#give me the battle braids give me blood and violence

[theroguequeen]

I know daemons short hair era is deeply loved but there's just something about his hair and braids at the stepstones that always gets me like it's giving battle, mess, blood, fire, make up sex, dirty fingers wandering over rhaenyras body, being out of his mind while knowing exactly what he is doing and I am still feral about it so here's a little throwback

[clairifys]

You are mine, and I am yours.

Benjicot Blackwood x Fem!Targ!Reader

w.c: 3.0k

18+ minors dni!!

c.w: violence, blood, death, 18+ content, nsfw, tent sex, fingering, making out, kissing, p in v, descriptive words, not-canon (sorry!)

ok guys i finally finished.. lmk if y’all like it!

There had been whispers from the Riverlands. You sat in on your mother’s council as you listened to the lords brabble around you. It wasn’t until Maester Gerardys spoke up that everyone went silent.

“Your Grace, a raven from Raventree came in, unfortunate news.” He spoke slowly, “Samwell Blackwood, Lord of House Blackwood was slain. His heir, Benjicot Blackwood now sits where he once sat.” Maester Gerardys concluded.

“Unfortunate news indeed..” Your mother, Queen Rhaenyra spoke saddened by the fatality.

“..Along with that news, the Riverland houses have expressed concern.” Maester Gerardys added.

“And what concern is that?” Your mother spoke cautiously.

“News that Aemond Targaryen’s dragon, Vhagar has been flying above them on multiple accounts.” He concurred, upon hearing this, you speak up.

“Mother..” You began, “Allow me to go out on Vermithor and keep our troops protected from the sky.” You suggested slowly, your mother looking at you with uncertainty and love in her eyes.

“My daughter, my only daughter,” your mother began before being cut off by Princess Rhaenys.

“Rhaenyra. We are at war, only few of us have dragons and Vermithor would be the best chance against Vhagar.” She affirmed strongly, “Vermithor has been with (Y/n) since she was a babe. She’s been riding much longer than Aemond.” Rhaenys left no room for objection and your mother looked at you with determination and melancholy.

“Alright.” She spoke firmly. “You will go on Vermithor before break of day.” Rhaenyra stood up and softly grabbed your arm to lead you with her to her room.

“My love, be careful and stay concealed until you reach the Riverlands.” She spoke lovingly as she took off the necklace your father, Daemon, gave her when she was a teenager. She fastens it around your neck before speaking, “Take this with you, to remember and to hold when you feel lonely.” She finished as a tear rolled down her cheek. She gives you a kiss on the forehead and holds you in her arms.

Benjicot had received no letter of affirmation from Queen Rhaenyra and only hoped she’d seen it and considered sending a dragon. The Northerners had arrived the previous day with Cregan Stark, the Lord of Winterfell. 

“Oye, Benji get your arse back in and train with me.” Kemit Tully taunted with a smile. He had been training with two of the boys he grew up with, Kermit and Oscar Tully.

“Yeah, yeah keep up with your taunting when I have my dagger at your throat and my foot on your chest.” Benjicot spoke up, a glint of madness in his eyes, the same as when he was on the field.

Benjicot Blackwood was a strange man. Soft and sensitive in any other occasion, even crying after his first battle once he saw all the casualties, but there was a reason he was named ‘Bloody Ben’ when he began his fights.

Kermit and Benjicot were about to start sparring when they noticed Oscar was silent, looking up in fear.

“Oscar..?” Benjicot spoke softly, unsure.

“Dragon.” He mumbled before shouting, “Dragon!”

As the men around them turned to look up, ready to be set aflame by Vhagar, they noticed the bronze color and tan wings. Still weary, the men around them took shelter under the trees as Benjicot, Oscar and Kermit stood planted in their spot, marveling at the sight of the beautiful beast.

You commanded Vermithor to land when you had seen the men cower under the blanket of trees. Flying downwards, your pearly ivory hair whipping behind you as it stayed in the same braided style, lest you need to engage in combat. Guiding your dragon to landing, you slowly climb down off of him as you pull your riding gloves off with your teeth. Your black and red dress blowing behind you as the men who ran to the trees slowly come out. Before you can speak, a man of considerable size, donned in Northern armor approaches and bows before kissing your hand. Cregan Stark you come to realize as he begins to speak.

“Princess (Y/n). It is good to finally meet. I met with your brother, Jacaerys a moon ago. I thank you for coming.” He finishes politely. You feel your face flush at the open show of adoration, it’s never not embarrassing for you, but you give him a soft smile, albeit awkwardly before he leads you to the tent where all the lords were meeting.

Benjicot had already made his way to the tent when Lord Stark greeted you, he was too nervous to go up to you, due to your lineage and beauty. When you made your way in the tent and situated yourself, you spoke confidently.

“I have been sent by Her Grace to ensure the safety of our men who have selflessly put their lives on the line for my mother’s cause. Whilst I am here, I assure you, if Vhagar is to begin attacking, there will be a dragon in the sky for you, to protect you.” You stated confidently, hoping none of the men could notice your nerves. You hadn’t ever been the highest of royalty as your mother was always there. Now though, you needed to keep your promise to your mother to ensure her birthright, even if it caused you to perish to achieve it.

“So..” Oscar started as he and Kermit looked at Benjicot when he met up with them after the short-lived meeting. 

“What?” He asked softly.

“What was she like? It’s not everyday a Princess as beautiful as her flies down from the sky to protect an army.” Oscar pleaded for information.

“Gods, she’s..” Benjicot trailed off as he looked at you from the training ground to see you lovingly caress and speak to your dragon in a language he didn’t understand.

“..we should be glad they sent someone as fierce as they did, she promised that if Vhagar were to return attacking, she’d meet him in the sky.” He finished softly, still watching you.

“Alright you two, let’s stop talking about her before she has her dragon eat us and start training.” Kermit insisted, secretly in awe.

Benjicot and Kermit were up first, not being able to begin their fight due to the Princess’s arrival. The only sound around them was the clashing of steel and the thumping of their hearts, which in turn, distracted the Princess from what she had been doing prior.

You walk over to where you see two men fighting, you notice them as Lord Benjicot Blackwood and Lord Kermit Tully battling it out. Benjicot gains the upper hand eventually as you watch in a trance of the crazed man’s ability and soon, Lord Tully is on the ground with a dagger to his throat. Ser Oscar Tully, you come to believe, begins cheering as Benjicot puts his hand out to the Tully on the ground. His back to you, you begin a gentle clap which sends all three men’s spine straight up. They all turn to you as you focus your gaze on Lord Blackwood while he maintains eye contact before nervously fiddling with his fingers and averting his gaze.

“Princess,” Lord Blackwood speaks up, meeting your eyes again with a slight flush on his face. You wonder if it’s because of the sparring, or maybe because of you. Normally you’d get weirded out when men expressed any sort of adoration towards you, but this time it was different.

“I can see where the name ‘Bloody Ben’ comes from, Lord Blackwood.” You state gracefully. You notice the two Tully’s giving him a look and smirking. His face flushes red as he responds,

“Thank you, Princess, but please call me Benji.. or Ben.. or whatever you wish.” He stumbles on his words and you find it endearing, you hear his friends laugh and you chuckle softly.

“Alright, Benji.” You speak as his face flushes an impossible red, “I’m glad to have you on our side, your swordsmanship is unlike any I’ve seen.” You state clearly before taking your leave to your tent.

.. 

“‘Please call me Benji, or Ben, or whatever you want, My Princess, please take advantage of me!’” Kermit taunts him as Benjicot swings around and begins to wrestle with the Tully boy.

You hadn’t lied when you told Benjicot that you’d never seen skills such as his. It was true, you think as you lie awake in your tent. You feel your face heat up as you think about the timid, yet brutal man. He fought without grace, he fought like a real warrior. None of that pansy dancing you’d seen around you growing up in King’s Landing.

You awake in the midst of the night to the sound of your dragon's calls. Something was wrong. Vermithor only ever made noises such as that when there was a threat evident. You rush outside, regretting not getting a cloak as it’s freezing in the dead of night wearing only a nightgown. You notice some of the men stepping out of their tents, sleep ridden eyes soon turning to determined anxiety. Benjicot steps out of his tent and you rush past him, almost knocking into him.

“Princess?” He questions before hearing the roar of a dragon overhead. Vhagar. You rush past him, grasping his arm gently and run up to Vermithor, who is undoubtedly concerned, climbing up him quickly, you command him to fly.

Before you can situate yourself, you hear Aemond.

“Dracarys”

Suddenly, the trees are ablaze and men on the ground begin to shoot arrows at Vhagar in hopes to weaken him. Commanding Vermithor forward behind Vhagar, you ready yourself.

“Dracarys!” You scream as Vermithor lets out a wall of fire onto Vhagar, Aemond, noticing, turns Vhagar around to attack. You quickly fly up in hopes of Aemond following, you turn your head to see him behind you, gaining on you.

As a last resort you make a hard right and when Vermithor flies close enough past him, you jump. 

Landing on Vhagar’s tail, you begin to try and climb when Vhagar whips his tail around to shake you off. Your dragon, Vermithor, begins to shriek in despair that his rider had ‘fallen’ off. Vermithor, being a war dragon, circles behind Vhagar, before coming to the front of him and sinks his teeth into Vhagars neck. In the midst of this, you had climbed up his tail and when your dragon attacked, so did you.

Vhagar descends down, thick, gallons of fiery blood spewing from his neck as you and Aemond clamber about, trying to plunge your daggers into each other. Noting that Vhagar was descending into The Fork, you grasp onto Aemond and jump. You hear your dragon scream and screech in agony of losing his rider.

In your struggle as you and Aemond begin to fall to your descent, you plunge your dagger into his one good eye, and you let go of him.

You knew dying was a common occurrence, and you had been ready to die for your mother’s cause, but you hadn’t known it’d be so soon. You prepare yourself for the plunge into the deep, cold water of The Fork, and you hope your mother is proud of you for going down with a fight as you close your eyes.

You feel yourself fall as you try to slow your breathing, but before you can feel the hard slap of the cool water, you feel the hard slap of your stomach hitting a dragon saddle. Wrenching your eyes open, your head whips around as you grab onto scales to prevent yourself from falling. Vermithor. He had seen you falling. He came and he saved you from the terrible fate you were about to be bestowed upon. Vermithor flies up and begins to spit fire, unable to hide his joy at saving his rider as your eyes well up with tears that threaten to spill. After calming him down, you fly over where Vhagar and Aemond met their demise. You see Vhagar’s huge body float slowly over the river, but Aemond begins to sink down.

When you land back on the ground, cheering erupts from all around you. Everyone comes up to you and gives you their appreciation, some of the older Lords even ask for a betrothal between you and their sons from your stunt. Once the crowd dies down, and eventually disperses, you fail to see the one person who hadn’t come up to you yet. Benji. You walk around for a little in hopes to see him, but eventually you retire to your secluded tent farther from the rest of the men as they begin drinking at a fire.

Hoping to see him in the morrow, you enter your tent smoothing down your disgruntled nightgown before looking up. Your big, purple eyes meet his stormy brown ones and you make a noise of surprise. The two of you stare at each other, taking each other in for the first time. You notice his eyes hold that crazed look, but something else glosses over them. Love? Lust? You couldn’t tell. Your eyes meet with his before he quickly looks down at your lips. He takes a step forward and you meet him in the middle.

The kiss was sweet, a gentle, sensitive thing. Your hands tangle in his hair as one of his hands cradles your neck, the other coming down to squeeze your waist. You gasp in surprise and when he hears it, he smiles against your lips before gently meeting your tongue with his. Your thoughts are clouded with the thought of him, so much so, you completely forget your near death experience. Breaking apart for air, he leans his forehead against yours and whispers, “You’re mine, and I am yours.” 

He leads you down to your futon in the tent and lays you down gently before pressing a loving kiss on your lips. Your mind is dazed with desire as your body begins to react to the growing bulge in his trousers. You rut up into him, not in control of your body, blinded by the feeling of his body being so close to yours. He laughs softly before asking, “Are you sure? If you want me to stop, just tell me.” Beginning to get irritated at the lack of attention to your body, you grab him by his hair and your lips meet in a searing kiss. He pulls your nightgown down your body with a featherlight touch, leaving you in only your shift. The cool air makes you shiver as you grab his tunic and shove it off of him. Your lips meet again, your mind going dumb. He pulls his trousers off, leaving him in only his breeches before taking your shift off in one motion. Laying bare in front of him, he feels his breeches tighten as he takes you in. 

You begin to feel nervous as his full attention is on only you, and you’ve never laid with someone before. 

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” He groans out, looking at you as if you’ve hung every star in the sky. You feel yourself grow impossibly wetter before he pulls his breeches down and leans down on his forearms on top of you. Your lips meet again for the umpteenth time and he begins to slowly rub his fingers through your slit, catching your slick. You moan out in pleasure, bucking your hips up when he pushes two of his fingers inside and groans. He pumps them in and out of you before adding a third finger, and you begin to feel a pressure building in your abdomen. You moan out in desperation when you feel his fingers leave you and you crack open your eyes that had been sealed shut. 

“Well, aren’t you needy?” He purrs before taking his slick covered fingers and shoving them in his mouth. You moan at the sight and let your head fall against your pillow. Suddenly, you feel him hovering over you and something prodding at your entrance. Slowly guiding it in, you both moan out in ecstasy. The stretch is insane, if you hadn’t been so aroused, you’d say it hurt. Once it’s fully sheathed in, you wriggle around, drunk off the pleasure of it all. Benji lets you adjust to his size before slowly rocking into you.

“Benji.. Please” You moan out in pleasure. His eyes darken, as if he had just won a battle and he begins to slam into you. You mewl out sounds as he grunts and groans. Your abdomen begins to tighten and your legs begin to uncontrollably shake. His thrusts get messier, before the white, hot pleasure rips through you. You hear Benji groan on top of you before his thrusts get deeper and faster, overstimulating you. He grabs onto one of your breasts, softly massaging it while his lips connect with your other peak. Your womb is suddenly coated, and you feel the beautiful feeling of being stuffed full.

Benji collapses on top of you, his head on your bare chest as you pull the blanket up over you two. You run a hand through his sweaty hair and he looks up at you with love in his eyes.

“Please, please, come home with me when this war is over. Let me love you for the rest of our days.” He practically begs and you make no objection. Kissing him softly as one of your hands holds his head and the other rests on the necklace your mother gave you.

hope you guys liked it!!

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

When The World Is Crashing Down [Chapter 1: Am I More Than You Bargained For Yet]

Series summary: Your family is House Celtigar, one of Rhaenyra's wealthiest allies. In the aftermath of Rook's Rest, Aemond unknowingly conscripts you to save his brother's life. Now you are in the lair of the enemy, but your loyalties are quickly shifting...

Chapter warnings:��Language, warfare, violence, serious injury, a brief history of burn treatments, alcoholism/addiction, references to sexual content (18+), a wild Sunfyre appears, catching feelings for literally the single most inappropriate man on the planet.

Series title is a lyric from: "7 Minutes in Heaven" by Fall Out Boy.

Chapter title is a lyric from: "Sugar, We're Goin' Down" by Fall Out Boy.

Word count: 5.3k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

💜 I’m going to tag like a bazillion people since this is the first chapter of a new fic, but I WILL NOT TAG YOU AGAIN unless you ask me to. I hope you are all doing well, wherever you are in the world! 💜

@doingfondue @catalina-howard @randomdragonfires @myspotofcraziness @arcielee @fan-goddess @talesofoldandnew @marvelescvpe @tinykryptonitewerewolf @mariahossain @chainsawsangel @darkenchantress @not-a-glad-gladiator @gemini-mama @trifoliumviridi @herfantasyworldd @babyblue711 @namelesslosers @thelittleswanao3 @daenysx @moonlightfoxx @libroparaiso @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @mizfortuna @florent1s @heimtathurs @bhanclegane @poohxlove @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @heavenly1927 @echos-muses @padfooteyes @minttea07 @queenofshinigamis @juliavilu1 @amiraisgoingthruit @lauraneedstochill @wintrr13 @r0segard3n @seabasscevans @tsujifreya @helaenaluvr @hiraethrhapsody @backyardfolklore

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future chapters! 

You scream when he grabs you, this lightning strike of a man with a grip like an animal trap that splits bones. He pulls you away from the soldier you’re soothing—a young dark-haired Norcross, disoriented, doomed, his intestines spilling out onto the grass and blood on his lips—and through the forest of smoke and corpses and pine trees. Your eyes sting and water, your boots snag on gnarled roots. When you yelp and stumble to the earth, the man drags you upright again. You struggle like a beast with a blade at its throat, cold, serrated, pressure on the jugular. You shove and scratch at him, trying to plant your boots in soil strewn with gore and glowing embers.

“Stop, stop it, you’re hurting me!”

“Hurry up.”

“You’re going to break my wrist—!”

He wrenches you around to look you full in the face, and only now do you know who he is. A gasp hisses through your teeth; the acrid air in your lungs vanishes. Every muscle and tendon and ligament of you is taut with horror, tight enough to snap. It’s like meeting one of the Seven, the Warrior or Stranger or Smith, a shade you know only from myths and nightmares. It’s like being led to the executioner’s scaffold. His long silver braid hangs over one shoulder. His eyepatch conceals the childhood maiming that left him half-blind. There’s blood and ash on his scarred face, a ruthless breed of fear in his remaining eye, icy blue, creek-shallow, soulless. The man clasping your wrist is Prince Aemond Targaryen. “I’ll break your neck if you don’t come with me now.”

He does not wait for your protest or acquiescence. You couldn’t give it anyway. Your muddied boots move numbly as he tugs you forward, this man they call Aemond One-Eye, a monster, a murderer, a kinslayer. The earth is littered with carnage from the battle, charred ribcages and disemboweled horses, scattered armor and severed limbs. Ashes fall from the smoldering treetops like dark snow.

What does he want from me?

Rape seems unlikely; everyone knows Prince Aemond’s deviancies do not run in that direction. He is cold, hateful, dispassionate, made of stone. He does not lust for anything but power and retribution, fire and blood.

To kill me?

But why not do it here, now? There is a sword hanging from his belt, a dagger in one fist. There is no reason to wait.

To take me prisoner? To feed me to his dragon? To torture me for information?

Surely there are more knowledgeable people around to torture. What use could you be, a healer, a woman? Unless…

Unless he knows who my father is.

You glance down at the fabric band looped around the upper half of your right arm, the only mark you wear of your house, stark white banner, skittering red crabs. It is soaked through with blood. It is unreadable.

Someone is shrieking, but not like a dying man. He has too much fight in him for that, too much glass-clear agony, unwanted blistering consciousness. He screams like someone being flayed, gutted, burned alive. You’ve only ever heard this sound once before. You choke on the greasy, putrid, metallic sweetness of scorched human flesh as it sears down your throat, not knowing if it is real or remembered.

There is a tent in the midst of the pine trees, fluttering canvas that’s green like emeralds or jade. The wind is picking up; you will need to evacuate soon. The cinders will spread and the forest will blaze. Somewhere a dragon is roaring, wounded and mournful like the cry of a lost child. The screams of the man grow louder; they fill your skull like a fever, scalding and senseless and red. Aemond yanks the tent flap aside and pulls you in. And when you breathe it is nothing but the sickening miasma of burnt flesh, coppery blood, suffering, sweat, ruin.

He’s writhing on a wooden table, the man the Greens call king. It has to be him: white-blond hair down to his shoulders, blue eyes and fine aristocratic bones. Two ancient, shaky-handed maesters—hastily commandeered from the defeated House Staunton, you assume—confer nearby, clutching glass bottles of milk of the poppy. A man in armor is cutting tatters of clothing from the so-called king. When he lifts the fabric away, skin sloughs off with it. Aegon wails, struggles, begs him to stop. Aemond goes to his brother and carves away scraps of melted leather and charred cotton with the swift blade of his dagger.

“Shh, shh, don’t fight us, we’re trying to help—”

“Aemond, let me die,” the burned man rasps. He is trembling violently, he is half-mad with pain. Meleys’ flames claimed a swath of his right cheek, his neck and chest and back, his arms down to his wrists, his belly to the crests of his hip bones. “Please. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want it to hurt anymore. Don’t try to help me. Just let me die.”

Aemond looks back at you. “Can you treat this?”

He thinks I’m a Green, you realize with panic, with relief, with terror. And of course he would: you had wandered into the Greens’ side of the battlefield and therefore did not surrender or flee or die with the other Blacks, you were tending to a Green soldier when he found you. Aemond the Kinslayer would not comprehend the notion of service to humankind without a line drawn down the middle of it, of uncategorical compassion.

“Can you help him or not?!” Aemond shouts; and you know that he is not just afraid but shattering, spider-leg cracks inching across a window or a mirror. Perhaps the Greens have souls after all.

You shed your paralysis like daylight erases the stars and approach to examine the so-called king. You do not touch him; still, he whimpers, sobs, quakes like waves in a storm. “He needs more milk of the poppy. A lot more of it.”

“Yes,” Aegon agrees immediately. His streaming eyes—a bleak, murky blue like the sea off Claw Isle—list to you, agonized and grateful.

The maesters gape. “More could kill him,” one says. And they are petrified of being blamed for it. They are plagued by visions of Aemond hacking off their heads and displaying them on spikes above the stone walls of captured Rook’s Rest.

“No drawbacks at all then?” Aegon manages between moans.

“If his pain does not abate, he will die of shock,” you say. “He must be unconscious.”

“Knock me out,” Aegon pleads, pawing at Aemond. “Tell them, tell them.”

Aemond looks to the man in armor: dark-haired, olive-skinned, Dornish. Sir Criston Cole, you realize. The Hand of the King. The Kingmaker. After a moment, Criston nods. “Do it now,” Aemond orders the maesters.

Grimacing, grim, they pour the opalescent liquid into Aegon’s mouth. He gulps it down as quickly as he can. “Enough,” you tell the maesters. Instinctively, you reach out to comfort Aegon: a palm rested lightly on his forehead, fingers threaded through silvery hair that’s filthy with soot and blood. You should hate him, but you don’t. When you look at the Greens’ broken king, you cannot see a murderer, a usurper, a depraved hedonist, a consumer of innocence. You can only see a man worn threadbare by ill-advised bravery.

“Hello, angel,” Aegon murmurs as he gazes up at you, a ghost of a smile on his lips. His eyes really do remind you of home: ocean currents like iron, fog like flint. “Welcome to the end of the world.” And then he’s out, extinguished, eclipsed.

Servants bustle into the tent carrying heavy buckets. “What is that?” you ask.

“Pork lard,” one of the maesters says. “For his wounds.”

“No, no, no, some of these burns are nearly down to the muscle. They’re too deep, too fresh. Lard is for later, to help with scarring, although olive oil or rose oil would be better. He needs to be cleaned with vinegar diluted with water. Or red wine, if that’s all that can be found.”

“Vinegar?!” one of the maesters exclaims.

“It helps prevent infection. Nobody knows why.”

The same maester turns to Aemond, imploring him. “My prince, I can assure you, the Citadel recommends pork lard or cow dung as topical cures, or both used alternatingly. There are also reports of cases where frogs have been helpful, warmed in oil and then rubbed on the affected area.”

Criston blinks. “I’m sorry, you do what with the frogs…?!”

They’re going to kill him, you think. Not with malice, but with stupidity. A wasted life, a wasted death. You demand of the maester: “When was the last time you treated burns this severe?”

He glowers at you, sharp dark eyes like flecks of onyx in a nest of wrinkles. And you know you’ve won when he replies: “When have you?”

“My brother was burned in a housefire started by an upturned lantern. It was five years ago, but I remember the direness his injuries. And what was done to save him.”

Silence in this tent the color of summer: green grass, unsinged trees. Aemond waits for the maesters to produce some astute rebuttal. When they cannot, he orders the servants: “Vinegar, water, rags. Now.” They dash off to oblige him, wide-eyed and quivering like small dogs. Then Aemond looks to you. “What next?”

“His wounds should be treated with honey and then bandaged. The dressings must be changed frequently, at least once per day. He must be repositioned so the scar tissue does not immobilize his joints. He will suffer, it cannot be avoided, but he should suffer as little as possible. Listen to him when he says the pain is too much. Let him sleep. When he is awake, he must drink plenty of fluids. He is losing water through his burns, and it must be replaced. Milk is preferable. Tea and fruit juices are good as well. Some wine is acceptable if that’s what he likes best.”

“And it certainly is,” Criston mutters. You’ve heard the same: that the Greens’ king is a drunk, an adulterer, a coward, a ghoul. You cannot speak to any of this. You know him only as someone who is horrifically pained and sick to death of fighting. Again, without thinking, you comb your fingertips distractedly through his hair as he lies unconscious on the table, bleeding from everywhere. He’s so young, so breakable, so unlike the monster you’ve been led to believe he is.

“Get honey and bandages,” Aemond tells the maesters. They depart, casting each other incredulous glances: Are these our new overlords? Men who heed the wisdom of impetuous young women filthy with blood and earth?

“I’ve heard salt can be helpful for wounds,” Aemond says. “They used it on me when…” He gestures to his eyepatch, to his scar. Lucerys Velaryon took that part of him in self-defense; at least, that is what you have always been told. But you’ve read enough to know that for every event, there are at least two stories. Whatever the truth is, Luke paid for that eye. He paid, Rhaenyra paid, the world continues to pay the price over and over again.

“Because it dries. It absorbs moisture.” You skim your palm over Aegon’s forehead, without lines of fear or anguish as he sleeps. There is a ring on his left hand, a gold dragon with glinting dots of jade for eyes. You twist off the ring so it will not hinder circulation as his fingers swell and give it to Aemond. “But burns weep as they heal. They need to be wet. If they get too dry, they will crack open and fester.”

“Is that what happened to your brother?” Aemond asks.

“Where we did not pay enough attention. The backs of his knees, the soles of his feet.”

“But he survived.”

“Yes,” you tell Aemond; and you can see how desperately he is searching for hope in your face, your words. “He did.”

The servants return with buckets of water, handfuls of rags, glass bottles of vinegar that is cloudy and rust-colored.

“What’s it made from?” you say.

“Fermented a-a-apples, my lady,” one of the boys sputters. He watches Aemond out of the corner of his eye like sheep look for the shadows of wolves. He shivers, he sweats. This boy, who last night was fetching meat and mead for Lord Staunton, has heard the same stories you have: the degenerate king, his murderous brother.

“That’s fine then.” You haul over one of the water buckets and Criston helps you lift it up onto the table. You empty half a bottle of vinegar into the water, mix it by wobbling the bucket back and forth, and then soak a rag in the pungent liquid. “You can help,” you tell Aemond and Criston. “Dip a rag in the bucket, wring it out, then press it to his wounds. Remove any dirt or scraps of fabric. But don’t rub. Try not to damage the skin he has left.” You demonstrate: dabbing at flesh that is torn and bloody and blistered, a black-and-ruby wasteland that at best will leave him irreparably scarred and at worst will swallow his life like ships sink in storms.

Tentatively—with hands at ease with killing but not tenderness—Aemond and Criston join you, studying your movements and imitating them with great care. There is a sniffle, a teardrop that falls onto Aegon’s filthy but unburned left hand and glistens there like a splinter of glass; you are alarmed to see that the Kingmaker is weeping.

“Criston,” Aemond says gently. “We are doing everything we can for him.”

“Since the day he was born, I promised…”

“I know.”

“Your mother…”

“I know,” Aemond says again, and you think: The Greens aren’t demons, they aren’t savages. They’re just patchworks of memory and flesh and suffering, the same as any of us. “He will live. And his sacrifice won us a victory today.”

As you tended to wounded men caked with blood and pine needles, you saw them tangled above in the overcast sky, scales of scarlet and gold and an ancient muddy viridescence. There were flames and shouts, and then all three dragons hurdled towards the earth and out of view. “The Red Queen?” you ask Aemond, mindful to keep your voice perfectly level.

“Dead,” he says: dark satisfaction, fearsome pride. “And so is her rider.”

“The gods are good.” You are amazed at how easily it slips out, a reflex of self-preservation while your mind is elsewhere. Does my father know yet? Does Rhaenyra, does Daemon, does Corlys? People will be searching for you soon. If you do not appear from the smoke and chaos of the battlefield, your eldest brother Clement will come looking with his sword in hand. Everett, scarred and unagile but clever, will be pouring over maps to see where you might have ended up.

There is no suspicion in Aemond’s face when he glances over at you. He is gingerly cleaning soot and charred strips of ruined skin from Aegon’s chest, which rises and falls in deep, slow breaths. “Which family is yours?”

House Celtigar, but you can’t tell him that. You scramble for a noble family of the Crownlands whose accent you share, whose history you have been taught, whose men fight for the Greens but are not so distinguished that Aemond will know them well. “House Thorne.”

He nods. “Are you one of Sir Rickard’s sisters?”

You startle. Perhaps you have chosen the wrong disguise. “Far less illustrious than that. Just a cousin.”

The two maesters return, their archaic hands piled high with linen bandages and glass jars of honey, a fiery gold like sunset. “Set them down over there,” Aemond orders, pointing. He has a presence, it cannot be denied. He is tall, fierce, swift yet calculated. He moves like a man who has killed once, twice, again until it is no longer something that keeps him awake at night. It is something that has become a part of him like arteries or bones. “Prepare a room in the castle.”

“For Prince Aegon?” one of the maesters says, then quickly corrects himself. “I mean, for the king?”

“For until we decide what to do with him.” Aemond stares at Criston. Criston stares back, his dark eyes huge and shiny. There is a war to be waged, but Aegon will not be able to help them. Not for months, at least. Not ever, if he dies. The maesters disappear again, grumbling to each other. Unwelcome tasks, unwelcome guests.

Rhaenys is dead, you think as you work. It doesn’t feel real. Meleys is dead. Hundreds of Black soldiers are dead. Rook’s Rest is the Greens’ greatest victory yet, and one they desperately needed. This war is nowhere near over. And the betting odds keep changing.

You say to Aemond and Criston: “Help me turn him. We must clean the burns on his back as well.”

They listen, they obey, they help you because helping you means helping Aegon. When he is washed as well as he can be, you spread a thin sheen of shimmering honey over his wounds—an amber river that will trap moisture and discourage inflammation—and wrap him in bandages. The only burn you leave uncovered is the one on his right cheek. It creeps up over his pale face like red tentacles, curling and grasping, hungry, insatiable. They match now, you think. Two brothers, two scars.

Criston assembles a group of Green soldiers and Aegon is carried in a litter to the castle that serves as the seat of House Staunton, once allies of Rhaenyra, now traitors, now dead men walking. Outside rain has begun to fall, putting out flames born from dragonfire. The pine forest is saved; wounded men lie in the dirt with their mouths open hoping to quench their thirst. By the time Aegon is placed in an opulent bedroom with a view of Blackwater Bay, he has already bled through his bandages. You clean him again, bandage him, dribble milk of the poppy down his throat when he begins to stir and whimper. Aemond gives you command of a makeshift fleet of caretakers: the two requisitioned maesters, three maids, servants to bring food, drink, bandages, wood for the crackling fireplace.

My family is searching for me, you know as you battle to save their enemy’s life, this maybe-king with silver hair and eyes like deep water.And then: I cannot leave him. Not now, not yet.

In the night, as cool rain patters against the ocean and Aemond and Criston are slaughtering House Staunton men down in the castle courtyard, you dose Aegon with milk of the poppy every few hours. The maesters refuse to take responsibility for it; if the king is poisoned, it will be you who swings from a rope for it. You hold cloths dripping with cold water to his forehead. You feed him nibbles of bread and venison when he is conscious enough to eat, cinnamon tea, pomegranate juice, goat milk. You inspect him for any signs of infection. You braid a small lock of his hair before you’ve stopped to consider why you’re doing it.

And when no one else is watching, you untie the bloodstained armband of your own house and burn it to ashes in the fire.

~~~~~~~~~~

Someone is jostling you, grabbing at you. You fell into an exhausted, sporadic sleep in the next room long after midnight. It’s morning now; warm sunlight blooms like flowers on your face, yellow roses and buttercups and daffodils. When your eyes open, they are sore and unfocused. Aemond is a blur of white hair and black leather. He is tugging on you again, his lithe fingers like a vice around your forearm.

“Stop it, get off me!” You shove him away. He waits, bemused. “You can’t keep dragging me around like this!”

“Why not?”

Because my father is one of the wealthiest men in the Seven Kingdoms. Because I may not have silver hair or a dragon, but if you cut me open the blood of Old Valyria would spill out like red waves. Because the man I am pledged to marry is good at killing, very good at killing, maybe even better than you. “Because I’m a noblewoman. I’m a lady.”

“You don’t act like one,” Aemond counters. “Ladies flee from blood and gore. Ladies are nowhere to be found on battlefields.”

“I like being useful.”

“Then I have brought you a gift. You are needed now. Aegon is asking for you.” And then, when you hurry out of bed, finding your footing on chilly wood floors: “Well, that certainly got you moving quickly.”

“He’s in pain?”

“Not especially, from what I can tell. I think he just wants you.” Aemond glides out of the bedroom. You follow him to Aegon’s chamber. The Greens’ king is propped up in bed on a great mass of pillows, bandaged, limp, eyes glazed and barely open. There are men huddled around him. You recognize Criston, though not the other ones, some old and some young and all in armor. You hope that none of them are Sir Rickard Thorne.

You feel Aegon’s forehead for fever. To your relief, he is no more than modestly warm. He catches your hand, holds it tightly, doesn’t let go. After a moment’s hesitation, you sit down beside him on the edge of the bed. There is a curl of his lips, just a whisper of a smile, just a phantom of one. Aemond glances at you and Aegon with mild interest, then turns his attention to Criston.

“Aegon,” Criston informs the king, patiently, like a good father would. “We have to move you back to King’s Landing.”

“No,” Aegon says. His voice is so low and weak that he’s difficult to hear.

“Your recovery will be long and arduous,” Criston explains. “Aemond and I will be needed in combat. We cannot stay to guard you. The Blacks may try to retake Rook’s Rest. You staying here is not an option. King’s Landing is safer. It is well-supplied, it is protected. And we have our own maesters there who will help tend to you.”

“Can’t leave,” Aegon croaks. “Sunfyre.”

“Aegon—”

“I can’t leave without Sunfyre,” he forces out with immense effort. Then he gasps and moans, tears pooling in his eyes. You offer him milk of the poppy; he guzzles as much as you’ll allow him to have.

Criston sighs. “You can’t stay. And Sunfyre can’t leave. One of his wings was nearly ripped off, he’ll never fly again. We have no way to transport him, he’s too heavy.”

One of the armored men mutters: “And that’s assuming he wouldn’t incinerate anyone who ventured close enough to try.”

“Where is he now?” Aemond asks the man.

“Down on the beach, my prince. Eating dead soldiers.”

Criston shudders. Working in close proximity to dragons has not given him a liking for them.

“Can’t leave him here,” Aegon whispers, shaking his head.

“You must,” Aemond says.

“What if it was Vhagar?”

“I’d leave her. I’d have no choice.”

Aegon frowns, squeezing his eyes shut. It’s all too much for him. “Not the same.”

No, perhaps not; Aemond’s dragon may be the largest and most lethal in the world, but Aegon’s bond with Sunfyre is said to be what legends are built of, words written in ink and stone. You watch the agonized confliction on Aegon’s drawn face: can’t leave, can’t stay, can’t fight, can’t run. You say softly: “Could Sunfyre be assigned a detachment of guards?”

Aemond looks at you as if just remembering you’re here. “What?”

“Men could be tasked with ensuring the dragon is secure and fed. From a safe distance, of course. They could report on his health. Then perhaps when he is stronger, he can be reunited with the king.” The king. Again, it stuns you how easily the treason rolls out, like waves bubbling over rocks and sand.

Aemond turns to Criston. “Could it be done?”

“I don’t foresee many men volunteering for the task. But it could be done, yes. Sure.”

Aemond asks his brother: “Would that make a difference?”

Aegon’s eyes drift to you. They are churning with sluggish, clunky thoughts, heavy burdens to bear on raw shoulders. The braid that you wove absentmindedly into his hair is still there. “Alright,” Aegon agrees at last. “I’ll go.”

“Good,” Aemond says. “We leave at dawn tomorrow.” Then he looks to you. “You will come south with us.” His tone invites no argument. He doesn’t even conceive of it as a possibility. Why would you refuse? Why would you, a purportedly devout Green, shy away from the opportunity to nurse your king back to health? You bow your head in compliance. You wonder what is being discussed in the Black Council; you wonder what your father is thinking, what Everett believes happened to you.

“But I have to see him first,” Aegon says.

Aemond does not understand. “See who?”

“Sunfyre.”

“But you can’t walk to the beach,” Criston says. “You can’t walk anywhere.”

Aegon grins, showing his teeth. His dazed, deep blue eyes glitter mischieviously. His hand has not disentangled itself from yours. “Then carry me.”

The deal is struck, like a face minted onto a coin or a bolt of lightning meeting the earth. Soldiers transport Aegon down to the stony, mist-sopped shoreline. Blade-sharp agony is flooding back into his face, but he refuses more milk of the poppy. He wants to be awake when he gets there. He wants to be himself.

The soldiers cannot get too close to Sunfyre; no one besides Aegon can. He is helped off the litter and then tries to amble across the wet, grey sand. After a few steps he collapses. You rush to him, dodging Aemond and Criston’s grasps as they try to stop you.

“No,” Aegon says when you attempt to help him to his feet. He is panting from the pain, his face flushed with torment and exertion. His white-blond hair whips in the wind. “Do not follow me. Not even if I pass out, not even if I’m dead. I don’t know what Sunfyre would do to you.” And then he crawls forward alone on his hands and knees.

Waves crash, spraying saltwater into the air. Crabs scuttle over rocks. Gulls swoop low to claim mouthfuls of flesh from bloated corpses in worthless uniforms. The dragon known as Sunfyre the Golden is curled up on the beach. Many of his metallic scales are singed; the pink membranes of his wings are tattered like lace. His right wing hangs at a ruinously odd angle. You would know how to set that if he was a human. And you could do it without the threat of being reduced to ash and history.

Sunfyre unravels as Aegon nears him, long angular face rising, frayed wings settling by his sides. You have seen dragons before, of course—Syrax, Caraxes, Arrax, Vermax, Meleys—though never from this close. They horrify you. You cannot look at them without thinking of the devastation they sow like a plague, of how they so unmistakably no longer belong in this world.

Sunfyre’s head stretches out towards his rider, a half-dead man kneeling in wet sand and wearing only bandages and loose cotton trousers. Beside you, Sir Criston Cole sucks in a noisy, nervous breath. Aemond watches Aegon, his face like stone. His hair hangs in long, damp waves.

Aegon embraces Sunfyre, clinging to him, resting his face against the dragon’s. They stay like that for what feels like a very long time. Then Aegon crawls back to you, sobbing with pain by the time he is lifted into the litter. You give him milk of the poppy and he accepts it eagerly. He is unconscious again within seconds. Down the beach, Sunfyre looses a soft desolate cry like a plea: Don’t go. Don’t leave me. You might never come back.

~~~~~~~~~~

The drivers have been instructed to proceed slowly and with caution; still, the carriage pitches and jolts as you traverse the Rosby Road towards King’s Landing. In addition to the caravan’s most precious cargo—the Greens’ fragile and intermittently sentient king—it transports also two severed heads: Lord Simon Staunton’s in a basket, and Meleys’ in the bed of a mule-drawn wagon. High above in slate-grey clouds, Aemond and Vhagar are safeguarding your progress. Criston rides on a monstrous warhorse just outside the carriage. You are leafing through a book that you found in the castle library at Rook’s Rest: anatomy, surgery, sicknesses and cures. Aegon is bandaged and heavily medicated in the cushioned seat across from you. While servants flit in and out frequently, you are the only passengers in the carriage at the moment. You do not know that Aegon is awake until he speaks.

“Sinful,” he says. His voice is groggy, only half-here. He is gazing blearily at the illustration on the open pages of your book: a quite detailed naked man, his arteries and veins mapped like the roads of Westeros, his cock bare and sizeable.

“It’s informative,” you reply in your own defense, smiling.

“My father would have hit me for looking at something like that. If he’d noticed.” Aegon smirks, resting his head against the back of his velvet seat. His hair has been scrubbed and rinsed by servants, the braid you made for him undone. “He probably wouldn’t have noticed.”

“Mine has a great love for all books.” Bartimos Celtigar is eternally turning pages: computations, records, revenue. He does not just sit on Rhaenyra’s council. He is her Master of Coin. He funds her war effort, he fuels her like wood to a fire. “Besides, I have seen naked men in person. No book can scandalize me now.”

A little twitch of his silvery eyebrows: fascination, amusement. “He does not lose sleep over your spent innocence?”

“He has other things on his mind presently.”

“Like what?”

Like helping Rhaenyra win the war. You find a different truth to tell him. “Some men consider one daughter to be too many. My father has four. His attention is thoroughly divided.”

“He doesn’t like you?”

“He likes me plenty. He just doesn’t need me.”

Aegon nods. His eyes travel over you slowly and meditatively, not leering but learning, memorizing slopes and angles, taking you in like he’s never been able to before. He is in the brief lull between doses of milk of the poppy: lucid enough to speak but not so much that he can feel the full extent of his injuries. “Are you married?”

This is a bit of a fraught subject. “I am betrothed.”

“Oh,” he says, with what might be disappointment. “And he wouldn’t rather have you home right now? Putting all that knowledge of male anatomy to good use? That’s difficult to believe.”

You peer evasively down at your book. “He has a role to play in the war. I’ve been given permission to serve in my own way until it is over.”

“Permission,” Aegon echoes. He finds this interesting. He studies you for a while before he asks, his voice gentle: “What’s wrong with him?”

“Nothing. He’s honorable, he’s brave. He’s marvelously formidable. He could carry you around like a sack of potatoes.”

Aegon chuckles, a slow reflective laugh, curiosity, intrigue, something to think about besides the fact that he’s missing half his skin. “Do you fear marriage?”

What is the answer to that question? Do you even know yourself? “I fear being possessed. And having no remedy if the circumstances are not to my liking.”

“You can’t get one of your three superfluous sisters to marry him instead?”

You smile faintly. “No, we’ve met. He chose me, he favored me. I’m not sure why.”

“Probably because you’ve read all there is to know about cocks.” Aegon grins, drowsy and crooked and playful. “Who is he?”

“Just a man,” you say. You can’t tell Aegon more than that. It would give your Black affiliations away.

You are betrothed to the Warden of the North, Lord Cregan Stark.

[shirefantasies]

Hello again! I have another request that came to me as I was submitting a different one. How do you think Thorin's or the LOTR companies would react to reader having a buzzcut. Especially for dwarves who pride themselves in long intricately done hair and braids. Would they think something bad must've happened to the reader for them to have short hair. Cue misunderstandings and fluff, with maybe hair petting(buzzcuts are super soft!) Hope this sounds interesting enough to do, have a good day again! :)

(I literally lied on my last post THIS is my last pre-op post by the 45 minutes left before my operation appointment)

Heck yeah friend I love this! I don’t quite have a buzzcut but my hair’s far shorter than the average lady’s & definitely so for a dwarf, so I wonder about this too 😁 hope you enjoy 🥰 Warnings: a little violence in one reaction, injury mention in another

Thorin’s Company When You Have a Buzzcut

Balin

“You’re causing quite a stir with everyone, you know that?” Giving a chuckle at Balin’s cheeky look, you lean forward with your chin upon your hand. “And why is that?” “At risk of offense,” the older dwarf answered, “they all want to know what happened to your hair.” “Yourself included,” you shot back with a grin, “or else you’d not be asking.” Taken aback, Balin stutters a bit. “Ah, well, I confess I am a bit curious, after all. Reminds me of when my brother first took all his off. What a stir over something so silly. Do what you like, I was just wondering if Dwalin was trying to get you all painted up too.” “Not yet,” your smile softens and you give him a wink, “but if he does you’ll be the first to know. Ahead of all the sensation.”

Dwalin

You start the conversation on this one, seeing that Dwalin is the other company member with little to no hair upon his head and considering it a bonding opportunity. “Well, I’ve got a reason,” he shoots back to your comment of similarity, arms crossed but expression teasing, “what’s yours? You need some tattoos up there at least.” “No thank you,” you tell him, “if I’m adding any tattoos it won’t be on top of my head! Feel how soft it is up here.” Dwalin looks at you, prompting you to take his hand and put it on top of your head, his eyebrows raising at the sensation. And perhaps because touching one’s hair is a much closer and more intimate thing for him than perhaps you realize. You are quite forward, aren’t you?

Thorin

Pays little mind to how you wear your hair…or lack thereof. In fact, by your appearance he gauges you to be a warrior of some kind, thus taking command of your actions in a fight and seeking proof of your prowess. Before your first encounter with a threat the king’s questions are more along the lines of “What is your weapon of choice?” and “From where in these lands do you hail?” The day the company fights a pack of orcs, you manage to take down more than Thorin expected and at one point, you even jump in front of Dori to parry before a potentially deadly strike takes him off guard. Rising from the struggle of battle, black blood splattered across your layers and even your shaven head, you feel a hand upon your shoulder. Thorin. "It can be hard for us to look beyond our own kin," he tells you, "but you have well proven yourself today. We may not always understand each other, but there is a beauty in that, too, I see."

Oin

Wincing despite your gratitude, you shifted in your seated position while Oin packed the poultice into the wound your side had suffered. "Don't worry, you'll go numb in a bit. If it stings, that is quite alright, that simply means you are getting clean again." Thanking him through heavy breaths, you watched as the dwarf reached a hand up toward your head, running a hand over the soft, shorn little bit of cover it had. "And this one's healing quite nicely, quite nicely indeed. Why, I cannot even see the scar!" The sting in your bloody side faded down a bit as you tilted your head to fix Oin right in the eyes. "What scar?" "Did they not have to sew up your head at some point? Figured that's why they shaved you down," he answered, finally removing his hand from your head. You giggled at that, regretted stretching yourself at a new, though much smaller, arc of pain. "No, my dear Oin, I am afraid the only thing my head has suffered is my typical madness," you teased, waving your hands mystically and grinning at the way the healer laughed.

Gloin

"Pardon me, my dear," your name rolled smoothly off Gloin's tongue as he shuffled forth, hands folded in front of him in the picture of innocence. Oh, this was going to be good. "Yes?" You indulged him, swiveling to give your full attention. The auburn-haired dwarf pointed to his head, his own flowing locks. "What happened t'yer hair?" Perhaps sheepishly, his voice suddenly quickened. Feeling your eyebrows involuntarily raise, you tilted your head- this was not exactly what you’d expected, after all. “I cut it,” you shrugged, “got tired of how it was before. Simply wanted a new beginning, you could say.” Gloin’s eyes never left yours. “So no accident?” “No.” “Ha!” The dwarf bellowed, waggling a hand at his brother and a small scattering of company members a ways back. “I was right! By choice! Now pay up and remember I told ya it was worth the risk!” Shaking your head, you playfully smack him on the shoulder. “I’d better get a cut from this, you ol’ scallywag!”

Bifur

Catching Bifur signing, you turn his way, seeing the motions he performs by his head. “Did you cut your hair yourself?” You realize he is asking. “No,” you sign back, “another did it for me.” “You must trust them a great deal.” Simple enough words signed and yet there is something in the way his eyes shine, the fond inquisition in his smile, that brings a little shock of joy to you. Barring royal dressings, it was far more common for one to do their own hair or entrust it to a loved one, and you could see intimacy in the act. It almost brought a pang of regret that it was just some small-town hairdresser that sheared it at your asking and payment. Your hands freeze for a moment as your eyes search Bifur before you finally sign a response. “I suppose. Perhaps if you ever want to do something different with your hair, I could help you, too.”

Bofur

A mix between caring and teasing, he offers you cover! “Your head looks cold. Need to borrow my hat?” Thinks he’s so funny he laughs at his own joke whether you roll your eyes or joke back. “But really, any particular reason you took it all off?” "It was uncomfortable having it long," you admit, "I was tired of it all being in my face." The way everyone spoke of dwarven culture, you half expect disapproval, but this is Bofur you speak of. Instead he nods acceptingly, smiling in that way that always has you feeling seen and reassured. "I understand that." "You do?" "Sure I do! Why do you think I keep mine braided out to the sides like this?" At that, you smile back. "Besides," he continues, "helps me see all the best sights. The trees, the flowers, that smile of yours..."

Bombur

“Singe all your hair off?” Bombur nods sagely despite the fact that he couldn’t be more wrong. “I’ve been there. Burned my beard leaning too far over the stove.” You can’t even correct him right away because you’re too busy laughing. Finally, though, you explain to him that your hair was simply so unhealthy it needed to start over. “Ah, I see, I see! Trying to take better care of it, then?” At that, you nod. He looks at you with new interest, eyes shining eagerly. “So what would you like to do with it next? I’ve got some things you might like to put in it, and I think it would look mighty nice if you wanted to try…”

Dori

"Sometimes I wish I could do that, too," Dori remarks one day, rolling blue eyes illuminated beneath the sun that peeked between the branches. Shifting carefully so as to not disturb your pony, you turned back to face him. "Do what?" "Cut all my hair off just to save some time in the morning!" He replied with a wave of a hand in your general direction. Chuckling, you gave a conceding nod. "I suppose you would gain back an hour, wouldn't you?" At that, it was Dori's turn to laugh. "But then again," you continued, "then you couldn't wear as many of those nice clips and cases. That is one thing I miss about having it all." Puffing up like a proud little bird, Dori smiled. "They are quite nice, aren't they? You know, if you ever get so bored you're tempted to let it all come back, I could make you some of your own."

Nori

Abrasive as it was, Nori's question found you in a way that raised such amusement you forgot to be upset with him entirely, instead simply falling back with a bark of laughter before you answered. "Looks like you're tryin' to hide your identity. You on the run from someone?" He continued musing, in fact, as you laughed. "Law somewhere? A scorned lover? Simply run off with something too valuable not to do that?" Finally, your voice returned. "All this because I've sheared my head down?" You burst out incredulously. "Ever consider," you gasped in mock-scandal, "I like it like this?" "Sure, but that's not exciting," Nori shot back with a smirk, "I like a good story." "Well," you crossed your arms, "perhaps I still have some of those, too."

Ori

Shuffling up to you was the youngest dwarf in the company, sweet Ori; Ori was one of the dwarves who accepted outsiders most readily, and you spent plenty of time at his side watching his drawings and records come to life. That day, though, what was in his hand was not his book, rather a bundle of fabric. "I made this for you." Eyes widening, you extend your hands to accept the soft knitting, peering back at Ori. "I thought your head must get cold," he explained his craft as you unfolded it, revealing a thick, sturdy cap you immediately began pulling onto your head, "does it fit?" Yarn hugging your head perfectly, you nodded. "It's just my size. Thank you." Before he could speak again, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pulling him into a hug. "This is the kindest thing anyone has done for me in some time. Thank you."

Fili

“One of my braids came undone. Kili?” The younger Durin prince seemingly did not hear the request for his presence, so you stepped forward. “I can help.” Goggling at you, Fili posed a question. “Do you even know how?” Hand falling to your hip, you shot him a look. “Though I may not possess them myself, I am quite capable of doing them up.” The golden-haired dwarf looked sheepish, a bit of the mischief fading from his blue eyes. “Suppose I assumed you didn’t much enjoy doing them either,” he told you with a nod toward your head. “Well,” a teasing smile drifted across your face, “I certainly would…unless you are scared.” You were no fool. You knew how the Durins were with challenges. And if you remembered correctly, you knew how dwarves were with braids…

Kili

He cares some of the least out of the dwarves being the least traditionally presenting himself. He’s sort of the type to be a little attracted to everyone, enjoying the unique traits of all types of people. You still cannot help being a bit surprised when he flirts with you, though, not expecting someone with a cut like yours to catch his eye or draw his teasing. “Not one for a courting braid, I see? No one worthy of putting one on you, no doubt.” For all his jesting questions, he never actually demands an answer, though. Instead he simply launches into a story about a haircut prank he pulled with his older brother once to keep light conversation flowing. “Well, by the end of it our uncle looked quite like you! Except he didn’t pull it off half as well.”

Taglist: @lokilover476 @fuckyoumakeart @kilibaggins | Let me know if you'd like to join!

[houserautha]

Ok, okay listen I have a mighty neeed to say this!

How would Feyd-Rautha feel about having a wife who’s sensual???❤️Hear me out, his spouse comes from a small planet called Eros (Greek word for passionate love) and it’s basically the opposite of Giedi Prime, the people are loving, gentle and highly romantic individuals. Even worse they are pacifists! At first Feyd is like eww wtf is that culture? Never heard of such a thing, but when it’s time to meet the bride he sees her and is bewitched…

She has long rapunzel hair cascading down her back, or in a braid. She’s gentle with the maids and teaches them how to put flowers in her hair.

Always had luxurious perfumes and oils. Runs Feyd these big bubble baths and soothes his wounds.

Has the best fruits and sweets shipped in from her planet. Loves telling stories to children, like one of those lovely kindergarten teachers and she thanks everyone for their help.

Loves to paint, and do artsy stuff that Feyd just doesn’t understand where is the war? The bloodshed! The chaos—oh she made me a painting of my battles! Oh that’s so😍

Kisses Feyd’s bruises and at first he’s like cut that out! But then he’s like “Where are my kisses?” “I demand your affection woman.” And she’s like you don’t have to beg. Black cat hubby vibes🐈‍⬛

Gives him good massages too. Will brutally kill and then surely die if she offers anyone else a massage.

Soft and siren like singing voice, plays the harp. Even the Baron is impressed and wants her to play for their events everytime.

“Pick up the blade and defend yourself wife! You never know when you’ll need to, especially if I’m not home to protect you.” His wife just shrugs “But darling, I don’t believe in violence.” Feyd take as deep breath and closes his eyes.

Speaks in a gentle tones “Hello Rabban how are—?” Feyd: “Don’t speak to him he’s a brute!” Rabban is touched that she cares but also jealous that Feyd always gets the most beautiful things offered to him. Even a caring bride.

Extremely calm and seductive. No voice or Bene Gesserit skills needed. Feyd storms in stressed, covered in blood from one his fights and she’s just lying there half naked in a robe reading a book. “Would you like to make love would that be better?” She asks stroking the sheets. “I—I would love to fuck you.” “Oh! Well those are two different things, if you’d like then” “Come here. Come here!” *climbs onto bed.*

Comforts Feyd when he has nightmares. Caresses him and hands him a mug. Feyd: “What is this? It smells horrid.” “It’s elderflower tea my love, it’ll calm you.”🥰 *sips tea* “I hate it. It’s disgusting.” *keeps sipping*

Wears a lot of silk, velvet and lace. Has a gorgeous body and luscious skin.

Feyd is shocked when his darlings don’t want to harm her because she spoils them with special treats, delicious wine, jewelry, and dresses. They forget he enters the room because they are giggling over their gifts. Feyd: “What is this?” “She gave us heart and kidney pie.” “And silver rings!”

Bonus points: She ALWAYS wears red lipstick which is a contrast to the black and white of the Harkonnen planet. Imagine whenever she steps in to see Feyd and her smile is wide and her lips look like bright blood.

Just a thought enjoy!❤️

Omg I LOVE all of this, thank you for sharing it!!

I definitely think it would be a learning curve for Feyd but deep down he just desperately wants someone to love him😂😭

I can see him getting frustrated with himself like “what are these feelings, what has she done to me” and when he asks her what kind of witch she is, she just throws back her head and laughs and tells him, “that’s love, dear”

[skyjasper]

The Devil and I

Reader X Azriel

Summary: the time for war has come, yet her powers have not. What will she do when everyone she loves, including her mate, is suffering on the battlefield below.

Warnings: gore, violence, light NSFW, talks of sex.

A/N: ik yall wanted a new AZ one shot soooo here you are :))) this is based off of the song Me and the Devil. If you wanna check out my other works you can do so here:

Masterlist.

Word count: 1.07 K (short IK)

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

The war raged on the battlefield below her, screams of agony wailing through the wind. She was completely powerless as her mate fought. She watched her high lord cast waves of his power, killing multiple as he engaged in combat. She was on her knees, hands digging into the land below her. She heard Azriels roaring scream all the way from her cliff top.

“Please Mother. I beg for some forgiveness, please give me a tool to help fight. We are losing, I can’t stand by. Please Mother, grant me the powers that were stolen from you by my ancestors for promise I will return it.” She whispered into the grass with her head bowed. 

Something tugged on her hands, pulling her fingers into the land. A small scream escaped her before the rest of her was covered with roots and dirt. Her body was pulled deep into the ground, small bugs crawling over her. She couldn’t scream, couldn’t move as something forced its way down her mouth. 

Dirt and dust filled her body, humming as if to say if you want power so bad then have it. Then her body was being forced out of the ground, new things adorned her body. Cufflinks made of root and tree wrapped itself around her arms. Her former clothing, now replaced by a garment made of leaves and flowers, covering the most delicate parts of her.

Vines raked up her legs and around her body, hounding her together. Her hair was now braided down her back with vines and flowers growing out of her hair, the top of her head was now adorned with a crown made of tree twigs and cones. 

She felt the power flowing through her body, thrumming under her skin. A large root grew out of the ground where she stood, lifting her into the air. She felt more than heard the silence on both fronts. When she looked down she was met with a ground looking back at her. She stepped off the cliff, trusting her powers to allow roots to carry her to the ground. As her foot made contact with solid earth the war raged again. 

Yet this time the screams were pointed towards her. The few who attempted to attack her were frozen in place with vines crawling over their feet. The vines and roots slithered up their bodies and down their mouths still opened in a scream. She watched as vines popped out of every crevice, their eyes, ears, noses, even through their pores. She absorbed their power as they were turned into dirt.

She heard Azriels loud grunt from her right. Her head snapped to the sound, eyes zeroing in on the perpetrator causing his pain. She tugged on the gold thread in between them. She walked quickly towards him, slaughtering anyone and everyone in her path. Her eyes were set on her mate and she would stop at nothing to get to him. 

When she did get to him, his attacker was already headless. She turned to her mate, his blue siphons flaring as they made eye contact. She felt his pride and heat flow through the bond. 

“My little huntress.” He whispered as he stalked to her.

The battle around them seemed to disappear as he neared. All she could hear was her heart beating out of her chest. Her hands reached into his hair when he got close enough. He smiled down at her with a predatory smirk, his shadows going crazy around him. 

She smashed her lips to his blood covered lip. Her hands pulled on his hair as his hands met her back side. One of his arms stayed on her butt while the other snuck around her waist, pulling her closer. Rooting swirled over both of their feet as she let out a small moan.

“Show them what you’re made of. Show them exactly how strong you are. Remind them to never underestimate you ever again.” He whispered against her mouth. 

His wings flared as one of her hands grazed their most sensitive spots.

“End this war. Once and for all?” She asked against his lips. With a wicked smirk he nodded.

A matching smirk fell upon her face as she lifted the two of them, slightly above the blood and gore. She turned, her back now flush with the shadowsingers front. She looked upon the masses and with a wicked smile she unleashed her power upon Hybern. 

Multiple thick, stocky roots broke from the ground, obliterating anyone who stood on their ground. Thick ropes of ivy surrounded the other soldiers, squeezing until their body’s burst, blood rained upon the soldiers of Hybern. 

New screams were heard, screams of cheer and victory rang out loud. Her power continued to flow, killing every last soldier. She found the king and wrapped him with a large root, carrying him to the feet of the oldest Archeron sister. Allowing her to exact her revenge.

The blood reached both her Azriel. She felt it pour down her face, over her leaves. She felt Azriels hand tighten around her waist and his lips making contact with her neck. She let her head roll onto Azriels shoulder as he kissed the most sensitive spot on her neck. 

The war was over, they had won. She had obliterated Hybern, all for her mate. She gained power from the mother for her mate. She lowered the pair over to where all the high lords stood. Her head bowed to the powerful beings.

“Do not bow, girl. Stand tall, for you have just won.” Ameren spoke. Her voice was different, clearer now. She was unsure of what all happened in the fight, but she was sure of one thing. That she would no longer be weak. 

The high lords offered her a hand. A voice of sorts. When she called upon the mother to return her power, she did not answer.

Keep it. I have no use for it. Find lands to raise, take care of the earth girl. 

With a nod she shook each of their hands. Then she turned back to her mate, a look of exhaust in her eyes. He nodded with understanding, taking her hand and winnowing them to their tent in the woods.

It was there that he claimed her body, again and again. Their tent was now surrounded by trees and flowers. 

“My huntress.” He whispered into her thighs.

“My hunter.” She responded.

~~~~~~~

A/N:

Here’s a short little one shot :) I absolutely love this one.

Taglist:

@littlelunatica @going-through-shit @annaaaaa88 @i-am-infinite @impossibellesliteraryloves

[callmekenya]

Pairings: Uma x m!Y/n

Warnings: Contains mild violence, blood, intense emotional themes, and complex relationships. Suitable for mature teens and adults.

_________________________________________

The sun was setting over the Isle of the Lost, casting long shadows across the dilapidated buildings and trash-strewn streets. In a dimly lit room aboard Uma's ship, Y/n, son of Eris, sat reading an ancient tome on chaos magic. The sudden burst of the door flying open barely fazed him as Uma stormed in, her eyes alight with excitement and a touch of malice.

"Y/n! You won't believe what's happened," Uma exclaimed, her braids swinging as she paced the small cabin. "Mal and her little gang are back on the Isle. And get this – they brought Prince Ben with them!"

Y/n's eyebrow arched slightly as he closed his book. "Is that so? How... interesting." His voice was calm, but there was an undercurrent of something darker. "I assume you have plans for this fortuitous turn of events?"

Uma's grin was sharp as a shark's. "Oh, you know me so well. I've already sent Harry and Gil to bring our royal visitor to us. But Y/n..." Her voice softened slightly, a hint of vulnerability showing through her tough exterior. "What about Mal? Are you going to try to win her back?"

Y/n sat up straighter, his golden eyes fixed on Uma. "And why would I do that, Uma? Do you think she deserves my attention after everything?"

Uma opened her mouth, then closed it again, unsure how to respond. Y/n stood, crossing the room in a few smooth strides. He took Uma's hand in his, his touch gentle despite the calluses from years of wielding weapons.

"Uma," he said softly, "you should know by now. You have me, all of me. There's no need for jealousy or doubt."

Uma's breath caught in her throat. "Y/n, I..."

Before she could finish, Y/n pulled a dagger from his belt. The blade glinted in the low light as he made a swift cut across his palm, then did the same to Uma's hand. She didn't flinch, her eyes locked on his face.

"With this blood, I bind us," Y/n intoned, pressing their bleeding palms together. "Our lives, our souls, united as one. Do you accept this bond, Uma?"

Uma's voice was barely a whisper. "I do."

A faint glow surrounded their joined hands, and Uma gasped as she felt a surge of power flow through her. When it faded, Y/n cupped her face in his hands and placed a tender kiss on her forehead.

"Now and always," he murmured, before turning and walking away, leaving Uma to process what had just occurred.

Meanwhile, in Ursula's Fish and Chips shop, chaos reigned. Mal had burst in, her eyes glowing green with barely contained fury.

"Where is he, Uma?" Mal demanded, magic crackling around her fists.

Uma lounged against the counter, a smirk playing on her lips. "Who, your precious little king? Oh, he's safe... for now."

Mal lunged forward, but Uma was ready. The two girls clashed in a flurry of fists and magic, their battle destroying tables and sending patrons fleeing.

"You've gotten soft in Auradon, Mal," Uma taunted as she dodged a blast of green energy. "Forgotten how we do things on the Isle?"

Mal snarled, her pixie heritage giving her enhanced speed and agility. "I haven't forgotten anything, Uma. Including how to take you down!"

The fight intensified, both girls drawing blood and leaving scorch marks on the walls. Just as Mal was about to land a devastating blow, a sudden pulse of energy sent her flying backwards. She crashed into the wall, her head ringing from the impact.

As Mal struggled to her feet, she saw Uma surrounded by a shimmering aura of power. Uma's eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed in triumph.

"Well, well," Uma purred. "Looks like I've got a guardian angel. Or should I say, a guardian chaos god?"

Mal's heart clenched as realization dawned. "Y/n," she whispered.

Uma's grin was vicious. "That's right, Mal. He's with me now. And if you want to see your precious Ben alive again, you'll bring me Fairy Godmother's wand."

Mal's jaw tightened. "Fine. But this isn't over, Uma."

As Mal turned to leave, Uma couldn't resist one final jab. "Oh, and Mal? Y/n sends his regards. We've gotten quite... close."

Mal paused, her back to Uma. "Is that so? Well, you might want to ask yourself, Uma – if he's so devoted to you, why does he always come running when I'm in danger?" With that parting shot, Mal stalked out of the shop.

Y/n's hideout was a testament to his parentage – a swirling mix of order and chaos, beautiful and terrifying all at once. When Mal and her friends entered, they found him lounging on a throne-like chair, idly toying with a ball of crackling energy.

"Well, if it isn't the prodigal daughter of evil," Y/n drawled, his eyes fixed on Mal. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Mal stepped forward, her chin raised defiantly. "Cut the act, Y/n. What's this I hear about you and Uma?"

Y/n's laugh was cold and bitter. "Act? Oh, Mal. You're the one who's been acting. Playing at being good, pretending you belong in Auradon. At least I know who and what I am."

He stood, moving closer to Mal. In one swift motion, he snatched the necklace from around her neck – the one he had given her long ago.

"You don't need this anymore," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "Uma deserves everything I can give her. My love, my loyalty, my devotion. She's never tried to change me or leave me behind."

Mal's eyes glistened with unshed tears. "Y/n, please. This isn't you. Uma's using you, can't you see that?"

Y/n's expression hardened. "No, Mal. For the first time, I see clearly. Now go. Try to save your king. But remember – the Isle always wins in the end."

As Mal and her friends left, Evie placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Are you okay?" she asked softly.

Mal squared her shoulders. "I have to be. We have a wand to fake and a king to save."

On Uma's ship, Y/n watched as she paced back and forth, muttering to herself. "Uma," he called out, concern lacing his voice. "What's troubling you?"

Uma stopped, turning to face him. "It's what Mal said. About you always coming when she's in danger. Is... is that true?"

Y/n sighed, pulling Uma close. "Come with me," he said, leading her to her cabin. Once inside, he retrieved a dusty tome from a hidden compartment.

"Do you know what this is?" he asked, opening the book to a specific page. Uma shook her head.

"This," Y/n explained, "is a record of ancient rituals and bonds. The blood-sharing we did? It's more than just a symbolic gesture. For beings like us – demigods, children of chaos – it's as binding as any marriage. More so, even. Our souls are literally entwined now, Uma."

Uma's eyes widened. "So when you saved me during the fight with Mal..."

Y/n nodded. "I felt your danger. Our bond called me to protect you. It has nothing to do with Mal, and everything to do with us."

Uma's face softened, a rare vulnerability showing through. "Y/n, I..."

Before she could finish, Harry burst into the cabin. "They're back!" he announced. "With the wand!"

The confrontation on the dock was tense. Mal held out the fake wand, her eyes never leaving Uma's face.

"The wand for Ben," she said firmly.

Uma reached for it, but Y/n's hand on her arm stopped her. "Be careful," he murmured. "Remember what we discussed about Fae magic."

Uma nodded, then took the wand. She waved it, expecting a surge of power. When nothing happened, her face contorted with rage.

"You lied!" she snarled, lunging at Mal.

Y/n caught her, holding her back. "Uma, stop. This isn't the way."

As chaos erupted around them, Y/n locked eyes with Mal over Uma's head. For a moment, something passed between them – regret, understanding, a hint of the connection they once shared. Then the moment was gone, and the battle raged on.

The Cotillion was in full swing when Ben arrived with Uma on his arm. The shocked gasps of the attendees were music to Uma's ears as Ben declared his love for her.

But the triumph was short-lived. Mal's true love's kiss broke the spell, and Uma found herself backed into a corner. With a cry of rage and pain, she leapt into the sea, the magic of her mother's shell transforming her into a magnificent, terrifying cecaelia.

As Mal transformed into a dragon to meet her, Uma felt a surge of power flow through her. Y/n's gift, their bond, giving her strength. The battle was fierce, water against fire, tentacles against wings.

In the end, it was Ben who stopped the fight. As Uma swam away, her heart heavy with defeat, she knew where she was going – back to the one person who truly understood her.

Y/n stood on the shore of the Isle, his eyes scanning the horizon. When he saw Uma emerge from the waves, her octopus form melting away, he opened his arms without a word.

Uma collapsed against him, her body shaking with silent sobs. Y/n held her close, stroking her hair.

"It's okay," he murmured. "You're home now. We'll find another way, Uma. I promise you, one day, we'll have the freedom you dream of. Together."

Uma looked up at him, her eyes shining with a mix of tears and determination. "Promise?"

Y/n smiled, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. "I swear it on the chaos that runs through our veins. You and me, Uma. Always."

As they stood there, the sun setting behind them, Y/n and Uma knew that this was just the beginning of their story. The Isle of the Lost might be their prison for now, but with their combined power and cunning, it was only a matter of time before they rewrote the rules of their world.

After all, in chaos, there was always opportunity. And they were nothing if not masters of chaos.

[bteezxyewriter12]

War

Pairing- Jungkook x Named Reader

Word count- 14.2k

Includes- One of my favorite fics I've written, historical fiction, war, battles, violence, death, blood, injuries, sex, pool sex, wall sex, cock riding, multiple orgasms, fluff, side characters from TV show Vikings

Tag List- @mingtina @jaxminnie @yeosayang @delightfulmoonbanana @tannie13 @y00nzin0 @marsstarxhwa

@borntowalkaway @soulseobi05 @kpop-bambi @seokwoosmole @meowmeowminnie @realisticnotes @effielumiere @svnbangtansworld @pinkies-things @insomniacatiny @marvelfamily3000 @amyz78 @blueie-things

Masterlists- check out for more fics

📝Masterlists 📝BTS Masterlist 📝Jungkook Masterlist

J POV

I am anxious while I get ready for battle. We landed on this island a few days ago. Ragnar went to speak to the King of this island, threatening war unless we are paid to leave

Same as always

I began to notice the more we travel east from Denmark the more well protected the kingdoms are. This kingdom is behind very high walls that surround it. Similar to the walls of Paris. We were not able to get into there either. Ragnar had to fake his death for us to get in and raid the city.

His special slave that he took from there told him about the island she was taken from. How far it was. How rich it was. How the king would never surrender to him

And naturally Ragnar wanted to raid it. Lagertha did not join Ragnar this time but his sons came along. Bjorn Ironside, Ubbe, Hvitserk, Sigurd snake in the eye and Ivar the boneless

Ivar is my husband. Ragnar married me to him because I am one of his war generals and Ivar is actually in love with me. And Ivar does not love anyone

I love him but I am not in love. He is not my soulmate and I am not his either. But we both married with the understanding that if we find our soulmates we would separate. Although I think it will be hard for him. He does not like to give up what is his. Or share

It is said that soulmates are incapable of physically harming each other. That sounds ridiculous

One of the maid doing my hair in braids pulls my hair hard and I yelp

"I am sorry", she says worryingly

"Is she hurting you?", Ivar asks, coming inside the tent

He is using the contraption he built so he can walk. The maid stiffens behind me and I know she is afraid. Ivar is known for being ruthless and anything or anyone who hurts me dies

"No", I answer

"Are you sure Joanne?"

"Yes Ivar, of course I'm sure", I assure him

The maid finish my hair and I get up to get dressed. I take off my dress and start pulling on my pants. When I turn around, Ivar is smirking at me

I raise my eyebrows, "Like what you see?"

"Always. It is too bad we have to go fight or I would have you right now"

"There is always tonight", I say

People always made fun of Ivar because he had one bad experience with Margrethe. And she told everyone. But I can tell anyone that Ivar has no problem getting stiff and having sex. He is really good at it. And he makes me scream all the time

"I do not want to wait that long", he complains

I shrug, "After battle then"

He nods. One of the maids helps me wrap my chest tightly with cloth, then helps with my shirt and leather armor.I put my daggers and axe on the belt Ivar made for me

I am good with throwing knives and he made me a belt that can hold ten at once. I take my sword and attach it to the belt as well. Checking to make sure I have an adequate amount of arrows, I sling the quiver over my back, then grab my bow and shield

"You are a fearsome shieldmaiden, love", Ivar says, looking at me

I smile at him, "So are you. Well fearsome warrior, not shieldmaiden"

He smiles too

"Ready?", I ask

He nods and I wait for him to put his braces on. He stands, kisses me and we walk outside

-----------

Ragnar returns a few minutes later and tells us we are going into battle now. The seer calls the war generals to him, so I walk over along with Ivar. The seer sacrifices a goat and he dips his fingers in the blood, then runs his hand down the first war general's face. When he gets to me, I don't move back, letting him drag the blood down my face

The blood feels warm on my skin and the smell fills my nose. When I move my mouth I can taste the coppery taste of the blood since it was on my lips too. This is nothing new, this is done before every battle. When that's done, I walk back to Ivar who is in his horse and chariot now

"Come love, ride with me for now", he asks

I nod and climb in the chariot too. There is plenty of room. Ragnar gives the signal and we start marching towards the wall

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

Jungkook POV

I cannot believe I have to fight today. Why would king Yoongi not just pay the heathens and spare our lives? And I have to fight. I am one of his war generals

I saw the king of the people who came here when he went to speak to king Yoongi. I was in the room with them. Northmen they are called. We know about them because of Namjoon, who acts as an interpreter. Once king Yoongi heard of these northmen raiding surrounding cities, he told Namjoon to learn all about them and learn their language. He was able to translate between the king whose name is Ragnar and king Yoongi.

They apparently cause massive destruction and are skilled in battle and war. They have successfully raided many cities and overthrew many kings around their country and beyond

Ragnar became king by killing the former king and taking his place

And they successfully raided the surrounding kingdoms near us. King Yoongi refused Ragnar's terms and after Ragnar left, king Yoongi called the army to gather and prepare to fight

I do not want to fight

We will have to fight outside the walls and that always makes me nervous. If we fall, then the northmen may be able to knock down the walls or find a way in. I will not let that happen

Standing outside the walls of my city, I hold my sword and shield waiting for the opposing army to come. I know King Yoongi is up on the wall looking down, watching

A few minutes later, I see people begin to appear. They look just like their king

Long hair, long beards, leather armor. And they are huge men. They could wipe out a few of our soldiers at a time. They stop a good distance away. Someone walks to the front of the faction that is in front of me. I do a double take. Is that...

A woman?

I look closer. It is. It is a woman. They let their women fight?

She looks like a warrior, with her shield and array of weapons. She is wearing the same leather armor as the men, her dark hair up, blood on her face

It is then that I look around the army and see other women standing among the men. This is insane. We are supposed to kill women?

Ragnar yells something to king Yoongi. I hear Namjoon yell something back in their language. Ragnar shrugs then says something to his army

A few men step forward. And the girl with the blood on her face does too. She hands her shield to the warrior next to her, taking an arrow and putting it in her bow. The men do the same. They will never reach us, they are too far away. The men shoot their arrows at us but they fall feet short of us

I watch the girl and she points her bow to our archers on the wall. There is no way she can make that hit. She lets the arrow loose and I watch it sail over us and hit one of our archers in the chest. He topples forward and falls off the wall

I stand there shocked and watch another arrow take another of our archers. I turn back to the girl. She is firing her arrows in rapid succession. And she is hitting her target every time. How is she this good with a bow? She is going to take out our archers on this side

"She is killing all our archers!", I hear one of the men say

"How is she able to make the shot?"

"She should not be able to. Maybe she's a witch"

"Why is she there in the first place? Women should not be fighting"

"Be quiet", I snap

They are not wrong with their questions but now is not the time to lose focus

"Focus on the army in front of you", I order

Their army is out of range for our archers although we try to fire at them. The girl walks along her army, firing arrows at the wall. I watch her as she moves and notice she is down to her last arrow. That quiver was full of arrows when she started. She killed that many people already and the battle hasn't even started yet. She walks back to the warrior holding her shield, takes it from him and pulls out her sword. Honestly she frightens me a bit

Ragnar gives a signal and she shouts, marching forward. The faction of the army behind her follows her. Is she...a war leader? A woman is a war leader? I see more men all along the army leading their faction towards us. Including Ragnar. Which is strange to me. A king who fights alongside their army? But I cannot keep my eyes off the woman, marching towards us

Quickly glancing at the wall behind me, I see that some archers survived her attack. We will be able to kill some of them now. Once her and her warriors reach the archer range, I wait to see them fall

But she shouts something and all the warriors run together building a wall out of their shields. And the arrows hit the shields instead of the warriors. My mouth drops. I have never seen anything like that in my life

We are all dead

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

J POV

"Shieldwall", I shout and in a few seconds, shields surround me and my warriors

"Forward", I shout and we walk more towards the opposing army

I hear the arrows hitting the shields. I took out as many of their archers as I could. But I knew some were still there, hiding from me. I peer through a small hole in the shield to see. I do not look for too long. I do not want to get hit in the face if an arrow makes it through

When I look again, the other army is close and we are almost ready to break off. Just a few more steps. Finally we are close enough that the arrows stop to avoid hitting their army.

"Break!", I yell and all the shields move

We all run towards the army, swords swinging. I hold my shield up and swing my sword down into the man in front of me. It goes into his shoulder and I pull down with all my strength, cutting down to his chest. Blood sprays in my face, on my armor and shield. I pull up as the man falls, releasing my sword

I turn, swinging again and hitting another man in the back. I see a sword coming towards me and I raise my shield, the sword hitting the shield. The impact sends shockwaves down my arm but I do not drop my shield. I am used to this. I love this. I was born to fight.

I stab my sword towards the man and bury it in his stomach. Pulling out the sword, I continue to fight through the men coming at me. Using my shield I slam it into the man in front of me, knocking him down, while I stab my sword into another. I look up seeing a man further away from me, swinging his sword and killing my men easily. He blocks all hits with his shield and hits his mark every time with his sword

He's an excellent fighter. And he's beautiful. Too bad I need to take him out. But I have to kill everyone in front of me first

Raising my sword I swing it down but the man in front of me blocks my hit with his sword. I keep fighting with him, waiting for him to make a mistake. He raises his arm with the sword but forgets to hold up his shield, leaving him open. I thrust my sword through his chest as hard as I can and it goes right into him, coming out of his back

Fuck. I have to let go of my sword. I cannot pull it out now. He falls forward and I let go of the hilt moving away. It is fine, I have fought without swords before. A man comes running at me and I swing my shield, slamming it across his face. He goes down and I raise the shield, slamming it down on his neck, decapitating him

I lift up the shield and when I look up across the field, I see the man who fights well, staring at me with anger in his eyes

I just smirk at him

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

Jungkook POV

I cannot believe I just watched this woman decapitate one of my men with her shield. And when she saw me, she smiled. Anger like I never felt rises in me. She needs to die. She is good at fighting and is a huge threat. She lost her sword so she should be easier to kill

But as I watch her kill every one who goes against her with her shield, I know she will not go down easily. I have never seen anyone fight with a shield like that. These northmen really are ruthless and mad

I bury my sword into the man in front of me and pull it out as he falls back. Turning, I seeing one of my men fighting with another woman. He looks like he is trying to back away and not fight her. That will not work with these women. They are more violent than the men

"Kill her!", I yell at him

He looks at me for a moment, then nods. I hear a sword coming towards me and I spin slamming my sword up, hitting the one coming down. The man swings his sword again and I block it again. I decide to take the cue from the girl and slam my shield into the man. It works and he stumbles, allowing me to stab him in the chest. When I pull my sword out, he falls and I look back at my warrior to see him bury the sword in the women he was fighting

I look around and find the girl again. Her shield is now broken and she has no weapon. She grabs a piece of the wood and attacks one of my men, running at him while he is swinging his sword at her. These people have no fear, I realize. She dodges the sword and slams the wood in his chest, killing him. I watch her take out an axe and go into the next man. I cannot believe it. She's fighting with a small axe and killing everyone she fights

One of her warriors comes running at me and I raise my arm with my shield just in time to block the hit. Pain radiates down my arm and my shield breaks in half. Fuck. I let go of the rest of it and use both hands to swing my sword, decapitating the man. Blood is all over me and I grimace. I do not enjoy killing people like these northmen seem to. I need to find the girl and kill her

Fighting and killing everyone who comes in my way, I search for her. I find her again, seeing her throw a knife and it landing in the forehead of one of our soldiers. She turns to one of my men coming at her too late and he stabs his sword in her shoulder, some of it coming out of the back

She does not scream and I watch in horror as she grabs the sword and pulls it out of her shoulder. My warrior stares at her in horror as well and she takes the chance to strike. She swings her arm, cutting his throat with her axe. And she keeps moving and fighting, like she did not just get a major wound. We are not going to win. These people are brutal. And it is like they do not feel pain

She throws her axe, burying it in one man then spins and throws a knife into another. I watch her run to another of my men, punching him right in the face. She lifts her leg and kicks him in the side, then smashes her foot in his kneecap. He goes down and she goes behind him, her hands on his neck. She pulls her hands in opposite directions snapping his neck

I cannot believe I just watched a woman do that. As he falls to the side, she jumps over him and grabs his sword, then turns to fight another. There is no more time to waste now and I start walking towards her

Cutting down anyone who gets in my way, I am solely focused on her. She is finally a few feet away from me, fighting against another of my men. She slams the sword in the side of his neck then pulls it out as he falls

"You!", I shout

She turns and looks at me. And even through all the blood on her, I realize she is absolutely beautiful. Large deep eyes, long hair in intricate braids, small nose. Then she smiles and I get so angry for thinking that when she is killing all my men. I start walking towards her when I see her throw a dagger at me

Shit

I have no shield and I wait for the pain. But as I watch the dagger comes closer it passes right through me. What? I glance behind me quickly to see the dagger landed in the dirt a few feet behind me. No blood on it. I look down at my shirt and there is no blood, no pain

Oh shit. I look back up at the girl covered in blood

She is my soulmate

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

J POV

I stare in horror as the dagger I threw at the man I want so badly to kill, pass right through him

He is not...

He cannot be....

He is not my soulmate?

Surely I missed and confused what I saw

But...I never miss

Ever

No, it is not true

I growl and swing the sword, running at him, pain exploding in my shoulder but I ignore it. I will not let that slow me down. Lagertha taught me to fight through pain

As soon as I get close, he brings his sword up and stops mine. He maneuvers his sword trying to hit me with it but I block it with my sword. We keep fighting with both of us trying to get the upper hand and failing. I let out a frustrated scream, and swing the sword into his side

We both watch in horror as my sword passes right through his body. There is no blood, no wound, nothing. And he is not screaming. This is NOT happening. It is not

I hear footsteps and see one of the enemy warriors run at me.bMoving back from the other man, my soul...no he is not, I face off with the other fighter, still shaken by not being able to kill the other man. I fight the man in front of me but I move too slowly to block the sword and I feel pain burst in my side and along my stomach. I look down to see blood spilling from the slash wound he made with his sword. I am shocked he was able to do this and I watch him swing the sword again. I block it but not fast enough and it cuts into the side of my torso. I stifle a scream and punch the man in the face. Then I plunge the sword into his chest, burying it to the hilt. I let go of the sword and shove the body aside

Then I turn to the other man and run at him, ignoring the pain

He swings his sword but I duck and his momentum turns his body to the side. I kick at the sword making him let it go. I grab his shoulder and pull him back to face me. I punch him across the jaw but my hand passes through him

"What the fuck?", I yell

I do not see his hand come up as he tries to punch me in the face. I see his hand and I know it went into my face but I do not feel any pain

No

This is not real. I move back from him and try to kick him in the stomach. My leg passes into him but it is like he is a ghost. He makes no sound of pain and just looks up at me. He is real, I know he is real, I touched his shoulder

I grab his wrist, feeling him to make sure he is real. He grabs my other arm, feeling me as well. He says something but I do not understand his language. He looks at me then back down. He raises his hand to my side wound, looking back up at me. I raise my eyebrow but I do not stop him

He touches my wound and presses on it. But it does not hurt. I slap his hand away and I press on my wound. Pain slices through me and I yell bending over, squeezing his arm that my other hand is still on

I look up at him and he is looking at me in fear. He grabs my other arm and helps me right myself up. I move my hand gesturing him to press on the wound again. He hesitates but then he touches me and this time I watch. I feel his hand on the wound, on my skin. But as soon as he presses, his fingers pass through my translucent skin and there is not any pain

Holy shit, he is my soulmate

He pulls his hand away and starts yelling in his language

"Joanne!", I hear someone yell my name

I turn to see Ragnar staring at me

"Kill him!", he shouts

"I...I cannot!"

"What, why not? Snap his neck!"

"I cannot. He is...he is...", I stammer, looking at the man

"He is what?"

"He is my soulmate. I cannot hurt him. It does not work! He does not feel any pain when I try to hit him. My sword passes right through him"

"What the hell?"

I turn my head to Ragnar

"And I do not feel anything when he tries to hit me"

"Fine, I will kill him", Ragnar bellows, coming towards him

The man picks up his sword getting ready to fight. No, this man is no match for Ragnar. No one has ever gone against Ragnar and won. I watch Ragnar come closer and raise his sword. Without thinking, I pick up a sword from the ground. As soon as Ragnar is close enough he brings the sword down towards the man. I run and step in front of him, raising my sword and stopping Ragnar's sword with mine

"What are you doing?", Ragnar roars

"I.....you cannot kill him.", I answer, "He is my soulmate"

Ragnar looks at me in disbelief. What the hell am I doing? How can I be defending this man? This enemy? I should not be but he is my soulmate. I cannot let him die. And if I have to protect him from my side, my family, I will. And I cannot believe I am willing to do this for someone I do not know. Turn my back on everything I know. But I will

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

Jungkook POV

I stare in shock as the girl runs in front of me and raises her sword against her king. To protect me. She blocks his sword and he starts yelling at her. She talks back to him and I hear the panic in her voice even though I don't know what she is saying. I realize the huge risk she is taking to protect me. She is turning her back on her king, her people, her country. And he could kill her for it

I watch them argue, him yelling at her, her speaking lowly and in fear. He then looks at her and asks her something. I hear her speak, her voice sad but firm. Ragnar lets out a yell, lowering his sword. She lowers hers too but then he punches her across the face, shouting something. She sways to the side and I do not know why but I pull her to me and hold my sword out towards him

"Do not touch her!", I yell

As much as I know I should let him kill her, I cannot watch her die. She is my soulmate. I cannot let her be killed, especially for protecting me. Ragnar looks at me in fury but I keep a tight grip on her and start walking backwards. She comes with me but I do not take my eyes off Ragnar. I call out for the rest of my men and they move in front of me as I pull the girl with me. The battle is dying down right now. I need to get her inside. She needs the medics to look at her

Ragnar gives me a nasty look, then calls something out. His men listen to him and they slowly back away. For now

"Open the gate! Now", I yell

I tell my men, "Stay out here until they all leave"

The gate opens and I go inside with the girl. Once inside she moves away from me and falls on the floor

"I need a medic!", I yell, "Get one now!"

"Jungkook"

Shit. I turn and see King Yoongi staring at me from up on the wall

"Do you want to tell me what the fuck you are doing?"

"Please your majesty, please let a medic help her and I will tell you anything you want"

I don't know why but I am terrified of her dying

He stares at me, "Fine. Bring her to the palace and have Hoseok and Seokjin take care of her. I will be there soon and you better have a good explanation for this"

I nod, "Thank you"

I kneel next to the girl and look at her. I know she will not understand me but I talk to her anyway

"Can you come with me? I am bringing you to get your wounds fixed"

She looks up at me and she is crying. I feel my heart hurt for her. She just left everything behind when she came in here. I do not know if she can walk so I gently put my arms around her. She doesn't push me off so I keep moving, picking her up as I stand. She lays her head on my shoulder and cries more. I hurry to the palace as fast as I can

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

I watch as Hoseok sews the wound on her side and Seokjin works on her shoulder. She does not scream or make a sound as they work. Does it not hurt? Does she not feel pain?

No, she does, I saw when she pressed on her wound and the sound she made. Is she trained to not focus on the pain? The other warriors did not seem to feel pain either. Hoseok finishes then pulls a metal dagger from the fire. He lays it on her side to cauterize the wound. The girl grimaces and she starts breathing heavily. After, Hoseok gives it to Jin and starts cleaning her slash that is across her side to her stomach. Jin presses the dagger on her shoulder wound, then puts it back in the fire

"Jungkook", King Yoongi says as he enters the room

I stand up and bow to him. Hoseok and Seokjin do as well

"Get up all of you", he snaps, then turns to me, "You better start explaining why she is inside my kingdom and in my palace no less. And what you were doing with her on the battlefield"

"She is my soulmate"

"What?", Hoseok gasps, looking up at me

"Fix her wound!", I yell

He scowls but he turns back to her. Seokjin gently moves her shoulder and starts cleaning the wound on the back of her shoulder

"Start speaking", King Yoongi demands

I quickly explain what happened when she threw the dagger at me and when we fought. Then I tell him about what happened when she touched her wound and when I did

"I really cannot physically hurt her. It is just like the stories and texts say."

"Prove it", King Yoongi says

"Now?"

She is being tended to by the medics

"Yes now", he snaps walking towards her

"Move", he tells Seokjin

Seokjin stands aside and I move quickly to the girl's side. King Yoongi presses on the wound Seokjin is fixing. The one on the back of her shoulder. She yells in pain and glares at King Yoongi

"She feels pain. Now you touch her"

I'm not comfortable with this but I can disobey an order from my king

She looks pissed off, so I tell her, "It is alright"

She looks at me, then turns away. I put my hand on her arm. Then I press my fingers into her wound. Her skin goes translucent and my fingers pass through her. She does not move or make a sound

"Oh my god", Seokjin gasps

"The same thing happens when she tries to hurt me", I tell them

"Fine she is your soulmate. Why is she here?", King Yoongi demands

Was he not watching how Ragnar was going to kill her? How could he think I would let that happen?

"Because she tried to protect me. When Ragnar came to kill me she grabbed a sword, stepped in front of me and stopped Ragnar. They argued and I knew that he would kill her for what she did and probably what she was saying to him. When he punched her in the face, I could not let him hurt her. So I brought her with me", I explain

"Without asking me"

"I had to make a quick decision. I am sorry", I answer

"Why should I not kill her right now?", he asks menacingly

Because she would probably get up and kill him. I have seen her fight, close up, with the wounds she has still bleeding. He has not. She can kill everyone in this room in minutes. But I cannot say that

"Because she is my soulmate. Because by protecting me she turned her back on Ragnar and her country. She has no where to go.", I reason

"So I should just throw her out and let Ragnar kill her"

"If you do then I am going with her", I answer

I do not know when I decided this but once I said it I realize it is true. If he makes her leave, I am going with her

King Yoongi stares at me in shock

"You would leave here, you're home, your position in my army to follow her? A heathen Northman?"

I know he is going to get angry but now that I found her, I cannot let her go. I just cannot

"Yes"

King Yoongi turns from me and I know he is calming himself down

"Get Namjoon. She needs to start talking"

A guard in the room bows then leaves

I sit next to her while Hoseok and Seokjin still fix her remaining wounds. She does not look at me, just at the wall. I want to comfort her so I take her hand. And I am surprised but glad to feel her squeeze mine

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

J POV

The two healers finish working on me . I do not move, I just lay down, holding my soulmate's hand. I do not know why I have not shoved his hand away but I do not want to. Holding his hand is making things a little bit better. I cannot believe I rose a sword against Ragnar. That is treason and betrayal. I know that I can never go back. Not after that. If I do they will kill me . And not quickly. I will be killed by the blood eagle. I rather kill myself

Why did I protect this man? Why? Ragnar retreated today but he will be back. And Ivar will come for me

I do not know if he would want me back or want to kill me. Either way Ragnar will never let me live. Whether it would be a public execution or a secret one, I am dead if I go back

A few minutes later another man comes inside the room. The king starts talking fast. I know he is angry I am here

I understand. I am the enemy. But the man, my soulmate, is fighting to keep me here. I do not understand him but I know that is what he is doing

The man who just came in talks to my soulmate. He nods then looks at me, saying something I do not understand softly. He has a nice voice. He makes a move to put his arms around me. I do not know why but I trust him. He helps me sit up, pain filling my body. The wounds hurt but I have been hurt worse before

He helps me stand and walks with me to another room. In this room there's a large table with an intricate chair. A throne. For the king

There are regular chairs around the table. The king sits down on the throne and motions for us to sit down. The man helps me get to a chair and helps me sit down. He sits next to me and then holds my hand. And I like it. What is wrong with me?

"I am Namjoon", the man from before says in my language

How the fuck does he know it?

"How do you know what I speak?", I ask

"I studied your language and culture when we found out your people were attacking kingdoms around ours"

So they knew we were coming

"What is your name?"

"Joanne. Joanne Lothbrok", I answer, "Who is your king?"

I do not know his name. It never mattered before, I never needed to know the name of the kings we raided

I did not care

"King Min, Yoongi"

"King Min?"

Stupid name

"No. Min is his last name. He is King Yoongi"

Alright, why did he not just fucking say that?

I look at my soulmate, "What is his name?"

"Jungkook", my soulmate answers, "Jeon, Jungkook"

Strange name

"Jungkook", I repeat

He nods, then points at me, "Joanne?"

I nod. He smiles and it is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. I cannot tear my eyes away

King Yoongi starts talking to Namjoon

"King Yoongi wants to know why you are fighting since you are a woman?"

I roll my eyes, turning to Namjoon. This is the same question every King has asked

"I am a shieldmaiden. In our kingdom the women fight as well as men. We are trained as well. Not all women are shieldmaidens but all women know how to use a sword. To protect the home when the men are raiding"

Namjoon turn to his king and speaks in their language. The king answers then Namjoon turns back to me

"How important are you in the army? You led a group of men to battle"

"I am a war general in Ragnar's army"

"How did you become a war general?", he asks

"Because I am good at fighting and killing. I am his best shieldmaiden, the best out of his warriors"

"How did you become the best?"

"Because I was trained by his first wife Lagertha"

I wait while he translates to King Yoongi

"Your name is not like theirs"

"No. I was taken by Lagertha when they raided Northumbria, when I was five. Before that, I was taken from my home in Rome when the king of Northumbria came on a pilgrimage to see the pope. I was sold by my parents to the king to become a maid when I was three"

"They raised you then? The northmen?"

"Yes"

"Are you Christan?"

"No. I adopted the northmen gods and goddess. I believe in them"

Again I wait for Namjoon to translate

I watch Jungkook's face as he listens to Namjoon. He looks surprised but at what I do not know

"Why should king Yoongi not return you to your people?"

I do not know. I cannot answer that. He should not keep me here. He should throw me back to them. It is what I would do. He does not seem to be like Ragnar who's interested in other cultures. Ragnar took Athelstan when he first raided Northumbria and they were close friends. I doubt King Yoongi would do that

"The only thing I can say is that they will kill me much more brutally than your king will."

"How?"

"By the blood eagle"

"What is that?"

I explain to him how the blood eagle works. The cutting of the back of the skin, the breaking of the ribs with an axe, then pulling out the lungs and placing them on the back. His face pales as I go on

"And if I want to be welcomed in Valhalla, I cannot make a sound while it is happening"

"Valhalla?"

I nod, "Where all warriors and shieldmaidens go after death to await Ragnarok"

He looks at me confused and I sigh explaining, "The end of our world"

"Has this, blood eagle been done before?", he chokes out

I nod

"Yes to a jarl who betrayed Ragnar. I witnessed it. And what I did was betrayal and treason just like the jarl"

I watch Namjoon turn to King Yoongi and start explaining what I told him. King Yoongi's eyebrow raises as he listens. But Jungkook starts yelling something and I can tell he is upset by his tone. King Yoongi barks at him but he keeps arguing. King Yoongi slams his fist on the table and Jungkook stops talking. Silence fills the room before I start talking

"What did Jungkook say?"

"He was expressing that King Yoongi could not let you go back and be killed that way. That there was no way that he would let you go back to that"

I look back at Jungkook and he shakes his head, talking to me

"It is ok", I tell him

He shakes his head again

"Joanne, is Ragnar going to leave? He retreated today"

I take a breath. These people have no idea how ruthless he is

"No. He will not leave until you give him what he asks for or until he breaks in and raids the kingdom. And he may demand me"

"You?"

"Yes. My husband will demand to have me returned as well. For execution or to stay with him I do not know"

"You are married?"

I nod, "I am married to Ragnar's son, Ivar the boneless"

"Why is he called boneless?"

I explain to him Ivar's condition. Then his personality

"When he wants something, he will stop at nothing to get it. And he will want me back. He is worse than Ragnar in that regard"

Namjoon sighs, then turns to tell King Yoongi what I said. I guess he gets to the part with Ivar, because Jungkook turns to me and asks me a question, surprised

Namjoon finishes translating then says, "Jungkook wants to know if you love Ivar"

I talk to Namjoon but I look at Jungkook, "No. I care about him but I do not love him. I was never in love with him or anyone else before"

He tells Jungkook what I said and Jungkook talks again

"He is asking why you married him"

I sigh, "You do not know Ivar. When he wants something he gets it. No matter the cost or what he has to do. He is ruthless. He has never been violent to me but I have seen him be to others. And he had never loved anything or anyone before. And he fell in love with me. There is no way he will let me go. And I never thought I would find my soulmate, so I married him"

Namjoon speaks to Jungkook but he just looks at me, in my eyes. Jungkook speaks to me as he looks at me

"He is asking if you will stay with him. He promises to protect you and keep you safe. But only if you want that"

I don't hesitate

I nod, "Yes"

I do not know why but I do not want to leave him. And I will not, if I can help it

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

Jungkook POV

She nods when I ask her to stay with me. I will protect her and keep her safe for as long as I live

She talks to me and Namjoon translates what she is saying, "I will stay with you and protect you as well."

I smile because I know she can. I saw her fight

"Excuse me. Are you not forgetting that she needs my permission to stay?", King Yoongi hisses

I look over to him, "I am sorry your majesty but where she is, I will be. So either she stays here with me or I go with her"

King Yoongi narrows his eyes, "Fine. But if she stays she fights against her people."

I am shocked

"You cannot ask her to do that!"

"I can if she wants to stay", King Yoongi snarls, "Namjoon translate now"

Namjoon tells her about fighting against Ragnar. Her eyes widen and she starts speaking rapidly. I wish I could speak her language

"She says she cannot do that. She could never kill the people she grew up with, who took her in and loved her"

"Then she leaves", King Yoongi answers

"And I will too", I growl

"You will not. You are a war general in my army. You will not follow her", he orders

That's an order I cannot follow. She defied her king for me. Now I am going to do the same

"I am sorry majesty but I am going with her. You cannot stop me"

King Yoongi raises his eyebrows

"Guards, take the prisoner"

My heart fills with dread. Guards come and grab her by both arms. She struggles against them but they get her hands behind her and shackle them. She starts yelling in her language

"What is she saying?", King Yoongi demands

Namjoon is looking at her as he speaks, "She is saying she is going to kill us all. That none of us will survive"

At that moment, she slams her head back into the chin of the guard behind her. The guard stumbles back and she lifts her arms, contorting her body like. I have never seen before until she gets her arms back in front of her. I have never seen anything like that. It is like she does not have bones. The other guard comes at her but she side steps him, kicking him in his side. As he doubles over, she grabs his head and slams his head into her knee

She is absolutely amazing

He groans falling to his knees. She goes behind him and snaps his neck easily. King Yoongi is standing there unamused and Namjoon is in pure shock. The other guard gets up and runs to her. She throws a punch, her fist slamming his face, blood bursting from his nose

"Oh my god", Namjoon whispers, terrified as he watches her

She goes behind the guard and throws the chain that is attached to her shackles over his head. She pulls back the chain against his throat, crossing the chains and choking him

"Stop", King Yoongi yells

She shouts at him as the guard desperately tries to get the chain off. He leans forward but she presses her knee against his back and keeps pulling the chain

"What is she saying?", King Yoongi yells

"That she is coming for you next", Namjoon whispers

"Guard. Go to Jungkook and hold him there", King Yoongi orders

What?

Suddenly there is a guard behind me and a sword against my neck

"Joanne!", King Yoongi shouts

She lifts her head up and sees me, yelling

"She says stop, do not hurt Jungkook", Namjoon yells

"Then tell her to let the guard go and stop fighting!"

Namjoon translates and she answers

"She wants to know if you will leave Jungkook alone and alive if she stops fighting"

"Yes"

Namjoon translates. She lets go of the guard, who gasps for breath and steps away

"Take her to the prison", King Yoongi orders

"No!", I yell

"Stay there. Do not move", King Yoongi growls

The guard gets up from the floor and turns to her. He punches her across the face, her head snapping to the side

"Stop!", I cry, horrified

She slowly turns to the guard, fire in her eyes. She spits blood from her mouth in his face. He yells and hits her again

"Stop! Stop him! Please", I shout

"Enough. Take her. Now", King Yoongi demands

I watch as the guard grabs the chains and pulls, making her follow him. And I cannot do anything. He is going to hurt her because of me. She will not fight back to keep me alive. King Yoongi makes a gesture and the sword is removed from my neck

"Give her back to me", I shout

He raises an eyebrow, "No. You know my demand for her to stay"

"That is not fair to ask of her. I would never fight against you or any of my men if they had taken me! Why would you expect her too?"

"Because she wants to stay with you. Let me make this clear, I have no use for her. Whether she lives or dies is not my concern. She came here with her fucking army. She slaughtered more than half of your faction. She killed one guard so easily and almost killed another. She threatened to kill me. And you want me to let her run around free? No, that will not happen"

I understand where he is coming from. He is the king, he needs to protect himself and his kingdom. But I do not care about that, I care about her

"She will not be running free. She will be with me. In my home. Away from you"

"And you will be there with her, will you not?"

I nod. I will be

"That does not work for me. I need you here, leading your part of the army. You need to stay here"

"So you are leaving her in a cell?", I cry

"For now. I have not decided if I am giving her back to Ragnar or not. Or if I am going to keep her alive."

I am so scared he is going to have her killed and I will not be there to protect her. And he cannot give her back to Ragnar. I cannot let her die by the way they will kill her. The blood eagle. I was horrified hearing about how it is done. That she cannot make a sound or she will not enter Valhalla upon death. Or that she actually witnessed that being done to someone. I cannot imagine watching that

"If I stay, then keep her alive. Please"

"You are staying regardless of what I do with her."

"Please your majesty. Please do not kill her", I beg

He stares at me for some time, then says, "I will not kill her for now"

"Thank you"

I am not stupid, I know he can go back on his word whenever he feels like it

"May I see her?", I ask

"Not now. Tomorrow."

I just nod. I know if I ask for anything else, he will just get angry. And he does things without thinking when he is angry

"Go check on your men and see whose still alive"

Then he turns away from me and walks out of the room. Namjoon is about to leave when I stop him

"Yes?", he asks

"Teach me her language", I say

He nods

🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰

The Next Day

Jungkook POV

I am impatiently pacing in the meeting room we were all in yesterday. Namjoon is here and I am waiting for King Yoongi and Joanne. I was summoned here today to talk with her again

Yesterday after she was taken from me, I had Namjoon teach me some phrases and words in her language along with some answers she might give. It is not much but at least I can ask her if she is alright and know what she is saying. He has agreed to teach me some of her language everyday. King Yoongi walks in and we all bow

"Sit", he commands

Namjoon and I sit in the same seats as we did yesterday

King Yoongi sits and speaks to me, "I want you to talk to her. I decided she does not have to fight against her people in battle. But she must tell us a way to make them go away or defeat them. And she seems the most receptive to you"

I nod. I can do that. She is still betraying her people but she will not be doing it in physical combat. Although I already know she is going to refuse. I would

"Where is she?", I ask

"She is being brought to us"

We wait a few minutes and the wait is killing me. I hear chain noises and I look up to the doorway. A guard comes in first, then her. And I gasp when I see her. She looks so much worse than yesterday. Her face is bruised all over, her lip is split and she has a bloody bandage wrapped around her upper arm. She has dirt all over her skin and her hair is unbraided and a little messy. She is dragged to the chair next to me and forced roughly into the chair

"Joanne", I whisper

She turns to me

When she sees me she smiles, "Jungkook"

I feel so much happiness when she says my name

"What happened?", I ask in her language

She raises an eyebrow and asks something. Namjoon answers and her smile widens. She talks to me but I only pick up a few words- me, he, hurt

"She says she was hit over and over by the guard she tried to kill. He cut her arm and threw her in a cell. Her body hurts but she's alive"

"I am sorry", I whisper in her language

She shakes her head, talking while Namjoon translates, "No Jungkook, it is not your fault. I said I would protect you and I will keep my promise"

She should not have to protect me. I should be protecting her. She was hurt and I was not there. Again. I look down and she takes my hands, holding on tightly, speaking

"She says do not blame yourself. She does not blame you"

I look back up at her and gently touch the side of her face, nodding. I still blame myself but I will not show it to her

"Jungkook, talk to her about what I told you too", King Yoongi demands impatiently

I sigh but I speak with Namjoon translating

"My king says you do not have to fight against your people"

She nods

"But he wants you to tell us a way to make them go away or how to defeat them"

Sadness enters her face as she speaks

"The only way to make them go away is to give them what they want. And I will not tell you how to defeat them. I will not be responsible for their deaths"

Glancing at King Yoongi, I can see the anger fill his face

"Take her back", he snarls

The guard grabs her by her arms and rips her away from me, hauling her out of the chair

"No. Joanne!", I yell, "Stop, please stop"

She struggles against the guard, yelling too

"Jungkook! Jungkook!"

"Take her!", King Yoongi yells

Another guard comes to help, each one taking one of her arms and dragging her back. I cannot help it, tears start falling as I watch her being torn away from me. I start moving towards her to get her from them

"Guards, hold him!", king Yoongi shouts

Two more guards move forward blocking my way and holding my arms

"Stay here Jungkook", king Yoongi barks, looking at me with barely controlled rage

But I am just as angry. The guards get her out of the room but I can still hear her screaming my name

"Jungkook!"

She is calling for me and I cannot do anything. Again

"Are you weeping?", King Yoongi asks incredulously

I don't answer and wipe my eyes

"Do you love her?", he questions

"Yes", I answer with no hesitation

I do. I do not know how I fell in love so fast. But I did the second I found out she is my soulmate. I feel complete now that I found her. I cannot explain the feeling. I just know I belong with her

"That is too bad", he sneers

"Www...why?"

Why? What is he going to do?

"Because I am giving her back to Ragnar"

"No. You cannot. You cannot", I cry, hysterically

"I can and I am"

"No. Please no. I...I cannot be without her!"

"You will have to be"

Then he stands and leaves the room

And I fall apart

🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰

A Day Later

J POV

I open my eyes as my cell opens. The guard grumbles something at me, waving his hand up. I sit up, peering at the guard. He starts yelling but I have no idea what he is saying. All I know is the king is keeping me apart from Jungkook

I feel like I am dying inside. I want to stay with him. I love him. It happened so fast but I love him. And being away from him is killing me

The guard grabs the chains and yanks me up. I stumble to my feet and follow him. He walks fast pulling me behind him. I am trying to keep up with him but I am so tired. I am led outside, closing my eyes against the bright sun. I have not been outside in two days. I guess I am going back to Ragnar

People look at me as I follow the guard, whispering. I do not know what they are saying and I do not care either. The closer to the wall I get the more I hear. And what I hear sends chills down my spine

"I demand my wife back!"

It is Ivar. He came for me

"I will slaughter all of you if you do not give her back"

He will. He absolutely will. I am led up the stairs to the top of the wall, to King Yoongi. He glares at me, takes my chain from the guard and leads me to the edge. I can see everything from up here. And I see Ragnar's entire army with him and his sons at the front. Ivar is screaming for me, in his chariot

King Yoongi motions for Namjoon, who yells out, "She is right here"

I know Ivar sees me because he yells, "Joanne, I have come for you"

I have nothing to say. There is nothing to say

Then Ragnar yells, "You must give her back so she can answer for her crimes"

I knew it. They are going to kill me. I look down at King Yoongi's men and my heart stops. Jungkook is there, right in the front, just like he was the first time. Looking up at me. King Yoongi is making him fight. My heart breaks. Ragnar will aim for him. Kill him to spite me and then execute me

Namjoon yells, "If you get her back will you leave?"

Ragnar answers by yelling and charging with his army. I watch in horror as Jungkook gets ready for the first wave of my warriors as they crash into king Yoongi's men. Jungkook kills every man who comes in his way. He fights gracefully and efficiently, stabbing and cutting off heads

But I watch Ivar and Ragnar as well. Ivar is cutting through king Yoongi's army with his chariot and Ragnar is killing his way to Jungkook

"He is going to kill him", I whisper

"What?", Namjoon asks

"Ragnar, he is going to kill Jungkook. He is going straight to him", I answer pointing to Ragnar

Namjoon translates to King Yoongi, then speaks to me, "The king says that Jungkook will win. He is the best fighter"

I shake my head, "He will not. Ragnar has never lost. He has killed everyone he went up against. Jungkook will die"

Namjoon speaks to king Yoongi but the king does not say a word

I watch Ragnar get to Jungkook

"No", I shout

Jungkook turns to Ragnar and blocks Ragnar's sword

"Let me go!", I yell

Namjoon looks at me

"Tell him", I yell

He speaks to king Yoongi but the king shakes his head. I watch as Jungkook barely has time to duck under Ragnar's swing

"Let me go! If you do not he will die!"

Namjoon speaks and still King Yoongi shakes his head. Ragnar lunches at Jungkook in his face and he stumbles

I cannot watch this. I turn to the guard next to me. Grabbing his should I spin him to me, slam my fist in his face and grab his sword

"Undo the shackles now!", I scream, holding the sword at King Yoongi

He raises his eyebrows but nods. He does not need to understand me to know what I want. The guard who brought me, quickly steps to me and unlocks the shackles

I look at Namjoon, "Tell them to open the gate. Now"

He nods and yells in his language as I turn and run down the stairs. The gate opens just a little but it is enough for me to slip by. Ragnar lunches at Jungkook again and this time Jungkook falls back, slipping

No

Ragnar raises his sword and I run faster. Ragnar brings his sword down and I slide to them just in time to catch Ragnar's sword with mine. I use all my strength to push his sword away and punch him across the face

"Do not touch him!", I scream

He turns his head back to me, fury in his gaze

"You are protecting him! Against us who raised you!", he yells

He is trying to use that against me but I will not let him. I am not part of them

I was used by him. By Aslaug. By his sons. As a weapon

"You did not raise me. Lagertha did!"

"And you would betray her like this?"

I shake my head, "She taught me to follow my heart no matter what. And my heart belongs to him"

"You are not one of them!", Ragnar rages, "You are one of us"

"Not anymore"

I swing my sword at my once king. He is wrong. I belong to no one. I was sold by my parents. Then taken by them. I have always been alone, always an outsider. But now I have Jungkook and I am not leaving him. Lagertha taught me to not blindly follow anyone, to think for myself . And I am. And I will do anything to protect Jungkook

Ragnar stops my sword with his but I move aside bringing it up again. He barely has time to block it and he does but not before I slice his arm open. He looks down at his arm and roars in my face. He does not scare me. I punch him in the face, his eyes watering, then kick his side. He backhands me across the face and I stumble, landing on one knee. I hear the sound of a sword swinging and I bring up my arm, the clanging of my sword stopping his. I look up at Ragnar and growl

Pushing off my foot, I stand up quickly, shoving him back. Swinging my sword I slash at him but he blocks it again. We keep fighting, swords swinging but neither of us get the upper hand

"Joanne", I hear Jungkook yell

I do not turn around but I yell, "Keep fighting"

Hopefully he can get the meaning of my words. Ragnar pushes my sword off his and punches me in the stomach. I drop to my knees on the ground, sword at my side as I gasp for air

"I wish you would not make me do this", Ragnar says

I look up at him and watch him raise his sword above his head

"Joanne!", I hear Jungkook scream

"You will not", I tell Ragnar, then grab my sword and plunge it into his stomach

It is like the entire battle stops. His sword drops but I dodge it easily. I stand up holding on to the sword, with Ragnar looking at me surprised. I push the sword in more, burying it to the hilt. Ragnar nods at me. I see the life leave his eyes as he falls to the side

No one is moving. I turn my head to the wall, glaring at King Yoongi, who has surprise all over his face. Now he knows. I killed one king, I can kill another

"Joanne! What did you do?", I hear Bjorn yell, his eyes wide in shock

I meet his eyes and I see the rage in his face

"Attack!", he yells

I turn, running back to the wall, screaming at Namjoon

"Bow and arrows now!"

He grabs a quiver and bow from an archer and drops it down the wall. I run grabbing the bow and an arrow, then turn and train it on Bjorn, whose running at me. Aiming, I let the arrow loose and it buries right in his eye. He screams and goes down. I turn and stuff the arrows that fell out of the quiver back in quickly. Putting it over my back, I grab the bow

I need to kill the rest of Ragnar's sons. So there are none to avenge him

Quickly I look for Jungkook and he is fighting more of my former people. Then I run to Bjorn to make sure he is dead. When I get to him, I see the arrow went through the back of his head and he is gone. I grab his sword and put it in my belt to use later

Then I look for one of the sons. The first one I see is Ivar. I do not want to kill him. But I have to. He is the most ruthless of them all and he will want to avenge his father. I take aim and shoot at his horse. My arrow hits its flank and it falls. Ivar's head turns to me, fury on his face

"Joanne"

"Ivar"

"You killed my father and my brother. For one of them?", he screams

"Not just one of them Ivar. He is my soulmate. I am sorry but I have to"

Ivar's eyebrows shoot up, "Your soulmate. Him? You choose him over us?"

"Everytime"

I quickly notch an arrow, aim and let go. As I see the arrow hit through Ivar's neck, I feel excruciating pain in my hip, taking me down

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

Jungkook POV

As I fight I watch her. I cannot believe she killed Ragnar. She actually killed him. Then looked at king Yoongi as if warning him. I have never seen him so shocked

Then I saw her kill another man with an arrow. I dodge a sword thrust and cut the head off the warrior. Looking for her, I find her yelling at a man in a chariot. Her husband. Is she....going to kill him?. I watch her shoot the arrow, it going through his neck

Then I see her go down

"No Joanne!", I scream, my heart stopping

She is not dead. She cannot be. I just found her, I cannot lose her so soon. I start running to her. My heart starts beating again when I see her slowly get up. She is alive. But what happened? She is hunched over and it looks like she may be pulling at something

"Joanne", I yell, getting to her

I look down and see her holding a bloody knife. He threw a knife at her. The wound is in her hip and she is bleeding. A lot

I grab her, moving her behind the chariot for a few seconds Grabbing the end of my shirt, I rip the bottom off in two long strips. I fold one quickly and press it to her wound

She winces and I say in her language, "I am sorry"

Taking her hand, I press it against the cloth so she can hold it. Then I take the other strip and tie it around her, securing the folded cloth in place. It is the best I can do for now. I look up at her and she is looking intently at me

Suddenly she pulls me to her, her lips on mine in a kiss

Stars explode in my vision and heat fills my body from her kiss. I put my arms around her, holding her close and kissing her back. I am aware there is a war going on around us but I want to kiss her at least once in case we do not make it

When it is over, she pulls away and looks in my eyes

"Ek elska þik*", she says

My heart bursts in pure joy. I understand what she said because that is one of the first things I had Namjoon teach me

She told me she loves me

"Ek elska þik", I tell her in her language

She smiles at me

"Joanne!", I hear a voice yell, then more words

She looks at me, takes my hand, then stands and starts running towards the wall. She is screaming something and I hear Namjoon yelling back at me

"There is three more sons you have to kill. She already killed two"

We get to the wall and she turns around. I turn too and she points to a group of three men walking towards us

"Sons?", I yell to Namjoon who speaks to her

She nods, moving her fingers as she talks, "Sigurd, Hvitserk, Ubbe"

"Ok", I nod, taking out my sword

I watch her throw down the bow. She takes a few arrows out of her quiver and breaks them, keeping the arrow still attached to some wood. She puts them in her belt in the back then draws the sword. She nods at me, then leans closer, kissing me again

We will survive. I will make sure of it

She moves away and takes my hand. Then she starts running to them and I follow. As we get closer, she squeezes my hand. We are almost upon them and we let go of our hands, both of us swinging our swords

Metal clangs as my sword hits one of the son's, I think it's Ubbe. He yells something at Joanne and she answers. The one I am fighting slashes at me and makes a cut across my chest. It stings and blood seeps on my shirt. It is not fatal but it needs sewing

I growl at him and thrust my sword, burying it in his shoulder. I pull it out quickly and stab him in the side. He yells, blocking my sword swing and punches me in the eye. My vision goes black for a second as pain explodes in my head . My vision comes back and I move out of the way of his swing. I glance at her to see her fighting the two other brothers. If she were anyone else I'd be worried but she is holding her own well. Pain hits my thigh and I see the son pull his sword back

He stabbed me. I feel my muscles spasm but I force myself to stay up. I scream and duck the swing then I punch the man in the face as hard as I can, putting all my strength behind it. He flies backward, landing on his back. I run to him and slam my sword down right into his chest where his heart is. He groans, dying in seconds

I turn to her and see her decapitate the son she is fighting. But.....where is the other one? I feel arms grab me from behind and a knife at my neck

"Joanne!", he yells

She turns and her face turns white. She begins shouting in her language. He yells back, digging the knife into my skin more. I feel the knife cut me a little and I know I am bleeding. She throws down her sword but I see her reach behind her

She yells, "Hvitserk!" and gestures at him to let me go

He says something and she shakes her head. She looks right at me and I understand what she is trying to say. I trust her. Completely. I nod

She starts yelling to distract him and then throws one of the arrows. I duck, hear the man scream and he lets me go. She runs at him, tackling him. I turn just in time to see her take the dagger from him and stab him in the chest twice then cut his throat. I do have to admit, she is vicious

She stands up slowly, blood all over her. She looks terrifying. And she is mine

My eyes are on her when I hear, "Hail Queen Joanne!"

"Hail! Hail!", voices yell

I look around to see the battle had stopped. The northmen are raising their swords up and the ones closest to her, kneel down to her. I realize that she killed all the heirs of Ragnar

And that makes her queen with no one to oppose her

My mouth drops open. Does this mean she has to go back now?

She turns to look at King Yoongi and I follow her gaze. King Yoongi is looking at her in horror. She is queen. She has the power to order her men to attack or retreat. And King Yoongi treated her horribly

I have no idea what she is going to do

J POV

"Hail Queen Joanne!"

"Hail! Hail!"

I look around the battlefield and see all of Ragnar's army looking to me and hailing me as queen

I am queen

I killed Ragnar and his heirs. It automatically makes me queen. They still consider me part of them

I don't want to be queen. Aslaug is queen and Lagertha wants to be queen. I do not care about killing Aslaug. I hate her. But I cannot kill Lagertha. She raised me, she is like my mother. And obviously these men do not consider either one of those women queen. They did not kill any heirs

I do not know what to do but right now as queen, I can scare king Yoongi. I turn to look at him

And he looks terrified. I smile at him and he flinches

"My queen. What do you want us to do?", a warrior asks me

I make a decision

"Retreat to the boats for now. I will speak with King Yoongi.", I yell

"Hail!", they all yell

I watch as my army retreats. I stay until the last warrior leaves. Then I turn to King Yoongi

"Open the gate!"

I see Namjoon speak to him and he nods. I reach my hand out and feel Jungkook take it

Walking together we make our way towards the opening gate

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

Hoseok just finished cleaning and sewing my wounds. I sit, waiting for Seokjin to finish working on Jungkook. Using a cloth and water, I wipe away some of the blood on me. When Seokjin is finished, Jungkook stands up and takes my hand. He says something to Hoseok and he nods, disappearing

I look up at Jungkook and tell him in his language, "Saranghae Jungkook"

His eyes widen and he looks so handsome. When we returned inside the kingdom, I spoke to Namjoon, telling him we need the healers. Jungkook was speaking to king Yoongi when I asked Namjoon to tell me how to say "I love you" in his language. It's the only thing I can say in his language but it is everything I need right now

"Ek elska þik", he tells me in my language

Then he comes closer and his lips touch mine in a kiss. Fire bursts in my body from his kiss. I felt this the first time I kissed him. Then the second time. And now

I never felt like this kissing Ivar. I hope this feeling never goes away

Hoseok comes back, speaking and Jungkook pulls away. He turns, gently leading me somewhere. I trust him unconditionally

We get to a room where there is a big pool of water. He points to the water and moves his hands around his body, telling me to take a bath. I nod. He kisses my cheeks then moves to leave. I grab his hand

When he turns back to me, I shake my head, "Stay with me"

He doesn't understand my words but I know he understands my meaning. He nods. I do not know how things are done here or how they feel about nakedness but being naked in front of your husband or lover is not something to be shy about

And I am not

I start undressing, dropping my clothes to the side. When I take all my clothes off, I turn around to see Jungkook staring at me. His eyes are wide and his mouth slightly open. I smirk at him, walking to the pool, going down the stairs and getting in it

He hurriedly gets undressed. When he pulls his shirt off I almost choke on air. His body is incredible. I guess it should be since he is a war general. His entire chest and stomach is muscular as well as his arms. He has some scars on his body but that is to be expected

When he pulls his pants down, my eyes are glued to his cock. He is already so stiff and he is huge. Much bigger than Ivar. If I was not in water, I know I would be very wet

When he is finished undressing he gets in the pool and comes straight to me. His lips are on mine in a second and I throw my arms around his neck, holding him tightly against me. His tongue slips in my mouth and I moan from the feeling. He picks me up and I wrap my legs around him. Pushing me against one of the walls, he looks at me

I know what he wants. It is exactly what I want. I nod and a smile bursts on his face

He kisses me passionately as he slides inside me, stretching my pussy wide around him. I moan loudly as he gets all in. Fuck, he feels so good and he did not even move at all yet. He breathes heavily, then starts moving, thrusting in and out

"Oh fuck", I moan, absolute pleasure filling my body

He fits so perfectly and I can feel everything he does, every inch of his cock, his head hitting my spot deep inside me

He murmurs something in his language, then starts kissing my neck. His hands grip my hips hard, as he moves harder. I have never felt like this during sex before. I have never been in this much pleasure before and I am ready to explode any second. No one has ever gotten me so close so fast

"Jjj... JUNGKOOK!", I scream as I orgasm hard, squeezing his arms so tightly

Pleasure like I never felt before explodes all over my body and I just keep screaming his name

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

Jungkook POV

She screams my name as she orgasms, pleasure fills my body when she climaxes and it has not left yet. Sex has not ever felt so good before. I moan loudly feeling her and watch her, pleasure all over her face. I love that I can give her this much pleasure

And I want to give her more so I hold back from coming. When she finishes, I start thrusting again, slamming into her. She moans, speaking in her language. The only thing I understand is my name that she keeps saying over and over. I love hearing her scream my name

"Again", I ask her, kissing her neck and shoulder

Her hand slides in my hair and pulls hard. Fuck, it feels good. She starts tightening and squeezing my cock hard as I thrust, pushing through her tightness. She is going to orgasm again. I never wanted anything so much as much as I want to feel her cum again

"Jungkook!", she screams, clinging to me and her body shaking against me

Pleasure fills my body again but still I hold back. When she finishes, she pushes me back and I fall out of her. What? Why? She kisses me hard and begins pushing me backwards. I am lost in her kiss so I just go where she is pushing me

I feel my legs hit something and she pushes me back more. It is the stairs. She pushes me more, out of the water and onto the stairs. I sit, my back against the step above where I am sitting. I watch her move on top of me. She slides down my cock and I moan as I go all in, her tight pussy opening for me

She leans over me and kisses my lips . I kiss her back, loving every kiss she gives me. When she sits back up, she moves sliding up and down my cock. Pleasure fills my body as I watch her ride me. I can see her entire body and I have to keep my mouth from dropping

She has muscles but not like a man. She also has blue tattoos on her body. I saw some of the other northmen with tattoos as well. She has a wolf on her side and her shoulder has chains tattooed all over. And that's just the front of her, I do not know if she has any on her back. I reach out and run my fingers over the wolf

I feel her skin tremble against my touch and I like that. She also has many scars on her body from battle as well as the wounds she just received from the past two fights. I understand why she has them but I do not like it. She has much more than me and that means she has been in more battles. More chances to die. I will do anything to prevent that

She takes my hands from her hips and puts them on her large breasts. Then she starts moving harder, slamming herself down over and over. I yell in pleasure, squeezing her breasts and closing my eyes. It feels amazing. I feel myself getting there but I want her to orgasm first

She keeps moving and I feel her starting to clench my cock. I know that when she orgasms, I will. I cannot hold it back anymore

"Jungkook!", she yells, orgasming again and her body shakes again

Pure pleasure fills my body, blinding me as I cum, my hands keeping her on me

"Joanne!", I shout

I cannot, it feels so good, I cannot take it. I have never in my entire life felt this much pleasure from coming. . It is taking over my body and I feel myself shudder. When we both finish, she leans over me, kissing all over my face

I love her kisses. I never want anyone else ever again, just hers. Her lips land on my lips in a gentle kiss. Wrapping my arms around her body, I hold her close to me

After a few minutes of kissing each other, she pulls away, looking down at me, in my eyes. She smiles and runs his fingers in my hair

"Saranghae Jungkook", she says

My heart bursts in joy and I cannot hold back my smile

"Ek elska þik Joanne"

I pull her back down to me in another kiss

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

She and I walk into the meeting room to wait for King Yoongi. We bathed and had sex again. I cannot keep my hands off her . And the best thing is she cannot keep hers off me either. It does not matter that we cannot speak to each other, it is like we know what the other wants . It is amazing

Maids brought towels to dry us and new clothes. We changed and when I turned to look at her, my mouth dropped. She was given a dress to wear. I have not seen her in a dress yet and she looks beautiful. She had a face on though like she did not like it. I do not think she is used to wearing dresses

I went to her and kissed her softly

"You are beautiful", I tell her in my language

She tilts her head, but smiles . I took her hand and led her here. She goes to sit while I go to Namjoon. I need to speak to him about something

A few minutes later, King Yoongi walks in. Everyone bows except for Joanne. Namjoon and I take seats, waiting for King Yoongi to speak

He looks at Joanne and says, "Queen Joanne"

My mouth drops in shock. He actually acknowledged that she is queen. He starts talking and Namjoon speaks to her

"What can I do to make your army leave my lands?"

She starts speaking

"Give them some of the things Ragnar demanded. They came here to raid and I cannot send them away with nothing. That will just ensure they will come back."

Yoongi listens to Namjoon, defeat on his face, "Agreed. I will give them the gold Ragnar asked for but they must leave upon receiving it"

She listens then speaks, "Agreed. I will tell them to leave and not come back"

Namjoon speaks and King Yoongi nods, then asks her a question. A question that makes me nervous

"Will you be going with them?"

She talks and I intently listen to Namjoon

"I am not sure. I need to speak to Jungkook"

He nods

She turns to me and starts speaking, Namjoon translates, "Honestly I do not want to be queen. There is already a queen, Aslaug. Apparently my people do not like her since they named me queen. And I have no problem killing her."

I nod. I understand that she may not want to be queen. I would never want to be king

"There is someone who will have a problem with me being queen. It is Lagertha, Ragnar's first wife and the one who raised and trained me. And I do not think I can kill her"

I can understand that. This Lagertha is like her mother. I would not expect her to kill her mother

"But what I choose to do depends on what you want. I will not leave you behind. If you want to come with me, I will be queen of the Danes. If you do not want to leave, I will stay with you and name Lagertha as Queen."

I am shocked. She's willing to give up being queen if I do not want to leave? I do not know what to say

"If I give up being queen, I have to make sure they know I am not staying here or Lagertha will come back for me"

That is easy to do. We can pretend we are leaving after giving them the gold. I would go with her but would her people accept me? Or would they try to kill me? I am the reason she killed Ragnar and his sons. I do not want her to have to protect me all the time. And if we stay here, I can finally leave the army and stay with her

"Will your people accept me? Or would they try to kill me?"

Namjoon speaks to her and she answers almost immediately, "They will try to kill you. They will not accept you unless you are a slave"

"You cannot go there as a slave Jungkook", king Yoongi cuts in

I look at her, about to speak but then she starts

"I am going to stay here with you", Namjoon translates

I look at her and ask, "Are you sure? We do not have to"

She shakes her head, "I do not belong there. I have not belonged anywhere my whole life. I was taken and lived in places but I did not really belong there."

I hate that her life has been so chaotic and she was taken from her original home. I cannot imagine that happening to me

"But I belong with you, Jungkook and wherever you are is where I want to be. So I am staying with you"

I nod, overjoyed that she feels that way. I feel the same

"I belong with you Joanne and I'll follow you anywhere"

I hate that Namjoon has to translate for us. But it will have to happen for now

I take a breath and speak to her in her language, "Joanne, will you marry me?"

She smiles and nods. I pull her to me and kiss her. That is what I spoke to Namjoon about when we came in the room. I wanted to know how to ask her that in her language.

When we pull away, I speak to King Yoongi, "She is staying here. I am marrying her and she is going to live with me"

"Fine. As long as the Northmen are gone, do whatever you want", he answers

Good because he is not going to be happy with what I am going to tell him

"I am also leaving the army"

"Excuse me?", he snaps

"I am retiring from the army. I found my soulmate and I want to be with her. I will not put myself in unnecessary danger and chance death. I refuse to leave her alone without me."

I do not know what I will do. I have only known the army. But I have skills and money that I can do whatever I want. Maybe be a farmer. That would be easier than a war general. Or a painter. I used to love painting

"And what will you do? Be a lowly farmer?", he snaps

"Yes. Or a painter. Something like that. I just want to live with her peacefully"

He glares at me but he answers, "Very well"

I ask Namjoon to translate what just happened and he does. She smiles and nods. We finish the meeting with Joanne and King Yoongi discussing the details of when he will have the gold, when she will give it to her people and renounce herself as queen. I suggest my idea to make them believe that her and I are leaving the kingdom. Everything is agreed upon and we can finally leave

Taking her hand, we leave the palace and I lead her the way to my house. She looks around at the people and market, smiling at everything. I smile watching her

I am happy for the first time in a long time

I know we still have a lot to do to,- get her army away from here, get married and move away from the city so we can live peaceful lives. But for now I'm just happy being with her, happy I found her

I stop walking and turn to her, "Saranghae"

She gives me a huge smile and answers, "Saranghae"

I lean down, my lips on hers in a sweet kiss

[chivgf]

One Last Time (pt. 1)

izogie x reader

summary: the mighty agojie attacked the men of your village. your husband, along with many other warriors died, but you and the women have a choice; join the agojie, or leave with nowhere to go. you choose to stay but are in no way prepared to find comfort in the same cold-blooded warrior who stuck her machete through your husband's heart. (Izogie calls reader a nickname throughout fic.)

warnings: violence/death (duh, if you scared you shoulda stayed tf home!), kinda fucked up romance given the fact that Izogie murdered your husband but she's just a girl. idk what other warnings i need to add so yeah just read it & i hope you enjoy enough to anticipate more parts possibly???

A/N: ik this part is kinda short but it's pretty much just an intro to this series, plus ive been working on this for months on end and i need to publish it before i start to despise it.

Spite and resentment consumed you as you watched your husband bleed out on the dirt. You remembered her face vividly. Sharp jawline, thick eyebrows and full-ish lips. Scars that could've created roads to walk on. Bursting out of your hut like a mad dog, you kneeled down over his weak body.

“Efosa!” you weeped. “Wake up, it is not the end! You must fight.” Tears streamed from your eyes like mini rivers. Your blood stained hands reached down into the sack on his belt and retrieved the wooden charm you gifted him before the war. You held it close to your chest and closed your eyes to avoid taking another glance at him. You could hear the metal clanking and battle cries cease.

“I will never forg--”

Before you could speak a last word to your husband, a hand grasped your shoulder firmly. Your body jerked and you turned slowly, afraid. It was her. There was a formerly healed scar on her eyebrow that appeared to have reopened during this fight.

“You have to come with us,” she spoke. Her eyes started on you, then moved to your husband. A disgusting smirk formed on her lips. She was proud to have killed him.

“I refuse to go anywhere with you! You are a monster. You find this amusing?” you spat at her. The smirk fell quickly.

“On your feet. We are taking you all to Dahomey.”

“My home is here. I am staying here.”

“I will not ask you again.”

“Good,” you replied, turning your focus back to Efosa.

Without a doubt, she stuck to her word. She aggressively snatched you up and threw you over her shoulder, taking you to the march line. You began kicking your feet and punching her back like a child throwing a tantrum. “Let me go!” you cried. “You killed my husband, you savage! Don't touch me!”

“If you continue to disobey me you will end up just like him,” she said without hesitation.

You were silenced. You stood quiet in line the entire march to Dahomey.

•••

“...any woman who does not wish to stay, is free to go.” General Nanisca ended her speech and watched many women make their exit. The woman from the battle was burning holes into you with her eyes, watching, waiting for you to crack and leave like a weakling. You refused to give her the satisfaction. You stared back into her brown eyes, clenching your jaw in nervousness.

“Let us move along then,” Amenza, Nanisca's most trusted warrior spoke. The intense eye contact was finally broken.

Moving further into the palace you were sent to sit with more experienced Agojie and wait for further instruction. You found yourself next to a woman with a small Afro and two braids on the sides of her head.

“They call me Desi, who are you?” she said as she studied you.

“Does it matter?”

“Mm, fair enough. Freed captive or Mahi?”

“Mahi,” you replied.

“Ah, I see.”

“Who is she?” you pointed as Nanisca, Amenza, and the husband slaughterer walked past.

“Izogie. Strongest warrior I know. Ran into trouble?” she asked, picking at her frighteningly sharp nails.

“You could say that.”

“My advice? Put it behind you. You will need her more than you will ever know.”

You nodded your head. She did seem strong. And smart. Perhaps you would need her. But you didn't want to think about that; for now she was still the same woman who ripped your life from you in a matter of minutes.

“Go and bathe yourselves, you know the drill,” Izogie boomed, walking to the area that you were in. You and Desi followed the other women heading to the baths, your hand in hers. An uneasy feeling consumed you as you felt Desi let go of your hand and walk at a swifter pace. “Eh-eh,” Izogie interrupted, grabbing your arm. Desi continued to scurry along. “Not you.”

You looked down at her hand. Her nails were like Desi's, only sharper and more deadly. Making matters worse, they were also digging into your skin. You whined at the pain a tad, but refused to say anything. When she finally released you, a little bit of blood slowly trailed down your glistening arm. You weren't sure if she even noticed. You covered the nail marks with your hand. “Have I done something?”

“Taken a liking to Desi I see.”

“Not necessarily.. she was informing me of the way things should work in advance.”

You impatiently awaited a response, but there wasn't one. She just stood over you, her frame completely blocking you from joining the others. You were micro compared to her, and she found it extremely amusing.

“If that is all, I'd like to go bathe now,” you croaked, breaking the silence. Her chuckle released some of the tension on her side, in turn building up some on yours. “Was there a joke?” you said, slightly irritated. She saw you as nothing but a pampered village wife, and you knew it. Izogie placed her hands on her knees and bent down to your level, once again reminding you of how small you are to her. Her face only inches away from yours, she whispered into your ear two simple words before walking away from the entire conversation.

“Be careful.”

The words sent a shiver down your spine as she made herself scarce. The scent of essential oils and incense lingered in the air, making you dizzy. Unsure of what she meant, you stumbled in confusion to the baths. There were many bodies taking up space in the water, but nowhere you looked was a familiar face. You scanned and scanned for Desi, your head still spinning a tad bit from your confusing conversation with Izogie. What about Desi was there to be careful about? She seemed sweet enough, no?

After a minute or two of searching for Desi, you found it pointless and decided to just bathe and get it over with. The steam from the warmth caused you to sweat as you let yourself sink into the water. You let out a small wince as a mix of the sweat and hot water grazed the nail imprint in your arm. “Ah!” you whimpered aloud, quickly looking around to make sure no one heard you. It was awkward to be alone in the baths with everyone speaking to people that they knew, so you found it easier to just close your eyes and pretend that you were alone, just like at home. You tuned out all of the loud voices and started humming a song to yourself, and finished up your bathing.

•••

You flapped out your mat lazily. It was your first day in the palace; no training yet, no nothing, yet you felt like you'd been worked half to death. The smell of palm oil and Jasmine floated in the air as you smoothed your mat out more and sat down on it. There were many women around you, some talking to absolutely no one, just like you. Still, you couldn't bring yourself to speak to anyone. You had no appetite at mealtime, and you weren't in the mood for sleep either.

Your thoughts of your late husband rang loudly in your ears. You had rarely ever been without him. He went to battle, yes, but he would always return safely to at least kiss you goodnight. Now, his caring and loving was simply just gone. Every part of you wished he was a ghost, haunting you in the sweetest ways. Brushing past you with a cold breeze when you feel alone, showing up in your dreams when your memories of him fade.

You found your restless body wandering around the dark palace. It was silent for the most part, besides the light and distant voices of the wives conversing in their quarters. It was surprisingly calming; the fires burning through the chilly night to warm you. After a while of aimlessly walking around, you started to hear faint noises. Your ears rang slightly as you strained to listen further. There was grunting and hacking, like someone was cutting down a tough tree. You followed the noises and a trail of sandal prints. The prints let you know this was none of the girls and women you had arrived with; this was someone who'd been settled.

Tiptoeing to the gate, you peeked around it curiously to find her.

Why couldn't you avoid her? What is her problem... What's yours?

You tried quickly to make yourself scarce from her, as she was equipped with her machete and swinging it angrily at the hay soldier ahead of her. Unfortunately for you, Izogie senses everything.

She tucked her machete in close to her and bent her knees in a defensive position. She continued to inch closer to you, asking, “Who is there?”

Low hung your head as you slowly revealed yourself to her.

“Ahh, it isYona.”

You looked up and raised a brow. “Yona?”

“Dove. You are meek and gentle; far too passive to make it here.” She placed her machete gently back into her scabbard and folded her arms. You rolled your eyes and sighed deeply. You knew you were not a warrior, but where else would a Mahi woman go in Dahomey? You could only live off of the streets for so long. Stepping closer, she followed your wandering eyes with her head. “Look at me,” Izogie demanded.

“I am not a dove,” you spat. You raised your head to meet her eyes. “I can do this, I will survive here.”

“Mm,” she nodded and retrieved her machete. “Show me.”

It was scary, to say the absolute least. Never in your life had you touched a weapon with intention to use it. Not even for defense. You reached out, your hands grazing her sharp nails once again. Recalling the moment those same nails broke through your skin sent a chill down your spine, but you managed to mask it. Holding the machete tightly in a fist, you bent down low like you'd seen your husband do in training.

“Swing it.”

“At what target?” you inquired studying the four hay soldiers to your left.

“Me.”

Your heart dropped. You didn't want to hurt anyone. Maybe that was your problem; you weren't willing to put anyone's life at stake, even if your own depended on it. Not to mention, Izogie is not only second-in-command, but has much experience. You don't have an ounce. A lump formed in your throat, but you swallowed it and moved closer, still low in position.

“Are you sure?”

“Yona, you would not ask the enemy such questions. Show me that you are a warrior. Show me that you have what it takes.”

You shut your eyelids tightly, took a breath, then studied her. Her eyes, to be specific. Efosa used to say, “The weakness is in the eyes,” but you could not find it. There was a strange coldness that she carried in her gaze; never breaking, never shifting.

“I've got all night,” she taunted, motioning for you to bring it on.

You noticed the same smirk on her face from when she stood over you, her blood covered hand on your arm. Blood that belonged to your husband. Anger consumed you as your breathing started to pick up. You gripped the machete tighter and began to follow her movements. After a minute of mirroring her, you took your first swing. It was wild, but you didn't care all that much. She dodged swiftly by an inch. Watching the fire from the torches dance on her face, you slid on the dirt and took another wild swing, this time at her lower half, cutting a gash in her clothing and her lower thigh. She let out a dry grunt but stayed focused on dodging your relentless jabbing and swatting with the weapon.

Your eyes were mad and fierce, your fury practically burning your skin. Izogie lunged forward at you, grabbing hold of both of your wrists with just one of her hands.

“That is enough, Yona.”

You pretended not to hear her and continued to struggle to get loose. The look in her eyes changed from demand to worry as she disarmed you and tossed the machete to the side. Still you fought, grabbing at her shoulders and taking her to the ground. It was like your body was moving way ahead of your brain. Izogie quickly overpowered you and climbed on top of you, pinning your wrists down near your head. You felt restless and weak underneath her.

“Enough!”

Her voice echoed in your ears as your vision started to get blurry and dark.

•••

“No, Miganon, what she needs is food. She hasn't laid one finger on anything since her arrival,” Izogie complained.

Nanisca scoffed and leaned over you.

“Take that up with her. She is awake now.”

You quickly scanned your surroundings. You lie on a highly elevated mat in a tent. There were weaponry decorations everywhere, a horn made of elephant tusk, and a pot of indigo dye. This was Izogie's personal tent.

Izogie watched from the tent's entrance as you took in everything. As you slowly locked eyes with her, you two exchanged no words. Your face carried a look of shame, remembering the actions that led up to this moment, while hers carried a look of guilt and concern. You keep your actions were irrational, especially since you would have to fight alongside her from now on, but you couldn't bare the pain of staring in the cold eyes of you husband's murderer.

Izogie took a breath before finally moving closer and speaking up.

“How..”

There was an odd change in her voice, was it hesitance that you heard?

“How are are you feeling?”

Your initial thought was to give her the silent treatment, but you decided against it and answered her question.

“I've been better,” you replied weakly. Your stomach growled, and you wondered if it was just as loud to the outside world as it was in your head. Clutching your torso, you tried to sit up for a second.

“Woah, careful,” Izogie rushed over and supported your back, holding you upright. She shook her head at her own actions. Why was she going out of her way to make sure you were alright after you...

Something clicked. You forgot that you'd injured her during your little explosion. You grabbed hold of her forearm with both hands and leaned over the mat. There on her thigh. That laceration you created. Pain inflicted on her, of your doing. Even after everything she'd done, you couldn't shake the feeling that she didn't fully deserve that. War is war, sides are sides. None of it was in her control, and it wasn't personal. You had to keep reminding yourself of that to get by.

Your head felt extremely heavy, but you still managed to pick it up to look at her. “I apologize,” you murmured. She looked down at her thigh, then back at you.

“I've had worse, trust me.”

The tent fell silent for a few moments before she spoke again.

“You should eat something.”

A nod from you was enough to send her straight out of the tent without hesitation, and when she returned, in her palms rested a fresh bowl of stew. The smell made your mouth water.

“Don't just stare, eat up.”

She passed you the bowl and leaned against one of the wooden posts set up in the tent. She watched you as if she was obligated to; as if she didn't have other things to tend to. You began to dig into the food she brought, completely ignoring the fact that her eyes never once left you. There was a deep regret tracing her face as you felt her presence move closer to you. Slurping the remains of the stew and wiping your lips, you looked to your side in curiosity. Her right hand was fidgeting with something in her beltsack nervously before she started to tell you something.

“You dropped this,” she presented you with Efosa's wooden charm. “..during the fight.”

You dropped the empty bowl immediately and grasped for the charm, your hands shaking as you turned it every which way to make sure nothing had happened to it. A great sigh of relief escaped your fragile frame. What would you have done if you'd lost it?

“I carved this myself, you know,” you told her, a tear forming in your waterline.

“It is very..”

Izogie grappled to find the right words, practically walking on eggshells so that she wouldn't trigger anymore negative emotions.

“It takes skill to create something like that.”

You let out a dry chuckle. The irony was too much for you to handle.

“What about your skill? What techniques work best for you when you leave your tent prepared to take a life?”

“I leave with intent to protect, not to kill, Yona. The Agojie are not just cold-blooded murderers, you must understand-”

You cut her off. “Save it. No words will remove that sight from my mind. How can you do something like that, then pretend it never happened? Tell me how, Izogie!”

“This is my life! I cannot change his fate, and for that I apologize, but you have no right to fault me when he, too, was rushing at me with a machete in his grip. He was trained not to stop until his target was down, as was I. Tell me, Yona, was I supposed to stand there and die? What else could I have done in such a situation?!” she raised her voice, slightly losing her breath after her statement.

She paced back and forth, her nails scratching her chin softly while she tried to think of what else to say as best she could.

“I am sorry! How many times must I repeat it until you forgive me?” she mumbled, her voice lessening to a whisper. In the short amount of time you'd been there, you'd taken note that every one of these warriors looked up to Izogie. They spoke of her as though she was some sort of unmovable force, yet you, in all your physical weakness, moved her with such ease.

“I don't know if I can.”

At your words, Izogie nodded and peeled back the entrance of the tent, clenching her jaw before removing herself. The sound of her footsteps retreating left an uncertain reaction in your body; you weren't quite sure if you wanted her to stay or not. The words she spoke to you were circulating through your mind, and you couldn't help but feel like she made a point. Before you could swim around in your mind for too long, you heard the tent open up once more. Expecting Izogie, you felt a pang of hope creep in, but it was just Desi, holding wildflowers.

“What's this?” you laughed, hands outstretched to receive the flowers she was handing you.

“I picked them myself, by the river. I figured you would appreciate some color,” Desi smiled sweetly, the new wooden beads attached to her two braids clanking in the wind. “That is very kind, Desi.”

She nodded. “The palace whispers, you know? About you.”

“Oh? What do they say?” you asked as you propped yourself up to listen better.

“They whisper that you were the cause of that cut on Izogie's leg; they also whisper that you are aiming for high ranks. They say that General Nanisca is next in your movement. Is it true?”

A snort escaped your nose; you'd never heard something so absurd.

“You cannot be serious. There is no movement, it was a simple fight,” you clarified firmly.

“I see, so you are just another palace myth?” she chuckled, but you didn't find anything funny. You shook your head and rubbed your temples.

“I am not in the mood for jokes,” you stated. You turned over on your mat and faced away from her. “You may leave, thank you for the flowers.”

“But I have just-”

Desi was interrupted by something. Rather, someone. You flipped back over to see why exactly she'd stopped talking so abruptly mid sentence. A tall familiar figure loomed over her shorter frame, its hand on her shoulder.

“I believe you were asked to leave.”

Izogie guided her out of the tent and walked to her weapon stand. You noted that her legs and hands were drenched in water as she placed her scabbard on the stand and removed her sandles, tossing them to the side.

“You are back,” you stated plainly, a pinch of relief lacing your words.

“Well yes, this is my tent.”

Facing away from you, she continued to dress down into clothing that provided more comfort for sleep. You couldn't help but watch, unable to fathom how one could be so rough around the edges, yet so graceful in every movement she makes.

“You are wet,” you added on top of your previous statement, your eyes still glued to her. She finally turned to face you. You'd never noticed how pretty she really is. You suppose nobody talks about things like that all that much in the palace unless speaking of Ghezo's wives, but Izogie was genuinely a good-looking woman in your eyes. You'd never blatantly admit that though, no.

“Any other observations you would like to voice before I lay down to rest?” she responded in an exhausted tone. She reached behind her stand and pulled out an extra mat, much more shabby than the one you were laying on.

A sigh escaped your lips before you shook your head no and spoke up again.

“Is that for me?”

“Do you really think that I would force you to-”

She stopped herself to take a grounding breath.

“I am not the monster you think I am, Yona.”

And those were her last words to you that night.

[marierg]

Of Light and Darkness: The Rising Darkness pt. 5

Rated: Mature (yeah check the warnings folks)

Pairing: Obi Wan Kenobi X Reader

WARNINGS!: DO NOT READ THE FOLLOWING IF YOU ARE NOT IN A GOOD MENTAL PLACE! Death/ Dying, survivors guilt, depression, Suicidal thoughts/ ideations, PTS flare up, angst, talk of medical procedures and autonomy (previous denial alluded too), stress reactions, cursing, and Cannon typical violence. Uh yeah not light reading...

But also hurt/comfort, fluff, kissing, marriage proposals... so not all bad!

A/N: I take no credit for the movie dialogue that is all the work of the wonderful Mr. Lucas!!!! THIS IS A LOVING WORK OF FANFICTION!!! With that said I did take more than a few liberties but I tried to pull from the film/ books and meld it into a cohesive piece. Much love to all the prequels and the folks there in!

With all said I will take this opportunity to say that it will be a minute till the next part! I have to figure out how I want this to follow the series and frankly this part just wiped me out. Hope y'all enjoy!

Picture Credit: Deviant Art and pinterest;

Words: 9000ish... yeah it was worse before i edited. ENJOY!

“Droid get over here with that...”

“I need more bandages!”

“No you will not kriffing take my patient until I'm done with them! I don't care what your CO said, your CO can bite me!”

It was the chorus of an all to familiar ture that you awoke to, smelling blood and bacta and battlefield. Laying in a triage area surrounded by troopers and Jedi alike, cots or the red dirt floor shaking with the ever nearing hits of artillery. Every inch of your body aching as you swung your legs down, the ground began to spin. Yes, you knew this waltz well, but dear Force how you wished the dance would stop.

“Ma'am can we take this bed?”

Glancing up at the medic in his polished armor you observed the trooper on the litter. He bled from the socket where his eye should have been, long painful gashes in the wake of shrapnel. Making a give over motion you assisted the transfer, urging the injured man to lay back as the medic administered a sedative. Defaulting to work mode you began to assess the man. “The wound needs cleaning and fresh bandages then send him straight through to the surgeon.”

“We can't ma'am, surgery was hit. This is it till we can get the ships off the ground again.” The medic tilted his helmet at you in silent resignation.

“Dear merciful Force.” Pain, so much pain and death. “Whose in charge of this mess?”

The trooper points to the loudest of the beings working among the wounded. Braids covered in dust and mud, face weary but focused as she barked orders over the din. “You will return them to this triage and those troopers will receive care! I don't give a flying KARK you fucking droid, they've earned every opportunity we can give them!”

In all of her time as a rescue specialist, even after all the missions Tyra had never seen anything like this. It reminded her of the stories her grandfather told of the war on her home world. The small Jedi who assigned her the task had motioned with his staff and simply replied...

“For the Valkar search the field of battle, and the brave shall they return.”

Her squad had been at it for hours even after the small Jedi had returned with Kaboomie, Speedster and you. Tyra would have liked to see all three of you onto the nearest ship, but with the limited space available choices had been made. She saw to your care personally with some assistance from a Mirialan named Barris. Tyra would give the girl this, she was a good healer. Heck the kid had done her best with every critical case till she'd passed out from the effort and had to be laid down too.

Looking at the next set of incoming wounded Tyra prayed to every one of her Gods for strength. Not that they often listened to her cries.

“Glitch!” Making your way over you waived to the young woman. She was no longer that student you had taught, years in the field giving her a commanding edge. Then again she had always been more an adult than youngling, “Tyra!”

“Boss!”

The women embraced, relief marking both their faces. You were the first to pull back giving her a tired smile, “Report?”

“Same shit, different day. Thank the All Father I won't sing your tale tonight. Scared the hell out of us,” She tried to get you to sit but you waived the effort off. Figures that if the Boss is awake she's back to work. “We barely have transport up and going and even that's sketchy, never seen Deek so steamed. No tower, barely reliable comms, control of the ground is non existent. Top that off no surgery.”

“So I was told. Do we still have supplies?” At Glitch's nod you glanced around. There were two grounded troop transport ships that were heavily damaged near by. While those birds would never fly again they could still serve, “Do those still have power?”

“Yeah, why?”

You'd made do with far less before and these men needed a surgeon. “Get that equipment into the ships, we have work to do.”

Obi Wan had seen Anakin and the Senator to the transport off planet and then rejoined Master Koon at the forward operations. Masters Yoda and Windu were somewhere on the battlefield, but after the droids had barraged the operations center, communications broke down. Light turned to dusk before order was restored. Always in the back of his mind you were there, the image of your unconscious form on the bed as he had left. Were you awake now, had you been sent to a ship already?

“Sir, we've received multiple transmissions of men trapped in the catacombs below the foundry. What are your orders?”

Obi Wan looked to the Clone commander, CC-2224 as he had Identified himself, grim expression falling across his features. Those men would require special extrication, especially if there was structural damage. It would cost time and men that their dwindling forces may not be able to afford. On the other hand it would cost his soul not to at least try. These men had risked life and limb to save him and the other Jedi, honor dictated that he must endeavor to return their brothers to them. Glancing at the Commander's helmet Obi Wan gave a nod, “Gather a team and what equipment you can Commander, I will accompany you.”

“Sir, yes Sir.”

The man beneath the helmet closed his eyes in relief. His trainers had prepared Cody for many scenarios. Retrieval and rescue, negotiations, incursion drops, but never how to bury so many his brothers. Never how to deal with the guilt of sending them to their assured death. What they had taught them was to trust in their chain of command, so that is what Cody would do.

“Vessia raise that retractor... Yeah there! Ok, suction,” After a while the bodies began to blur together. Collapsed lungs, skull fractures, missing limbs... you didn't feel like a doctor, you felt like a butcher. “Alright there's the bleed. Clamp off, sew, then seal him up until we can get a transport.”

Most of what you were performing was considered stabilization procedures until the troopers could be seen on the hospital ship in orbit. As the only fully trained Doctor you had to hop from table to table when there was a question of need. It was a motley crew, former students some of whom you hadn't seen in years. Vessia who was in her intern year after Medical School was beside you, hands once uncertain now efficient and skilled. The Senators daughter had changed much, finding her purpose in healing. Maru, who was currently running the blood donation chair, had left the RRC active branch preferring to work on the admin side of things. Yet here he was alongside you all. You could feel his old terrors coming to the surface again, but he remained stalwartly working. The strongest of bonds were ever forged in the fire of combat, at least that's what Master Melri had often said.

Then there was the Padawan who had been left in your charge. Barris Offee didn't have the same training you'd had at that age, but she was a hard little worker and adapted quickly. She stood at the table to your back while Vessia handled procedures at the other. The normally peaceful Mirialan was now face to face with a healers worst nightmare and you felt horribly for her. Having to remind Barris again and again that she must refrain from any more Force healing and to focus on clinical work set a knot in your gut. It was a simple equation though, she could use her abilities to heal a few while injuring herself or help the many that would surely follow the first. The girl's frustration was ever palpable, but in the end had deferred to your command.

“Master L/n, I require your assistance.” Barris had never felt so helpless in her life. It was as if all the light of the Force had gone out, leaving only the cold of death that now surrounded this place. This man on her table was barely breathing, but surely... “What about him.”

Glancing down at the trooper you could see he was beyond even your ability to save. Multiple blaster shots including the one that had penetrated his helmet, it was a ghastly sight. And yet he struggled still for breath, his brothers looking at the two Jedi with hope in their eyes. You wished there was something you could do for this young trooper to save his life, but all you could offer was a peaceful passing. “I'm sorry Barris...”

“NO! You gotta try damn it! He's still alive!”

One of the mud stained commandos screamed, ripping off his helmet as others tried to console him. The crying man cursed, yelling how they couldn't let his brother die. Not his last batch mate. Storming right up, he barked in your face demanding you save his brother. It was in that moment that you saw Barris cry, silent sorrow rolling down her cheeks. Damn this day, Damn Dooku, but above all damn yourself for failing them all.

“I cannot save him. I would if it were possible, but I cant. I am so sorry.”

“Can't or won't!?” He screamed again, but in truth there was a part of Fi that knew. “Why... Why Why WHY!!!”

“I'm sorry... more than you know.” Turning to the young Padawan you pulled her close, whispering. “Barris. I must ask a difficult task of you.”

The girl wiped her eyes quickly, “Yes?”

Looking from her to the bed and then the other downed craft across the narrow dirt you sighed. As with so many things today it was the only comfort you could offer these poor men. “Take the stretcher and place this trooper in the curtained part of the recovery. Let them say good bye.”

Barris stood stock still, as though doused in ice. “What are you saying?”

“He won't last much longer Healer Offee. All we can do is ease one brother's pain and grant the other dignity in their death.” You could see the light slowly dwindling out of her eyes and hated yourself even more. Giving her a nod you turned to the newest patient on your table and started to glove up again. “Give them however long they need.”

Barris wanted nothing more than to run from this place, but that was not the Jedi way. They were keepers of the peace, guardians of the light even when they could not feel it's presence. Wiping away her tears she took hold of the litter and began to guide it. The Commando's brother took the other side, face scrunched in anger. Bringing a chair and a blanket, Barris covered the injured man as the other sat watch. “What's his name?”

“RC-...”

Barris shook her head, “No, I mean what do you call him?”

Fi hadn't expected the Jedi to ask that, it was a very personal and private thing. Most clones' names were known only to their batch mates or their training sergeant maybe. Looking into the young woman's dark eyes though he felt comforted that someone else would do such a kindness as to call them by their chosen name. To treat him and the others as men. “We called him Sen.”

“Hello Sen, I thought you might be cool. My name is Barris,” smoothing the blanket over the man she could already feel his breathing becoming staggered. Biting her lip she began to murmur, “Thank you Sen for saving us, for saving me.”

Fi watched the young woman as she tucked his brother in like a cadet, gently and with great care. She seemed as lost as any of them, hell nobody should be in this place. Taking his brother's hand, Fi gave it a squeeze, “It's what we were made for ma'am.”

“Barris.” She replied quietly.

Swallowing hard, he looked into her sad eyes. “Fi.”

Sunlight rose on the second day, not that Obi Wan could tell really. Deep in the dark of the catacombs he and the troopers searched. Hall by hall, digging into the places where transmissions had dissipated to faint cries and banging. They had come across some of the lost Jedi from the missing assault team as well as tracking down the missing clones. He recalled how you would feel agitated on many a mission needing the balm of action. It was the waiting that tortured him and the other men the worst now. Waiting for an attack, waiting to find even one being alive, waiting for this all to end.

“Sir! Up ahead,” Cody called as he desperately ripped into the rock. The slight glow from a HUD light breaking the darkness of the rockfall. “Hold on trooper, we're here!”

“Commander be careful,” Obi Wan spoke too late watching as more unstable rock started to avalanche onto the man. Racing over with the others everyone started to frantically dig both men out.

“Damn Stupid osik'ri... get himself killed!” Alpha 22, or Deuce, wanted to wring the commanders neck. But as they uncovered the officer, he thought better of it. Lifting the Commander's helmet, Deuce found Cody was struggling to breathe. The rock fall damaged the air intake, the bucket all but dead weight now. “Oiya! Take it easy Vod'ika... There ya go.”

“The...(cough) commando...”

Deuces nodded and continued digging as the medics took the injured Commander to the side. The Jedi, Kenobi, joined in. Digging until they uncovered the still lit helmet, slowly extracting the rest of the man. Shaking his head sadly Deuces thought the worst, until the Jedi gave a rough rub on a pressure point and the Commando drew a gasping breath. “Medic! Medic Up! Hey you keep karking breathing, don't you fucking die!”

“Easy he may have a head injury,” Obi Wan helped to ease the injured commando onto the stretcher. “Commander go with them to the aid...”

“But Sir, we need to...”

“CC-2224 you deaf or being insubordinate? Get your shebs to the evac, MOVE!” Deuces barked, “and get a new bucket while you're at it.”

Cody sheepishly tucked the damaged one under his arm, pausing as Kenobi tapped his shoulder, “Sir?”

“If you should see Master L/n at the aid station, please let her know where we are.” Obi Wan said it before he could decide against it. He wasn't even sure if you were still on the ground, but if you were he knew how worried you must be. “Thank you Commander.”

“Yes Sir.” Cody's curiosity was peaked, but gave a nod not wanting to inquire further. The Jedi had a funny look as he had spoken, but who was Cody to question it. He was a soldier, what did he understand past that?

“All father help us... hey get those new suture packs and IV fluids over here!” Tyra watched as the latest batch of wounded were off loaded. She hated that there was so little to be done, only start fluids and get them to the hospital ship for a dunk in a tank. Shaking her head Tyra lamented also seeing the young Jedi healer in a different form of pain as she tried to comfort the injured. Worst of all she hated seeing you half propped on a stool as you continued to do surgery along with her and Vessia, soldiering on because you refused to leave them in this mess alone when you should be up on that ship like the rest of the wounded.

This was madness at it's finest and Tyra could all too easily now empathize with her former mentor who had been so harsh in their lessons. Muttering to herself she readied to stitch up another incoming trooper, “Forgive me Bern, you were right... Hey Trooper what's your name?”

“Ma'am, CC-2224.” Cody saw the displeased look on the short female's face and offered over his name. “Is there a Jedi called L/n here, I have a message for them.”

“Yeah,” You hollered over the din, carefully pealing off the many layers of extra thick armor from the patient on your table. Turning to the medics you became brusk, “You need to strip them before they get here, I want trauma naked and injuries exposed! Pass it along.”

“I have a message,” Cody tried to stand but the pink haired medic who was cleaning the wound on his head shoved him back down.

“Tell her from here. Hold still or this will scar worse than it's already gonna,” Glitch smirked at her patient, giving him a wink. “Don't worry handsome, the ones who matter won't mind a bit.”

“Don't tease the poor man Glitch. What's the message?”

Cody had to peer at the Jedi from the corner of his vision, “Master Kenobi wanted you to know he was in the catacombs with our platoon. He wanted you to know...”

Your heart swelled and a brief smile crossed your face. You hadn't know for hours where Obi Wan had gotten too, if he was alright. It was a relief, one weight lifted from your shoulders. Closing your eyes in silent thanks you nodded to the man on Glitch's table. “Thank you Commander, I appreciate the update.”

Cody was a little perplexed at your reaction, until he heard the medic stitching his temple chuckle. Raising an eyebrow, the young woman she smiled at him.

“You just made her day, you know that.” Tyra smirked, lowering her voice so only the man could hear. “Boss won't always say much, but it's a great kindness you've done. And for that...”

The small woman bent down as she finished the last stitch, pressing her lips gently on his forehead. Cody froze as she kissed him, it was sweet and stars knew he hadn't imagined his first kiss to be like this.

“...you deserve a reward. Now you best go get another bucket cause this one is toast.” Glitch grinned at the blushing soldier on her gurney. As he began to walk towards supply she yelled to him, “Hey 2224?”

Cody turned back at the edge of the craft, “Ma'am?”

Tyra sauntered over to grip the top of his chest plate. The man was weary, looking perhaps a bit lost amongst the din. With a chuckle she pulled him down and gave him a real kiss. Nothing fancy, just a touch of sweetness on a bitter day. “You be safe out there soldier. And don't go messing up that sewing, huh.”

“Yes ma'am.” He smirked at the little thing as she swayed her hips back to the surgery. He wasn't sure if it was the kiss or the rush of being alive, but in that moment Cody felt he could take on the whole damn planet. Strutting towards supply the Commander felt ten feet tall.

“Glitch stop teasing the men and get back to work,” You couldn't help a slight smirk. Unprofessional as it was, you were pleased by the smile the man had as he left. In the present moment though the patient on your table had severe crush injuries and would need to be evacuated with the next load of wounded. Starting two intravenous lines you took in his injuries, both legs would need surgery and extensive rehabilitation. He was alive though and that was a miracle in and of itself. “Hey, what's your name?”

“A'den,” He tried to keep his eyes open.

You smiled down at him, “Well A'den we're going to get you well again. For now though I'm going to give you something for the pain, is that alright with you?”

He had never been asked before, never given the option. It confused him that this medic wasn't simply doing what was necessary, instead giving him the choice. “Ma'am?”

“It's ok if you don't want too,” You could tell he was uncomfortable in more ways than one, so you tried a different approach. “How about a little something to take the edge off, it won't make you disoriented like a sedative.”

“Whatever you think's best ma'am.”

“Good, lean back. Now I'm gonna have you moved to the staging area and soon you'll be on the ship.” You could see the moment the medication started to work, the man's body relaxing ever so slightly. He was so covered in dust that you had to wipe it away to get a better look. Even careful as you were he was skittish, like a newborn colt. Finally satisfied with your exam and that he would remain stable, you had A'den transferred to staging. Over and over it was like that through the night.

At dawn you saw the Council and other remaining Jedi start to trickle back into the staging area. They, like the troopers, asking if you had seen someone. An apprentice, a master, a batch mate; it made no difference Jedi or clone, all were searching. The lists were posted by the recovery craft; Alive, wounded, missing and dead. You could tell the answer by the sounds or lack there of after people looked. But every so often you would hear something that eased the pain just a little, you heard the happy cries of a reunion. It was few and far between but it was something to hold to.

You were on one of the two final transports out, lifting off as the last troop transport did. It was like a bad case of deja vu, Deek in the cockpit with you, Barris, and Glitch in the back. You felt old, especially looking at the two younger responders.

“Hey kid, how you holding up?”

Barris looked to the girl called Glitch, dazed and uncertain. “I'm sorry?”

“She want's to know if you're doing alright,” You pipped in from across the cabin, “Are you?”

“A Jedi...”

“Barris,” reaching across to take her hand the girl paused. How long ago had it been that you sat on that side of the jump seat? Had you ever been that wide eyed or young? It seemed now that you had always been this tired and old. But you knew that once, long ago you had been just as this young one here needing guidance. “It's ok to say it. I wish I had the power to save everyone, but I can't... we never can. You gave it your best and that's all anyone can ask or do. It's alright to mourn the losses, not just celebrate the victories.”

Glitch pursed her lips before speaking, “You showed them kindness and compassion whether you could save them or not. Ain't a finer thing you can do than that. It's ok to be human little space wizard, hell makes you one of us.”

“Master L/n?” Barris' voice cracked as the last of her reserve evaporated. She was like a water pitcher that had run dry, nothing left to give and hollow feeling. “How... how do you let it go? The men we lost, the Jedi?”

“In some ways I don't. I remember what the experience taught me and train harder, so that their sacrifice meant something. I wish I could say that this is the last time, that you won't lose someone again, but I can't.” Shadows darkened your face as the ship made it's approach to the docking bay. Giving Barris a kind look, you graveled out the last words. “It's in learning to walk with those ghosts that defines how we move forward.”

Mace waited as the last of the ships arrived from the surface, sentinel till all returned. The battle had been arduous, the aftermath unbearable. So many good Jedi lost, the galaxy in turmoil, and all because of Dooku. He shouldn't have let his bias paint his view of the man because he had once been a colleague. Now the Separatists had a powerful ally and the future of the Republic rested on the shoulders of the Order. Mace knew, felt the shifting in the lines of fate that this was only the beginning of the journey. That the path ahead would be just as painful, bloody, and long.

“Master Windu, have you seen Barris?” Luminara came to stand beside the Council head.

Turning slightly he nodded greetings to his fellow Jedi, “I believe she is with Y/n.”

“Safe hands then.” Luminara sighed in relief, what she wouldn't give to reverse time and ordered her apprentice to stay on Couriscant. What was done was done though, now all of them would have to deal with this terrifying new world. “I suppose we are the lucky ones.”

Watching as the craft door opened he considered the statement. Were they the lucky ones or were the ones who had passed and spared what was to come more fortunate? Mace observed as you escorted the young Padawan. He didn't miss as Master Undulii's breath caught at the sight of her apprentice, wan and weary. At least this Master still had her apprentice, not many today could claim that. “Luck has nothing to do with it. We trained them well.”

Barris walked slowly towards her Master, you and Glitch on either side. You knew all too well that hollow look in her dark eyes. The girl was past done and needed a long rest, more so she needed to stay somewhere the hell away from any action. It had been a baptism of fire and in many ways it reminded you of what had happened to Maru. But unlike the Bothan there was nowhere for this Padawan to hide from the conflict, no transfer to admin. Master Undulii, normally so serene in appearance, now stood with slumped shoulders and only the veneer of calm. Glancing at the more senior Master you knew she understood that this mission had broken the girl.

“Barris,” She paused feeling a ripple in the girls signature, tear streaks marring her face. Embracing her Luminara held tight, like when she had been a frightened youngling. “There now, you are safe.”

“Get some rest, you did very well today. Couldn't have run that aid station without you Barris.” You handed an injector to Master Undulii, a sedative. She took it with a grim nod of thanks. Glitch gave an affectionate pat on your Master's shoulder and left to clean up at the slop sink. Master Windu looked as tired as you felt. “Master...”

Mace pulled you into a hug, “I'm so thankful that you've returned safely.”

The dam within you began to crack, the air rushing from your lungs with a great sigh. Regret, sorrow, guilt all swirling and engulfing you whole. You were unable to draw breath for what felt an eternity, tremors in you hands that indicated a larger storm brewing. Master Windu pulled back giving your shoulders a reassuring squeeze, ever patient and guiding. Over and over all you could say was, “I'm sorry.”

“This was not your fault Y/n. You and Obi Wan did well. Your Apprentice did his duty and all of you are alive.” He was proud of you all. The three of you had conquered near insurmountable odds to simply survive this slaughterhouse. Mace could only hope that same fortune would continue to carry you through this conflict to come. Yet under the surface he sensed damage, the fissures within your psyche emanating pain. “I do think you could do with some rest though.”

“Pffft.... Right.” Taking a few steadying breaths you stuffed your feelings away for later as you had often done. It did not serve to have a breakdown in front of the head of the council, even if they had been your Master. Wiping away any stray moisture you felt as the fatigue hit, scrubbing your hands across your face. “Kark I could use some Kaf.”

“I believe that the mess hall can assist you,” Mace chuckled and shaking his head, “And there is someone on C deck who would be glad to know you're back.”

Even exhausted you knew better than to let your guard down, “Is Anakin out of recovery already? He should still be...”

Half bemused Mace muttered, “I'm certain that the boy would appreciate seeing you as well.”

Master Windu gave yet another piercing look, you continued to act unaffected. Best not to contemplate the possibilities on days like this. “Has Anakin really been giving you that big a headache?”

“We both know I'm not referring to Skywalker.” While Mace had to admire your extreme level of discretion, he had long known of your relationship with Kenobi. Part of him had made peace with your involvement given the dedication both Jedi continued to show the order; never succumbing to the temptation of possession. You two had been thick as thieves since apprenticeship, even for as many times as he had attempted to separate you with missions and training. After so long Mace had simply come to trust that you would do the right thing. He did however tire over feigning ignorance. “Please make sure that he's actually resting, as should you.”

Schooling your face and giving a practiced calm expression, you bowed. “May the Force be with you Master.”

Dooku had been troubled throughout the flight to Coruscant. He was nearly bested by the Jedi and their unexpected rescue by the clones, but then again he had managed to escape and accomplish his mission. He had not counted on the new army as a factor in his plans this early, it would have been an easier war to manage if the Council had been obliterated. None the less many key pieces had still fallen nicely into place and it would take the Order time to recover their losses

As he saw the glimmer of the city planet his mind fell back to your words. “Qui Gon died defending the galaxy from the evil that you embraced! Had he lived he would stand against you now!”

He was not an evil man. Dooku did as he saw necessary to bring order, but he was not cruel. Yes it was necessary to cull the opposing forces to make a victory swift, but it was not a choice he made lightly. The Jedi's compassion is what limited their vision, far too entrenched in their ways to effect real change. Sometimes one must break the chins that bound one to the old and outdated system, the one which found the Jedi central too. Landing in the abandoned works the Count stood and prepared to disembark.

Sidious watched as his latest apprentice disembarked the ramp of his craft. While not entirely pleased with the fallen Jedi's efforts, he proved a useful tool. With practiced ease Sidious gestured warmly to the elder man, “Welcome home Lord Tyranus.”

“The Force is with us Master,” The Count bowed in greeting joining Sidious as they walked into the complex. “I bear good news, the war has begun.”

“Well done, your skills are no match for the Jedi.” Palpatine chuckled in this throat, “And what of the young upstarts, have they been adequately dealt with?”

“They survived the encounter,” Dooku grimaced as your words rang in his head again, “Next time I shall...”

Palpatine waived off the Count's words, “Spare me. Soon enough they will be eliminated and together we shall control the galaxy. For the people, for the future.”

And what future shall that be, forged in the crucible of war, the Count wondered? Dooku knew well to keep his doubts shielded though, the Sith was a cunning being and not to be trusted. But it was better to reign in Hell than to serve in heaven. “For a brighter tomorrow shall our labors travail.”

Anakin woke in a darkened room, warm and quiet. It took more than a few moments for the fog to clear his brain. Raising his right arm he felt the cold shock of metal and not his fingers. Fingers that flexed and moved but...

“Ani? Are you awake?”

Turning towards the soft voice Anakin couldn't speak for a moment, simply staring. There were no words yet to express both his joy and sorrow. Joy at seeing Padme waiting beside him, her sweet face curved by a genuine smile because he lived. And yet how uncomfortable she must be cramped in this small sparse space. Anakin never wanted to see her deprived of comfort, not for him.

“Are you in pain? I can get the nurse,” Padme watched as Anakin shook his head, still very distracted by the new metal limb. She took his left hand in her own, “It's just temporary till you get a better fitting, they said you were very lucky. Y/n and Obi Wan came to check on you, they were both so worried.”

“Not worried enough to stay.”

“That's not fair Anakin.” Padme gave him a hurt look, “They were both worried sick. The doctor even said Y/n was badgering him from the aid station every hour for an update. Obi Wan stayed here until Master Yoda made him go rest.”

Anakin flushed in embarrassment at rightly being chastised. “I should know my Masters better by now, it was stupid of me to doubt them.”

“You've been through so much,” taking a cool cloth, Padme dabbed it across his brow. Putting the cloth aside she laced her fingers with his again. “How do you feel.”

“Like I had my arm cut off.” Anakin snarked. Then he saw how her face fell and felt all the dumber for it. He felt foolish for a great many things. Shaking his head on a silent curse, Anakin's temper flared, “I couldn't stop Dooku...”

“No one could, it's not your fault.”

“I'm sorry Padme, I should have protected you better.” The image of her laying limp in the sand flashing through his mind again. Regret lacing his voice, Anakin reached up to cup Padme's bruised cheek. Even past his faults as a Jedi, would she want him now that he was this defeated broken thing. A fool of a man who couldn't even protect his woman properly. Would she still love him with all his faults? “I would have liked to have held you with both hands...”

Padme's voice cracked as she took the cool metal prosthetic and pressed it to her other cheek, “You still can.”

“You don't have to stay,” He whispered, not meeting her eyes. People made rash statements all the time under stress, he knew that. Anakin was trying to give Padme a gracious way out of this, trying to do the right thing even if it killed him. Because in the end he loved her and what could he offer her beyond that? “I'm sure that you probably have more important things...”

“How dare you say that,” Padme's face scrunched, hurt to her bones that he had even said it. Her Ani ought to know her better, “I'm not leaving you Anakin and there is nothing more important to me right now than you. So never say that to me again.”

“Forgive me?” A small smile curled one side of his mouth. His heart surged and Anakin began to gently pull Padme into the bed. He needed to feel her safe in his arms, needed to show her the affection that she so deserved. His brave angel deserved every star in the galaxy.

“The bed's too small.” Padme grumbled but acquiesced, exhaustion causing her to ignore better judgment. Laying in Anakins arms, being held so gently, she felt safer than she had in weeks. She wanted to stay a little upset with him, but it was so very hard when she could feel his care in every touch. Still her voice carried a hint of exasperation, “Honestly Anakin sometimes I wonder what you think of me.”

“That you're the most beautiful woman in the Galaxy. That you've stolen my heart,” He didn't dare press further just yet, stars but he wanted to as he gazed longingly at her lips. Anakin wanted to hold Padme close for the rest of time, to kiss her till there was no question how much he loved her. He would worship the ground that she walked on no matter where that ground was. As he floated the blankets up to cover them, Anakin caressed Padme's face. Tracing from her eyebrow, the apple of her cheek. “There now, don't want you to be uncomfortable.”

“Me? You're the one who,” Padme paused mid sentence face falling as she began to cry. She had almost gotten the two of them killed rushing in, it had been reckless. The litany of admonishments at her actions rolling through her mind, she was a Senator and should know better! Agony and frustration shook her whole body, but Anakin only held tighter.

“Shh, it's ok. You're safe angel.” Anakin could feel her turmoil, wishing he could make her forget the past few days and their terrors. And yet if not for the past few days he would not be holding her now. No he could not erase it, but he would ease it. Gazing at her he put the full weight of his heart into the words, “I love you Padme, so much.”

“Anakin,” She hiccuped between sobs, words getting caught. She wanted to tell him she loved him too, that she regretted her earlier lie. Gazing into his eyes Padme saw the light of his understanding. He knew without her saying a word. Still her tears would not cease; for him, for his mother, for the dead, for the galaxy. “I'm sorry... I'm so frightened Ani.”

“Don't be afraid.” Restraint finally breaking, Anakin kissed her. First her lips then every single tear from her face, laying one last soft press to Padme's forehead. If his angel needed him to be strong for the both of them, then that is what he would do. Raising his hand instinctively to brush at her cheek he paused a hairs breath away remembering the metal. Instead he lowered it to move up and down her back carefully, still too afraid that he would do harm.

Tucking Padme's head below his chin Anakin began humming a tune, one that he heard often at Maffa's bar. Carefully soothing his new hand on her back as his flesh one cradled her head, a few of the lyrics falling loose. As her breathing settled and she relaxed in his hold Anakin murmured, “I'll always protect you, love you... Will you marry me?”

Padme had been drifting to sleep in the safe harbor of his embrace, lulled into a sense of safety. And maybe she would have overthought the question had she not been so exhausted, but not now. Emotions too raw, everything happening so fast, and she wanted what he offered so easily. He hadn't changed since the day she had met him ten years ago, still a kind and giving heart. “Yes, I'll marry you Anakin.”

“Then sleep angel,” Anakin practically beamed with joy, “You've made me so happy Padme.”

He swore she would not cry again, whatever he had to do she would always smile. He would be better, faster, the best Jedi in the Order. And after he brought peace to the galaxy and the war was over he would leave to be with her. It was a simple plan, but it was a start. He promised himself and her that they'd make it to their tomorrow, because love wasn't something to fear.

At least that's what he'd been told.

“Another?”

“Keep it coming,” You muttered, passing the cup back to Glitch to pour you another beer. Bumming a puff on Deek's cigar you slowly let the smoke waft out around you. Numbing your mind was not a solution to the problem, but you didn't want to deal with it at present either.

Deek threw an arm around your shoulders, “That shit'll give you cancer kid.”

“and yet you survive old man.”

He gave your head a hard noogie. “Smartass!”

You had gone to check in on Anakin and found Padme watching over him. Truth be told the affectionate look on the young woman's face was more than enough to put you at ease. There was a happiness when the two were together, one that you prayed never left. And so you had slogged down to the C deck in search of your own happiness.

Obi Wan had been fast asleep, looking the rougher for wear. You had indulged, just a moment, sitting on the bed and stroking his hair. The soft auburn strands feathering against your skin was soothing and a smile had risen as your Obi had turned gently into the touch. Stars knew he had earned a rest and that you should get some yourself. Instead you had pressed a soft kiss to his head and tucked an extra blanket around him before heading to the mess hall, avoiding the nightmares that you knew were waiting.

Should have figured that the RIC's would sneak a keg on board, wouldn't be the first or last. So you sat at the table playing Sabac and decompressed as best you could. There were other Jedi in the cantina and you had managed to wave a few over to join the group, stars knew they needed a reprieve as much as the others here. They would drift by for a time, visit, and then leave to meditate. Master Undulii had also drifted by, mostly to express her thanks to you and Glitch. She did not wish to stay initially, but Glitch had handed the Jedi a Kaf and patted the seat between the two of you. The Mirilan had taken the unconventional beings in stride.

“These are all students of yours?”

Giving a nod you sipped at your beer, it was piss water cheap but the best you'd ever had. “Yes, most of this bunch went through the academy class with Anakin.”

“I see and these classes are open to anyone?” Luminara hadn't encouraged her apprentice to further her medical training past what was necessary in the Halls of Healing. Now she considered just how under prepared that had left the girl, how helpless she may have felt. Barris would not soon recover from this experience that was certain and perhaps time away in an academic setting would do her well.

You could see the wheels turning, needing just a little nudge, “I'd be happy to have you sit in on a class sometime.”

“Boss, why do I have a feeling that this lovely lady could probably teach the class?” Glitch snarked while simultaneously keeping an eye on the pack of troopers at the end of the room. She recognized 2224, no it was Cody he said, and couldn't help grinning when he'd blush after realizing that he got caught looking her way. But she also knew that involvement would be a bad idea so she was relegated to teasing him. Hearing your grumblings Glitch poked at you again, earning a smile from the other Jedi, “Probably run circles around you in the aid station too.”

“Ha ha Yalvaberg, though you're not wrong.” Slapping down your cards you folded your hand, glancing in your peripherals at Master Undulii. “Open offer for anyone at the Temple, Barris included.”

“Speaking of little bitty, where'd she get too?” Glitch took two more cards, watching the group of troopers head out of the hall. Just as well she thought.

Luminara was perplexed, “Little bitty?”

“Barris,” Glitch clarified, “Good things in small packages.”

Luminara quirked a brow until you explained that it was high praise indeed to have earned a nickname. Setting down her mug she smiled at the young people here. There was a closeness to this group, a bond made of grit and pain that gave them a strength. It touched her that Barris was now counted among them, “She is resting, I think I will go check on her though. You have my thanks again and I look forward to seeing you in the classroom.”

You watched as the more senior Master rose, graceful as ever, and floated from the room like a cloud on the wind. Finishing your own beverage you bid the others goodnight and left too, not before an extended hug from Deek though. There was much said in that hug, things that didn't need words but were bone deep and true. That you were both glad to be alive, that you were both relieved that the mission was done. That you both prayed it was the last close call.

Even as hard as you tried to quiet your mind, the racing thoughts wouldn't cease. The guilt and pain, all like a great mountain on you. Wandering the halls of the ship you found your way to the recovery wing. Most of the troopers you had worked on made it through secondary surgery, including A'den who gave you a waive leading you to stop and speak with him for a bit. It was a reward that little squeeze of his big hand, the smile he gave. None of that was why you did it, but kark it felt nice. There was an officer who was also checking on the men, his commanding presence standing out from the others. There was no conversation between you, simply a nod of greeting and both going about your way.

Further down the line were the injured Jedi. And while they were indeed alive, many were far from well. Several apprentices trembled in their beds or looked on blankly. The few Masters whom were present to shepard them weren't in much better shape. The Masters whose eyes reflected the gutting of loss everyone here felt. They would all require a great deal of psychological help after an event like this, needed experts in that field and not simply the healers at the Temple. It would be a discussion with the Council, but for another day. Turning to leave you came face to chest with an old acquaintance. “I'm so sorry, I didn't see...”

“L/n,” The voice growled low.

Your stomach dropped. There was Master Adeva, Togorian glare ever fixed. This was neither the time nor the place for a disagreement, “I was just leaving, good evening Master Adeva.”

Carefully trying move around him, you were far too tired to reign in your emotions, only making it a few steps when he began to growl.

“Is it all worth it?” Adeva grumbled the thought out loud. The older being saw how your posture slumped at his words, not thinking how you had interpreted the statement.

Deuce was speaking with a couple of recently promoted sergeants when he heard the trouble. His face turned stony watching the two Jedi. Who the hells did this beast think he was, speaking to the little medic like that? Your response to the feline though, it ripped him like a blaster bolt.

“No,” tears streamed as the hopeless answer left your lips. Glancing over your shoulder to him you whispered. “I should have died and saved you the effort.”

One of the injured troopers came alongside Deuce looking just as pissed, but the Alpha waited to see what the Togorian would do. Both Clones were unarmed, but stood ready to protect. This one had fought for his brothers lives, for that alone she had his respect. He whispered to the other clone, “Find the Jedi Kenobi, now!”

“You would say that, after all the trouble to save you?” Adeva turned his head studying the small woman. You did not seem yourself. Not sharp tongued or quick witted, almost like it pained you to even move.

“Yeah, well I didn't deserve it anyway. Said it yourself I'm weak, an embarrassment to my Master, an abomination. That I should have died long ago...” you rambled out. How you ached for rest, your ribs hollow with nothing left to give or fight with. A sardonic little hum escaped you, “Sorry to disappoint you and survive again when so many more deserving beings should have.”

The Togorian was stunned, though he should not be surprised. After all he had spoken the vile, hateful words that you now repeated, had encouraged his Padawan to do the same. His ears flattened as his voice filled with shame, “L/n...”

“I'll make it easy, save you the trouble for next time...” It was a choice everyday, to live or to give it up. Most days you could be strong, others you needed to bolster your strength just to slog through. Not today though, today you just wanted the bliss of silent oblivion. If your brain were in a more sound state it would recognize that this was not right, but all you could feel was pain and death and failure. Holding up your saber you pressed it into his paw like hand with the end at your chest. Voice quivering you bore your gaze into his, “Go ahead.”

“What?” Tightening his grip on the hilt he saw you eyes close relief. It was such an antitheses to whom he had now come to understand you to be. It was wrong, this whole situation was wrong and Adeva found himself regretting having contributed to your longing for death. Slowly, carefully he placed your saber on the medical cart nearest. Your eyes were angry with him even as tears began to fall. “No, I will not do that.”

“It's like a damned cosmic joke...” Laughing in pain as your head fell in resignation. “I am a wraith that even death has turned it's back on.”

“Master L/n... you misunderstand me.” Dipping his head, Adeva tried to meet your eyes. He no longer wished to fight with you. No, that was the past and it was time to act as a Jedi should. “We caused you such pain for so long. We were wrong. I was wrong... about everything.”

You shook your head in confusion.

“You saved my Padawan, Hashi wouldn't have made it out of the arena had you not intervened.”

“I -” your words were cut short by a growl.

“You and Kenobi were captured, tortured, and still confronted Dooku.” Adeva saw you clench and fiddle with your hands. “And all I can reason is that you must think this mission, this galaxy, worthy to suffer so.”

“Someone has to protect it.” Your voice was small, barely a scratching of words. “I did my duty.”

“No, you did more.” It was in that moment that Adeva knew just how much pain his words had caused over the years, how much you had endured. How wrong and twisted he had been and for what? Pride and tradition meant little if one could not act honorably towards their fellow beings. Your eyes were dark as they gazed back at him, “I was so very wrong about you and though I can never deserve it... please forgive me.”

It was an odd feeling, whiplashed from one extreme to the other. A being who had tormented you so long, whom you in many ways considered an adversary, asking pardon for the wrong he had done. You wanted to stay angry, to yell and scream, to let every boiling emotion set loose; but to what end really? You might be short tempered, perhaps brash and overly passionate, but you were not cruel. To release such fury upon even this being... no you would never cause pain willingly.

There were also all the hopeless gazes looking to you from the beds, wondering if this was all there was to their future? How could the Jedi continue if they only fought among themselves, unable to forgive their brothers and sisters. Wondering eyes asking if this was how their order would fall from the light into the abyss of shadow. No, even if darkness filled the stars above, you refused to be the one to snuff out their hope for a better tomorrow. This would not be the day that you crumbled, this would not be the day you let the light perish from this place. As hard as it was, you chose in that moment to live and fight one day more.

“I forgive you.”

“This way Sir.”

“Oh wee one...” Obi Wan had been pulled from his bed by one of the troopers. All he had been told was that you were in trouble and it was all he needed to hear. The fact that he could only mildly feel your presence in the Force raised alarm bells.

“There Sir, look.”

Glancing ahead you rounded the corner with an escort of your own. Alpha 22 was flanking your side, a concerned look on his face. Obi Wan watched as you simply seemed to exist, as though a spirit trapped in the land of the living. There was no sign of your usual spark of liveliness and it sent a shiver down his back. The imposing trooper at your side simply guided you forward, firmly but with care. As the two men glanced at each other there was a silent understanding.

“Keep a close eye on this one, she's... in need of rest.” Deuce glanced down at the woman, deeply troubled by what he'd seen. He'd seen some of his Vod'e over the years who had cracked before graduation or from the treatment of their trainers. He well recognized that look in your eyes. Tilting his head Deuce softened his tone again, “You take care now Baar'ur'ika, want to see you at formation when we land.”

“I'll take her from here,” Obi Wan whispered as his arm came around your shoulders. It was a long walk back, every step of the journey made like you were shuffling through duracrete. He felt the raging torrent rippling from your signature even as your face remained placidly flat. Studying you carefully he knew there was something truly wrong. You hadn't changed, robes in need of incineration rather than cleaning. Worse yet you were silent, not uttering a word to him only holding his hand tightly like a lifeline. As he closed and locked the door Obi Wan gently cupped your face, “Wee one?”

Blinking at him you gazed wide eyed, but unseeing. Your mind was stuck on what had happened in the med bay, the terrible things you said. How could you have let that blackness out, how could you expose the others to your dark mind? When Obi Wan tried to grasp your arms you backed away shrinking into yourself, not wanting to hurt him too. You'd only contaminate him, you had to keep him safe. The thoughts raged again, the horrible images that Dooku had put in your mind rising like the tide. Was it torture or a vision, would they all die just like you had seen?

“Love?” Obi Wan watched as you started to shake and cry, hands flying to clutch your head. He fought to grab you then, bringing you with him to the floor as you screamed into his chest. Blood curdling agony escaping with every breath, eyes wild in fear. You fought his hold not seeing him, but instead some spectral horror. It took pushing his own calm upon your signature to placate the worst of it; he kept soothing your hair as he whispered through his own growing dread. “It's alright now, we're safe... we're all safe. Please Y/n come back, don't leave me now... please come back to me.”

You could feel the distant glimmer of his signature, that small flicker of light in the swirling dark, “Obi?”

“I'm here love. Tell me how to help, what did the devil do to you?” Kissing your forehead his face scrunched in concentration. You whole body shook frantically as your face blanched, but he was determined and pressed through the connection, “Y/n let me in.”

“No! You can't... not safe...” You were so frightened of hurting him, fighting with what little you had in you to push back.

“I'm not letting you suffer, not another minute. Now let me in.” Obi Wan lurched bodily as the first images came through, crying out in pain. Pushing further through the dark web, he grasped onto your signature more fully. You had both survived the arena and he wouldn't loose you now. It was as if Dooku had set a hurricane loose in your mind of all the dark fears you hid away even from him. Trying with all his might Obi Wan began to untangle the dark web in which you were caught, forcing more peaceful thoughts over the storm.

Things he knew calmed you, things that brought you joy. Images of forests and small animals you'd seen on missions, of nights at the diner, the memory of that first kiss under the stars. He felt as your body began to slacken in his hold, going limp as your cries softened to sniffles. Whispering against your head as he continued to soothe, “Stay with me in the light, don't leave. I'll do anything, but please stay darling.”

“I'm trying, it's so hard,” Your voice a whimper, “I'm so tired Obi.”

“Then let me take care of you, as you've done for me.” Obi Wan lifted your face from where it was buried in his chest, eyes bloodshot. They were still the most beautiful eyes he knew. “That's it darling, just hold tightly and all will be well.”

“P-promise?”

“I promise, just hold on.” Carefully Obi Wan carried you to the fresher. Hands steady and gentle as he cleaned the dirt away, holding you as your tears rinsed down the drain with the suds. He was loving in every way as he dried and helped you into fresh robes, laying with you on the bed. It hurt him to see you in such pain, what he would give to take it from you. “Any better sweetling?”

Curling into his body the errand tears still rolled down your cheek. “I'm sorry Obi...”

“Shh none of that wee woman, nothing to be sorry for at all.” You huffed and burrowed into his chest further on a little cry. Obi Wan sighed, slowly soothing a hand at your back. You always managed to find your way before, yet you lay so broken here in his arms. Perhaps all that was required was to remind you of whom you were, “You're so strong Y/n, knew from the first minute I saw you.”

Looking up through wet lashes you hummed curiously.

“It's true, really. You looked ready to fight anyone that would say a word about your Master at her service and then...” He hummed wistfully, “You glanced over and smiled at me.”

“I did?” You mumbled, trying to remember if what your Obi Boy said was true, honestly couldn't recall much of that day really. You hadn't even known Obi Wan then, but you do recall him and Qui Gon being present.

“Indeed you did. Only the strongest beings remain so kind even in the midst of such pain.” He'd only just returned to the order himself, feeling out of place and alone. Obi Wan had dutifully gone to the services, accompanying Master Qui Gon as he bid a friend farewell. Still he felt out of place, under scrutiny even in the midst of mourning. Obi Wan had glanced back at you, watching as he felt the ripples of your palpable sorrow and wondered how you stood so gracefully. Then you had glanced over during the funeral as though sensing his eyes lingering and smiled at him. You had seen him, another lost soul and smiled. He fell for you then and you had ever been a part of him. “Still the strongest person I know.”

“I'm not,” Your arms squeezed him tighter, voice choking on the words. “I wish that were true but... Obi I'm so tired of it. All the missions, all the rules, all the fighting and pain. I don't want to do it anymore...” Soft little sobs escaped despite your best efforts.

He knew, had for so very long. The Temple had always been a gilded cage and honestly even he had come to hate it at times. What would it be like to simply walk with you, unafraid of being seen or judged. What would it be like to have a home away from all of this, only you two? As much as it would pain him, Obi Wan was prepared to make that sacrifice, if that was what you needed of him. Then he felt your soft touch on his jaw and glanced down into your watery eyes.

“...But I'll stay for you... and Anakin. You're my family, I go where you go.” Kissing softly at the top of his chest you started to drift into the depths of your exhaustion. “I love you.”

“And I you, so very much.” His voice broke like waves upon the shore, “I promise you Y/n...”

Shaking your head on a hum you brought his face to meet with yours, lips gently embracing. Salty tears marred the tender joining, maybe that was the best the day could offer. Perhaps that was all there would be is stolen moments and little victories, but it was more than most. You weren't ambitious enough to think past now, living in this moment and nowhere else. No promises of anything but the next sweet kiss from your man. That was the only thing you trusted right now.

Obi Wan could feel just how tenuous your hold was, the way your signature flickered. Like embers in a banked fire, as easily rekindled as it was to be dashed out. So he pressed just a little more, deepening the kiss and tracing your features softly. Fingertips ghosting the line of your jaw till he could comb his fingers into your soft hair. There was more grays streaking through, not from age but from all that life had brought. Laugh lines and freckles that came with time, and not a one would he trade. The two of you had raised Anakin, survived so many missions and mishaps, earning every worry line and sign of age together. On a soft grin Obi Wan began to whisper, a secret just between you. “What would you do Y/n... if we did leave?”

“What?”

“If we left the Order, what would you want to do?” He stroked his thumb at your temple, humming his own contemplation. “I think I'd be a teacher.”

Watching the corners of his eyes crinkle made you believe, even for a minute, it might be possible. That after all of this you might be able to have what you wanted. It was a dangerous feeling, this hope, and not something that would happen until this matter with Dooku was settled. Your Master still needed your help, you couldn't abandon him or the rest of the Jedi now. But here, with your Obi Wan it was safe enough to dream. “I think... just a little clinic. Little younglings with colds and sore throats, school check ups...”

Obi Wan pursed his lips in thought, “We could have a massif.”

“You're more of a tooka person,” you mumbled.

Closing his eyes, Obi Wan murmured, “We could have more than pets... if you'd want.”

“Seems you've thought about this,”voice thick at the thought of what he described. You had secretly wondered the same from time to time, “A little boy maybe...”

“A little family somewhere quiet. Nowhere to go or missions to complete,” he chuckled, “We'd be bored to tears.”

“Boredom sounds good.” a bitter grin etched across your face, “But I have a feeling we won't be bored for quite some time my love.”

“No, I suspect you're right about that. I'm sorry we couldn't stop it Y/n...”

Pulling Obi Wan into another kiss you shook your head, “Not tonight... leave it till morning please?”

Obi Wan soothed you through the night terrors and held you tightly when his own came on. Yesterday the war began, but here in their bunk there was peace.

Even if only for tonight.

tags: @obislittleone @the-rain-on-kamino @a-rose-of-amber @aquaamethyst96 @stanny-uwu @nurseytypechick @just-dreaming-marvel @in-a-mellow-tone @acatalystrising @pickleprickle @iambored24601 @purplepandora666 @misscamptl @wannabakewithsomebody @obiknights @moostresskenobi @the-going-merry @ginger-swag-rapunzelre @iabrokengirl @lovelyxlily @annasun13 @foxperifoto @supernaturallover2002 @imherefordeanandbones

[lamemaster]

A Deceitful Peace (Glorfindel x Reader)

Word Count: 1.3k

Summary: The submerged lands of Gondolin hold 16 graves. Tales do not mention them. Few of the living know of them leave for the Vala of death and one elleth. 

Warnings: Death, gore, violence

The last of the Orcs fell from your blade. Your fellow soldiers who had barely survived finally got a chance to breathe. The city had fallen. Gondolin was gone. Its lords, gone with it. Yet, a small party persevered. A party that stood as the last defense for the fleeing survivors.

Death was looming on the shoulder of those who finished slaying the last of the enemy’s host. Fighting a battle they had already lost but it was worth it for all those who had a chance for a better life.

Next to you soldiers collapse with their blades too heavy. A dozen bleeding wounds and staggering breaths betrayed how little life was left in their bodies. Maybe it was a small mercy from Mandos that they had survived this long. Beyond the tolerance of the elven body.

Smoke and ash make those last breaths painful. Your fellow soldiers cough miserably. Wet, uncontrollable coughing fits that lead to increased blood loss. The city is engulfed by flames. It is clear that your pyre was set by nature itself. 

However, you do not allow yourself the relief of a welcomed death like others. Your blade is no longer clutched in your arms and you take off your quiver that held a couple of arrows. With practiced motions, you take off your now knife-less bandolier. 

In a trance, you make your way through the bloodied fields that were once your home. Your carelessly untie your hair pulled back in tight braids. Particles of ash fall off as your hair frees into the air. Weaponless, unguarded, uncaring you walk. There is a possibility that there may be lingering enemies but with your end so close you do not care. You would rather die on this journey looking for him than spend your last breath weary of cursed ones.

On the way, you stumble as a face stares back at you. Your friend’s face. Beheaded. Speared. Rog stares at you. His body was nowhere to be seen. Even in the most gruesome scene, your dearest friend’s expression holds no fear.

With trembling hands, you struggle to pull off your friend’s head from the spear. Your hands slip with the blood that does not stop. Your tears make it hard to discern anything. Heavy sobs wreck your body and your knees start to buckle. Your friend…you close your eyes and a sharp wet squelch is followed by a new weight in your hands. Your feet stumble back with the sudden force and weight.

You find the nearest unmarred surface and take off your cloak. It is battered with blood and singed with fire in many places. You rest your friend’s head there. With a gentle hand, you close his eyes. As you close yours in a prayer.

“May the halls of Mandos give you peace my friend.” Your prayer is short. You fail to muster any grand words. Your throat hurts making it hard to swallow your sobs as you for the last time on Middle Earth, kiss Rog’s forehead. ‘I too shall follow you soon.’ you promise as you wrap his head. 

‘Wait for me here. There is someone else I need to find.’ You whisper to your friend’s dead body as you gather the courage to stand up.

So, you start again. Walking among the simmering fire of burning halls you had dined in. You walk until the Sun finds itself on the Western edge of the world. Darkening skies do not halt you. Blood flowing from your wounds does not stop you. 

The sight of an uneven cliff does.

You do not know how you know where he lies but you do. For all the pain in the world seems to have gathered under that one cliff. 

Forgoing the last remnants of your armor you feel a weird sense of numbness settle over you. A determination. Your last task on Middle Earth would soon free you. The last labor that you would fulfill even at the cost of denying Mandos.

The journey begins. You do not equip yourself with a torch. You do not need it. It would aid little for the dark that gathered around you. The climb down is easy. With all your sense of reservation gone, there is little to fear of jagged rocks.

Moon is up in the sky by the time you reach the bottom of the cliff. It reeks of blood and ash like the rest of the valley. Your steps don’t falter. For a moment your traitorous mind wonders. It wonders if by some miracle he survived.

But then you find him. And you are struck by the peace on his face. A calm you’ve never seen on the faces of any of the exiled. Moon shines on his golden hair the same way it did when Gondolin had been unstruck. When his smiles were still within the reach of a small joke.

Death was peaceful. It was deceitful. He looked as if he slept in the ways of men. A dream playing behind those closed eyes. But elves do not dream with their eyes closed. They do not sleep in the pool of their blood. 

You rush to him. You pause when your hands trying to cradle him feel a softness. A softness you realize to be his brain. Grappled with horror you sit there as you realize the truth. Death was deceiving. For all the peace it held. It also carried pain and so much of it. For once it felt more of a doom than a gift many called it to be.

Your beloved’s glorious golden head was dyed red. Bruises from his fall were now in your clear view. Scorched skin from his battle. 

Your chest feels hollow. It would be so much more easier to let go. To succumb to the summons of Mandos right here. You rest Glorfindel’s head in your lap. Your hand trying to caress his face stops. It is bloody. You clean your hands on your tunic as you allow yourself to touch your beloved.

“I’m sorry,” tears form in your eyes. “I’m sorry,” you plead but none answer. You do not know what you apologize for but your heart rips into pieces. You have wronged him. Somehow you wronged him. He should not be dead. You shouldn’t have let him die. 

His eyes remain closed. None of your apologies bring him back. 

Pulling out a solitary flask of water you carry, you wet the torn-off piece of your tunic. And then with light motions clean your lover’s face. You wipe away all the blood, ash, and dirt. You sit there and braid his hair for the last time. For a moment it is easy to fool your heart into thinking of it as an untainted night. 

Later in the early hours of the morning, you carry him on your back. All the way to the city, you trek with your lover. Denying death with the steep slope that felt so effortless on the way down. Your own injuries as flaring and your vision swims with each step.

Soon you find yourself crawling with one hand holding on to your beloved as the other holds on to the sharp jutting-out rocks. Scratches turn to blisters which turn into torn skin soon followed by bloodied fingers.

Dark of dawn stretches longer than ever as you struggle with the last of your trek. Your clean hand still holds on Glorfindel on your back. His body is cold. Colder than ever. Your own limbs start feeling an unrelenting chill that seeps into your bones.

“Rog awaits us.” You tell the unresponsive weight on your back. Maybe you were going crazy. 

Your knees give away as you finally pull yourself to the top. The city…you made it. A coughing fit racks your body as you struggle to carry Glorfindel to where Rog rests.

—-------------------------------------------------------------

The submerged lands of Gondolin hold 16 graves. Tales do not mention them. Few of the living know of them leave for the Vala of death and one elleth. 

They are dug by battered hands. A last resting place for the fallen. 16 before death claimed the creator of those graves. A creator whose body lies unsheltered in an unfinished grave.

[edgelordfinalboss]

🌊OF SHARP STONES🌊

SECTION ONE: OCEAN 

POV: Kimora

Chapter: Chapter One

Fandom: The Lost Boys (1987)

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Blood, Violence, Witch hunting, Witch burning, Witchcraft, Trauma and Character death.

Summary: A coven of witches living on the beach of Santa Carla have to deal with the death of their leader after a lethal witch burning that leads to the bounty hunting of both them and their romantic partners, the notorious lost boys of Santa Carla. Yet, something more terrifying lives in Santa Carla and it's the spirits of those killed by the hunting, begging for revenge.

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"Yes!"

I swing my hands in the air, stealing the water vapor from the atmosphere with little more than a thought and the pain of overexertion. A flare of white forms in the air, creating a cloud that aims itself toward the well-toned girl only a few footsteps away. Her hair, long and the deep shade of coconut is mixed with pure white highlights that shimmer and shine like the works of a very bad glamour magic attempt.

Her familiar, a chow chow lays in the sand, watching as the event unfolds between us.

A clap and a whistle from one of my biggest fans forces me to bite back a smile as I barely get away from the witch's hand. She's fast but I'm stronger and bigger and the only way that I'll win this battle is to use that to my advantage.

Eyes the color of a rare blood moon gleam at me as the cloud slices through her weapon, a wand made of pine wood and tarnishing copper. I arch back as she darts at me, her fist outstretched for my jaw but only finding my shoulder. I wobble backwards but stay afoot, moving away from her next blow.

Reaching for her wrist, I bury my nails into her skin and drag her onto the sand with a snag. The girl's eyes widen, the red glamor leaving them for her natural hazel with a blink and a yep for help.

"Conclude!" The referee, a young girl about seven years old runs to stop us, her raven black braids flying behind her. Her eyes, two large brown balls of light look between us with worry.

"Heard, Zefra." I say, offering my arm to Hannah, the sun-kissed girl who drags herself up from the earth.

"You owe me another wand." Hannah grins, dusting herself off. "You might have won the fight, but I won a new stick."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." I snort as she reaches for my arm.

Before I can jerk away, my knees give away and the scorching ground burns my arms with unrelenting viciousness. Hannah says something under her breath as I lay in the sun with Zefra asking me a hundred times if I'm alright.

"I'm fine, Zefra." I huff as my skin starts to sting. "Just disappointed in myself."

"But you won." The dark-skinned girl looks at me with a soft sadness.

"I know."

"Then why are you disappointed?"

"Because I'm not perfect. One day I will be but right now, I'm gonna give myself hell until my form is undefeated."

"I thought you were great! And that cloud! You aren't even a storm witch and you did that with ease! Maybe you could teach me, Kim!" Her hand finds mine and I pull myself up to give her the illusion that her strength has grown.

"Maybe I'll be your mentor when the time comes."

Her smile grows so big that it makes my heart leap in my chest.

"Maybe you'll find your familiar too." I stand up as she says the very thing that I've been trying to forget.

Even after the horrible event of the destruction of the bluff's coven and the death of Ruth, my coven's leader, my familiar hadn't come to me. Things had gotten worse for us witches, as we had been forced to reduce our training and day-to-day lifestyle.

Even the waters had become agitated, forcing the human dominations to ban the surfers and the fishermen from taking to the waters. The spirits of the bluff's witches ran to the sea, finding comfort in the waves but even within the cobalt, their anger bubbled and raged.

Rightfully so.

"Yeah, maybe." I dust myself off with one hand and keep her hand in the other as we cross the beach towards the gathered witches.

"What do you think they'll look like?"

I shrug. I always imagined the creature would be bigger than the common snake, fox, or rabbit.

"A bloodhound."

"Why?"

"So I can hunt down those men who killed our friends. I want to hunt them like them like the animals that they are."

I don't tell her about the plans that Paul and I had conjured only a few nights after the tragic event. About the ideas that the rest of his lair mates and my coven had thrown in. It shocked me that even the vampires had felt the rage that we had, but alas, Max knew that an attack on us would mean an attack on them.

"Oh. Aren't you scared?" Her bright eyes warm my soul.

"Yeah, but we all are. We have to be to survive." I say, wishing that I could be as strong as the words coming out of my mouth, to be as sure as my steps.

The water hisses from behind me, smacking into the stone wall of earth rising above the waters. Jutting rock shelves hang like swords on a shelf, protecting the upper world from the crashing waves. The saltiness of the ocean fills my every sense, stinging my nose but reminding me of the magic that lives within it.

Zefra looks up in fear as the waves retreat without a body in tow, their hunger for revenge left unquenched.

"How can we please the spirits?" Her small voice asking such a big question catches me off guard.

I don't know.

"No one knows."

She holds my hand tighter as we walk closer to the gathered covens.

"Maybe they're hungry." She whispers.

"You think so?"

The small girl shakes her head. "I know so."

I freeze at her words but before I can clarify just what she meant, she breaks away from me and runs to her coven leader, a pale woman with a heavy amount of black eyeliner and lipstick, her eyes hard on me with something that ranges between distrust and curiosity. Then again, who could blame her?

Any good coven leader would question my motives. It was I who had found the charred remains of the witches with a vampire companion. It was also me who had been too wrecked to help place the bodies to rest before the humans could stump on our sacred lands and destroy what was left of not only our but their dignity.

I wave and dip my head low in respect.

The coven of the twilight hour.

The symbol of a half moon on the leader's arm in the form of a black tattoo clarifies that.

A pigeon pecks at her head, digging its beak in her huge bat's nest of a hairstyle but she seems not to mind it, her gaze locked on mine as she reluctantly returns the gesture.

Her cold expression fades as Zefra embraces her, replaced with a rather soft laugh. I take it as my cue to break the stare, moving off to where my coven of two stands huddled like they've seen a ghost. Even the outgoing Angel, a beam of sunshine seems to be bothered by something.

"Somebody died?" I joke.

"That's not funny." Darla steps forward, her Led Zeppelin shirt stained with its fair share of grit and sand from defeating challenge after challenge except for the last she lost to a girl as fast as lightning.

"Not that it was serious, Darla." I hold my ground as her frown grows deeper.

"Or something I want to bring up." She remains hard.

"Well, I assume that you two are gonna let me know why you're both looking like somebody kicked a puppy." I cross my arm, trying to look tough despite the sun using my head as a target practice.

Angel speaks first, her downward expression forming into one a little better but still quite worrying for her.

"They've been talking about us." Angel keeps her statement short.

"You in particular, as they have for the last weeks-." Darla raises her voice as she keeps going.

"And I should care, why."

"More like why you shouldn't care." Darla snaps. "Let's see, you were seen with a vampire."

"We all date one, keep going." Her pale eyes outlined in dark liner she took from my vanity could rip me apart.

"But you were seen with him in broad moonlight"

"-discovering bodies. If it wasn't for me following my intuition into the woods where their coven is located, who knows what those coven hunters could have done? They should remember the broadness of our situation."

"But they don't see that, Kimora." Angel's voice sounds like a plea. The wild colors of her maxi dress make it hard to focus on her dark brown eyes only a few shades darker than her complexion. "They see what they want to see."

I fight back the shutter in my stomach.

"I don't need to care what they see because I know my intentions. I know what led me there that night and if any of those twilight hour witches try to claw at my name, I'll ask the real question. Why didn't they hear anything, why did our leader have to die when they should have been the first combatants."

"Why are you so adamant?" Darla grabs my arm, the rosary around her neck worn as both a travesty and an attempt to fit in with the humans as a protection cold against my skin.

"Why are you so afraid?" I spit. "We are of the coven of sharp stones, we were never the biggest and now we're the smallest. We can't let them kill off what's left of us."

Darla is never afraid to fight but in front of the other covens would be pure stupid. I hope with the stillness and quiet anger burning in her gaze, something inside of her head is thinking about how right I am.

"Stop it." Angel forces her way between us.

Angel's name is more than fitting if you're relying on the image that comes to a human's head. She is indeed the stereotypical image of the humanoid figure of perfection and love, her beauty and kindness unmatched.

Her heavyset features only add to her goddess appearance, not a blemish on her skin as her stringent self-care routine and perfected glamour magic had paid off.

"Kiki is hungry and if I don't get home, she'll destroy the house." Angel starts, worry edging in her voice for the bobcat.

"You didn't feed her?" I ask.

"No, because if I feed her, she'll still destroy the house trying to find some more food." She lifts her finger. "And today is Laddie's birthday so I have to find him something, we all have to find him something."

Angel narrows her eyes with solemnity. She has come to love the kid almost as much as Dwayne does, if not more. I'm not quite sure who loves him more, Dwayne, Angel, Star, or Paul. Marko is much like David and Darla, silent around the boy with not much to say to him besides a simple, "Hey Kiddo."

"Of course." I nod. "How could I forget."

Only half vampire, like Star, I wonder just how long David or Max would allow Star and Laddie to stay that way.

"You never forget." She pats my hand. "But you-."

She pivots her eyes to the sulking Darla who's already leaving, her copperhead climbing out from the inside of her vest colorful with patches and iron-ons.

"Never mind her." I close my eyes against the sunlight. "Sorry about everything."

"It isn't your fault." I flick my eyes to the now empty beach, the humans only specks farther out towards the mainland closer to the boardwalk.

"There are so many eyes beating down on me, you know what I mean. I want to be perfect, I want to be that girl who holds her punches and laughs it off. The girl who participates in everything and makes everyone feel at home."

"But you aren't that girl. You're the girl who's better at defense magic than memorizing incantations and makes a mean sigil when she needs to. You're the girl who we'd send to walk through danger because your brain completely rotted in the fear department."

"I know and they fear that."

"That's what we love about you. That's what this coven needs." Her lips twitch as she tried to fight back a smile. "That's what Ruth loved, why she let you join with nothing but a stupid Crowley book, a welcome to California notebook, and some herbs which you still have in a box."

My throat trembles as I try to hold back tears and cover it up with more laughable memories.

"She set the Crowley book aflame."

Angel chuckles. "A good choice to be honest. She always knew best."

I try to keep myself as composed as Angel does.

"I miss her."

"Me too." She looks out at the ocean which rears up yet again and strikes, but this time at the humans, dragging some form too close to the warning line of red tap away.

Angel quickly points but I remain tranquil as the people scream and cry out curses to the waters, some running away while a few of the brave dart out to the water to retrieve a man long gone.

When the spirits strike, nothing is left.

Ruth's deep voice rattles through me. I feel it with every fiber of my being.

"We should go." Angel takes my hand. "We need to go."

I shake my head, happy that she said just what I was thinking. "For sure."

Tags: @foggyreadingromancepsychic @babyloutattoo89 @kurt-nightcrawler @fluffycows-enthusaist @master-of-metal99 @piratesangel @local-vampire-s1ut @twentysomethingwereyote

THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH FOR THE SUPPORT!

[nellyofthevalley]

spawn, ch.1

astarion x fem!tav…

rating: explicit content: NON-CON, tragedy, violence, lots of cazador, dead dove, probably death at some point, i don’t know it’s a lot, fuck or die summary: cazador uses the one thing astarion cares about to exert control over his favorite spawn in the worst ways.

“My boy, you’ve not been paying attention. I never needed you to be my spawn to control you. Leave if you like,” says Cazador. “But first, tell me, what do you think I will do with her if you leave? And where will you go running off to?” Tav just looks at Astarion across the room, accepting of what’s to come, eyes begging him to leave. She shakes her head, telling him not to stay; to save himself. If he left, she would be granted a fate worse than death, he knows it. To kill her would be a mercy. Cazador has never shown mercy. 

chapters: ch.1 | ch.2 | ch.3

read it on ao3 or below the cut:

No. No no no. Anything but this.

When Astarion rises that morning from his nightly trance, Tav is gone without a trace. No sign of struggle, no note, nothing. Only an empty bed. He panics, pacing around the room, trying to think. 

Maybe she’d had enough and left him. Maybe it was too much for her—he’d warned her of that, that he came with a lot of baggage, and he thinks that maybe she’s finally wisened up. Still, Tav was never one to be so cold, he’s certain she wouldn’t just leave, right? She’d have the decency to tell him. 

Cazador still lives, perhaps she’s gone to take care of him herself. He’d hate that, but she’s always been pragmatic and the worry in her voice when they talked about facing him was evident. Tav had asked him so many times how he was feeling about the ritual, clearly hoping he’d changed his mind since the last she’d asked, and he’d gotten frustrated with her. She could have taken things into her own hands to prevent him from completing it. 

No. No, he knows the truth, and he knew it from the start, much as he’d rather deny it. It was bound to happen, he’d given Petras and Dalyria an earful, and his siblings had come for him once already on Cazador’s orders. Cazador knew he’d taken a lover, he had to; he’d watch from the shadows and force every last minute detail out of the mouths of his brothers and sisters. 

Cazador has her, he’s sure. He took her. Worse, Astarion’s sure this means they’d been watched for longer than they thought; it’s the first night they’ve stayed in separate beds for awhile, and now, only tonight, she’s gone?

It’s hard to believe; they’d already won the battle against the Absolute, and Cazador is nothing compared to that. And yet, he’d managed to whisk her away, right under his nose, having perfected the art of capturing people, by many means, over the centuries. Astarion blames himself—they’d put off facing Cazador for too long and now she paid the consequences for it. 

He has to go alone. If he doesn’t, Cazador will surely kill her as soon as he dares to step foot in there with allies, and he can’t risk it.

For a brief moment, Astarion wishes she’d simply left; he thinks it and holds onto it with a little naive hope. She’d shown him how to feel again, and he could re-learn that, even if it took centuries. But he couldn’t re-learn it if her very essence had been stolen from this world. Not in a century, not in forever. 

Cazador is waiting for him in the ballroom. There, with his six siblings, and by Cazador’s side, Tav; her hands and legs tied, her mouth covered with tape. He would give anything to trade places with her. Gods, just seeing her like this—she hardly looks like herself, bound and helpless, but those amber eyes and braided hair he’d recognize anywhere.

She looks, outside of the restraints, to be untouched. No blood, no bite marks. Still her. 

“Welcome home,” Cazador announces with a smirk, tightening the grip of his hand resting on her shoulder. “Are you done with this… outburst of yours? Are you ready to take your place as my good little spawn again?”

Astarion disregards his words, trying to focus. He can’t get distracted, can’t let Cazador’s manipulation work on him. It’s not about him. It’s about Tav. He can’t be imperfect. Not now.

“She has nothing to do with this,” he says. 

“Ah. You thought you could disobey me and go unpunished? You’re the same stupid boy you’ve always been,” Cazador mocks. “She has everything to do with this.”

“You can’t compel me anymore, you can’t order me!” The desperation in Astarion’s voice shows; already, he’s losing his composure as the walls close in around him. He’s wrong, and he’s aware of it the moment he speaks.

There’s no way out. The moment Cazador got his hands on Tav, it was sealed. It doesn’t matter if he can be compelled or not—he has no choice in the matter. The only variable now is how cruel it will be. If he can get Tav out alive.

“My boy, you’ve not been paying attention. I never needed you to be my spawn to control you. Leave if you like,” says Cazador. “But first, tell me, what do you think I will do with her if you leave? And where will you go running off to?”

Tav just looks at Astarion across the room, accepting of what’s to come, eyes begging him to leave. She shakes her head, telling him not to stay; to save himself. If he left, she would be granted a fate worse than death, he knows it. To kill her would be a mercy. Cazador has never shown mercy. 

“This is your home, we are your family. The only ones you’ve known and will ever remember,” Cazador taunts him, reminding him of the old life long lost to his memories. Astarion is already his, malleable and ready to serve him, ready to bargain with his life.

“Fuck you! Just take me. Take me back,” he pleads, his lips burning with shame as he does it. “Let her go. Don’t you fucking touch her!”

“Oh, I won’t lay a hand on her. Foolish child of mine,” Cazador says. “You will.”

“What—? No…”

“Can you imagine how much I loved to hear about your ego and boasting when Petras ran back to me? Spending all this time thinking you’re the master. You’re still nothing but a putrid, hopeless spawn. Look what you’ve done to her.”

“No,” he repeats.

“Come now, don’t be difficult. If you want to be a master so badly, take it. I’ve taught you how, now prove to me you’ve learned your lesson. Take the pleasure you crave from her body, make her yours,” Cazador commands, beckoning him forward. “Whisper little apologies into her ear while you defile her, tell her how sorry you are. We’re all dying to see your performance. Do it well enough and I’ll let her leave.”

How did they get here? How did they fall from grace so fast? It was mere days ago Astarion had fantasized about how he’d kill Cazador, how he’d take the ritual for himself. How sweet it would be to get his revenge and walk in the sun again. 

Cazador leans over, ripping the tape off Tav’s mouth and leaving a streak of red behind. “Go on,” he says. “Talk. Put on a proper show for your audience.”

“Don’t you fucking listen to him,” she immediately insists; the words had been clawing at her mouth for release. “Leave me. Please! Go.”

“You don’t understand,” Astarion replies, his face resigned to anguish, any fight he had left gone. “You don’t know what he’ll do. I can’t leave you here.”

He approaches her—what else can he do?—and kneels. He can’t stand to look in her eyes anymore. He needs her to become any another victim to him, but it’s an impossible task. He turns her around and shoves her forward, putting her on her hands and knees, just how he’s done so many times before.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into her ear, how Cazador told him to. “Forgive me, my love.”

“This isn’t you,” Tav says. “It’s okay.”

Even now, she sees the good in him; he doesn’t deserve her, he never did. She doesn’t see the truth. This is him. This is what he was made to be.

Astarion places his hand on her back, shaking, still trying to find it within himself to be this person again. This monster. His hand slides up her neck, to her hair, grasping at the strands and craning her back. A little sparkle of tears welling at her eyes dampens his very soul. 

With what small freedom he retains, he positions himself to drink from her. He inhales, taking in her sweet scent; Tav, by habit, leans to offer herself. Before the opportunity can pass, he breaks skin with his fangs, biting hard and indulging in her. Reaching for the only thing that can bring him any sort of relief.

Cazador doesn’t intervene; he watches, relishing in witnessing his favorite spawn’s barbaric display. Astarion’s messy, painting his lover’s skin red; his lack of care is reminiscent of a wild animal. It’s exactly the point. To turn him into a creature and to take away the last bit of his humanity. His siblings ache, the metallic smell of blood in the air intoxicating them, drawing them in. All they can do is watch their dear brother fall apart, piece by piece. 

Tav utters a harsh groan as Astarion sinks his fangs deeper, drinking more; he’s aggressive, he’s taking too much and she can do nothing about it with her hands tied and her voice tired. He forces himself to separate from her, and the sight of blood trickling down her shoulder and collarbones rouses him in a visceral way he can’t control.

Astarion lets her hair go and violently pulls her pants down to her knees. He frees himself, moves her underwear aside and pushes into her. She cries out for him, in despair he’s sure, but he tosses the thought away; he must. Has to pretend every noise she makes is no different from the ones she made for him in the forest, so many months ago. 

Tav whimpers beneath him as he takes her, burying himself as far in her as he can, each thrust fiercer than the last. Drops of blood seep from his death grip on her hips. He tries to remember a better time, but what better time was there? When he’d slept with her before, that wasn’t real—he was manipulating her, charming her as he’d done to so many others for Cazador. How their relationship blossomed later didn’t change that or make it any less of a tainted memory.

Now he’d missed the opportunity to touch her, to really touch her how he’d wanted to. Astarion had dreamt of the day he’d be ready to lay with her again. In his fantasies, he’d be reborn again with her, forgetting his countless experiences and learning everything anew with her as his lover. He’d imagined discovering what he liked together, how he’d awkwardly kiss and touch her all over, paying close attention to what made her warm, what made her heart accelerate, and the spots that made her melt to his touch.

“I love you, we’ll be okay,” Tav reassures, a quiet murmur under the sounds of him ruining her heart and body.

Cazador’s words echo in Astarion’s mind: ‘whisper little apologies into her ear while you defile her’. He can’t do it. An apology, like this, is meaningless. How do you tell someone—the person you care about most, the only person you care about—you’re sorry while you hurt them like this?

He always did love how patient she was with him, and how their sexless relationship didn’t seem to take up even a moment of her thoughts. She was just happy to be with him, showering him with kisses and affection he’d never known before. And this is how he’s repaying her. 

His hand finds her hair again and he pushes her face down to meet the cold tile floor.  Astarion can’t hear her, can’t face her, can’t see those tears he knows are there. He has to separate himself from her. His eyes close and he focuses on the feeling, the best he can. 

In his mind, he pictures the forest. In spite of the pretense, they had fun, and he can still remember how beautiful she looked in the moonlight. She rolled and offered her neck to him, trusting him, something she never should’ve done. Drinking from her then was such a rush—it was still new, to drink from a thinking creature, and he could feel her body awaken and warm for him when he did it. She enjoyed it, and that made it all the better. There was satisfaction in knowing he was giving her something, too. 

Astarion thinks of what he’d do to her now in better circumstances. How he’d fuck her slow, fast, in every position and every surface. He’d tease her and make her beg for it, denying her finish until she did. Her body would writhe beneath him, a silent plea, but he would take his sweet time with her until she was sweating and feisty and yelling at him to fuck her proper.

Then he’d finally let her come undone. He’s hardly aware of his own undoing when it arrives, lost in his thoughts of what could’ve been. When he looks down at her, he feels disgust, like when he’d turned away, his body had been taken over by another that moved and felt for him. It hurts to see her now, her lovely skin coated with disheveled trails of thick crimson, her face glued to the ground, and his own shame spilling out of her.

“No,” he says only, cursing himself again, spirit shattered. With what little pieces of his mind remain, he tries to redress the both of them and then sits there, wishing it all away in a futile effort; the Gods never answered his calls, and they wouldn’t today. 

Cazador’s voice booms across the ballroom again, but the words go right through Astarion’s ears, his senses shut off to the world, and his soul a thousand planes away or more.

It’s not until one of his siblings comes to take Tav away that he’s back in his own body. 

“No! You can’t,” he yells in disbelief; foolish for it, foolish to believe Cazador would do anything less than the worst. “I did what you asked!”

“Yes, and you did such a poor job of it. You’ve let yourself become too soft!” Cazador’s laugh echoes through the ballroom and shakes Astarion’s core as reality settles in. “Because I so kindly believe even someone as arrogant as you is worth teaching, I’ll show you how to be a real master. Godey will see you back to the kennel.”

“Fuck you,” Astarion cries, but his body is subservient, yielding to Godey’s grasp. “What will you do with her?”

“She will stay in my chambers,” Cazador answers, taunting him, flaunting his power. “At least you can do one thing right—this one is quite lovely. You picked well.”

Stripped of his weapons, armor, dignity. He has nothing. Nothing but her. Maybe, just maybe, together, they could get out… they could escape… Not now, another time. Though he doesn’t understand why, he still hasn’t felt the call of Cazador’s magical pull after ridding themselves of the tadpoles. It means all they need is a leg-up, some sort of advantage, and they can be free.

So long as Cazador doesn’t make her his spawn.

Astarion retches at the thought of it. If Cazador turned her and became her master, that would utterly and truly destroy him. It makes him sick, just thinking of her in Cazador’s chambers, in his bed, him touching her—what does he have planned for her? It was rare they ever saw Cazador taking a special interest in anyone, and the spawn had learned to never show love. He’s learning that again, now, the image of her after he’d finished is burned into his memory, and the knowledge that he’s the one who made her that way. 

When he’d refused to bring his master that lovely boy he couldn’t stand to hurt, he’d been locked away for a year, alone, in silence and darkness. The worst year he could remember. But he’d never stopped to consider what had happened to that sweet boy.  

[multifandom-worlds]

My Dear General: Chapter 5 - Death to a Family

Genre: Angst

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, derogatory language, death (and lots of it), blood, stabbings

Author's note: This is different from where I imagined this to go when I started writing this chapter. Clearly, I am not in control. If I forget any warnings, I apologize!

Remember that your content consumption is on you

Tags: @holdmytesseract @sarahscribbles @simplyholl @lokisgoodgirl @ladyofthestayingpower @otome-and-fanfiction @buttercupcookies-blog @lokiprompt

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

As the dawn’s first light brightened the sky, the Tolen Army was mounting up, their plan set. Today was the day Astrid would finally get her revenge. She stands beside Asta in the stables, gently stroking the horse's nose, waiting on Erik and Loki.  “They’re going to pay, Asta. They’re going to pay for everything they put me through.” 

“Yes, they will,” Loki says from over her shoulder. Astrid turns around to face the armour-clad General; his hair braided back out of his face. She had always loved what he looked like with his battle braids. “Remember, you’re not alone in this. You have the entire army at your command. They will do as you ask, no questions asked. Plus, I will be right by your side, as will Erik, dove.” Loki rests his forehead against hers, closing his eyes. Astrid sighed, closing her eyes and enjoying the moment they made.

“What if Aidous gets caught in the crossfire? I will never forgive myself if he gets hurt.” Astrid says eventually, stepping back. Loki cups her face in his hands, running his calloused thumb across her cheek. “Loki, I want my father to suffer, not my brother; what would happen if he were caught in the crossfire?” She asks, starting to second guess her revenge plan. She wanted revenge, but perhaps this was not the way.

Loki leans forward, placing a gentle kiss on Astrid’s forehead. “Aidous will be safe. I alerted him months ago to this plan. We had been exchanging letters the whole time you were here; I could see your brother’s concern and love for you when you first came here. As soon as he hears of our arrival, he will go into hiding until it is safe or someone comes to retrieve him. He will be unharmed; should any of my soldiers injure him in any way, I will be more than happy to dispatch them myself. Now come, almost everyone is ready at the gates; they’re waiting on our fearless leader.”

Giving Loki a small smile, Astrid mounts her horse before riding towards the gate, where the rest of the soldiers talk idly amongst themselves as they wait. Astrid rides up, taking her place in the front of the group, Loki riding up on her left, Erik to her right. The conversation hushes as the gates open; Astrid wills her heart rate to slow before she instructs Asta to go. The rest of the army follows, and before long, the Tolan Army, save for a few that offered to stay back to man the borders, were off. 

After several hours of riding, the Tolan Army arrives at the Azailian capital city while lookouts run to tell the King. The watch shoves open the office door, uncaring of protocol, breathing heavily and looking frantic.  “Your Highness, the Tolan army is in the city! What should we do?” The King stands from his desk, alarmed. 

“Hold them off, you fool! Why are they invading anyway? I sold Astrid to keep the peace! Emperor Thor gave me his word his army would never breach the city limits!” The lookout leaves again to raise the army to defend their city while the King quickly goes into hiding, unaware that his daughter is amongst the ranks.

“Where is King Malik?” Astrid asks as she rides up to the awaiting army, Ivar standing front and centre. When she received no answer to her inquiry, she removed her helmet and asked again. “Where is my father, rat? You can take me to him, or I will slice your head from your body and bring it to him as a gift. It’s your choice, Ivar.” 

When Ivar refuses to comply with her demands,  Astrid turns to the army before giving her orders. “Kill any soldier in your way; leave the women and children unharmed. Find the three princes and bring them to the throneroom unharmed. I will deal with them myself.” Astrid turns back to Ivar, unsheathing her sword and plunging it deep into the man's chest, sparking a fearsome battle in the middle of town.

Astrid hops off her horse, sword in hand and joins the bloodshed, Loki and Erik by her side. The sounds of swords clanging and the screams of dying men echo through every corner of the city as the army pushes towards the palace at the city's centre. To their credit, the Azailain army never surrendered; they fought with everything they had in them. However, anyone could see how outmanned and under-coordinated the army was compared to the Tolan Empire. 

“Princess Astrid, stop this madness! Azailia is your home; we are your people!” One guard begs as he stands before her, trembling. He turns his attention to the General on her left. “General Loki, call off the attack; this is asinine; we have been your allies for the longest time; we give your nation resources you can’t get anywhere else!” Astrid’s jaw clenches at his audacity to speak as if Astrid wasn’t all but banished from the kingdom. Erik immediately moves into position to remove her from the situation, but Loki waves him off, knowing his girl is still in control.

“I am not in charge; she is. This bloodshed could have been prevented if your King was not a coward and ordered your army to surrender. Now move aside and allow the princess past, or you too will meet your end to the wrath of the Tolan Army.” Loki spoke with absolute authority. “Azailia is not her home; Thovur is. Now step out of the way.”

When the guard refused to step aside, Astrid grew angry. “I didn’t wish for this amount of bloodshed, but you leave me no choice.” She raises her sword and slices it across the guard's neck, spraying herself in his blood. He falls to the ground, coughing up blood. Astrid clicks her tongue, watching him bleed out in front of her. “Another senseless death that didn’t need to happen. I will get to my father one way or another. I will decimate the entire army if that’s what it takes.” She spoke, stepping over the man's lifeless body on the ground and approaching the gates.

Astrid walks through the front gates of the palace, blood splatter decorating her face and armour, sword in hand, in full display for her father to see. She navigates the hallways and corridors, walking towards the throneroom, keeping a lookout for her father and brothers. Much to her surprise and dismay, no one was in the throneoom. She walks over to the throne, gingerly touching the arms with her fingers before deciding to sit. 

She looks at Loki and Erik before speaking. “You say you know where Aidous is hiding, yes? Please retrieve him and bring him to me. Erik, go aid in the hunt for the rest of my family, the cowards they are. Check the bedrooms in the north wing; I suspect that may be where they are.” Erik and Loki share a look before they bow to Astrid and walk out, dutifully following orders. 

Loki takes little time to locate Aidous in a quaint garden shed at the palace's rear, away from all the fighting. “Aidous, it’s the general. Open the door for me, son, please.” Loki spoke through the door, hearing him shift around inside before cautiously opening the door. Upon seeing it truly is Loki standing before him, he throws the door open before unleashing a torrent of questions.

“Is she okay? My sister, is Astrid okay? I heard so much screaming; Astrid was never taught how to fight like we were. Please, sir, is Astrid okay?” 

Loki’s face softens regarding the boy of a mere 25 years old. “She is safe, yes. I will warn you, son,” he began, leading the young prince back around to the gates of his home. “Your sister is not the woman you left with me in Thovur all those years ago. Your sister was removed from the palace shortly after I sent you the letter about her condition. She has since become one of my soldiers. She is now quite skilled with the blade and has seen and done things no princess should have to witness. Deep down, she is still your sister and cares for you deeply.”

Aidous hesitantly nods as he follows the general towards the palace. “What of my brothers and father? Are they still alive?” He looks around at all the bodies littering his city, both Tolan and Azailian alike. He gulps, having never seen a dead body before, only to be confronted with so much death. 

“They’re alive, for now. I’m afraid your father and brothers likely will not come out of this alive, however. Your sister resents them and will stop at nothing to make them pay for what they put her through.” Loki states as he pushes the door to the throneroom open. There, sitting where their father once sat, was Astrid. On their knees before her, hands bound, are Alaric and Arne, pleading with her to release them. 

Upon laying eyes on the youngest of her brothers, Astrid’s expression softens as she stands from the throne, taking slow, measured steps over to him. “ Hello, Aidous,” she spoke, her voice warm. She dared not get too close in fear she would scare him off. Loki rests his hand on the prince’s shoulder, reassuring him. “I have missed you, kiddo. I’m sorry I never wrote to you; I thought you would prefer I did not; however, I never stopped thinking about you.” 

Aidous, without much thought put into it, runs up and hugs his sister. His sudden hug slightly starts Astrid; she smiles before she returns the affection. “I missed you so much, Astrid. Sometimes, I wanted to steal a horse and bring you back home, but father wouldn’t allow you back. I’m sorry, I’m sorry I couldn’t keep you home here.” Aidous whispers, trying hard to maintain his composure. 

Astrid gently ruffles his hair, pulling away from him. “You are forgiven, kiddo. I could never stay mad at you, my beloved baby brother. You’ve grown so much.” She smiles before the doors fly open, and several Tolan soldiers come in with a struggling King Malik in their grasp, throwing him to the ground beside his sons. Astrid’s expression darkens, her eyebrows knit together in anger. “Erik, please take Aidous and stay with him somewhere safe; I don’t want him to see what is about to transpire,” she orders.

“Yes, your grace,” Erik responds, walking over to Aidous. “This way, your highness. I trust Astrid when she says this is not something you will want to witness.” He starts to lead the boy away when Aidous stops, steeling his resolve and turning to face his sister. He takes a shuttered breath before speaking.

“No, I’m staying here, Astrid. I’m not a baby anymore; I-I can handle it.” he stammers, trying to keep his expression from breaking. Astrid sighs, walking over to her brother. “Please, if you’re going to kill them, I want to see it at least.”

Astrid shook her head before turning him around. “Trust me, kiddo. I don’t want this to be your final memory of our family. Go with Erik; he can fill you in on the adventures. Please, Aidous, do this for me. I don’t want to make you hate me for what I’m about to do here.” She spoke before gently pushing him towards Erik. Erik nods and walks him out, closing the door behind them.

Astrid turns her attention back to her family, walking over to them, stone-faced and seething. She places the tip of her sword beneath Alaric’s chin, forcing him to look at her. She can see the fear in his eyes, although he tries to hide it. “Awe, poor Alaric is scared; I bet you never thought you’d see my face again, did you, brother.” She mocked, pressing the tip into his neck slightly. He swallows hard.

"What is this nonsense, Astrid? Release us immediately!" The King spoke angrily. It was then he noticed Loki coming up behind Astrid; he felt a sense of relief to see him. “General Loki! It’s good to see you. Can you help my boys and me out? I will reward you handsomely. Your brother and I have been friends for years; won’t you help us? I’ll put in a good word with your brother.”

Loki looks at him in disgust. “I am not the one calling the shots here; Astrid is. You lost my favour when I heard you sold your only daughter to be some common whore. No amount of begging, pleading and bribing me will get you any help. Astrid has my full loyalty and support.” 

King Malik looks between the general and Astrid before looking at his sons. “Kill them and spare me, please, princess. I’m your father; you wouldn’t dare kill me, would you, honey?” Alaric quickly looks at his father, shocked he would even consider what he just said. 

“Now you know how it feels.” Astrid hisses, looking at Alaric and Arne again. “Now you know how it feels to be unwanted, cast aside for his benefit. Now you know how I felt for 20 years! Now you understand the pain you all caused me and how it feels. Not a great feeling, is it, Alaric?” Astrid holds her sword to her brother's throat again, watching him tremble. 

Loki steps closer, gently running his hand down her arm, leaning forward to whisper in her ear. “Stay focused, dove. Don’t lose yourself.” His hand slips around hers, loosening her hold on her sword slightly. “That’s my good girl, focus on the plan. Don’t drag it out; let the people have a new king.”

Astrid nods, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. She opens her eyes again, narrowing them on her family. Without so much as a warning, Astrid plunges the sword deep into Alaric’s chest. He gasps before she pulls the sword out, raising her foot and kicking him over before moving onto Arne. “Come on, Astrid, I’m your brother; you love me. Let me live, and when I’m king, you can come back!” He begs, trying to win her over. 

“The only one of my brothers I love is Aidous; he’s the only other one making it out of here alive,” Astrid spoke, plunging the sword deep into his chest before pulling the blade out, watching him fall forward, his blood pooling around him. Her heart hurt for Aidous, having his entire world flipped; she hoped he could forgive her eventually. She was just happy he wasn’t here. 

“I love you too, sissy.” 

She immediately turns around to see her brother standing there, Erik running after him. “I’m sorry, Astrid! I tried to keep him away, but he wasn’t having it! He’s just like you, child, stubborn as hell.” Erik quickly apologizes as Astrid walks over to them, sword leaving a trail of blood in her wake. 

Aidous stands there, surveying the damage. “I heard father talk about killing Alaric and Arne to save himself; I  believe you, Astrid. I believe you. Father is not a good man and should not be allowed to live after such a remark. He showed his true colours today; none of us mattered to him. We were just pawns for him to use.”

“Aidous, my son! Don’t believe anything your bastard sister says! It’s all lies! I love you, boys; please help your father out. I’ll give you everything!” King Malik calls, terror and worry evident in his voice. “She’s filling your head with lies against me! Please, son, you have to believe me. Take my sword! It's mounted on the wall, end the traitorous whore, and this nightmare will end!”

Aidous looks between his sister and father before walking to his father’s ceremonial sword. Malik smiles a wicked smile, looking at how hurt Astrid was. “You think you could turn your brother against me, you stupid wench. I will have you execu-” Malik stopped mid-sentence, looking down to see the tip of his sword sticking out of his chest.

“Aidous…” Malik says weakly. Aidous walks around to face his father, leaving the sword embedded in his father’s back. “How could…”

“Simple, you don’t deserve to live. Astrid cannot be a traitor if you were the one who sold her to begin with. I stand by Astrid.” He said before taking the crown from his father’s head and placing it on his own. “I will be the next King and rule better than you ever could.”

Erik and Loki quietly leave the throneroom to end the fighting that was happening and announce that there is a new King. Astrid admires her brother, a proud smile on her face. “Greetings, King Aidous.” She bows, and the other soldiers, including Erik, bow before him. “You are going to make a fine king, brother. I completely believe you can turn this kingdom back to its rightful glory.”

Aidous takes his sister's hand and pulls her into a hug, whispering. “You’re going to stay, right? I can’t do this alone. I won’t be able to rule by myself; I need you beside me.” 

Astrid steps back, cupping her brother’s cheeks, “I can’t, kiddo. Loki and I will stay to help bury the dead, but I must return; this is only phase 1 of my plan for revenge. I will hunt high and low while I am here to find you a trusted advisor, and I will leave some of my army here to help you rebuild, but I cannot stay; I am sorry.” She felt terrible for uprooting his life and not staying around much to help rebuild it, but more needed to be done.

“Don't tell me…..are you actually planning that?” Aidous asks as his sister takes him by the arm before walking him towards the door. Her only response is a wink. She pushes the door open, walking out beside Loki and Erik before making her announcement.

“All Hail the new king of Azailia, King Aidous!”

[typingdyslexiaisathing]

Banding Together (Obey Me!) fanfiction part 3

summary: the battle with the Ancient beast of Carnage draws to a close. With those left standing soon tending to their wounded or dying companions.

characters: basically all of them. It's going to be a full baseball team dynamic.

content: battle, fighting, blood, injury, violence, danger, death, this is an actual fight to the death type scenario so be advised this isn't fluffy!

Links to part 1 and part 2 provided for your reading. Part 4 here.

Credit to the actual owner of the provided image not to me

The moment of anticipation felt like an eternity as I tried to regain my senses after that magic blast. With my pacts searing with multiple sensations as several things became more focused to me. That of Lucifer falling as Diavolo vaulted up to his closest friend to catch him as he plummeted. Solomon openly distressed as he was on his hands and knees to gasp for air. Barbatos knelt beside him as Simeon called out for me to hear, "It had a shield! Watch out!" Meaning that there had been backlash for me to grit my teeth and pray with all my being.

Yet there was one whisper against my senses as that hidden figure in the storm clouds made their move. Another bolt of pure light and sheer overwhelming power to cascade down onto the Ancient Creature of Carnage for pure holy might to rip the monster in half. The damage from the first combo of spells combining with this sheer force of angelic power to leave the beast cleaved in twain as the younglings close to it turned to dust. So it was that the demons were left picking their senses back up to gather a defensive line against the remaining younglings. Most of the enemies still in the sea for the fish and Lotan to be dealing with. Which left many of us to see to the ones still wounded or barely clinging to their lives. My waves of pain and anguish leaving me gasping for air as Luke kept me upright. The little cherub looking to the sky with his eyes as wide as they could. "That- That was Michael! Michael came to help us!"

My brain took an extra second to click before I huffed out a laugh. Since Luke soon squeaked when the mentioned archangel touched down right next to us. My eyes struggling to focus from all the pain and emotions coming through my pacts as Luke ran up to hug tackle Michael. The archangel taking a moment to hug Luke back before kneeling down next to me. I finally got my eyes to work to meet the legend of the Celestial Realm. My gaze landing on a face of serene elegance yet shy warmth. His hair was in a messy braid to be cascading waves of muted violet. Eyes of multiple cozy hues to remind me of Lantana flowers. He was thin underneath his garments to look more like a scarecrow that warrior. Yet his gentle touch at my face spoke of timid concern as he spoke with a voice that was more honey than words. "Marzena. We finally meet face to face. It took longer than I guessed to fell the Beasts mate in the Celestial Realm. But I am here as you openly goaded me to do."

My huff came out unbidden as my energy started to wane. So I made my words count despite my oncoming fatigue. "Glad you showed up. Now. Before you chicken out on all of us. Lucifer is seriously hurt. If he dies on us because you didn't heal him up, I will hold it over your halo for the rest of eternity." Luke's jaw dropped open as Simeon made his presence know to shout, "Marzena!" But Michael shifted his weight to then look highly conflicted. But he nodded as Diavolo laid Lucifer next to me for the Avatar of Pride to be completely unconscious and bleeding. His wings completely burned to stumps for his sides to also be ripped open. Mammon giving a squeak of pure terror to lurch over and grab Lucifer's hand in his. "No... No! NO! LUCIFER!" My hands soon took Lucifer's other hand as I focused all of myself into prayers of love and healing. Satan soon knelt down to keep me upright as I pushed myself. So Luke gave a sniffle to then ask, "Michael? Is Lucifer... Is he going to..." But Michael gave a heavy sigh to move and place his hand over mine. A sweet scent taking to the air as he spoke in soft words. "No. We aren't going to lose Lucifer today. Let this be my atonement for my previous regrets. Just don't let him find me afterwards. I'd rather not deal with that just yet."

Lucifer gave a shudder to gasp in air as the healing took almost instantly. Simeon turning to help with Solomon's injuries as Luke rubbed at his eyes. Asmodeus and Beelzebub soon beside us to be stunned silent. Although Asmodeus looked extremely pale from his previous stunt to have an IV in his arm and several elixers in the IV bags. Belphegor and Leviathan soon there as well for Leviathan to be out for the count as well. His head covered in blood for Luke to gasp and rush over to help with Leviathan's healing. Diavolo staying standing to watch with arms crossed as Michael finished the healing spell. Leaving Lucifer whole for his wings to be restored yet slightly crispy. Lucifer was still unconscious but taking full breaths of air. Michael soon tuning his gaze to Mammon as the Avatar of Greed openly cried in relief. But Mammon soon looked to Michael to then give a curt nod. So Michael smiled and gave Mammon a gentle pat on his head. "Always wearing your big heart right on your sleeve. The more things change, the more they stay the same. Mammon. Try and behave yourself more." Mammon nodded to whisper out, "I'll give Luke some Devildom sweets to send to you later."

Michael pauses in visible surprised to then nod. His attention now on Leviathan as Luke gave a sob of sadness. "Oh Leviathan. Something ripped his horns clean off his head. I think they poisoned him too." But Leviathan gave a hard cough to try and cover his gaping wounds on his head with his hands. "Don't... Don't touch... It hurts so much..." So Michael placed his fingertips to Leviathan's hands to heal his head and ensure the wounds closed. Leviathan giving a groan of relief before he touches Michael's fingers without thinking. His squeak soon having him look up in stunned shock for his tail to go all over the place behind him. Leviathan openly panting for air. "Michael?! It's- You- I- Oh thank you for coming to help us!" Leviathan rubs a hand to his eyes before he gives Michael a beaming smile. "I am so glad to see you! So very glad to see you!" Michael looks a tad uncertain before he gently pats Leviathan on the shoulder. "Levi. I am glad to see you, too. Stay still and rest, though. This was a fierce fight." Leviathan nods tot hen look like all his energy gave out. So he sighs to lay himself down as Michael moves to Asmodeus and Beelzebub. With Beel giving a soft smile as he speaks to Michael. "We're all glad to see you. Really. Since it let's me say something I have waned to say for a very long time."

Michael stills as Asmodeus helps Beelzebub get closer. The Avatar of Gluttony pulling Michael into a group hug to give the mantra I always use. "Love always." With Asmodeus tearing up to sniffle and give Michael a tender squeeze. Leaving Michael speechless before he pats them on the back. "Yes. Love always. Something I am sure you learned to say from a certain stubborn human. A good influence on you lot." But then Michael lets go to look to Beel's ruined leg. But Beel shakes his head to point over at Belphegor. Who is standing a ways away to look completely torn as Beelzebub speaks. "Go and have a talk with Belphie. I can have my fill of potions and food to get better." So Michael nods as Satan soon stands beside him. An unspoken conversation given in their body language as Satan walks Michael over to Belphegor for that private talk. My whole body going through so many feelings at once I finally fall over. Letting the black wash me away in pure relief as Diavolo caught me in his arms.

********

Waking up felt terrible. My head feeling like someone bashed it into a million pieces of rubble. The first thing I noticed being the chiming of several heart monitors. One attached to me and the other attached to Solomon. Since we were in the same bed for Solomon to look like he went through a tumble cycle. Bruises and scrapes all over his face and neck as he breathed in gentle wisps close to my head. Which explained why my feet were tangled with his own in the bed to be keeping my toes warm. IV lines in both of us for me to heave a huff of air out of my mouth. Since I had a nose piece in my nose to give me oxygen as I gave several choice words. But Barbatos sounded amused when he made his presence known to me. "Don't be too mad, Marzena. You burned yourself out on both ends with how much magic you gave. Lord Diavolo was adamant we give you all the bells and whistles for your stay in that hospital bed." My grump had me ache in places before I closed my eyes. My words hurting as I asked, "How many did we lose...?" Barbatos sighed to place a hand to my head and gently rub at my scalp. "Seven vampires ended up passing on. Two sorcerers died according to the reports in the human world from a few of the younglings getting through the portal. Three angels in the Celestial realm were lost. With nine demons having been killed on the battlefield for five more to pass away soon after the battle ended from their wounds taking their toll."

My word reeled at the news for me to grit my teeth and hiss in air. The heart monitor giving an alert as I gripped both hands in the sheets hard. "No... So many people... So many priceless hearts... Oh no..." My eyes leaked freely as my sobs cut off my air. Barbatos taking a moment to rub my back with both hands as I came undone. My wails and coughs waking Solomon up for him to place his hands in mine. Kissing my knuckles to then blow on my chilled fingers as Barbatos spoke further. "It's been a full day since the end of the fighting. We were able to save over eighteen of those that fought against the Ancient Beast of Carnage on our end. With sixteen of the angels healing with the help of the potions we provided to them. Thirteen gifted humans have also lived to see the dawn due to our contributions. So many are able to hold tight to their loved ones and be glad for tomorrow. You did that, Marzena. You helped with that."

I gave a hiccup to force myself to relax. Which hurt so much as Solomon gave me a kiss to my nose. "It doesn't make up for the loss. But it is something to be proud of. Marzena. I know it hurts. It will always hurt. But we won." I huffed as Barbatos kneaded his knuckles into my back right at my waist. Making several discs shift and pop with his ministrations. His words calm and kind. "Indeed. So rest and let us all help each other heal. Once you are ready, we will get the both of you a hot meal as well as a heated body massage. Such should help with circulation and restoring your energy. Asmodeus will be overjoyed to have both of you join him in a special spa treatment."

[bhaalsdeepbat]

it happened i started writing "oops here's a baby" au while i outline what i wanna do with the scenes i have planned in my main retelling but with more durge emphasis thing. some ramblings

Vera is gonna have big bat ears as a child that she has to grow into. like her ears will be HUGE everyone will be like this poor fucking kid....then she grows into a killer queen

i'm obsessed with the idea of vera being able to charm people kinda young and using that to get people to spoil her lmao she'll lean hard into vampire tropes when younger to fit in, then chill out about it. Like it's kinda a phase, but not all of it lmao she just exaggerating some things

I had initially thought about giving her long hair, but I like the idea of a longer A-Line. Still short, but long enough she (leon until she's old enough to do her own hair) can braid the front sections and pin everything back when she needs to be Fancy. She's gonna murder some people before adulthood cus that bloodlust be strong with her double whammy. For her it's the scent and hunger. Like once they get her hunger under control she's fine.

I decided she'll have a familiar, but i gotta think more how i wanna do that bc considering it being part of her shadow magic and it being the hound of ill omen but working fanfic magic to make it a permanent summon that has a battle form.

also i'm thinking dhampir births = traumatic and if durge wasn't....durge they would have died. specifically i keep thinking of their claws ripping shit on the way out which is kind of a lot, but gives me the horrified at birthing feels so i'm into it.

Wren will struggle with how intense and vivid their thoughts get. They'll have the closest to what the Urges felt like, but not quite as strongly bc playing into "not strong enough blood connection to bhaal" type thing.

wren is going to be the quiet one of the two. they're a perceptive little fuck and tend to people watch. they're a little feral, but it's different from the feral they get when the urges be urging. there's no violence to their normal feral behaviors. they just sometimes act like a half-raised animal and spend a lot of time wildshaped as a wolf.

wren's best friends will be a pack of wild dogs and some of the stray cats. they'll get in trouble for sneaking some down to jaheira's secret place bc they'd find their way in pretty fucking quick and spend a lot of time with the animals down there. wren is jaheira's little freespirit. No locks can keep wren in or out. wren goes where wren wants.

like these two children will be opposites and some of it will be nature but also some of it nurture bc they're being raised in entirely different environments.

Wren will have SO much respect for life and death and treat corpses with reverence, but then Vera just. sometimes forgets that she's supposed to be treating corpses differently from the living, but all bodies have the potential to be alive or dead at any given moment and death just isn't permanent. plus just all the quirks the vampire spawn would have from their new status as the living dead.