#cough cough arrow in arrow in bullseye

[yourmajestybee]

I saw Wicked the movie (I had already seen the musical!) and now I got wizard of oz on the brain so here’s my pitch for a rise of the brave tangled dragons au

Are y’all seeing the vision??

[omgkatherine01]

A New Sun: Chapter 1 - The First Step

Series Masterlist

Chapter 2

Pairing: Lo'ak x female reader

Please comment, like and share

Bullseye!

The 7 year old Isabella laughed and turned to the camera as it pointed from the target to her.

"Dad, did you get that?!" she asked.

"Of course I did!" her father said, "Can't miss it."

"Can I try another one?" Isabella asked.

"Go for it, can you pull the arrow out?"

"Yes, I can. I'm strong."

The screen turned back.

The 17 years old Isabella let out a soft sigh and darted her eyes to the door of her room when her friend, Daniel came in.

"Hey."

"What is it?" she asked right away.

Daniel let out a sigh, "They want to see if it will work this time."

Isabella didn't need to know what he meant. She knew. There was a project going on for a few years now, Daniel's mother and few other scientists thought of a way to make people breath without masks the gaseous air of Pandora without suffocation.

Isabella thought it was never going to work, because during the past years, the very few volunteers, had suffocated and died. Some in a few seconds, and some after a few minutes, and in her option, that was a record.

Her mother, General Frances Ardmore had sign her daughter up to that project, and made sure that the scientists would do with her better than the rest, to make sure this time it will succeed, but Isabella have no hope for this.

If I'll die, better here on a beautiful place than back at Earth... I guess, Isabella thought as she looked out to the outside at Pandora. Isabella looked at her friend before standing up.

She walked past him and all the way to the labs. Her mother was there, watching the volunteers.

"Mom," Isabella greeted with a small nod.

"Isabella," General Ardmore greeted back.

Daniel's mother, Katy walked closer to Isabella as the girl sat on a chair. She placed her jacket on her lap and let Kate inject something into her arm.

Daniel stood by General Ardmore and watched for a few minutes. "How are you feeling?" he asked.

Isabella shrugged, "Normal...?" she muttered.

General Ardmore handed her an oxygen mask, "Take it off after O'Neill, and only when he says it's okay to do so. Understand?"

Isabella nodded lightly, "Yes, ma'am."

Her mother's eyes darted to the others who were a bit away, and lowered her voice a little for only her to listen, "When you step outside, stay near the door, do not move away. If you will feel you can't breath, immediately get back in."

Isabella nodded lightly, "Okay."

"Put this on," General Ardmore said as she placed a covert earpiece in Isabella's ear.

General Ardmore nodded back and stood straight as she looked at her for a moment before moving her eyes to the others, "All right. Continue on."

Here it goes, Isabella thought as she and the other volunteers stepped outside.

Isabella's eyes moved around, not paying attention to the others. "All right, O'Neill, when you ready," she could hear her mother in her ear.

The man, O'Neill, took a deep breath, but before he could take his oxygen mask off, Isabella took hers. "Isabella!" her mother said.

The small group turned to the girl, and she rolled her eyes, "You were too slow," she said to O'Neill. She looked up at the sky before back at the group as her mother spoke.

"Isabella? How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine. Still here," she said. She watched the rest taking off their oxygen mask slowly and she turned back to look at the sky. Isabella frowned as she looked back at the group when she heard their breathing became quicker.

"Shit, shit, shit," she said and quickly started to pull them three people back inside the building.

They cough as they fell to the floor, and took deep breaths. Kate, her co-works, Daniel and General Ardmore ran closer. "Izzy!" Daniel said.

"I'm fine," Isabella said, and let out a sigh as she looked at her mother. "I'll go out there again, this time alone."

"No," General Ardmore said.

"Wha--I was fine, we need to see how long I can hang out there," Isabella said, "Just give me a chance!"

General Ardmore stared at her for a moment, "Stay near the door."

Isabella turned and walked back outside. She closed the door and took a few steps forward.

"How is it?" her mother asked.

"I'm still fine," Isabella said. Her eyes darted around, and she slowly smiled as she took in the outside world of Pandora. She took more steps forward, away from the building.

"Isabella, stay where we can see you!"

Isabella rolled her eyes with annoyance, "I'm fine."

"Turn back around."

Isabella took off her earpiece and continued to wander off. She turned and walked backward when she started to get much farther from the building, still breathing normal.

That made her laugh lightly.

The door opened and she saw her mother and a few soldiers stepping out with their oxygen masks.

Isabella smirked lightly and turned around. She speed her walk.

"Isabella!" Isabella stopped and sighed as she turned to at her mother's call.

"I'm still breathing!" she called and gave them thumbs up before she yelped when she tripped backward. She rolled backward into the entrance of the forest, and groaned as she placed her hand on her head.

"Isabella!"

"Son of a bitch," Isabella muttered as she sat up.

She heard a small gasp and rustling, and looked to the side between the trees. She could see something blue disappearing between the trees.

She slowly stood up, "Hello?" she asked cautiously.

"Isabella!" her mother shouted.

"Yo, Izzy, you okay?!" one of the soldiers called, concern in his voice.

"I'm okay!" Isabella called, keeping her eyes on the trees.

"She's without a mask," she heard a small voice saying quietly.

"Shh."

"How can she breath?"

"Shh!"

"Who's there?" Isabella asked and slowly approached the trees. Nothing. "It's okay... I won't say that I saw you, if that's what you're worried about."

Slowly she saw movements from in front of her, yellow eyes staring at her. She stared back at him. That was a Na'vi. A male one, as Isabella noticed by his face.

She heard movements again, but it was from her side and quickly glanced over to see her mother and the two soldiers running closer. "Isabella."

Isabella glanced back at the Na'vi and quickly moved away from the trees, "I'm fine. I'm okay."

General Ardmore let out a breath of relief. Isabella started to walk past her and the soldiers, "Let's go back. Come on."

When they weren't looking, Isabella glanced back to the tress and saw the Na'vi looked back at her before he quickly moved out of view when she caught him looking.

[shmowder]

Damn, your last work on Mark was inspiring enough for me. I remember that four years ago, when I first found out about the game he was my favorite character. My taste is awful :D

Anyway, a scenario came to my mind. Mark could be something of an incubus for reader, harassing them either for fun or to achieve endless devotion to himself (perhaps both). He would do anything to make their lives a living hell, just because he finds their fear somehow beautiful in its roughness. No one else will know about his visits, which will give the person the impression that they are going crazy, and this is all an unknown symptom of the Sand Plague. But because of the fear of becoming a "laboratory rat", reader does not dare to inform doctors about their ethereal pursuer. And one day when Mark disappears for a few days, they will suddenly realizes that they misses his sardonic presence, and will dream of meeting him again. Then their bond will become the strongest. And most painful.

🧡 anon

This concept just bonked me on the head with a cartoonishly large hammer, I have been flattened into a two-dimensional circual disk on the floor as we speak. It hit all the right spots.

Incubus Mark Immortell, that's exactly what I have been missing from my life all along. Tormentor and annoyed person who secretly enjoys it are my bread and butter.

The Devil Works Hard

[Heavy Smut, Exhibition, Near mindbreak, slight sadism]

[Top Dom Incubus Mark Immortell, GN Reader]

-

The coughing fit caught you off-guard, your body exerting with each forced exhale, as if your own flesh was attempting to cast your lungs out, the contrasting muscle pushed to its limits with each breath.

It took you by surprise, the so-called angel aiming for you much like an arrow reaching for its mark. You barely had a moment to react, and by the time the realisation dawned on you, the plague particles had already seeped into your skin, weaved through your lungs and made itself at home inside your skull.

All the preventive methods you've diligently upkept, all the protective clothes you've adorned, all the effort you've put in.

Planning each route you'd take, carefully sidestepping the infected areas unless absolutely necessary, avoiding the mainstream streets and cautiously taking the back alleys and grassy routes where it's less crowded.

All gone to waste in a mere split second, a coin toss of fate, a blind swing that landed bullseye.

In the following days, the symptoms started making themselves known as the plague took a liking to you, sealing your fate.

-

Sweat droplets rolled down your forehead before you could wipe them away, a fever spreading fast throughout your whole body, setting your skin ablaze.

It felt like you were melting into the mattress below, becoming one with the cotton sheet.

Summoning all that remained of your strength to extend your arm, you attempted to reach the glass atop the nearby nightstand. Fingers trembling, your throat closing in on itself as your eyes pored at the water inside with.

Fingertips grazing the side of the glass, its cool surface a small relief in contrast to your boiling blood.

Just as you were about to wrap your greedy fingers around it, a flash of red slapped it out of your loose grip, sending the glass wobbling over the edge of the nightstand alongside your hopes and dreams before the sharp sound of shattering roared through the room like a flash of thunder.

"You poor thing."

A voice—not the plague's; higher in pitch, clear, mocking—came from the edge of your bed.

The first thing you noticed about this...creature wasn't its long thin tail, nor the wide horns sprouting from its forehead. It wasn't the devil-like wings spread proudly on display emitting from its back or the elongated nails resembling sheathed claws.

It was his smirk, thin lips forming a menacing smile, without any razor-sharp teeth in sight, straight instead, human-like, lively, mocking.

Oh, you think, have you gone crazy? You must have if your hallucinations were this vivid.

"You have not." The creature–"Director, you mean. Mr. Immortell would suffice as well." Said.

Oh, you think, it—

"He." Mark corrected.

—He was reading your thoughts.

Was he a symptom of the plague, too? Out of the three healers that visited you daily with antibiotics, not a single one mentioned this stage of the disease.

"Which makes you an anomaly case." His smile, which you thought was already stretched wide enough, somehow deepened even more. "If the Bachelor doesn't melt your brain with his experimental medicine and prodding, then the Haruspex might just drag you onto the nearest surgery table and dig through your guts, or would our beloved miracle maker see you as a befitting sacrifice, a lamb sent by the gods, a crucial part in achieving her grand design."

Your guest kindly explained your current predicament with self-assured confidence as if he knew those three personally.

"Because I do, I've tailored each part to befit this story. You, on the other hand...." In the blink of an eye, a literal blink, he was on top of you. "....were an accident, a pathetic one at that. You really didn't see that cloud coming? You could've just stood in place to make it disappear, but even that was too hard for your brain to follow; you just had to shake in fear and become another burden on our already exhausted heros."

Pale blue eyes stared into your own, an expecting look demanding you explain yourself. Immortell's gaze making you feel impossibly small underneath him, akin to a child in trouble called out by their teacher in front of the whole class.

Frozen in place, your attempt to evade his gaze was deemed rather unimpressive by him.

One of his claws trailed upwards your neck, sending shivers down your spine. Caressing your jaw, digging into your bottom lip before–"suck"—his thumb forced its way into your mouth, pressing down your tongue, claw almost touching the back of your throat, an inch away from triggering your gag reflex.

Your glare only furthered the look of satisfaction on his face as you obeyed his order, shame dusting your reddening cheeks as you sucked his thumb, feeling it rub against your tongue.

"I could've simply removed you from the stage, burned your script, and wrote your part out. You were never that significant. A nameless faceless background character meant to only fill in the void, to give the illusion of a lively town."

The director made space for himself between your legs, spreading your thighs open as he pressed flush against you. Only the thin layer of clothes remained, a final separation line between–"Those must go."–the room air felt refreshing against your bare skin, alas that feeling was short-lived as another body heat joined yours, skin against skin, you felt a hardness pressing between your spread thighs.

"But here I am, offering you a second chance. I don't believe there is such a thing as bad actors, only untrained ones. A punishment is in order to discipline you, it's the duty of a director to look after his cast. Diamonds can only be forged under extreme pressure."

You couldn't speak. You couldn't talk, not with his thumb plugging your mouth. Only whine and drool around it. Lay down and take all that which he gives you.

"You're here by choice; you signed that contract." He reminded you, "You wanted to become part of something greater than your skin, desperate for any role in this play, to finally amount to something."

The head of his cock pressed against your dry–"wet"— soaking wet hole, sliding inside with ease after the long hours of preparation it took to get it to this stage.

Your body welcomed the intrusion, clenching around his cock each time it'd slide out as if attempting to pull it back inside, begging to be completely filled.

The more Mr. Immortell's hips rocked against your own with slow rhythmic thrusts, the more your body became pliant, desperate to obey and cater to his every whim.

Your own hips moved with a mind of their own, meeting his thrusts halfway, taking his cock down to the hilt.

Having to look into his eyes each time you clench down on him, sadistic eyes filled with delight at witnessing you wallow in shame.

Much to your horror–and embarrassment mostly–an orgasm was fast approaching, your body sensitivity increased ten folds. Squirming underneath him, mindlessly sucking on his finger as your insides warmed his cock.

Pleasure invading all of your senses, clenching every muscle on your body as you lower half spasmed, thighs shaking with the mess you were making. Staining the sheets below, a white fog clouding your brain from the sheer euphoria, unbridled pleasure only made bittersweet by the fact it was received through the most slow and simple sex you've ever heard.

"You don't deserve effort, that's why. Look at how easily you crumbled. Even in bed, you can't hold your own."

He didn't finish, of course he didn't finish, hard cock pulling out with a pop. Your stomach churns at the realisation you will miss out on his cum—that thought is so abrupt and jarring. Is it even your own? You'd never-

"Yes, it is." The director confirms your fears, "I've done very little besides ease your body. Everything else, every single thing so far, has been purely you."

His thumb finally grants you mercy and retreats from your mouth, a thin line of saliva connecting it to your lips before it falls apart.

"I believe in allowing actors their creative liberties." he elaborated more.

With that as his signal to leave, dissipate into thin air like a mirage. Leaving you questioning the very fabric of reality, if this all was a fever dream.

Yet your skin feels as normal as ever, your forehead isn't burning and—oh, he took your fever with him, in a sick twist of fate.

You're not granted the mercy of plausible deniability.

-

In the following week, Mr. Immortell became a frequent visitor. A constant in your life that's inconsistent with his timing as he tends to materialise out of seemingly nothing whenever the whim strikes.

Others can't see him, you found out. It didn't help the feeling of embarrassment as you attempted to keep a straight face while he littered your neck with bites and kisses, sucking against the tender spots, shamelessly whispering filth into your ears.

You also found out that your role wasn't as insignificant as he made it seem. A lot of rather crucial scenes demanded your presence, infected or not.

Each one of them was an opportunity for this devil to test your limits. To have you endure your punishment, hands travelling under your clothes, groping your intimate areas as you attempted to keep a civil conversation with the other actors.

Dutifully delivering your rehearsed lines as his fingers were knuckles deep inside you, going in and out, setting a cruel pace. It took all of your willpower to not stutter through every word, to suppress your moans in-between sentences, to not cum in a room filled with people watching your every move.

Each test you passed was only setting new standards for the upcoming one, expectations rising as he pushed and pushed. Extending the line beyond the snapping point and wearing it thin.

You were bent over furniture, made to take him anywhere and anytime.

Cornered against walls in alleyways, ordered on your knees as he filled your mouth with his cock.

Despising the way it tasted better than any dessert you've ever had, how expertly he trained your throat to take all of him without a fuss.

The promise of his cum had you chasing after its taste, eagerly licking stripes along the underside, peppering the head with kisses. Stuffing your mouth full of his cock, looking up to meet his gaze through your clumped together eyelashes and wet eyes.

He got off to your suffering, there was no doubt in that. The way his tail would swish around, pushing his cock deeper each time, watching you continue to please him even as he cut off your air circulation.

By the time he was anywhere close to finishing, your knees were bruised from staying on the ground for so long. The heat between your legs aching and left neglected for what seemed like hours.

Your reward finally arrived in the form of hot cum pouring down your throat, not letting you waste a drop as you struggle to swallow it all.

Did it have magical properties? It must have from the way its mere taste was enough to ease all the discomfort away from your body. Sending an electric pleasure through your core, seeping like honey into your brain, rewiring it whole.

Forcing a climax out of you, cumming whilst fully clothed, untouched, and with a mouthful of cock, on your knees.

Not that this was out of the ordinary, ever since your punishment started you've lost count of the amount of times you were made to cum, the euphoric release growing more intense each time. Threatening to melt your brain, make you lose your mind for good this time around.

The addicting pleasure, tantalising you with its promises, leaving you with a most cruel withdrawal in its aftermath.

Acting has become a second nature, your role a second skin, your character persona intertwining within your own. The script is your bible. The stage is your home.

Was he proud? Was he satisfied? It was hard to tell.

It was impossible to surpass his expectations; his standards are as high as the hanged constellations above.

But you desperately seeked his approval, eagerly obeyed every word, poured your heart into ever scene, surrendered your body to him during the breaks.

A demon's appetite was bottomless, a neversated desire to milk every possible reaction out of you. Get on your nerves enough times to fry them, either he ends up with an obedient devoted doll that adheres to his every word, or you finally prove yourself to be the gem amidst the mud he's been searching for.

At least he kept your symptoms at bay, even as the daily delivery of antibiotics stopped as the healers' rations ran dry, nearing the end of the story.

Stalling the sickness, a constant game of tug as it would increase in severity only for the taste of his lips to put the monster back to sleep.

He could make it vanish with a snap of his finger; this whole world is a mere product of his creation, fluid reality he swirls around with the sharp tip of his claw.

It was maintained on purpose, a part of your punishment. Akin to a collar around your neck, tightening with each day, reminding you of your past misdeeds, never allowing you the luxury of forgetting.

-

On the thirteenth day, you wake up to the sound of cannons firing off. Far in the distance, humanity's greatest achievement comes crashing down, bested by gunpowder and one little spark.

The miracle tower is no more. The church's bells ringing echoes through the vacant town. Devoid of kids, one half of the population slept in their homes with the doors locked tight, the other half cradled in graves. A barren, rotten womb.

The stage lights are set, and everyone takes their place, ready for the finale.

It doesn't go smoothly, the director is nowhere to be found. Roles are mixed up, and scripts are lost. People forget their lines. One of the healers' actors got into a fist fight with their replacement.

Despite the chaos, the show must go on. Everyone powers through it, improvising on the spot, aiding each other, and sharing responsibilities. Lights operators come down to help set designers with touch-ups, wardrobe crew filling in for the stage crew.

You're given a lightly used bottle of ketchup—they ran out of fake blood, someone mistook it for bagged tomato soup and moved it to the freezer, it was a whole incident—and told to go help set the visuals on the third letter courier before the Haruspex reaches him.

By sheer will, determination, and sweeping any mistakes under the proverbial carpet—the canons which went off way too early before their due time, causing a great shortage in staff as half of them were forced to abandon their duties and go help put together the polyhedron prop piece by piece—The day is finally finished, the last line has been said, the fate of the town was decided.

And the director is still nowhere in sight.

...

..

.

It was eerily quiet without him, the unnerving lack of his now familiar presence. The plague has long left the town alongside your body, so why did the air feel so thick and slimy?

Did you pass the test?

Was he finally proud of you?

Were you going to see him again?

That obnoxious smirk haunted your mind, that irritating voice that easily found its way under your skin no matter the occasion.

Those horns you held onto each time he lifted you against the wall.

Your hips wrapped around him as his wings engulfed you in a bubble of safety, offering you the slimmest of privacy as they narrowed your view to him only, condensing your world down to just the two of you.

The epilogue starts. You're not part of it. None of the npcs are. You watch from behind the curtains.

Fear churns in your stomach as the scenes come and go and there is still not a single hint of the director in sight.

The theatre scene is nearing...

He couldn't have abandoned his cast–abandoned you...could he?

"Of course not."

A voice—not the Tragedians'; deeper in pitch, clear, mocking—came from next to you.

You anticipate a hand around your waist, a pat on your shoulder, a tap on your head, a grip on your throat, even a kiss, anything at all!

What you do not anticipate, however, was the tender hug you're pulled into.

He doesn't need to say it–you've done well–his smile is telling enough already. A very subtle change you've learned to pick up on.

You proved yourself.

“That you have. Now tell me, who are you?”

You're transferred back to the casting stage, the tryouts trial as he asked you the very same question.

You gave your name, he wasn't satisfied.

You claimed your character's, he reminded you the role is nameless.

“You must have figured out the answer by now.” his voice taunting, two fingers gripping your chin, directing your face towards him.

“Who are you?”

He repeats.

You'll be anything he wants you to, you realise, you're ready to take on any role no matter how difficult, to memorise a million scripts, to become as fluid as water adjusting to the shape of any container it's placed within.

“And what does that make you?”

His. It makes you his.

There is no collar around your neck, no contract holding you back. You're as free as a bird, so why do you still find yourself eager to eat from his hand?

But you don't get to entertain these thoughts much before his lips meet yours, melting your brain with each swirl of his tongue, reminding you of the pliant, obedient role you must play by his side.

[sonntam]

Chapter 1 of God of War "Lore and Legends": (part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5)

Sometimes Father looks at me like I’m a stranger.

He frowns a little bit, and his eyes get dark. When he speaks, it’s usually just “Pass the goat butter, boy,” or something like that. If he ever smiled and asked, “How are you feeling today, Atreus?” I’d have to go check his hunting pouch for spotted mushrooms.

Actually, I have seen Father smile. But only when he’s sitting by the fire with Mother.

One night a few weeks ago they were discussing Leviathan’s balance and heft. The axe used to be hers, but she gave it to him a while ago. Of course, Father’s favorite topic of conversation is always weapons. But his eyes were so bright in the firelight, looking at her.

I could tell she means everything to him. Way more than me, that’s for sure.

—

Tonight is the best night of my life!

After dinner, Mother told me a bunch of amazing stories about Skaði, the great giant huntress. We talked about hunting for hours.

And then came the surprise!

She pulled something wrapped in oilskin from our weapon locker and told me to unroll it. I did and there it was — she finished the longbow! It’s beautiful! I helped her string it. She grabbed the bow and flexed it herself while I hooked the bowstring to each end.

I was so excited, I started to cough again. I don’t cough as much as I did when I was little, plus Mother has taught me how to breathe so I calm down. She taught me how to think about the animals I love.

Anyway, we’re going out to practice tomorrow, just Mother and me.

I’m so happy I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep tonight.

—

I was right. I can’t sleep.

I can’t stop starting at my longbow. It looks like a flying bird. A hawk, maybe. When I nock an arrow, it’s a hawk with killer talon. I’ve decided to call it my Talon Bow.

—

What a day! I am sitting on my fvaorite old log in Wildwoods. Mother’s just down the path, refilling out water flask in the falls.

We’ve been on a practice hunt!

This morning, Father returned from another two-day trek just as we were heading out into the woods. He gave me a nod and hugged Mother. But when he saw the Talon Bow, his eyes got big.

“Very nice,” he said.

I handed it to him and slid an arrow out of my quiver. He notched it, pulled it to full draw, and sighted down the arrow’s shaft.

“Remarkable,” he said, squinting.

But he didn’t shoot. He just eased the string forward and returned the arrow to me. Then he gave Mother a look. He smiled… I think. It’s hard to tell with him.

Mother showed me how to set my feet in a direct line to the target… move them shoulder-width apart… nock the arrow and pull back with three fingers just below it… line up my eye behind the arrow’s spine… slowly let out my breath… relax and aim… shoot.

After an hour, I got pretty good at hitting trees. Hitting rabbits? Not so good. Mother is amazing, though. She never misses.

I wonder how she got so good with weapons.

—

Why do I still get sick? I don’t get it.

It makes me really mad. Like today, Father was glad to see I’m learning skills that matter to him, so he coiled thick straw into a round target so I could practice with my new bow. I wanted to impress him. My first shots were a little wild… I was nervous. But pretty soon I started hitting the bullseye.

As I drew another arrow, a black-trailed hare suddenly hopped out of a bush near the target! I raised quickly and swung left to aim ahead of him. But just before I released, I felt a weird pulse in my head.

It was the rabbit! I could hear it… like a voice, but not words.

He was really scared.

I felt bad, so I swung away… but the bowstring slipped from my fingers! The arrow shot straight across the yard toward Mother, who sat carving wooden utensils with her special knife. It hit the fence just above her. In that second of flight, I fell to the ground.

I wanted to bash in my own head, I felt so stupid. I could have killed the thing I loved the most! I started yelling at myself.

Masterpost with God of War "Lore and Legends" transcriptions.

[bemystargirl]

𝐓𝐎𝐌𝐁 𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐑 — 02

𝗜𝗡 𝗪𝗛𝗜𝗖𝗛 a 21 year old, Isabella Wilson , straight out of collage with a fresh history degree and an ambition sets out on a journey to contact her uncle after years, ends up mis tracked with someone with the name of, Rafe Adler.

Water gushed past her, flooding her senses Isabella jolted up, coughing and spluttering, she can feel the shallow water running beneath her fingers, and also the throbbing on her head, She span herself out of the water.

Isabella groaned looking down at the now scraps of papers, almost all of them wet, muddy or gone. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!" Isabella scrambled after them, her fingers shook picking them up only to rip again, she sighed. watching them float down the current of the river.

It took her awhile to gain enough confidence to stand up, the pain in her head didn't subside, if anything it only got worse, the squelching in her scuffed up shoes drove her wild as she crouched down, her beat up cargo pants stuck to her skin feeling every little rock and dried up grass under her, she pulled off her backpack, another grunt of despair left her pursed lips, it was torn. Probably from the jagged rocks in the river but it didn't matter all her supplies have gone to shit.

Isabella felt light headed as she trailed down the river, her lips were dry and cracked, her hair was wiry and covered in her dry blood, which dripped down the side of her face every few minutes she would occasionally wipe the dripping blood off lazily, her slow footsteps mixed with the splashes of the fresh water. Her sight was going back and forth, black splotches covered her eyesight. It was obvious she was going to pass out soon enough.

The sound of gunshots ringing through out the forest kept her awake, her head followed where the birds cawed and flew away. it was nearby, too close.

Boredom was starting to ich her brain, the bow had been discarded, placed not-so-neatly against the tree, multiple arrows littered the tree, some of them near the bullseye other in the trees. Her white sneakers kicked at the dirt under her feet.

In her moment of boredom her eyes trailed to the window, the breeze forced it to slam against the frame, only to slowly creak back open, it repeated. The office. It was always locked. forbidden, prohibited, verboten.

But she knew something was in that room, and she was determined to find out, even if that left her scaffolding up the side of her creaky and old home.

The wind blew her brown hair as she climbed up the garden arch, her feet hoped between before she jumped over to the brick of her home, edging her away across the ledge. A gasp of shock left her throat, recatching herself her head followed the crumbling pieces of the bricks, watching the metamorphic rock, tumble and crack against the pavement floor, she whimpered in fear.

She stretched a hand out, to reach the balcony ledge of the office room, before her other hand slipped off. She squinted, shocked expecting to go falling into the greenhouse just below her, she was still hanging onto the balcony ledge, her other hand was next to her hanging body, she pulled herself up and over the fencing, she was so close she could actually touch the office window.

The room was warm, warmer then it was outside still the breeze from the window made her shiver as she took another step in, a gut retching feeling was pooling in her stomach, she felt something off, bookcases that looked like they stretched miles above her head, towering over her, with a simple desk and those stupid bankers lamps.

The oak wood creaked under her feet which each brooding step she took. She felt her heart in her throat as she went round the desk, sinking into his black leather chair , her hand smoothed over the desk top, the feeling of polished oak under her fingertips she sighed.

Looking around the dull room, remembering how her mother and father would read together, brought a smile onto her face.

"And so the child walked further and further into the forest , ignoring his mothers cries, stretching down creaky and twisting paths , he swore he could hear the taunting trees whisper and with a big and gruff voice he yelled out--"

He spoke out once again his voice deep and soothing, only to stop and flip the page before she spoke this time, with a certain softness to her tone that you could never place.

"I'm not afraid of any mere forest." She licked her lips, after scoffing "I'm not afraid of anything."

Where was that book? Isabella twisted off her seat, trying her very best to read the faded titles, brushing away endless amounts of dust, there it was with its very rememberable font, 'the boy who got lost' the contrast of the cold metal book corners, the musty smell of the pages and the rough texture of the book cover she tried to pull it out, but she couldn't.

Something was keeping it stuck, but still she pulled and pulled tugging away at the book before she fell back, the book on her chest she slipped to her back, another groan was forced out of her, breathing shallow as the boy lay heavy, with flickering eyes the sound of shuffling and a cascade of books fell off the shelf.

"--Shit!" Isabella could barely make out, quickly rolling over, book in hand the continuous sound of books opening and quickly shutting closed, until it stopped, and another clattering sound shifted across the floor, this time it was softer. Her eyes peeled open.

A brown wooden box lay on the floor, a few inches away from the new pile of books created.

She reached out, once again running her fingers over the pattern indented on the box, it was average size, with gold paint in the carvings representing flowers, and leaves the most recognizable one were the poppies.

The rusty clatch opened, the lid fell off, feet under her legs she put the box down, rummaging through. There were pictures, letters, news articles. The picture was faded, probably from age but the handwriting underneath was slightly recognizable.

'Emily Marie Wilson , 1998.'

The slight shimmering caught her eye once more, a locket. with the same poppies and flowers carved, with a small amount of struggle, the latch popped open, The same brown hair and eyes, small freckle on her right lip and smile on her lips, and his hazel eyes and grin on his. the two looking down at the baby wrapped in green.

The sound of the front door bursting open caught her off gaurd.

"I don't give two shits, Quinn. Find my fucking brother!" A female voice, obviously angry and weirdly familiar. "Fuckin' Richard." She sighed, softer then before the muffled speaking gave her enough time to dash out of the window, back over the balcony, her hands gripped onto the ledge once more, this time the fence gave way, she slipped, a scream left her lungs as she fell onto the greenhouse, rolling down for her to slip off the side, she was barely dangling off the edge the slight rain falling made it harder to keep hold.

"What the fuck?" The voice was getting closer, she was running outside, Isabella dropped down to the floor, she ran over to her bow, the arrows were stuck in the tree, with sweaty hands and panting she tried her best to pull the arrows out before a hand snaked round hers pulling her towards the mystery person.

"Isabella--" Aunt Linda. Isabella lowered her bow back down.

"Aunt? Where's dad?" Isabella frowned at the sight of her aunt.

"Richar- Your dad is busy right now, Love, we need to go." Linda grabbed her hand, pulling the poppy locket from her palm she looked down at Isabella. "Where did you get this?"

Isabella was ashamed, looking down at the now wet grass. "...Dad's office." She crouched down, clipping the locket around her neck.

"We need to go."

Isabella was crouched behind a fallen tree trunk, just peering over the top to take notice of the group of men, searching for... something? someone? Her questions were quickly answered by a man quickly lifting his hand over a crate to shoot, knocking a few of the men down, Isabella gasped with horror.

Just as Isabella decided she would swiftly going to make her leave, to avoid getting well.. duh.. killed. She noticed something, a bow and quiver lay on the desk in a hut. Isabella was stuck, she could leave now and die from starvation in the forest... or she could risk her life and get the bow now.

After some furrow thinking, she was slowly avoiding and dodging bullets and flying bodies everywhere, rolling to the next crate, she was practically begging that the shooting men would focus one that one man and ignore her.

She let out a small jolt of shock as a dead body dropped in front of her, she took a step back, her hand resting on the jeep she was hiding behind before she tore her eyes away from the dead body and stepped over it.

She was so close she could practically touch the bow, just as her fingers grabbed hold of the wood she looked at the man, gun raised at her, her heart dropped.

She scrambled away into the wall, her eyes going from the pistol in his hands to his sea blue eyes, he was panting, nervous, strands of his what seemed to be previously slicked back hair were falling against his face.

Isabella stayed silent, bow and quiver full of arrows in her lap, blood dripping down the side of her face, large eyebags , cracked lips and all. She took in deep breaths, watching him ,waiting for him to shoot her.

The sound of running from outside made him tear his eyes away from hers, his hand shook with anger as he looked back at her, gesturing to the door with his gun.

"Fuck.. Get out of here." He stated, waiting for her to go, she didn't give it any second thought, using the string of the bow like a strap she pulled it over her shoulder, and ran avoiding the bullet shots that came after her, she could hear her saviors bullets ring out shortly after her, before getting replaced by the crunching of dirt, branches and leaves under her feet and her heavily breathing.

“Someone follow her!” She heard someone yell, rough and loud footsteps followed after her

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

bullseye, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: Are you the insufferable, cocky, absolutely-no-good-for-anyone female equivalent of a fuckboy? Maybe. Okay, yeah. But guess who decided to come along and interrupt your conquests? Jeon Jungkook. What now? Complain to your best friend Kim Taehyung all day or fucking do something about it?

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; alcohol consumption; Taehyung getting shitfaced lol; you're a cocky asshole and so is Jungkook, welp; schemes; smut (fem reader, making out / dry humping in public, cowgirl, m-masturbation, edging / orgasm denial, penetrative sex, so much kissing); non-idol!BTS; (secretly pining) fuckboy!Jungkook x bisexual, fuckgirl!reader; ft artist, best friend!Taehyung; mostly reader's POV with a short JK's POV

yes, it's purple-haired Butter JK

--

now playing – 마.피.아. in the morning by itzy

“Are you kidding me? Fucking Jeon Jungkook, again?”

“You need to calm down,” Kim Taehyung said, patting your shoulder and handing you a mojito.

“What I need is a fucking bow and arrow to shoot down this fucking pest!”

“I know you were the archery champion in high school, but that’s still a weird thing to think,” replied that baritone voice, pushing you into a chair so he could sit down as well, observing you violently chugging down the entire mojito in your rage. He seemed highly amused, looking a bit like a young French socialite in a black beret, loose tan dress shirt, and black slacks with black loafers. Gold accents because Kim Taehyung was that bitch. “Never ceases to impress me that you can do that.”

You pulled the glass from your lips, ice and mint clinking. “This is the third girl I’ve been dating that he’s just–” You flapped a hand in the general direction of the crowd at the bar, completely ignoring Taehyung’s comment about your record-breaking skills of draining cocktails. “–unashamedly making out with when clearly I’m right here.”

Taehyung rolled his eyes, far too crass for how drop-dead handsome he was, but it seemed that he didn’t care. “I doubt he knows you’re here or that you’re dating them. And to make it fair on him, you were casually dating them all at once, so technically, no one is at fault here,” he added.

You narrowed your eyes. “I wasn’t–”

Taehyung gave you this look.

The look of ‘shut-up-you-know-I’m-right’.

Being your best friend, he had a right to do that.

“Shouldn’t you be mad at the girl anyway? Being faithful and all that, which, by the way, you are not.”

“Dating is not the same as being in a relationship,” you argued.

“Mmm, so fucking them is not indicative enough that you should be less of a fuckboy.”

“I’m not a fuckboy,” you muttered. “I’m a woman.”

Taehyung raised an eyebrow. “The general term still stands because you’re a class-A asshole.”

You closed your eyes and sucked in a deep breath, trying not to bolt home and buy a bow and arrow online to shoot, not Jeon Jungkook, but Kim Taehyung, because he was testing your last nerve with the truth.

“Again, why are you not mad at them?” Taehyung reoriented the conversation with a sweep of his arm when you opened your eyes, prompting your gaze to shift and witness Jeon Jungkook with his tongue down a pretty girl’s throat. This cheeky bastard was even wearing a leather jacket and white shirt, just like you. The only difference was that you wore a leather miniskirt and he wore black jeans with rips in the thighs, but both of you were wearing heeled black moto-style boots.

“Because he’s the denominator in this equation,” you snapped, smacking your glass on the table.

“Please do not make math references. My brain is not made for that.”

“Fractions? Tae, seriously, are you defective or–”

“Maybe he’s doing it to piss you off.”

“Well, I am pissed off!”

The bar was very loud with music and noise. Your shout was still clearly heard. Neither you or Taehyung seemed to care that people turned to look at you two and shake their heads.

Taehyung shrugged. “Then he succeeded.”

You clicked your tongue. “Why, though? I didn’t do anything to him. He just started popping up stealing my girls. What if I switch back to chasing dick and he takes them too?”

Taehyung snorted. “I doubt it. You’re just continuing on this train because you’re stubborn.”

As usual, he saw right through you.

He raised an elegant hand and tapped his lips. “Maybe he likes you.”

You gave Taehyung the most disbelieving, fiery, indignant look that you had ever produced in your life.

“Or, he doesn’t,” he hastily corrected. “Let’s face it, sometimes I don’t even like you and I would murder for your dumb ass.”

You tapped the melting glass of icy mint onto the tabletop.

Menacingly.

“If you think about it,” Taehyung began tentatively, scooting his chair slightly away from you with your flaming eyes boring holes in the back of Jeon Jungkook’s head. His hair was dark violet now so you could spot him easily, pinning your (not yours, but you know, that was your prey at one point) girl against the back wall of the bar. “He always goes after your target. He wants you to notice something.”

You watched a YouTube video once about making your own bow and arrow. It didn’t seem that difficult, all things considered. Sharpening a long stick with a knife and–

“Stop thinking about murder.”

You jerked your head back to Taehyung and his honey-brown curls framing his amused expression. You glared in response.

“I’ve never interacted with him a day in my life,” you frowned, abandoning your homicidal tendencies for the moment. “What does he want me to notice?”

Taehyung gave you a pained look. You returned with a black stare. Then he sighed and shook his head.

“He’s a fuckboy. You’re the female equivalent of a fuckboy. What do you think he wants?”

“My body count?”

Taehyung slapped his own face, muttering under his breath. “… be part of your body count.”

“Sorry, what?” You raised your voice over the bass. “Can’t hear you over the music.”

He raised his head. “I don’t know. Fight him. See what happens.”

“I’m not gonna win a fistfight.”

Taehyung looked ready to fistfight you.

You stood up, dragging him by the arm. “Come on, wingman. I need another drink. I’ll buy, since you got me the last one.”

Taehyung laughed, loud and full, yanking his arm out of your grip and clapping a hand around your shoulders, pulling you to him so your body knocked into him. You grimaced, now forced to walk side by side with him, not seeing the looks shared between the patrons witnessing you two together.

“Now we’re talking. I wanna get trashed.”

“Cure for a broken heart, am I right?”

“Mine’s shattered,” Taehyung chuckled, rubbing the left side of his chest playfully, but you couldn’t help but notice the hurt in his eyes. It was his idea to go out tonight and assist you with getting laid but, one, you didn’t need assistance and, two, he had recently broken up. It was pretty obvious he just wanted you to buy him drinks and have an excuse to do something.

Which was fine with you, until Jeon Jungkook showed up holding your previous eye candy.

Hmph.

Whatever, you had a Taehyung to nurse back to health with an obscene amount of alcohol.

-

Two hours later, you were standing in the men’s bathroom, holding Taehyung’s beret with one hand and his hair in the other as he vomited loudly into the toilet.

“Sup.”

The guy looked in the stall and then looked at you.

“You’re not supposed to be here…”

You raised an eyebrow. “You wanna hold his hair?”

The guy slunk away at your dismissive tone.

Taehyung tapped your thigh and you patted him on the head soothingly. He flushed and coughed.

"S... sorry," he croaked wetly.

You chuckled. "Wash your mouth, ya nasty."

He got up and you straightened his clothes in an almost maternal fashion.

"Need water, I think..." he winced, stumbling past you to the counter. You followed him to make sure he didn't hurl in the fucking sink.

"I'll be right back. Don't do anything crazy."

"Heh, that’s you," he slurred as he put his hands under the tap to wash up.

You plopped his beret on your head and sauntered out of the men's bathroom, unbothered by the stares and the people trying to catch your eye. It took you no time at all to waltz to the counter and obtain the water, striding back to the men's bathroom with the tall glass.

Only to run into you-know-who.

The girl sputtered your name in surprise as if she hadn't met you in this very bar a couple of weeks ago.

You completely ignored her existence, narrowing your eyes at the smirking face of Jeon Jungkook.

There was no denying his attractiveness. His purple hair was a little messy now, curling around his high cheekbones and large brown eyes. The dim light of the bar cast strange shadows over his chiseled jaw and shapely lips, curved into a devilish grin. He had a mole and red lipstick residue underneath his lower lip.

You had a strong urge to douse him and his leather jacket with your giant glass of water.

Taehyung was the one who found out Jungkook's name for you. You sent him on the mission after the first time this little shit started meddling in your business.

At this moment, you remembered that.

You pointedly looked away, walking past Jungkook, knocking into his arm forcefully and on purpose, annoyed that he seemed pretty strong under that jacket, muscular and lean. Whatever. You had a large bear cub named Kim Taehyung to take care of. You didn't have time to waste on Jeon Jungkook.

"Hey."

You stiffened at the deep, silvery voice. Of course. He had to have a sexy voice too. Bitch.

"You should apologize."

Your eyes flickered to the glass of water. It was pretty cold in your hand. You raised your chin back up, facing towards the bathrooms.

The choice was easy.

You continued waking and raised your free hand to flip Jeon Jungkook the bird, off to deliver the water to your best friend.

Some guy at the urinal screamed as you entered the men's bathroom but you completely ignored him, only focusing on Taehyung, who was gripping the corner of the sink, turning not to pass out, pallid face dripping and looking green.

"Drink this and I'll take you home."

-

"Ugh, thanks for the other day... sorry I wasn't the best wingman... I ended up making you exorcize my demons instead..."

You laughed, jabbing a toothpick in the steaming fried chicken. You and Kim Taehyung again, hanging out in the afternoon at the local chicken spot.

"It's cool. I know you needed it."

Taehyung frowned. "If you knew, why did you play along?"

You shrugged. "You would've done the same for me."

He smiled and popped a piece of crispy chicken in his mouth. "Yeah, if you ever had a serious relationship for once."

You glared. "This is a non-judgment zone. Shut up."

He chuckled. Then he leaned in and you grimaced, catching a whiff of his chicken breath. He was wearing a pinstriped shirt and neglected to button the first two because he was too hot to bother with some stupid buttons. You weren't going to say you could relate, but you were wearing a loose black sweater dress that was bordering on flashing your panties, so, maybe.

"I heard from a little birdie that you had a run-in with the bane of your existence."

You raised an eyebrow. "The tax man?"

Taehyung rolled his eyes. "No, the other one."

Now it was your turn to roll yours. "Oh, right. The Dark Lord."

Taehyung gave you a weird look. "Is that a movie reference or..."

"Harry Potter, ever heard of it?"

"You're such a nerd."

"That's not... anyway, so what?"

He wiggled his eyebrows. "He spoke to you."

You narrowed your eyes. "Where do you get your information?"

He fidgeted. "Uh... a reliable source that chooses to remain anonymous."

Your eyes became slits. "Who."

Taehyung stick his tongue out at you. "The whole point of anonymous is you not knowing!"

"Who are you, fucking Rita Skeeter–"

"Stop with the weird references!"

"For fuck's sake," you hissed, causing a mother sitting at a table near yours to chastise you, covering their kid’s ears. You frowned, lowering your voice. "Alright so what? He opened his mouth; nothing original came out." You jabbed another piece of chicken.

"Well? Feel any tension? Sweet romance? Unbridled fury?" Taehyung piped, greatly interested in your two-second interaction with Jeon Jungkook.

You chewed, huffing. "I had a big kid to take care of. I didn't give a shit."

"Hey, I'm not a kid!" he shot back.

"Yeah, yeah. Anyway, you’re more important to me than poking his pretty eyeballs out of his head, so I didn't even reply."

Taehyung paused, mid-chew. "Really?"

"Yes, I didn't say–"

"No, that I'm important to you."

Taehyung was doing that thing where his big brown eyes went all sparkly and sentimental. It was making you uncomfortable. Bad with feelings and all that. The only reason you tolerated it was because Taehyung had been like this ever since he was that dorky weird kid you defended from bullies in elementary school. A folding chair was involved and you might have watched too many WWE TLC (tables, ladders, chairs) matches as a kid, but hey, those bullies didn’t bother Taehyung ever again, did they?

You got sent to detention for the rest of the year and anger management counseling appointments, but Taehyung remained your friend throughout the whole ordeal and for years to come, tolerating your poor life choices so… worth?

You reached over and shut his open mouth. "Of course, you are, that's why I'm not calling you a disgusting pig for chewing with your mouth open."

"Oi, that's bullying!"

"You bully me all the time," you snorted and the same mom made a noise of distaste that you pretended not to hear. "Like now you keep bringing up the spawn of Satan."

"You're also the spawn of Satan, by the way."

"Yeah, and you're my guardian angel and he ain't got shit, so I’ve already won this war."

Taehyung laughed nervously.

"Er, yes... totally..."

-

Another day, another conquest.

Well, you had to find the prey first, but that wasn’t going to be hard.

“You’re a chronic asshole.”

“Thanks, Tae. You sure you don’t wanna come?”

He rolled his eyes at you as you shrugged on one of his black dress shirts. You checked the tag. Silk. Damn. Kim Taehyung was a fancy bitch. He leaned against the closet doorframe as you fitted your black leather corset-style belt at your waist to cinch it in. You often raided Taehyung’s closet and paired it with your accessories. Did he enjoy your fucking in his clothes? Probably not, but you always returned them cleaned in the proper way, so he couldn’t complain.

He did anyway.

“No, I don’t. Let me sulk.”

“Ah, yes, moody starving artist, I’ll let you be,” you snickered, slinging the waist bag over your shoulder, wearing it across your chest instead of your hips. You lightly punched him in the arm and he pretended to topple over exaggeratedly. “You going to paint today?”

He shrugged. “I think. Dunno what media I want to use.”

“Just use a bunch of different ones. Your mixed media stuff is amazing,” you replied, waltzing out of his bedroom, past his messy studio with a blank canvas balanced on a wooden easel in the center of absolute chaos of paints. You helped him organize them once, but Taehyung often was too in the zone to pay attention to neatness.

“When’s the exhibit? I want to drop by,” you commented, seeing the line of his works safely wrapped up, leaning against the wall.

“Um… next week, Thursday through Sunday,” Taehyung replied sheepishly, cheeks flaring red at the mention of his own art exhibit. He was humble even though he was talented. “I’ll text you the address. Don’t show up looking like a high-paid escort.”

You tucked your feet into your heels and raised an eyebrow.

Silk black men’s shirt worn as a dress, belted at the waist to show off your curves, bare legs out, toned calves standing out due to your sleek black high heels.

“Who, me? Never.”

Taehyung shook his head. “Text me if you need a ride.”

“You got it.”

-

“You have got to be kidding me.”

You tapped your nails on the bar, having already finished your peach mojito.

“Fucking Jeon Jungkook, again?”

You needed to invest in a bow and arrow, like, yesterday.

Shoot right between his pretty eyeballs. Dude even pulled back his long, deep purple hair into a smooth ponytail with wispy strands framing his sculpted face. Was that damn eyeliner and mascara making his eyes look sharper, sexier? Fuck, he even knew how to make himself look even hotter.

Not as hot as you, of course.

“How does he always know where I’m at?” you muttered under your breath, turning away to look at the bartender and order another mojito. Watermelon. It seemed interesting. Fuck it, you were going to focus on drinking rather than the thorn in your side, Jeon Jungkook and his black dress shirt halfway buttoned and his tight-fitting black slacks with sleek oxfords. The bartender slid your glass in front of you, a gradient of pink to transparent with a little sprig of mint on top. It was a pretty drink.

You reached into your waist bag to pay, but the bartender stopped you.

“The gentleman over there paid for you. A gift.”

Oh? Maybe a potential for the night. You shifted your gaze to–

Oh.

“Tell him to fu–”

But the bartender was already off servicing other customers on this busy night.

Shit.

You know what? Fine. He put himself up as the target. He wanted to play this game.

And you never missed a bullseye.

You tilted your head to survey Jeon Jungkook out of the corner of your eye, making his way over to you, bringing your drink close to your lips. He stopped right next to you. The colorful lights of the club made rainbows dance across his lightly tanned skin and his dark lips, curled into a smug smirk.

“Hey.”

You cocked an eyebrow.

Drank.

Mmm, fuck, that was some deliciously smooth rum. The watermelon was a refreshing addition to the mint too. You probably weren’t meant to drink it all at once, but you were glaring at Jungkook who was pointedly watching your throat swallow and it was aggravating you more and more, the entire drink disappearing in record time, leaving nothing but ice and mint.

You smacked the glass down on this table with a hiss.

Jungkook purred your name with that deep, silvery voice of his. His eyes flickered down to your exposed collarbones and then back up to your face.

You clicked your tongue.

Then you turned away from him dismissively, walking past him, knocking into his arm forcefully and on purpose.

But instead of letting it happen, Jungkook shifted his weight and slid to block your path. You stopped, eyes darting up to narrow at that conceited little brat’s face. Now you could smell his cologne, fresh, sensual, a mix of pungent dragon fruit and black coffee.

Hold on.

You inhaled. Yup, no mistaking it.

That was your perfume.

Jungkook grinned as the realization hit you. How did he know what perfume you used?

“The fuck you want?” you growled.

He licked his lips slowly. He ticked his chin, taunting you.

“Finally got you to talk to me,” he purred, chuckling.

Alright, you were past causing actual bodily harm these days – jail being your primary reason – but that didn’t stop you from staring down Jeon Jungkook and his self-satisfied smirk with your signature tapering of your sharp stare.

You just stood there.

Menacingly.

He bit his lower lip, exposing that tiny mole underneath, shivering under your gaze. “Are you mad at me?” he asked, almost innocently, but there was no chance in hell that he was.

You quirked your head, lifting your chin defiantly. “Absolutely fuming,” you replied acidly.

He took a step towards you, closing the distance, so close you could feel his warmth, your breasts brushing against his chest. Now people were whispering around you two, sensing the tension between you and Jungkook. The similar outfits, the same violent energy, the same predatory aura.

As if the fox had confronted the wolf.

“What’s there to be mad about when we play the same game?” Jungkook drawled.

Cocky. The fox was so damn cocky.

“You’re just nibbling on my leftovers,” you countered, stepping forward so you pressed against him, burning body heat to burning body heat. “Which makes you the scavenger.”

Jungkook leaned down, dark brown eyes glittering with amusement.

“Then why so angry?”

His lips ghosted over yours, breathing in your exhale.

“I’m just a pest, right? A mere annoyance in your eventual victory.”

His lashes lowered, arrogant smirk reaching his dark eyes.

“Play your ace. Let’s see if it works,” he purred in the deep, sexy octave of his.

Shut up.

A low snarl rumbled in your chest.

“Shut up, Jeon Jungkook.”

You gripped his belt and yanked him to your body, rolling your crotch into his, your lips colliding with that maddening smirk, alcohol, dragon fruit, black coffee, flint igniting the dry wood, devouring his lips hungrily, his hands sliding up your sides, and his smile.

Triumph.

-

Shit.

-

You couldn’t give two fucks about Jeon Jungkook and he was into it.

Like the impossible enigma, he couldn’t figure you out but he was drawn to you anyway. The whole world was your plaything, and you treated it as such. There was something exciting about you, the thrill too irresistible to avoid when you made your presence known. Always you and that teasing smile, never getting serious, making everyone hesitate to take it farther with you. Who could blame them with your borderline brash attitude and ease of moving from one to the next?

That and your friendship with Kim Taehyung, who was a whole damn tiger next to your wolfish nature.

At first, Jungkook was intrigued.

As time went on, he became frustrated and annoyed.

What gave you the right to ignore him?

You picked up guys far less attractive than he was, not that he was that vain but, seriously, he was right here! Waiting to be caught. He didn’t try to interfere at first. In fact, Jungkook wasn’t even the sleep-around-and-mess-with-feelings kind of guy. But the more he watched you, the more impressed he was, seeing the way you charmed your way into everyone’s hearts, the way you focused on them for that moment, making them feel like they were the most perfect creature on Earth before slinking to the next, leaving them with a pining heart and lost in fantasies of what-ifs.

And, yeah, you were hot.

What was Jungkook going to do?

He could do nothing.

Or he could befriend Kim Taehyung, get under your skin, and make you notice him.

Not a scheme, per se.

Kind of a scheme.

Alright, definitely a scheme.

In Jungkook’s defense, your best friend Taehyung was all for it. Taehyung was the one who came up with all the ideas, informed him of your location, and the names of the girls you were after.

“Give her a taste of her own medicine. She needs a reality check.”

The problem was, Jungkook didn’t really want to let you go now that you were in his arms.

-

“Silly pretty boy.”

You had his chin in your palm, pressing your thumb against Jungkook’s lower lip, opening his hungry mouth to tease him with your tongue, tracing his soft lips and thrusting in, his low moan filling your lungs. His hands on your waist tightened, pulling you closer even through you were already in his lap, murmurs and eyes on you, but neither your nor Jungkook cared, used to this by now.

You were, after all, making out in the club.

The chair scraped against the ground as Jungkook firmly placed your thighs on either side of his, thrusting upwards into your core, letting your feel his rapidly growing hardness with every one of your kisses. Your hair feathered his cheeks and shoulders as your free hand toyed with his ponytail, twirling it in your fingers, smirking into his lips with his gasp from you grinding back down on his crotch, rolling your hips into him.

“Thought I was the bane of your existence?” Jungkook taunted under you, squeezing your ass through the silk and meeting your movements, staring into your eyes with his. So dark, so smokey, so fucking sexy, almost like looking into a mirror, because you too wore similar makeup, maybe a little darker and a little more of a flick to your eyeliner. “Just going to kiss me to shut me up?”

You wouldn’t be surprised if the other clubgoers were eagerly watching now, waiting to see what was going to happen between you and him.

“I don’t need to be on your mouth to shut you up,” you mused, tugging his ponytail back and kissing down his neck, tongue tracing the contours of his muscles, feeling him shudder under your lips and teeth, lightly nipping at his skin. Tracing circles, gentle kisses, relishing in his gasps and his tightened grip on you, letting your breath linger for that extra second, that extra what-if, kissing back up his neck and onto his jawline, murmuring his name sweetly, tip of your tongue curling around his earrings and bouncing them, sighing softly in his ear.

“Can’t claim my leftovers when my leftovers are you, now can you, naughty boy?” you chuckled darkly, pressing your breasts on his hot chest and your clothed pussy on the tip of his stiff length, rutting against it, making him hiss your name.

“I have no intention of being leftovers,” he growled into your ear.

Your eyes flew open as his lips transfixed to the space under your ear, sucking hard, forcing you to squeeze your thighs at the attack on your erogenous zone, sparks of arousal flinching through you, soaking your panties. You gasped, hips bucking into his needily, barely processing his words, his tongue flicking against your throbbing skin, lips and teeth, and then his mouth was moving, traveling up your earlobe, nipping at the curve, your eyelids fluttering, clutching his purple ponytail tightly.

How did he know? Did he ask your previous conquests to spill the information? There was no time to think, his hands traveling up your back, clenching fistfuls of your shirt and digging his nails into your back, your body responding and squirming against him, the quiet whine of his name escaping your lips and drifting right into his ear.

“J… Jungkook…”

He groaned, turning your head forcefully, him kissing you this time, just as ravenous, just as powerful, basically simulating sex in the middle of the fucking club with the way your hips were twisting into his and he was thrusting back against you, breathless, whispering in your mouth so only you could hear his words resonate in your chest.

“Fuck, you’re so hot, you turn me on so fucking easily, I just have to have you,” he murmured, his forehead pressed against yours, capturing your lips again and again. “There’s no way you’re any good for me, but I don’t care, fuck.”

You snickered, eye to eye, trapped in those expanding pupils and his heavy pants. “They say the same about you, Jeon Jungkook.”

You felt him smirk. “Nah, not me. No one calls me the spawn of Satan.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You sure? Because I do.”

Jungkook’s tongue licked your lips, making your shiver in delight. “That was special treatment. Just for you.”

Hold on a second.

Through your hazy buzzed brain, you began to piece the puzzle together. With each part falling into place, the amusement in Jungkook’s eyes grew and grew, seeing you fill in the missing blanks. Your eyes widened and you curled a finger around his ponytail, yanking roughly to pull his grinning face away from yours. You jerked back, but his strong hands held you in place.

Wispy strands of violet framing that devious expression.

“Taehyung,” you breathed, venomous.

Jungkook had the audacity to cock an eyebrow.

“Yep.”

You were going to kill Taehyung. That little shit! Taehyung was no idiot, so he must have planned this somehow. He always telling you to get serious and stop messing around. That’s why Jungkook always knew who you were dating, where you were, and what you were wearing! Did Taehyung recruit Jeon Jungkook to trick you? Fuck! He was dead meat, scheming against you like this!

Jungkook brought you out of your homicidal tendencies with a soft drawl of your name.

“For the record, he was helping me out,” he murmured, pulling you to him, pressing your chest to his. You narrowed your eyes, his hard cock still throbbing against your panties. “I want you.”

He lowered his face, breathing hard.

“Not just like this.”

Your eyes widened.

“I said I’m not going to be leftovers.” Looking deep into your eyes, holding you tightly. “I’m not going to let you throw me away like the rest.” Every inhale making your body rise into his touch, his deep, silvery voice saturated with lust and determination. “I’m going to make you fall in love with me as much as I am in love with you.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but���

Jungkook gave you this look.

The look of ‘you-know-you’ve-already-lost’.

You could sit here and pretend, but you were also grinding back onto his dick right out here in the open, clutching his purple hair and his pretty face. His hard body was tucked snugly in your thighs. That smug little smirk. Shit, shit, shit.

Jeon Jungkook got you and he got you good.

He knew it too, his hands sliding down and grabbing your ass again, rolling his hips into yours.

“Come on. Let’s fuck.”

-

“Oh, fuck, yes, yes, yes!”

Jungkook threw his head back onto his pillows, exposing his straining throat, veins popping out, clutching your hips strongly to rut back against you as you smacked your crotch down onto him, riding him hard and fast, your hands next to his head, his long purple hair a mess even if it was still in the ponytail, sweat glistening on his forehead, moaning loudly with your walls closing in on his hardness. You were too busy fucking the daylights out of him to say anything, but Jungkook had plenty to say, hazy eyes opening and gasping as he viewed your body hovering over him, naked with his hickeys on your neck and breasts, strong thighs flexed on either side of him, his rock-hard cock repeatedly disappearing into your tight, wet hole.

“Fuck, I knew it, I knew you would be so fucking good and so fucking sexy,” he whined, nails digging into your hips and adding more force to your thrusts.

Your clothes and his clothes were all over his bedroom floor.

Your phone was on his nightstand.

Tonight, you sent one text to Kim Taehyung.

I’m gonna buy a bow and arrow and shoot you in the ass.

You screen flashed, indicating Taehyung had replied. One quick flick of your eyes and you smirked.

Oh shit.

Jungkook squeezed your ass, making your return your attention to him.

“Focus on me,” he begged, blown-out pupils. “Only me, please.”

“So needy,” you teased, licking your lips slowly. He groaned under you, mouth opening, his pretty pink tongue lolling out, desperate to be sucked. “If you think you can keep me, you’ll have to last longer than this, Jungkook.”

He swallowed hard at the way you said his name, a mixture of warning and desire.

“P-Please… it’s too good, I-I can’t…”

You redoubled your efforts, roughly slapping your hips into his, enjoying the loud sound and the way your core tightened, constricting him inside you, telling him he couldn’t cum until you did and deliberately holding yourself back, shifting your attention when you felt it rise, denying him over and over, until he was like this, whole body shaking, grasping your ass, sweat on his chest. His right arm, covered in tattoos, looking extra delicious in the moonlight, so fucking perfect with his forearms flexed with tension. You purposefully stared into his brown eyes overtaken with lust, his lips trembling from denying himself his own orgasm.

Jungkook whimpered your name.

On the verge of breaking, helpless at your command.

A sharp throb inside you, wildly turned on by his duality.

You smirked.

“Jungkook.”

You inhaled deeply, sighing in satisfaction with the wave of pleasure, intense shivering pulses running up and down his length, sinking down so he could feel it all, the tight and rough massage of your orgasm taking over, low moan of his name emitting from your throat, and Jungkook followed suit, louder and lewder, eyes rolling back as he shot into the condom with jerking hips, burying the twitching head deep inside you, swelling the latex with thick cum, rocking you back and forth on his length, your juices dripping down and coating the inside of your joined thighs.

“Oh, fuuuuuuuck, so good, s-so fucking good…”

You know what, he was right.

It was so fucking good.

You savored it, the ecstasy that seemed endless and overwhelming, squeezing Jungkook between your thighs and moaning, just something about it, so satisfying and gratifying listening to his wheezing gasps and content whimpers, lowering yourself to his face, and he raised his, your hands sliding under his head, giving him what he wanted, light, maddening, carnal kisses, his cheeks, his chin, his quivering lips, whining your name, pleading with you to play with him more, more, tugging on his ponytail and his hands stroking your breasts, rolling your hard nipples between his index and thumb fingers, shaking at your hissing inhale.

“Hey,” you murmured, clenching him between your legs to get his attention.

Jungkook blinked at you, brown eyes unfocused, panting hard. “Y-Yeah?”

“You should apologize.”

The side of his swollen lips quirked upwards despite his fucked-out state. His deep voice was slightly hoarse. “What for? Tell me and I will.”

You raised an eyebrow. “For your scheming and using my own best friend against me.”

Jungkook smirked slyly.

“I’m sorry.”

He lifted you and made sure he had the condom before he pulled out, still semi-hard. You narrowed your eyes. He sure as hell didn’t sound sorry. Didn’t look sorry either, peeling the condom off and crawling over the bed to toss it in the trash before straightening.

“Sounding insincere there,” you remarked coolly, balancing your chin on the back of your knuckles, elbow on the bed, tapping the air impatiently.

“I mean it,” he purred, reaching for the towel beside the bed and knocking the condoms from his nightstand to the sheets. His right hand wrapped around his glistening length, still covered in lube and his cum, toned hips thrusting into his closed fist, grinning with his lower lip between his teeth as you watched him.

“I’m so, so sorry.”

Slowly jacking himself off as his eyes roamed over your curves, moaning lustfully, lingering on your legs, clutching the towel in his left hand so hard his knuckles were pale, forearms flexed, the slick head of his cock turning purple-red, emerging from between his closed fingers, throbbing as it was choked by his harsh grip.

“Let me make it up to you,” Jungkook shuddered, stroking faster, making wet squelching sounds, his muscular thighs bulging with effort.

Fuck, he was so damn attractive.

You kept an indifferent look on your face, raising your leg, your free hand sliding down, tracing the outside of your already wet opening. Those hungry dark brown orbs immediately fixated on it, moaning imploringly as you dipped your fingers in it, soft squishing noises as you spread open your soaked pussy, slipping a finger in your heat, gently thrusting.

He gasped your name, begging you.

It made you wetter, seeing his want. He knew it too, brutally fisting his cock, hips quivering.

“Stop.”

Jungkook whined despairingly, pulling his hand away, his stiff cock bouncing from the swiftness of the movement, cutting off his own orgasm. He sucked in a shivering breath, tipping his hips up to you so his glossy, hard length twitched.

You shifted, laying back against his pillows, opening your legs.

Smirk on your lips.

“Mmm, fuck, yes, fuck me with that.”

Jungkook smirked back.

It took him no time at all to wipe his hand and crotch off, ripping open another condom and moaning as he rolled it down, the mere contact of the thin encasement stimulating his sensitive skin. He slid up to you, gripping your knees and spreading you even wider, pressing the tip against your drenched heat.

He whispered your name, like sweet smoke.

“Hm?”

Jungkook leaned down, kissing you deeply as he sank into you, drinking in your gasp at the fullness.

“I’m going to make you feel so, so good,” he mumbled into your lips, pecking you softly.

He was about to retreat but your hands snapped up, tangling into his messy violet waves, clutching his ponytail. Jungkook blinked at you, questioning.

“Not too far away,” you said with a playful smile. “I wanna see that handsome face of yours.”

He bit his lower lip, tiny mole and wicked grin revealing themselves.

“Okay.”

He lifted his hips and plunged fully into you, the connection of your hips making a loud, wet smack.

“Fuck, Jungkook…!”

And you could tell from his elated expression and his furious pace that he was ecstatic at your response, chasing it, chasing you, moaning as you caught him between your thighs and wrapped your legs around his waist, gaining some leverage and meeting his thrusts, fingers tightening in his soft hair, fuck, so beautiful, the way the pleasure overtook his handsome features, his hazy dark brown orbs shrouded in lust, his pink lip trembling in his teeth, sharp jaw set, but still maintaining a little bit of that cunning exterior that ensnared you in the first place, unknowingly at the time, the side of his lips ticking up, this cheeky bastard.

Jungkook saw the way you looked at him.

He adjusted the position, hitting deeper, swelling inside you, and, fuck, you couldn’t help it, you smirked too because he was so, so full of himself and so were you, insufferable, troublesome, competitive even now, the obscene smack of his crotch hitting your hips, wet and noisy, the squish of your juices smearing against his inner thighs as you wildly matched his rapid, bruising rhythm, your moans blending together, sweet hot harmony, his bedframe ramming against the wall, and, as usual, neither of you caring, far to occupied with yourselves, pleasure snaking between you, up your spine and into your head, mixing with the light buzz of alcohol, a different kind of euphoria from every other one-night stand, because this was Jeon Jungkook and he wasn’t going to be a one-night stand.

His lower lip popped out of his teeth and he gasped your name.

Longingly, breathlessly.

Was he thinking the same thing?

You lifted yourself a little, your hands molded to his head, whispering intensely against his shaking lips.

“Don’t worry, Jungkook. We have all night and the morning.”

Fuck, he had a brilliant smile.

It was actually doomed for you, but you weren’t mad about it.

Eye contact, and he didn’t waver, thrusting deep into you, low moan pulled from his chest, jolting shudders sliding down his shoulders and then in between you and him, his cock twitching and spilling into the condom again, roughly clamped by your tightness, and you were already there, falling over the edge with a soft cry, straining your neck and pushing his head down to you to collide your lips with his, greedy for his kiss, his taste, his whimpers at your forcefulness.

“Jungkook, ah…”

He said your name in the same tone, delicate and possessive, a bullseye right to the heart.

-

“On one hand, I’m glad you’re finally serious about someone.”

You paid absolutely no attention to the annoyed baritone voice of your best friend.

“On the other hand,” Kim Taehyung gritted out, smacking you in the shoulder blades as you crawled into Jeon Jungkook’s lap, kisses intensifying, a needy whine in his chest, his hands wrapping around your waist. “Really feeling like a third wheel, you two! Stop making out for one goddamn second!”

He threw up his hands as both of you pretended to be deaf.

-

interlude respect drabble — "how much did you see?" popcorn drabble — "who are they?"

part ii threesome, ft kth — got it bad

--

masterpost

[honeybeezx]

Armor - Oberyn Martell x Reader x Ellaria Sand - Part 5

Author’s Note: This took me literally forever to write😂 A lot will be happening in this chapter and the chapters to follow, but because of that, they may take longer for me to write. Thanks for baring with me guys and I’m so glad you all have been enjoying this as much as I love writing it!

Summary: The Silver Hawk competes in an archery competition at The Red Keep.

Word Count: 4.6k

Warnings: violence, blood

————————————————————-

Don’t fuck this up, don’t fuck this up.

The mantra played over and over in your head as you laced your boots. Your hair was braided down your back, but no matter how hard you tried, a few whips of hair fell over your face. You knew it would not hinder your ability, but it annoyed you all the same.

“You ready for this, Little Hawk?” Bronn clasped his ginormous hand against your back and you nearly had the breath knocked from you. You bit back a cough and tried not to seem shaken by his surprise endearment that really felt more like an attack.

“Of course I’m ready.” You replied simply. You were confident in your abilities, but something didn’t seem right. There was a feeling rooted in your gut that told you to run, to get out of this as fast as you could. But your mind told you you were too far to turn back now.

Bronn smiled before looking at the flap of your tent, the only thing between you, the arena, the challengers, and the high society of Westeros. “Shoot straight, girl. Stun the livin’ daylights out of ‘em. Make anyone who ever underestimated you regret it.”

You smiled softly at Bronn. He was alright...sometimes.

You both turned your head at the trumpets sounding just outside your tent.

“Think that’s my cue.”

“Give ‘em hell.”

You adjusted your brace, made sure your quiver was tightly strapped to your back, and your bow tight in hand.

Time for battle.

You walked out of the tent and forced your eyes not to water at the blinding sun. It was such a large shift from the shaded tent, were you not accustomed to training your eyesight in various types of weather, you might have shed a tear or two at the brightness. You wondered if the other competitors could do the same.

There were people on all sides of you. It was overwhelming. Normally you could scout your area, eliminate threats before taking your place to shoot. Here the threats were like your own personal wall, a couple hundred of them surrounding you, anyone willing to strike at any moment.

But above them all were the only two you were seriously concerned about. Cersei, and her son, King Jeoffry of the Seven Kingdoms.

You introduced yourself and gave a small bow. This was the first time meeting the king after all. Both looked less than amused.

“You’re the best archer in the seven kingdoms?” The boy-king laughed. “Is this a joke? I have squires bigger and more impressive than you. You’re a...woman.”

If the king was trying to mock you, he was going to have to try a lot harder than that. What he had said hundreds of men had said before. “My skill doesn’t depend upon physical stature. Only a steady arm and a sharp eye. I’d like to compete and give a presentation of my skill if it pleases the king.” You responded with all the airs of a highborn. Highborn. You were no lower than them. If anything, you were above them where morality was concerned.

“I hope your skill is more impressive than the sight of you. My uncle speaks of you very highly, and I don’t like being disappointed.”

Imagine how the rest of us felt when you became king.

“Your uncle hates being wrong as much as you don’t like being disappointed, your grace. I don’t think he would have encouraged me to enter this most esteemed competition should he think you may be disappointed or should put his intelligent reputation at risk.” You teased, not above mocking your friend in public.

He sighed and rolled his eyes, but knew he should choose his words carefully around the king. “You won’t be disappointed. I’m clearly not keeping her around because she’s good company.”

“She’ll put on a good show.” Cersei smirked.

It will be quite a show when you’re removed from power.

“We’ll see.” You took that as your cue to leave, knowing that was about as much as you could take from the Lannisters.

But when you turned around, you were finally met with the other competitors. They all looked intimidating, but you didn’t feel intimidated. You would only feel that once you saw their skill. You had learned a long time ago that many men liked to look tough without actually being so, and in the skill of archery, no amount of muscle or fancy armor would help you win a competition.

You estimated about 25 yards between you and the target as you stood before it. You had it targets from farther away, but whether or not you could hit the center of a target was another matter completely. You couldn’t remember the last time you had shot arrows for a tournament. Your arrows were meant for damned people, not for sport. But you could use more money, you needed money to survive.

At least that was how you were going to justify all this to yourself.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the sun catch something shiny and gold. You turned your head to find Ellaria in a peach-colored dress with gold embellishments, and Oberyn in a burnt sienna cloak with the very same embellishments. Both pairs of eyes had settled on you, sparkling with excitement. Oberyn gave you a small nod of encouragement. Show them what you have, brave girl.

“The rules are simple.” The squire began, bringing you and the other competitors to attention. “Whoever does not hit the center of the target is eliminated. After each round, the contestants will move back more and more until one person is standing. Competitors, draw your bows.”

Everyone did as commanded. You took a deep breath.

“Shoot.”

You let the arrow fly without a single thought.

It pierced the center of the target effortlessly. The tall, brutish man next to you did the exact same thing. You saw a few others had as well, and a few who had missed by just a sliver. The man glared at you, but you held your gaze.

You’re the competition here. Most of these people probably know who you are and want nothing more than to beat the legendary Silver Hawk. Do not let some man with more muscles than brains take your place.

“Walk 15 paces back.” The page instructed. You all did as you were told. When the page was sure everyone was in an even line, he signaled to draw your bow again.

“Shoot.”

Your arrow pierced the middle of the target once again, just a hair away from your last arrow. You were making this look easy. No one left this round. The obvious amateurs were gone within the first round. The real competition began now.

It was the same thing over and over again, and honestly? You were getting a little bored. Shoot. Walk back 15 paces. Shoot. Walk back 15 more paces.

Until it wasn’t that anymore.

You were at the edge of the arena. You didn’t even notice that it was only the brute and you. He had hit every single arrow in the middle of the target just as you had. You could tell his bow was handcrafted, and his arrows were from the smoothest steel. He was as knowledgeable as you when it came to wielding a bow, a worthy competitor too, as much as you didn’t want to admit it.

The target was easily 75 yards or so away. You didn’t know if even you could hit that. This was certainly the farthest you had ever been. You would have never taken this shot if it were an animal or someone you needed to eliminate. Was this easy for your competitor? He didn’t look even a tad nervous, you hoped you didn’t either. You did look focused though, as you considered the distance, the wind, your own strength. Would your bow even shoot that far?

Guess you were about to find out.

“Archers, draw your bow.”

You did as you were told, and closed your eyes, just for a second. You felt the fletching brush against the tips of your fingers, your hand holding onto the leather grip firmly, the cool silver of your arrow brushing against your cheek for just a second, your feet planted into the earth. The world fell around you. All you knew was the arrow, and how to make it fly.

And it did.

Flew just inside the center of the target, just barely making a bullseye.

The man’s arrow was just outside.

“Yes!!!” Bronn jumped up and pumped a fist in the air. “That’s our girl!!”

“Did you have any doubt that she could do it?” Tyrion asked cheekily, secretly elated that his champion won the whole tournament, that his friend had her moment of glory.

“It seems I will find myself short of some money.” Oberyn chuckled. “Your Silver Hawk, Lord Tyrion...she is very special.” He said, smiling at you from afar.

Tyrion smiled too. “Yes, she is.”

You let yourself laugh as the sound of applause filled your ears. Even your opponent offered his hand.

“You’re a fine shot. I’m just glad the stories are true. I didn’t want to leave here disappointed.” The man winked at you before taking his leave. You were about to take your leave as well when a voice called out over the cheer of the crowd.

“Wait!”

Your head whipped around. For a moment you forgot the golden-haired king entirely. He studied you with a vicious glare in his eyes that made you uneasy. You tried not to show it, but it was no use.

“Bring out the prisoner from yesterday.” The king commanded.

After a moment, the guard brought out a prisoner in chains. He was a big man, balding and bearded. He looked scared out of his wits and you were more nervous for him than you were for yourself.

“Chain him to a post.”

The guards did as they were told and chained the prisoner to one of the posts holding up the arena. The scared and nervous expression that matched his let him know you were not in on whatever this was.

“Place an apple on his head.”

Fuck.

A target was one thing, but a man’s life now rested in your hands. If you missed, it was his life in the line. The pressure was more intense now. The tournament was to uphold your reputation, it was all you had. But this was something much more frightening. To take the life of terrible people who hurt other people was one thing, to take the life of an innocent person was another, and even more so, to do it by accident.

“Shoot the apple.”

You once again scouted the distance. It was far, but you wouldn’t hurt this man. You would aim high, you’d rather miss far over his head than to pierce it. You gave a small nod to the man. I won’t hurt you, I promise.

You set your target. You aimed a bit higher than the center, not wanting the arrow to be any closer to his head than it needed to be.

1...2...

The juices of the apple ran down the man’s temple and dripped from his chin. The man looked like he could have passed out from relief, or maybe because he didn’t breathe that entire time.

“Oh sweet gods above, thank you! Thank you milady, don’t know ‘ow to repay you”

You smiled kindly at him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “No need to thank or pay me. I don’t harm people without actual cause, and you’ve done me no offense.”

“Now shoot him.”

Your heart stopped in your chest. Your eyes grew wide, looking. To the other to make sure you heard that right, but his fear matched yours.

Even Tyrion looked to his nephew in horror. “Perhaps, nephew, you forget that this is a tournament and not an execution. This is not what she signed up for, this is not what we agreed on.”

“I don’t need to comply with your deal or her conditions. I am king, and you would do best to remember that, uncle, before you are the one tied to the post.” Jeoffey spat.

You tried to clear your head. How could you possibly get out of this? “If I am to shoot him, I would like to know the nature of his crimes.” You demanded.

“He stole wine and has been rotting in a cell. He takes up space there. I want him disposed of.”

All of this for some wine? “Surely your grace can find some other use for him? There is much to be done around the palace with your wedding approaching so soon, is there not? Perhaps he could serve as staff around the castle or-“

“Look at him!” He spat. “He’s fat, pathetic, and lazy. He’s no use to me. Shoot him or die, those are your options.”

Oberyn stood before the queen regent, his fist balled. “Convince your son to forget this. The Silver Hawk has done her part, she’s won the tournament. She kills for Tyrion, not Jeoffey, and even then she does not strike me as the type of person to just kill anyone. Everyone’s been entertained enough.”

Cersei just smiled something wicked. “I have no influence over my son. He is king, his word is the law. If the Silver Hawk is as good as she says, she’ll be able to do this, I doubt you have any cause for concern.” She smirked before sipping her wine.

Oberyn gritted his teeth and narrowed his eyes at the queen. “She will not forget this if you make her take this man’s life. She does not kill without reason, but the murder of this man would give her cause to take revenge in the future. Don’t put her through this, and don’t give her an excuse to send one of her arrows flying in yours or your son’s direction.”

Cersei laughed. “You think she would be so stupid? She won’t do anything, not if she values her life.” Cersei leaned towards the Dornishman like she was letting him in on a secret. “The Hawk needs to learn when she is beat, when her arrows can’t save her. This will just teach her. This is good for everyone.”

“Good for everyone? Or good for your pride?”

They didn’t call him the Red Viper for nothing. His tongue was as quick as a snake's bite.

Cersei narrowed her eyes. “Step down Prince Oberyn. You and the Hawk aren’t winning this one.”

Oberyn and Tyrion shared a look of dread before returning their attention to you.

Your mind reeled. Think, think, think. What would Tyrion say or do to get out of this?

Shoot him or die, those are your options.

You took your position and tried not to look at the man for too long. He was trembling, crying, trying to break free and you couldn’t take it. You let your arrow fly.

The man let out a wail as the arrow pierced his leg. But before Jeoffery could protest, you intervened. “You asked me to shoot him my lord, so I did. You wish to dispose of him. Perhaps, Prince Oberyn, you will accept this man as a gift from Kings Landing, welcoming you to our city, and being a most gracious and humble guest. Do with him as you please since he is not fit to stay here.”

Oberyn chuckled and gave a dazzling smile. Now how did she come to think of that?

“Of course. Dorne welcomes all people. You would be most welcome in my family’s city. I could use a court jester. Once I have him trained you may visit him in Dorne, King Jeoffery.” Jeoffery seemed to quite like the thought of that. But you knew better. The same Oberyn who spoke of equality among people, the man who spoke of love and compassion would not make a joke of a poor, innocent man. And Jeoffery would be too consumed with power to think about taking a nice little trip to Dorne. “He may return with Ellaria and I when we depart.” Oberyn nodded.

You knew it was dangerous to say anything right now, you were already dancing with death as it was. But your eyes met the Prince’s, and at once he understood your level of gratitude.

“Take him to Prince Oberyn’s quarters. Chain him up there. Let the Dornish deal with this filth.” Jeoffery scoffed.

Cersei looked as if she could order to have you killed right that instant.

“Why don’t we enjoy some wine of our own to celebrate my champion’s victory? All this excitement is leaving me parched.” Tyrion suggested before his sister could do something brash.

And just like that, the festivities came to an end. As soon as you were out of sight, you stealthily followed the guards to the Lannister brothel. Firstly to escape any harm, secondly, to find the man you had just shot. You entered the brothel through the window, only to be met with the shocked face of a young girl.

“Where’s the man with an arrow in his leg?” You asked one of the girls frantically but in hushed tones. You didn’t need the guards or other Lannisters knowing you were here.

“H-He’s up the stairs in the back rooms on the left. He’s in a bad way.” The girl croaked out.

Sometimes you forgot how intimidating you could be.

“Do you have alcohol? I have to tend to him. I need alcohol and some cloth.” You tried asking in a much softer, calmer voice.

The girl nodded and scurried off. You made your way up the stairs and found the farthest back room on the left. You found the man withering in pain on the bed.

“You need to try and control your breathing. I’m not going to be able to help you if you’re all panicked. I know it’s hard, but you have to trust me.”

The man nodded and tried to hold back the tears in his eyes. You took deep breaths, and he tried breathing with you. “You saved my life...damned my leg but saved my life. Went through an awful lot of trouble. I’m surprised Cersei didn’t kill you right there.”

You knelt next to the man to observe his wounds. “Cersei doesn’t scare me.” You said confidently. “Just because she has power doesn’t make her a true ruler, nor her son, or any of the Lannisters. They only have power if they think we fear them.”

“Most do fear them though. And if they ‘ave the power they can ‘urt us, they ‘ave ‘urt us. Nearly killed me over some wine.” He huffed.

“If more people stood against them they wouldn’t have so much power.” They would have their status, they would have their wealth, but if the people started revolting, the people would stand a chance. Sadly, you knew the Lannisters already evoked too much fear into the hearts of the people they’re supposed to be protecting for anything to happen, at least not now. “I understand...not wanting to stand against them. I’m under the protection of Tyrion so I have more freedoms. I’m just glad King Jeoffery reacted well to the decision not to kill you.”

“'Aye, that makes two of us.”

You turned your head at the sound of a door opening. You were expecting the young girl from before only for your eyes to meet Ellaria’s dark ones. She came in with the cloth and a bag of assorted ointments which she promptly dumped on the bed before unchaining the man.

“How are you?” She asked the man frantically, her mind only focused on helping him.

“Well, other than an arrow bein’ in me leg I’m just great.” He quipped.

“He’s calmed down a lot. We should be ready.”

Ellaria nodded her head, knowing what you meant.

“Ready for-“

Before he could finish, you quickly removed the arrow from his leg. He howled in pain, but Ellaria was working fast. She made quick work of using the ointments and tying his leg tight with the cloth to stop the blood flow.

The man was sobbing and gripping your arm like his life depended on it. It hurt, but you bit back your pain. Didn’t seem right to complain when the man just had an arrow ripped out of his leg.

Oberyn entered and knelt next to you, offering the man a cup. “Drink this. It will help with the pain and help you sleep. It’s a sedative of sorts.”

The man quickly downed the tea, willing to do anything to get rid of the ridiculous amount of pain. He handed the cup to you and laid his head back against the pillow. “Thank you, all of you. I owe you all my life.”

“Just get some rest. Your body has gone through a lot today and you’ll need sleep to recover your strength.” You chided, standing up to leave. Oberyn and Ellaria followed to leave the man in peace.

“Thank you for helping him, both of you. He is alive because of your kindness.” You thanked. You couldn’t help but be a bit surprised. Most royalty would not have cared about the life of one poor commoner, but neither of them wasted any time in helping him. The more you learned about the two of them the more questions you asked. Why were they so different from the highborn you’ve met? You shouldn’t like them as much as you do. Highborn were supposed to be snobbish, egotistical, and rude, they were supposed to be like the Lannisters.

But they weren’t.

“It is you he should thank. If you wouldn’t have tricked the king like that, you would have had no choice but to kill him to save yourself.” Ellaria reasoned.

But you were having none of it. “I still shot him with an arrow. He would still be in pain were it not for the ointments and tea. And you,” you began, turning towards Oberyn, “were you serious about bringing him to Dorne?”

Oberyn smiled and nodded. “Yes, though I am in no need of a jester, my family keeps me entertained enough.” He laughed. “But I will take him to Dorne. From there he can do as he pleases. If he does not wish to stay in Dorne I will find him passage somewhere else. Every innocent man should be free. Stealing some wine does not warrant death, nor imprisonment when they have enough Dornish wine to fill the Shivering Sea.”

“Thank you.” You smiled kindly, placing a hand on his arm. You both locked eyes for a moment and your heart skipped a beat.

What the fuck is this?

Why were your cheeks getting hot? Why did your whole body feel warm and light?

“Ahem.” Ellaria intervened, smirking all the while. You broke your gaze and returned your attention to Ellaria. “I am not as generous as my lover. I demand payment for my services. I spent good money on those ointments.”

You were surprised by Ellaria’s sudden shift in behavior. She had all the riches in the world and she wanted payment? “I earned my money and you have-“

“A dance.” She interrupted before you could rattle off your other five reasons why she wasn’t getting your money. “A dance at the boy Lannister’s wedding. One with each of us.”

Of course that’s what she wanted.

You wanted to say no, you almost did. But Ellaria had spared her ointments and Oberyn put himself in harm's way just by siding with you when you tricked Jeoffery. Sure, Jeoffery had been amused with the idea of the man as a jester for the Dornish, but Oberyn didn’t know the king would go along with it. And they both of them were certainly not going to be in the good graces of Cersei now.

Not that they were to begin with, but this certainly didn’t help matters.

“I don’t know if you even want to make that request, Ellaria. I’m not a dancer-“

“We will teach you.” Oberyn interrupted before you could protest more, clearly excited by his lover’s suggestion. “I am familiar with certain dances, but Ellaria is the best dancer in Dorne. She can teach anyone to dance.” He purred, pulling her closer to his side before they gazed at each other lovingly.

It was disgustingly cute.

Ellaria playfully hit his chest. “He praises me too much, but I will teach you. You are light on your feet, no? You will not be as bad as you think.”

You sighed, knowing you were going to regret this. “Seems I cannot refuse.” You gave them both a soft smile. “I owe you both, and seeing as I am employed by a Lannister, I can’t very well avoid paying my debt. I would be honored to share a dance with both of you.”

“Good.” Ellaria smiled cheekily. “And since it was my idea, I get first dance.” She teased her lover, in which he grabbed her waist forcefully and pulled her close to him, pecking her lips, but sparing you any more public displays of affection.

Secretly, you didn’t mind. They were actually quite cute when you didn’t have to scold them for trying to make you so flustered.

“I suppose I can live with that considering I will have the pleasure of dancing with the two most beautiful women in the capital.”

You smiled softly and blushed.

Then you quickly remembered yourself.

You cleared your throat. “Anyways, I need to return to The Red Keep. I’m sure Tyrion is waiting to scold me about infuriating his sister again. I better get it all over with now.” It was a lame and rather pathetic excuse, but if you didn’t leave soon you were afraid they would make some remark on the sudden flustered state you now found yourself in.

“We will see you in a few days then. Stay guarded, Silver Hawk. Our actions did not please Cersei, she was rather determined to see you kill that man today and she did not get what she wanted. Find us should anything happen.” Oberyn instructed, his sultry voice turning into something much more serious.

Ellaria’s eyes met yours. She was worried, genuinely worried. Every part of you wanted to somehow console her, to assure both of them that you would be okay. But you felt the beating of your heart pick up the pace. Tyrion, Shae, Bronn, they all worried about you, but it was always lighthearted, worry hid under a joke or a tease. But the Dornish knew no such thing, they felt everything, wore everything on their sleeve, and damned all who had anything to say about it. It was a different kind of bravery. It wasn’t charging head-first into battle, but it was more than you could ever muster, more than you’ve ever known or allowed yourself to feel. And it scared you. Because one person caring for you like this was intimidating, two people were terrifying.

“I will not hesitate to seek you both out should anything happen.” You promised. They had earned your trust, despite every bone in your body that still rebelled against them. They risked their alliance with the Lannisters and went out of their way to help a man they didn’t know, a man they didn’t have to save. There was something to be said in that.

You exited the brothel and returned to the palace. You stocked your arrows and checked your armor. The wedding would only be days away. What would become of the Dornish? Would they ever return? Could you ever go to them?

And why were you thinking of these things? It didn’t matter where they would go. They would do as they pleased and you would go where Tyrion led. Tyrion, Shae, Bronn, they were home. But when you slept that night, your mind was filled with flashes of warm oranges, golds, yellows, bronzed skin, sharp features, dark hair, and eyes that could switch between sharp and kind in an instant.

But you didn’t see red.

Not yet.

————————

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

—————————

Tag List (if I’m missing someone or if you would like to be added please let me know!): @ilikechocolatemilkh @rpcvliz @janelongxox @evyiione @grogusmum

[captainsophiestark]

Trick Shot

Clint Barton x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Day Six of Fictober!

Fandom: Marvel

Fictober Prompt: “That was impressive.”

Summary:  Clint and Reader are practicing trick shots, but they're forced to run for their lives when they almost hit Maria Hill with a stray arrow.

Word Count: 1,441

Category: Humor, fluff

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

"Alright, here we go. Off the wall, bounced through the corner, off the other wall, through the gap in the vid screens, and on Stark Tower on the map."

"No way in hell."

Clint Barton, my boyfriend, was kicked back in a chair and watching as I planned out my trick shot. We were supposed to have training with Natasha and Maria Hill today, but they'd both been called for some official SHIELD duty or other, so that left me and Clint to do our own training. We were both archers, so we'd decided the best way to train would be a no-holds-barred trick shot competition.

I was winning.

"There's no way in hell that you're gonna be able to do all that and actually hit Stark Tower," said Clint, kicking his feet up on the desk he'd commandeered.

"You underestimate how much I want to pay Stark back for his comments about my aim at New Year's."

"Oh yeah! I totally forgot about that! You almost killed Hill!"

"Yeah yeah, whatever," I said, taking my mark and drawing my bow. "None of that's gonna matter when I beat you in this trick shot contest."

Clint scoffed, but he stayed quiet while I got ready to take my shot. We hadn't quite resulted to sabotaging each other. Yet.

I stared down the length of my bow with laser focus, aiming for just the right spot on the wall to kick off my chain of ricochets. I breathed in and breathed out, and at the tail end of the exhale I released my arrow.

It went so fast I could barely keep track of it, but I heard a thwang as it stuck in the wall. Clint and I turned as one to look at the map, and lo and behold, my arrow was buried in the wall right where Tony Stark's tower was.

"HA! Take that Barton!" I yelled, jumping up and punching the air. Clint stood up and grabbed his bow in one motion, coming to stand in the middle of the room.

"That was impressive. But now it's time for me to regain my honor." He turned in a slow circle to survey his options around the room. He took his time, but once he finally decided, he turned back to me. "I'm gonna skip it off the floor, off the wall, past the corner, off the wall again, and bullseye the center of the door."

I couldn't help snorting. I walked past my boyfriend on my way to lean against the desk, patting him on the shoulder and leaning in to whisper in his ear.

"Good luck with that."

Clint just shot me a cocky grin over his shoulder, then turned around as he drew his bow. If it were anyone else but him trying to make this shot, I would've said they had no chance. But Clint Barton was the master of making impossible shots with his bow and arrow.

Other than me, of course.

Clint breathed in and breathed out, keeping his eyes locked on his target the whole time. I was insanely tempted to fake cough or sneeze, but I stopped myself. I wanted this to be a fair fight.

Clint let his arrow fly, and it seemed to be on the perfect path as it made its way around the room. Unfortunately for both of us, the door flew open right before the arrow got there. Maria Hill and Natasha started walking in, and Maria had to dive out of the way to avoid getting impaled.

"Barton! Y/L/N!" yelled Maria as she popped back up. Natasha was giving us a look too, and Clint and I were smart enough to know exactly what we needed to do.

"Run!" yelled Clint. He didn't even need to say it, because I was already halfway out the back door.

Clint caught up quickly, and the two of us sprinted down the corridors of SHIELD. Sometimes Maria and Natasha would be so done with me and Clint that they wouldn't chase us, but apparently almost nailing them with an arrow was enough to make them run. I could hear their footsteps pounding behind us, and I knew we needed to lose them quickly, or else we were doomed.

"Left!" called Clint. He was right behind me, and he knew the ins and outs of this SHIELD base better than just about anyone else. I dove hard around the corner to the next left, and Clint followed. He sped up to be just a little closer to me, and then he grabbed me around the waist and yanked me to the left again. We were in another hallway, but I doubted it would throw two of the most dangerous agents at SHIELD off for long.

"What are you doing?" I asked, staring at my boyfriend as he wrestled with something on the wall. I glanced over my shoulder, expecting to see Maria glowering at us, but we were still safe so far.

"Finding us a fool-proof hiding spot," he said. He grunted and pulled hard on a mesh vent covering, tearing it out of its place. "Come on!"

I followed him without a second thought. I trusted Clint more than anyone else I'd ever met, and more importantly, I didn't have time to second guess him.

The air ducts at SHIELD were, understandably, massive, so Clint and I both fit fairly comfortably. I helped him wrestle the grate back into place, and we finished the work not a moment too soon. Maria Hill and Natasha came storming down the hallway, and I froze exactly where I was. The slightest sound or movement might be enough to alert the superspies to our presence, and then we'd really be in trouble.

Miraculously, Nat and Maria kept going. They charged down the hallway without even a second glance at our hiding spot!

I sighed in relief and slumped against the metal side of the vent.

"You are amazing," I sighed as Clint sank down next to me.

"Thanks, I know."

I smiled and gave him a light punch in the arm.

"So is this where you disappeared to all those times Fury or Hill or one of the Avengers were trying to find you?"

"Yup. And now you've been trusted with the sacred knowledge of the ultimate hiding spot, too."

"It really is the ultimate hiding spot," I mused, looking around our surroundings. Nobody would think to check for us in here, but it was also perfectly comfortable. We could also make our way around the base without anyone seeing us, which could definitely come in handy later.

"Yeah, I can be pretty awesome sometimes," Clint agreed, an easy smile on his face.

"Don't get too full of yourself," I teased. "We wouldn't even be in this situation if you hadn't missed your shot so badly and almost killed Maria Hill."

"Oh come on, my shot was headed for exactly where I said it was. They opened the door and threw me off."

"Okay, Hawk Guy. Whatever you say."

Clint hummed in annoyance, turning my direction and wrapping both arms around me. He leaned in closer and closer, and I just smiled.

"You know, since I did almost kill Maria Hill, we've got some time to kill up here..." he said, trailing off but raising one eyebrow as he looked at me. I grinned.

"Hm... I can think of some things we could do..."

Clint kept leaning in, and I let him close the distance for a long, lingering kiss. When we broke apart Clint leaned back in for another one, but I spoke before he could do it.

"How do you feel about vent tag?"

Clint's face lit up in a massive, mischievous smile.

"I feel amazing about vent tag."

He kissed me again, much more deeply this time, and then before I knew what was happening he'd dropped me onto the floor of the vent and was crawling off like a madman away from me.

"Hey! Come back here you cheater!"

I took off after him at lightning speed. Clint was my best friend and the love of my life. We could go from kissing to vent tag in .2 seconds, and that was exactly what I looked for in a relationship.

No matter how long it took Hill and Natasha to get over their wrath, Clint and I would never get bored.

[ilguna]

Metanoia - Chapter Fifteen (f.o)

Summary: you will be crowned victor of the 75th hunger games.

Word Count; 10.7k

Warnings; swearing, mention of murder and torture

NOTES: i give reader a last name to fit the world.

uhhh long ass chapter jfc

–

You tap the end of the spoon against the table, “Maybe more gasoline?”

Beetee gives you a look, “I’ve engineered these perfectly--”

“I’m literally from District Two, I manufactured weapons. Just add a bit more gas, and see what happens, it can’t hurt, can it?”

Beetee readjusts the glasses on his face, “I suppose not.” he gets to work, and you scoop some of the carrots onto your spoon, trying not to make a face when you force them down your throat. They’ve gotten cold from how long you’ve been stalling, “You’ve made molotov arrows before?”

“Well…” you make a face, and he turns his eyes to you, “I wouldn’t say that. I’ve… experimented that’s for sure.”

Gale laughs, “What does that mean?”

“It means I’ve illegally made weapons and sometimes started bush fires because of it,” you laugh, “And I’ve never been caught, either.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t be in here.” Beetee mutters.

You roll your eyes, “As if I would willingly do work now. Just telling you to add more gas was a bore.”

Beetee screws the top back onto the arrow, being careless with it to see if it’ll explode or whatever. Which means that you should definitely put some distance between you and the psychopath here, you’re not too fond of being inside of a molotov. No matter how small that arrow is, there will be a ton of fire.

“Give it a shot.” you motion at Gale, “Seriously.”

“It won’t set the studio on fire?”

“You’re talking to the two engineers, here. Go ahead before I do it myself.”

Gale picks up the crossbow, and then takes the arrow that Beetee is offering him. While he prepares everything, you swivel around to face Gale, while Beetee has to turn the entire wheelchair to see.

“I’ve been trying to make a trident for Finnick.” Beetee begins, the two of you watch Gale prepare, the people on the other end of the room have fire extinguishers ready to put the fire out as soon as the arrow is fired.

“Don’t make it look like an actual trident, keep the design as close as possible to the one he had inside of the arena.” you scoop up another spoonful of carrots, “And make it hollow in the middle, it’ll be easier to move around--and you can make it compatible that way too.”

“Ready?” Gale asks.

“We’ve been ready.” you eat the cold, slimy carrots.

Gale fires the arrow, and right when it hits the bullseye, it explodes into fire. The entire target, the wall behind it, mostly the floor and some get onto the ceiling too. The crew runs forward, putting out the fire before it can spread across the entire room.

You look at Beetee, “See? Not too shabby.”

“Know any ways to make them waterproof?”

“Wax, water rolls right off of it. Don’t lay it on too thick, and you’ll be just fine.” You set the empty tray onto the table, “

“They should have sent you down here sooner.” Gale says, coming back over, “Imagine how much faster all of this would have been made.”

“Beetee would have gotten fed up with me, if he isn’t already.” you say, stretching. 

“You’re not too bad to be around.” 

“You only like me because I make your weapon engineering much easier. I’m able to catch your mistakes before you even make them.” you tuck your legs in.

He ignores what you said, moving on to Gale, “How’s Katniss doing?”

Gale doesn’t give much of an answer, “Recovering.”

“Let me guess, she’s still mad at you?” you raise your eyebrows. For this, he tells you to shut up. You shrug, getting back to the sketch you were working on for your own personal weapon, “Hey, if you can’t see how out of line you were, then that’s your deal.”

“How was I out of line?”

You place the sketchbook on your knee, “Dude, you called her fiance weak for doing what he could to stay alive. Obviously you two are still pretty close after that, but I wouldn’t have made a comment like that.” you pause for a moment, looking at Gale, “Then again, you don’t know what it’s like to be under a microscope, you can run your mouth all you want, because you were nothing but a coal miner.”

Gale practically rolls his eyes, “I know what it’s like, Katniss had to start calling me her cousin.”

“Katniss was the one being watched, don’t flatter yourself.” you go back to what you were doing.

“She’s right.” Beetee chips in, “(Y/n), I mean.”

“Right.”

The sound of boots on cement makes you look up, expecting Gale to be the one walking away. He doesn’t normally like to take shit from you or Beetee. Coming down here is like a safe place, allowing him to vent and blow steam when he gets to test out the new fancy weapons.

Gale stands right where he was before, which means that it’s someone else. And since Beetee can’t walk, you turn around in the chair to see who it is.

It’s Finnick. His hands are in his pockets, with a gleeful smile on his face, “Good afternoon.”

Gale is just as suspicious as you are, “What are you up to?”

“What was I up to.” he corrects, coming to a stop behind your chair, “It’s a surprise.”

Beetee makes a face, and then wheels himself around so that he’s facing the table again. As he gets back to work, you resume critiquing Gale, and Finnick finds where he wants to be.

“Gale, don’t get me wrong, I can sorta see where you’re coming from, but you need to see it from our perspective too.” you drop your leg, “Let’s compare you to Peeta, since you were doing that already by saying you’d never say what you said.

“He had absolutely no clue what the fuck was going on. Peeta didn’t know that there was a plan to get him and Katniss out of the arena, he didn’t know that Coin was planning on using Katniss as a symbol. The only things he did know was what the Capitol fed him to get him on their side.

“And if you still can’t see eye to eye with it, imagine a gun pointed to Katniss’ head. If you so much as step out of line in a way that Snow doesn’t like, he’ll shoot her. It’s not his family, friend or girlfriend that he’s killing, it’s yours. And if you don’t cooperate after Katniss, he’s grabbing the next dearest thing to you.” you lean back in the chair, “And before you say shit, Snow literally did that to me twice. First was right after I won my games and he killed my entire family, and the second time was when we found Tanith dead in a chair. It’s a little different for Tanith, because she was already dead, but he still tried to use her against me.”

“Okay, but what were they threatening Peeta with?”

“His life, for starters.” Finnick says, “And likely his family too.”

Gale doesn’t say anything after that.

“How’s this design?” You offer the sketchbook for Beetee, and he takes it.

“We could probably start this now.” Beetee says, “Mind doing something for Finnick, too?”

“Sure.”

He hands it back, but Finnick takes it before you’re able to grab a hold of it. Sighing, you look up at Finnick, watching his face as he looks over the page, “These are swords.”

“Sai’s.” you correct.

Finnick gives you a look, “But it says right here--”

“--that it’s basically a sword, yes, I know. Normally they’re used to disarm someone--as I showed you before. But I want some that are actually sharp. Blunt force trauma is fun, but what’s even more fun is spilling someone’s guts in front of them.”

Finnick hands the book back, “Sword.”

“Sure.” you cross your legs, “What are you here for, other to annoy me?”

“Keeping an eye on you three for the next couple of hours.” Finnick pulls up a chair of his own, mirroring your stance.

“Sounds exciting.”

Everything falls back into rhythm. Beetee goes back to tinkering on arrows, having Gale use the decoys. And the times he’s not shooting arrows, he’s sitting in a chair talking to you guys. You cough up a couple of sketches for Beetee, hoping that it’ll be good enough.

You might be the one from District Two, but that doesn’t mean you actually put things together. The legal age to actually get into the warehouses is eighteen, and since you went into the games at sixteen and won, you never really had to work. You’ve sat on money for your entire life. The only people that worked were your parents, aunts and uncles and some of your cousins.

Those same cousins taught you how to put things together before your games--obviously. During family get togethers, you’d all disappear for a little while, which is when they’d take the chance. They always thought it was so cool to pass on forbidden knowledge, and have it all be a secret between you guys.

They had this secret stash of gadgets inside of a log, and they’d fuck around with it until it turned into something dangerous. Honestly, the first thing you learned from them was the molotov, and when you threw it on a rock, it exploded and the dead grass around it caught fire.

Cue you all scooping the gadgets into your shirts and taking off behind the houses to get as far as possible. Your older cousin had a backup spot not too far away, you dumped all the shit there and got back to the house in record time. Before the firefighters had even left their stations.

It’s a wonder why you weren’t caught, cause that wasn’t the first time that area specifically had been set on fire, and it wouldn’t be the last either. The firefighters definitely had an idea of why it would always set ablaze, but never pursued it. After a while, they started to monitor the place on extremely hot days, thinking that it was the sun that was starting the fires.

If only they had known that it was a bunch of teenagers doing that shit for fun.

After a while, Beetee gets tired of the arrows and starts over to the crew to begin making the sai’s. While they’re heating up the metal, he gets to making the hilt.

“I feel like we’re doing more work than we have to.” you look at Beetee.

“Do you want it to be fucked up, or do you want it to be done right the first time?” He raises his glasses above his eyes when he looks right back at you.

“The first time.” you sigh.

When you get back to work, Finnick moves in closer, curious as to how you’re designing his new weapon. Every now and then he’ll point out the practicalities, and weighing in on how he would rather it be built. 

“This doesn’t even look like a trident anymore.” you hold the journal away from your face, and turn it so it’s long-ways since the entire trident spans over both pages, “It’s basically the opposite.”

“But think of it this way.” Finnick reaches over, touching where the blades of the trident are, “Initial stab, right? But the rest of this does more damage.”

There’s a spear point at the top of the trident, which isn’t the problem. That’s pretty normal when it comes to the design. However, instead of wanting all the other blades facing up and towards it, he wants it downwards.

“And you can even make it compatible!” Finnick grins.

“At least we agree on one thing.” You pass the journal to him, “Go ahead and show Beetee, he’s the one in charge.”

Finnick goes over, and it’s basically halfway across the room, since Beetee is hovering over the crew’s work like a hawk. He wasn’t playing around when he said that he would like it to be perfect the first time around.

“Finnick’s into you.” Gale says.

“You say that like he’s not my soulmate.” you give Gale a look, “Also, I’m not into Finnick.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m not a teenager and I don’t date people right after they broke up with their girlfriends.” you turn back to Finnick to see that he’s discussing the weapon with Beetee and a crew member.

“If there was no Annie, would you have dated him then?”

You squint, “No.”

Gale laughs, but doesn’t say anything because Finnick is heading your guys’ way again. He drops the journal in Beetee’s workspace on his way over, “Beetee will start it tonight.”

“Cool.” you get up, picking up the lunch tray, “Am I free to leave now?”

“Yes,” Finnick says, but he makes a point to stay in front of both you and Gale. 

“See ya later, Beetee!” you shout, “Send someone if you need my help.”

He waves, and then goes back to hovering.

Finnick starts up the staircase first, and Gale walks beside you, “Any progress on Peeta?”

Gale rolls his eyes, you can feel it, “Same as he was before. I saw him before coming here.”

“Katniss still saying no?” you look over.

Gale nods.

“That’s reasonable, I wouldn’t want to go near him either…” you trail off for a moment, and then laugh to yourself.

Finnick glances over his shoulder curiously, “What is it?”

You chuckle a bit, “Out of everyone, I’m definitely last on the list of people he wants to see.”

“Why’s that?”

Your smile is small as you look at your feet, rather than up at Finnick, “I nearly killed Peeta.”

“After the birds? I know--” Finnick says.

“No, after. After you had been pulled out of the arena, did I tell either of you that story?”

Gale says no, which is expected, but Finnick thinks about it before answerings, “We talked about emotion when you first got here, and how intense it was.”

“Well, after I left the lightning tree, my real goal was to go downhill and straight for the cornucopia. I thought that if the jungle were to burn, I would need to take my chances in the middle. On the way, I found a livid Peeta, and a strangely calm Johanna.” you smile, “Peeta started screaming at me instead, and Johanna urged me not to do anything.

“But then Peeta backed me into a rock, so when I got up, I punched him twice. Kicked him a couple of times while he was down, and then Johanna stepped in--” Finnick has slowed down now, he watches you, “--and naturally I knocked her out with a single right hook, since she’s… weak to say the least. She hit her head on a rock on the way down, and I thought I’d finish her off later.

“As for Peeta, it was just him and I.” the smile develops into a grin, “I was about to rip him apart--and I mean minutes from doing it. But then the peacekeepers came and I thought that it would be better to leave the situation as it was.”

“You’re… sadistic.” Gale says.

“I’ve heard it all before.” you say, looking at Finnick.

“At least you didn’t kill them.” Finnick says.

“Peeta knew that I was about to. Doesn’t matter if I did it or not.”

Gale laughs now, “You should go visit him to see what he says.”

“He’d probably get mad at me for not killing him when I had the chance. I’m surprised he didn’t strangle me in that hovercraft.”

“The tracker jacker venom fucked with his head, he probably barely recognized you.” Gale says.

At the top of the staircase, Finnick stops you, “We’ll see you later, Gale.”

“Sounds good to me. I’m going to see Boggs.”

You salute as a joke, getting an eye roll in return. Finnick purposely waits until Gale is gone, and then he moves out of your way, “You’re getting better.”

“At making people like me?” you ask, giving Finnick a look, “You know, a genius once told me that I’m not as dislikable as I think.”

Finnick raises his eyebrows, “A genius you say?”

“Maybe not a genius.” you laugh, and Finnick joins in, “So what were you up to?”

“You’ll see in a couple of hours.”

“Is that why we aren’t getting off on the floor we normally do?” you stare at your feet.

“We’re heading straight for the medical floor to Johanna.”

You stop on the stairs, and Finnick gets a couple of steps above you, “Did you not just hear my whole story?”

“The worst Johanna will do is run her mouth about the fact that you didn’t kill her when you had the chance. And if you don’t believe me, you can ask one of the nurses. We’ve heard her speech a couple of times now.”

“Then can I opt out and go to the dorm instead?” you start up the stairs again.

“You’re really going to leave me to talk to Johanna?”

Your eyebrows draw together, “You’re the one that wants to see her!”

“Come on, we see Johanna and then we go to the dorm right after, I promise.” Finnick says.

You hold out your pinky for Finnick, and with a slight chuckle, he pinky promises you. The two of you resume your journey up the stairs, and then he says, “Unless we talk for too long.”

You press your lips together, not giving him the satisfaction of a reaction. He laughs anyway.

When the two of you reach Johanna’s room, you hang by the door, not really wanting to go inside. You don’t like the look of the room, much less the idea of being back inside of it. Ever since you’ve been granted the freedom, you’ve made a point of not coming back to the hospital--or infirmary--floor, no matter the reason.

The other day, you cut your hand on a blade down in the workshop. The crew had wanted to call someone down to come and take care of you, and you barely stopped them in time. Over your dead body, would you be brought back here to sit and wallow in white for a couple of days.

Especially over something as childish as a cut. So, you found the first aid kit, cleaned out the wound and Beetee stitched it up for you. The crew was a little surprised how calm you were during the entire procedure but the only thing you had to say was ‘high pain tolerance’ after all your years of bullshit.

So being back here makes you nervous. As if someone will pop out from one of the walls and tie you down to a bed for absolutely no reason. You’re perfectly healthy, and the nurses and doctors knew this. Even after you had tests that came back negative for poison in your system, you were required to stay.

Finnick and Johanna’s conversation is surprisingly normal and boring. There was absolutely no reason for you to tag along, except for Finnick’s own request. The only reason why you’re here is to be nice.

As if Finnick’s read your mind, he looks at you, “(Y/n) been helping Beetee out in the workshop lately, designing weapons.”

Johanna’s eyes drag over to you, bored of it already, “She’s being helpful for once?”

You stare at her.

“She’s done quite a lot, Johanna.” Finnick says, looking back at her, “She’s the one that opened the conversation about rescuing you and the others from the Capitol.”

“For her own benefit.” Johanna laughs, “Because she can’t stand being alone. It’s why she’s kept you around so long, you know? Not because she likes you, but because she needs another soul to harvest. She’s like the fucking grim reaper.” she looks at you now, “A heartless murderer.”

You take a deep breath, and then a smile spreads over your face, “I should have killed you when I had the chance. At least then, there would be one less leech on the morphling supply.” you spit, “You deserve everything that Snow gave you, the waterboarding, the near-drowning. It’s a shame that he only kept you alive so you’d suffer and become nothing but another downer on everyone around you.”

Finnick’s head whips in your direction, clearly not expecting the outburst. You’ve been so good for so long, but there’s something about Johanna that just gets you steaming. 

“I should have stomped your head into that fucking rock in front of Peeta.” you seethe, “And then I should’ve beaten Peeta to death, because you two weren’t nearly worth sacrificing my life over.” you shake your head, “You’re nothing but another morphling addict. Another victor that couldn’t take the fucking heat. If I were you, I’d just kill myself from how embarrased I’d be.”

Johanna’s been smiling at you the entire time, like she wanted this sort of reaction, and so you finish it off, “It’s probably how Blight felt too.” 

Her smile drops, and her hand is reaching towards the needles in her arms before her feet have even hit the ground. You stand your ground, allowing Finnick to get her to stop because she does some real damage to her veins.

“(Y/n)--go!” Finnick’s angry, and he glares at you over his shoulder.

“My fucking pleasure.” you spit, leaving the doorway.

It was worth it. Every word that left your mouth was fucking worth it. Being nice to people is such a fucking chore, especially when it’s towards people who don’t deserve it.

You stand in the stairwell for a moment, thinking about where you’d want to go. But there’s really no place that’s safe if Finnick comes looking for you. The workshop and dorm are an obvious place, as well as the stream you stumbled upon. He’ll check with Boggs and Gale--and there’s no one else here that likes you.

You hate it here.

You thought you would be able to make this place feel like a real home and maybe even like it, but it’s not worth it. This whole place isn’t worth it to you.

Everything inside of you is a frenzy. 

You have to go home.

You start up the staircase, knowing that seeing Plutarch and finding a ride would be the place to start. He might not be happy about it, but there’s really no need for you here. You’re not doing anything besides designing personal weapons that Beetee likes and doesn’t like. 

Occasionally you’re genuinely helpful with dumb shit, but that’s the extent of it. Other than that, you’re miserable. The freedom you have isn’t actual freedom. 

You hop up the last couple of steps, and round the corner to the door to the control room. You practically throw it open, nearly letting it hit the wall, when your hand appears between the crack to stop it.

At your appearance, a few people look over. The only eyes who stick are Boggs, Gale, Haymitch and Plutarch.

“Where’s Finnick?” Gale asks.

“Not his owner,” you go down the steps, eyes on Plutarch, “I want a ride to District Two. Your next hovercraft is mine to take.”

Boggs stands up, crossing his arms, “What about the workshop?”

“Boring, Beetee has it under control.”

“And Finnick?” Haymitch asks, “I thought you were just liking it here--”

“I’m a liar.” 

Gale sighs, “Tell us what happened.”

“Johanna and I are going to end up killing each other the next time we come face to face.” your eyes land on Plutarch to see he has an eye on his watch, “So unless you feel like cleaning up a dead body, I’ll take one free ticket to District Two.”

“The next hovercraft is leaving in fifteen minutes.” Plutarch looks up now, “I’ll call in and let them know you’re going.”

“Does Finnick know you’re doing this?” Gale asks, “He’s going to be upset if we have to tell him--”

“It’s his fault for getting attached to me.” your face is serious, and then the smile spreads over your face, because of the irony of that statement. After what Johanna had said… “He’s your problem now, good luck.”

You go up the steps, heading right out the door you came in. You can’t take the staircase to the top, so you make your way to the elevator instead. You press the button, waiting patiently with a smile on your face.

The hovercrafts that they’re using to get the supplies to and from District Two are the slow type. District Thirteen is in no rush to get the crates there, so it won’t be a surprise to you if it takes more than just a couple of hours for you to get there. Or if it makes stops along the way.

The elevator arrives, you pull up the safety bar, and then step inside, pulling it back down. You punch the top floor button with your thumb, then you go to stare as the floors disappear beneath your feet.

At least back home you don’t have to act and lie for the happiness of others. Especially if your first and only stop is going to be your house in victor’s village. And if you need groceries, it looks like you’ll be hunting for food to eat. Or you might actually have to go into town and ransack the already destroyed buildings.

Most of the people that used to own the shops are probably dead, or they won’t be returning back home for a while. The entirety of victor’s village is going to be a graveyard--there might even still be rotting bodies inside of the houses. If the smell is too unbearable, you could always bury the corpses yourself.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

At the top, there’s someone waiting on the ramp. You don’t bother waiting for them to tell you to hurry it up, you start jogging immediately. The faster you get on, the faster you can take off.

“I’m ready.” you say when you get to the ramp.

“Good, take a seat and strap in.” the man follows you in.

--

The whole district is in ruins.

The last time you were here, everything seemed to be in near perfect condition, apart from the obvious looting that had taken place. The broken windows, and the wood splinters in the gravel could be easily looked over. But it’s much harder to see this place as it once was.

Most stores and houses that were made out of wood, and had been passed down from generation to generation have been burned to ashes or their cement flooring. There’s nothing left of them, not the furniture inside, and definitely not the foundation. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say that they were vacant lots.

If they couldn’t burn, then they were bombed. Chunks of cement and brick have now joined the mixture in the gravel. The roofs have long since caved in, and just one gust of wind makes the walls shudder. All it would take is one more bomb dropped in this area, and it all would come crashing down. 

The air around you is hardly breathable too. Before you had stepped off the hovercraft you were given a mask--not the same gas mask that you’d used during the tribute center invasion--and a pair of sunglasses that would help you see through the debris and smoke.

It’s almost like fog, but so much worse. It’s smoke from fires that can’t be put out, and it’s from the bombs that are from your own district. The loyalists and the rebels are still fighting over this place. Katniss’ visit here hadn’t done much good, in fact you’d say that it made it a lot worse.

As you wander through the streets towards victor’s village, you come up with a lousy plan that’ll likely get you killed. 

Coin had thought that sending Katniss here was a good idea, but it wasn’t by any means. Katniss got a bullet to her ribs, which bruised a ton of them, and put her right back into a hospital bed. They clearly didn’t think about what would happen if you mix people who don’t mind the games, with someone who’s leading a rebellion.

You’ve seen the speech, and as heartfelt as it was, it’s not what they want to hear. 

Here’s the way you saw it at first; this girl from the poorest part of District Twelve is kicking up a rebellion that’ll likely destroy the system that’s making District Two rich, and the favorite. District Two thinks that they’re going to get everything taken away from them. Their houses, nice clothes and furniture, the good paying jobs.

You would all much rather send in the two kids a year--mostly because your children are prepared ahead of time, and therefore the career districts have nothing to lose--than take the risk of getting everything taken away. The Capitol absolutely adores you guys, with all that you supply them. 

So, instead of having the girl that’s leading the rebellion try and convince the loyalists that they’re on the wrong side. You have someone who’s lived in the same luxury as them do it instead. How is Katniss supposed to understand how you all feel? She despised the games, while the rest of you adored it.

The outsider districts don’t understand the need for luxury and favoritism. They’ve lived on the hated side of the Capitol for a long time. The Capitol expects them to underperform in the games, so that’s why they don’t ever see the spotlight until they get a winner.

Anyway, you’re going to get to your house, change into something that says ‘living in luxury’ and then march your way to the justice building. There, you won’t ask for any sort of protection but an escort there instead. You won’t carry any weapons, you won’t pull on a bulletproof vest.

If they shoot you, then they’ll have made their choice very clear.

The gate entrance to the village is all sorts of broken. You barely push the metal door open, and the entire thing falls apart in your hands. You have to prop it up against the fence, being sure that it won’t fall over before you move on to go inside. Then, you waste no time with a quick jog through.

The fountain in the first part of the village is dry. The cement is no longer grey, it’s black from the amount of fire that must have washed through here. On the tiles that line the bottom, there’s melted coins. You’re tempted to reach in and pick one out when you realize just how bad of an idea that is.

You continue down the stone brick path after that, taking in note of every house that you pass. The doors are slightly ajar, most windows seem to be shattered, and a couple are burned down to the foundation. Most still stand though, Sorcha, Enobaria, Brutus, Tanith and Zavian’s seem to be in good condition.

As for Lyme, her house is completely gone. You have an idea that it might be because of the fact that she’s helping the rebels, and some of the loyalists must’ve gotten behind their lines to come and burn hers down specifically. As for the others, there must be a bigger story behind it.

As you come into the third part of the neighborhood, you cross your fingers as you hope it’s not like Lyme’s. You just want a moment inside of a clean house, to be able to go upstairs and find out that there’s running water. Then you’ll take a shower, get dressed in fancy clothing and put on makeup as if there isn’t hellfire around you.

It takes you a moment to find it, because all the houses in this section are still standing. And then you realize that your house is the only one that looks fresh. It hasn’t been touched by all the ash and smoke, it’s still as bright white as the day you received it. Perfect condition.

No windows are broken, the wood and cement show no signs of it being on fire at any point in time. The door is shut tight, a little stuck so you have to rattle the handle until it comes loose. You swing the door wide open, standing in the doorway as you wait to see a mess.

But it’s clean. Of course, the house has collected dust, but there’s no blood. There’s no broken vases, or stuffing all over the floor. It’s how you left it. 

You shut the door behind you, locking it for good measure. As you go inside, you can’t help but to look around and gape like you’re on a house tour. Nothing has been touched, which is the part that baffles you the most. Both the inside and outside are great.

For a moment, you’re not sure why you’re so surprised that nothing had happened--apart from the fact that the whole neighborhood is disgusting. And then you remember the last time you came home from the games. With the house torn apart with dead bodies frozen in time.

“He seriously fucked me up, didn’t he?” you ask, laughing to yourself. 

The house does smell pretty bad though, and the scent only gets stronger the more you head towards the kitchen. You have to plug your nose, strictly breathing in and out through your mouth, blinking away the tears that form in your eyes. It’s just so strong…

Going through the doorway, you take your time to look for anything that might be off. There is nothing, but you’re sure that it was coming from here specifically, and the second that you test the water with a breath of air through your nose, you gag. You go back to breathing through your mouth, even though you can taste the toxicity.

It’s not gas, that’s for sure. It’s something else…

The kitchen, the smell, the fact you haven’t been here--it’s the fridge. The food inside of the fridge and the cupboards are likely rotting. You can picture the mold in your mind already, and you shiver a little. Deciding that it’s better not to investigate further, you head straight upstairs instead.

On the way to your room, you can’t help but to pop open the doors and take a look inside. It’s just the paranoia now that’s making you do this. You don’t think you’ll find anyone in here, it’s just the thought of someone maybe hiding and waiting for you. A house like yours shouldn’t be in perfect condition, not after everything that’s happened.

And yet, there is nothing. Not even in your master bedroom, and not in the bathroom either. Despite this, you also lock your bedroom door, stripping on the way to the bathroom. And when you get inside of there, you lock that one too. For a second, the water in the shower runs cold, but then it turns warm.

While you let it heat up a little more, you take a look at yourself in the mirror for the first time in a couple of weeks. The mirrors that they have in District Thirteen are practically useless, they might as well not have them at all. You can barely see your face in them, and they’re permanently fogged over. At first, you thought that there was a protective film, until you realized that they were just shit quality.

Your fingers dance along the scars that cover you from head to toe. You turn your body to get a better angle, only to be disappointed when they continue. You force yourself to lean onto the counter, even though you’re so incredibly uncomfortable now, but curiosity is what’s fueling it all.

Then you’re able to see that the spider bite scars exist on your face too. They’re faint though, not too noticeable. What is noticeable, is the fact that there’s a scar that’s right beneath your eye. It’s so small that you can see it, even with you leaning over the counter.

You wipe the fog off the mirror, hopping onto the counter. You’re basically pressed against the mirror with how you’re seated as you desperately try to see what the fuck is beneath your eye. Wiping the mirror again, you take your chance to see.

C.S.

Your face twists as you back up, trying to think of who has those initials. Much less who would leave it on you like they’re marking their territory. You slide off the counter, rubbing beneath your eye, wishing that it’ll just go away, but it won’t.

Then it clicks, and you almost wish it hadn’t.

Coriolanus Snow.

You stare at yourself in the mirror, mouth hanging open as you watch the fog take over the mirror again, and your naked figure is covered up as a result.

He marked you. Snow fucking marked you like you’re his pet.

Your hand has swiped the vase off the counter before you’ve realized it. It isn’t until it’s shattered, when you’re jumping out of your skin. Even then, you’re still captivated by the amount of rage that’s running through your veins.

“Motherfucker!” you yell, digging your nail into the spot, gritting your teeth when it hurts. But it has to go. It has to be defaced. You won’t be seen as his. You don’t belong to Snow.

It’s a relief when your bare nail breaks skin. Though, more pain spikes in that one spot, and even in your eye a little bit. You lean on the counter, squeezing your eyes shut and giving yourself a moment to recover before you head into the shower.

You can’t fucking believe this.

--

You had always told yourself that you would be saving this dress for an occasion that you’d never be able to replicate. No weddings, funerals or parties. No victory tour, no get together, no reaping. You had to save it for something that would be groundbreaking, something that would change the game altogether.

At first, you didn’t want to pick it up for even this. Then you remembered that you have a chance of dying, and thought that was an event you’d never be able to replicate. Because you’d be dead.

And now that you’re walking to the justice buildings, holding the dress up so that it doesn’t get caught in the gravel and what lies inside of you, you’re beginning to see that you’ve got to make it count. Not the dress, but this entire encounter. If they don’t end up killing you, they’re definitely not going to let you come back again. Not peacefully, at least.

All you have to do is make them hesitate. Make them think for the rebel’s side for a second. That’s all you need. A moment of apprehension that they’ll never be able to take back. And since you’re pretty good at playing devil's advocate, this will be a walk in the park.

Seeing a sudden blast of dust and dirt heading your way, you make a home behind a building, aiming the umbrella you’re holding towards the corner that’s closest to you. It takes a moment before the dust storm comes through. The rocks pelt the plastic, and they attack your bare legs.

Since the umbrella is see-through, you’re able to tell when it dies down. You don’t wait to make sure that it’s over completely, because you never know when another gust will roll on in. At some point in time, you recognize the streets that the scouting group had brought you through, so you take that carefully.

You’re still fairly surprised that Paylor and Lyme hadn’t taken your statement of a survey group into consideration. And if they did, then that didn’t last as long as you thought it would. It’s literally only been two to three weeks since you were here last.

You guess that just means that they can’t spare the people as much as they could before. Which says a lot--that they’re losing the battle they swore that they’d be able to win. Coin said in one of her speeches that it wouldn’t be easy, and it would take a while. And here you are, thinking that you’ll be able to change their minds in a day.

“Watch this.” you smile to yourself.

You go around a corner, only to stop dead in your tracks. Standing right in front of you are some pretty armored people, holding a gun pointed straight at your chest. 

“State your name and business.”

“I see Lyme’s upgraded her shitty guards.” you give him a smile, “(Y/n) Rosecelli.”

He lowers the gun, “You’re supposed to be in District Thirteen.”

“It’s not as glamorous as it seems.” you say, continuing your way down the alley, “Quite boring. Is Lyme in the justice building?”

“Yes, I can bring--”

“I’ve got it.” you cut him off, leaving him behind you.

“I wouldn’t recommend going that way.”

“Whatever!” you shout, going right out.

The steps to the building are pretty wrecked, but there’s just enough stone for you to be able to go up them. You hike the dress up a little higher, stomping your heels when you step, as you try to get the gravel and glass off your shoes. The people standing outside the building seem confused at first.

“Excuse me.” you say, moving right past them as you head through the doors.

You take the stairs up, still having an iron grip on the dress. You won’t let it down until you’re standing in front of rebels. You swear on everything.

You pass a third set of guards on your way inside of the meeting room that they had used the first time. When the door pops open, you can see a familiar face on the hologram screen. Alma Coin.

Paylor and Lyme look over simultaneously to see who’s entered the room. 

“(Y/n)’s here.” Lyme says, standing up now.

“Good.” Coin says, “Won’t you join us?”

You make a face, stepping inside and shutting the door. You don’t head that far inside, sticking rather close to the door, but still in sight of the camera. 

“Finnick’s been looking everywhere for you.” Coin tells you calmly, “We just broke the news to him.”

“And?” you ask.

“He’s disappointed that he went through all that trouble to throw a party for you.”

So that’s what he was doing earlier. Throwing you a party, and for what? God, you can’t imagine the headache you would have had through the whole thing. Fake a smile, pretend to like it. The only parties you do like are the types that go on inside of the Capitol.

It’s all lavish there. The foods are delicious, the sweets and the sour foods. The drinks they have that you swear are going to make you dehydrated, but you drink anyway. The people there are always so friendly, even when they aren’t. They’re so stupid and naive that it makes it enjoyable to be around them.

Not to mention they worshipped you.

“Am I supposed to care?” you ask, crossing your arms, “Can’t be a very good party with your district. The entire thing is probably being attended by a total of ten people, and the food and drinks are twenty years old. I’m not missing out on anything, trust me.”

Coin bites her tongue, smiling, “Maybe it’s best that you’re back in District Two, then.”

“I’m done talking to you.” you give her a mock smile, turning to Lyme and Paylor, “I’m going to solve this whole loyalist problem for you in a second. Do you want to send a camera crew with me just in case it works?”

Lyme’s confused, “No offense, but what makes you think it’ll work? Especially with your mouth?”

“Cause I know you guys have been approaching it all wrong, and rather than having a second person fuck it up for you ingrates, I’ll do it myself. I may be selfish but I’m also open minded and have a way of words when I’m not being a complete bitch.” you look at Coin, “And if it does work, you don’t get to say you planned it at all. I’m not Katniss, and I won’t be easily manipulated.

“On top of that, you’ll also owe me a shiny, brand new apartment in the heart of the Capitol. Otherwise you can take that propaganda footage and shove it up that ass of yours.” you point to Lyme and Paylor, “Camera crew, now.”

You leave the room after that, and Paylor approves the camera crew, asking one of the people in the room with them to go ahead and gather the people. In the meantime, you take a look at yourself in the nearest bathroom. Your makeup and hair are still how you left it, and the dress isn’t that dirty either. 

When you get outside, there’s people already waiting to take you to the tunnels. And for their protection, they’re bringing volunteers with them. As for you, you’ll be out in the open just as you asked for.

“I live in luxury.” you tell yourself, raising your head a bit, “I belong in the Capitol. I am a loyalist. These rebels have no idea what they’re doing.”

You take the train tracks straight to the tunnel. The mountain has long since collapsed, which drew out most of the loyalists. And with Katniss’ speech after, a few surrendered. But there’s still plenty of people inside of there.

“I don’t know if we can follow you inside.” one of the girls tells you nervously, “It’s dark and unhealthy in there. If they begin firing, we’ll be the first to be brought down.”

“No, I will.” you say, “They’ll likely let you all live. If those cameras zoom well, keep as much of a distance as you can spare.”

The girl nods, “We trust you.”

You press your lips together, because it’s a first, “If I reach for my dress and turn my body like I’m going to run, you should take off immediately. I don’t plan on running, but I will if it gets too risky.”

“We’ll keep an eye out, I promise.”

Inside the tunnel, it’s even dirtier than you expected. Nonetheless, you all push through. The camera crew and the couple of armed people have masks over their face, but you work right through the dirt and smoke filled air. Even if you put a mask on now, you’ll have to take it off to talk anyway. There would be no point to it, you’re going to breathe in the air whether you like it or not.

“Stop!” A voice shouts, and you all come to a halt.

“Stay here.” you tell the crew.

Lights turn on, you cover your eyes for a moment as you blink through, trying to get adjusted to them. When you lower your hand, you can see that there’s several people ready to shoot you, and what looks like hundreds of people ready to back them up. The lights are coming from the train right in front of you.

“My name is (Y/n) Rosecelli, I’m here to speak to whoever is in charge, face to face.” you move forward, but stop a little bit after that, not wanting to push your limits.

Someone appears on the top of the train, an automatic rifle in his hands, “You shouldn’t be in here.”

You drop the dress down now, “No, I shouldn’t. This place is unfathomably filthy, and I can’t imagine how hard it is to breathe the air in here. What’s your name?”

“Jovian.”

“You know why I’m here, right?” you ask, crossing your arms, your eyes wandering over all the people waiting to see what happens.

“It’s pretty obvious, which is why I should let you know it’s not going to work, and you should leave while you can.” he tells you, “Or I’ll just make an example of you, just like how we did with Katniss.”

“Except Katniss is still alive in District Thirteen, you didn’t actually kill her.” you tell him, “Healthy as a horse, she was up on her feet the same day, ready to come right back here and give you guys a second chance.”

They won’t know you’re lying.

“We should’ve gone for her head.”

You ignore that, “There’s a big difference between Katniss and I, though. Katniss grew up in the poorest part of twelve, and I grew up in what was arguable once the richest parts of District Two. And then I won the games and got more money than I knew what to do with, and she didn’t have any time to get to realize her luxury.

“Because of this, she’ll never understand what you’ll have to sacrifice if you do take part in the fight. You’re putting everything up for a gamble. Your house, your clothes, furniture, a family. And you’d have to do it without knowing the outcome of a rebellion.”

Jovian nods slowly, “You get it.”

“Of course I do, I was once a Capitol pet too, and then Snow ended up killing my family, and then my friends on top of that.” you motion with your hand, “And I saw the type of people that we were supporting all this time. They’re nothing worth supporting, Jovian. I can promise you that.”

Jovian shakes his head, “What if you lose, huh? The district is already in deep shit because half of us are rebels, what if there’s a chance that the people who don’t fight with you, get rewarded?”

You snort, “You think he’s writing down names? You think he gives a shit if some of you were helping, and the others weren’t? All he’s going to see is that District Two had tried to help the rebels, and suddenly we’re all fucked. So why not give in? You know what will happen if there are no more hunger games, no more districts, no more districts versus the Capitol bullshit?

“You’d be able to live wherever you want--the Capitol, here, any of the other districts, places that were off limits, maybe even in some of the arenas that had gone untouched. You would work if you want to, and have a million kids without worrying about teaching them how to fight.

“There would be no more worries, Jovian. You’d still get to live the same, but it would be that much more freedom. And even if you wouldn’t want to live in any of those other places, you’d be able to visit them whenever you want. Take a vacation to the Capitol and come home to a sturdy house. And for anyone who hasn't found their soulmate because they exist in a different district, you’d have a greater chance of finding them.”

The silence that fills the tunnel is surprisingly calm, it isn’t as tense as you thought it would be. Jovian is obviously thinking all of this through.

“But we can’t win this without District Two. If we get those warehouses pumping out weapons, we’ll win this, guaranteed. It’ll be difficult, as all wars are, but we’ll win for once. We’ll get the justice we deserve, Snow will pay for all the shit he’s done.” you insist, “If you guys come with me now, there’s no hard feelings.

“There’s food, water, clothes, medicine. All you’d have to do is come with us now, and we’ll get you cleaned up, one at a time.”

Jovian looks down at you, “And you can promise us this?”

You look behind you, straight at one of the guards, “Get Paylor to confirm this.”

It takes a moment, but when her voice comes over the tunnel, echoing, saying all of what you said is true, you can’t help but to give a hopeful look to Jovian.

He takes in a deep breath, “Okay.”

“That’s just you, though.” you look to all the others, past the lights, “How about you guys? Are you willing to fight?”

“Will you be fighting with us?” someone yells to you.

This question you weren’t expecting, but you find yourself nodding before you can catch it, “Every step of the way.”

“Then sign me up.” A girl starts coming forward, behind her trails a couple of kids, they come in a line, all holding hands. She walks right past you guys.

It takes a moment before others start breaking off in groups. Jovian gives you a look, “These are my people.”

“They’re our people now.” You correct him, “And they’re going to be safe. Pack the hurt into the train and get this baby moving out here.”

You turn around, heading towards the camera, “Is it still running?”

“Yes.”

You look straight into the camera lense, “Twenty-three kids have died every year for the past seventy-four years. That’s one thousand, seven hundred and one kids that have died in the hunger games. Nearly two thousand of your kids have gone into an arena, scared and alone. 

“They wouldn’t know where their next meal would come from, they didn’t know if they would get sponsors or if they were worthy of them. They likely shivered and starved and were dehydrated down to their very last days. And while it was happening, all they could picture was their blue face in the night sky, signaling another fallen tribute.

“And you’re telling me, that now there’s a rebellion happening--one that will stop a cycle of heartless and meaningless murder--you’re not going to help? You’ll finally be able to have kids, and not worry about training them the moment that they’re born. No more staying up all night worrying that it’ll be your kid picked during the reaping.

“But we can’t get there if you don’t help.” You then lean a forward, “And Coriolanus, if you’re watching, I’d like to let you know that I found the scar you left on my face. You can mark me all you fucking want, but I haven’t done your bidding since I was sixteen. How’s this for calming down District Two?”

You stand up again, “For those of you who don’t know, my name is (Y/n) Rosecelli, I won the sixty-sixth hunger games when I was sixteen. I’m from District Two, and I have to admit that I have lived in luxury since the day I was born, and coming to terms with a rebellion that has ruined my whole lifestyle, isn’t easy.

“However, if I can see past all my greediness to realize that it’s unfair that I can live in luxury and others live in dirt, then you can too. There will be no more inequality, everyone will be able to live in a stable environment, and if you don’t want that, then you’re just as ill as Snow is.”

You turn to leave after that, hiking up the dress in the front so you don’t end up stepping on it and make a fool out of yourself in the process. It’s a couple of moments before the others are scrambling to follow.

“Are you really going to fight with us?” The girl asks.

“I said I would, didn’t I?”

She’s quiet for a moment, “You just don’t look like you’d been into that type of thing.”

You look at her, “Don’t be fooled by the dress and makeup. I’m a lot more than a pretty face.”

“We’ll have to get you fitted for clothing, then. You can’t march to the Capitol in a dress.”

You end the conversation, not saying anything else to her. What she said is obvious, you know that you’ll have to be dressed properly. Hell, you know what’s happening in the Capitol at the moment.

Nothing slips past you. You hear everything when it comes to secrets. You knew Johanna had been waterboarded because she failed some sort of swimming test, nearly took down a couple of people during her panic. And you knew that her and Blight were a little more than friends too.

Just like how you know that the Capitol is turning into a whole trap. Snow is planting these pods—as Beetee called them—that are near impossible to keep track of. Snow is pulling in the Capitol citizens closer, allowing him to plant more pods. Hundreds of them, every single day.

Which means that if you go out there with the other volunteers, there’s a good chance of a million things happening to you. You can’t even think of what the gamemakers would put into the streets of the Capitol. All you know is that it can’t be good. 

They might as well throw in every single project that they’ve ever created since they won’t be able to use it against you all in the future. And in that case, you might not want to be in the streets of the Capitol after all.

Right when you leave the train station, there’s a giant dumpster waiting for the people leaving the tunnel. They’re forced to give up their weapons so that they can pass into the team of medics that are waiting. As you get closer, you’re able to see that there’s no struggle. Most give up their weapons without a fight, but some are a little hesitant to do so.

You and the camera crew pass by it easily, none of you are holding a significant weapon, and if you are, you’re all rebels anyway. They’re not worried about you guys turning on them, it’s more like the newly rebels that are just coming out of the tunnel.

Past all the disarming, is the group of medics that wait for everyone who makes it past the tunnel. It takes a bit for you and the camera crew to get through the dense crowd that only gets bigger. Just before you break the last line of people, you can hear the train’s horn, warning everyone that it’s coming.

Then, you get through.

Waiting on the other side of the crowd is Lyme, with a particularly impressed look on her face. 

“Maybe we should have sent you in, initially.” Lyme says, “You did it effortlessly.”

“If any of you had bothered to tell me before sending Katniss in, I would have told you it was a bad idea.” You take a look behind you, “And by the way, this is a perfect example of what you should do when it comes to the Capitol citizens.”

“Want to be put in charge of that?” Lyme offers.

Your head whips towards her, “I will not play devil's advocate for them. That’s your fucking problem to sort.”

“It was just an offer.” Lyme says, but you’re already leaving towards the justice building again. Lyme’s quite taller than you, so it takes basically no effort when it comes to catching up with you, “While you were gone, Coin had someone flown in.”

You can’t help but let out a snort, “Oh, whoever should that be?”

After what you said to Coin, it’s no surprise to you. She would pull some bullshit like this to make you angry. It’s just her little form of payback.

“He’s waiting at your house.”

You look at her, “You had him escorted to my house?”

“He wouldn’t shut up about it. Gave him basic instructions to get to victor’s village, and then told him yours is the only one that hasn’t been touched.”

“Speaking of which, why is that?” you fix a curl that’s fallen into your face.

“Honestly, no clue.” Lyme says, “Good luck with Finnick.”

“Right.”

Lyme and the camera crew break off when you reach the justice building. From there, one single person brings you as far as they’re allowed to go into the town part of District Two, and then they head back to where they had been standing before you stumbled along.

You’re nearly home when your feet start to ache from the heels. And if it weren’t for the fact that the dirt is mixed in with glass, you might have taken the heels right off and walked barefoot the rest of the way. Before the rebellion, you definitely would have done that. Regardless of how people would feel about it.

Victor’s village still looks shitty, there’s not much to expect from it in the first place. It’s not like it’s going to have changed in the past hour or two. Although, you thought that you might find Finnick poking around in the abandoned, charcoal black houses.

Through the first arch and into the second reveals your perfect house. The door is shut--so it looks like Finnick knows his manners--and you don’t waste time going inside.

Swinging the door open, you make a point to slam it shut when you get inside. You don’t even move from the doorway before you’re tearing the heels off your feet, massaging them one at a time. Then, you head upstairs to your room.

If Finnick wants to speak, Finnick can come and find you. He invited himself to District Two, he was able to find your house, he’ll be able to find you.

Or rather, the other way around.

Finnick’s lounging on your bed when you walk in. In his hand he holds a book with your face on it. You can’t help but roll your eyes--that book was forced on you by Snow. He thought it was a good idea to draw in more attraction to you. And unfortunately it worked, and after that, you spent a couple more weeks than you were meant to, inside of the Capitol.

Of course, it ran short when everyone heard about your sour attitude, no matter what time of the day it was. People revoked their… reservations, and you were forced to go home.

“Welcome.” you say bitterly, opening the wardrobe doors and tossing your shoes inside, then you unzip the dress from the back with little to no problem.

“So the friendliness didn’t last long.” Finnick sounds amused, but when you turn to look over your shoulder, you can see that it’s not how he’s feeling. There’s a hint of a scowl on his face, maybe some touch of annoyance.

“Thank god.” you hang the dress up, then you close the wardrobe door and move onto the bathroom.

You tear off everything that you wouldn’t normally wear. The bracelets, earrings, rings. The only thing you leave is the necklace Tanith gave you, otherwise it’s all gone. And as soon as you get into the bathroom, it’s tossed into the jewelry drawer, which is absolute hellfire to sift through. 

Finnick follows you to the bathroom, and watches as you remove the makeup, unphased by the fact that you’re half naked again, “Did you actually mean any of it?”

You pause for a moment, “Mean what? What I said to Johanna? Every word, she fucking asked for it. Antagonizing me and all that, she should have seen it coming.”

“The apology.” Finnick clarifies.

“I meant that, yes.” there’s no hesitation.

“That’s all I wanted to know.” he turns and leaves the bathroom.

“So now what?” you call, “You’re going back to District Thirteen?”

Finnick laughs, “Dream on.”

You roll your eyes, “It was worth a shot.”

“Your house smells like shit, by the way.”

“It’s the kitchen, feel free to clean it out if it bothers you that much. I just figured that this house would be blown to bits the second Snow gets a chance because of what I said.”

“Speaking of which.” Finnick comes back, he’s got some clothes for you hanging over his arm, “The front lines?”

You scowl at him a little bit, “Did anyone ever tell you it’s rude to go through someone’s clothes? And yes, the front lines.”

Regardless, you pull on the shorts and shirt after tossing the makeup wipes away. You unpin your hair, letting it all fall into place unnaturally, which causes you to just pull it right back up into a ponytail anyway to keep it out of your face.

“I was hoping you wouldn’t say that.”

You side-eye him, “Let me guess, you’re coming along?”

Finnick smiles, “You know me better than I thought.”

“No, you just have a thing for following me around, so I figured. Just like how Lyme didn’t even have to say your name, and I knew you came.” you grin a little, “How was the party, by the way?”

“Surprisingly boring without you there.”

“You’re saying that I’m entertainment?” you ask.

“The best.” Finnick smiles.

[mythicamagic]

Impostor Syndrome: Sesskag oneshot

Summery: Kagome is resurrected by a grief stricken husband- brought back to fill his late wife Kikyo’s shoes. While the characteristics unique to Kagome are rejected by Inuyasha, there’s a certain Daiyoukai who has a fascination with her blue eyes, sun kissed skin and curling hair.

Rated T (angst, relationship drama, romance and hurt/comfort) 7,000+ words.

AN: Inuyasha plays a more antagonistic role here but in case you’ve never read my stuff before, just know that I do like him and love me some good platonic best friends Inukag, as seen in Conversing with Emotion and Swimming in Silk. It’s just that I like to play around with the characters, so forgive me for how he’s written in this one.

No smut here but please enjoy.

Impostor Syndrome

There once was a young man who married for love. Born a half-demon, he never anticipated anyone loving him, let alone a priestess; enemy to his father’s kin.

But just as he did not fit in with demon or humankind, she did not belong within the role assigned to her either. An extraordinary woman wishing to be ordinary. To be free from the weight of expectation placed upon her shoulders.

And so they’d fled.

After marrying for love the young man experienced pure, quiet happiness with his wife. She had a calming spirit that could turn hard as flint, blinding in her cold ruthlessness. She could slay enemies efficiently and with poised control yet turn soft and loving for him alone.

They lived for a time together in the forest, keeping to their personal haven.

Because of her skill, the young man trusted her power not to fail on the night of the new moon.

He howled his grief and despair long into the early hours of morning after discovering her broken body lying in the grass of a clearing.

But that was not quite the end of the man who married for love. Instead, he attempted to play God.

—-

She took her first breath and broke into a coughing fit. Rising up from the cold floor, a young woman shivered. Glancing down, she found herself covered in sticky sweat, completely bare.

“Kikyo,” someone breathed, barely above a whisper.

The young woman started. Her hand was caught between two larger ones that clasped her fingers tight, squeezing. Blue eyes raised to the stranger with muted confusion.

He blinked with equal confusion and mounting anger, sniffing. “You don't… smell like her,” the words came faintly. “Why doesn’t she smell like her!” He burst, causing the woman to jolt.

“Master Inuyasha, the spell you desired is a finicky one.” A slippery, hoarse voice came from behind them, dripping fake pleasantries. “Be patient. Your wife may not look or smell quite the same but her memories will return from the dead.”

Inuyasha glared over his shoulder at the witch who lingered in the entrance to his hut like an unwanted spectre. “She better. This ain’t what I agreed to,” he stood, fists trembling.

The girl at his feet stared with furrowed brows, uncertain why disappointment brimmed in the stranger’s eyes. Nonetheless, he seemed to try and correct his attitude, reaching down to grasp thin arms. Roughly tugging her to stand, he supported her around the waist when she wobbled. “I guess we’ll just take this slow,” he sighed. “I’m your husband, Inuyasha. And your name is Kikyo.”

She blinked and tried to steady herself on trembling legs, frowning.

The very first words out of her mouth were;

“I’m not Kikyo.”

—-

Perhaps those words didn’t help endear her to Inuyasha. Nonetheless, he resolved to start from scratch.

‘Kikyo’ was given his late wife’s clothes to wear, smoothing the priestess robes over her body. However, with every opportunity, the woman slipped out of the robes in order to wear a yukata or kimono instead. Anything but the miko attire. It set his teeth on edge. At least she held the holy power of a priestess like his wife.

She understood his language and already knew the basics of reading and writing. Inuyasha took this to be a good sign since his late wife had been educated.

When it came to other things, the woman tried her best to learn the necessary herbs for healing as instructed. Yet her attention often wandered away, lost in a daydream.

“Oi,” he grunted. “Focus. Kikyo was dedicated to this stuff.”

“But we already have enough herbs from yesterday,” sighing, she straightened and rested the basket of herbs against her hip. “Can’t we do something else?” Blue eyes lingered on the treetops. “Is there a beach near here? I’d really like to see the ocean.”

White ears flicked and pressed to his skull. “Where’d you hear about beaches? I never took Kikyo to one.”

She continued to gaze longingly at the trees, as though looking through them to somewhere else, somewhere far away. Inuyasha grit his teeth, bristling. Grasping the woman’s chin and turning it slightly to better inspect the structure of her face, he tsked. “Damn it… wish your eyes were brown like they used to be,” he grumbled. “Hurry up and remember everything already. You’re not acting right.”

Blue eyes slid away, lips thinning. “I’m just acting like myself…”

“Keh, you ain’t anyone else but Kikyo,” dropping her chin, he straightened. “Things are weird right now but they’ll go back to normal as soon as you remember, I promise.”

The young woman buried her feelings anew. She’d been doing that a lot lately. When he walked away and called for Kikyo, it took her a moment to remember that she’d been assigned such a name. It didn’t sit right on her tongue.

—

Inuyasha lived fairly isolated within the woods with his wife. However, there were those who knew where to find him. Namely: his half brother.

“Don’t you think it’s about time you used it?”

“I have used it.”

“Experimenting with the sword on Jaken and a little girl does not count,” Inukimi hummed with amusement, watching her son with dancing eyes.

Sesshoumaru’s narrowed, head tilting back and brushing long silver hair over his shoulder. “As this one has stated numerous times; a sword of healing is a useless prop for a warlord to wield.”

His honoured mother hummed, resting her pale cheek in her palm boredly. “I do wish your Father were still with us to temper that disrespectful tongue of yours. Consider my words, pup. That sword should be used, and preferably to save a life that is precious to you. Don’t squander it, dearest. I thought you hated wasted potential.”

With a snort, Sesshoumaru took his leave. Disappointment radiated off Inukimi but he hardly cared. Whatever ‘lesson’ Father had intended for him to learn about Tenseiga was ultimately useless for a demon like him.

Returning to his own stronghold, Sesshoumaru listened to the reports from his advisers, before making his way down a hallway. Strange that his blood did not sing with the thrill of victory. Reports of his army’s success in battle were usually a favourable thing. Lately, however, there was no burning satisfaction. Perhaps he merely needed to visit the front lines again for himself. Jaken was most likely instructing Rin in her morning lessons at that time, so he made his way towards the gardens.

Whispers flitted into the air, irritating his ears. Sesshoumaru zeroed in on the hushed mutterings and paused mid-step. The Lord of the Western lands did not care much for idle gossip, yet a particularly prevalent one kept cropping up lately.

“Did ye hear? Master Inuyasha’s wife perished.”

“The priestess Kikyo?”

“Mn- and do not repeat this but I hear he revived her with the use of dark magic.”

“No!”

“Yes. Though I suppose he’d need to rely on such means. It is not as though Lord Sesshoumaru would lend him Tenseiga.”

At the mention of his name, a frosty gaze swung to the servants down the hallway. They squeaked and hurried away.

Though he loathed agreeing, the validity of their statement couldn’t be denied. He and his brother were not ‘close’ by any stretch of the imagination. Still, Sesshoumaru felt mildly curious about the whelp’s situation.

This curiosity resulted in the Daiyoukai gliding through the sky that afternoon. It took a few hours, but Sesshoumaru followed his memory towards Inuyasha’s humble hut. He did not land gracefully before the house, instead keeping to the surrounding bushes. Moving near silently under the heavy shade of the trees, pointed ears twitched.

Thwack.

Sesshoumaru scented the air and minded some low hanging branches aside, revealing the figure of a dark-haired young woman in the clearing ahead. She drew a bowstring back and arched her spine slightly, pulling taut. Taking in a breath, she released in time with the arrow sailing free.

Sesshoumaru’s eyes widened slightly, watching it fly through the air. Blazing, rippling light flowed around it like a fireball, crashing into the target and licking at the paper with burns before fading away.

“The hell was THAT?!”

Sesshoumaru dazedly forced his attention to Inuyasha, who stomped into view. “One: ya missed the bullseye! Two: your stance was wrong, and three: Kikyo had amazing control over her powers. She never woulda let them loose like that! Ya stupid or something? Do I gotta tell you the basics over and over?”

The miko sighed and dropped her arms, making a face. “Can’t you encourage me for once and say ‘good job?’ I try my best every time!”

“I’ll tell ya 'good job’ when you do one!”

Sesshoumaru raised a brow, watching as Inuyasha fell quiet. He reached up and contemplatively curled his fingers into the woman’s thick dark hair. The woman stilled, becoming watchful.

“It’s startin’ to kink at the ends again. Go wash it,” he grunted so softly Sesshoumaru’s hearing strained a little to catch it.

Blue eyes dimmed. The woman broke from Inuyasha’s touch to flee, hurrying away from their training grounds.

Sesshoumaru pursued.

Silently moving through the trees with all the grace of a jungle cat, limbs shifted and eyes assessed, gleaming bright in the shadows. Sesshoumaru leaned against a tree, remaining hidden by the foliage. The sound of muffled sobs reached his ears, almost buried under the noise of a waterfall. Salt fanned through the air. The woman knelt in a pool beside the falls, stripped down to a white underlayer yukata. She poured a bucket over her head, shuddering. Biting back sobs, she miserably combed shaking fingers through her hair, pausing to inspect the naturally curling dark locks.

“Just flatten. Why can’t you stay straight?” She sighed.

Sesshoumaru rose a brow as the young woman raised an arm, pushing back her sleeve to glare at her skin. “And don’t even get me started on you.”

When she did not elaborate, he found himself walking through the greenery, pushing past the bushes to inquire: “What exactly has your flesh done to offend you, madwoman?”

Starting violently, she fell back to land on her ass, creating a small splash. Blue eyes flew wide, flitting over his figure. Sesshoumaru let her drink him in. He often had that effect on people.

She gathered herself a little quicker than expected, rising. “I was just annoyed about being so tanned. My uh… husband,” the word was faint and sounded almost like a question. “He said his former wife was pale but she spent all her time outdoors. How’s that possible?!”

Sesshoumaru blinked languidly, tilting his head slightly. “Hn. This one was led to believe Inuyasha had resurrected the priestess Kikyo. However, you seem more like a replacement than her double.”

Flinching, she began ringing her hair. Water droplets slid down rosy cheeks and fell from the dark, dishevelled strands of midnight black locks. The white yukata plastered to her body almost indecently.

Sesshoumaru lifted his eyes from where they’d been lingering and caught her gaze. Colour leaked into her cheeks, darkening them further as she huffed. “You know Inuyasha, then?”

“This one is his half brother, Sesshoumaru.”

“Oh,” her eyes clouded with thought. “I didn’t know he had a brother. I don’t get to talk to anyone else but he still doesn’t tell me much about himself.”

Sesshoumaru watched as the woman bowed slightly. “It’s nice to meet you, I’m-” she caught herself, lips thinning. A dark look crossed her features before the name was pushed past her teeth like mud. “Kikyo. I'm… Kikyo.”

“No, you are not.”

The woman jolted and stared, fingers curling into her sleeves tightly. “I don't… have another name,” came a fragile murmur.

“Then give yourself one,” he uttered flatly, uncertain why he lingered. He supposed it displeased him on some level. Sesshoumaru did not like unnecessary waste. What he’d witnessed earlier of her powers hinted at a deep well of untapped potential in the girl. She’d likely not unlock it if Inuyasha kept her mind on trivial details like 'straight hair.’ “This one gave himself the name Sesshoumaru, or Killing Perfection. When a demon comes of age, they may choose a new one for themselves,” he elaborated. “I have been bred for war. So that is the most fitting name.”

She blinked and rubbed at her eyes, before raising her head, lips curving. “The 'killing’ part, sure. But 'perfection?’” She teased.

“I am very good at it,” he said in a silky tone.

Bursting into a laugh, the strange woman gave the brightest smile the demon lord had yet to witness, blue eyes glimmering. “I see. Thank you for the advice. I’ll do that.”

He frowned slightly, suddenly feeling a little odd. Hyper aware of his lack of reason to be there now, Sesshoumaru turned on his heel and walked away. In his eagerness to leave, he quite forgot to check in with Inuyasha himself.

A few days went by before Sesshoumaru made the journey back to Inuyasha’s home once more. Peace reigned throughout the Lord’s lands so he allowed himself the 'entertainment’ of watching Inuyasha’s latest drama. It was most definitely not to glimpse the miko again, nor to monitor her progress.

She seemed to have improved her aim, yet the reiki remained unfiltered and untrained. What was Inuyasha doing?

Ah, it seemed he was in the middle of their latest shouting match.

Clearly yelling would not make the girl learn any faster. Golden eyes cut to the sky. Why did he have to get involved?

“Concentrate your energy into the arrow.”

“Huh?” The woman glanced over her shoulder, now left briefly unmonitored by the whelp. She shifted the bow and arrow in her hands, dressed in traditional red and white miko attire today. They made her look like a Kikyo doll. “I don’t…know how,” she confessed. “It always feels like there’s so much of it. Like I’m trying to hold onto water that’s pouring too quick. I can cup a little into my hands, but the rest overflows.”

Sesshoumaru hummed, gaze ripping itself away from the light catching in her hair, causing some strands to shine a strangely blue hue. “Practice yields results. Eventually you will manage to filter the 'water’ into the arrow and allow the excess to flow back into you.”

She nodded and faced the target, elbows drooped and feet too close together. Biting back a sigh, he approached.

A hand met her elbow, pushing to raise it. “Keep your arms in this position…” his deep baritone became clogged with a velvety rumble, finding her scent not unpleasant when it brushed over his senses. His palm met the base of her spine, prodding to arch her back. She felt warm to the touch.

He then slid a foot between her own, nudging her legs to part wider. A rapid heartbeat thundered in his ears. “This is the correct stance.”

“A-ah, thanks.”

With a palm pressing against her back, Sesshoumaru felt it when she inhaled a breath, coiling static energy into the wooden arrow and releasing it.

The arrow flew free, missing the bullseye. However, the holy powers raced over her bow in an agitated manner before settling back down instead of scotching the target.

Better, he mused.

She gave a much louder whoop of success.

From that day on, he visited the miko in secret once each week. It pleased the slumbering desire within him to witness the smile come to her lips the instant blue eyes fell upon him. Like she’d been waiting. Whenever they met and the demon’s knuckles grazed her waist- her arm, her hair- the woman scrubbed herself afterwards in a hot spring or pool, mindful of Inuyasha’s keen nose.

Sesshoumaru’s voice was crisp and clear, instruction brief and to the point in his teaching. She tried her best as his pupil, grumbling sometimes but not outright complaining. Instead, the nameless woman threw herself wholeheartedly into what was demanded of her.

Two months later, she finally hit the bullseye with perfect control. Not a hint of reiki over-spilled.

“I did it!” The woman glanced over her shoulder to look up at him, beaming from ear to ear.

Sesshoumaru stared. Her happy scent washed over him in waves. His lips parted to drink it in easier. Faintly, the sleeping want for her stirred and stretched awake like a disturbed cat.

It was while staring that the dip of her collar hinting at succulent flesh laying just beneath- that something caught his eye. Her clothing shifted downwards, revealing a glimpse of something unmistakable.

A love bite.

The situation suddenly dawned on him, the ridiculousness of what he was doing. He should not get involved with Inuyasha’s wench. Hell, he shouldn’t even be there. What was he doing? He had wars to plan, subjects to lead. And yet he’d been waiting each day for that favoured time he’d visit her anew. Mentally he took a step back.

“Sesshoumaru?”

He frowned at the familiarity with which she used his name. At his pensive silence, dark brows pulled together and she bit her lip maddeningly.

Foolish miko. This one’s teeth should be the ones to catch your lips and bite down-

“Oi, Kikyo!” Came a distant shout.

They both jolted, Sesshoumaru raising his head. He did not run nor hide, because Sesshoumaru did not flee from anyone.

From out of the forest greenery, Inuyasha burst forth, snarling. He raised a hand and flexed his fingers. “I thought I smelled ya. The hell are you doing here, Sesshoumaru? Back off. That’s my wife you’re hovering around.”

“Is that so?” He uttered, raising his chin in a lofty manner. “She is so changed in appearance and scent this one mistook her for a different human entirely.”

Out of his peripheral vision, the woman flinched. For some reason, this set his teeth on edge. She should not think it an insult. Inuyasha’s words were starting to infect her, seep into the woman’s self-image, rotting it like poison.

Not that this one cares.

Inuyasha snarled. “She’s gonna go back to normal soon, it ain’t any of your business!”

“No, it is not. In fact, it is far beneath my notice,” he uttered, claws flexing. And then because he could, Sesshoumaru blurred through the air and struck. His fist plummeted into Inuyasha’s cheek, sending the hanyou sailing away and crashing into the ground.

His half brother sputtered and snarled, sitting up and holding his cheek. “The fuck was that for?! You wanna fight?”

“I have little inclination to linger here any longer than necessary,” Sesshoumaru lied, turning on his heel and passing the miko. Sadness fanned out from her scent, irritating his senses. She didn’t look at him, which the Daiyoukai found displeasing and unacceptable. Nonetheless, he walked away.

—-

Dark, wild hair had been tamed back into a low ponytail the next time he saw the miko. It was unfortunate that she happened to also see him. Oddly, the usual method of concealing his youki hadn’t worked, and she’d zeroed in on his presence within the trees. Perhaps she had much-untapped potential.

“Sesshoumaru?”

Gracefully dropping from the branches elicited a gasp from the woman. “Y-you’re injured!”

Sesshoumaru glanced at his shoulder wound. Blood had leaked into the red crest patterning his clothes, dying it a deeper crimson. “Hn.”

“Don’t you 'hn’ me! What happened? Why aren’t you treating it?” She fussed, approaching to grip the clean material of his white silks and try to pry them away from the wound, squinting at the slash marks.

“In a few hours this one will be healed. There is little reason to fuss, woman,” he tried to bat her hand away but surprise froze his veins when she caught his striped wrist. Her hands felt soft and smaller than his own, but firm and sure.

“I’m going to fetch my supplies. You wait here or I’ll damn track you down myself, got that?” She threatened, blue eyes sparking in such a way that they made the male twitch and wish for a different kind of touch from the miko. Sesshoumaru bit the inside of his cheek, watching her hurry away.

When she returned, Sesshoumaru had reclined against a tree, arm draped gracefully over one bent leg. The woman dropped to her knees before him and reached for his collar, gaze flicking to his wordlessly for permission.

He granted it by glancing away mutely, throat tight. For some reason, saliva pooled in his mouth the moment she began undressing him. It was foul to be affected so. She only aimed to aid him. Still, Sesshoumaru sat rigidly still while her gentle scent flitted and teased his senses.

“I think I’ve found a name for myself,” she hummed while cleaning his wound.

“Hn?”

“It’s Kagome.”

“That is acceptable.”

She giggled, “I’m glad you like it.”

“I did not say that.”

Kagome bandaged the flesh, despite him informing her that it was not necessary. He also did not stop her. Every faint brush of her fingertips became distracting, silently invited.

“It’s a really nice day,” she hummed, wiping her brow. The humidity made her bangs puff up. He hated that he found it endearing. “Perfect beach weather day. Does Rin enjoy going there? I’d love to meet her and take her paddling,” she babbled and cooed.

“I have not taken her. Why do you wish to go to the beach so badly? You mention it often.”

“Huh? I don’t think I’ve talked about it to you before?”

Sesshoumaru fell into moody silence, inwardly kicking himself. Thankfully she carried on, thinking she had a faulty memory rather than accusing him of eavesdropping. “I don’t know why exactly. I just keep feeling like it’s where I’ll find something important. Like I can see this image in my mind of the sun setting beyond the waves. It’s peaceful, but also kind of scary at the same time. Maybe it’s the last thing I saw before I died? Who knows.”

He glanced down, feeling hot breath fan over his exposed chest. “Hn…I suppose you were brought back from the same place Inuyasha intended to pull Kikyo from.”

“Mhm, though I don’t remember anything else about my previous life.” Kagome shrugged, fixing the silks back over his bandaged shoulder and smoothing the hankimono back into place over his chest. She fixed his collar with gentle hands, fussing like a wife.

A wife…

Sesshoumaru frowned slightly, startled to find her attention on his mouth. His heart started to pick up, blood heating when those intoxicating blue eyes flitted up to drink him in.

She abruptly broke the spell between them by getting to her feet and picking up the forgotten bandages and alcohol she’d used for disinfectant. Sesshoumaru’s hand snapped out to lock on her wrist.

Kagome stilled, lips thinning. “Please let go, Sesshoumaru.”

“Do you intend to return to that whelp in such a hurry?”

“At least I’m not 'beneath his notice’.”

Golden eyes cracked a fraction wider. So, his words had truly been the ones to cause her sadness. They’d bothered her. His grip tightened slightly, causing her to flinch.

“You’re hurting me, let go.”

“A human like you should be beneath my notice,” he uttered, shifting to stand before her. Sesshoumaru took a step closer, leaning down. Pale strands fell loose from behind a pointed ear, rushing down to hide their faces from view behind a curtain of silver. “You are Inuyasha’s wench, a miko, a mortal. Many unsuitable things wrapped into one. And yet I linger…I wonder why.”

“So do I, since you clearly don’t want to be here,” she hissed lowly, cheeks blooming red.

Slit pupils grew a tad larger, dilating. Sesshoumaru inched closer, on the cusp of grasping something as their lips were but a hair’s breadth away- before she snapped her hand out, slapping him across the face.

Kagome ripped herself free, panting slightly and raising a hand to her lips. “I’m only good at archery now because you taught me, and I only wanted to be good at it because Inuyasha told me to be better. I have a name now because you told me to get one. I keep…doing things just because other people want them for me! You could’ve asked me to kiss you just then and I would’ve-” tears pricked her eyes. “Just like Inuyasha has asked me to kiss him and…”

She hugged her arms tightly to her body, shuddering and bowing in on herself, folding like crumpled paper. “I don’t know who I am. What I want. I-I don’t know if things would be any different with you, Sesshoumaru. So please, just leave me alone. You’re making me question things. I obviously do strange things to you too so let’s just drop whatever this is.”

Sesshoumaru sneered, “you are content with being his doll, then?”

“At least being a doll doesn’t hurt! He doesn’t see me, so it doesn’t feel as personal as getting rejected by someone whose opinion I care about!” Kagome snapped, light voice darkening into something raw and real. Sesshoumaru’s cheek stung despite her hand having left no mark, his skin too tough for such things.

Blue eyes filled with tears as she turned and fled, salt catching in the breeze.

—

Sesshoumaru marched with his troops. Remaining on the front lines of their latest battle, he raised his claws and bid the song of war to flood his veins.

The sensation did not come.

Bereft, Sesshoumaru found himself immensely sober with each life he took. The slash of his claws unhinging a jaw- his sword swinging to cleave a horse in two. All felt like a mechanism. Easy, flavourless.

After the enemy soldiers lay dead and he returned to his stronghold, Sesshoumaru listened to his men. They made merry throughout the night, demons through and through.

“Lord Sesshoumaru?”

Blinking, he glanced down at Rin from where he leaned against a pillar. She yawned and rubbed her eye with a tiny fist. “You’re covered in blood, my Lord.”

He supposed he hadn’t changed clothes. Looking at the little girl that he’d resurrected on a whim, Sesshoumaru was struck by a troubling revelation.

The Killing Perfection hadn’t enjoyed the killing.

A strange feeling permeated his being, new and foreign. Such insecurity did not belong in a being carved from confidence, but the blemish was there all the same.

He wanted the beach.

Giving a long, extinguished sigh, Sesshoumaru pinched the bridge of his nose with bloodied claws.

Sitting up from the futon, Kagome hugged the furs to her bare chest. Shivering from the chill in the air, she glanced down at Inuyasha’s sleeping face, a snore rumbling out of him.

An emptiness crawled higher within the bowels of her stomach, threatening to consume her lungs and steal her breath. Kagome pressed a hand to her mouth and hurried out of the hut. She’d given herself away. Allowed Inuyasha to indulge himself in her countless times now. And it wasn’t as though the hanyou hurt her- but every grunt and curse, every pleasured sigh of 'Kikyo’ dug deeper into her heart.

She’d told Sesshoumaru it didn’t hurt, but that had been a lie.

Squeezing stinging eyes shut, Kagome took a wobbly breath. Taking a few steadying gulps of air, she raised a tear-stained face to the crescent moon in the sky.

Setting her shoulders, something quietly shifted within the woman. She slapped her cheeks lightly and exhaled.

The next morning, while preparing breakfast, Kagome stilled when a hand reached over and lightly tugged on her wild bangs.

“Cut these,” Inuyasha said easily. “Kikyo had short, chopped bangs. I can cut em off later if ya want-”

“No.”

The hanyou blinked and froze, ears twitching. He then did a double-take, frowning. “What’d ya say?”

“I said no,” she muttered, resting clenched fists on her knees. “And there’s another thing; My name isn’t Kikyo. It’s Kagome.”

Inuyasha stared for a long while. Slowly, bushy brows drew down. His lips thinned, golden eyes hazing.

Kagome held his gaze, feeling a thrill of warning rush down her spine. It didn’t matter, she told herself. She’d always been an impostor, from her very first breath.

—-

Many moons had passed by the time Sesshoumaru lay eyes upon her.

Remaining under the shade of the trees, he watched as she gathered herbs. Kagome wore miko attire, dark hair pulled back into a low ponytail. Her skin looked paler, and he wondered if she’d either isolated herself indoors for a while or layered powder over her tanned skin. Even her frame looked thinner, from what he could tell.

The wild bangs that had fluffed up so endearingly in the humidity had been chopped into neater, more orderly bangs on her forehead. She did not chatter to herself or smile.

Rather, she worked diligently in silence. Inuyasha skinned a rabbit not too far away, his face content.

Sesshoumaru could’ve left things be then. He could have carried on with his life, never to be blemished or disrupted by confusing thoughts and desires for his brother’s miko again.

But then he happened to catch sight of her eyes.

Bursting from the treeline, Sesshoumaru’s hand snapped out. Inuyasha’s snarl was ignored as the demon lord seized the woman’s chin and lifted it.

Sombre brown eyes stared back.

His own began to shake. “You are not her,” he breathed.

Kikyo frowned, her voice tempered and steeled like matured wine rather than the bright, confident tones of the other miko. “What are you talking about, demon? Unhand me at once.”

Sesshoumaru remained frozen until a hard force collided with his side, knocking him back enough to release her. Bellowing out an enraged snarl, Sesshoumaru’s hand snapped out- locking tight around Inuyasha’s neck as they struggled.

“Where is the miko Kagome?” He demanded.

White ears flicked and pressed to his skull. “The fuck are you talking about? Whose Kagome?”

“Your wife!” Sesshoumaru snarled, flicking his fingers out towards Kikyo. “This is not the woman you had with you previously. Where is she?”

Inuyasha sank sharp claws into his striped wrist, but the Daiyoukai barely flinched. “Keh…ah I get it now,” he growled. “It wasn’t working out, so I asked the oni sorceress who first used the spell on her to reverse it. I then tried to bring back Kikyo again and it worked out,” golden eyes darkened slightly with hazy stability. “She’s back now. Kikyo’s returned to me. It just took a little time- had to remind her of all her memories, but this time it’s definitely her, not like the other one.”

The other one…

Kagome’s breathtaking smile briefly came to mind.

Sesshoumaru’s grip tightened until Inuyasha chocked and squirmed, sinking his claws deeper into the Daiyoukai’s pale flesh until they scraped bone.

“By 'reverse it’ what do you mean, whelp?” He snarled, throat so tight it strained.

“Gah!- she’s a doll again. A clay pot! Ogoranko took the clay body back!”

Sesshoumaru released him, sending the hanyou staggering to the floor. Heedless of the blood pooling to the surface, running down his tattered wrist, he turned and collected white energy around himself, bursting away from the earth within a bright, glowing orb of light. He left behind the reunited couple, Kikyo’s gaze apathetic as she watched Inuyasha struggle to catch his breath.

—

Flying as pure, unfiltered instinct, Sesshoumaru forgot himself. He was no longer a warlord bent on total conquest and domination of the lands. No longer an inuyoukai with superior breeding and impressive lineage. He was nothing more than the simple, consuming desire to see someone again.

The glowing orb blasted straight through the door to Ogoranko’s workshop. She shrieked and grabbed her scythe- but felt it be knocked aside seconds before a hand met her neck, grasping tight. Her head met the wall, grey hair flying around her as a harsh choke sounded out. She wriggled, trying to get free.

The light died down, causing her eyes to widen and narrow. “You are not one of my previous customers…what does the Lord of the West want with me?” She hissed.

“Where is the clay body you took from Inuyasha?” He uttered quietly, voice like the finest steel wrapped in velvet. A calm before the storm.

Her brows drew together in confusion. “I-if you wish to have a loved one returned to you, I can perform the spell-” his hand tightened.

“The body. Where is it?”

“Gah- ah! O-out the back!”

Sesshoumaru released her and sped outside in a blur of white. He moved around the back of the meagre house, heart dropping into the depths of his stomach.

A large, deep pit had been dug into the earth, opening wide and vast. Countless clay bodies had been dumped inside it like a mass grave. They were featureless, faceless, yet retained the arms, legs and the general shape of a human. Sesshoumaru stared down at their discarded forms.

A cough sounded out beside him, Ogoranko rubbing her throbbing neck. “They’re quite useless once they’ve been used one time. They can’t be reformed into clay or burned down. Only thing left to do is bury them. Urasue herself taught me the spell but my techniques aren’t quite as refined as my great master. I can fashion a new body for you though my Lord- ah…my Lord?” Red eyes widened with disbelief as he pushed off the edge of the pit, sailing down. “There is nothing down there,” she called after him.

Sesshoumaru ignored her.

Landing on a mound of bodies, he began filtering through the different scents left behind on the clay surfaces. Moving some puppets aside, he lifted a few out of the pile and discarded them, deaf to how they chipped or shattered. Pushing his sleeves up, Sesshoumaru worked with single-minded intent, skin becoming stained with dust as he dug both arms down through the piles, searching.

He began to pant. Panic erupted in his chest though he were in no danger. Sticky fear leaked into his body like tar. Where was she? Why couldn’t he…

The scent of salt caught his attention. Lifting his head, Sesshoumaru softly muttered to himself; “the beach.”

Ogoranko blinked, observing him. It wasn’t every day you witnessed a demon lord lose his mind, especially not one of his calibre. “Yes, the ocean is just south of here.”

Sesshoumaru looked at the bodies. Their heads were all facing forwards, staring up at the sky with blank, smooth faces of clay. His frayed attention slid over them, and he moved to another pile, catching sight of one head turned south just as a familiar scent caught his nose.

Reaching out, Sesshoumaru picked up the fragile body, lifting it into his arms. She looked exactly like the rest, no distinguishing features, save for her attention on the sea beyond.

“What happened when you reversed the spell on Inuyasha’s wife?” Sesshoumaru said faintly.

Ogoranko hummed, “I took her back here and then discarded her with the rest. Ah, did you favour her, my Lord?” Her voice dipped into suggestive tones. “I can resurrect her for a reasonable price. Say the word and I shall-”

“Now I see.” Sesshoumaru appeared next to her, gaze blank and removed. A thrill of warning rattled down the oni sorceresses spine at how perfectly calm and apathetic he appeared towards her existence. Like how one might view a candle they were about to extinguish. “You prey upon a creature’s grief and offer a solution. Something too good to be true,” chuckling in a deceptively gentle tone, he held the clay miko a little closer. “And if I gave her over to you, yes…you’d resurrect this body with a soul. But not hers. A random one. That is all you are capable of at your level.”

Organko quickly reached for the knife hidden in her obi, intent on striking it through his windpipe.

A hand impaled itself through her chest. Easily. So painfully easily he may as well have cleaved through butter. Choking, she cried out, staring into his merciless, wintery eyes, the likes of which she’d never seen in all her years of rifling through souls in the afterlife.

“Only a God can restore a soul to their rightful body,” Sesshoumaru uttered, rippling his hand free of her torso and shifting to hold the clay figure with both arms, walking away.

Ogoranko wailed and clutched fruitlessly at her wound, crumpling to her knees and bleeding out, never to rise again.

He took her to the beach.

Soft, pleasant oranges bathed the clay in a gentle glow. Sesshoumaru set the body down on the white sands, steeling himself. He then reached for Tenseiga with a bloodied hand.

Drawing the sword forth from its sheath, he inhaled the salty breeze, soothed when it combed silver hair back from his shoulders in a sweet caress. Tenseiga lay silent.

Frowning, Sesshoumaru gripped the hilt tighter. “You will do this thing for me and bring her back,” he uttered in a dark voice. “If my Father wielded you to resurrect life from a body that has recently been cut down, I will imbue you with my own will. Heed me well,” he fed youki into the blade, effectively mirroring Kagome’s imagery of running water. His burst forth like a geyser, forcing itself into the blade so quick the sword could barely contain it. “Find the soul of the one I seek.”

Tenseiga rattled, wishing to be free of him. Sesshoumaru held tight, threatening to break the sword in two.

Blue light burst forth from the blade, shining so bright it rivalled the setting sun. Sesshoumaru closed his eyes and tried to focus on Kagome’s fleeting scent on the clay.

“Kagome. Come.”

A faint, flickering presence could be felt, drawing just out of reach from Tenseiga’s light. It hesitated, worn thin.

Blood ran down Sesshoumaru’s torn wrist, landing on the blade. “I desire you to join my side,” he admitted in a hushed tone. “However, it is your choice. If you must live, do not live for anyone’s will but your own this time,” the words came to him like a quiet revelation.

He then struck the blade down over the clay body.

Tenseiga made a noise of distress, blue sparks bursting forth before the light sputtered and died, swallowed up by the sun.

Sesshoumaru tried to force the blade to awaken once more, but it remained silent. Nothing about the clay shifted.

Sliding the sword back into its sheath with more force than necessary, thin lips peeled back to show gritted teeth. “Useless,” he chastised the blade. Easier to think Tenseiga was to blame than to accept that Kagome…bright, beautiful Kagome- should refuse to live again.

Giving one last look at the clay figure, Sesshoumaru turned on his heel and padded away. He’d allow her to be taken by the sea she so adored, rather than dig a grave. His heart sat like a heavy stone within his chest. Every nerve ending shrieked, skin-crawling like it did not belong on his bones.

Crack.

Pointed ears twitched.

Crack.

More cracks joined the first, spilling out like spiders webs. The clay began to split, crumbling away like sand.

A woman sat up from the overcoat, coughing. Sesshoumaru stopped dead, turning back with disbelief. Golden eyes widened.

Broken clay fell from dark hair, catching in the curling, wild mane. Her tanned, bare skin caught the light of the sun. Frightened, wide blue eyes struck an unknown part of him right into his core. Sesshoumaru blurred through the air.

Strong hands caught her elbows as she tried to stand, the two kneeling together. Kagome sobbed as she bowed into him, wrapping trembling arms around his neck. Calloused palms, rough with years of swordplay, slid around her waist and dragged up her spine, bringing her into his warmth.

“I h-heard a voice, calling my name,” she said, voice tenuous and thin as she sobbed. “It was yours.”

“Hn, Ka-go-me,” Sesshoumaru’s lips peppered her soft hair, the shell of her ear, her wet cheek.

Giving a broken noise, she clung to his solid figure, blunt nails sinking hard into his back. He did not mind the sensation.

“S-say it again.”

Sesshoumaru ran his hands over her body, moving his mouth over her jaw. “Kagome.”

She shivered and bowed in on herself, hiccuping. They remained like that for some time, Sesshoumaru unused to the burning, open display of feelings yet having no choice but to weather the storm of emotion with her, both hers and his own.

Feeling a wet and sticky sensation down her back, Kagome pulled away to touch the area above his bleeding wrist. “Silly, you’re injured.”

“It is of little consequence.”

“Of course its of consequence,” she sighed, rubbing her cheek. Silence reigned between them for a moment, only broken by the gentle crash of waves on the rocks. The ebb and flow of the tide.

“…Why did you come back for me?”

Noticing the goosebumps racing over her flesh, Sesshoumaru curled mokomoko around her middle. Golden eyes flitted away towards the sunset. “This one dislikes waste.”

“Ah,” a quiet, fragile laugh escaped her. Gratitude welled up like an inflated bubble when he flicked the secures of his armour open and lifted it away from his chest, discarding it into the sand to land with a heavy thud. Pressing close with no barrier between them, Kagome tucked her knees up, sitting on his lap. Sesshoumaru’s trailing sleeves slid over her bare form, regal nose buried in her hair. “I don’t know why I even returned,” she mumbled. “I mean look at that. We’re on a beach at sunset. My one wish is fulfilled. I don’t really know what else to live for…just that I want to.”

“I find myself dissatisfied with my own wish these days. My desire for supreme conquest,” Sesshoumaru admitted, a sin, surely, for a warlord to feel no passion for the prospect of battle.

Kagome hummed, watching the waves. “Maybe it’s possible to simply move onto a new wish. Dreams and desires can change, can’t they?”

“Hn, we may yet find new ones to pursue.” Tired golden eyes slid down to her, catching the sunlight just as the great orb slipped beneath the horizon. “Together, foolish miko.”

Kagome lifted her head. She watched him for a moment, before pressing a long, firm kiss to his jaw. “I’d like that very much, Killing Perfection.”

Bowing his head to catch her soft lips with his own, Sesshoumaru cradled the back of her neck, curling long fingers within dark hair and silently adoring the way it tumbled wildly down her back.

The Demon Lord was not supposed to be a part of the man who married for love’s tale. And yet, like a bookend, the story ends with him on a beach.

Embracing the discarded woman.

End

[robbyrobinson]

GODS AWAKEN (PT. 25)

The flutes and other instruments began to blare at full sound. The people of the Boiling Isles spoke to themselves and each other unable to leave the podiums because of Nyarlathotep having his horde of monsters hold them hostage. They glared down at the bank of the large stadium.

After a few seconds, the Emperor arrived on the scene. He clutched his staff in his right hand, attempting to stabilize his walking stance. He turned to speak to the children of the Isles, but a low, suffocating cough rang out from his vocal cords.

“Belos appears to be sick, does he not?” one of the witches noted.

With the life forces of the palismans no longer being enough to stabilize him, Belos was on his last leg. He thought back to when he appointed Lilith to retrieve a special flower for him with which he hoped to stave off his impending doom a little longer. But alas, that flower was a ruse. He searched far and wide for any source of magic to heal him, but his luck was gradually running out. He bowed his head likely mourning the fact that he had no children that could ascend to the throne. The thought always filled his mind ever since he arrived to end the Savage Ages fifty years ago, but he foolishly gave little thought of the future of his empire. He flickered his hand. “If I am going to die, I should at least make it a spectacle.”

He slammed his staff on the ground. “Children of the Isles; the hour has arrived!”

He turned away to lift his mask and slipped two fingers in. With a blow, Warden Wrath and some of his men from the Conformatorium arrived. They had Camila tightly in their grips. She flailed her arms and kicked her legs, but the large, burly men were pinning her in place. Belos trudged over and cupped Camila’s chin and cheeks between his gloved fingers. He then resumed his glare to the audience.

“I present you with the accused!”

Some of the witches and demons recoiled at the appearance of the middle-aged mother before them. “What creature is this?”

They started to toss down vegetables and other objects at Camila in disgust. The food was smearing on Camila’s disheveled uniform that was already wrecked beyond repair. On instinct, she wanted to shield her face from the projectiles, but that was not going to be a luxury for her.

“Yes, yes,” Belos remarked, “she comes from a race of warmongering beings who selfishly kill all in their way to get what they want.” He tilted his head to Warden Wrath to continue.

The warden of the Conformatorium excused himself and ran out the stadium. There was a slight chattering and heaving and remained that way until four of Belos’ goons were pushing a wooden frame. At the top of the wooden device was a sharp blade of rock with some hints of dried blood at the tip of it. At the bottom near the base was a slab of rock through which straps were in place to hold the one sentenced to death. The slab of rock was surrounded by a larger circle now looking more like a gargantuan bullseye.

Warden Wrath returned to Camila’s side and grabbed her by the left arm. She screamed in protest, but her pleas for mercy were being drowned out by the scornful yells of the audience. Approaching the stone slab, it was fixed to have the victim’s limbs lay on. Four small flaps were for the hands and feet, while one was specifically designed for the head.

Camila kicked and thrashed with all her might. A third goon had to intervene to wrestle with Camila’s abdomen. He knelt over the woman, gripping her arms. The strength in his arms was greater in comparison to the mere human woman’s. With little struggling from his end, he took hold of her hands and slammed them in place. Warden Wrath then tightened the straps on her wrists.

The goon then did the same thing to her legs, this time being more careful when dealing with her lower body since she could catch him off guard and hit him. As he approached her neck, Camila spit at his face. A surprised, resounding gasp came from the crowd.

Wiping his helmet, the goon tied the strap around her neck, uncaring at how tightly bound she was. Air was now slowly seeping into Camila’s lungs, enough to keep her conscious, but even then, that was no guarantee. She stared up at the blade that would soon end her life with a swift gash.

A one-eyed, slug monster wearing a gown similar to Emperor Belos arrived. Most of the goons followed after him unaware of the trail of yellow slime he was leaving behind. They fell on themselves eliciting a few snide remarks from the witches. He placed a monocle over his enormous eye. He coughed into his right hand and withdrew a scroll from his other.

“On this day, we have the human woman Camila No-cee-da who had been accused of the most grievous crimes against the Emperor and the Boiling Isles.”

Warden Wrath walked over to a crank outside of the wooden death box and waited for the signal. The slug monster continued to drone on.

“The accused had been declared to be put to death without haste. As she is not one of us, the standard petrification for such crimes will not be enforced.” He pointed at the device restraining the woman. “Instead, the Emperor had envisioned something far worse for her.”

Belos sat down in his throne clutching a couple palismans from the staffs of long departed witches. However, in one of his hands was none other than Owlbert. He pinned the small owl’s back using his thumb and index finger. The bird tried flapping his wings to fly away, but it was futile. At that point, having to absorb the life force of palismans was no longer of use to the Emperor aside from maybe the taste of the magical entities. As such, Belos was going to engorge himself on the palisman in much the same way that a human enjoyed popcorn while watching a movie. He was going to immensely enjoy the spectacle.

Back in Belos’ laboratory, Luz had completely covered the portal machine with the fire glyphs and was waiting by to activate them. The Shoggoth and Amity’s abomination were still violently ripping apart Emperor Belos’ goons as they flooded in to try to overtake the two blob monsters. She saw Hooty was still happily chatting with the lifeless bodies of the goons and drinking tea with them. It disturbed her that Hooty was that scatterbrained to seemingly have little comprehension of his actions, but it was enough for her to accept that Hooty was on their side.

Amity and her older siblings ran into the laboratory. “Luz!”

Luz turned to them and smiled. “Amity! Guys, you’re, okay?”

The twins nodded. “Edric’s going to have to rest for a while,” Emira explained, “thankfully he can still do magic, but we don’t want to overexert him enough already.”

Luz noted this. “You guys might not want to be in here when the portal lights up harder than that one time my Mom let me attend a rock concert>

The Blight siblings looked at each other in abject confusion and mumbled to themselves. Luz smacked her head. “Oh, right...human terms, you wouldn’t get that.”

“In other words, we’ll try to stand back just in case things go horribly wrong,” Emira said.

Luz smiled. “That’s fair.”

Amity twiddled her fingers in deep thought. Luz continued to stare at the portal machine with her back turned. Amity’s heart was beating and she felt she could dig a hole and crawl into it to die, but she just wanted to make some certainty out of the uncertainty of the situation.

“Hey, Luz?”

“Yes, Amity?”

Amity’s cheeks were a tomato red. She turned her glance away from her friend out of an irrational fear at making eye contact. “If...if we survive this...”

Luz looked at the stammering witch girl. “What is it?”

She was stumbling on her words. From a glance, she could see Emira and Edric giving her a thumbs up. She rolled her eyes in annoyance, but it did give her some encouragement.

“If we survive this...will you go out on a date with me?”

There was a stillness in the room, aside from the ceaseless clambering coming from Hooty’s beak. Amity braced herself for the rejection.

“Yeah, sure.”

Amity’s eyes widened. “Re... really?”

Luz smiled. “Yeah, sounds fun.”

Amity looked down at the polish on her fingernails. “I... I’d very much like that.”

“Edric and I are going to keep watch of the door, Mittens,” Emira announced.

Amity’s cheeks blushed again this time out of irritation. “We’ll be outside, Luz,” Amity said.

Luz nodded her hand in a flickering motion. With that, the Blight siblings evacuated the laboratory. Eda and Lilith crossed their arms with a smug grin on their faces.

“So, when are you going to go out with her, Luz?” Eda asked.

Luz grinned. “Maybe next week.”

Luz was too preoccupied with the machine; she did not realize what Amity asked her at first. But it did hit her like a ton of bricks dropping from a two-story window.

“Wait...A DATE!?”

“The verdict has been read out,” the slug monster remarked solemnly. He steadied his glance on the woman strapped before him. “Any last words before the fullest act of the law are enforced?”

Camila only smiled in reply.

The slug turned to Warden Wrath and nodded. Belos’ eyes immediately darted at the crank and then at the blade of solid rock. The Emperor had already ripped his gloved fingers through one of the palismans whilst keeping the struggling Owlbert underneath his other fist.

The warden turned the crank in a counter clockwise fashion making everyone hear the execution device start up. The rock was lifted as high as it could realistically go and towered over the bullseye. The slug man spoke again.

“You will be stabbed through the chest until you’re dead; may the Titan have mercy on your soul.”

The blade could more or less be compared to an archer readying their arrow by bending it backward on the string of its bow to calculate the accuracy. The blade swung down at an inhumanly fast pace like a speeding bullet. Belos bent backward and clutching Owlbert in his hand in anticipation.

Camila looked up at the blade and smirked.

WHAM

The collision sent dirt and rocks into the air obscuring Camila’s impaled body from the audience’s vision. Emperor Belos got out of his seat in curiosity. “Is it done?”

The dust cleared away revealing the condition of the slab. The blade tore its way through the thick stone, but Camila’s broken body was nowhere to be seen. Clearly, the blade struck the middle-aged woman directly where her chest would be, but she was gone.

“How can this be possible,” Belos thought to himself. He scratched his chin. “She could not have escaped that easily unless...”

The slug monster dropped the scroll and, despite being a slow-moving monster, swung around with great speed and somehow produced a small blade from his hands and sliced Warden Wrath’s head off. In the place of blood was a gassy vapor. The slug then ripped into his own body and removed his skin. Underneath him was the Owl Spy.

Belos stood there, stunned. Of course, it wasn’t Camila; it never had been her. Instead, it became crystal clear to the tyrant: the Camila he dragged out of her cell was an illusion. He felt a chill go down his spine.

“Hello, father.”

Turning around, he could see that Camila was holding a lightning glyph on parchment paper. A streak of lightning erupted from the paper and struck Belos in the fast.

The witches gasped in amazement. Belos is blasted across the stadium slamming into a wall. Belos’s chest heaved in small huffs. Standing up, he clutched his face. Probing his orifices, he turned to see that his mask was ripped in half by the lightning spell. Camila covered her mouth to stifle a scream.

Belos possessed dark, black hair on his head and sideburns. Instead of an upper lip, long, slimy tentacles covered his lower lip. Rips in his suit exposed a thick hide of scaly orange skin on his upper body. On his back were a series of unintelligible markings of red and green. Towards the bottom half of his body, he was coated in a red suit of lobster-like armor. Elongated legs roughly the size of an ostrich’s. Around the bottom of his abdomen, there appeared to be a large, gaping mouth and a fleshy organ resembling a human lung.

“What in the world?” Camila finally spoke up.

Belos removed his gloves and showed off elongated, slurping tentacles in the place of fingers topped with bloodshot red suckers. In the palms of his hands, there were underdeveloped maws dripping a purple substance. In fact, purple, inky pus was seeping out of open cuts from his body. More tentacles protruded from his waist encasing his long, jangly legs and had eyes of all sizes staring in every direction. He chuckled.

“Well, this will be more fun than I anticipated.”

[reidandweep]

Little Doe

Jon Snow x Reader (female)

A/N- I was sent a request by @witch-of-letters around three weeks ago. Turned out it sent my brain into hyper drive and this was the outcome. I did not expect it to be this long. But I have never felt so proud than I have writing this. SO, @witch-of-letters , I am sorry for the wait and I hope you all enjoy.

Word Count- 19,891 words. Yes that is correct.

Warnings- death, angst, murder, spoilers (bit late now), fluff, and everything in between.

“I bet you can’t shoot an arrow through the middle of the target.”

“I bet I can.”

Y/N Baratheon was not a girl to be challenged. Especially by Jon Snow. Her closest and dearest friend from the North.

Ever since her father, King Robert Baratheon, and Ned Stark had formed an allegiance, Y/N had travelled with her father to Winterfell every month. Being the only true born Baratheon of her siblings, Y/N and her father was very close. Whilst Robert and Eddard Stark discussed important royal matters, Y/N and Jon were often causing trouble. From antagonising each other to cause mayhem, or choosing to do so on their own terms, the two together were a handful. With Robb added to the duo, the chaos greatly increased. For the trio showed no mercy with their mischief.

Robb smirked at the younger duo. Leaning against the pillar, he watched on as Y/N furiously grabbed her bow and arrows.

“If you shoot the arrow through the target, you can have my portion of shank at dinner tonight.”

Jon knew she would never back down the chance to have more food. Even though the Baratheon’s was one of the strongest families in all the kingdoms, the House of Stark produced the most glorious food in the kingdoms. Food that tasted like it was made with love and from the heart.

Squinting at the young bastard, Y/N nodded.

“Deal. And if I miss?”

Jon looked at Robb, a smirk forming on both of their faces.

“You have to wear a dress at dinner tonight. And we mean, a dress preserved for weddings and balls; not any sort of old tat.”

Y/N glared towards Robb as he spoke the conditions. Looking back at Jon, she waited to hear his opinion.

The young man winked at the young woman, shrugging his shoulders as though he did not know what Robb was going to say. He did. They had agreed on her punishment earlier that morning.

The young Baratheon loathed dresses. Refusing to wear them, unless for extravagant events; much to her mothers’ chagrin. She preferred to wear breeches and a tunic instead. They were more form fitting than that of a man’s; for her mother only appeased with the clothing if it could be altered to uphold some femininity.

The boys waited with baited breathes for her response.

“Deal.”

Cheers rang from the pair. Y/N shook Jon’s hand. Watching as the young bastard walked towards Robb, and away from the direction of the target. And any areas around it. They were all still learning to shoot, so It was no surprise that an arrow wold stray every now and then.

Taking a deep breath in, Y/N closed her eyes, slowing her breathing down. Opening her eyes, she raised her bow and arrow. Pulling the string back with necessary force, her vision zeroed in on the target. Moving her aim so that the arrow should fly straight through the centre. Taking one last inhale, she begins to release the string of the bow when-

“Y/N!”

The shout of her name caused Y/N to flinch, the arrow flying through the air. Embedding itself into the target. Just to the right of the bullseye.

Y/N groaned, throwing the bow to the floor, she swivelled to the direction of the shout. Looking towards the balcony, Y/N stared at her father.

“Father look what you did. You just cost me an extra shank you knob.”

Many would have been shocked to have heard how the princess spoke to the king, but it was normal. The two Baratheon’s were not the conventional pair.

King Robert chuckled heartily. With Eddard at his side, who raised an eyebrow in his son’s direction. The two boys bowering the heads, to hide their laughter.

“All of you get ready for the banquet tonight. Robb come with me and your father. We have matters to discuss.”

The three friends looked at each other in confusion. Robb shrugged his shoulders as he walked in the direction of your father and his.

“I wonder what they need him for.”

Y/N walked towards Jon. The pair watching as Robb and their fathers head into the castle.

“Well, you better start getting ready. Who knows how long it’ll take to get into your dress.”

Jon laughed as Y/N turned towards him, stepping so close that their breathes mingled. Leaning impossible closer to his face, Y/N glared into Jon’s eyes.

“I may have missed the bullseye, but if that was a real man, it would have gone straight through his heart.”

At the end of her words, Y/N moved back from their proximity and walked in the direction of her chambers. Jon staring at how her hips swayed as she aggressively walked further away.

Flittering his gaze between his chest and the target, he realised she was right. Shaking his head, Jon began his trek towards his own chambers. The only thought flittering through his mind was how he was one day going to marry Y/N Baratheon; bastard or not. He was going to make it a reality.

The banquet had begun 20 minutes before Y/N had arrived. Robb sitting next to his siblings and parents at the head of the hall. Even Theon was sat amongst the Starks. For once, Catelyn had allowed Jon to attend; to appease Y/N’s begs of her friend being present.  Sitting away from all Baratheon’s and Starks, Jon conversed with his uncle Benjen, speaking of matters that could affect his future greatly.

Jon had been awaiting Y/N’s arrival. When she had walked through the door, he could not help but catch his breath. Neither could Robb, or any young man in close proximity. Whilst Jon could not tear his eyes away from Y/N, his uncle Benjen left Jon to ogle.

“Bloody hell. She should be bent over and ravished in that dress.”

Robb elbowed Theon in his stomach. Causing the ward to lose his breath; coughing on the lack of it.

Y/N looked at the table at the head of the room. Seeing her plate next to her fathers and her mothers. Walking towards it, she reached where it laid.

At the sight of their daughter, her parents ceased their conversation.

“You’re finally looking like a lady Y/N. What has caused this drastic change? Or should I ask whom?”

Y/N rolled her eyes at her mother’s words.

Going to grab her plate, she hiked up her skirt to climb up the platform to the table.

Piling more vegetables and mashed potatoes on her sparsely filled plate (most likely her mother’s doing) she shoved her shank into her mouth, ripping off a large portion of the meat. With her plate in one hand, and her shank in the other, Y/N pointed at her father with the bone of meat. Amusement clear on his face. Whilst her mother and siblings held disgust. Laughter could be heard from the Stark children at her antics.

“Stupid bets with the stupid Stark boys. I would have had it if father had not called for me.”

Robert bellowed with laughter at his daughter’s frustration.

She turned to glare at him, however, she could not keep a smile from taking over.

“Because of that, I am going to sit with Jon. The poor bastard is probably bored out of his mind.”

Cersei shook her head at her daughter’s words.

“You will do no such thing.”

Y/N bore her eyes into her mother’s, taking another bite out of her shank.

Chewing the meat ever so slowly, she swallowed the chunk. Throwing the bone on her plate, she licked her fingers clean; angering her mother even more.

“Let her mother, she’s acting like a homeless harlot any way.”

Whipping her head towards Joffrey, she took in his words. Looking her younger brother up and down with a glare that could kill, the young Lannister swallowed harshly.

Heading to walk past the Starks and down the steps of the platform, she kept her eyes on Joffrey, stopping to stand in front of the young Stark girls.

“Sansa cover your ears.”

The girl did so.

Directing her words back to Joffrey, she smirked at her brother.

“You can call me a harlot. But at least I’m not an incestuous little bitch.”

Cersei’s head whipped in her daughter’s direction. Watching as she diverted her attention to the Starks.

Y/N smiled as Arya, Theon, and Robb chuckled at her words. Motioning for Sansa to uncover her ears, she knew the girl still heard. But she didn’t care.

“Now if you’ll excuse me. I have fulfilled my duties and my part of the bet. So, I am going to sit with Jon and enjoy my meal.”

As she continued her path across the platform, Y/N reached out her hand to quickly grab Theon’s leftover shank.

The ward standing in his seat.

“You fucking bitch! I didn’t finish that.”

The girl trotted down the steps, walking through the array of people backwards.

Much like she had done to her father, Y/N used the shank to point at Theon.

“Next time you talk about bending over a girl and ravishing her without consent, think about how you will go hungry for the rest of the night.”

Turning to face Jon, she walked towards the man; who had witnessed and heard mostly everything.

Robb sitting next to Theon, laughed as the ward fell back into his seat in a sulk.

“She’s right mate.”

Theon scoffed.

“At least I won’t be married to her and have her not love me back.”

Robb stared at the Greyjoy.

“What do you mean? She might learn to love me back.”

Theon scoffed, continuing to eat the food left on his plate.

“You really think her, and Jon only see each other as friends. Why do you think her father and yours are marrying her to you? Jon’s a bastard and not a Stark. If he were, they would be married by morning.”

Robb shifted in his seat. He knew Y/N did not see him the same as he saw her. But for others to see the obvious tension between Jon and Y/N, and he hadn’t, made it even more real for Robb.

Sitting back in his seat Robb looked forward.

“Remember, you aren’t a Stark either Greyjoy. So, stop pretending that you are.”

Theon paused his eating at Robb’s words. Rage bubbling deep inside as he began to drink his wine excessively.

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

Dropping her plate in front of Jon, Y/N raised her skirt to sit comfortably on the chair. Shovelling Theon’s shank, unattractively, into her mouth. Using her sleeve as a makeshift napkin to wipe her face.

Jon could not help but watch in amusement.

Swallowing the food, Y/N looked into her friend’s eyes.

“Has Ned told you?”

Taking a swig of his wine, he placed the cup down.

“Told me what?”

Wiping her mouth once more, Y/N reached over to grasp Jon’s drink, gulping some down herself.

“My father and Ned have arranged for Robb and I to wed.”

In disbelief, all Jon could do was stare at Y/N.

Putting his cup back on the table, Y/N leaned her head on her hand, watching herself play with her food.

“They haven’t told me yet. Turns out Arya over heard them tell Robb. She came to me straight away. Telling me that Robb did not argue against it, the cunt.”

Jon licked his lips. Running his hands over his face. Looking back at the young woman in front of him, Jon analysed her expression.

“And you’re not happy with this?”

Y/N rolled her eyes at his question.

Waving her hand in the air, she answered.

“Of course, I am not happy Jon. Robb is like a brother to me. I don’t view him in that way. And unlike some people in these kingdoms, I don’t want to fuck my family. I want to marry whomever I choose.”

Jon laughed at her words.

“Anyway, what did Benjen want? You seemed to be having a pretty serious conversation.”

It was Jon’s turn to stare at his own plate.

“He came to inform me that he was travelling to join the Nightswatch. And I told him that I want to join too.”

“Oh.”

Jon raised his gaze to the girl, seeing her expression fall.

“So, Lord Stark, Sansa, and Arya will be travelling to Kingslanding back with your family. I will follow Benjen to the wall-“

“And I will be here, marrying Robb, and helping your mother tend to Bran, whilst Theon does God knows what.”

All Jon did was nod his head.

“Well we better make the most of today and tomorrow.”

Raising her shank, she laughed as Jon cheered it with his own. The pair continuing to laugh throughout the feast.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------As there last day together approached, Y/N and Jon never left each other’s side. Causing more mischief than ever before. King Robert and Eddard chose not to interfere, knowing that it was going to be a while before they would see each other again. Robb had also left the pair alone, for Y/N would be his wife soon, and they would be together for a long time coming.

The day went too quickly for the pair, and as morning came, Y/N could not help but feel the tears gather in her eyes at the thought of being left by her father and Jon.

Watching as Arya and Sansa left with her family in tow. She stood next to the Stark sisters as the clambered onto their horses.

“Keep Sansa safe Arya.”

“I will.” The younger Stark replied.

“And Sansa?”

The older Stark looked towards Y/N.

The Baratheon smiled.

“Help yourself to all my dresses and fabric. I’ve have never worn most of them.”

Sansa smiled in appreciation.

Y/N’s expression became more serious.

“And please be careful.”

“I will.”

The pair went to begin their journey to Kingslanding.

Y/N turned to the guard next to her; already mounted on his steed.

“Please watch over them Sandor. You and I both know how evil of a cunt Joffrey is.”

The Hound huffed at her words. Lifting the helmet, he placed it on his head.

“I’ll do my best. Don’t get yourself killed now little Doe.”

Y/N laughed at his nickname for her, watching as her family and the Starks set of on their journey.

She had already said goodbye to her father in privacy. Not wanting to cry even more than she knew she would when she would have to say goodbye to Jon.

Once the carriage and horses were a mere speck in the horizon, she allowed herself to face Jon. Examining the exchange between him and Robb, she could feel her heart hurt at the sight.

Strolling towards them, Y/N witnessed as the Stark brother’s let each other go. Quickly taking Robb’s position as he left the pair to say their goodbye’s.

Standing next to his steed, Jon watched as Y/N walked slowly towards him. Quickly gulping down the sobs in her throat, Y/N pulled Jon in too a tight embrace. Burying her head in the crook of his neck, the young pair stayed in that position for a long time, that ‘just friends’ would deem too long.

Jon was the first to pull away. Holding her face in his hands, Jon stroked her cheek with his thumb. Catching the tears that had escaped her eyes.

“I promise that we will see each other soon. You can tell me all about the married life with my brother.”

Y/N laughed. Clutching Jon’s furs with her fists. She pulled him closer, their heads resting against the others. A solemn look falling on her face.

“I don’t want to marry Robb.”

Jon let out a breath.

“I know. I wish you wasn’t.”

She replied.

“So, do I. I love him, but not in the way a man and wife love another.”

Pulling her head back, Y/N’s hand travelled to Jon’s neck. Her surprisingly warm fingers sending tingles down the man’s spine.

“Promise we will see each other again.”

Jon nodded his head.

“I promise.”

As he muttered his promise, Y/N leaned her face closer to his own. Placing her lips on his cheek, she slowly pulled them away. Detaching herself from the Stark bastard, Y/N sadly smiled at Jon.

“You better get going. By the time you get there, the snow would have melted.”

Jon chuckled. Mounting his horse, he positioned himself comfortable on the saddle.

Benjen began to follow the Nightswatch as they started their journey out of the gates of Winterfell.

Y/N stepped back as Jon trotted his horse to catch up with his uncle.

“Jon!”

Turning his head, he caught Y/N’s gaze.

“Remember. If you ever need to, aim to the right.”

Jon felt a large smile take over his face.

“Straight at the heart.”

Y/N smiled in return.

“Straight at the heart.”

Much like her father leaving, Y/N stood in her place. Refusing to move until Jon was a speck in the distance.

As she stood, watching Jon leave, Robb slowly approached. Standing to the side of the Baratheon princess.

The pair stood in silence.

“I’m sorry.”

Robb looked towards his soon to be wife.

“What for?”

She let a few tears fall.

“I love him.”

“I know.”

“I love you too.”

Robb turned his gaze back to the gates. The two watching as the guards shut them closed.

“But not in the same way.”

Y/N shook her head.

Placing a hand on Robb’s shoulder, their eyes connected.

“No. But I will be the best wife I can be.”

Robb smiled at her words. He had no doubt she wouldn’t.

Squeezing his shoulder, Y/N let her hand drop, walking away from Robb and away from the gates where she had said goodbye to her family and Jon. Walking into the castle that she now would call home. But nowhere would be home without her father. And nowhere would make her feel as happy as when she was with Jon.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------As the months passed, it became easier for Y/N to become more comfortable in her permanent residence at Winterfell. Coming to terms of her life with Robb. He was her friend, and he needed her help. Robb accepted the fact that she did not love him the same, but he knew she still cared for him deeply. And when word had come to Winterfell that King Robert Baratheon had sadly passed, Robb’s shoulder was there for Y/N to cry on. Y/N had reciprocated the compassion when news of Ned’s execution hit Winterfell. She hated Joffrey and her mother with a passion.

The young Baratheon was distraught. Being the closest to her father out of her siblings, she felt as though she had lost the only true family member she had. Heartbroken that she was not at his side when he sadly passed. Her tears of sorrow were soon replaced with tears of dread when she realised what would occur if anyone was to find out the true bloodline of her siblings. She had known for years of Cersei and Jaime’s relationship. How nobody else had realised why she looked so contrasting to her siblings, Y/N prayed for the day that the truth would be revealed to never come.

However, it did, and as Joffrey sat on the Iron Throne, word had travelled around the kingdoms. Causing the War of the Five Kings to begin. With Joffrey, her uncle Stannis and Renly, Balon Greyjoy, and Robb, all fighting for the throne.

As the war surged forward, Y/N noticed that Robb’s attention had been caught by one of the young healers; Talisa. Watching the pair converse, Y/N smiled to herself. She was happy that he had finally found true love. And at that moment of thought, Jon entered her mind. She wondered where he was now. If he ever thought of her on his travels. If he was safe, or even still alive.

On a seemingly quiet night, Catelyn approached Y/N in the drawing room. As she pulled the girl into her embrace, she informed her of the nuptials that would occur that evening. “For Robb and I?”

Catelyn shook her head, a smile taking over her features.

“No. For Talisa and Robb.”

Y/N let out the breath she held. Robb was her “brother”, and he was finally going to get married. To someone who loved him back.

“Thank high heavens. No disrespect Catelyn. I love your son. But not in that way.”

The Stark woman laughed at the Baratheon’s exclamation; enveloping her in another hug.

“I know you mean no harm in your words. It’s not your fault that your heart belongs to Ned’s bastard.”

Y/N shook her head, pulling herself out of the woman’s grasp.

“Give the boy some slack Catelyn. He’s out there defending the wall for us.”

Catelyn dismissed the girl’s words with a wave of her hand.

“Now let’s get you in something more suitable for a wedding. No more breeches for the rest of the day.”

Y/N followed begrudgingly as Catelyn helped her get ready for Robb’s wedding.

Walking across the field, Y/N sauntered into Robb’s tent, watching as he finished getting ready.

“Well somebody looks like a king.”

Robb chuckled, turning to his friend.

“And somebody looks like a princess.”

She rolled her eyes.

“I am one, you dickhead.”

“You don’t dress like one.”

Y/N punched Robb’s shoulder at his words.

Robb laughed.

“Come one. Let’s go get you married. This is going to be the best wedding in all the kingdoms.”

For soon after the ceremony occurred, blood flooded the floors of the room. Waldor Frey’s men killing everyone and anything. With Greywind at her side, and a bow in her hand, Y/N fought off many of the soldiers. Trying her best to protect Robb.

Out of nowhere, one of Frey’s soldiers jumped from behind, swinging his dagger in Y/N’s direction. Just as Y/N thought this would be her end, Greywind attacked the soldier’s arm, causing the sword to slice Y/N’s face; narrowly missing her eye. She was alive. She could deal with a cut face as long she was alive. Pulling her arrow back, she landed it perfectly into the heart of the solider; Greywind keeping him down with his grip on the man’s arm.

“Y/N!”

At the shout of her name, she turned to Robb.

“Get out of here. Take Greywind with you.”

Y/N shook her head.

“I am not leaving you.”

“Yes, you are. Go find Jon at the wall. I am not going to lose both Talisa and you. Mother and I will be okay. Go.”

Y/N looked at Catelyn’s direction.

“Go.” The women whispered.

AS Catelyn held the knife to the throat of Frey’s wife, Y/N slipped out the room. Quickly mounting one of the horses, with Greywind at her side, and her bow on her back, she fled from the wedding and from Winterfell.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------She could feel in her bones the guilt of leaving Robb and his mother behind. Of not being able to help Talisa. Of not being able to do something more. The guilt and grief only grew more when on her way to the wall, as she stopped to eat in a small tavern, Y/N over-heard of the gruesome events that occurred after she left. Hearing men laugh as they spoke about how Waldor Frey’s soldiers cut off Robb’s head and paraded his body around. How Catelyn’s throat was slit open. How Talisa was murdered, and so was her and Robb’s unborn child.

She could not hear no more. Continuing to travel as she arrived closer and closer to the wall. Collecting weapons, furs, and food along her travels. Greywind never leaving her side. Y/N remembered the directions to the Nightswatch, having spoken to her father and Eddard about it in great deal; when she was younger. She was always fascinated by the stories of the wall, so it was no surprise that she would want to know more about the men who would be guarding it.

Y/N had been travelling for weeks when she finally arrived at the wall. Searching for a secluded space, she hopped off of her horse. Stroking the animal’s mane, Y/N grabbed out the necessary food from her satchel. Feeding both the horse and Greywind before devouring an apple herself. She could not risk lighting a fire and cooking. It could draw unwanted attention. But what she didn’t know was that she had already done so by being there. As she was finishing her apple, out of nowhere, Greywind began to snarl. Instantly dropping the core of her fruit, Y/N reached for her bow and arrows; standing in front of the horse with Geywind at her side.

Looking towards the area where Greywind gazed, she saw fur and lots of it, approaching where she stood at the wall. The figures moved closer and closer. Wildlings. Y/N had no time to run or hide. With the direwolf and horse by her side, she would not be able to escape quietly. Drawing her bow, Y/N made sure her weapons were secure on her body. She was not going to be killed by Wildlings. Not when she had survived this long.

As they approached, one by one, the Wildlings noticed the woman in front of them. She was dressed very similar to them. The only differences being that her furs were a mixture of red and black. Tormund stood near the front of the group with Ygritte by his side. So, it came as a very big surprise when they reached the wall to enter the watch, that a woman stood in front of it. With a bow in her hand and a huge fucking wolf snarling towards them.

Y/N pulled her bow to aim at the ginger Wildlings’ chest.

“Take another fucking step and I will shoot this arrow straight through your heart, Wildling.”

Tormund let out a boisterous laugh at her words.

“Will you kill me little fox? Will you kill us all? You don’t know who you are messing with.”

Without missing a beat, Y/N answered.

“No.”

Tormund continued to laugh.

“But he will help me.”

AT the sound of her words, Greywind began to growl louder, his body arching as he slowly strode closer to the Wildlings.

Tormund quickly became quiet.

“Now if you don’t let me go, I will paint this wall red with your blood and use your skulls as bowls to feed my direwolf. You hear?”

Silence encompassed them.

“I like her.”

Y/N shifted her arrow to the ginger woman at her words.

Tormund’s shocked expression moving to gaze at her as well.

Ygritte simply shrugged her shoulders.

“She has fire. You of all people should know how strong a person kissed by fire is.”

The Wildling’s murmured amongst each other, looking at Tormund to respond.

Tormund looked at Ygritte. The ginger girl giving a quick nod of her head. Their silent conversation coming to an agreement.

Turning back to the Baratheon, Tormund sheathed his dagger. Taking another step closer; to only take it back as the direwolf growled once more.

“Okay little fox. We do no harm.”

Y/N never let her eyes leave the group. Keeping herself on edge for any attack.

“Here me out little fox.”

“Do not call me fox. I am not a fox.”

Tormund could see Ygritte smirk in the corner of his eye. Yes. She would fit right in.

“If you have no place to stay, come with us Wildlings. You will be safe.”

“I don’t need your help. I am safer alone.”

Ygritte rolled her eyes at the girl’s words. She felt that way once too.

“You won’t be safe when the Whites arrive.”

Y/N shook her head. Not wanting to believe her words. She had heard stories, but it has been hundreds of years since White Walkers roamed around Westeroes. But her mind suddenly reeled back to all the warnings Eddard Stark had given before his death. Winter is Coming. That is what he meant.

Slowly lowering her bow, she kept the object in a type grip at her side. Clicking her tongue, she signalled for Greywind to heel at her feet. The direwolf still on high alert.

“If I was to come with you, you swear an oath to do me no harm.”

Tormund laughed once more. As did many of the other Wildlings.

“An oath? Were Wildlings. You’re lucky to even be offered shelter.”

Y/N continued to stare at the man, her eyes flickering to Ygritte’s, as the woman’s expression remained serious.

“We swear.”

At Ygritte’s words, the Wildlings bellowed disagreements.

Y/N, taking Ygritte’s word, began to lead her direwolf and horse towards the Wildlings. She trusted Ygritte. She even felt compelled to trust the big ginger one, but she still kept her eye out for any dirty bastard who would break their word.

“Fine. We will amuse this oath. But if you are to stay with us, you will live the Wildling way. They call me Tormund Giantsbane.”

As they began to head towards the Wildling’s keep, Y/N walked between Tormund and Ygritte. The rest of the Wildlings in front of them. Greywind stayed close behind Y/N for protection, as she led her horse by its reigns.

“Why Giantsbane?”

“I killed a giant when I was 10. Then I climbed right into bed with his wife. When she woke up, she suckled me at her teat for three months. Thought I was her baby. That’s how I got so strong: giant’s milk.”

Y/N could not help but smile at the man’s story. Confusing Tormund as many of whom he had told the story to would either look deathly afraid, repelled, or even turned on. Not amused like Y/N was.

“Now what do they call you little fox.”

Y/N thought whether or not to reveal her true identity. To be trusting or to be safe. She chose the latter.

“They call me Doe.”

Tormund looked at the woman in confusion.

“Doe? A deer?”

Ygritte laughed at Tormund’s expression.

“A female deer.”

Tormund glared at his Wildling friend.

“I know what a doe is, you fucker.”

Ygritte smirked.

“It sounded like you didn’t.”

As the two bickered back and forth, walking either side of the Baratheon, Y/N could not help but reminisce of the funny quarrels between her, Robb, and Jon. She missed them both dearly. Whilst she may never be able to reunite with Robb, she knew she was so close to seeing Jon. She could feel it.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Turns out, Y/N’s feelings were correct. For the bastard of Eddard Stark was a lot closer than she thought. She had been living with the Wildlings for nearly a year when Ygritte had travelled back from her duties at the wall.  But Ygritte wasn’t alone. It seemed she had turned the tables on her capture; catching the crow herself.

As Ygritte travelled back to the Wildling den with the crow, Y/N and Tormund sat at the fire. The man watching as the woman hacked and carved the elks they and other Wildlings had caught earlier that day. She had come to take position of cook the minute she arrived. Being near the fire reminded her of life back home. She had also taken up cooking whilst living with Robb; wanting to become friendly with the servants and hand maidens that she thought would be with her for life. But how she was wrong.

During her months with the Wildlings, her skills in sword fighting had become a lot stronger. Adhering the techniques of the Wildlings, the Starks, and those her uncle Jaime had taught her, made Y/N’s fighting style unique. Untouchable. Her skills with an arrow had no match to anyone else either. She was a strong warrior. One the Wildlings had come to admire.

“You’ve grown strong Little Doe. Nearly as strong as I.”

Y/N smiled at Tormund’s words. The man reminded her of her father. His contagious laugh and rosy cheeks were similar to that of the Baratheon king. Cutting the elk into pieces, Y/N placed them onto the fire.

“And I did not need one drop of giant’s milk.”

Tormund bellowed with laughter at the girl’s sarcasm. She was still a spitfire. That aspect had not changed.

Y/N had come to adapt to the Wildling lifestyle very quickly. Most of it not being that different to her adventures with Jon and Robb. Hunting, sparring, and amongst other training activities. She was more comfortable here than she had ever been under the gaze of her mother. No dresses in sight. Just thick furs and weapons. Jon would have fit right in, she thought.

Wiping her hands on her trousers, Y/N stood up, handing some already cooked food to Tormund. The man began to devour the food instantly.

“I am going to give the rest of this food out to the ones who have yet to eat. So, don’t think about eating my plate or else the last words out of your mouth would have been about how strong I am. Got it Tor?”

The man held up a thumb, shoving the rest of his forkful into his mouth. He had learnt that the young woman did not kid when it meant food was involved.

Picking up the large box of prepared food, Y/N trudged out the camp and headed towards the groups of Wildlings she had left to feed. The women and children smiled at her arrival. The men nodding their heads in respect. She began to hand out the meals; blissfully unaware of Ygritte and many other Wildlings entering the camp with Jon Snow at their side.

“Hey Dongo?”

The giant stopped hammering the pole at the sound of his name. He smiled once he saw it was Little Doe. Even the giants had come to care for the Baratheon. Everyone treated her as though she was a born and raised Wildling.

As Y/N’s attention was aimed at feeding the giant, she failed to see the crow, behind the large beast, being ushered into the main tent. Grabbing a large slab of shank out of her box, she handed the meat to the giant.

“If you want anymore, Xera is also cooking in the tent over there. You’ve worked really hard today.”

The giant nodded in appreciation, watching as Y/N carried on weaving through the groups of Wildlings to feed the hungry.

“I smell a crow.”

Tormund had ceased eating once he felt the presence of a stranger in the tent. Ygritte stood to one side of Jon, as the Lord of Bones stood at the other. The man pulling of his mask as he spoke.

“We killed his friends. Thought you'd want to question this one.”

Tormund kept his back to the trio.

“What do we want with a baby crow?”

“This baby killed Qhorin Halfhand. He wants to be one of us.”

At Ygritte’s words, Tormund stood from his seat; staring at Jon.

“That half-handed cunt killed friends of mine. Friends twice your size.”

Jon took deep breaths. Trying to not show his fear.

“My father told me big men fall just as quick as little ones if you put a sword through their hearts.”

“Plenty of little men tried to put their swords through my heart. And there's plenty of little skeletons buried in the woods. What's your name, boy?”

“Jon Snow.”

Tormund’s face changed to one of confusion. Having remembered a time when the Little Doe had mentioned a man named Jon. No last name. But it had been one of the few times she had talked so openly of her past. Of a boy she had grown besides, who had to leave to protect the place he lived.

Jon kneeled before Tormund, mistaking him for Mance Rayder, the King-beyond-the-Wall.

“Your Grace.”

The wildlings laughed, Tormund ignoring his thoughts.

“Your Grace? Did you hear that? From now on, you'd better kneel every time I fart.”

With the Wildlings laughing, Mance Rayder appeared from the shadows, heading towards the crow.

“Stand, boy. We don't kneel for anyone beyond the Wall.”

Jon raised to his feet, watching the man before him.

“So, you're Ned Stark's bastard. Thank you for the gift, Lord of Bones. You can leave us.”

The lord of Bones left, Ygritte soon following in tow. As she exited the tent, Y/N approached the woman, food already in hand.

“Here you go Ygritte. Just heard you had arrived back. With company as well. Who’s the poor soul this time?”

Ygritte smirked at the girl’s words. Much like Tormund, the girl had spoken of a Jon. But had given no name. However, with the details she had told, Ygritte knew the man in the tent was the man Y/N had spoken about. Not wanting to give anything away, Ygritte took the food from the woman.

“You know, just some crow. We killed the rest. Thought this one could be useful, He’s in there with Mance and Tormund. Head in if you like.”

At the end of her words, Ygritte walked away, watching from her peripheral vision as Y/N began to walk into the tent.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------As she stood outside the tent, Y/N could hear Mance Rayder and Tormund tormenting the poor crow.

“The girl likes you. You like her back, Snow? That why you want to join us?”

As she quietly stepped into the tent, Y/N body became rigid at the sight of dark black curls. It couldn’t be.

“Don't panic, boy. This isn't the damned Night's Watch where we make you swear off girls.”

Tormund came to stand at the entrance, his face turning to see Y/N frozen in the doorway. Concern taking over his features.

“This chicken eater you thought was king is Tormund Giantsbane.”

Jon refused to turn to look at the man; only until he saw Mance Rayder’s expression change as well.

The leader of the Wildling’s had also seen Y/N stand in the door. Both men worried at her reaction to the sight of the crow.

“Little Doe is there something wrong?”

At the sound of the name, Jon’s head whipped to the direction of the door. Only one person other than Sansa that he knew was called Little Doe.

For the first time in two years, Y/N and Jon was in each other’s presence. Through loss, deceit, fear, they had gone through it all and were back together again.

“Y/N?”

Tears sprung to her eyes at the sound of her name. She never thought she would the sound of her name so much. But she missed the man that spoke them more.

“Jon.”

As she cried his name, the man strode towards the woman. Jon pulling her body flushed against his own. Clinging to each other with all their strength. Pulling the other tighter and tighter. Afraid to be ripped apart once more.

Pulling back just enough to look into his eyes, Y/N spoke to Jon for the first time in a long while.

“I came to the wall after what had happened, and I stopped to rest. But then Tormund and the Wildlings came; warned me about the dangers beyond the wall. I’ve been here since. I’m sorry I didn’t save Robb and Catelyn. I’m so sorry Jon.”

The girl cried. The sound broke the hearts of all three men. None of the Wildlings had ever seen or heard the woman cry. They weren’t aware of the terrors she had fled when they had found her.

Jon wiped away the tears. His hand cupping Y/N’s face, as the other continued to hold her waist; keeping her body close.

“It’s not your fault. You are a Baratheon, not a Lannister. You did not kill them.”

The young woman hiccuped.

“But I didn’t save them either. I should have tried harder.”

Jon held her closer, trying to sooth the woman in his arms.

“Baratheon?”

Y/N ceased her sobbing at the sound of Tormund’s voice.

“Shit.”

Lifting her head from Jon’s chest, she kept a firm grip of the man’s furs, as she turned her head to where Tormund stood next to Mance Rayder. Tormund continuing to look confused, whilst Rayder’s showed no expression.

Y/N sits down with the men and begins to explain to them her story. Of how she was meant to marry Robb Stark, the events of the Red Wedding, of all the hatred she held towards her mother and siblings.

“I have felt more at home here and at Winterfell than I ever did in Kingslanding. The only reason I was still there was because I am the only pure born Baratheon and I was not going to leave my father. If you wish for me to leave, I will do so. But I never intended to harm you. In anyway, and I am sorry that I lied to you both, and the others.”

Mance Rayder looked at Tormund, the man staring back. Their silent conversation being recognised by Jon as he came to sit next to Y/N. His body gravitating to sit as close as he possibly could.

The two men nodded towards the other. Looking back at the girl.

Mance Rayder spoke clearly to the woman.

“You have shown through your words and actions that you are no Lannister. That you are no coward. That you are a Wildling. Through and through. The only way you could be more Wildling is if Tormund had birthed you himself.”

Y/N chuckled at his words.

“That is true.” Tormund agreed.

“You are one of us. That will never change.”

“Thank you Rayder.”

The man smiled at the young woman. Taking that as his leave, he stood from his seat and walked towards the entrance.

“Snow.”

Jon looked at the man standing at the door.

“We shall discuss matters of you being here at a later time.”

At the end of his words, Mance Rayder left the room, leaving the trio alone.

“You’re still our Little Doe. Still unstoppable with a bow and arrow and a fucking great cook.”

Jon smiled at Tormund’s words to Y/N. He was proud that she had been able to survive so long in the game that was being played. Away from most of the carnage, but still aware of the fight. That she had been able to gain respect from a group that many people in Westeros never dared to fight against.

“Thank you, Tormund. You are still my fire.”

“Aye. You better tell that to your friend.”

Tormund left the pair alone in the tent. His laughter becoming quieter and quieter the further he travelled away.

Turning to face Y/N, Jon threaded his fingers through her hair. Wanting to feel her presence as much as he could. Cupping his hands with her own, Y/N leant into his touch. Glad to feel the familiar touch of the man before her.

“So, tell me about the Watch? Have you finally made some friends, besides me and your family?”

Jon chortled at her words. Y/N had always teased Jon about his lack of companions when they were growing up. As Robb and Theon grew older, they had many friends and even some women at their sides. Whereas it seemed Jon was content with only having her.

“A young man called Samwell Tarly. He has become a great companion of mine. But all men of the Watch are brothers in arms. We have each other’s backs.”

A sullen look took over Y/N’s features as she pulled her face away from Jon’s caress. Worry instantly took over Jon at the sudden change in her demeanour.

“And what would they make of you here with us Wildlings?”

Jon huffed out a breath; unsure how to answer.

“But you are not a Wildling.”

Y/N took great offense to her friend’s statement.

“You heard Mance Rayder. I am a Wildling. Through and through. The only way I could be more Wildling is if Tormund had birthed me himself.”

“Y/N, you are a Princess of House Baratheon and Lannister. You are meant to be in a castle, safe and away from all of this.”

Y/N was hurt. Jon of all people should know how much she hated her life in Kingslanding.

“You know that I have never wished to be a princess. You know that one of the reasons I travelled with father to Winterfell so often was because the horrible torment I would have faced when he had gone.”

Y/N rose to her feet, as her anger began to take over her emotions. Jon regretting his words as soon as he said them. Y/N’s hands slammed on the table between them.

“You know that the place I felt safest was at Winterfell and that all went when Theon betrayed your brother. When your brother betrayed his vow. When my grandfather betrayed me. Sending men to kill us all. Your brother may have died. But I had to watch one of my best friends die at the hands of my uncle. I had to run as I knew that Cateyln, the only honest and caring woman in my life, be killed. Whilst you were in Castle Black. Having no idea of the atrocities I faced.”

Y/N wiped her nose, as tears pricked her eyes once more. Looking away at the man in front of her. His saddened expression making her wish she wasn’t so harsh. But she could not allow him to disrespect all she had been through. “These people took me in. They could have left me to die, whilst I searched for you, but they didn’t. They helped me grow as a warrior. If Ygritte and Tormund did not take me in, I would most likely be on the other side of that wall, with eyes as blue as the summer sky, and skin as cold as the ice.”

Jon flinched at her words, at the idea of her being part of the dead beyond the wall. Standing from his seat, Jon strode around the table, moving to stand in front of Y/N, forcing the woman to look at him.

“I am sorry. They were your family as much as they were mine. I cannot imagine the feelings you have felt. But I am here now, and I am going to make sure that you are safe.”

Looking into his eyes, Y/N searched to see any lies. She loved Jon. More than she cared to admit, but they were a part of a game much bigger than the both of them, and that meant having to question the actions of those they loved.

Stepping closer, toe to toe, Jon could feel Y/N’s breath on his face. His eyes momentarily closing at the feeling.

“Will I be safe in Castle Black? Among the Nightswatch? Because I don’t think I will.

Y/N left the room, allowing her words to linger in Jon’s heart. His chest feeling heavy at the thought of Y/N feeling unsafe with him. But he knew it wasn’t his presence that made her feel unsafe, but that of the Nightswatch. For as far as they, and everyone else in Westeros knew, Princess Y/N Baratheon was dead. And she was. For this new woman, sitting next to Wun Wun in the open camp, was not the same Baratheon that Jon had left in Winterfell. But Jon’s heart still thumped as hard.

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

A few days after Jon’s arrival at the camp, Mance Rayder ordered for Tormund to escort a group of Wildlings to attack Castle Black from the rear. Instructing Tormund to have Jon accompany him.

Tormund and the Wildlings had prepared to leave camp, when out of nowhere, Y/N appeared at Tormund’s side. Cloaked and ready for the journey ahead.

“You are not coming Little Doe.”

Y/N stared straight ahead, ignoring Tormund’s words.

“He’s right Y/N.”

Jon slightly flinched at the glare she through his way.

“I am still pissed off at you Snow. So, don’t tell me that I would be safe at Castle Black, then tell me I cannot come with you. Because you will be proving yourself to be a liar.”

Turning her head back forward, Y/N began to march forward with the Wildlings. Jon was frozen in his place. Staring as the woman walked at the front of the group, unafraid of what was out there. Turning his head, Jon realised that Tormund had ceased moving, much like Y/N, glaring at the man in question. Jon gulped.

“You better start walking crow. You’ve already pissed off one Wildling today. Don’t make it another.”

Jon instantly began to walk, he and Tormund quickly catching up the group; situating themselves at the front once more.

It did not take long for things to go South. With Ygritte and Jon’s near-death experience climbing the wall, to Jon refusing to kill the innocent man, Y/N had to step in. She may have been angry with Jon. But she was not going to watch him be killed.

“Tormund! Stop! You are not going to kill him.”

As Y/N runs to aid Jon, Ygritte grabs her arms from behind; restraining the young woman.

“Ygritte if you were my friend, you would let me go.”

Ygritte held on to Y/N’s arms tighter.

“I am not going to let you go because you are my friend, and you will make the wrong decision.”

Out of nowhere, Summer and Shaggydog arrive at Jon’s side. Greywind had been kept absent from the expedition due to the treacherous climbing and walking. They could not carry supplies for twenty plus Wildlings and a direwolf.

As Jon was fighting successfully against the Wildlings, with the help of the direwolves, Y/N fought excessively hard to get out of Ygritte’s grip. Successfully doing so and grabbing her bow and arrow as well. Holding the arrow in the direction of Tormund and Ygritte, Y/N stepped closer towards Jon.

“You are not going to kill him!”

“He’s a traitor. Still loyal to the Nightswatch.”

“He’s my family and so are you. I am not losing anymore family…”

As Y/N held back the Wildlings, with Summer at her side, Jon successfully killed Orrell. Suddenly, an eagle swooped down to attack the man, clawing him across the face. Y/N turned at the commotion, running towards Jon, she whistled, causing a horse to approach. Placing her bow onto her back she pulled out her sword, swinging it back and forth to keep away the eagle and any approaching Wildlings.

“Get on the horse now!”

Jon slowly climbs onto the horse. He holds out his hand for Y/N to take. Looking sadly at the man, she ignored his hand.

“One day Jon Snow, we will see each other again.”

Clapping the horse on the back leg, Y/N urged the stead to gallop away from the Wildlings. Jon watching as she was quickly restrained once more by the people she had called family. She had put herself in danger to save him. Jon would never forgive himself.

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

Y/N’s arms were bound tightly together. Gagged to stop her screams as Tormund ordered for Ygritte and other Wildlings to chase after Jon.  She fought and fought to free herself, but she could not fight no longer. Tormund carrying Y/N himself to their base to rest. Facing forward, he dared not to look down at the woman in his arms, hearing her soft broken cries caused his heart to replace the anger he felt at her actions to change to sadness at the sound of her tearful woes.

Jon cleaned his facial wounds in a small pool. His horse grazing nearby. He heard the sound of a bow being drawn, turning to see Ygritte, an arrow notched and aimed at him. Anger surges through her at the betrayal of the man. His betrayal to the Wildlings. To Y/N. Her friends.

“Ygritte, you know I didn't have a choice.  She always knew what I was. What I am. I have to go home now. I know you won't hurt me. Y/N wouldn’t want you to hurt me.”

Ygritte’s hold on the bow began to loosen.

“You know nothing, Jon Snow. You know nothing of what you and her family have put her through.”

“I do know some things. I know I love her.”

Ygritte grunted, drawing her bow harder in rage.

“I have loved her since we were children. I loved her when her father told her she was meant to marry my brother. I loved her when I left for the Watch. And I love her now. Through all she has been through. I love who she was and who she has become.”

“Then why did you betray her. Why did you betray us?”

Jon paused with his words. Staring deep into Ygritte’s eyes, seeing the blinding rage that she held towards him.

“I have to make things right. To make it better for her.”

Ygritte fought back tears at the thought of Jon taking away her friend. But also, for the fact he was leaving her once more.  Jon turned around, unaware, as Ygritte loosened an arrow into his shoulder. Jon fell to the ground, grunting in pain.  Notching another arrow, Ygritte watched as Jon lurched up and grabbed onto his horse. She hesitated. Not wanting to hurt him more than she had. He was right. Y/N would not want her to do this. But she had to.

Jon mounted his steed as Ygritte shot an arrow into his leg; crying out as he spurred on his horse. With her anger rising once more, Ygritte shot her third and final arrow, lodging it into the crow’s back. If he were a target, it would be right on the bullseye. Cursing as she let the man gallop away.

When Ygritte arrived back to camp, her quiver empty, but no Jon in sight, Y/N wasn’t sure if she had successfully killed the man and left him to other creatures beyond the wall, or if she had let him go.

Y/N sat next to Tormund, arms still secured behind her back. Her face void of any emotion. Ygritte went to walk past the woman but halted as words left the princess’ mouth.

“Did you kill him? If you were my friend, you could at least tell me that.”

Ygritte looked at her friend, bound and sat on the floor. Like a slave. Like a prisoner. Nothing like one of their own. She hated to see her like this. But they had to be careful.

“I did what I had to do.”

Ygritte walked away from the woman, ignoring as her hunched shoulders went slack. Y/N no longer had the will to fight. Jon had betrayed her, the Wildlings had betrayed her, and she had betrayed them as well.

Y/N was kept detained for the time that the Wildlings prepared to invade the Black. Even though she had fought against them, Tormund and the Wildlings still cared for her. Becoming increasingly worried as she refused to speak and eat. All day and all night, she sat shackled, watching them prepare with a blank stare. Tormund could not deal with it no more.

Moving to sit next to the distant woman, Tormund dropped to the ground with a loud thud. Bringing a canter to her lips, he forced her to swallow.

“You are not dying because of that traitor, Little Doe. I understand why you did what you did. We forgive you.”

Y/N shook her head at his words.

“You shouldn’t. I protected him. I haven’t seen him for years, but the moment he goes against him, I was by his side. I turned against you when I should have stopped him.”

Tormund drank from the canter, staring into the distant hills. The air was cold, but not as harsh as it had been before.

“But we do forgive you. People do all kinds of things for love.”

Y/N scoffed.

“I don’t love him. Not anymore.”

Tormund couldn’t help but smile at the woman’s malice filled words.

“Yes, you do Little Doe. You love him, and he loves you. Through all the changes and things that have done you wrong, you love each other. Between you, there is fire, scorching hot fire. It cannot be put out. But it can be made stronger.”

Y/N processed Tormund’s words.

Tormund left the woman to think. She knew of the raids that had occurred in the towns. Having been kept behind and guarded by a group of Wildlings as they had occurred. She knew that the siege of Castle Black was to occur that night. She had to prove to her Wildling family that she could be trusted. That she has always been and will be a Wildling.

Rolling onto her back, Y/N pushed herself forward, flipping onto her feet. Bending her knees to get used to the feeling of standing once more, Y/N casually strolled through the Wildlings and towards Mance Rayder and Tormund and they spoke with numerous wildlings about the battle that was about to commence.

Slowing to stand beside Tormund, she listens to the conversation. Hearing the plan of action, Y/N nods her head.

“Okay, if someone can untie me, I’ll grab my weapons and get prepared.” Tormund jumped at the new presence, unaware of the woman at his side.

“You are not coming.”

Y/N turned her gaze to Mance, the man’s steely eyes piercing her own.

Determined, Y/N easily pulled her hands free from her restraints.

Tormund looked between her hands and the girls face.

“You could have freed yourself? You could have escaped.”

Y/N kept her gaze on Mance Rayder.

“But I didn’t because I had to pay for what I did. I still do. Let me kill those bastards who changed the man I knew. The Jon I knew would never have lied of his word. He is probably dead now anyway. I will have to come to terms with that. So, Mance Rayder, please allow me to fight. To fight for the Wildlings.”

Y/N knew he was alive. She knew Ygritte had not successfully killed him. The woman had overheard her words to Tormund. Her shots were calculated to hurt no kill. But Y/N had to, for once in her life, fight for family.

The man stayed quiet, the Wildlings around them waited for his reply, Ygritte, who was amongst the crowd, watched in anticipation.

“No.”

Y/N’s determined look fell.

“You will not fight for the Wildlings. You will fight with the Wildlings. With your family.”

A cheer broke out amongst the camp. Y/N beamed with a smile. She was not going to disappoint them again. Not this time.

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

In Castle Black, Jon and his men prepared for the battle. Jon hoped that Y/N would not be there. That she would not fight. But he knew, that if the Wildlings had forgiven her, that he would see her right at Tormund’s side. The battle could see the end of them both before they had even begun. A horn was blown. The crows stood their stance, ready to fight. But then another horn was blown, and Jon knew, that she was there, ready to fight as well.

Swords were swung, and arrows were flown. Blood from both sides was spilled and bodies of brave men and Wildling women fell. Jon was right, Y/N never left Tormund’s side, hacking and slashing all Nightsmen that came in their way. Taking a hit here and there, she entered the castle with Tormund, infiltrating from the inside.

Jon had just killed Styr when Ygritte had caught his attention. Her bow and arrow aimed at the Northern man. She slowly began to lower her bow.

“She’s inside with Tormund. Get to her.”

Jon nodded, going to thank Ygritte, when he felt the arrow fly past. Watching as it embedded into Ygritte’s chest. He ran to her, clutching her body as her breaths became shallow.

“Jon Snow. Look after her. You love her, and she loves you.”

Jon clutched Ygritte. He had made a friend in the sarcastic Wildling and he knew Y/N loved the woman as a sister.

“No Ygritte, she needs us both. She needs you.”

Ygritte struggled for one last breath.

“You know nothing Jon Snow. She needs you more.”

As the words left Ygritte’s lips, her body went limp in Jon’s arms. The man watched as Olly continued to fight. The bow still in his hands. Jon quickly carried Ygritte’s body to a safe space, covering her up. Taking a breath, he turned to the castle, heading in the direction he had briefly seen Tormund run.

Tormund and Y/N were back to back, fighting off the guards that crowded them. They had heard the cheers of the Nights watch. But they were not giving up. Y/ was not giving up. Tormund had two arrows embedded into his back, and Y/N’s left arm had taken a deep cut from one of the swords. Another scar to add to the rest. It was two Wildlings against many more crows.

“It’s over. Let it end.”

The pair looked to see Jon, deflated and broken.

“This is how a man ends.”

As Tormund raised his sword, clashing it with one of the men of the Watch, Y/N’s eyes widened in shock as she saw Jon reach for the cross bow. Aiming for Tormund’s leg, Jon released the arrow. The arrow hit where Jon aimed. However, it was not embedded in Tormund’s leg, but in Y/N’s left leg.

Jon looks on, masking in horror, walking to kick Tormund to the ground.

Y/N’s own legs collapsed from underneath her. The pain and exhaustion taking over.

“Put him in chains, we will question him later.”

“You hurt her any fucking more than you have, I will slice your throat boy.”

Two crows did as Jon instructed. Tormund screaming as they dragged him away.

Jon turned to leave.

“What about the girl?”

Y/N glared at Jon. Her breaths heavy and long.

He could not risk her any harm. If he gave her leverage, then they could both be harmed.

“Patch her up and take her to the cells.”

Before they could grab a hold of her, Y/N pulled the arrow from her leg, throwing the object to the ground

She stood, allowing the soldiers to pull her hands behind her back.

“Lock me away, but I a not having your filthy feathered hands touch me. I would rather bleed out. You’ve changed Jon Snow. This game. This war. It changed all of us. Some for good and some for bad.”

Jon gulped down the tears. Hurt from her words.

“I SHOULD HAVE DIED WITH THEM. BUT HE SENT ME TO FIND YOU. TO BE SAFE. AND LOOK WHAT FINDING YOU DID TO ME!

Jon knew she referred to his brother and Catelyn. Even though she was being locked away, she still kept her identity a secret; knowing it would harm his position. He would have been killed for hurting her. Hurting the Baratheon princess. But she would have rather died a Wildling than lived longer as a noble.

The crows held her tighter, escorting her the same way that Tormund had been led.

Jon did not move until he could see her no more. Only then did he leave for his chambers. Preparing for the next step. Though she hated him, he was doing this all for her. He hoped that it would work.

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

Whilst laying in their cells, Tormund and Y/N had been made aware of Ygritte’s death. Screams and cries were heard from Tormund for days on end; for his fallen family. When men walked past Y/N’s cell, they heard silence. Only Tormund heard the quiet cries at night. His own tears erupting once more. Crying for Ygritte and for the pain they both felt. She apologised over and over, and Tormund reassured her over and over again. It was not her fault.

Jon was soon named the 998th Lord Commander. The wildlings below unaware of their leader’s death and to position Jon was going to take of asking for their help. During their time’s in the cells, Y/N had become dormant. Hardly eating, sleeping, talking, or doing anything at all. Detached from all that was surrounding her.

When Jon came to free Tormund and herself, to help travel and save the remaining Wildlings. Jon had unsuccessfully tried to speak to Y/N; the girl simply ignoring him as she had everyone else. They were all worried for her health.

“She is too ill to travel.”

Tormund glanced at the woman in the cell, debating Jon’s words.

“If she has to stay in this hell hole, at least get that large friend of yours to help her health.”

Jon nodded his head.

Walking to Y/N’s cell, Jon crouched at the gates. The woman stared blankly at the floor. She seemed lifeless, but the expanding of her chest proved otherwise.

“I know I have changed. We both have. But I am doing this all for you. So, you can have the life you deserve. Away from all this shit that has happened. You cannot die. You did not die then, and you won’t now. So, for once, you are staying here, and you are going to accept help. Samwell we come down to get you better and keep you company. I wish I could home you in proper chambers, but they would kill you if I did. We will be back soon.”

Y/N slowly lifted her head as Jon spoke. Taking in his words. The two stared at each other in silence. Her eyes flickered to Tormund’s figure.

“Keep him safe Torm. Keep yourself safe too.”

Tormund smiled, glad to hear his Little Doe speak again. He had missed her voice.

“Aye,I am a Giantsbane. We will be all right. Ain’t that right boy?”

Jon nodded, still holding his gaze on Y/N. Even as they left the dungeons, the man never wavered his look from her. He saw her lie on the floor as they left. Falling to sleep.

Jon informed Samwell of his commands, making sure that he kept it private between the two. He did not want anyone else to question why she was having assistance. Samwell took the orders with no hesitation or question. Instantly going into action, the minute that Jon and the other Wildlings left.

Everyday Sam would force Y/N to eat and drink. Checking her wounds, bringing her fresh furs and even cleaning her own. Doing all he could to make sure she became healthy again. For a while, it was only Sam talking to fill up the silence. He spoke of his life before the watch, to his opinions on pointless things, to information of the houses. Y/N hid her amusement when he recited the history of House Baratheon to the woman. Still unaware of who she was. To him, she was a Wildling with hardly a clue of the history of the houses. Of what had occurred within the kingdoms. Or so she thought. Samwell was a smart man. Smarter than he looked.

“Jon told me stories of when King Robert and Princess Y/N Baratheon would visit Winterfell. Of how close he was to the princess.”

Y/N’s ears perked up at Sam’s words. Clearing her throat, she spoke to the young man for the first time.

“What kind of stories?”

To say Sam was shocked was an understatement.

“Well, he spoke of how they met and all the trouble they caused with his brother, Robb. Of how devastated he was when he heard that King Robert and Eddard Stark had agreed for her to marry his brother. How it confirmed his reasoning of joining the watch.”

Y/N pulled the thin blanket around her tighter. Her frame had become similar to how it was before, but she still did not fit her furs as she did before.

“If the betrothal had not been agreed then he would have stayed in Winterfell?”

Sam nodded.

“Precisely.”

“That bastard. He left because of Robb and I. He knew I never loved him.”

“I knew it.”

Y/N froze at Sam’s explanation. All this time she had been able to hide who she was, and this oaf had reeled it out of her.

“You’re the princess.”

Y/N drank from the cup at her side. Placing it back down, she leaned her head on the concrete wall, turning to look at Sam, who sat on the other side of the bars. On a stool, holding his own drink.

“Well, you going to kill me? Sell me for ransom and bribery?”

Sam shook his head in a comical manner. The girl quirked an eyebrow. From the time he had spent tending to her, she had come to realise that Samwell’s actions were pure. But she could not help but pull up her guard.

“I wold never. I had my suspicions when Jon asked me to tend to you that you meant something to him. But it was not until you began to eat once more, and your face began to fill out, that I recognised your features. You look very different to your siblings yet so much like your mother and father. You have her beauty and his dark hair and eyes.”

It had been a long time since Y/N had heard of her father or had been compared to him. She ignored the comments of her siblings and Cersei. But to hear that someone could recognise her as her father’s child made her smile once more. “Jon asked me to look after you. And that I will. I will do anything to make Princess Y/N Baratheon better once more.”

Sam’s words brought tears to Y/N’s eyes. Not of sadness or pain like she had cried for the times that have passed. But tears of gratitude. She felt for the first time, in a long time, happy to hear her name. To hear her father’s house and her name together. Even through all she had fought, Y/N truly believed her father would have been proud.

By the time that Jon, Tormund and many of the Wildlings had returned, Y/N was better and nearly stronger than ever. Sam had successfully convinced to be placed on full time guard duty of the Wildling woman. Helping her repair and get better. Sam confided in Y/N of his desires to become a maester. The woman encouraged him to do so, reminding him to not forget about Gilly and the child he has come to love as his own.

Sam travelled to library, where Jon sat, waiting for the news of Y/N’s condition.

“She’s better. She eats well, sleeps well, talks quite a lot.”

Jon let out a small chuckle. Remembering of all the times she talked his ears off growing up.

Sam relied all of her improvements. Before mentioning his desires to leave. To become a maester. Remembering both Gilly and Y/N’s encouraging words.

Jon stared at Sam, saying nothing.

“I’ll be more use to you as a Maester. More use to everyone now that Maester Aemon’s gone. The Citadel has the world’s greatest library. I’ll learn about history, strategy, healing. And other things. Things that will help when they come.”

“If Gilly stays here then she’ll die. And the baby that she named after me will die. And I’ll end up dying, too, trying to protect them. Which means that the last thing that I’ll see in this world will be the look in her eyes when I fail them. (pause) I’d rather see a thousand White Walkers than see that.”

Jon inhaled and exhaled. Nodding somberly, allowing Sam to go.

“Thank you.”

The men continued to discuss Sam’s relationship with Gilly and what it would mean for him to become a maester.

They sit in silence for a moment.

“I’ll come back. You’re not my only friend anymore. I have you and Princess Y/N to visit.”

Jon’s head whipped up at Sam’s words.

“How do you know?”

Sam smiled faintly.

“All the times you spoke of her, `and how you were so adamant of a particular Wildlings safety rang bells in my mind. Then when she was getting better, she looked more Baratheon every day. I asked, and she replied. Told me all that had happened since she was reported dead. Well, since your brother passed.”

Jon looked towards the doors. Pondering on whether to leave to see her. He had been wanting to since he arrived. No doubt Tormund had already re-laid all that had happened, to her.

“Go. She may act like she does not want to see you. But she does. She spoke the most when your name was brought up in conversation.”

Jon stood from his seat, bringing his friend into a hug.

“To you return.”

“To my return.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Jon travelled to the cells where Y/N still stayed. Without an explanation, he unlocked the door. If the rest of the Wildlings were roaming around Castle Black, so should she.

Startled at the sudden noise, Y/N sat up from her position on the ground. Watching with baited breath as Jon yanked open the metal bars. Her time in the cells, and with Samwell, had left her hours to think long and hard about how she felt. How she felt about the game. How she felt about friends. How she felt about Jon. And how she felt about herself. She did not want to become a bitter woman. Y/N knew that Jon was doing what he thought was right. He always had. The man may have caused her pain and sorrow. But he was her best friend. He was her Jon.

Jon bent down to sit near Y/N, leaning his back against the wall, he left space between them. Trying to show that he did not want to over step any boundaries.

Without a word, Y/N scooted closer to Jon, so that their arms touched. Neither moved their gazes from the wall in front of them. Slowly, Y/N laid her head on his shoulder.

The pair sat there in silence for a long period of time. Basking in the shared company. It had been the first time in years that Jon and Y/N had been able to sit together, without talking about what had happened to them or what was going to happen next.

Ever so gently, Jon placed his right hand over Y/N’s left. Interlocking their fingers, he stroked the back of the woman’s hand. Basking in the small pieces of affection.

“I’m glad you’re back.”

Jon smiled at her words. He was not sure if Sam’s words were true. If she still cared for him.

“So am I. You can wonder freely around the castle now. You can share my chambers, if you would like. I know you don’t feel relatively safe amongst the other men of the Watch.”

Y/N pondered his invitation. Snuggling closer to Jon, she tightened her hold on his hand.

“Yeah. I would appreciate that a lot Jon. Thank you.”

“I would do anything to keep you safe.”

Y/N tilted her head to stare into Jon’s own eyes. Entranced by the other, their bodies moved closer together. Y/N laying practically on top of Jon.

“And so, would I.”

They stayed in the cells for the rest of the night. Enjoying the silence and each other’s company. Cuddled in an embrace, Y/N and Jon fell asleep, wrapped around each other.

What they had been unaware of was little Olly slowly creeping down the cellar during their moment. Seeing his Lord Commander spread across the Wildling woman made the lads blood boil. He had lost his family, his village, his home, all to those foul monsters. And now the watch had lost their leader. A traitor. That is what Jon Snow was.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------And a traitor’s death Jon was given. Sitting in his chambers, Y/N had left mere minutes earlier to speak to Tormund about increasing her training once more, now that she had been healed better. Jon’s face was still flushed from the surprising kiss on the cheek from the woman. The unexpected affection causing the colour to travel across his face.

It soon disappeared when Olly quickly knocked on his chamber door, breathlessly explaining to Jon how Y/N had fallen down the steps when rushing to find Tormund. How she had heard a crack and could not move her right leg. Jon quickly left his chambers, following Olly who told him that Thorne was with the woman, who had refused any help unless Jon was there.

But what Jon had arrived to was not Y/N on the ground in pain with Thorne at her side. But Y/N held captive by Thorne; surrounded by members of the watch. The woman was gagged and shackled. The same she had been when the Wildlings lost the Battle of Castle Black.

Jon sees the woman crying. Turning to ask Thorne what the meaning of this all was, before Jon’s words could leave his mouth, Thorne plunged a knife into his stomach. Y/N’s screams ringing loud, even with the gag in her mouth.

With a hand on his stomach, Jon quickly manouvered to reach the woman. The loss of blood causing him to stumble. Just before he could reach her, Yarwyck, Marsh and two other black brothers proceed to stab Jon. Each dedicating their action ‘For the Watch.’ Jon dropped to his knees, swaying as he watched Y/n thrash against the men who held her captive. Her gag falling loose.

“Stop. Stop it now!”

Thorne moved to stand behind Y/N, his dagger held tightly to her throat. When she gulped, she could feel the blade digging into her neck.

“Don’t hurt her. She did nothing wrong.”

Thorne sneered at Jon.

“She’s a Wildling. Everything she does is wrong.”

Blood soaked Jon’s armour.

“She is Princess Y/N Baratheon.”

“I am a Wildling. Born and bred.”

Jon looked into Y/N’s eyes. Tears falling from both his and her own.

If he was going to die, she was not going to let him save her. She was not going to allow the title she despised to kill the man she loved and save her life.

And as Olly laid down the final blow, stabbing Jon in the heart, the last thing he saw was was Thorne, a man he had come to respect and follow, slice the blade across Y/N’s neck.

Their bodies falling to the ground simultaneously. Neither breathing. Neither alive. The blood poring out their bodies, and down the small dips in the snow, connecting the two puddles together. Even in death, Y/N and Jon were connected.

With a sign above Jon’s head, labelling him a traitor, and a sign above Y/N’s labelling her a savage. The men of the watch dismembered, leaving the bodies to be found in the morning.

And as the pair lay dead, Greywind and Ghost howled to the air, alerting Davos, Edd and his men about the bodies that laid in the snow. The group quickly bringing them into their quarters, with Greywind and Ghost protecting the door.

“We don’t have the numbers.”

Edd looked at Davos in contemplation.

“We have two direwolves.”

“It’s not enough. I didn’t know Lord Commander Snow for long, but I have to believe he wouldn’t have wanted his friends to die for nothing. Speaking for Princess Y/N Baratheon, those men have killed an heir to the throne. Our Lord Commander’s partner. Our friend in arms. She will not die for nothing."

“If you were planning to see tomorrow, you picked the wrong room. We all die today. I say we do our best to take Thorne with us when we go.”

Davos began to feel frustrated at Edd’s words.

“We need to fight, but we don’t need to die. Not if we have help.”

The men in the room murmured amongst them.

“Who’s gonna help us?” questioned one of the Nightswatch.

Davos looked across the faces in the room.

“You’re not the only ones who owe your lives to Jon Snow. Once they find out one of their own has been killed, they will come fighting and swinging. For Y/N may have been a princess, but she has a wilder family that lay closer to her heart.”

Realisation swept over Edd. He turned to the Night’s Watchman at his side.

“Bolt the door. Don’t let anyone in. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Edd exited the room. The man swiftly and quietly left the room, heading down the halls and out the castle to the man who could help them. For now, they needed the help of the Wildlings.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Ash. All she could see was ash covering the grounds of Kingslanding. Of her home. The sound of screams and burning fire growing louder by the second. As the screams become louder, her vision started to blur. With the Red Keep in the distance falling to the ground; fire encompassing the building. Just before the darkness took over, Y/N heard a single word, over the screams and the terrifying sound of burning. As clear as day, a single word; Dracarys.

Y/N gasped as her eye’s shot open. Taking in the cold and chilly air around her, it quickly came to Y/N’s attention how exposed she was. Feeling a nudging of her hand, Y/N turned her head to see Greywind at the side of the pillar in which she laid. A blanket held softly between his teeth.

Slowly sitting up, Y/N took the blanket from the direwolf, wrapping it around herself securely. Her body felt extremely cold; like a corpse. How could she be alive? Jon’s men stabbed her. Looking down to her stomach, Y/N could see the angry red scars of where her stab wounds were. The last thing she remembered, before her dream, was Olly killing Jon.

Jon? Was he alive or dead? Y/N had no idea. As she began to panic, air leaving her lungs at a rapid pace, the door of the room creaked open. Twisting her head to look at the figure, she watched as Tormund stood in the doorway in shock.

“Tormund.”

“Little Doe!”

The man rushed into the room. Coming to help Y/N as she weakly stood from the pillar. Engulfing his arms around the small woman, she went to hug him back. Until she remembered her exposed state.

“I’m kind of naked Tormund, so I cannot really reciprocate.”

Tormund squeezed the Baratheon princess harder before letting go.

“It is only skin Little Doe. You are as naked as the day you were born. You should feel powerful.”

The woman laughed.

“I feel as though I was stabbed multiple times.”

“That’s because you were.”

At the sound of the new voice, Y/N watched as Melisandre entered through the doors. The dark red head gracefully walked through the doors and travelled to stand next to Tormund.

“She’s the witch that brought you and Jon back. I always say those kissed by fire had special powers.”

Tormund laughed at his own words.

Y/N could not help the shock in her body. She had died and been brought back to life. But so, had Jon.

“Where’s Jon? I want to see Jon.”

Tormund ceased his laughter at Y/N’s desperate pleas.

“I will get him for you.”

Tormund gave the woman another comforting hug.

“Don’t worry Little Doe. He’s okay.”

Releasing Y/N, Tormund headed to the door. Leaving the two women in the room alone.

Y/N felt the red witches gaze on her body. Pulling the blanket tighter around her, she felt Greywind move closer; sensing his owner’s discomfort.

“You hold great power.”

Y/N looked towards the woman. Confusion written across her expression.

Melisandre stepped closer to the Baratheon.

“Power so pure that mystic creatures will fall at your feet in awe. That even the darkest of heart will not be able to hurt.”

The pair stared at each other in silence until the door opened once more. This time it was Jon who would walk through.

“Y/N.”

Hearing her name from his mouth brought tears to her eyes. The images of seeing him stabbed by the men of the watch tumbled through her mind.

“Jon.”

She sobbed as the man rushed through the doorway and encircled his arms around her body.

As Jon held Y/N, Melisandre exited the room. Her words hanging heavily in Y/N’s soul. She could not think of them now. Because Jon was alive. They were both alive.

Y/N rose her arms, to encircle them around Jon, when she suddenly realised again, she was exposed.

“Jon, I would love to reciprocate this hug, but I am naked.”

The man instantly let go. A blush covering his entire face and neck. He turned to see a set of clothes on the chair closest to the door. Quickly grabbing them, he handed them to the woman. Turning, once again, to face away as she began to dress.

Once she was fully dressed, Y/N walked towards the Stark bastard, wrapping her arms around his torso. Spinning in her hold, placed his arms onto her waist.

“How are you feeling?”

The girl winced at his question.

“Sore. Tired. Probably the same as you. How long have you been alive again for?”

Jon looked at the ceiling, thinking of all that had happened since he had awoken.

“A while. We thought you weren’t going to awaken. I’ve dealt with Olly and the men who did this to us.”

Y/N nodded her head, silently glad she was not present for the execution.

“And I have handed over Castle Black to Edd.”

Now that surprised her.

Looking up at the man, she could not formulate words.

“Why?”

“Because the Watch is not my home. We are going to take back Winterfell. Take back our home.”

“We?”

“You, I, and Sansa.”

Y/N placed her arms on Jon’s shoulders, staring her friend in the eyes.

“Sansa’s here?”

Jon grabbed onto Y/N’s hand, guiding her through the halls ever so slowly. The woman still getting used to the feeling of being alive once more. Her headache slowly dissipating and her legs becoming sturdier. Turning around the corner, Jon opened a door to a dining hall. The room full of many unfamiliar faces eating, and a few familiar ones.

Jon lead Y/N to the table which seated Sansa, Tormund, Edd, Brienne, and Podrick. All of their heads turning to the commotion of the pair entering the room. Murmurs becoming louder as many men of the watch saw Y/N alive. Much like their Lord Commander, brought back from the dead for a reason.

Sansa stood from her seat at the site of the Baratheon princess. All of them being informed of what had happened to her and Jon. For the more days had passed, the more they thought she would not return.

Letting go of Jon’s hand, Y/N embraced the young Stark woman; glad to see she had survived her tormented family.

“I am sorry for what that cunt Joffrey did to your father; and to you.”

Sansa grasped Y/N tighter.

“It’s okay. I survived. And the moment was splendid. But I had to leave as quickly as I could. Joffrey has been the smallest of my troubles thus far.”

Sansa pulled Y/N to sit down, with Jon moving to sit at her other side.

Y/N looked in front of her to the unfamiliar pair. However, one was more unfamiliar than the other.

“Podrick Payne?”

Startled, Podrick looked to the young woman.

“Yes, m’lady?”

Y/N let out a cheerful laugh.

“My god. You’re alive. And you’re no longer attached to my uncle’s side. What happened?”

“He was trailed for treason m’lady. For Joffrey’s murder. He did not do it. But he did not want me to be brought down with him, so he handed me to Brienne of Tarth.”

Y/N looked to the woman at his side. Amazement beaming in her eyes.

“You were sworn to the kingsguard of my uncle Renly.”

Brienne looked surprise at the amazement on the princess’ face and at her knowledge.

“That is right m’lady.”

Y/N smirked at the woman.

“There’s no need to be shocked. I made sure I knew everyone who was associated with my family. Even after I left Kingslanding and Winterfell. I still found my ways to know. The only reason I don’t know now is because I died.”

The table went awkwardly silent.

Y/N rolled her eyes.

“Lighten up. I am alive aren’t I. You will need to tell me everything later. I need to know it all. I am just glad that everyone here is safe. I do hope Arya, Bran and Rickon have survived as well.”

Sansa looked towards Jon.

“The Bolton’s have Rickon.”

Anger surged through Y/N’s veins. It seemed that this war would never end.

“We will get him back, I promise. We will get back Winterfell, we will find Bran and Arya, and we will end this war.”

Determination laced the Baratheon’s tone. The group startled at the woman’s words. But slowly, one by one, they raised their glasses, ready to fight for this battle.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- A battle is what they fought victoriously against Ramsay Bolton and his men. Y/N refused to stand a side; fighting on the battle field. With Podrick and Brienne having travelled to Riverrun at the command of Sansa, Y/N made sure to protect Sansa with all her might. Even escorting her to the dungeons as she unleashed the hounds onto Ramsay. Watching from the side as the man who had defiled her friend, die at the paws of his hounds.

Y/N watched on as Jon named Sansa the Lady of Winterfell. She watched on as Jon was claimed King of the North. But she refused to watch on as Jon prepared to leave for Dragonstone to meet the Khaleesi.

“I am coming with you and that is final. My uncle is alive. He sent the letter. I want to see him, and I am not leaving you.”

Jon raised his head to the sky, becoming quickly frustrated with the woman in front of him.

“What happens if this goes south?”

Y/N huffed at the man in front of her, crossing her arms.

“We’re in the North, wherever we go will go South. Except for Castle Black, and we’ve only just come back from there.”

Jon was not in the mood for her smart mouth.

The pair continued to bicker, unaware of those that watched on.

“This sounds familiar.”

Sansa giggled at Tormund’s words, having heard a similar conversation occur multiple times between the pair.

“This was my life before we left. If they were not causing trouble for each other, they were causing trouble for everyone else. Usually with Robb beside them.”

Tormund nodded his head.

“And he still has not admitted his love for her.”

“No. Neither has she for him.”

Sansa could not help but scoff at the duo’s ideocracy.

“Jon I am not letting you leave again. We are both alive for a reason.”

Jon grasped the woman’s shoulder with his right hand. Bending his head slightly so that they were eye level.

“And I want to keep you alive. That is why you are not coming.”

“Watch me.”

Before she could even try to walk away, Y/N was yanked back by Jon. Being pulled flush against his chest as his lips slammed into her own.

Sansa and Tormund looked on in surprise.

“We spoke too soon.”

Y/N moved her hands to tangle into Jon’s hair. His own hand’s gravitating towards her lower waist. The lips locked in a passionate embrace; exerting years of pent up emotion. Love, frustration, desire, sadness, and more rolled into this one action between the pair. Their lungs begging for air as they simultaneously broke the kiss. The space between their bodies not moving an inch. Both their chests heaved for breath. Y/N biting her swollen lip as Jon’s lust filled gaze stared into her own.

“That was long overdue.”

Jon chuckled at Y/N’s words.

“I would say so.”

In her peripheral vision, Y/N could see Sansa smirking at the pair with Tormund at her side; a beaming smile on the man’s face.

Shaking her head, with a smile permanently fixed, Y/N gazed at the man in front of her.

“I am coming with you. A kiss like that gives me even more reasons to be at your side. Don’t want you falling in love with this Dragon Queen, now do I?”

Jon groaned, throwing his head back at the woman’s words; continuing to over react as it caused the woman he loved to laugh.

“Fine.”

With her hands still in his hair, Y/N pulled his head back to her own. Their foreheads leaning on one another.

“You’re not getting rid of me again Jon Snow.”

Jon smiled back at Y/N.

“I don’t intend to.”

Y/N simply smiled back.

Hopping aboard the boat with Jon and Davos, the trio prepared to set sail to Dragonstone. To meet the Queen of Dragons and to take the next step in the Game of Thrones. 

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The trio sailed for weeks before they arrived. Y/N and Jon having become like their younger selves once more. Causing mischief for one another and for Davos. The man could not believe his eyes; seeing the Baratheon princess and the Stark bastard act so care free. He let them be, for once they would arrive to Dragonstone, all carefree antics would be out the window once more.

Looking into the crystal blue waters, Y/N breathed in the crisp see air. Jon moving to stand behind her, his hands encircling her waist as he laid his chin on her shoulder.

“We’ve survived this far. Do you think we will make it home?”

Y/N’s words were serious and deeply questioning. She wasn’t sure herself if they would make it home. If the Queen would comply with their plan.

Jon’s hands squeezed Y/N tighter to his chest. Her own hands raising to place over his, stroking her thumb across the rough, calloused skin. Bending his head down, Jon placed a kiss on her neck. Keeping his head in the crook of her neck as he breathed deeply in and out. He had taken accustom to doing so when he wanted to be reminded that she was here. Truly here with him. For he had imagined her touch so many times, that it took more than her hold to bring to reality that she was her; at his side.

“I will do anything I can for us to make it home. To make it back to Winterfell.”

“Whether its Winterfell, Castle Black, or even further North of this world, as long as you, Greywind and Tormund are by my side, I know I will be okay.”

The pair stared out into the ocean; allowing the silence to encompass them.

A mere few days later, the trio arrived at Dragonstone. Docking the ship at the harbour, Jon and Davos walked down the ramp of the ship to meet their awaiting company. Y/N staying on the ships a few minutes longer; making sure that all was secure for the journey home. Stood at the end of the dock was not only Y/N’s uncle Tyrion, but Missandei and Greyworm; ready to escort the guests to their queen.

“The bastard of Winterfell.”

“The dwarf of Casterly Rock.”

Tyrion and Jon both stared at each for a moment, quickly breaking into smiles. They stepped forward and shook hands.

“I believe we last saw each other on top of the wall.”

Jon chuckled, remembering the moment ever so clearly.

“You were pissing off the edge, if I remember right. You picked up some scars along the road.”

Tyrion nodded his head in agreement.

“It's been a long road. But we're both still here.”

Turning to address Davos, Tyrion introduced himself to the gentleman.

“I'm Tyrion Lannister.”

“Davos Seaworth.”

The pair shook hands in acknowledgement.

“Ah, the Onion Knight. We fought on opposite sides at the Battle of Blackwater Bay.”

Davos chortled.

“Unluckily for me.”

Moving a step backwards, Tyrion introduced Missandei to the two guests. The woman bowing her head in respect to the two men.

“Welcome to Dragonstone. Our queen knows this is a long journey. She appreciates the effort you have made on her behalf. If you wouldn't mind handing over your weapons.”

Jon looked at Davos and his men.

“Of course.”

“I am not giving over my weapons. No fucking way. Not whilst we are on foreign land.”

The men and woman all turned to the sound of the new voice.

Y/N walked her way down the plank and to her accompanying men. Head held high, she situated herself to the right of Jon. Making it clear she was not letting go of her bow and arrow, or her sword. Her hand holding it tightly as it laid sheathed at her side.

Tyrion did not recognise his niece as she travelled closer to group. The face only becoming familiar once she ceased her steps, standing alongside the bastard of Winterfell. The last he had seen of her was before she and her family departed for Winterfell. Her dark brown hair long and luxurious like her mothers. She had been draped in the colours of both House Lannister and Baratheon. Now, as she stood before him, her hair laid half up and half down; slightly shorter than it had been before. Her body draped under fur upon fur; mixtures of browns, greys, and tans. She stood taller, stronger, more prepared for danger. Nothing like the innocent Baratheon he had last seen. Her face scarred from not only the Red Wedding but from the dangers she had faced whilst playing the Game of Thrones.

“You’re alive?”

Y/N could not help but chuckle at her uncle’s shock. She knew her family thought of her as dead. Her where about had not been recorded since the destruction of the Red Wedding. Not until now anyways.

“As are you uncle Tyrion. Seems we both took a hit to the face.”

The man touched his scarred cheek, staring directly at the one that laid across the right side of Y/N’s face. Slightly pink due to the rough wind and cold breeze.

“Whilst you were scarred in battle, I was scarred in a massacre. At the order of my own grandfather.”

Tyrion looked guiltily to the ground. Keeping his gaze fixed to the floor, he replied to his dearest niece.

“I took care of him.”

Y/N refused to drop her anger fuelled expression. She may have loved her uncle Tyrion, but to see a member of her family for the first time in so long, brought forward the repressed hatred she held towards her mother, grandfather, and other Lannister’s involved.

“I know. He deserved what he got. He should never have treated you the way that he did.”

Tyrion raised his head in surprise. Staring at the woman before him.

“He should have never called the order of the Red Wedding.”

As the group became silence over the woman’s malice filled words, Jon placed his hand on top of her own. Squeezing it ever so slightly; motioning that he was there for her. She squeezed back.

Missandei stepped forward, standing slightly behind Tyrion.

“The Khaleesi wishes to speak to you all at once of your arrival. But first, your weapons please.”

Y/N went to argue once more, only choosing not due to the look she gained from both Jon and her uncle. She felt like a teenager again. Huffing she pulled her bow and arrows from her back and unclipped her sword from her waist. Handing them over to the leader of the Unsullied.

“You better not damage them. Wildlings don’t have luxuries, like a Queen, to buy new weapons when one is broken.”

“Wildlings? I thought you were a princess?”

Y/N smiled at Missandei’s confusion.

“I was a princess. Not anymore.”

Missandei continued forward.

Davos, Y/N and Jon followed the woman on the path to where the Queen awaited. Tyrion and Greyworm trailing at the rear.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Jon, Y/N and Davos approached the throne room as Dothraki guards opened the doors to allow them entrance. Coming to a halt, the group cannot help but stare at the sight of the Khaleesi, sitting highly on the intricate throne.

“You stand in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, rightful heir to the Iron Throne, rightful Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, the Mother of Dragons, the Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, The Unburnt, The Breaker of Chains.”

At Missandei’s words, Jon turned and looked at Davos.

“This is Jon Snow. He's King in the North.”

Tyrion could not help but smirk. Neither could his niece.

“Thank you for traveling so far, My Lords. I hope the seas weren't too rough. And who may this be accompanying you both? I was only made aware of the presence of male guests.”

Y/N resisted rolling her eyes at the Targaryen woman.

Before Davos could introduce her, Tyrion cleared his throat.

“This is Princess Y/N of House Baratheon, my Queen. Oldest and only pure blood child of the former King Robert Baratheon of the Seven Kingdoms.”

Y/N could not hold her tongue.

“I was Princess of House Baratheon and Lannister, your Grace. But I am no longer.”

Daenerys was not sure how she felt about the woman before her. Deemed a princess but refused the title.

“Why so?”

“For the Houses in which my lineage belonged have hands soaked in blood. Mostly for the wrong reasons. I choose not to be associated with such terrors.”

Daenerys took in the woman’s words.

She continued to speak of the former support of House Stark to the Targaryen seat of the throne. Apologising for the actions of her father and more. Offering Jon Snow the position of Warden of the North if he swore to bend the knee.

Whilst the Khaleesi spoke to the trio, images flashed in Y/N’s mind. Segments of the dreams she had whilst Melisandre resurrected her those few months ago.  The voice. The language. The destruction. It was her. The Khaleesi.

“You're right. You're not guilty of your father's crime. And I'm not beholden to my ancestor's vows.”

Jon began to discuss with Daenerys about the dangers of the White Walkers and the threat the Night King held. Seeking help from the woman and her armies.

“Did you see three dragons flying overhead when you arrived?

The torches of fire flew above them. Like in her dream. As the memories of her dreams began to take control of her attention, Y/N’s eyes misted over. It was as though a mystic force was forcing her to view these images of what may be the future. Throughout the sounds of fire and screams, Y/N heard the faint sound of a bird. Calling in the distance. The sounds of a crown.

“The Army of the Dead is real. The White Walkers are real. The Knight King is real. I've seen them. If they get past the wall and we're squabbling amongst ourselves –"

He began to walk closer to the throne.

“We're finished.”

Turning away from the Khaleesi, he faced the Baratheon woman. Concerning taking over as he saw only the white of her eyes. Her Y/E/C completely gone.

Daenerys paused. Sensing the shift in atmosphere from the Northern man.

“I was born at Dragonstone. Not that I can remember it.”

Standing from the throne, Daenerys began to walk towards Jon, unaware of the cause of his concern.

“We fled before Robert's assassins could find us. Robert was your father's best friend, no? I wonder if your father knew his best friend sent assassins to murder a baby girl in her crib. Not that it matters now of course. I spent my life in foreign lands. So many men have tried to kill me. I don't remember all of their names. I have been sold like a brood mare. I have been chained and betrayed, raped and defiled. Do you know what kept me standing through all those years in exile? Faith. Not in any gods. Not in myths and legends. In myself. In Daenerys Targaryen. The world hadn't seen a dragon in centuries until my children were born. The Dothraki hadn't crossed the sea. Any sea.”

She ceased her steps as she neared the man in question.

“They did for me. I was born to rule the Seven Kingdoms. And I will.”

Jon swivelled to face the woman.

Daenerys face fell as the colour drained from Jon’s. Following his gaze as everyone moved to stare at frozen stance of Y/N. Her face contorted in fear and anguish.

Y/N lip began to quiver as the sound of screams and fire became too much to handle. When all of the sudden, her breaths stopped. Her lips quivered no more. While Y/N eyes were still misty, her gaze was now transfixed on the Khaleesi. Her eyebrows furrowed, and terror was still apparent across her features.

Jon moved to stand closer to the woman, worried that she could collapse at any moment.

“Y/N?”

Her gaze did not waver. With her eyes on the Khaleesi, and the sound of screams and fire dissipating in her mind, Y/N uttered a warning. High Valyrian leaving her tongue as though it was her mother language. The words sending a shiver of fear down the Khaleesi’s spine.

“Ash kessa ropagon toliot se sīkuda Dārȳti.  Syt lo se suvion won't ossēnagon īlva, perzys kessa.” (Ash will fall over the seven kingdoms. For if the ice won't kill us, fire will.)

Once the words left her mouth, Y/N breathed once more. The mist in her eyes slowly evaporated; coming back to her sense.

Shaking her head, Y/N looked around at the people in the room. Confused at why the Khaleesi and everyone else looked towards her in either worry or shock.

Locking her gaze on Jon, she grabbed his hand.

“Are we done? Is it time to rest now because I have a large headache.”

No one uttered any argument. Even the Khaleesi did not object, nodding to Tyrion as a sign that the conversations was over. For now.

“Missandei, may you please show our guests to their chambers. We will continue talks on the matter shortly.”

Tightening his hold on Y/N’s hand, Jon could not tear his eyes away from his woman as they were escorted to their temporary chambers.

“Y/N?”

Continuing to walk between Jon and Davos, Y/N turned her gaze to the Onion Knight.

“Yes, Davos?”

“Do you speak more than one language fluently?”

Instantly the girl replied.

“Yes. I speak three.”

The duo awaited her answer.

“I speak our mother tongue, sarcasm, and Tormund.The man makes up his own words. You get used to them.”

The two men looked towards one another. A silent conversation discussed between them. They would need to look into this matter further tomorrow. But as for then, they were all due a rest. For the weeks ahead in Dragonstone was to become some of the most active and challenging.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------During their stay in Dragonstone, Jon had convinced Daenerys to give her hand in support against the White Walkers. Gaining sufficient amounts of Dragon glass to help prepare the weaponry for the war. Since the meeting with Daenerys, Y/N’s words were not discussed. However, the Dragon Queen kept a close eye on the Baratheon. Stunned at the woman’s words and sudden eloquence of High Valyrian. For a woman who had denounced her title and lived amongst Wildlings, Daenerys could see she was powerful. And when Y/N interacted with the Queen’s dragons for the first time, Daenerys could see how strong that power truly was.

Whilst Jon and Davos assisted with the mining of Dragon glass, Y/N had found much time on her hands. Becoming acquainted with her uncle once more, and even learning more about the ruling of the Khaleesi. She was clearly loved by many. Especially her dragons.

Y/N had not meant to wander as far as where the dragons were held. But she was bored. And with Jon out of the castle, there was not much she could do. Walking across the grounds she whistled to herself, shuffling her feet as she walked. All of a sudden, the harsh sounds of flapping wings could be heard. Y/N looked up to the sky, to see Drogon descend to the ground, Y/N quickly stepped back. Keeping a safe distance from the creature. He was the child of the Khaleesi, and Y/N felt that the Queen was still not particularly fond of her.

Once Drogon reached the ground, the dragon roared loudly into the sky. Y/N covered her ears at the screech; instantly beginning to panic. The Khaleesi probably was already on her way. Accusing her of harming her dragon.

“No. No. Please stop screeching. I am not going to hurt you. Look I am really small. I have no weapons. I’ll even take off my furs if it makes you shut the fuck up.”

In her panic ridden words, Y/N pulled of her cloak, and carefully placed it onto the ground. The dragon sensed the woman’s panic; stopping his roars. Drogon’s eyes pierced into Y/N. Watching her as she stood a mere few feet away from the creature; her arms held up in surrender.

Elsewhere in the castle, Jon had arrived at the throne room, discussing with Tyrion and Daenerys about the next step in the plan; capturing a white beyond the wall. The roar from Drogon had startled them all, causing the trio to rush to the location of the noise. Greywind, Missandei, and Davos all hot on their trails as they emerged from their own locations.

But when they arrived at the heart of the noise, no one could believe their eyes. For Y/N no longer stood far away from the dragon; fear and panic taking over her features. But she stood next to the dragon’s enormous head, stroking the creature’s snout in a soothing matter. Rhaegal and Viserion had arrived between the time it took for the group to arrive. Each at either side of Drogon. All staring at Y/N in the same content and soothed manner.

“One night, I hold on you Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, you Castamere, Castamere, Castamere, Castamere A coat of gold, a coat of red A lion still has claws And mine are long and sharp, my Lord As long and sharp as yours.”

Daenerys slowly stepped forward. Y/N still blissfully unaware of the group.

“What is she singing?”

Tyrion came to stand by his Queen.

“It is the song of House Lannister, my Queen.”

Y/N never let her eyes drift from the dragon’s. Resting her own head on its snout as her hand travelled to stroke the dragon’s neck. She felt a connection with the creature.

“And so, I speak, and so I speak A girl of House of the Dear. And now I weep, and now I weep For the friends who are no longer here.”

Tyrion exhaled a deep breath.

“That my Queen… is not part of the song of House Lannister or Baratheon.”

“No.”

Everyone’s gaze locked on Y/N. Surprised that she had finally acknowledged their presence.

“It is part of me.”

Jon held his breath at her words. Watching in sorrow as a tear not only fell from Y/N’s eyes, but the three dragons as well.

Daenerys raged within. She was powerful indeed. If she had been able to connect with her children, moving them to tears, Daenerys would have to do all she can to keep the woman on her side. For even though Y/N did not wish for the seven kingdoms, Daenerys knew that she could still grasp it from the Targaryen’s hands.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- When the night drew in, Y/N and Jon travelled to their chambers. Aware that their days ahead would be filled with difficult decisions and extreme conditions.

Even though the pair had shared chambers throughout their travels, they still ceased to have consummated their relationship. Both feared what the physical action could change between them. They knew of their love for one another. They had died for each other and would do so again. And yet neither had uttered those words. But in a world, such as their own, change was inevitable.

Once the duo had entered their chamber, Y/N discarded of her furs once more, pulling of her boots and untucking her shirt. Jon could see that she was still emotional. It seemed her emotions from her moment with the dragons had not dissipated.

Jon would usually leave Y/N to unchanged for bed, changing in one of the large bathrooms down the hall. However, he could not seem to have it in him to leave her alone at this moment.

Y/N began to get more frustrate with herself as she tried and failed to unbuckle her sword. Jon watched as she quickly gave up the task, holding her head in her hands in frustration. She had not felt this overwhelmed since the moment Jon arrived in the Wildling’s camp. Seeing her uncle again, the segments of dreams, her moment with the dragons, and the tension she felt from Daenerys, all became too much. Tears fell from her eyes and into her hands.

Jon’s heart broke at the sight of Y/N crying. He had only seen her cry few times of the years they spent together. Most of which had been the last few years. He missed when times were easier, brighter, happier. When all he thought about was marrying her. He still thought about it. But this game had clouded his brain; stealing time that he could have had with her. He did not want any more time to be lost.

Walking across the room, Jon lowered to his knee in front of Y/N. Pulling her hands away from her face, Jon wiped away the tears that rolled down her cheeks. Slowly placing his lips onto her own, gently caressing his mouth across hers. He wanted her to know he was there. That he had always been there. Y/N reciprocated the gesture. Allowing her arms to travel to the man’s hair, pulling his raven locks free from its confines. Enveloping her hands through the tresses. Jon could not help but moan at the feeling. Pulling back, he muttered the words that had always been there. But had never been said.

“I love you, Y/N Baratheon. I loved you from the moment you arrived with your father for your annual visit when I was 12 years old. I loved you then and I love you now.”

Jon waited for a reply. The room filled with silence. Y/N’s hands still in his hair as she stared at the man in disbelief. Jon began to regret his decision when suddenly, Y/N began to giggle. The giggle soon turned into a boisterous laugh as a large smile overtook her face.

Jon looked on in hurt and confusion.

Seeing his confused state, Y/N pulled Jon’s face down to her own, placing a chaste kiss onto his mouth.

“I love you too, Jon Snow. There was a reason I did not want to marry Robb. I had another Stark in mind.”

“Me?”

Y/N giggled, her right hand moving to hold Jon’s neck.

“No, Sansa. Yes, you. It has always been you Jon.”

To say he was elated would be an understatement. That moment, Jon knew however this game ended, if Y/N was by his side, he could withstand the most ruthless leaders and most horrendous torture, as long as she was alive.

With the confessions of their love, the moment elevated their relationship emotionally and physically. For that night Y/N and Jon became each other’s half. Consummating their relationship… more than once. Deep down, they had always known that they held love for each other, but they both had to grow as people; as their own individuals.

The cherished moment seemed to have sparked a light in the pair. For after that night, they refused to leave each other’s side. Words of love and encouragement shared in intimate moments. They still caused trouble for each other as much as they did when they were younger, but now all Y/N and Jon could feel was each other’s love. And they would both do anything to keep the other safe.

The duo and Davos soon saw their group expand. Heading to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea to capture a White Walker, they had gathered Tormund, Jorah Mormont, Gendry, Sandor Clegane, Thoros, Beric Dondarrion, and a few others along the way. With the loss of Thoros, a few other men, as well as Viserion at the hand of the Night King. Jon and his group had travelled to Kings Landing, to ask for the assistance of Queen Cersei against the White Walkers. Y/N had refused to attend. Her mother and uncle Jaime still blissfully unaware of her livelihood. She could not face her mother, after everything she had done. Not yet.

Winterfell was their next adventure. Travelling by boat with the Khaleesi and her hands, Jon wrapped his arms around Y/N’s waist. The same as he did all those months ago when they had voyaged to Dragonstone. She turned in his hold, running her hands over the man’s shoulders.

“Are you ready? Ready to be back in Winterfell. With your family. With me.” she questioned her partner.

Jon looked down at the woman in his arms.

“I have never been so ready for anything else.”

“Neither have I.”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Laying in the chambers that had once been his brothers, Jon turned to his side to see Y/N still fast asleep. Tired from the journey they had taken to Winterfell with the Khaleesi and her army. She had been feeling more tired in the past few weeks, blaming it on the numerous exertions beyond the wall, having to deal with Jon and Tormund every day, and her body still getting used to being alive once more.

Jon admired his beloved, wrapping his arm around the woman, pulling her to lay as near to him as possible. He watched as Greywind slowly move closer to the bed, placing his head on top of Y/N’s stomach. Jon dismissed the action, not thinking anything of the creature’s behaviour.

A smile overtook the man’s face. Leaning down, he placed a chaste kiss on Y/N’s forehead, smiling even wider when her own face broke out into a sleep filled smile. Still unconscious, Y/N reached out her hand in Jon’s direction. Jon instantly tangling it with his own. Laying his head down to rest, Jon shut his eyes. They would both need sleep to prepare themselves for the inevitable war.

However, what both of the wild spirits failed to realise that they no longer had to keep each other safe, but also the life that was growing as they slept. Greywind nuzzled Y/N’s stomach, hearing a small heart beat loud and clear.

For Jon may have thought to have been a bastard and Y/N a princess of House Baratheon and Lannister, but their child would be so much more. A child of the Houses Targaryen, Lannister, Baratheon, and Stark. A child of the Wildlings and rightful heir to the Iron Throne. A child of the North, South, East and West. A child that would create a new world.

A/N- Woah, three weeks of non-stop writing as well as exams. My next piece is either going to be Podrick or Sandor Clegane. So please, send your ideas. I hope you enjoyed this one.

[l0chn3ss]

The shot I missed

Written for @mastar-week MaStar Week 2020 (Bonus) Day 8: Gold

Black Star won, so obviously he got gold right? (Disney’s) Brave AU

Beyond the boundaries of the grove was a small clearing with short grass and a leveled field. There, a crowd of onlookers whispered excitedly about the princess’s marriage prospects. Those visitors were princes (firstborn sons of clan leaders), each with their own reason for attending. Some wanted a union between territories while others wanted glory of taming the Untamable Maka.

With a crown of blonde hair that was touched with the color of moss and a cape with a deeper green than the forest she was raised in, Maka sat eerily quiet in her seat. She was kept there by her mother’s maidens (because Mama was too delicate and unbothered to be present) and by her father’s nerves (because Papa won’t let her leave from his sight). Maka sat with her back straight and her hands in her lap, the picture of royalty as always to the people, but a rumbling mountain in her heart. If another prince, high born or otherwise, smiled at her in hopes that she would respond— she would be so inclined as to sew his lips in that position for the rest of his life.

None of them were like the freedom she wanted nor the bow by her side. None of them would be the lush autumn that she enjoys nor the call of the wind that always waits for her to join. And likewise, she would never be the homely queen that she was expected to become.

Papa often cultivated her wildness, but Mama always brought them back to reality. She said in her articulate voice— that charismatic tone that won over Papa’s homelands, “Maka, you are a princess. Do act as such.”

The word enunciated the second syllable in a way that grated in Maka’s ears. Prin-CESS, Maka mocked behind the closed corridors of her castle wing. She would mutter angrily before disappearing through the curtains of her open window. To hell with that.

And yet, she attended the show of talent because she was expected to. She faintly reminded herself through her mother’s voice that she was still trapped by traditions. Her disdain marred her pretty face, and it so happened that someone met her eyes then.

Instead of ducking his head as any humble gentleman should, he stared back. Against the vast green and muddy brown behind, he was a sore sight. His royal tunic screamed of wealth and his bulky sword was a contrast to that, rugged and plain despite the good leather that supported its weight around his waist. Down his right arm ran cerulean tattoos that swirled across his bicep and down to his wrist. On his face was a collection of nicks and scars (one across his nose and another running down his cheek) while a fresh wound peeking from what looked like his eyebrow was covered by a bandana. No man wore head wraps in these lands, so if that weren't strange enough, it was also a bright foreign blue that matched his crystalline eyes. It’s charm swirled like the sea, and that was a force unwelcomed in her forest.

Maka broke their connection first, remembering that women should be more demure than what she’s displayed. Still, when she opened her eyes again, she saw the figure’s body move from his last few chuckles and melt back into the mass. It enraged her. If a man— a boy— like that were to be her husband, then fate had cursed her.

It made her resolve all more solidified. When the games began, and when the games drew to a close, she will challenge the final few for her own hand.

She announced that to the three remaining prospects and to the crowd below her, standing up from her seat and walking down the pedestal against Papa’s protests. He followed her down (in her shadow) as the people parted to make way for her. She went to stand by her suitors at the archery range, and while two were noticeably shocked that a woman entered the area, the wretched blue one hadn’t batted an eye. If anything, he was amused, not upset— and that infuriated her again.

With the regality that she inherited from Mama, she announced. “I am Maka, firstborn of the Albarn Clan, and I will be shooting my own hand.” She looked to the handmaidens who were frozen, still by the chair under the canopy, daring them to stop her. When none of them came to collect her, she addressed Papa who pleaded to her under his hushed breath. “It is my right to challenge this crooked fate.”

The more established residents were horrified, unable to stop their concerned whispers. They wondered if their princess had lost her head to the harsh sun. Normally she was well-behaved— kind and quiet behind her more imposing father and likeable mother. The mercantile class, however, knew that this was the girl who roamed the streets and who bit into fresh bread without reserve. This was the Maka who they saw everyday. They laughed good naturedly, almost expecting her outburst.

While the crowd was stirred, Maka went to the bow rack and appraised the selection. They weren’t like her personally crafted ones that were safely in her room, but the flexible one that curved heavily at the tips was what she landed on. She matched it with arrows with less spine. Though practiced, Maka decided that she didn’t have the upper body strength to handle anything heavier. A few eyes were on her while she hunted down a quiver. To her annoyance, she found that the assistants would be handing her the equipment as she went down the row of targets.

As the firstborn of the land they competed on, she went first. Despite the restrictive dress she wore for the occasion, Maka managed to pull the string back and aim for the bullseye. She inhaled quietly as she was trained to do, and upon the release, she exhaled.

For the initial shot, Maka was disappointed. It was within the red center, but not symmetrical with the circle (instead it was a little to the right). She relished in the applause from her people, though. Even without a test shot or feeling the weight prior, she still hit the middle— a feat that regular hobbyists wouldn’t be able to manage unless luck was on their side.

At the next one, Maka reached behind for her back, expecting feathers to touch her finger tips, only to be met with just her hair. She heard a cough that masqueraded chuckles from her left, and immediately she knew that it was him— that boy. Glaring over, her suspicions were proven to be correct. He had a fist in front of his mouth to hide his smile while she pretended to stretch her arm, extending it upwards and sighing in feigned relief. She cleared her throat and the audience stopped again, ready for her next shot.

Learning quickly, Maka adjusted herself. She hit the second target perfectly, and the third one the same. The praise and uproar that rang out fueled her. She used that momentum to regard Papa, who was caught between joy and dread.

“I will win this,” she said loudly enough for him to hear, but softly enough to be carried away in the breeze.

His response was sad relief. He hoped that her words were a statement and not just an empty wish. “I know, baby.” Maka had always looked miserable in her prim braids and jeweled shoes. If she could win her freedom, Papa would not stop her.

The real challenge came when the next competitors stepped forward one at a time to best Maka’s aim. The first came from a southern territory (nomadic but friendly) where hunting game was crucial. He should’ve been good at moving targets, but it looked like he struggled with stationary ones. He hit the outer rings of two, and missed entirely on his last round.

The second was from a powerful warrior clan. It made Maka nervous, but she had no reason to be. The firstborn from there specialized in brute weapons, not precision. He won the previous tasks and advanced forward as the favored winner— and it was as far as he would go. None of his arrows flew. He broke them all instead in anger.

Finally, the Northern blue announced his name. He said confidently (with an air of dismissal under his breath), “I am Black Star, firstborn of the Star Clan—” and he turned to meet Maka’s eyes yet again, “I will be shooting for Maka’s hand.”

The weight of his declaration stopped every whisper and focused every person. After a beat of silence, disorder erupted. If he wanted attention at that moment, he earned it then. Visitors passed on his reputation while others questioned his authority. Could he shoot better than their princess? 

The audacity of that barbarian— Maka huffed. They were empty words meant to draw a reaction from her. If he wanted to terrify her, he should’ve done so before she drew her bow. Shaking her would do nothing for him while he prepared for his task. It was his turn to fail.

While the crowd was distracted, she said to him, “You.”

He bent his arrows to test their flexibility, as if to remind him of their resistance. “I believe you know my name now.” They were firm, unyielding.

Maka stifled her primal reaction. “Black Star,” she corrected herself amicably, “you are rather confident for someone who hasn’t nocked their arrow yet.

Humming (not in agreement), he did so. He looked behind him and towards the audience though, as if waiting for him to settle. “I may be.”

Something about his response and laissez faire made her want to break it. “Black Star, you know who your competition is, don’t you?”

“A prince who would rather lose than give up the plains, and a war hungry oaf who relies on brute strength.” He barely turned to look at her. “I was the clear victor from the start.”

“And?”

A few seconds pass too slowly. “Princess, are you suggesting that you stand in my way?” Black Star gives her a side glance. “With that performance?”

Maka refused to stumble. She snipped back at him, “You should know who’s hand you are fighting for. I am—”

“The firstborn of the Albarn Clan,” he cut her off. “Beloved by the common folk and protected by the elite. Rides a mare by the name of Josephine. Prefers bread encrusted with nuts from the local market. Hides in the grove outside the borders until dusk at times. An archer.” He turned to her fully at the last point.

Taken aback, she was unable to respond. All of those (observations at least, accusations at most) were true. Exposed by a stranger, she attempted to regather her thoughts, but they all fell through her hands. Was she not just a pawn in her mother’s domestic affairs? A trophy to be won and taken to be wedded?

Black Star mercifully filled the silence. “Princess, you surpassed your mentor at the age of twelve, then your father at fifteen. But—” His benevolence ended there. “— I did so at the age of thirteen.”

Maka bit her tongue (unsuccessfully). Her pride was known through the clan, and surely he knew of it if he pressed her so much. He wanted her to snap at him and be destroyed, and she fell for Black Star’s taunt anyway, willingly.

She said harshly, “I’m the best in these lands.”

His smile disarmed her because it was too perfect— too confident. “Then, I will be better than the best.” He left her to be shaken by him. His back was broad and his attentiveness to the target board was maddening.

Maka hadn’t realized how quiet it had gotten until he pulled back the string. His form was flawless and his breath was steady. He was experienced after all, she realized. Originally, she thought that he chose the strongest bow because the other princelings did too. The difficulty of the draw and control of the arrow were sacrificed for power. It was a poor choice for any person looking to win a competition of accuracy, but the way that Black Star handled the weapon was deliberate.

He started at the third target, aiming carefully. Upon his release, less than a second later, Maka heard a crack of wood, and her heart stuttered. His arrow that was propelled with force far greater than hers had struck and split the shaft down to the tip, embedding itself into the bullseye directly over hers.

It was all planned. From his bow to his banter, it was all a part of his horrible plot to ruin her. Maka clenched her teeth. The patience he tried to show— the pause as if he were waiting for the wind to stop— it was an act. He already knew that he wouldn’t miss. The relaxation on his face proved it.

For once, the spectators were silent. Black Star moved on quickly before any sound broke. He nocked his next arrow, and with a certain laziness on his face, broke the second the same as the initial third. A sickening snap echoed again as Maka’s arrow broke under its foe’s weight. Half of it fell off and splintered onto the ground, leaving his protruding alone.

At the final target, Maka’s first arrow hung from the middle, off centered. She didn’t forget— can’t forget. Everyone knew that Black Star could very well win with three bullseyes in a row, but Maka saw him smirk. For a brief moment, he gave her a glance (just to make sure that she was watching) and he aimed for the target.

Black Star took a slow inhale, and released his hand on his exhale. Maka didn’t look to see if he missed. She knows that he didn’t, but then, she heard a horrible and familiar sound— the split of wood.

Maka furiously turned to the target. His arrow wasn’t in the centermost area that he could’ve easily taken, obstacle free. Black Star found his own target in the form of her pride. The third arrow had struck its mark, breaking her arrow cleanly yet again for the final time.

It was unnecessary. It was a vicious display of accuracy and the last thing he could do to prove his superiority (and stomp on her mistake). He was the winner.

Maka unfurled an unfaltering trill, drowned out by the awe of the crowd. Her clansmen cheered (seemingly encouraging towards their new prince) while the other visitors who came in support for other territories accepted their loss. This was a result they could welcome because who else could be a match for the Untamable.

Knowing that she’d lost their attention, Maka grabbed her bow and an unfamiliar arrow (the closest one). She tried to redeem herself and strike the center again, but her shame clouded her perception. It only managed to land in the second ring, worse than she’s done in a long time. No one noticed, but she had— and he had.

Ignoring the noise, Black Star came to Maka’s side to kneel down and kissed the hand that gripped her bow. She shook him off, discarding both him and the weapon as she tried to escape. Unfortunately, Black Star didn’t let her go too far.

He cut her path and said to her, “My, what a scary look you have, Wife.”

She shoved past him and went to duck under the royal canopy where she hoped that he dared not follow, leaving the celebration and her husband-to-be behind her. Except, he went after her anyway, all smiles and complete smugness.

[mousehole5000]

tgcf lb the third chapter 14 - 21

okay hit me with the lore

Xie Lian hadn’t spoken his next words before the teenager said, “He dug it out himself.” Startled, Xie Lian asked, “Why?” The teen replied, “He went mad.” -digging out your own eye okay worm

If there were demons in this world who would scam or entice the hearts of people, then there would also be humans who would fool demons. There would exist much ongoing exploitation and betrayal. He said, “If it was handed over in infatuation, yet only results in broken bones and scattered ashes, it would indeed render one’s heart to feel aggrieved.” okay also kind of dope i love it when humans and demons get some back and forth. also this feels like it could be foreshadowing

awwww xie lian giving away his only steamed bun what a sweetheart

everyone keeps telling me this book is also a tragedy but now im just laughing at the visual of headless ghosts carrying their heads around and bickering

chronic bad luck and chronic good luck meet... what will happen to our heroes...

Xie Lian raised his head, softly saying, “You are tenacious, extremely dedicated, and despite many bitter encounters with frustrations and dashed hopes, you’ve stayed true to your heart. More often than not, your misfortunes will turn into blessings, calamity to prosperity. You will continue to have good fortune, my friend, your future is radiant and will blossom spectacularly.” All the things he said were made up on the spot, so they were complete nonsense. - fhklasjksldfdfh i know this is a ploy but still this was funny. also why didnt xie lian try to pick up palm reading from another source when he fell? are they just not as good? is he pretentious like that? either way i hope we find out more about what he got up to during those 800 years

Xie Lian felt rather skeptical on how he only ate half a bun for the duration of the entire day. If young people took advantage on their good health like this, sooner or later they would surely end up passed out on the streets. - xie lian is directly calling me out for my quarantine eating habits im sorry king ill do better

Previously, it had always been Xie Lian telling other people ‘it’s alright, it’s okay’. Today was the first time he heard those words spoken back to him, leaving him with an indescribable feeling. - awww okay this got me

oh my god there was only one bed

again comedy of the year. “oh you’re putting up a curtain that repels evil thats so interesting. on an entirely unrelated note im going to make you a door”

Brushing past him, San Lang pulled out the bamboo chopstick. He swayed it twice in front of him before saying, “It got dirty. I’ll throw it out later.” - edgy bastard moments begin

Xie Lian could hear the deliberation win Ling Wen’s tone. One thing he could be sure of was that she must be in a difficult situation. He said, “Okay, I understand. Since this is inconvenient for you, then there’s no need for you to say more. In addition, the two of us never had this conversation in private.” - awwwww considerate crown prince xie lian

“What, do you guys know him?” Xie Lian said. “……” Fu Yao coldly replied, “No we don’t.” - all men do is lie. also love the petty little broom dispute. i know its actually quite intentional and that only makes it funnier. also guys stop wrecking xie lian’s home he just got it fixed up!! if anyone breaks the new door ill be highly disappointed in them

Xie Lian nodded his head. “That’s right. I wrote it. If you guys continued fighting in there, I would be pleading for reconstruction instead of renovation. Then, I would really have no dignity left.” - see xie lian said if youre not going to contribute to it then please dont fight in my monastery its been through enough

Earlier, when Fu Yao had entered, he hadn’t gotten to examine the interior furnishings. Now, after standing in this crooked, shabby house for quite a while, he was able to see it all. As if his entire body, from head to toe, was uncomfortable, he asked, “You live in a place like this?” Xie Lian handed him a chair and said, “I’ve always lived in these kinds of places.” - ive seen this quote before and it really is just that “damn bitch you live this like?” meme. amazing

Fu Yao did not sit, his expression also turning rigid for a second. It was hard to tell what the look on his face was. It seemed nine parts blank shock and one part schadenfreude. - THIS IS MY NEW FAVORITE EXPRESSION I WOULD LOVE TO SEE IT

In the desert, the difference in temperature between night and day was drastic. During the night, the freezing temperature was cold enough to seep into one’s bones, yet it was still tolerable. But come daytime, it was a whole other experience. The sky here was incredibly clear and expansive with dashes of white clouds, but likewise, the blazing sun was just as fierce. The group continued to walk, but the more they walked, the more it felt as though they were going into an enormous steamer basket. The hot air emitted from deep within the earth felt as though a day’s worth of walking could steam a person alive. - YES DESERTS YES

okay xie lian is so kind and so generous? he keeps giving stuff away when he has almost nothing and making sure that others are taken care of first..... love him

Xie Lian watched them put on airs. But when such airs were discarded, they finally got physical. Separated by the space of the table, the three of them fought with the poor water bottle, pushing it back and forth. - if these three really are who i think they are this is even funnier. the very clear toying thats going on is truly delightful

Even before, Xie Lian had always thought that although this teenager was always smiling, his smile often made it hard for people to distinguish whether it was actually genuine, or whether it was mockery in the guise of compliments. However, this time, anyone would be able to tell that there wasn’t even half an ounce of goodwill in his smile. - yeah that about sums it up. not even half an ounce of goodwill damn that sure the hell is not a lot of goodwill

He had Ruoye go grab onto something sturdy and stable, but Ruoye ended up grabbing onto San Lang! - awwww thats kind of cute. also the mental image... im going to make this its own post too but

im waiting for xie lian to cough up all that sand hes eating and say something funny when we’re back on the ground. i hope we get more very literal decisions from ruoye

It should be noted that there was a common saying within the mortal realm—a powerful dragon cannot crush a snake in its old haunts. - oh i like this and the translators note This is an old Chinese adage that basically means, ‘even a powerful man cannot crush a local bully.’

“General.” Nan Feng and Fu Yao both spoke at the same time, “What?” - CONFIRMED I CALLED IT tbh it was kind of obvious now ig now im just waiting. also again hysterical. if youre gonna hide your identities boys fucking lkafjfjlkdaf; try harder to remember that youre hiding

To be demoted again and again, to the point one couldn’t be demoted any further…… this kind of experience honestly felt too familiar. Xie Lian felt two gazes collectively fall on his body, but he pretended not to notice and continued reading the text on the stone slate. - this is a funny little set up for what seems to be a parallel between xie lian and this central plains general. he tripped on his own bootlace??? this HAS to be xie lian parallel what does it mean. oooh the common people on both sides of the conflict were the ones who commemorated him? interesting..

San Lang faintly smiled before he whispered, “No, I made that up. Since they had laughed at him before, making them kowtow to him now wouldn’t be asking too much, right?” Xie Lian looked and saw that it was really true. There was already no more text left to translate on the stone slate. He had originally wanted to sigh, but now he just found it funny. Thus, he also whispered, “Why are you so cheeky?” San Lang stuck out his tongue. The two of them were laughing when suddenly, someone screamed, “What is this!!!???” - okay they are funny and i respect the deception. also oooh scorpion tailed snake. oooh a horde of them. a classic cave blunder

“Yeah! The results are relatively the same as worshipping that rubbish immortal! The more you worship, the unluckier you become! “ “……” For an arrow to hit the bullseye despite being in a place so distant and unrelated, Xie Lian was left with no words. - oh my god xie lian are you wearing a spiritual “kick me” sign because it really feels like you are

HE GOT STUNG XIE LIAN NO

[bokukkokhmer]

I’m scrapping this script but I’ll leave the draft here for future reference

Int. Kitchen - Afternoon

A woman is doing the dishes when she looks out the window.

Cut to

Ext. Horse Enclosure - Afternoon

A teenage girl is horseback riding. She is a beautiful young maiden, with fiery red hair and cool blue eyes garbed in a forest green blouse and beige pants. She’s armed with a bow and arrow, she carefully stands on the horse and shoots at a target as she rides by. It hits close to the bullseye. She shoots another and another, always hitting close but never on the bullseye. She eventually gives up and stops her horse. She dismounts and begins to lead her horse back to the other horses. She sees the woman has come out to see her skills.

Regan: I’ve gotten better

Julie: You have, now I don’t have to worry about my windows being broken

The two laugh.

Julie: Come on lunch is ready

The two head inside

Int. Kitchen - Afternoon

The two sit down for lunch. Regan expresses joy at the sight of the boiled sheep head gracing the table. The two begin to eat.

Julie: Don’t forget that later you have to go pick a cow to slaughter for your uncle’s birthday.

Regan: Okay.

Julie: We need ribs, all the sirloin, the spine, the head and all the offal we can legally eat.

Regan: So you want the testicles too?

Julie: Yes.

They finish lunch and Regan goes upstairs to get ready. Closing her room door she fixes her hair and changes into clothing more suitable for labor.

Ext. Slaughterhouse - Afternoon

A young farmhand wrangles in a bull for slaughter while Regan is silently facing the wall.

Wesson: Whenever you’re ready Regan

Wesson turns around and sees Regan facing the wall.

Wesson: Regan?

Regan: Sorry, quick prayer.

Regan carefully approaches the bull, stroking it until it is calm and still.

Regan: Please don’t suffer

Regan quickly slits the bull’s throat. She places a container underneath to catch the blood. The bull collapses as it dies of blood loss. Wesson hangs the bull up.

Wesson: So your aunt wanted what now?

Regan: Ribs, all the sirloin, the spine, the head, organs and the balls

Wesson: You guys eat the balls?

Regan: That’s the only set of balls going in my mouth

Wesson and Regan laugh as he cuts the cut needed.

Wesson: The rest are going to be sent to restaurants

Wesson and Regan load the meat into coolers then onto a yak pulled cart.

Regan: Thanks Wesson, here’s the money and a sheep my aunt slaughtered today

Wesson unloads the sheep and notices that it’s headless.

Wesson: Why is the head missing?

Regan: (Casually) We ate it.

Wesson: Jesus.

Regan gets into the driver's seat and begins to drive off while waving goodbye. Regan drives down the road in her cart, humming casually. A wise shot shows a paved road and a car driving by which tells the audience this story is in fact taking place in the 21st century.

A car driving by slows down and the passenger window rolls down to reveal a tourist family.

Tourist mom: Excuse me is that-

Regan: A yak pulled cart? Yes it is. This is my beast of burden Edgar.

Tourist mom: (Beat) Which way to town?

Regan: Keep going straight and turn right at the roundabout.

Tourist mom: Okay thanks

The window rolls back up and they quickly speed away. Regan disregards this and begins to hum again as she makes her way home.

Int. Kitchen - Night

Julie preps the meats while Regan drinks some milk tea.

Julie: Put that on low heat to cook overnight and Regan can you stay up until 10 to make sure it’s okay and I’ll wake up at 4 to check on it?

Regan: Yeah.

Julie: Okay, then we’re also going to have Mala Xiang Guo, Fuqi feipian and Boortsog for dessert

Regan: Sounds good

Julie sets the ribs down in front of Regan.

Julie: You can marinate the ribs and smoke them.

Regan: Alright

Regan gets up and in a quick montage the audience sees Regan throw in heaping handfuls of spices in an empty bowl before cutting the ribs into manageable sections. She rubs the spice mixture onto the ribs before placing them in the fridge. Regan yawns but drinks more of her piping hot beverage. Julie goes to bed while Regan removes the scum. She puts the lid on the pot and goes to bed.

Int. Regan’s Bedroom - Night

Regan goes to bed in her burgundy nightgown. She lays in bed. In a bird’s eye shot time fast forward of her sleeping in bed, it stops at 2 AM. Regan wakes up and stares at her altars. The candles on the altars have been lit. Rolling out of bed, Regan crawls to the altars and attempts to snuff them out. The candles relight everytime she does.

Regan: What now?

Regan puts her hand on her back. There’s a burning sensation, her face contorted with pain. She gets up and runs to the bathroom. Regan rips off the cloth covering the mirror and checks her back. Angry red scratch marks along her back.

Regan: Uh, guys. A little help here?

A man appears and winces at the sight.

Poseidon: We tried to warn you

Regan: “Regan, there’s something extremely wrong” tends to work better

Poseidon: Right, sorry

Regan looks at the evil eye ring on her thumb. It still has its pupil.

Regan: It’s a love spell isn’t it?

Poseidon: Yup

Regan: Son of a-

Finally cue title card.

Int. Kitchen - Morning

Regan goes to Julie and shows her scratched up back. Julie gasps.

Regan: Nonconsensual love spell.

Julie: Are you okay?

Regan: Well I already got rid of the spell but I would like to figure out who did it so I can yell at them. After Uncle’s birthday of course.

Regan makes herself a cup of milk tea.

Julie: Can you pick him up?

Regan: Yeah I can take the cart.

Julie: Don’t get distracted

Regan: What am I gonna get distracted by?

Julie: I dunno, plants? Shiny rocks? Animal bones?

Regan: You just described my entire craft though.

Julie: Exactly

Julie gives Regan some toasted bread and a small bowl of urum. Regan is seen eating before it cuts to a man getting off of a boat.

Ext. Fishing Docks - Morning

A man dressed in proper fishing attire gets off a boat. He waves goodbye to his crew and begins to walk towards the mainland. He sees Regan and smiles with a wave. He throws his stuff into the cart and sits next to Regan.

Regan: Happy Birthday Uncle Andy

Andy: Thanks Regan, did Aunt Julie make anything for me?

Regan: She said you can join the horses in eating the grass

Andy chuckles as Regan grins. Regan drives them down the road. All is peaceful until Regan begins to cough. Her coughs become harsher and rougher until blood comes out from her mouth.

Andy: (Worried) Are you okay

Regan: I’m confused that’s what I am. Someone put a love spell on me without my consent and now this? Let’s get home so I can figure this out.

Cuts to Regan in a bathtub

Int. Regan’s Bathroom - Noon

Regan is submerged to her shoulders in water, crystals line her tub and a sachet full of herbs float in the water.

Regan: Gentleman, I might have to murder someone

Hades: Over a hex?

Regan: And the love spell

Zeus: Sounds reasonable but how are you going to track this person down.

Regan: I’ll figure it out after I put up charms for the house

[deathshallbethelastenemy]

to all the boys i've loved before x fire emblem three houses

claude x reader

part five

xxx

October

Wyvern Moon

Fake dating, Claude Von Riegan was proving to be more of a chore than you had bargained for, as students bombarded you with questions on how your relationship came to fruition.

It was Hilda, who had to save you from the vultures circling around you that were looking for any reason to tear you apart. You mentally scolded yourself, of course, people would wonder about you and Claude, he is the heir to the leading house of the Lester Alliance. They probably thought you were social climbing, seeing as you're commoner.

You frowned, you'd never stoop so low to use someone just for their status and their crest. The reason you fell for Claude in the first place is because of his sweet personality. He was always supportive of his friends, sure, he'd tease them but it was all in good fun. He was charming, charismatic, and kind.

"Hello? Y/N?" Hilda said.

You focused your attention on Hilda, "Hmm?"

"Claude's looking for you." She said with a smirk playing on her lips, "Something about not being able to breathe without you..."

You blushed, why would he say something like that? He's such an idiot.

"I'll go find him." You mumbled as you went around Hilda.

Hilda giggled, "I always thought you two would look cute together, you know?" She waved at you, "Have fun."

You raised an eyebrow. She never mentioned that before, but before you could question her, Hilda had already left. Marches to her own drum, that one.

You spun on your heel, only to come face to face with Sylvain Gautier.

"S - Sylvain?!" You stuttered.

Now, you were panicking. You haven't seen Claude all day since you've signed the contract and here you are, with Sylvain infront you and will no doubt question you. You had no sweet fake note that Claude had promised to write you.... What would you do to get out of this predicament?

Professor Byleth wanted to see me, bye!

No, that would never work, you idiot!

"Hey, I've been meaning to talk t-" Sylvain stopped talking when he saw Claude envelope you in his arms and spun you around.

You shrieked, "Claude!"

You should've added, 'no manhandling' in the contract.

He winked at you but didn't let you go, if anything, he held you closer. He had also ignored Sylvain, who was watching awkwardly as Claude handed you a small piece of paper with a small heart next to your name.

Sylvain coughed loudly to get your attention and Claude, ever the actor and schemer, feigned innocence.

"Oh, sorry, Sylvain," Claude shifted his stance to be behind you as he laid his chin on top of your head, "Didn't you see you there."

You bit your lip and glanced at Sylvain.

"I wanted to talk to, Y/N -"

Claude interrupted him again, "Ah, well Sylvain, you see," he clicked his tongue, "we need to get to training. Teach's orders, right, sunshine?"

He was so suave when he lied, you couldn't keep up, so you just nodded in agreement.

"But-" Sylvain started.

Claude waved him off, "See ya, Sylvain."

He hooked his arm around your shoulder and led you away from the confused, Gautier.

You fiddled with your hands, "That was a little rude, don't you think?"

Claude leaned his head towards your ear, "I did what any other lover would've done if they saw a womanizer talking to his girlfriend." He whispered, "And last, I checked, sunshine, you wanted me to ward him off, remember?"

He was so undeniably close.

You wrapped your arms around your body, "I did, but I just feel bad for him..."

It's true, you did feel bad for Sylvain, it wasn't his fault the letters got out. It wasn't even your fault, and now, you couldn't fathom who would know about them, much less, send them.

Claude pushed open the door to enter the training ground, his hand sliding down your arm to hold it.

"A little late for cold feet, sunshine."

"It's not cold feet." You said as you entered the training grounds.

There you saw Dimitri, fighting both Felix and Dedue. He was excellent with a lance just as Felix was masterful with a sword while Dedue was incredible with an axe. It was because of this that they seemed so unapproachable, apart from Felix's cruel demeanor and Decide, quite literally telling to stay away from him for your own safety, and Dimitri was a prince that just made you want to keep your distance.

"Did you write them love letters too?" Claude joked when he caught you staring the three blue lions.

"Claude!" You glared at him.

Claude let out a hearty laugh, "Careful, sunshine, you'll make me jealous."

You were debating whether or not to burn him to cinders when he passed you a bow and arrow.

You shook your hands infront you, "I was thinking I'd observe today."

You didn't want to accidentally shoot someone in head.

Claude cocked his head to the side in thought, "Hmm?" Then, shook his head, "No, how will you learn if your learn if you never get hands on hands training?"

Your eye twitched slightly, "I have tried. I'm just not good at it."

Claude clicked his tongue in disapproval, "You'll never get better with that attitude," He pushed gently towards the targets, "Come on, I'm an excellent teacher."

You dug your heels to the ground, in an attempt to stop Claude, only to have him whisper in your ear: "It's in the contract, unless, of course, we're going to break the rules, then I'll kiss you infront of everyone again."

That's all it took for you to grab the bow and arrow out his hands.

Claude chuckled, however, no matter how amused he was with your reaction, he couldn't help but be a little insulted. He followed you, nonetheless with a smile.

You stood infront of the target and raised the bow, but stared at you wide eyed.

"No, no, sunshine." He face palmed.

You cheeks were dusted in a pink hue, "What?"

"Goddess, this is worse than I thought..." He walked up behind you, "Your stance is all wrong, your arm is sticking out, you'll no doubt hurt yourself with the string..." He said to himself in thought.

Claude sighed, "Alright, feet shoulder width apart... His hand rested on your waist as you followed his instructions, "You're right handed, so your left foot will be infront, yeah, just like that, sunshine."

You could your heartbeat slamming against your chest... You wondered if Claude could it hear it also, oh you hope he couldn't.

He could and he reveled at the thought of it; it was adorable.

Claude gently raised your chin, "Above your shoulders," his skimmed down to your spine, "Back straight... Now," He gripped the bow with one hand while the other pulled the string with his hand resting top of yours, "Aim..." He whispered.

You weren't staring at the target anymore, but at Claude, who was focused on the bullseye.

He moved the bow slightly upwards, "And shoot."

You were taken out of your trance when you heard a loud think as the arrow punctured the target.

"See?" Said Claude, "Easy." He then smirked, "You were paying attention, right?"

You blinked at the sight infront you, "Uh huh..." The blush adorning your cheeks brightened and turned deeper, "Of course, I did."

You hadn't, you were too busy staring at him to catch everything he said.

Claude grin widen, "Did you, now?" He said as he towered over you, "Thought it would be hard, since you were staring at me the whole time, but I guess if you say so..."

The idiot was teasing you, he noticed everything from your flushed cheeks to you not wanting be obvious about your affections for, well, anyone for that matter.

"I was not." You denied, you didn't know why, it was clear he saw you.

He chuckled, "Whatever you say, sunshine."

You huffed and averted your eyes from his.

You could feel the arrogance seep off him. Your reaction was stroking his already inflated ego .

"Shall we go, again?"