock to the point you barley had it in your mind to hold the tatters of you dress up as he cupped your cheeks. He called to your name more then once trying to get you to look at him, but your vision was blurry and stinging from the blood and tears, all you managed to get out was a beg as you no longer heard the crying. “Our son..where’s our son..”

Jon carefully wiped some of the blood from out of your eyes, murmuring with such a deep rasp that it scratched along your heart as something more comforting then you should’ve felt his voice was. “He’s alright.”

But you felt that fear still rattled through your bones, shaking your head. “Where is he, I need to- please, he was crying-” In fact though, not that you really had the awareness to know, but you were the one crying, in much more free tears.

Not even turning his head to whomever else was in the room, Jons voice was a husking command. “Bring him here, now.” You couldn’t even hear anyone else in the room despite knowing they were there. Jon pulled you to sit more against the ground with your feet splayed to the side, keeping you close as he looked over you with such bright eyes soaked with worry. “He’s alright, darling. They didn’t hurt him, I promise.”

But he knew you wouldn’t believe that until you held him. Recognizing in the back of your mind that you leaned closer into Jons warmth as he refused to let go of you at all, only giving you enough space when in turn the baby was given to Jon, so he could turn and place him in your arms. Still crying, you cradled him close to your chest as your head buried more near the top of his head, falling a bit into Jons front.

He thus tugged you in close, one arm wrapped around your lower back to keep you tucked into his chest as your son was to yours and also allowing it to hold up what remained of your dress from falling. His other wrapped around to cradle the back of your head, hiding you almost entirely in his safe chest, knowing that the shaking coming from you was in fact hiding the silence of tears following the muffled cries from your son.

You truly weren’t even aware at all of what was going on around you. The shock from such a sudden ordeal had shot much of your nerves leaving only that shaking ragged fear in its remains. You could hear Jons rasps from above you directed towards Olly. “Are you alright? Did they hurt you?”

Olly shook his head, a shaking in him as well but moreso looking towards you in his own distinct worry much like the rest of the room. “Only a little. They- They killed-”

Jon cut him off, no doubt trying to spare the rest of the details in front of you at that moment. The instinct within him to protect you growing fierce as ever. “I know.” It to only one pair of eyes who watched, was an interesting sight. Theon knew the dynamic between Olly, Jon and yourself was odd and it was moments like this where he could remind himself why he cared the way he did.

Coming up to him, Theon pulled Olly more up and to his side, luckily keeping his voice likely the most calm and even in the room as he spoke to someone you didn’t have the energy to even look up to see. “Make sure he gets seen too.”

Jon suddenly, moved to pull your face up to look at him, gesturing to be handed something, he shook his head a single no when you moved to give him space. “Stay just like this.” Gently running a cloth over to at least get the blood from your face washed out before noting with a hiss that some of it was indeed coming from a cut in your head. “Oh darling..” Pulling you close again he pressed his lips to your hair, resting his own face in the strands for a moment before pulling himself together.

Not a man to let kneeling on the floor, gently cradling his wife and son be a tender sight that would take away from his command, but as Jon spoke, there was an anger tinted behind. Not giving a single bit of room for objection. “These men came in through the tunnels. I want all of them searched, and every entrance from the outside into the castle sealed one way. No one uses them to get into the castle.” The tunnels, you thought. They came in through the tunnels, hiding beneath your feet. “Guards stationed all around Winter Town and double at each gate and watch. There are to be two guards outside these chambers and two guards at each end of the hall day and night, no one comes in this room without us knowing about it.” Looking up to Theon, you felt Jons arms around you tighten as if to say not to argue as he said your name in reference. “I want to guards with her at all times if she isn’t at my side, she isn’t to go anywhere alone for the time being.”

That had you pulling back a bit, meekly trying to get his attention with a protest. “Jon,”

He only cut you off without a hesitation. “This isn’t a debate. That’s an order. Either you’re with me, or you have guards or Ghost with you at all times.” Biting your tongue, Jon gave you a darker, narrowed look as he ran a hand over the side of your face. “Understood?”

A saving miracle in that for that instance Jon did not make you say outloud, he accepted your nod before much more gently wrapping his hand to the back of your hair and tucking you back into his front, leaning his head against yours with his eyes closing for if just a moment of peace.

[serenisastar]

Intro post ⋆｡°✩

Atp I’ve been on this gay ass website for like 3 months or something so I thought it was time for one of these:

About me:

☆ Fandoms: Marauders (main), I love deadpool and Spider-Man, Willow and BBC Sherlock

☆ Ships: Jegulus (there will be no hate on Jily tho on this blog I also like that), Pandalily, Rosekiller, obvi wolfstar and nobleflower also depending on how I feel I’ll dabble in rarepairs, spideypool, tanthamore, johnlock

☆ Kins: Sirius Black apparently, on my best days Marlene McKinnon and I’ve been called James before aswell

☆ Likes: Music (Ethel Cain, Hozier, Oasis, Hole - I’ll pretty much listen to anything), Criminology and psychology rlly interest me also movies like dead poets society and shutter island (but I also love b99 and Yellowjackets) also i play drums and im in a band yayyyyy, and art!!! Modern era is probably my fave but some pieces of contemporary art are some of my faves, also writing

☆ Happy to talk to anyone just pls be appropriate

☆ Gonna post whatever I’m thinking so be ready for some batshit posts but I don’t think I’ll get political I want to keep this blog a happy little place for me to rant about my special interests and stuff like that

☆ Pronouns: she/her

☆ I’m not saying my age just don’t be a creep pls

☆ Lesbian and single 🫶 (I don’t rlly care that much about labels but i think this is the closest)

☆ Ruby Cruz is the love of my life in case anyone was asking

☆ Feminist (meaning I think EVERYONE should be equal)

Fics:

☆ She’s so soft like silk chiffon - Dorlene and marylily, mainly about the girls with jegulus, Rosekiller and wolfstar side, band au, main WIP

☆ Wildflower - Nobleflower, canon compliant but somehow angstier, WIP (won’t be updated for a while)

DNI IF:

- Sexist (misogynist or misandrist)

- Trump Supporter

- Xenophobic

- Homophobic

- Transphobic

- Just prejudiced in any way rlly let ppl be themselves pls unless they’re genuinely hurting someone it’s no-one’s business but their own