#glory & gore series

[tiniedemon]

GLORY & GORE . . . chapter five

in which y/n and kyle finally acknowledge their desires

you remembered watching kyle’s games, watching his ferocity. kyle was a bloodthirsty animal, hiding in the treetops, descending on his prey come nightfall. his mind was his greatest asset. he’d taken the trophy for the most kills in the games, his kill count surpassing even the most formidable of your successors. he’d done it all with a simple dagger, the hilt repurposed into a stunning taser.

you’d taken a lot from his strategies, choosing instead to form alliances and betray them in the dark of the night. your only weapon had been a machete, the metal hilt carved to resemble a saw.

you had every confidence in the two of you in a typical game, but for this one, veterans would be your greatest enemies. they’d all won before, developed their strategies, honed their skills in a life threatening situation. they were familiar with your strategy, with kyle’s, and with each other’s.

“i need to watch the tapes,” you mumbled to kyle. the two of you were gathered in the common area of your district’s floor, liane seated just across the sectional sofa. kelly was perched in the dining room, enjoying a sweet snack as though your entire world wasn’t scheduled to implode within a few short weeks.

“what tapes?” he responded, face scrunched in confusion. you huffed a sigh, rolled your eyes, and looked to liane.

“how can i analyze previous games? i need to know what i’m up against,” you called to her. she chortled, tilted her head back, her glass of liquor spotting on her beige top.

“i can get you the tapes, but you’re gonna need to pick some allies. those are my conditions,” she drawled, her words slurring together. you huffed again, rolled your eyes again, nestled into kyle’s side. his hand fell to your knee, as though it belonged there.

he was oddly comfortable showing such vulnerability in front of someone who could very well use it against you, and you did not quite understand that. was he not suspicious of liane in the slightest?

“fine,” you grumbled. “but i’m only doing it for those tapes. get me the footage and i’ll pick some allies.”

by the afternoon of the second day, liane had come to you with the footage. it was all held within a small hard drive, able to be easily connected to a capitol projector.

“remember our deal. find an alliance.”

the first night was spent fast forwarding through district one’s games, analyzing every strategy you could scour. you were stationed in the floor at the foot of your bed, hunched over a half empty cup of coffee. it was stretching further into the night, growing closer to dawn than to dusk.

kyle padded into the room, rubbing his eye, his face scrunched. the door slid shut behind him, his body collapsing on the carpet beside you. he leaned into you, placing his head on your shoulder. his hair tickled your chin and his lips warmed your exposed shoulder blade.

“why are you still up?” he asked in a gruff voice. you sighed, paused the footage, rubbed the sleepiness from your eyes. you were exhausted. you’d been watching these tapes for at least twelve hours with no breaks. there were weeks worth of footage per tribute, and it was a miracle you’d gotten through even one.

“i’ve been sifting through footage, analyzing. why are you awake?”

kyle puffed a sigh, his cheeks inflating and his eyes squeezing shut. you couldn’t help the soft smile that creeped onto your face, or the hand you ran through his knotted curls. his hair was just as dry as you were used to. you made a mental note to remind him to condition every day. he’d need that piece of advice after he survived the games.

“i was worried about you.” he spoke so softly you almost didn’t hear him. you hummed, your heart speeding in your chest, and leaned your head against his. he picked up the remote and fiddled with the buttons until he found the right one. the footage resumed where you’d left off, zoomed in on district one’s female tribute.

you’d noticed that she and stephen, the male tribute, were similar in style, as were all district ones. they’d team up with district two, take out all the other tributes, and fight the other careers to the death. they tended to lean heavy into mass slaughter rather than mind games, the way you and kyle tended to lean. perhaps their similar fighting style was the first stepping stone towards their capitol marriage.

it didn’t take much for you to call quits on the second district one tribute. there wasn’t much to her besides bloodshed and brutality. district two’s male tribute, craig, was more of a sadistic killer. he preferred torture, slow death, dragging along the inevitable. it was almost painful for you to watch. almost. kyle flinched with every heartless murder craig committed.

“how are we supposed to stand a chance against them?” kyle whispered. you hummed, wrapped an arm around him, pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

“you don’t worry about a single thing, ky. i can take them.” you knew it was an empty promise. there was no telling what would transpire in these games, what route the careers chose to take. the only thing you could promise was your best, and your best was a force to be reckoned with.

“i’ve got your back, too. you know that right?” your heart warmed with the words, a smile forming on your lips despite the gruesome loss playing on screen. kyle was sweet at heart, despite his younger days in the arena. he was a ball of anger, a bomb ready to detonate, but he never did so without a reason. you admired that about him — his willingness to explode for causes he believed in.

he had a heart of gold, though. he was consistently looking out for you, even before your family had been taken from you. once he’d won the games and gained his monthly fortune, he’d spent a good portion on your family. you’d spent your entire life until your games, nearly three years, attempting to repay him. you didn’t think you ever could, in all honesty. kyle had his entire family to support without throwing yours on his roster, but he did so in a heartbeat, and for that you were grateful.

“we’re in this together,” you mumbled, your fingers lacing with his over his shoulder. “you and i against the world.” he was quiet for a moment, breathing so evenly you were sure he was asleep. it wasn’t until he cringed, a splash of blood hitting one of the cameras displayed brightly on the hologram, that you knew he was awake. he’d never been so calm, so still around you. you’d never known him to be so relaxed. he was always so high strung, fidgeting, consistently moving his legs. he was completely relaxed now, limp against your body, face pressed to your chest.

“don’t think i’ve ever been so relaxed in my life.” his words were whispered, shy, lost in the dips of your clavicle. you chuckled and ran your hand through his unkempt curls, adjusting into a more comfortable position on the hardwood floor. kyle leaned further into you, his lips gently brushing the space between your collarbone and your neck. the touch was featherlight, sending a shiver down your spine.

“you should rest. we’ve got the parade tomorrow,” you breathed. kyle sighed, breath fanning over your prickling skin. his hair tickled your chin as he shook his head.

“i don’t think i could if i wanted to,” he muttered. you frowned, turned off the projection, focused your attention on the ginger practically in your lap. his eyes glittered in the low light of your lamp in the corner, shadows caressing the dips of his cheekbones and eye sockets. even in the poor, shadowed lighting, you could see the freckles spotting his upper lip.

“why’s that?” you could barely speak around the lump in your throat, swallowing it thickly. being so close to him, closer than you’d ever been, was nerve wracking. everything about him was nerve wracking. knowing the depths of his character, the darkest parts of him, the lightest parts of him, was nerve wracking. it was an addiction in and of itself. you didn’t think you could tear your eyes away from his tongue wetting his chapped lips if you wanted to.

“i’d be too busy thinking about you. thinking about what i should’ve said, what i should’ve done.” there was a pause, in which you caught his eyes, the heat reflecting in their molten depths. “thinking about how i should’ve kissed you.”

your heart jumped to your throat, your breath catching. kyle straightened himself out, his head leaning down to gaze into your eyes. you couldn’t tear yourself away, caught in the trap of his allurement. you shivered under the gentle touch of his fingertips to your cheekbone, the caress of his palm to your jawbone.

you didn’t want to love him. you didn’t want to need him. but, to your dismay, you were starting to realize how little your wants mattered. there was something about kyle that drew you in, that forced you to desire him, that suffocated you with its incessant whispering of his name. he was forcing you to love him, to care for him, to need him on such a base level that you couldn’t exist if not for him.

“why don't you?” your breaths came in shallow, discreet gasps, your fingertips shaking and heart beating in your throat. something about kyle was addicting, entrapping, influential, dangerous. you were crossing a threshold you knew you’d never be able to cross back through.

“that’s a good question,” he hummed. his fingertips traced the edge of your jawline, eyes dropped to follow them. “why don’t i?”

“you’re scared,” you breathed. every movement of his body, every beat of your heart, instilled a new wave of nervous fear in your bones. if anyone was scared, it was you.

“i’m not.” it was a lie. you could feel his pulse running against the hand you’d placed on his chest. “but i think you are.” that was true. everything in you was screaming ‘run. run as far as you can, and don’t come back.’ there was a part of you that whispered ‘stay with him. you need him.’

“i’m not.” kyle scoffed, flattened his palm against the side of your neck, tilted his head to the side. his eyes glimmered when you looked into them, the brightest expression of love you’d ever seen held deep within them. you knew he could see the fright on your face, the way your lips trembled, the bead of sweat rolling down your temple. “okay, maybe i am.”

“i knew you were. you don’t have to be scared of me.” his voice was shaky, his whispers airy and depraved. you knew what he wanted, and that scared you. it scared you that he wanted it, and it scared you more that you did too.

“i know. i’m not scared of you. i’m scared of me,” you admitted, your eyes shamefully downcast to the dips of his collarbone. kyle was a defined man, his bone structure harsh and his features sharp. there was a hard angle where his jaw met his throat, and where his throat met his shoulders, and where his shoulders met his biceps. his legs were the same, strong muscle tapering to a pronounced kneecap and into a rounded calve.

“why?” he asked, his entire hand eclipsing the side of your face. you chuckled, the sound airy, as your eyes traced the prominent vein popping from his neck. you followed it to his jaw, and to his full lips, and to his smiling eyes.

“i shouldn’t want you the way i do, in the situation we’re in, and i’m terrified. i’ve never wanted someone this way before.”

“don’t be fearful of your desire, dearest. it’s the one thing that’s kept you going this long,” he hushed, nose brushing yours. you closed your eyes on instinct, exhaled shakily, weaved your fingers through the curls at the nape of his neck. “let it guide you, not inhibit you.”

“kiss me.”

you waited no more than a second before his lips devoured yours, his kiss searing against your trembling mouth. his fingers bruised your skin, pulling you closer, and closer, until you were straddling his lap. he held you by the waist, pressed his chest to yours, trailed his touch beneath your shirt to caress your bare skin.

you were a nervous wreck atop him, breathy sighs leaving your lips with every press of his to your neck and jaw. you hadn’t released your hold of his shirt in quite some time, your fingers tangled in the thin fabric, knuckles shaking against his soft chest. you were entirely caught in the feeling of his skin sliding against yours, his warm breath caressing your prickling nerves, his tongue brushing your bottom lip. he was a good kisser. you were realizing this as your legs trembled on either side of him.

“please don’t hurt me,” you whispered between kisses, eyes squeezed shut as tightly as you could get them. kyle took your face in his palms and drew his mouth away entirely, his lips puffy and smiling when you finally met his gaze.

“i wouldn’t dream of it. you and me against the world, remember?” he mumbled, thumbs brushing your cheekbones. “you should get some sleep. no offense, but you look like you’ve been run over by a train.” the chuckle punctuating his statement didn’t make it any less true. you knew you looked rough. the days with little to no sleep were adding up in the bags beneath your eyes. even so, lava burned in your depths, aching for him and only him.

“i don’t need rest,” you breathed, leaning in for another kiss. kyle indulged you, his lips moving fluidly with yours, your nails embedding their prints into the lean muscle of his back. he breathed shakily against you, his mouth bruisingly caressing yours. you felt a low hum bubbling in your chest, drawn out by his fingers groping your thighs.

“don’t let me continue. you won’t like it if i do,” he gasped into your mouth, teeth grazing your lower lip. you could feel the sweat beginning to gather on your skin, dampening your shirt. something about kyle was so brazen, so heated. you’d never sweat like this before, even in the adrenaline rush of the games, or the training leading up to it. even in the summer heat, without a single drop of water.

“i want to. i want you.” you weren’t lying. you weren’t one for lying, even when it was a technical necessity. everything in you was screaming for every piece of him, begging for it, burning for it. your every nerve was alight, buzzing beneath his bruising touch and starving lips.

“i would die for you.” his words struck you harder than any ax could. having someone just as willing to die for you as you were for them was an odd experience, an experience you hadn’t prepared yourself for in the slightest. you were winded, wheezing and gasping as kyle pressed open mouthed kisses to the side of your throat.

“you’ll never have to,” you whimpered, subtly grinding your hips against kyle’s. the groan he let out was soft, buzzing on repeat in your ears, drenching you from the core outward. you could feel his eagerness welling beneath your hips, pressing into the crevices of your lower half. you knew he could feel yours, your loose trousers growing damp as his hands clawed at your ass.

“god, please take these off,” he rushed, tongue stumbling over his words and over your lips. you couldn’t bring yourself to find a reason why you shouldn’t, drunken by the loving haze he’d entrapped you in. your hips met the cold hardwood, fingers shaking as they pried your bottoms from your body. kyle tore your shirt over your head, breathless as he took in every exposed piece of skin his widened eyes could find.

“you’re so fucking beautiful,” he whispered as he hastily threw his own top to the other side of the room. you couldn’t find the air in your lungs, gaze trained on the scars littering his chest. kyle would never cease to amaze you, even in the horrific, shredded state his chest remained in. long, jagged scars raised the skin of his chest, one just beneath his ribs and the other two parallel over his heart. you couldn’t resist reaching to touch him, dusting over the remnants of his days in the arena.

“don’t look at them,” he mumbled, ashamed and dejected. you dipped your head, shimmying slightly off his lap, and pressed a few chaste kisses to the torn skin of his chest. his breath hitched, his hand knotting in your hair.

“is this why you never take your shirt off around me?” you breathed, tracing each line burrowed in his lean chest muscles. he hesitated, then nodded, and brought you in for another kiss. you didn’t fight him, didn’t fight to continue the conversation. you melted into him, fingers twisting in his curly hair, hips subtly rocking into his. he was a breathy mess, letting out the smallest sounds, your lips swallowing every single one. you’d never been so eager to touch a human being before. never so desperate to show your affection.

it took only a few moments for kyle to pry his pajama bottoms from his body, during which he slid you into the floor. your bare thighs touched the hardwood and a shiver rippled down your spine from the chill running over your bottom half. his hands were unrelenting, pushing your pliant body into the floor, squeezing your sides like you’d disappear if he stopped. which, in a sense, it was completely rational. you were staring death in the face, and with each kiss and each movement of his hips, kyle was laughing right back at it.

“i need you,” he whispered into your tongue, tugging at your underwear. you could only bear a nod, throat riddled with fear, uncertainty clawing at your chest. you’d never done any of this before, never felt touch like this, never let yourself be vulnerable enough to engage in such lewd activities. it only made sense for kyle to be your first, and hopefully you his.

all caution thrown to the wind, you pulled your underwear off, and kyle tossed his across the room. the sight uncovered before you made you gulp. he was large, well endowed, hiding much more than you imagined you could take. your loins ached at the thought.

you had no time to dwell on the large package he’d kept hidden in his trousers, two long fingers sliding into you with such suddenness you couldn’t hold back the drawn out noise boiling in your chest. being touched like this… it was pleasant, overwhelmingly so, and you weren’t sure how much more you could take. you writhed on the floor of your tribute quarters, fingers locked into his hair, eyes squeezed shut. you were shaking. a coil in your stomach was tightening, like a spring ready to snap. you couldn’t find the willpower to stop, lost in the pleasure of his fingers stroking your innards with such careful precision you doubted he was a virgin.

“kyle,” you gasped, back pulling off the floor, fingernails digging into his scalp. “kyle, i-“ you didn’t get to finish, your mind disappearing into a void, your legs quaking and dripping heat spasming against his fingers. coming back down, you spotted the utter shock paling his face, his fingers sliding out with dampened ease. a slight smile quirked his lips. you hated to admit it, but you certainly had a thing for his fingers. especially as he licked them clean of your nether’s juices.

“you’re too much,” he managed to chuckle, leaning so close your hardened nipples brushed his rib cage. you couldn’t help the high pitched moan ripped from your body, especially as something hard prodded at the same hole his fingers had just worked their magic on. a glance down revealed kyle’s cock, hard and swollen, prodding at your aching cunt. you widened your legs and held your breath in anticipation.

the first half entered with striking ease, forcefully expanding your inner walls to accommodate. it was a sickly sweet sensation, bordering on painful. the rest of it pushed in abruptly, pushing you apart far too rapidly for your body seemingly to handle. you could’ve cried from the tingle of unease, feeling raw and opened and vulnerable beneath the man you’d come to adore.

kyle’s face was tight, drawn up into a concentrated scowl, eyes squeezed shut and breath held in his chest. he didn’t move an inch, a patch of orange hair brushing your labia, thighs flush with yours. it took a moment to adjust to the new sensation burrowed within you. for the sensation to transform into the strangest pleasure you’d ever felt. an experimental wiggle of your hips, a nod, and a tentative move in and out. he brushed every nerve ending spanning your insides, every piece of your body, every spot you could ever think of.

it was so pleasurable you couldn’t breathe. every nerve ending was alight, buzzing under your skin with want. you wanted every piece of him, every inch of his body touching yours. his lips met yours in a bruising kiss, tongue brushing against yours, every tentative stroke of his hips and his mouth sending a jolt of electricity to the bridge between your bodies.

“i’m gonna-“ he couldn’t finish his sentence, a quaking sigh rippling through his chest. you wanted him, every inch to the fullest, every bit of him you could have. if this was it, your final chance at intimacy with your best friend, you were going to steal it and indulge in it and trap it within the binds of your rib cage. tomorrow wasn’t promised. tonight was the only thing that mattered.

his hips stuttered, a breathy moan passing from his throat to yours, a foreign warmth spotting your lower stomach. you could feel it leaking over your skin, pooling beneath you, and never once did you let him break the kiss. never once did you let him go. you didn’t think you could if you wanted to. arena be damned, kyle was yours, and you drank him like the last few drops of water left on the planet.

[bayanation]

THE DARK NIGHTS SERIES: Part I.

GLORY & GORE / Bruce Wayne.

When is it time to bury the past? Can you bury it all?

read on wattpad here.

IN BLOOM / Clark Kent.

The universe rolls the dice, and the world will never be the same.

read on wattpad here.

GHOSTLY / Barry Allen.

Does destiny not carve her ending into stone right then?

read on wattpad here.

[easy-there-leftovers]

I See You, Darling

[Astarion x reader] The idea never left my mind, and I so very badly need this right now. Heavily inspired by this cutscene where Tav chooses a dialogue option and Astarion's eyes just deviate-- (gif above, just wait for his eyes to look at you WKDKWKDK) |Word count: 2k.| Based off of this post I made.

Part 2 here!!

Also, this is more heavy on the world building rather than dialogue. If I end up making this a series, I might write with more dialogue in mind but it was just necessary to do this first afhjaqfbnjkafbnebn--

A story in which an overworked art student longs for a fictional character that they've devoted so much of their time to.

Alternatively; Astarion realizes there's someone else watching him. And he can't wait to get acquainted with them.

————━─━────༺༻────━─━————

One.

Two.

Three.

It takes you three seconds to comprehend what just happened. Three seconds for you to try and save the progress you’ve already made so far. Three seconds for you to feel the chill of dread run up your spine. 

You’ll admit, perhaps you were simply tired. Attending a prestigious school for the arts doesn’t exactly leave you with much free time to indulge in more calming forms of recreation. Your course requires you to consume a wide array of media to expand your library of creativity, after all. All in the name of generating more interesting media to entrance and enthrall your audience with your original work. 

Maybe all the moving pictures and swimming texts have caused you to greatly misunderstand what you are seeing. Surely, your favorite character isn’t looking directly at you, right?

Right?

But before that, let’s review what might have happened earlier to explain just what exactly in gods name is happening.

Shall we?

——

You purchased the game a few months back. “Baldur’s Gate 3.” A game that took the players and immersed them in the world of Dungeons & Dragons, introducing them to the mechanics of tabletop RPG as they did. It seemed interesting enough. And if the concept of character creation and storytelling didn’t sell you on the idea of it, the pretty faces on the cover certainly did.

So, with the little money you could spare from your part time job at your own institution’s library, and with what little sanity you had left to argue with, you impulsively bought said game. And it was fun. Exhilarating. Electrifying. 

Until you ran into a problem.

Astarion. The rogue, elven vampire that you have chosen to romance after careful deliberation. You scoffed to yourself. He was one of the biggest reasons why you purchased the blasted game at all. You’ve carefully studied the character in all his glory, from his striking carmine eyes and delicate unstained curls, to his aptitude for bloodshed and all manners of gore. He was such an interesting character, giving you more and more reason to pursue him as the story progressed. Yet the same can’t be said about your relationship with him. Or at least your “Tav’s” relationship with him. 

You’ve had some difficulty in deepening your relationship with the ex-magistrate. It seemed as if no matter what options you chose, no matter what manner of advances you made, he’d be quick to dismiss you. Painting you as a desperate little pup as he did. Denying you the opportunity of further knowing him. You’ve created and overwritten more save slots than you'd like to admit, perusing each one to select different lines of dialogue only to be rejected time and time again.

You thought it strange. But perhaps this was simply the way his route was meant to unfold. He was such an incredibly complex character after all. Perhaps this was meant to prove the party’s loyalty. 

But that didn’t stop you from being frustrated with other aspects of the gameplay. You've spent countless nights hunched on your work chair, back curving like a dead bug as you analyzed each and every possible outcome in combat. Eyes, bloodshot from cutting your sleeping hours short, just to endure the story until you were at an appropriate place to log out. And hair, flicking and curling out in different directions due to you weaving your hands through them in exasperation. 

You saw your reflection on your screen as it darkened to load the next scene and you couldn't help but stare at your character in slight envy. You know full well that however you designed them, it wouldn’t affect how the others perceived you, and yet you couldn’t help but pretty them up for your own interest. You designed it with yourself in mind, but making them far more attractive than you would ever be. Effortlessly beautiful as they stirred to wake up in the forest you settled in for camp.

How could Astarion ever turn this beautiful being away? If not for their heroism, then surely their looks would be enough to draw him in, no?

And speak of the devil. Once you could control your character again, you readied them to interact with your sharply dressed companion. Wanting to try your luck once more as the bright sun shone upon your character like a promise of a new day. Unfortunately, you’re greeted with a look of boredom, oh so familiar, that you sigh. “I hope you’re not here to beg—” Mocking him, echoing the words you’ve come to expect with faux mirth in your voice. But you cut yourself short when you realize he has yet to say anything. 

Strange.

 What’s even stranger is that he's just staring at you. Well,--- he’s staring at Tav. Your character.

“What the fuck…?” You move your mouse around, clicking to try and toggle the dialogue options to no avail, screen stuck in a cinematic close up of his face. Much like how the camera always pans when awaiting your response. 

However, unlike the common script of his actions that you’re used to, the one that you’ve memorized like a well practiced dance, his eyes smoothly glide off of your character and onto you. 

You freeze, but your heart doesn’t. The beating of your chest growing stronger the longer he looks at you. Eyes, blood red like rubies, boring into your own. He regards you, blinks, and then smiles that deviously charming smile of his before your screen turns dark. Your computer turns off, and you stare in shock of what just happened.

‘No fucking way, no fucking way, no fucking way—‘ You’re not delusional, right? Sure, you’re tired, but no fucking way did you just imagine one of the hottest characters you’ve seen in a while break the fourth wall just to fuck with you.

You laugh to yourself.

Yes, you’re just tired. Nothing like a good four hours of sleep can’t remedy. Although, as you get up from your chair, foolish as it may seem, you grab a used shirt from your floor, and hang it on your computer in the case that those piercing eyes come to life once again while you sleep.

——

You stir awake after your short slumber. Your body, heavy like lead, though not at all a feeling foreign to you. You think about what happened last night, wondering if it was all a dream. Yet as you get ready for the day, you notice your dirtied clothing still on your computer. Covering it as if it were a petrifying doll from a horror movie. You feel childish for doing so, reasoning that you were simply stressed from the events that taken place prior and removed the cloth.

As you did, your screen was brought back to life. Showing you the next night as if your little "tryst" with Astarion never happened. An entire thirty minutes or so of progress seemingly gone. Thankfully, you saved just before your game went haywire and you attempted to load up your last slot. 

Zzzt Zzzzt!

Alas, your game was not cooperating once again. You tried the save just before that and the same error screen presented itself to you. ‘Maybe this is a sign that I should just fucking work instead.’ Irritated at the thought, you moved to log out of the game but a familiar voice convinces you otherwise as the screen returns to normal. 

“Why, hello pup. How was your awfully short slumber?” 

‘Is this— a romance scene?!’ Astarion had never initiated an interaction before! Perhaps the game gods were granting you mercy. Or maybe, something you did last night might have given way for this line of dialogue to open up. Regardless, you happily took the opportunity and began reading your choices.

“Why, hello pup. How was your awfully short slumber?” ━─━────༺༻────━─━

Well. Thank you.

It’s none of your concern, fangs.

Better now that you’re here.

What happened last night?

━─━────༺༻────━─━

What…did happen last night? You don’t recall anything past the blackening of your screen, but it looks like you did something after that which caused this dialogue.

You don’t want to squander this opportunity, who knows when this will happen again, but your curiosity gets the best of you. So you save, and choose option 4. 

“Oh, you poor thing. Spooked you, did I?” He laughs, seemingly taking in the look of confusion that graces both yours and Tav’s face.

“What do you think happened last night?”

“My fucking game crashed.” You answer automatically.

Tav moves to open their mouth but is silenced with a tut. “Not you, spawn.” His eyes crinkle at the corners in amusement, but the way his mouth is pulled in a tightly-lipped smile offers you further insight otherwise. 

“I need your answer.” His eyes are on you yet again, and you feel the world begin to spin.

——

You stir awake after your short slumber. Your body, heavy like lead, though not at all a feeling foreign to you. You think about what happened last night, wondering if it was all a dream. Yet as you plan to get ready for the day, you notice you’re not exactly in a state to do so. You expected to wake at dawn, the dark and cool air to greet you as it fills your room and envelops your walls. Instead, you wake to see an endless amount of evergreen and the smell of the dark and damp grass beneath you filling your senses.

And if spending hours, weeks, months, of playing this damned game has taught you anything, you know that you now reside in the heart of the forest that you usually set up camp in. But this time, you're far from your bedroll and the fire that your party created.

One.

Two.

Three.

It takes you three seconds to comprehend what just happened. Three seconds for you to try and save the progress you’ve already made so far to no avail. Three seconds for you to feel the chill of dread run up your spine. 

And this chill so does love playing games.

You clamber away on your knees when you hear that deep chuckle of his emanate from right beside your ear. Creating as much distance to inspect this figure you’ve yet to face.

You see Astarion in all his vampiric glory. ‘Well, for a vampire spawn, I guess.’ You comment to yourself. Crimson eyes, darker than you imagined, with full, dark lashes contrasting his pallid skin and pure hair that glow under the moonlight. An unsettling, and cursedly attractive, smirk curls onto his lips. His ivory fangs on full display as he does.

“It seems as if those useless artifacts were worth something.” He marvels at his handiwork, his prize, and approaches it with confidence. 

“Well, your character certainly is more ‘prettied up.’” He circles you, carefully appraising his newest asset, and grins. “But you are far more intriguing.”

A simple, “What the fuck?” is all you can muster.

“Although, you are very cute. Cheeky little pup, aren’t you?” He jests.

A simple, “What the fuck?” is all you can muster which earns you a click of his tongue in response.

“You’re not broken, are you? Or am I to anticipate your little ‘what the fuck?’s as your only contribution?” Long, and incredibly masculine, fingers crawl and curl to grasp your chin like a spider. 

“I’ve waited months to have you. And now here you are, finally within my grasp.” The statement causes something to stir within you.

“What do you mean, ‘months?” 

He narrows his eyes, possibly trying to comprehend your stupidity.

“I’ve been watching you. Waiting, for the right moment. Interacting with this– caricature of yourself until you could deny yourself of me no more.” Blood rushes to your head. Your cheeks burning in embarrassment for seeming overly eager. And in panic as his intentions have yet to be cleared.

“And now that I’m here? Do you want to kill me?” You feel your heartbeat in your ears, awaiting his response. Your eyes wide in fear, yet trying to fake heroic bravado in the attempts to gain the upperhand.

And in this moment, he thinks you absolutely invigorating.

“Oh no, sweet pet. I’ve waited far too long for that. I’m going to make you mine.”

————━─━────༺༻────━─━————

Should I make this into a series? "The adventures of a misplaced artist in Baldur's Gate!!" Or something like that. Let me know, lol

[loveharlow]

SEVEN [SEASON 2] - 007 (PT 2)

PAIRING ‧₊˚ JJ Maybank x Fem!Reader

SYNOPSIS‧₊˚ [8.5k] based on Netflix’s Outer Banks Season 2 Episode 10

WARNING(S)‧₊˚ swearing, general obx warnings, graphic depictions of injuries/blood, mild violence

NOW PLAYING‧₊˚

A/N‧₊˚ i KNOW y'all hate me but i've literally been through hell and back these past 1-2 months but we are BACK IN BUSINESS XX THEE SEASON 2 FINALE

˗ˏˋ series masterlist ˎˊ˗

“IT’S SO HOT IN HERE…” You groaned, fanning yourself as you slumped against the side of the receptacle. You’d all been enclosed in the space for well over two hours at this point and the exhaustion was starting to settle in…as well as the agitation.

“Nice work, John B.” JJ said sarcastically as you leaned on the blonde's shoulder while he glared at his best friend. “Y’know, these things lock from the outside, right?”

“I was just trying to get us on the boat, JJ…” John B groaned, forehead pressed against the metal wall as he stood limply. “I wasn’t thinking that far ahead.”

“Now we’re stuck in here...like rats.” JJ argued, tone short. 

“It’s hot…” Kiara exasperated, stripping off her jacket.

“Okay, JJ, you’re not helping.” Pope dismissed, annoyed as beads of sweat trailed down the sides of his face. He was gripping a random bar, holding on for dear life. 

“You don’t have a whole lotta room to talk, right now, Pope.” JJ retorted. “You said you had a plan but what happened to thinking ahead?” 

“I find your lack of self-knowledge very disturbing.” Pope shot back through heavy breaths. 

“Ohh, okay.” JJ laughed humorlessly, standing from his spot. “Last time I checked-”

“Oh, my God. Shut up!” You and Kiara reprimanded simultaneously — you tugging so hard on JJ’s arm that you managed to get the boy to sit back down as Kie slammed her arm between the two. “Instead of arguing,” You started. “How about we try to find a way out of here?” You offered, mildly agitated yourself.

“We can take the bridge.” JJ offered, shrugging carelessly. You pinched the bridge of your nose in frustration, turning towards your boyfriend stiffly, sighing.

“...What?” 

“The bridge. It’s like killing a snake — we go for the head. And I happen to know that there’s an armory on this ship. I’m talking grenades, SMG’s-”

“Killing everyone here is not an option.” You stopped JJ bluntly, looking the blonde in his eyes. You sighed once more, walking away in an attempt to recollect yourself, isolating yourself from the group and wandering into the very back of the shipping container.

“Well, what’re we supposed to do-”

“We can’t do anything until we find a way out of here, JJ.” John B told the boy. 

You tuned out the boy’s conversation as your eyes found a beam of light coming from behind a mountain of crates and boxes. The observation stopped you in your tracks, squinting your eyes as your thoughts raced. Without hesitation, you began moving the objects out of your way to get to whatever was shining behind them.

After a few minutes, you finally got to what you were looking for — your eyes going wide. “Guys…” You tried, but your voice went unheard over the bickering of the two boys.

“Guys!” You snapped, eyes on your friends on the other end of the container. Their voices came to a halt, all eyes on you as you used your head to motion them over.

“She’s got somethin’.” JJ mumbled as the four of them walked over to you, now able to see what you were seeing.

“Can we fit through that?” You asked smugly, motioning for the window you’d uncovered. 

“Hell yeah.” JJ chuckled, squeezing your arm proudly. “And uh, what about that swiss army knife 'not coming in handy'?” JJ asked sarcastically in John B’s direction, holding his pocket knife in between his fingers — the perfect tool to pry the grate off of the window.

“Just shut up.” JB rolled his eyes as JJ used one of the crates on the ground as a step stool to get high enough to start rooting out the metal grate.

“Okay, sooo…we raid the armory, get weapons, roll back here, and plot the next move?” Pope confirmed with the group as JJ worked, to which everyone nodded tiredly.

“The armory is on the third deck, near the laundry room. Let’s roll.” JJ verified, fingers hooked into the unscrewed grate, ready to pull it off. 

“Hold up.” Pope started, looking around at all of you as JJ stopped in his tracks. “I don’t think we should all go out there…” He cringed. “It’s too risky.”

“What?” JJ said incredulously. “How?”

“...I think you should stay here.” JB added, eyes on your boyfriend. “I have Sarah that I’m gonna go after. And Pope has-”

“The cross.” Pope finished for him. 

“Yeah…” JJ said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Let’s go get it.”

“Also, if you go out there, there’s a one-hundred percent probability that you’re gonna do something stupid.” John B shrugged.

“Okay, first of all, I think the correct terminology is ‘ballsy’-” JJ tried only to be cut off.

“Okay, get down here-” Pope urged, tugging on the blonde’s arm.

“No. Get off-” JJ whisper-yelled as he snatched his arm away but hopped down off the crate anyway. “Dude, I’m a field player.”

“Shhh.” John B demanded. “Look, if we go out there and we get in a bind, we need somebody to look out for us. That’s what we need-”

JJ scoffed, unbelievably. “Okay, I get it, I get it.” He dismissed, jutting out his bottom lip as he trotted over to you, slinging an arm around your shoulder. “Fine. I’ll stay here. Single out the one who got your asses out of the container, cool.” He said. "I’ll be on B team, ‘s fine.”

“I never said B team.” John B said bluntly, blinking.

“Sorry, are you calling me B team?” You asked, mildly offended as you looked up at the blonde, crossing your arms.

“You’re not B team, baby, of course not. I was just-”

“Did ‘B Team’ not just find our way out? Or am I, like, totally losing it?” You asked rhetorically, looking around the cabin with your hands up in surrender. 

“Look, we’re just saying we need people to hang back and hold down the fort.” Pope clarified, hands clasped in front of him. 

“Great, fine. It’s fine, I’ll just stay here with my girl.” JJ smiled annoyedly, throwing an arm over your shoulders as your arms returned to their crossed position.

“Oh, now you wanna stay back with B Team?” You sassed, raising your eyebrows.

“Will you please-” JJ tried before being cut off by Kiara.

“Guys.” She said firmly. “Chill. Look, John B and Pope wanna go alone? Fine. I’ll stay here with Y/N and JJ, I’ll babysit.”

“You guys have fun. It’s your funeral, your game. We’ll be in here, on the bench…” JJ taunted, shrugging nonchalantly as he released his hold on you and walked back to the front of the container.

You watched as John B and Pope climbed the crates on the floor up to the opened window, one behind the other as John B moved the metal grate to the side. 

“Don’t...get shot?” Kie said, attempting to offer some kind of comfort.

“...Don’t get shot.” Pope reiterated sassily, pulling his lips into a thin line. “That’s…disheartening and scary.”

Kie simply shrugged. “It’s all I got.”

“Okay, let’s go.” John B whispered, poking his head out of the window like a dog. “Pope, grab my feet.”  He instructed in a whisper before launching himself out of the window before bothering to make sure the boy in question even had a hold on him. 

“Oh, Jesus-” Pope cursed, watching as his friend fell face first out of the window — you and Kie’s jaws going slack. It seemed John B had managed to catch himself, however, considering there was no screaming or cursing as his entire frame seemed to slide the rest of the way out of the window.

Seconds passed before Pope followed suit, carefully sliding himself out of the small opening. You were quick to tip toe up the crates, hearing unknown voices from the outside which prompted you to carefully replace the metal grate, praying it wouldn’t dislodge itself. 

Letting the object set itself, you turned to face the two people you remained locked inside with, sighing heavily to yourself when you realized how awkward this would be — even if all parties didn’t realize it. 

“...’s just us.” You sighed with a grimace, hopping down off the grates. “Now, we wait.”

NOT EVEN THIRTY MINUTES INTO CAMPING OUT, OR “KEEPING WATCH", THE THREE OF YOU WERE SWEATING BULLETS. Kiara had isolated herself on the complete other side of the container — whether it was to give you and JJ space or avoid you, you weren’t entirely sure. A part of you wondered if you should tell JJ about Kiara’s confession, if that was the right thing to do as a girlfriend. But the other part figured that it wasn’t your place as Kiara’s friend, no matter how rocky of a hill the friendship currently stood on.

“I’ve been thinking,” JJ started after half an hour of silence — you were resting your head in his lap, hands splayed across your stomach as he laid his head back against a stack of boxes and crates. “When all this is over, and we’re just rollin’ in the dough, I’m gonna get a new board.” He concluded, lanky fingers playing in your hair. “I’m gonna deck it out, and I’m gonna go on a surf trip.” He smiled to himself in thought as you stared up at him. “I don't know where,” He shrugged. “But, like, the world’s calling…I don’t know. Name a place.” He requested, blue eyes looking down at you.

You pondered for a moment, fingers tapping on the surface of your stomach before you settled on an answer — eyes meeting his with a small smile. “Spain.”

He beamed, seemingly satisfied with the answer. “Then after Spain?”

“...South America.” You said, pouting your lips in thought. “Or South Africa.” You shrugged with a smirk.

“And then Micronesia, maybe? And then we…just ride.” He sighed dreamily. You couldn’t help the pure admiration blooming in your eyes, unable to unglue them from the boy above you as he got consumed by his own daydream. You liked seeing JJ happy. He deserved it.

“Wherever the wave takes you?” You asked, voice soft and full of adoration. 

Your voice seemed to snap him out of his stupor, the blonde looking down at you once more to find your big eyes staring at him like everything you’d ever wanted. Everything he'd ever wanted. “Wherever the waves takes us.” He corrected.

“So, that’s the plan if we were to get a ton of cash? That’s it?” You inquired. “That’s the dream? Surf trip?”

The blonde simply nodded. “Rippin’ jungle break all day long. Bamboo hut, cooking a fish on a fire, and after that, you go back out and hit the waves again.” He smiled once more to himself, dropping his hand to brush his thumb over the curvature of your jaw. “That’s the dream.” 

“Sounds perfect.” You cooed, putting one of your hands over his. Subconsciously, you let your head fall to the side, finding Kie’s eyes across the shipping container. Her own sad, brown eyes were glued where you and JJ’s hands were connected — fleeting between his featherlight touch on your jaw and your fingers on top of his. There was an indecipherable look in her eyes, a look that made your stomach turn in the worst ways.

You loved JJ. But you hated hurting Kiara. And you wonder if being in a position like this would ever get any easier.

The sound of tapping and Pope’s voice broke you from your thoughts. “Hey, hey,” He whispered, face nearly pressed against the grate. “Open it.” He instructed in a whisper, Kiara being the first one to get up in order remove the barrier, allowing the boy into the container. You and JJ stood to get closer to the two, watching as Pope climbed through the opening. 

“You need help?” Kiara offered her friend.

“I’m good.” He strained out a polite denial of the offer, landing on his feet inside the space.

“I thought Rafe got you guys for sure.” Kie worried, shoving her hands in her back pockets. 

“No, we’re chill.” Pope whispered, peeking out of the window once more before letting John B in after him, the brunette struggling a bit to climb back in. 

“All right.” You sighed, finishing your mental headcount. “Let’s put the grate back on.” You suggested as JB landed on his feet.

“No, wait.” Pope held out a hand, prompting you to wait a second. 

Your eyes furrowed at this. “What?”

“Hold on to it.” Pope instructed, eyes focused on the opening as if he was waiting for something. Or someone.

“No, put it back.” Kie urged, ready to replace the grate. Suddenly, a girl appeared in front of the square opening — a pretty, brown-skinned girl, covered in sweat. Your face immediately contorted into one of confusion upon registering her presence.

“Jesus Christ!” She whisper-shouted, taking in each of you one by one before her eyes landed on John B. “I kill you, John B!” She threatened with her accent, climbing into the shipping container as you all backed up to make room for her.

“Who is this?” Kie whispered, eyes on Pope. 

“Just relax, okay?” John B got Kie’s attention on him. “I told you I had a surprise.”

“When did you say that, exactly?” You asked, eyes permanently pinched together as you instinctively backed into JJ for comfort. 

“Who is she? What’s going on?” Kiara interrogated, voice becoming something between angry and frantic. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” John B coaxed, planting his hands on the girl’s shoulders to stabilize her. “Kie, relax.” He tried, tone lowering as he seemed to calm her. “Remember I told you about the girl we met in the Bahamas that saved us?” He asked, eyes connecting with all of yours.

“Uh…Cleo, yeah?” Kiara answered, earning a nod from John B.

Your eyes went to the girl standing on the makeshift stairs, pointing as you gained her attention with the movement. “That’s you?” You asked.

She offered a simple nod in response, allowing John B to continue talking. “She’s gonna help us.” He told Kie before turning to Cleo herself. “...Right?”

“Next time, ask me.” Cleo reprimanded your friend in a low, annoyed tone. This girl didn’t necessarily give you a bad vibe, but this seemed to be working out in your favors a little too well.

“John B.” You started, eyes on his as you jutted your head towards the back of the container and away from the group. “Can I talk to you?” The boy drew his lips into a thin line as he followed you to the back of the container, leaving the remaining four up front.

“What’s wrong?” Your friend asked impassively.

‘What’s wrong?” You asked incredulously, eyes fleeting quickly between your friends and the unknown girl as you took one step closer. “John B, we don’t know this girl. How do you know she’s actually going to help us?”

He immediately began shaking his head, his hands out in front of you to stop your ranting. “I know, it’s risky.” He assured you. “But that girl saved me and Sarah’s lives in the Bahamas. I know you guys don’t know her but I trust her.” He explained. “Do you trust me?”

You pondered for a moment, chewing the inside of your lip as your foot tapped incessantly on the floor — eyes flying back and forth between Cleo and your friends. “...You know I do.”

John B nodded, a pompous smile on his face. “Okay. So, trust me when I say that you can trust her.” He said simply.

You clenched your jaw as you eyed the girl from feet away as she conversed with your friends. 

“...Fine.” You caved, sighing and untensing your body. “But if this is a bad call, it’s your bad call.” You warned before walking away and rejoining the group as JB trailed close behind. 

“You seriously grabbed nothing?” JJ said in surprise, the group continuing the conversation you and John B had missed a chunk of. “Not even a single gun?”

John B sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he leaned on some netting hanging from the ceiling. “We tried, okay? I got attacked.”

“This is why I should’ve gone with.” JJ sassed, shrugging from his place beside you. 

“Let me get this straight,” Cleo inserted herself into the boys' bickering. “You five, with no weapons, decided you were gonna hijack this tramp steamer on your own?” She asked, unbelievably. “Do you have any idea who these people are?” She asked, something between anger and fear in her eyes. “Eberhimi? If he catch you, he’s gonna kill you.” She warned. “Dead. Cut off ya fingers.” She exaggerated. Or...maybe not.

“Okay…” Kiara started. “What about waiting until we get to port?” She threw out. “At least then, if something goes wrong, we have a place to run.” 

“No.” Pope shook his head almost immediately. “No, we can’t do that.”

“Why?” Kiara shrugged in offense. 

“Because I’ve run the scenario over one-thousand times in my head, and our best chances are on this ship. There’s fifteen crew members and six of us,-”

“Exactly.” Kiara quipped.

“Three-to-one odds.” Pope said bluntly. “That’s the best it’s gonna get. If we wait ‘til we get there, they’re gonna trap us.”

“We have no chance.” Kiara argued with his logic. 

“No, Kie, there’s something else.” John B added. “...Ward’s alive.”

You couldn’t control the way your neck snapped in the boy’s direction, an immediate wave of confusion and pure anger washing over you. “Excuse me, what?” You spat as the rest of your friends stood frozen, waiting for John B to elaborate on just exactly what the hell he meant. 

“He’s alive, and he’s on this boat.” 

“What?” Kiara finally spoke.

“I fucking knew it.” You scoffed, overcome with disbelief as you turned away from the group, shaking your head. 

“You gotta be kidding me.” JJ scoffed.

“...Are you serious?” Pope asked in a whispered tone. 

John B just nodded despondently. “It was all a setup.” He shrugged. “Blowing up the boat, his confession to Shoupe? Think about it.” He explained. “That was to clear Rafe’s name. And he does what? Goes to the Druthers. And what’s on the Druthers?”

“Scuba gear.” You answered, voice tight as you turned back around, clicking your teeth. 

John B grimaced, tilting his head to the side. “Bingo.” 

“So, Ward’s alive, huh?” JJ started, tone indecipherable. “And he has the gold…and the cross…and Sarah.” He listed, walking to the center of the group. 

“Thanks for rubbing that in.” Kie retorted, rolling her eyes. 

“So, he’s just gonna get away with everything again, huh? Rafe, too?” He provoked, looking at each of you as he spoke. 

You immediately shook your head, a look of borderline disgust on your face. “No.” You threw out. “No, hell no.” You reiterated, tone much more firm this time. “We’re not watching this movie again. Okay? Pope? John B? Do you hear me?” You continued. “You said we need the win. You said that Pope.” You reminded the boy, taking a few steps into his space. “And with her?” You pointed to Cleo. “We’re going to the bridge, and we’re gonna take it. Are you with me?”

“...Let’s do it.” John B opted in, eyes focused on his feet as he took your words in.

“I’m with you.” Pope assured, eyes meeting yours. “And I wanna be the one to take that bridge.” He made abundantly clear.

“That’s what I’m talking about.” JJ praised, cupping your neck and pulling you in to place a quick, proud kiss on your cheek. 

“He’s gonna take the bridge?” Cleo chuckled, referring to Pope. “He couldn’t even take me.”

“Okay, first of all, I was going easy on you-” Pope tried to defend. 

“I went easy on you.” Cleo asserted herself, pointing at the boy.

You all shushed the bickering teens, careful not to be too loud. 

“Relax.” John B directed as JJ began talking, eyes on Cleo.

“If you’re really with us, if we use that knife,” He started, referring to the weapon in the girl’s hand. “We can go up into the bridge, hold it up against the captain’s neck, then we go on the intercom and make him tell the rest of the crew to meet up in the forward hull.” He explained his logic. And for once, his plan didn’t sound so bad. “Once they’re in the same place, bam, we lock ‘em in there and take back what’s ours.” 

Pope nodded, thinking about JJ’s words. “I like it.” He agreed. “It could work.”

“...Are you with us, then?” JJ pressed Cleo, stepping even closer and making unwavering eye contact with the girl. 

“No.” She said without much thought before turning to look at John B, directing her next words at him. “This is stupid.” 

“All right, let’s open these things up!” A voice boomed from outside the container, startling all of you as your gazes whipped in the same direction. 

“...They’re checking the containers.” Kiara stated the obvious. Cleo wasted no time in climbing the stair of crates and peeking outside the “window” before removing the grate. Your heart raced as you watched her quick movements — was she about to rat you all out?

“”Wait. No, Cleo.” Pope tried.

“What are you doing?” Kiara hissed. 

Cleo shushed the pair, carefully placing the large piece of metal on the ground. The five of you watched with anticipation as the girl climbed out of the window, hearing metal clanking from the outside as you presumed the men had begun to open up your crate to search next. 

“Piece of shit’s stuck.” One of the men complained. Good, you thought to yourself.

“Macias!” Cleo bellowed as her feet hit the ground, the girl disappearing out of sight for the most part. 

“She’s gonna tell them. Shit!” Pope automatically assumed the worst. 

“Hold up!” Cleo’s voice boomed from outside as you instinctively covered the opening, also assuming the worst. Until you heard her voice again. “This one’s clear, sir.” She said to the men, the sound of metal clanking from the outside coming to a halt with her words. 

“...You sure?”

“Went through it inch by inch. Nothing but tubing and plastics in there.” You all shared smug smiles of amusement. Maybe you could trust her.

“What if the stowaway had been in there?” The guy pressed.

“Well, he wasn’t, so…” She replied. “C’mon, man. We have work to do. Move your bumper, man.” She dismissed the crew member. And it wasn’t long until you heard footsteps coming back your way.

“Okay…” Pope started. “She’s on our side. That’s good.” 

“Okay, Pope, you’re up.” JJ patted his friend on the back, watching as Pope removed the metal covering once more, revealing Cleo on the other side as she whistled to signal her return. “We’ll wait for your signal, okay?” Pope nodded before turning to the girl waiting outside for him.

“Come on.” She urged, helping the boy out of the container. 

“Thanks for that, by the way.” He showed his gratitude to your new found companion, their voices still close enough to hear. “I don’t know why you did that, but I’m not gonna argue.” He told her. “...Why’d you do that?” 

“Not for charity.” Cleo told him honestly. “Just figure I’m better off with you guys than with Eberhimi.” 

“Right.”

“And now you guys owe me a cut of that treasure.” 

“...That’s fair.”

“All right.” The pair concluded. “How we takin’ over this fort, Chief?”

“...Can I borrow your knife?” Pope asked. 

“...I got a better idea.” Cleo denied. “Come on.” And that was the last of the conversation you all could hear before the sound of their footsteps retreating was heard.

ABOUT TEN MINUTES PASSED BEFORE YOU HEARD IT. 

“Attention, all passengers, all crew, report to the tween forward hull. That’s an order.” The four of you remaining in the crate, shared looks before putting your ears to walls of the enclosed space. “Repeat. All hands and all passengers report to the tween forward hull immediately.” 

There it was — Pope’s signal.

“They did it. They took the bridge.” John B smiled.

“That’s our boy. “JJ applauded, him and John B immediately removing the metal grate for what you hoped to be the last time. “Alright, we split up. Once they’re all in the hull, Y/N and I will lock them inside.”

John B nodded in agreement. “I’ll find Sarah and get the lifeboat.” He informed. 

“What about me?” Kie asked, eyes wide as they went between John B and the pair of you and JJ.

“...Come with us.” You told the girl, your eyes locked with hers. It was a silent gesture, a speechless truce — your way of letting her know that you were both okay. She nodded, a tiny smile on her lips.

“Alright.” She took the offer. 

You nodded in her direction before looking to John B. “We’ll load the cross, meet you, and get outta here.”

“Okay.” JJ gathered you all’s attention. “Let’s roll.” He led the group of you, leaning out of the window and using the barrels below to help himself out. Once he was on the ground, he turned around — hands outstretched to help you out, assistance that you gratefully accepted. John B followed after you and Kiara was the last one out.

The four of you wasted no time in bolting in the direction that Pope and Cleo had gone previously, following JJ as he led you all to the forward hull. John B had already managed to separate himself as soon as you entered the ship, quick on the start of his search to find Sarah.

You, Kie, and JJ ducked behind the walls on either side of the door when you reached the hull. You and Kie on one side, JJ on the other. You heard voices grow as the room filled with passengers and crew members.

“Hey, what the hell is this all about?”

“This doesn’t have anything to do with that stowaway, does it?”

“Guess we’ll find out.”

“Psst.” JJ aimed to get your attention - your wide, adrenaline filled eyes going to him as you tried not to move a muscle. “How many?” He whispered. You and Kie took a quick glance into the hull, doing a quick count before turning back to your boyfriend as you both held up three fingers simultaneously. 

The three of you peeked, watching as the room filled with person after person. 

“What’s goin’ on, man?”

“I don’t know. Waitin’ on the captain.”

“He’s supposed to be down here.”

Over the mess of voices, one in particular caught your attention. 

“Where are we going? Where’s dad?” Wheezie? The girl’s meek voice caused you to peek further into the door, watching as the girl in question followed Rose into the hull, both of them being followed by Rafe. 

“I don’t know, Wheezie.” Rose sighed.

You watched them approach the final door to the hull, hiding back behind it in order to not be seen or spotted as Rafe paused in his tracks, whipping his head to the side, just nearly missing the sight of you three. Once you heard footsteps, you assumed he’d gone inside — taking the risk and peeking to find the family of three completely out of sight.

Turning to face JJ, you spoke as low as you could. “That’s all of the crew.”

But he shook his head. “Except Ward.” The blonde reminded you. “We need Ward.”

As much as you agreed, closing the door now was your best bet before the crew got suspicious. “We can’t wait.”

JJ seemed to sit on the thought for a moment before caving in, motioning for you and Kie to help him close the door. With no hesitation, the three of you ran inside and used all of your collective strength to push the door shut, the people inside immediately reacting to the creaking of the metal door.

“Hey!”

“Oh my God!”

Crew members began to throw themselves against the door in an attempt to keep it open and overtake you three, but you had already gained the upper hand. For the most part. Once the door was shut, you and Kie held it down while JJ locked it.

You all left out breaths of relief until you heard one of the voices on the other side.

“Check the other door!”

You, Kiara, and JJ all shared mutual looks of shock before jumping into action, running around to the other side of the hull, almost tripping over one another in the process. 

JJ himself took the lead, managing to shut and lock the door completely by himself before the men inside even had the chance. You all looked at one another, sharing the same victorious smile before going off and taking the ladder down into a lower part of the ship where the cross was being held. 

“Time to jack this loot.” JJ clapped his hands together and rubbed them together in true klepto fashion, being the first one down the ladder.  You followed his lead, watching as he stopped in front of a cloth-covered coffin. JJ didn’t wait a second before uncovering the box, revealing the cross you all had lost. “There she is.” He cooed, staring down at the golden masterpiece.

Your eyes locked with his, the two of you sharing a look. “Surf trip?” He asked lovingly. 

“Surf trip.” You winked, the two of you carrying out a complex handshake. 

However, the three of you paused — hearts jumping out of your chests when the ceiling opened up. But your fear quickly turned to relief when you made out Pope’s frame standing above you, smiles breaking out on your faces.

The pure relief in your chests prompted a chorus of laughs to ring out, eyes on the boy standing above you with unadulterated determination on his face. You all started cheering, forgetting how important discreteness was to this plan.

“Whoo!”

“Whooooo!”

“That’s what I’m talkin’ about! Let’s go!”

You all applauded how well the plan was going. For the first time, it felt like something was going right. In your favor. Maybe the Kooks didn’t always win. Maybe the Pogues didn’t always lose. 

“The time where people do shit to us and we just sit back and take it is over.” Pope declared, standing above you all like a public figure.

“That’s my boy!” JJ praised, punching the air. “Let’s get this done, baby!” 

You three watched as Pope climbed his way to the top of the crane, seating himself and watching as the machine came to life. The trio of you got the cross ready for pick up and drop off, wrapping a loop around the cross with thick fabric, securing it. 

“Take her up, Pope!” JJ shouted from below once the large piece of treasure was ready to go. You all watched in awe as Pope used the heavy machinery to lift the gold, watching it sway violently from side to side on its way up.

“Slow, Pope!” You hollered, watching the cross nearly hit the sides of the ship. “Slowly!”

“Bring her in the middle!” Kie instructed, using the short rope JJ had tied around the bottom to help Pope guide it. Pope did as he was told, but way too fast, sending the cross flying to the middle of the opening in the ceiling, taking JJ with it.

“No! Too far!” You shouted, chasing the cross while trying to lend JJ a hand at the same time. “Too far, Pope!” 

“Sorry!” The boy shouted from the crane operating cubicle. “My bad!”

Once JJ was on his feet, you, him, and Kiara helped to guide the cross to the actual middle. 

“Hey!” A fifth voice chimed in, your heads shooting in the direction of it — watching as Cleo ran around the corner, standing above you all where Pope was just moments before. “Send it up, Pope. You got it!”

“Did John B get the lifeboat?!” Pope questioned from his place above you all.

“I don’t see him!” Cleo replied back loudly, shrugging confusedly. 

“Where’s Sarah?!” Pope questioned further as the three of you keeping the cross stabilized, the boy earning no response from the girl as she waved a hand to dismiss his interrogation.

“Hurry!” Cleo commanded. The three of you watched as Pope lifted the cross, the piece of treasure getting higher and higher in the sky. “Wow…” Cleo's eyes twinkled at the sight of the cross, this being her first time seeing the aforementioned treasure. “Send it this way.” She guided Pope.

Once those two had the cross secured to the crane — You, JJ, and Kie’s job here was done. The three of you released your hold on the cross, letting the pair of them do their task without intervention. You led your boyfriend and best friend around the corner, at the forefront of the three person line, now on your second task to meet John B.

“Clear?” Kie asked, peeking behind you. You eyed the scene left and right before nodding at her over your shoulder.

“Clear.” You assured, tip-toeing around the corner and onto the upper deck. You swiftly walked around, looking for where John B and Sarah should've been with the lifeboat. “I don’t see him.” Rounding another corner, you looked around before your heart dropped when Eberhimi, the captain of the ship, descended the stairs.

You and the man made eye contact — challenging and unwavering as he unsheathed a knife. “Of course.” He gritted through his teeth, brows set into a harsh line. “There’s more of you.” He spat, pointing the knife at the three of you. “Get down on your knees.” He ordered.

JJ was the first to speak, drawing his lips into a thin line as his head jutted to the side. “I don’t swing that way. Sorry, bro.”

“In front of my boyfriend?” You couldn’t help but chuckle — being somewhat acclimated to situations like this. “Wow, you’re bold.” You shook your head in pity. 

“Is this a joke to you?” Eberhimi squinted, looking at the group of you like you were out of your minds. “Get on your damn knees!”

“Yeah, not gonna happen.” Kiara denied as the captain’s patience came to an end, the man charging at you all, swinging his machete at all three of you as you managed to collectively dodge the attack. He swung again, to the side this time. An attack that didn’t land, again. 

JJ took the opportunity to pin the captain’s arm against the wall, rendering the older man somewhat defenseless. You and Kiara used your collective strength to replace JJ’s hold on Eberhimi’s arm, allowing your boyfriend to clock the man in his cheek. “Hit him, Y/N!” JJ directed, you giving Kiara the task of keeping the man pinned as you opened the fusebox closest to his face, slamming the door against his features. “Where’s John B?” JJ asked breathlessly, frustration growing with the aforementioned boy's absence.

“John B!” You and Kiara screamed, looking over the edge of the boat for any sign of the lifeboat. “Bree!” You continued screaming, looking back to find JJ engaged in another brawl with the captain. JJ had the upper hand for a moment — dodging hit after hit until Eberhimi managed to get him one good time in the chest, sending your boyfriend flying backwards, watching as he hit his head against the side of the ship.

“Hey!” You jumped into action, running towards the two men. “Don’t fucking touch him!” You warned, running at the man whose attention jumped to you at the sound of your rapid footsteps coming in his direction. He swung at you but you managed to dodge the swing, just narrowly missing being cut with the tip of his blade but now you were disoriented, unaware that your back was to the older man now.

“Y/N!” JJ and Kie called your name at once. You tried to stabilize yourself, turning in the direction of their voices only to come face to face with the man once more, but this time you weren’t as lucky. As you made another attempt to dodge his swing, you failed — a burning sensation blooming down the length of your thigh as his machete made a long, deep incision from the top of your thigh to right above your knee.

“Y/N!” They shouted once more, watching you get semi-mutilated as you let out a heart-wrenching screech, falling to the floor as your own blood started to pool underneath your injured leg. All you could do was sit, dry-heave, and watch as JJ quickly regained full consciousness, getting up and launching himself on to the man's back.

He managed to get the man into a chokehold and away from you, until he was elbowed in the ribs and hit under his chin — rendering the blonde unconscious and sending him flying overboard and into the water. It was like your entire world was moving in slow motion as you watched JJ fall into the water, your heart dropping to your stomach as your only focus became him.

You screamed his name as he fell, you were sure of it. But you couldn’t hear your own voice in your ears. Somewhere in your adrenaline-driven haste, the pain in your leg seemed to dissipate — pushing yourself up and onto your feet. You angry eyes found Eberhimi, limping swiftly in the man’s direction before he had time to register your movements, giving him no time to defend himself as you used your good leg to kick him savagely in the stomach before punching him mercilessly in the face, sending the man to the ground with strength you didn’t know you had.

You immediately turned your sights to Kiara, who stood to the side, shocked. “Where is he?” You asked through heavy breaths, eyes scanning the waters below for any sign of your blonde.

“Y/N, you need to-”

“Where is he?!” You repeated yourself, much less patience in your tone this time. You didn’t mean to yell at her, but JJ needed help. Why couldn’t she see that? Eyes still trained overboard, you spotted a figure floating face down, motionless. “JJ!”

You didn’t think twice — wincing as you lifted yourself up onto the edge of the boat, paying no mind to your own potentially fatal injury before jumping off into the water where you watched your boyfriend’s unconscious body float, hearing Kiara scream your name before your body hit the water.

You were under for seconds before you were able to fight your way to the top, looking around to find JJ floating limply next to you. “J…” You breathed out, struggling to swim to him — the saltwater eliciting the pain receptors in your thigh to work in tandem with your brain again. 

Despite the insufferable burning sensation in your leg, you continued to swim to JJ — scooping him up by his arms when you reached him, now able to flip him onto his back. His eyes were closed and his chest wasn’t moving, which sent you into a panic of your own. “JJ.” You tried, attempting to shake him but it was hard with the water restricting your movements. 

It was also becoming increasingly harder to keep you both afloat by yourself. “JJ, come on!” You groaned, maneuvering so you could use one hand to lightly slap his face. “J, please. Please, don’t do this to me.” You begged, letting the tears you didn’t know were forming fall down your already wet face.

Holding you both afloat was getting harder by the minute and you were sure only one of your legs was working to tread any water. An overwhelming sense of fear started to overtake you every time your chin dipped below the surface of the waves, wondering how long you could do this. “JJ, please.” You cried, sniffling. “You’re scaring me. I need you, okay?” You breathed. “I can’t lose anyone else.” You whined, crying harder by the second. “I can’t lose you.”

Suddenly, there was a splash in the water next to you, Kiara’s head popping up within seconds as she shook the water from her hair. A part of you wanted to ask her what took her so long but the other was grateful that she came down at all.

“Let him go.” She instructed breathlessly. You looked at her like she was insane, paying no mind to your own vision that was starting to spot. You were losing too much blood, you realized. But you had bigger things to worry about it. You’d be fine, you told yourself.

“No.” You shook your head, holding JJ closer to you. “No, I need to keep him above the water-"

“He’ll float.” Kiara told you, treading water. “He’s already unconscious so he won’t breathe any more water in. But if you try and hold him up, you’ll drown.”

“I’ll be fine-”

“Y/N, you have to-”

“No, I don’t!” You argued, vision going blurry as you shook your head to re-stabilize it. “I’ll keep him up until we find the others.” You told her. “I’m not letting him go.” Kiara seemed to accept her defeat, opting to share some of the burden of JJ’s weight — moving to hold up the other half of his body.

“Where’s John B?” You asked, voice slipping under.

“I - I don’t know.” Kiara sighed. “John B!” She screamed, looking around as you continuously blinked to try and keep yourself awake. “John B! Help!”

You figured all hope was lost until the sound of a boat engine rounded the corner, four blurry figures coming into view. 

“There they are!”

“JJ!”

“Kie!”

“Y/N!”

They all called your names as they got closer, the boat slowing next to you.

“No, no, no, no no…” John B repeated, taking notice of JJ’s unconsciousness.

“Why is she so pale?” Pope asked, referring to the way your skin had lost all pigment and undertones, leaving you looking like a ghost. "How long have you guys been in the water? Is she hypothermic?"

“Help me get them up.” Kiara demanded, releasing JJ to your friends as they dragged him onto the boat, laying him in the center before they began to help you up, not seconds passing before they took notice of the large, deep gash on your thigh.

“What the hell happened?” John B asked, realizing both of his long-time friends looked like they were on the verge of death.

Once all three of you were on the lifeboat with the others, you immediately pushed your way through your friends to reach JJ, despite their protests that you should sit back down. JJ was flipped onto his back, head elevated against the boat.

You began to tap the side of his face, trying to get a response once more before deciding to go further, clasping your hands together and pushing down on the center of his chest. 

“Here, let me-” Someone offered, you didn’t know who.

“No.” You said quickly. “No, I got it.” You assured weakly, but you could feel yourself slipping away, having to recenter yourself every few seconds. 

“I don’t think you do…” They tried once more, but you ignored them — involuntary or voluntary, you weren’t exactly sure. You continued pushing down on JJ’s chest until you saw droplets of water dribbling down his bottom lip, the sight only motivating to push harder until he started coughing. Only then, did you allow your movements to stop as your boyfriend coughed up whatever liquid had leaked into his lungs from the fall.

A small, weak smile crawled onto your face at the sight, the two of you locking eyes for the briefest of moments. “Hey.” You said softly, leaning back as you finally let yourself breathe. The boy looked at you tenderly before rasping out a response.

“...’Sup?” He said, trying to sound cool, sending you a sly smile before it morphed into concern. “Why are you so pale?” He asked, a hand coming up to caress your cheek.

You shook your head slowly, your eyes closing themselves as you spoke. “...’M fine.” JJ’s eyes went to his friends for answers, realizing you were losing it. Then he remembered — his eyes immediately shooting down to your thigh, the blood still leaking like a waterfall, if not faster.

“Shit.” He cursed, sitting up straighter and pulling you into him. “Help her.” He ordered, holding you tight. “Help her!” Was the last thing you heard before everything went completely black.

THE NEXT TIME YOU OPENED YOUR EYES, you were greeted with the heat and glare of the sun and a dull ache in your right thigh, grains of sand pressing into the back of your legs. Blinking your eyes open carefully, acclamating them to the rays of light, you watched as Pope, JJ, and John B drug the lifeboat to shore. A quick glance down at your thigh had you realizing someone had done their best to construct a makeshift tourniquet to help you out. 

Where you were? You had no idea. But you felt better. Somewhat, anyway.

You watched as the three boys plopped the floatation device on the sand, taking deep breaths from the labor before approaching the four of you girls sitting in the shade.

You didn’t miss the way JJ’s eyes immediately locked with yours, a grateful smile on his pink lips at the sight of you awake. He took a seat next to you, pulling you into his side and planting a kiss on your temple as you cuddled into his embrace. 

“Good to see your pretty eyes again.” He uttered, voice oddly soft and gentle.

You playfully shrugged him, not enough to disrupt his hold on you as you let out a light chuckle. “Get away from me, you flirt.” You joked before returning to a somewhat serious demeanor. “Are you okay?”

The blonde shrugged, sighing and leaning against the tree you perched up against. “Still a lil dizzy. But I’m alright.” He said simply. “How ‘bout you, princess? How’s your leg?” 

You nodded, sighing relief. “Much better.” You told your boyfriend. “Was this you?” You asked, referring to the tourniquet that seemed to be constructed from someone’s sock.

He simply shook his head, jutting out his bottom lip as he motioned his head in Cleo’s direction. “It was all her.” He smiled gratefully. “I think we can trust her. She’s saved three of our lives so far.” 

"Three?" You pondered. "Wouldn't it be four?"

"Nah." He shook his head. "You saved my life. That was all you." The praise made your cheeks go hot, burying half of your face into his chest.

Your eyes found Cleo across the sand, locking eyes with the girl. You sent a sweet smile her way, mouthing a ‘thank you’ her way. The girl simply winked and nodded at you. You had a feeling she’d fit in just fine, if she wanted to stay, that is.

“Might not want to thank me just yet, darlin’.” The girl warned, a sly smile on her face as she leaned against her arms. “We still gotta cauterize that thing.” She pointed to your thigh. “And you can’t be asleep for it.”

A look of terror made its way onto your face as you looked up at JJ, a small action that made the group laugh, a miniscule moment of lightheartedness after the unspoken loss.

“Okay,” JJ came down from his laughter. “Anybody know where we’re at?” 

“Deserted beach.” Pope shrugged, taking a seat next to Cleo. “Unknown island.”

“Alright, I’ll take that as a no.” JJ replied to Pope stating the obvious. “Plan A, huh, Pope? That went well.” JJ sassed, to which you lightly elbowed him in the side.

“This is the lowest we can go.” Pope said, sitting with his hands in his lap, hunched over. “We literally have nothing else to lose.” He laughed, humorlessly. “The cross, gone.”

“The gold, gone.” Sarah added calmly, yet sadly.

“Seriously, if we had a nickel for every time we got beat up, I’d say we’re at a dollar-fifty.” JJ threw out.

Kie shrugged, looking up at the fading cloud as the sunset. “That’s more than I got on me…”

“That somehow doesn’t make me feel better.” Sarah agreed.

“Hey, I’ve got a large coin slot on my leg if anyone wants to make donations.” You joked, earning head shakes at your morbid humor.

“Yeah,” John B finally spoke up. “You’re all right. But, I mean, we’ve…” He shrugged, eyeing all of you. “We’ve had some good stuff happen, right?” 

Pope scoffed. “Name something.”

“Um…” John B pondered, looking at the leaves of the trees. “Uh, the boiler room?” He concluded optimistically. Everyone just stared at him. “What? If the boiler didn’t explode, I wouldn’t have gotten away from Rafe. I couldn’t have gotten the Zodiac and gotten us out here.” He laid out a timeline of cause-and-effect.

“That wasn’t luck.” Cleo started, a knowing smile on her sun kissed face. “That thing was gonna blow the second I stopped feedin’ it.” 

“Stealin’ my thunder, Cleo…” John B said lowly. 

“Sorry.” The girl shrugged shortly. 

“Okay, Pope,” Your friend started again. “You’re related to Denmark Tanny.” He reminded, all of you making faces of agreement at this statement. “That’s crazy-”

“And I lost all his inheritance.” Pope said frustratedly, looking JB in the eyes. 

“...You know what?” John B stood from the log he was perched on. “Guys, this is it. This is the Pogue life.” He dreamed, walking closer to the shore. “We are in the Caribbean. It’s our own little slice of paradise. With my best friends, with my family…” He tried to reel you all in. “I don’t know. I wouldn’t wanna do it with anyone else.” He said, eyes mainly on Sarah. “Look, and while you guys were complaining about every little thing…” He trailed, walking over to you and JJ and kneeling in front of you both. “JJ?”

“Hm?” The blonde holding you hummed in response.

John B simply pointed behind himself and smiled, raising an eyebrow. “I was looking at those burly lefts.”

JJ eyed the water that his best friend was pointing to, trying to hide the smile on his features. “There’s some slabs out there, yeah.”

“Just a few?” John B poked, diverting his attention to someone else. “Kie, you see that? I know you wanna get out there.” He continued taunting. 

“No boards.” The girl rolled her eyes, a small smirk on her features.

“Well, we can…bodysurf ‘til we make some boards.”

She sighed, leaning back. “Lame.”

“Pope?” JB moved his attention once more. “Come on, man.”

“...They do look pretty tasty.” Pope admitted, still trying to hold onto his self-pity. 

“Oh, yes, they do.” The brunette smiled. 

“There’s nobody around.” Pope observed with squinted eyes. “We could squat here for a bit. Kind of belongs to us now, huh?”

“You got a point.” You added, breaking your silence. 

“Six-way split?” Pope inquired, doing a handshake with John B. 

“Poguelandia.” JJ started in a posh accent, smiles breaking out on all of your faces as your boyfriend gently removed himself from your side and repositioned you comfortably against the tree before standing to his full height.

“Oh boy.” John B groaned facetiously. 

“I claim thee Poguelandia.” He continued, leaning his arm against a tree with his swiss army knife in hand. “I like the ring of it.” He said, voice returning to normal. “I’m gonna make a flag, it’s gonna have a chicken on it. With a coconut bra, smokin’ a J...in Crocs.” He described, eliciting small laughs from everyone as they envisioned his soon-to-be work of art.

“I could use a J.” Kiara added.

“As long as you're sharing.” You joked with the girl. "Can't turn down the injured girl. Puff puff pass."

“Can we vote on this?” Sarah smiled.

“Shall we get to work?” Pope offered, talking mainly to JB who was right next to him. 

“...Let’s get to work.” He fist-bumped his friend. “Let’s start working on provisions. Set up shop.” They planned, walking into the thick of the trees. 

“Going full pogue?” JJ asked you, offering a hand to help you up as the others stood.

You smiled, rolling your eyes at him lovingly. “Going full pogue.” You joined, voice strained as you got up, putting as little weight on your leg as possible. The seven of you walked away from where you’d been camped out, leaving your first landmark behind with an ‘X’ to mark the spot, in the shape of ‘P4L’  carved into another tree.

Whatever happened back at home, or would happen, in Kildare, it worried you. You didn’t know what was going on or what would happen days from now, weeks…Months. But it was out of your control. And you weren't sure whether you hated that or loved it. Was “Poguelandia” a final moment of rest or the first step towards you and your friends retribution? 

As you walked, you suddenly remembered a quote John B told you that he got from his dad. It was from Euripides…

“The ocean washes away all the evil men do.”

…But you weren’t sure if that was necessarily true. Maybe, the ocean doesn’t truly “wash away” anything. If anything, the ocean makes you remember.

next chapter >

feedback is appreciated! thanks for reading.

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[edgeray]

Custody Battle with a Dragon

(Arlecchino x GN! Reader)

A/N - Hi 🏹 anon! Accidentally deleted your ask when I did dragon! Arle part 3😅. Uhh… mbad. Reader just kidnapping three random human children is so funny to me, I will never not find this funny. Anyways, just wanted to say the only reason why I’m fulfilling both parts of this ask is because I already have to work on part 3. If I get an ask giving me more than 1 prompt, I will choose only 1 prompt to do. If you want me to do more, feel free to request from me, but with school starting soon, I probably won’t be able to get to many requests until I get used to the first semester.  By the way, since I’m lazy and don’t want to think of more/different worldbuilding, this will be like an alternative universe of my ‘dragon hunter mother' series and it will just be a role reversal. the lore with the hoth though is different from the series, i have a completely different backstory for arle and the hoth hehe. Sorry, this is really awkward and I didn't know how to not write it awkwardly since the reader decides to adopt them just impulsively and I doubt arlecchino would be happy about it. Naturally, they would clash but I tried to get them to get along. Not my best work... :( Content warnings / info - in arle's pov majority of the time, reader is referred as 'it' a few times, 1.6k words

Arlecchino likes to consider herself a successful and (justifiably) proud dragon hunter, among the best for the Tsaritsa. Dragon hunting has been in her veins since she was born into a well-known generation of dragon hunters. She's been trained and has performed the best out of her class in the kingdom’s most renowned dragon hunting academy, the House of the Hearth. Now, as the new head of the House of the Hearth, as ‘Father,’ she's able to change some things. 

For how rigorous and demanding the old House of the Hearth, underneath Crucabena (that despicable woman), it was also quite the precarious and perilous, though that was to be expected with what came with dragon hunting in general. It was easy to get into the House of the Hearth if you had enough money, and by then, you had basically paid for an early grave. Arlecchino remembers that the majority of her peers died, one way or another, before graduating. Families that were wealthy enough and had enough children were happy to enroll some of their children as an investment; being a dragon hunter paid immensely well given that they were paid by the kingdom themselves. 

Now, the classes were fewer due to the rigor requirements. Arlecchino has no need for people that want the job just for the money or to roleplay–with that mindset, they'll get themselves killed. For those seeking glory with none of the gore, for wealth without wear, dragon hunting is far on the list for what Arlecchino would recommend. It is daunting and never safe or relaxing. For this reason, the House of the Hearth takes very few individuals, often strays that she deems worthy and resilient enough for the task. A year is all it takes for her to train the small batch into formidable dragon hunters, about three times more valuable and efficient than the average hunter. 

This year's batch is particularly small, but that does make for more personalized lessons and unique opportunities. It's much easier to allow three children to accompany you on a dragon hunting mission than it is ten. 

Today is one of those days for the children to witness how a real dragon hunter deals with a dragon. Most hunters work in a group to hunt a singular dragon, though the best can do it alone. Today's dragon has been reported to have been killing some livestock occasionally–a few chickens here or there. At the very least, the dragon hasn't destroyed any other property besides the chicken pens, nor has there been any assaults on the people but the kill order is set in stone. Pity has no place among this job, but it is a shame to have to kill an innocuous dragon. 

“Children, maintain a good distance as we have always done. This dragon has been reported to be a two-paired dragon, so be cautious. I trust that you three will be able to handle yourselves during your observing?”

Lyney, the leader out of the three, nods. “Of course, Father.” 

The order should have been simple. It is. A two-paired-winged dragon is usually of little difficulty for Arlecchino, even with how volatile dragons are. Baiting them with fire as well as a large portion of fish is enough to draw the dragon out without waiting for it. With the help of the children, the preparations were done quickly, and all there is left to do is to ignite the fire and wait. 

Except, Arlecchino waits for quite some time. In fact, an hour has passed, and there are no signs of a dragon. Perhaps the villagers were mistaken on the dragon's whereabouts, though instances like these are rare. Nonetheless, it seems like that case, and the dragon hunter heads towards where she last left the trio. As she does, she hears a muffled outburst, recognizing it as Freminet’s, and rushes towards the direction.

Did the dragon target her children on the assumption that they were food? Did she make a mistake, bringing them here? Are their deaths on her hands once more, innocent lives lost because of her again? Her thoughts press her on as she increases her pace, fueled by fury and anxiety for her children. With each child she takes under her wing, with each soul she gently guides, with each hand she teaches how to wield a blade, a bit of her heart has parted and latched onto them. With the three, they are no different, except they are.

Lyney, the ever natural-born leader with a persistence like no other. Lynette, with a placid and rational demeanor to balance her brother's personality and fiercely loyal. Freminet, although timid, holds more potential and skill than he credits himself, and his kindness never fails to shine through even in his conscious actions. These three are endearing, as she has found all children she's taught in such a way before, but perhaps it is these children whom she'd like to call her own finally.

Drawing her sword once she spots the familiar silhouette of a giant, scaly beast, she approaches, only to halt as she takes in the sight. 

A sleeping dragon lays on their stomach in the middle of the forest, curled around Arlecchino's children, their tail hugging the children to the body. Instead of the two-paired-winged dragon that the villagers said, it instead has three-paired wings. That makes the dragon twice as dangerous. 

Against the dragon, Lyney, Lynette, and Freminet sit against the dragon's back. Once they spot the dragon hunter, they noticeably perk up.

Why the dragon is like this, the hunter is not sure, but she knows that it has taken her children. 

“Father!” They simultaneously cry for her. The dragon’s head lifts as they're awakened and turns their head towards the dragon hunter, snarling. They whip their tail upon the grass, and they stand on their legs.  

“Are you hurt in any way?” Arlecchino inquires as she prepares to lunge at the dragon. 

“Wait, Father, don't kill it!” Lyney states as he ducks underneath the dragon's tail, escaping from its vicinity quite easily. “It hasn't hurt us!”

“No? Then why did it take you three?” Arlecchino questions, her blade still pointed at the creature. Their slitted eyes glare at the swordswoman in response, also tensing for an assault. It spun its body the other way, this time standing in between Arlecchino and Lyney, and Lynette and Freminet. They maneuver their head to be beside Lyney, using their head to almost shield him from the hunter. 

“I don't know, but… it–they clearly have no intentions of hurting us. See?” Lyney hesitantly reaches out, running his hand on the underside of the dragon's mouth, and the dragon coos from the action, before opening their mouth to lick his hand. 

“I think…” Freminet states outloud, though his appearance is obstructed from Arlecchino’s view thanks to the dragon. “That we're their young. They have been offering us fish, and they're doing this right now.” 

Arlecchino contemplates the situation. The dragon had essentially adopted her children as their own, perhaps even imprinting them already, claiming them as their own. Trying to take the children away would not do any good, especially if it feels threatened, there is no saying what it would do to the nearby surroundings when enraged. But the dragon has been hostile, and given the children's defense for it… it seems that it is rather docile. The hunter narrows her eyes on the dragon, sending a nonverbal warning before sheathing her blade. The dragon relaxes. 

“Even though you three remain unharmed, you still are my children, and under my care. I cannot simply give them away to you,” Arlecchino addresses the dragon, placing a hand on Lyney's shoulder. “Do you not have any young yourself? Why take human children?” 

The creature growls, before shifting away from Lyney. Abruptly, the dragon's form is outlined with a blinding light, and when the light dies down, you stand in place of the beast. The three children gap at you, but Arlecchino remains unfazed, already aware that you have a human form. 

“I cannot bear any children without any mate,” you gruff, your tail flicking behind you in an agitated way. “Why can't I keep human children? They look so small. I can feed them better.” 

Arlecchino steps closer, her eyebrows furrowed slightly in vexation. “My children's diets are fine, and they are not in need of more.” 

“The little ones are tiny even for just hatchlings. You cannot feed your young better?” 

Never did Arlecchino think she’d have to fight a custody battle with a dragon. Should she kill you? No, the children have already rejected it. Though, she cannot deny that you are much more appealing now that you are in a human form…

“Children, what do you think of this?” Arlecchino questions, and all three, expectedly, hesitates. None of them could ever expect a predicament like this, and not surprisingly, a definite answer is hard to come from them.

“I will come with you,” you suddenly suggest, eyes gleaming with determination. “And you will feed me and not harm me. In turn, I will protect and parent the little ones, and I will not destroy another human’s building. Is that enough for you, dragon hunter?” 

“You will do that for human children you just met?” 

“I’ve been wanting children for over a decade. If they come in the form of another species, then so be it,” you assert, and your stubbornness only makes Arlecchino sigh. This is a headache. Though, it was nearly winsome of how protective you are over them, and Arlecchino can do nothing but surrender.

Arlecchino, proud dragon hunter, ‘Father’ to three, and now sharing custody with a dragon. 

[brailsthesmolgurl]

Salvation

In another parallel universe, the legend was retold. The God of Sea and his bride has A heart so great that it holds the power to bring Lemuria back to its olden days glory. The bride however, is untouchable. If so, who is going to be salvaged?

Here comes the parallel universe ending! I know it was long awaited, but thank you for waiting patiently as all of my written stories are planned meticulously hence it takes up a LOT of time.

Read the start of this series: Damnation

Read the sequel of the Damnation: Retribution

Warnings: Angst, Spoilers for Rafayel Lore, Character Deaths, Gore and Blood (tbh its a common theme for this series already). A little bitty suggestive heh cause my hormones are raging for this man. Smol surprise at the end :)

"Tomorrow marks the day." Rafayel's slender fingers ran through y/n's curls, a smile slowly stretched across her lips, her cheeks evidently turning rubescent under the moonlight's sheen. "Tomorrow is the day I shall bring you to visit Lemuria." The purple haired god laid next to his soon-to-be bride, on her bed, in her chambers. The thing he could do to her right here and right now were endless. And none of them involved any items of clothing. That was how much the young god was holding himself back.

The smile on her face never faded, as her small hands reached up to cup both sides of his cheeks, his face warm and soft to her touch. "I can't wait. Hearing all of those stories from you, no pictures nor drawings could possibly compare to the reality of seeing your kingdom with my own eyes." She said, eyeing Rafayel glistening under the moonlight, the shadow on his face does not cover up his ethereal looks. Rafayel leaned in closer to her, his breath mingled against her cheeks. "You know we should not kiss until tomorrow, right?"

Her reminder of the pre-wedding taboo made him grunted, his lips formed an immediate pout and he threw his head back, clearly frustrated. "I should be the one to ban such traditions next time." He grumbled, but calmed down to look at her when her hands cupped his cheeks again, thumbs smoothing over his chiselled jawline. "How could one possibly live with not kissing their bride the day before their wedding?"

His childlike remark made her giggled. "Your people had done it for ages, and I figured it would only be right if we were to go along with such customs. As I shall be the first mortal bride afterall. I do not wish to upset any of your merfolks." She raised her hand up, surrendering herself and Rafayel leaned forward to hug her tight within his arms. Laughters erupted from the both of them.

When they looked into each other's eyes, their laughters slowed down, mesmerised by one another's gaze. Y/n could barely believe that this very moment is happening to her. It felt like yesterday when she had rescued Rafayel from the sandy shores and released him back into the ocean after he had promised to return to her some day. Now, here they are, awaiting for a grand wedding tomorrow, an official bond to be tied between the God of the Sea and his mortal bride.

The once cherubic looking Rafayel had grown into the dashing young god he is today. With misty purple locks that are naturally wavy---although he constantly claimed that it was the sea water that turned it wavy. Eye colour a mixture of lilac purple and lapis blue, that could change colour depending on the lighting and his mood. A personality that not many can and would want to handle given his nonchalant-ness. Mixing in good looks and his non-chalant attitude, he is like walking trouble amongst mortals.

But she knew Rafayel better than anyone. She knows the way he talks, although condescending to some, she knows that he is not just a talker, but also a doer. He nags her over the smallest of things, be it her dress colour not matching her lip colour for the day or whatnot; she knows that he cares for everything, even for the smallest of details. He yaps like he knows what he wants and gives off the vibe of an independent individual, but deep down, he is just a needy young man, seeking for her constant comfort, validation, love and affection.

These are just some of the small characteristics of Rafayel that made her fall for him even more. She watched as Rafayel inched in, his lips aligned with hers. But before she got to utter a word, he quickly moved his lip upwards and pressed a big kiss onto her forehead. "If I could not kiss your lips, I would just have to settle for kisses on your forehead and cheeks then." He teased her and continued barraging her face with kisses. Their laughters for the night were endless.

Rafayel sat at the edge of her window sill, turning around to watch her as she was fast asleep, her brunette hair messily tousled all over the bed, but she looked picturesque, with the silvery moonlight painted across parts of her face and the steady breathing of her chest made her a living art in Rafayel's eyes. "I shall see you later, my beloved bride." Not wanting to wake her in her slumber, he dived into the water below.

...

"Your highness! Stop running so quickly!" The maid, Natasha cried out, struggling to keep up with the bride's quick feet. "Your dress might get dirty and unkempt! And I did not receive any other gowns from them!" Sadly, the maid was the only one who gave her blessing to y/n's marriage. The king and queen could care less as long as Rafayel kept their pockets loaded with gold.

"Come on Natasha, lessen the apprehension, would you?" The bride slowed down her footsteps and turned to flash her maid a wide smile. "Today is a big day after all and I know, everything is going to be alright." Seeing the bride's grin, Natasha sighed in defeat and trotted behind the bride, exhausted but still anticipating to watch the union ceremony.

When they arrived near the sea stacks, Natasha handed her a red velvet box. Upon opening the latch, the box opened to reveal a veil, one woven from silk that could only be harvested from sea anemones that grow in the far West, the ones that only glow during the winter times. The veil was translucent, with an iridescence of silver glow whenever the light refracted off of its material. The crown that goes around her head is made out of pearls that were harvested from oysters that could only be found in the southern region of the seas. Collected and crushed by the merfolks and infused with a rare blue gem that only Lemurians possessed to create the crown for the veil.

The veil shorts of nothing extravagant, as expected of the God of Sea's taste. Rafayel ensured that this veil was done 6 months prior to the wedding as he does not appreciate any mishaps especially when it is related to his bride. Y/n took the veil out of the box and she carefully placed it on top of her head, Natasha going behind her to dust off the excess sand off of the back of the wedding gown. She also took the time to adjust the veil behind y/n's head, wanting to make sure everything is in place before the ceremony begins.

"It has to be perfect. Perfect." She remembered the way Rafayel nodded his head towards her, spelling the word PERFECT to her just so she could understand him. But Natasha caught him the moment he said the first sentence. Although she just waved him off that time, she knew that on the day of the wedding, Rafayel is the last person she would want to upset. Who knows what would happen to her if she made him upset. The thought itself sent a shudder down her spine.

"How do I look?" Y/n turned to face Natasha and the maid's heartwarming gaze gave her just the answer she needed to hear indirectly. "I can't wait for this Natasha." She held onto the maid's hands tightly. Horns started blaring loudly and the two women looked towards the sea stacks together. The sun rise made the sea blended in with the sands on the shore, the saturated warm glow casted upon the surface of the waters a sight to behold indeed.

Trumpets and choirs joined in with the blaring of the horns and y/n knew it was time for her to present herself walking towards the sea stacks. "Your Highness, your bouquet. Don't forget it." The maid shoved a bouquet of flame lilies and the bride muttered a thanks, hastily holding onto the bouquet before she stepped out from the backs of the huge rock.

The appearance of the bride made the merfolks gasped in awe, the off-shoulder wedding dress was made out of fine silk, and it did a great job in outlining her bodyline and curves perfectly. Her dress cut off at the mid of her thighs, but a big ribbon was attached to her right hip, aiding in the aesthetic and transitional fabric from fine silk to a chiffon tail. The tail of the dress was completely see through, with droplets of diamonds sewn on it. The bride glowed under the ray of the sun and nobody could have dreamed of a better start to a wedding.

Rafayel emerged from the waters, in his mundane form of course, riding on top of two orcas and he was delivered right onto the top of the sea stacks. His clumsy stumble made her giggled, hands going up to cover her mouth. Rafayel donned a full white suit, with a swallow tail at the back of his tuxedo, his hair neatly styled, probably with the help of his people. And the left side of his pocket peeked a corsage with flame lilies, same as the ones she has as a bouquet in her hands.

Upon seeing his bride, Rafayel was enthralled at her beauty, his jaw dropping slightly ajar before one of the merman spit water at him thus he only managed to snap himself back to reality, glaring at the merman who spat at him as he reached up to wipe the stain off of his sleeves. Not like the water did anything to his outfit either, but he had to be sure of it. It is their big day after all.

"Ain't this my bride." Rafayel said confidently when he walked to the edge of the sea stacks, reaching out his hand to her, for her to take so he could guide her onto the sea stacks. "Careful, I do not wish for my bride to be unable to walk before the grand night tonight, yeah?" His wink made her face flushed instantly and she smacked his arm playfully.

Standing next to him, she felt like everything was set in stone for her finally. She got to marry the one that she had always been in love with and she will be one of the very first mortals to visit this forbidden land under the waters. "Here, we rejoice in each other's company. One of merfolk and the other of mortal." Amund, Rafayel's trusty friend took the opportunity to solemnize the wedding.

"This moment shall mark the first of its kind in mortal and merfolk's history. A reunion to be witnessed between the God of the Sea, Rafayel, and his bride, a mortal. y/n. Shall there be any objections towards this blessed reunion..." Amund trailed off, eyes scanning the crowd, both in the waters and the only human on land before he continued. "You shall not be entertained." His sentence took everyone by surprise and everyone shared an understanding laughter. "Hence, Rafayel, would you take y/n to be your beloved wife? Through all suffrage, illness and happiness?"

Rafayel nodded, facing her and confidently saying. "I will always say yes to that. For I will love you for ages to come."

"How about you y/n, would you accept the God of the Sea, Rafayel's intentions of having to love you through all?" You immediately nodded and Amund shouted. "This reunion is blessed, you may kiss the bride!" Rafayel's lip immediately pressed against his bride's, the kiss shared between the two erupted a huge reaction from the crowd. Claps and whistlings and shoutings could be heard from all directions. The choir then resumed its melody when Rafayel pulled back from her lips. "Y/N?" His smile faltered as he watched his bride's irises had turned into a shade of blood red, matching the same colour of the liquid that was oozing out of his chest, staining his white suit into crimson red.

...

Y/N jolted awake in her own bed, beads of sweat littered all across her face. Running her palms across her face, surprised that her face is cold to her touch despite the current season is far from winter. Reaching over to her bedside drawer, she fetched her goblet and drank the contents of it.

A couple of knocks could be heard from her oak door. "Come in." The door slowly opened to reveal one of the maids, Clarrice. The red head walked in, silver tray in her hand, ready to be served to the princess. She bowed partially as a sign of respect, then placed the tray by the highness' study table before she walked over to pull open the heavy drapes of the curtains to reveal the warm sun rays shining in from the windows.

"It seems like your highness has chosen to sleep in today, hence I had drawn your curtains whilst you were in deep slumber." Clarrice smiled, her pink thin lips a contrast to her pale complexion, brown freckles strewn like constellations on her face. Y/N sat on the bed, eyebrows knitted together, not being able to figure out why Natasha is not greeting her as per usual. Given Natasha was the maid that was specifically assigned to care for the princess.

"Have you seen Natasha anywhere?" The princess questioned, taking another sip out of the goblet in her hand. Milk cold to the inside of her mouth, when the princess had always been accustomed to warm milk in the morning.

"Your highness, Natasha was nowhere to be found within her chambers at dawn." When the maid replied, she watched the princess' eyes narrowed and nervously added on. "It seems like Natasha had left the palace in a hurry. All of her items remained within her chambers, including her uniform. All that was missing was her common outfit. She could have left for the farmers market?" The hesitation in the maid's tone does not sit right with y/n.

"You may head on with your day now. Thank you." The princess spoke promptly and the maid hurried out of the chambers. Placing the goblet back onto the bedside drawer, y/n started retracing the dream she had earlier on. All she remembered from her memory was her being at a beach...the beach near the sea stacks!

The princess catapulted herself off of the bed, still in her outfit. Her outfit. She did not noticed the outfit she had on while she was in bed. She is wearing a gown. Specifically a fancy one, one would wear for a wedding. Wedding ceremony. Natasha. Rafayel. When the pieces started to piece together, so did her heart rate quickened. Raising her hands to her vision, she caught sight of splatters of crusted liquid on her palms, a brownish shade with specks of what seems to be blue fairy dust.

Realisation hit her with a truck and she grabbed the rope and tossed it out of her window, sliding down it as fast her hands would allow her to, the pain of the rope burn unregistered into her senses. Guards at this hour were most likely deployed to their stations within the towers hence allowing her escape all the more easier. Once her feet touched the ground, she ran with her bare feet and went out through the gardens behind the palace that leads her straight towards the seas.

Her bare feet carried her past the sandy shores, the strong currents of the sea breeze accompanying her speed. Coming across the huge rock that leads towards the sea stacks, she slowed down her footsteps, seeing bloody imprints on the sand, foot prints that belong to a human.

When she came to the sea stacks, the scene in front of her made her heart stopped beating for a good while. There laid Natasha, on the shore, with a pool of red replacing her shadow. Some parts of her blood on the shore were darkened, a natural occurrence of oxidation of the bodily fluids. The princess screamed for her maid, her friend, and ran towards her, tears uncontrollably rushed down her cheeks. She turned the maid over, only to find the young maiden was covered in stab wounds all across her torso. "Who did this to you?!" She shouted in agony, pulling the deceased into her arms as she cried, while cradling her friend.

"Y/N...." A voice cut through her cries and the nightmare does not end. "Y/N..." Just when she thought she had to suffer losing Natasha, she was met with the image of the God of the Sea, her beloved husband, her forever lover, laid on the sea stacks, blood emitting from the side of his mouth, his eyes losing their usual glow as he tried to call out to her. "RAFAYEL!" The princess cried, laying her friend down carefully onto the sand before she rushed over to Rafayel's side, stumbling her way up the sea stacks and having barnacles cutting into her skin. Yet again, her physical pain were not registered to her senses as of this moment. "RAFAYEL!" Her cries were unstoppable now, eyes turning bloodshot as she pulled her lover into her arms. "What happened?! I will go and get help..."

As she wanted to stand up to leave, Rafayel grabbed ahold of her hand and she regained the memory of the actual cause behind the happening.

...

The vision was murky but she could clearly hear a conversation taken place between two individuals. It seemed to take place within a cave, a female figure, with a singular eel-like tail and a merman, were having a talk. "If she remains untouchable, your kind shall perish." The feminine voice spoke, long, crooked fingers holding onto a round, translucent ball with spikes on it. She seemed to be studying the ball as she spoke. "Eradicating either one might be beneficial for you, as long as the heart is willing to be given."

"Does this mean I have to kill off the God? With my own hands?" The merman spoke, hesitation laced in his voice.

"Do not fret." The woman chanted a spell and a blue pearl appeared within her fingertips. "The mighty gem of Lemurians right? Infuse this with the crown that you would be making for her and the spell shall happen upon their kiss of rejoice, as husband and wife." She handed the blue pearl to the merman and added. "At least now, you won't get your hands dirty."

The merman kept the pearl in his pouch then placed a huge woven basket in front of the woman, a compensation of sorts for her 'service'. The merman turned to exit the caves and y/n gasped when she realised that the merman was Amund.

Her vision then flashed forward towards the moment when she wore the veil. Upon kissing Rafayel, she immediately got possesed by an unknown force, but an entity of evil origins. A dagger was summoned into her hands out of thin air and she stabbed Rafayel right in the heart with it. Y/n screamed out, but her voice was muted, playing the role of a bystander as the vision continued unfolding itself. The God of the Sea was taken aback as he had never thought he would be killed by his very own sworn lover.

His eyes looked into hers. Pupils blown out of the usual proportion before he spat out blood, splatters of it hitting her wedding gown and her face, but the possessed bride was unfazed. Merfolks were horrified as they hurriedly scattered into the seas. For an entity so evil that dares to challenge the God of the Sea, the merfolks know that they are powerless against this possessed individual, be it a mundane. So they chose to flee, hoping that the warrior amongst them, the longest friend of Rafayel's, would come to the rescue.

But Amund just stood by the shore, now in his human form, as he watched the blatant massacre happening right in front of him. A small smirk creeped up onto his face when he knew right then and there, the future of his people are secured. The foregone of a God shall mean one or two of the foretold endings. The princess willingly sacrifices herself to save Lemuria as she knew how much Lemurians mean to Rafayel. Or Amund shall dig the heart out of her if she chooses to be selfish. All with the end goal of him being viewed as the hero, salvaging Lemuria from its end days.

...

The vision ended, with y/n in shock, eyes staring blankly at Rafayel's body in her arms. The God of Sea finally letting his tears run astray, flowing down his cold and blanched face when his bride slowly came to her own realisation. The young god had once told his bride about the specialty of her heart, for he had given half of his heart to her when they made a promise during their first meet.

That moment, Rafayel summmoned a small blue fish within his palms, stating that blue fishes are emissaries of the sea, but he lied partially, knowing the moment she wanted to release him back into the ocean, he had fell in love with her and was sure that she will be the one. Hence, a bonding vow was made without her knowledge, and part of his heart was given to her as a contribution of his love.

The princess turned out to be the bait, the bait to kill Rafayel when he least expected it, just so Amund could gain the heart of either the God or the bride and to return glory to Lemuria. But Rafayel, although wanted to marry a mundane, had never once thought of abandoning his kind. His plan was to bring her to live with him within Lemuria, and with both of their hearts within the vicinity of one another, it could restore glory to Lemuria and no bloodshed would take place. And obviously, this plan was only known to the God of Sea himself. As a God only does what is best for his people and his actions shall reap what he sows.

"Im sorry!" Y/N's lips are only wired to speak these two words, body shaking and voice hoarse, mentally and physically pained, watching the dying God in front of her eyes. "I can't do this without you, Rafayel." Her hands cupped his cheeks, his blood painting her palms in red. "Please don't leave me..." She continued begging. "I could never forgive myself...Please don't go...."

"I am here...I will always be here..." The bride's cries would not stop, eyes avoiding his as she knew that he was stating the opposite of what he actually meant. Until her eyes landed on the dagger that was laid beside Rafayel. The same dagger that she had used to stab Rafayel in his heart, and the same dagger that Amund had used to kill Natasha as to eliminate any witnesses. Rafayel's eyes caught on eventually, but with him on the verge of death, he was physically unable to stop her.

He watched his bride, with eyes widened in terror while choking onto his own blood, trying to form words. "I love you." Were her last words before she stabbed herself with the dagger, right into her chest as well, where his and her heart lies. What comes afterwards was her choking and simultaneously spitting blood right out of her mouth, a sign of her haemorrhaging.

If nobody could take his heart, she shall not give up hers as well. A smile of relieve dawned on her face, the rosiness of her cheeks gradually fading as crimson tears replaced the redness of her cheeks. For she is a mundane, she could not hold on any longer like how Rafayel did, as it takes a while for a God to be fully bled dry.

Her whole body fell limply, like a puppet torn from its strings, and her face landed right in front of Rafayel, forehead touching his. The last breath the God of Sea took, was surrounded by the sounds of the clashing waves, basked within the warmth of the sunrise, his lifeless eyes stayed open, tear streaks are the only colours apparent on his pale face, just like his bride's.

...

Hundreds of years had passed. Linkon city's renowned museum held a grand exhibition, displaying all there is for one to know about the hidden city Lemuria, and its people, Lemurians. The exhibition featured paintings, artworks, artifacts and even 'theoretically-accurate' skeletal structures of the Lemurians. As this exhibition, does run on nothing factual but relying heavily on theories and legends arising from sea explorers.

Y/n held an information pamphlet in her hand, browsing the exhibition before she stopped at one of the large paintings with the title 'God of the Sea'. The painting featured a merman, a tail with two fins for the bottom half of his torso, while the upper is made of a man. Her eyes glanced over at the God of the Sea's face, a fish head that looked all too similar to a sardine fish.

"Don't you think this artwork is suspicious?" A voice travelled from beside her, the tone of the sentence laced with disgust. "In fact, I think this whole exhibition is a total scam." Y/n turned her head to face the source of the voice. A towering young man stood next to her, wearing a white V-neckline shirt and paired with a pair of black slacks and black dress shoes, his midriff secured with a wide belt. "What do you say?" He turned his head to face her, his dusky purple hair matching the shade of his purplish-pinkish-bluish eyes. A smile evidently plastered on his handsome features.

"Who are you to say that?" Y/n crossed her arms across her chest, raising her eyebrows.

"The name's Rafayel." He confidently spoke, eyes glinting with amusement. "Anyways, mind grabbing a cup of coffee with me?"

... DUN DUN DUN!

And this shall officially mark the end for the pain! The story although still had mentions of angst and still caused some evident damage to your hearts, but I made sure I shall give you guys a good ending okay! Do not confuse this timeline with Damnation and Retribution as those are coexisting with this current timeline. SO yes! If you paid enough attention the details, the sea stacks... the sea witch blah blah..... IT IS ALL INDIRECTLY CONNECTED (depending on how you piece it based on your understanding). But yes, my story is written in this specific manner because I purposely wanted the worlds to be connected!

I really really hope you guys had enjoyed this series as I shall be writing more series as such in the future, either with Zayne or Xavier so please stay tuned for that!

If you could, drop me comments on what you think about this story as well! Even if it hurts you, makes you wanna smack yourself (pls dont do that), or whether it leaves you unfazed, I am nosy and I wanna know how this series has affected you mentally! Check out my other works as well on my page!

Wardrobe Malfunction ft LNDS boys

You forgetting a date with the boys *gasps in horror*!

Thank you for reading this series of mine. LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCHIES, MUACKS <3

[totheblood]

GLORY & GORE

CHAPTER ONE: NOW WE'RE IN THE RING

PAIRING: fwb!ellie williams x reader

SUMMARY: a week after you reunite with your estranged best friend, astrid, for the first time in three years, you are heartbroken to discover her sudden and brutal murder. as you dive deep into the world of sagewood university, you uncover astrid's ties to a shadowy society lurking within the institution's walls. in the midst of all of this, you cross paths with ellie, who you met on the very day you saw astrid again. as ellie helps you figure out what happened to your best friend, you're forced to wonder if everything with ellie is truly as it appears, and if trust can genuinely be given to anyone.

WARNINGS: 18+ SLIGHT SMUT mentions of death, grief, related subjects; cursing, mentions of drinking/drugs, mentions of s*x

A/N: i've been working on this one for a while... i hope you enjoy! please send asks, reblog, and reply to this post <;3

WORD COUNT: 6.3k

You couldn’t shake the feeling that you were being watched as you stepped onto Sagewood University’s campus for the first time since Astrid’s death. 

You spent the days following Astrid’s death curled up on your couch, unmoving. Your gaze was fixed on the ceiling as you let time pass by slowly, counting the clicks of the clock on your wall each second.

Your mom would check on you every now and then, before she had to leave for work or when she came back home. She would leave a plate of food on the coffee table near you, urging you to eat something, but you had no appetite. It was safe to say that you weren't taking Astrid's death well.

Suddenly, your phone chimed, a ringtone reserved for one person. 

ellie: You okay?

You picked up your phone, reading the message despite the LED lights burning your eyes. It was obvious to anyone that you weren't okay, so you declined to answer. You put your phone back on the table and stared at the same place on the ceiling. It was starting to look like a face, but you were almost sure you were hallucinating. 

The morning they found Astrid’s dead body sprawled out on a table in the library had started like a normal day for you. The sky was still dark when you woke up to your alarm and dragged yourself out of bed. You pulled on the grey hoodie that had been your staple all semester, paired with a red pair of sweatpants you had worn so much they were nearly falling apart. As you walked towards campus, the streets were silent except for the occasional chirping of birds and the crunch of gravel beneath your sneakers. But when you reached the library all seemed eerily quiet; the wide glass windows had been frosted with police tape and blocked by large, black police cars. Fear started to sink into your stomach as groups huddled together, their hushed voices filled with whimpers and tears.

“Hey, uh,” you tapped one on the shoulder, “what happened?”

“They found some girl dead,” she replied in a low voice, “Can you believe it?” 

“Do they know who it is?” you asked. Deep in your heart you already knew it was her. 

From the very first day you met Astrid, you knew you had found your person. It was like finding the other piece to a two-piece puzzle. Simple, but rare. In elementary school, she was your personal hero, unafraid to get her hands dirty—or bloody, for that matter—when that kid shoved you during recess. 

Middle school was weird for everyone, but less so for you because you had Astrid. You two invented your own secret language, a series of squiggles and lines that looked like chicken scratch to anyone else. Those notes you passed weren't just ink on paper; they were secret jokes, each scribble another knot in the thread that connected you two.

High school rolled around, and the stakes got higher, the emotions deeper. You realized you liked girls, and the moment you told Astrid, the air between you changed—but not in the way you feared. It was as if she picked up the weight of the situation and took it on as her own, lightening your load just by being there, just by listening. She didn't offer grand gestures or theatrical declarations of support; she didn't need to. Instead, she guided you, step-by-step, through the maze of coming out, as if it was the most natural path you could walk together.

And maybe it was. Because when you look back on everything, every scraped knee and every coded note, every whispered secret and every shared challenge, it all led back to a simple, undeniable truth: life was messy and confusing and downright hard sometimes—but less so with Astrid by your side.

College was supposed to be a fresh chapter, a new horizon where you and Astrid could explore the world as adults. But instead, it turned into a ripping of a page you never saw coming. Within the first week, something broke. Conversations turned into awkward exchanges, laughter gave way to silence, and the natural ease you'd always felt around her failed to exist. You guys just stopped clicking and after a big argument, you stopped hanging out altogether. She became someone you used to know, a piece of your past.

Time went by, and you got used to life without Astrid. Then, out of the blue, you got a text from her last week. She said she wanted to meet up.

She asked to meet at the campus coffee shop, Brain Brew, on a Tuesday morning. It was practically empty in there when you arrived, something that it almost never was. You came early, thinking you would need to find a seat, but now looking at all the empty chairs was less of a concern. 

Behind the bar stood a girl, with short auburn hair and freckles littered across her face, on her phone. When you approached, she straightened up, looking surprised to see you. You read the name on her nametag: Ellie. 

“Uh,” she looked you up and down briefly, “what can I get for you?” 

“What's good?” you asked, eyes scanning the expansive menu ranging from lavender latte's to plain black coffee. 

“Anything I make is good,” she shrugged, eyes still waiting for a response. 

“Then, just an iced vanilla latte,” you ordered, tapping your fingers on the counter. She tapped your order into the tablet in front of her and then stopped for a minute, looking you over again. 

“You go to Sagewood?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“Yea,” your brows knit together, as you shifted uncomfortably in your place, “Why?”

“I just feel like I’ve seen you before,” she commented, the price of your latte lighting up on the screen in front of you, “6.74.”

Jesus fuck, you thought, this is why I don't come here. 

“It’s a big campus, you’ve probably just seen me around or something,” you tapped your card, looking back up at her, scanning her face to see if you remembered her from anywhere. Then it clicked, “Did you go to Weston Middle School?”

“Shit,” she breathed, shaking her head and laughing, “yea, for a year.”

“I remember you,” you laughed, a smile spread across your face, “you used to eat lunch alone every day and when I tried to sit next to you you told me to ‘Fuck off’.”

You saw her physically wince as she pulled your receipt out of the dispenser, “Fuck,” she shook her head again, closing her eyes painfully, “I’m sorry, that was not a good year for me.”

“I don't think 11 is a good year for anyone,” you joked back, taking your receipt from her, “It’s all good, don't worry about it.” 

She let out a little laugh, her cheeks growing a tinge darker as she scratched the back of her neck, “I’ll get that drink started for you,” she moved towards the espresso machine before stopping and turning back towards you, “Wait, can I get your name?” She paused for a moment, examining the expression on your face, “For the order.”

Smiling, you gave her your name, and stood at the end of the counter, waiting for your drink. Astrid was now five minutes late, and you just realized she may be standing you up. 

“Do you go to Sagewood?” you asked Ellie from across the espresso machine. She looked up at you over the machine, waiting for the espresso to brew. 

“Yeah,” she shrugged, “for psych.”

“Oh, you want to be a therapist?” you leaned your hands on the counter looking around the empty room. 

“Something like that,” she breathed out a laugh, eyes flicking up to you for a moment, “What are you doing?”

“Journalism,” you smiled, watching as she made your drink, “Do you think I could get your number?” It slipped out of your mouth before you could think. You watched as the smile from her face fell, the blood that was in her cheeks being replaced with pale skin.

“Oh, uh” she fumbled over her words almost dropping the cup of milk she was holding, “I don’t really date, it not my-”

“Oh, not like that,” you cut her off, trying to save yourself the embarrassment, “Just like as friends, I don’t really have that many around campus.” 

“Oh,” she breathed out a laugh, relief flooding her features, “Yeah, sure then. I’d love to be friends.”

When she handed you her drink she handed you her phone with the contacts app already open. You took your coffee and the phone, smiling slightly as you put your name and number in. 

“Here,” you giggled, “sorry if that was weird. I wasn’t like coming on to you or anything. I mean not that you aren’t attractive cause you are- But it’s also not like I’m not into girls, cause I am. Jesus fuck,” you whispered under your breath, “It’s just that I also... Don’t date,” you lied. 

You watched the permanent smirk on her face as you rambled off and she took her phone back and let out another breathy laugh. 

“Well, it’s not that you aren’t attractive either,” she rubbed the back of her neck, watching intently as you sipped your drink, “so if you wanted to like, I don’t know, hook up sometime, I would be down for that.” 

You practically choked on your latte when she said that, eyes wide as you tried to cover up your spluttering with a cough, “Um, yeah. That sounds cool, or whatever.” 

“Cool,” she pursed her lips, nodding before turning back to wipe the counter down, “I’ll text you.”

As if it was fate the bell rang behind you, signaling Astrid’s entrance. You turned to look at her and give her a once over. She looked a lot more frazzled since you last saw her, her blond hair was still as long and came past her shoulders, but it was frizzier as if she had just woken up. The circles under her eyes were more prominent, and when you smiled at her, she didn’t smile back. You didn’t want to approach her first, so you just waited until she came up to you and gave you a hint of a smile. 

“Should we sit?” She asked, her voice much raspier now as she looked around to the empty cafe, the tension in her body easing up.

“Sure,” you followed her lead as she led you to the back, away from any windows and farther away from the bar. You looked over to where Ellie was still working, wondering how loud you would need to shout for her to hear you. 

“What did you want to talk about?” you started, noticing her slightly anxious state as she took shallow breaths, “I mean, I missed you.”

“This isn’t about us,” her voice was cold when she spoke, the words hurting you more than you thought it would, “I just think you are the only person I can trust.”

“Okay,” you took a sip of your latte, nursing it in your hands, “do you need to tell me something?”

“No,” she took a deep breath, “Just that if something happens to me, it will have to be you to figure out who does it.” 

“Jesus,” you breathed out, leaning in to whisper back, “What the fuck have you gotten into, A?” 

She winced at the sound of her nickname, looking down at the table before looking around again at the still-empty cafe, “I should be fine,” she sighed, “but if I’m not, you will know what to do.”

“How the fuck would I know what to do?” you spoke a little louder, throwing your hands up dramatically as you leaned back, “I mean this is ridiculous, you completely blow me off freshman year and now you’re telling me I have to worry about someone who doesn’t even want to be my friend anymore?”

“You’re being melodramatic,” she blinked a few times, before sitting up straight, “I didn’t come here to fight you.” 

“No, you just came to make sure I’d be there whenever you got yourself into trouble,” your voice was harsh as you stood up from your seat abruptly, ready to leave. 

“Please, sit down,” she urged, looking up at you with her big round eyes.

“No, thanks,” you replied sarcastically, giving her a fake smile, “Go fuck yourself.”

Go fuck yourself. 

That was the last thing you ever told Astrid before she was murdered. 

The guilt followed you all the way back home that night in stunned silence. You were too shocked to even tell your professor you weren’t coming to class that day, missing a midterm. You knew you would make it up eventually, but now, all you could do was sit and stare and hope to wake up from whatever nightmare you were living. 

To make matters worse, as you sat on your bed, still dressed in your clothes from earlier a note was slipped under your door. A thick cream cardstock, with embossed trimmings covered in gold, and written delicately on the front in script, “Keep your mouth shut, or you’re next.”

At the time, you immediately threw it out, not thinking much of it. Your brain was stuffed with things you didn’t want to think about, flashes of your childhood coming back in brief intervals. The vision of the two of you at the carnival, faces stuffed with cotton candy, giggling as you boarded the Ferris Wheel for the first time on your own came back first. You remember going around with her three times until the sun went down and the houses began to look like stars in the sky. Lit up and far away.

Another memory flashed, her crying in your lap in the 8th grade. Jason Charnley rejected her when she asked him if they could go to the dance together. Innocently, you offered to go with her as you stroked her hair, the cries dying out as you cracked joke after joke. By the time she was supposed to go home, she had forgotten what she was even upset about. 

Then a memory of senior year when she showed up on your front step, a giant envelope addressed to her with a giant “Sagewood” on the front. She knew she was accepted from the moment she applied, but the confirmation was validation enough. What really surprised her was your admission, meaning you’d follow after her to college as you usually did.

Then a memory flashed from a week ago, an unknown number lit up your screen the night you met Astrid in the cafe. 

ellie: Hey, this is Ellie.

ellie: From Brain Brew.

you: wrong number

you: but what are you wearing, ellie?

ellie: Nvm.

you: stooooop come back

you: i was being annoying, i apologize

you: what are you doing rn?

ellie: Come find out. 

That’s how you found yourself pressed up against Ellie’s door, her knee wedged in between your legs, a small whimper falling from your lips that were wrapped up in Ellie’s. Ellie's lips were soft and full, her touch gentle, calloused hands gripping your clothed waist. You could feel her heart pounding in time with your own, her chest rising and falling with each breath.

Your hands, no longer under your own control, moved around her waist to pull her closer still, while her hands roamed over your back, exploring, caressing. Your breathing grew heavier as you felt her hands roam up your body

The kiss deepened as you explored each other’s mouths with your tongues. Her lips were insistent, demanding as if she couldn't get enough of you. You were overwhelmed by the taste of her, a mix of mint and coffee. She slipped her hands under your shirt, her hands traveling up your back, causing goosebumps to rise exclusively where she touched. Her hands found the clasp of your bra, undoing it, her mouth never leaving yours as you moaned into her mouth. Ellie’s hands, still under your shirt, moved to cup your tits in her hand, pushing you back against the door as she did so. 

She broke the kiss, her lips trailing down your jaw, leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed and sloppy kisses on your skin. Her teeth nipped at the skin on your collarbone, sending shivers down your spine. Her hands began teasing your nipples with gentle squeezes and flicks. She was relishing in every sound you made, every way you squirmed underneath her touch. She could feel herself getting wet from the small sounds alone. Then you moaned out loud as Ellie's lips found their way to your neck, sucking and biting, marking you as hers, and she was gone completely.

Her hands moved lower, sliding down your sides, over the curve of your hips, until they reached the waistband of your pants. Before you knew it, her fingers slipped beneath the fabric, two fingers circling your clit as she worked you.

“Shit,” she whispered under her breath, “this is for me?” The sound of her fingers and your cunt made an obscene noise, her fingers now completely coated in you. Your hands fumbled with the buttons of Ellie's shirt, desperate to feel her skin against yours. You popped them off one by one, fingers faltering as she touched you, revealing her toned stomach, and you couldn't help but run your hands at the place right above her worn-out jeans, feeling the muscles twitch beneath your touch.

Ellie pulled back slightly, her eyes searching her face for any regret, any idea that you wanted to back out now. "You want this?" she whispered, her voice low and rough. You nodded, unable to form words as your body leaned into her.

----

That’s all you remembered that night, slipping out sometime before Ellie woke up. You assumed that since this was “strictly a hookup” she wouldn’t want to see you there in the morning. She did vaguely reference you sleeping over, but you didn’t want to overstay your welcome. 

So before the sun came up, you slipped from Ellie’s grip, slipping on the clothes you came in and doing the infamous walk of shame back to your dorm. This wasn’t a relationship, and the proactive version of yourself had to be reminded of that many times that week.

You began to think that if you maybe hadn’t gotten so wrapped up in Ellie the week after meeting with Astrid, you would have noticed something. Maybe even have been able to prevent her death. A part of you wanted to resent Ellie for that, but you knew at the end of the day you were trying to put the blame on anyone but yourself.

She reached out for help, but you denied her. 

The best friend you swore to protect, who swore to protect you was now dead, and you could have prevented it. Wallowing in it wasn’t helping much, but provided some emotion to feel other than numb. So back in your childhood home, your fingers lingered over Ellie’s contact, wondering if you should text her back. You didn’t have a plan to return back to school yet and you didn’t want to give her false hope.

Maybe she could fuck the grief out of you, or wrap her to-

you: as good as i can be

ellie: This sucks.

you: truer words have never been spoken

ellie: But hey, I need to talk to you. Do you know when you’ll be back on campus?

ellie: I’m not trying to like fuck you or anything cause that would be fucked up.

ellie: Ignore that last message. I’m just realizing now how weird that was. I'm sorry.

ellie: Anyways, I just need to talk to you about something, it’s serious. Don’t wanna text it to you.

you: i should be back soon, i don't know yet. 

ellie: Well, when you do come back, let me know.  

You stared at your phone, your fingers ghosting over Ellie’s message before deciding to reply with a thumbs up. Pathetic, but it was all you could muster as you finally sat up and ate the food your mom left for you. It was about time to return to your life, falling behind not being an option anymore.

You worked too hard to get into Sagewood in the first place to stop now, a year before you were set to graduate. Sagewood was on par with the Ivy League schools, bearing an acceptance rate of 9% and accepting students internationally. There were about a thousand on-campus clubs, sororities, and study groups. There were even rumored secret societies, but you were never one to believe in that sort of thing. People who graduated with a degree from Sagewood were set for life. There was no room to screw up three years of good grades okay grades. 

So that’s how you found yourself back on campus, tightly gripping the straps of your bag. As if snapped back into reality, the memories of that night flooded back. You just began to remember the note you threw away that threatened your life, as you made your way to your morning class, an unsettling feeling setting in your stomach. It almost felt as if you were being watched. 

As you sat in class, you shuffled in your seat as the kid a few rows in front of you turned to look at you. When he noticed you staring back he turned around quickly. The whole class you had your eyes trained on the back of his head, watching as he would occasionally look at you, notice you looking, and turn back around. You knew you were being paranoid when you first walked onto campus, but now you felt validated.

As the teacher dismissed the class, the kid who kept staring at you collected his things and attempted to leave the room quickly, but you wouldn’t let that happen. You rushed to meet him at the door and stood in front of him, a bitter look on your face. 

“You’ve got a staring problem,” you commented accusingly, hands folding across your chest.

“You’re just really,” he coughed, looking around as other people pushed past you to the exit, the professor included, “pretty. You’re pretty, that’s why I was staring.”

“I know I am,” you turned to shut the door behind the last person exiting the room, “but do you really think I’m that stupid? What gives?”

“I’m late for my clas-” he began to stumble out before you took another menacing step towards him. 

“You won’t make it there if you don’t tell me why the fuck you were staring at me,” you pointed a finger right in the center of his chest, making him gulp loudly. 

“It’s just,” he takes another step back, “you were friends with the dead girl.”

“The dead girl?” you spat back at him, your tone laced with venom, “Her name was Astrid, you dick.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” He breathed out, “I’m just a true crime junkie, I’m intrigued about her case.”

“Her case?” you questioned him, taking a step back to make him feel more comfortable. To make him open up to you. 

“Just that they have no leads yet,” he scoffed, “which is weird if you ask me. No suspects yet she’s killed in a very public place?”

“That happens all the time,” you retorted, hands still crossed protectively across your chest.

“It’s not as common as you think,” he shrugged, “they haven’t questioned you yet?”

Now that he brought it up, the whole situation was weird. If they were trying hard to find out what happened to her, why weren’t you called in for questioning? It wasn’t like you had done it, but you did have a motive, and you had just come into contact with her again, shortly before her murder. If there was any person to question, it would be you, but yet here you were, untouched.

“No, they haven’t,” you mumbled back, your mind moving a million miles per minute. 

“See,” he smirked, “weird.”

“Wipe that stupid ass smile off your face,” you spat back, “she’s still dead, and just because you ‘like true crime’ doesn’t give you a right to talk about her. It’s not like you’re going to solve her murder.”

“I just might,” he stated simply.

“Yeah, right,” you scoffed, turning towards the door to leave now.

“Did you know she was part of a secret society?” he questioned, making you still for a moment.

You turned back around to face him, eyes squinted again, arms crossed firmly over your chest, “What the fuck are you talking about?”

He let out a laugh, shaking his head, something sinister in the way he hung his head, “I do my research and I do it well.”

“You sound like a nutcase,” you spat again, trying to stop the anger from bubbling inside of you. It felt weird to talk about Astrid as if she was a mystery. In all the people in the world, you knew her the best. You knew each and every corner of her life, even when you weren’t speaking. But now, as you stood here, you weren’t sure you ever knew her at all. 

“They are called Oculus Noctis,” he shrugged again, standing up taller as if he had just won this fight, or whatever this was, “look them up, then come find me,” he walked closer to you now, making you want to cower away, but you didn’t. You planted your feet down, straightening your posture. Although he looked more confident now, you could tell he was still intimidated by you, “my name’s Corbin Nott. I run a podcast, look me up too.”

Smiling, he brushed past you leaving you standing alone in the room. You let out what felt like a deep breath you were holding for a while, your breath coming out shallow and shaky.  Your heart felt like it would beat out of your chest, and come out of your ears and nose as you bled out on the floor, but you just stayed unmoving taking deep breaths as you placed a hand over your chest to steady yourself. 

Your hands began to shake a little, trembling as you moved to sit down at one of the desks, a failed attempt at calming yourself. The breaths came quicker as it started to feel like you couldn’t breathe, like your heart was pumping blood into your lungs and you were drowning. Your vision blurred as you stared at the desk, which was now full of wet droplets. Were you crying? You lifted a shaky hand to wipe at your cheeks, and as you expected you felt your damp skin covered in tears. 

You were trying hard to collect yourself now, knowing that students from the next class would probably start flooding in and you wouldn’t be able to move. You would just sit at a front desk crying as whatever poor professor tried to teach. C’mon get it together, get it fucking together, you thought. What was it they said to do? 5 things you can see, 4 things you can touch, and the other three got lost on you. 

You looked around, and through teary eyes you could see a clock on the wall, ticking slower than usual. You could see the whiteboard in front of you, smugged with black dry-erase markers, and you could see the dark hardwood floors, clean and polished. You watched your hands and your tears on the desk and suddenly your breathing started to feel normal.

Thank god you did because by the time you were wiping your last tear from your eyes, the door to the classroom was swinging open and a student was walking in. You kept your head down, so they wouldn’t see your teary eyes and red nose, but that also stopped you from seeing them. So when the person called your name out, you had to look up, only to see…

“Ellie,” you mumbled, watching the smile on her face drop as her eyes scanned your face. Gripping her backpack straps she walked closer to you slowly, crouching down in front of the desk you were sitting at. Her green eyes darted from your eyes to your nose, to your lips, and to the desk, clearly wet.

“Hey,” she whispered, “are you okay?” She reluctantly reached a hand out to wipe at your face, unsure if you were okay with being touched or if you even liked to be comforted. She wiped a tear away from your cheek, her calloused thumb rubbing your cheek gently, “What happened?”

“I-I’m fine,” you stuttered out, closing your eyes at the skin-to-skin contact, “Still upset I guess,” you let out a shaky laugh, hoping to see a small smile on Ellie’s face as you opened your eye, but she just looked worried. Her brow wrinkled a bit, and it looked as if she was still searching for something in your eyes, but was coming up empty. She cleared her throat before looking away, retracting her hand from her face. 

“You’re not fine.” She grumbled back, standing up now, causing you to look up at her, “You shouldn’t be back here so soon.”

“What?” you joked, “Not excited to see me?”

She rolled her eyes playfully, a small blush tinted on her face as she nudged your shoulder lightly, “Not excited at all,” she commented sarcastically, making you crack a bigger smile, “c’mon let’s get out of here,” she motioned her head to the door, making you stand up shakily and stand in front of her. 

“Don’t you have class?” you asked, your own expression laced with worry. You watched as her face softened slightly at this, pursing her lips and looking you up and down. 

“I can skip it,” she shrugged, “plus, I wanted to talk to you.” 

You let out a small laugh, “God, you sound obsessed with me.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she dismissed you, walking towards the door, pulling it open, and holding it for you, “C’mon, let’s go.”

Giving her a small smile you walked out with her, your hands placed firmly in your pockets. You stepped out onto the main grass of Sagewood, where people were sitting, laughing, as their lives moved on. The smell of the grass was strong, as you walked down the cobbled path, Ellie looking at you quickly before taking a deep breath. 

“So, I went by your room the day after your friend-” she started, 

“Astrid,” you practically whispered back.

‘Astrid,” she paused, “After she died,” she cleared her throat, “I’m so sorry by the way.”

“It’s fine, you don’t have to say that.”

“Sorry,” she cleared her throat, “Anyways, I went there the day after and you weren’t there, but there was this book on your desk.”

“What?” you stopped in your tracks looking at her, “There was no book on my desk when I got back.” 

“I know,” she sighed, looking around, “I took it,” she watched as your eyes widened and you took a step back.

“Why the fuck would you take something off my desk?” you questioned, anger written all over your face. Ellie shifted uncomfortably, chewing on her bottom lip as you questioned her.

“Because it was Astrid’s, and I thought,” her voice died out, and your wide eyes just pressed her on, your arms once again folding over your chest.  

“You thought what?” 

“I thought that it was evidence,” she breathed out, “I thought that if they found that in your room it would be pinned on you.”

“You think I killed her?” your voice was loud now, making people around you stop and stare. Ellie looked around uncomfortably, closing her eyes as she took another deep breath. 

“Of course not!” she whisper yelled back, “You were at mine the night she was murdered, but if they found that in your room, it would have been on you.”

“So, you stole it,’ you deadpanned, eyebrows raised and accusing, “Why do you even care if I go down for it? You barely know me.”

“Because believe it or not, you are one of my only friends,” she looked away, her arms crossing over her chest as if to protect herself, “Like ever. So forgive me if I didn’t want you to be framed for murder.”

Your expression softened, arms falling to your sides as you looked up at her and then back at the ground, “I appreciate that.” 

“You can have it back, obviously,” she mumbled, eyes trained on her own shoes as her arms uncrossed and her fingers began to play with each other, “I just… didn’t want you to get in trouble. It’s all gibberish anyways, just a bunch of words that don't make sense.”

That made your heart stop, as you blinked up at her. “What did you just say?” She looked up at you, shrugging as she rolled her eyes.

“The journal, it’s like just a bunch of random words, I tried to find out what language it was but I came up short,” she was still playing with her fingers, obviously nervous as she picked at her nails, “But, I understand if you don’t want to talk to me anymore. It was a weird thing to do.”

“I still want to be your friend, Ellie,” you sighed, “I just need to see this journal, like now,” you watched as a small smile flashed across her face and he shoulders seemed to lose all their tension.

“Yeah, we could head over to my dorm right now,” she began walking, turning her head back to make sure you were following her, “I’m sorry agai-”

“Ellie, if you apologize again I’ll jump you,” you teased, smiling up at her as you walked side by side.

“Doesn’t sound like much of a threat,” she teased back, voice low as she let out a small laugh.

-

As you walked into Ellie’s dorm, you instantly became nervous again, your guilt creeping up the back of your neck. The night Astrid was killed, you were in bed with Ellie, laughing as she traced circles into your inner thigh. She talked about how much she hated her professors, working and Brain Brew, and how weird everyone on campus was. Well, everyone except for you. 

That night you stayed up and watched 30 Rock on Hulu until Ellie fell asleep, Ellie’s laughter gradually fading into soft snores. Her head found a resting spot on your shoulder, her rhythmic breaths warming your neck. You slipped out quietly, walking back to your dorm with a shit-eating grin on your face, and fell asleep unassuming. 

Your fingers traced the outline of Ellie’s desk, as you eyed Astrid’s journal that was sat in the center of it. It was covered in green felt, her name embossed on the front of it in gold letters. You pulled out the chair in front of the desk, sitting at it to begin reading the book. You paused for a moment, wondering if you even wanted to open it. Flipping open the front page, there was the language you created in middle school on every page. Pages and pages, the book was filled. When Astrid said it would be up to you to solve her murder, she meant it literally. 

On the front page was printed “Fepi Quslo Vurte Dabru” which translates to “My Oculus Noctis Journey.”

“Fuck,” you cursed under your breath, finger brushing over the letters on the page, feeling the imprint the pen made on the paper. 

“What?” Ellie stepped forward, looking over your shoulder at the book, “You know what this says?”

You sighed deeply, eyes trained on the words, “Yeah,” you turned to look up at her, “I do.”

“How?” her tone was more curious than shocked, sitting on her bed as she watched you. 

“It’s a language we created in middle school,” you closed the book, stuffing it in your bag as you turned to stare at Ellie. You watched as she looked at you in amazement, eyes wide and mouth hung open. 

“You created a fucking language?” she asked, laughing a little, “Jesus, you Sagewood students are crazy.”

“Ellie, you also go here,” you laughed, leaning your elbow on the desk, “Plus, Astrid mostly created it. She was smart like that.”

Ellie looked at you again, a small smile playing on her face, “You’re smart too, you know.”

“Not as smart as she was,” your smile turned to a sad one as you looked at your knees, not wanting to cry again.

“Hey,” Ellie said, voice low as she tried to get your attention. When you looked up, she smiled at you, eyes soft, “You're really fucking smart, just remember that.”

You gave her a forced smile, looking back down at your feet, “Thank you,” your voice came out cracked, “I needed that.”

“What did the first page say?” 

“My Oculus Noctis Journey,” you replied, shrugging. 

“Oh shit,” she laughed, “she was involved with those freaks?”

You sat up straight at this, scanning her face, “You know about them?” 

“Sadly,” she replied nonchalantly, “I don't know much about them except that they exist. They tried to recruit me, but I don't think they know that I know that it was them.”

“What? What do you mean?” you asked eagerly, words coming out quickly. 

“They recruit people on campus but they make it seem like they are just regular clubs,” she recounted, “Like they had a ‘coding club’ and at the club fair they had this code that they asked people to encrypt, it was extremely hard too. I did it and they sent me this weird email, asking me to do more shit. I just kind of didn't respond but traced the email to their own web service.”

“I thought that the secret society stuff was just like rumors.”

“Nope,” she popped her lips on the ‘p’, “Real shit. I just don't know what they exist for or anything.”

“I think I may have to figure that out.”

[the-kr8tor]

I'm sorry about the last one I just got way too excited to express my admiration for your works, I forgot to check!! But I've checked now and I saw The "Imagine if Hobie was prowler" that actually sounds really cool!! I was thinking if you could write something about that, maybe Reader is someone who he cares a lot for but it turns out they're also fighting against each other, (I haven't actually tackled the whole Universe of spiderman so I was genuinely just thinking of Reader as someone with powers TvT) but yeah I got a bit curious about that, I'm not sure if you wrote about that yet since I haven't went in all the master list and hopefully I don't finish it yet cause I'd be left with the deep emptiness (I love all the series so finishing it while it's ongoing would devastate medhdhx) but if you did you can discard my message or if this is too much, that's alright!!

Oh and I'm really happy I didn't make you Uncomfortable it's my first time writing something to a writer and I got anxious TvT I hope you have a great day!!

No worries! You're good! I put my own spin on it, I hope you like it! ❤️

Pairing: Hobie Brown x gn! Reader/ Prowler! Hobie Brown x gn! Reader

Word count: 1k

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, cw blood, cw violence, cw injury, tw death, Prowler! Hobie, Venom! Reader, ANGST.

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

The air runs cold, and your breath staggers in your throat. The fighting around you hasn't stopped, nor all the screaming, and bleeding flesh. But everything seems to cease when you see him. The noises deafen, debris and blood stilling in the air— Hobie in all his glory, covered in metal and crimson iron. Hobie, whose face is obscured by steel plates over his familiar face, purple smoke ebbing out of his suit. And yet, despite his rough and intimidating exterior, despite his sharp claws and sharper gaze, your heart still longs for him. He still feels like home.

Home, you haven't thought of it in years, the trees that dance in the wind, soft lavender wandering through the air. And your little house in the middle of the fields you once shared with him. A house that now ceased to exist, burned to ashes, nothing left but dark soot and blackened smoke that seemed endless. Ever burning, flames still snaking along the lavender fields, forever burying your memories with him under the red hungry flames. Those memories still live with you, deep down. You hope it still lives with him. If not, you'd rip it from your heart and hand it to him in your waiting ruby drenched palms.

“H-Hobie?” You ask in a broken tone, even though your soul knows him from where you stand. In between gore soaked bodies, bodies you've ripped and chewed yourself— he stands there motionless. You wonder if he still bears the warmth you used to hold in your arms.

The metal bridge creaks and squeaks, hinges about to give up from the stress of the fighting in its steel embrace. Tethering close to devouring every soul standing on its last life. You've felt the earth collapse years ago. If the ground fell from under you, would you notice?

Hobie doesn't answer, you see his chest rise and fall, gauntlets leaking blood. You don't know if it's his or someone else's, you just know it's not yours. Not yet. Would he hurt you?

You stand there, all worn out, arms bleeding and throbbing, legs trembling from the sheer pain. And yet, your eyes never leave his own mechanical mask, as if you can see the worry behind the steel curtains.

He stands there, heart ripped out, still beating atop the bodies laid out in front of him. He stands there, but he should walk towards you, run towards you and hold you. Hold you like he once had in that lavender field he once called home, hold you as if he didn't lose you all those years ago.

To live in his delusion, to never leave from the haze of the past. He longs for it, to stay where he once held you.

But the blackened tendrils coming out of your wounds is the one that he's fighting against. It curls around you, wrapping you in its mass. White eyes in place of your own that he sees in his dreams, sharp claws and lolling tongue— he doesn't see you anymore. Can't see you underneath the obsidian flesh of his enemy. He wonders if it's still you under it.

With a gutteral screech from the large mouth of the alien mass inhabiting your body, he takes his guitar from his back to pluck its strings. The noise could kill you, or it could liberate you. So he decides, and he plays.

The sound reverberates around the bridge, the creaking pauses for a moment, replaced by the ear piercing shrieks from the venoms. Hobie sees you crumble to your knees, tentacles of black slime ripped apart at the seams.

Your face is revealed under the mass, contorted into pain, the light in your eyes slowly fading as the creature feeds on your very being. Your nails dig into the slimy flesh, desperately trying to rip it out from your body. Eyes meeting with Hobie's, you nod for him to continue despite the blood spilling from your ears.

With bated breath, he strums again. More shrieking, more screaming, flesh torn apart, teeth chattering above the sound. His eyes never leave from your suffering as tears prick from his eyes. Grief snakes along his stomach up to his chest, pressing hard on his heart.

“Again!” You yell, ripping and gnawing at the agony filled venom. He follows, another strum, and another, one by one, venoms leave their hosts, and one by one, the bridge's wires collapse. But your own demon doesn't yield, it clings to you like a babe, holding onto you like a lifeline.

“C’mon!” Hobie stalks closer, plucking his strings over and over again despite your screams that would haunt his dreams. The venom wraps around you in its cold embrace, your own screams stifled with its arm over your mouth, choking you. “No!”

The bridge crumbles, someone tries to yank him away and take him to safety. But he shrugs them off, even if it means his own death.

“Hobie!” You manage to yell, “run!” It has you in a chokehold, dark veins ebbing from its touch towards your skin. It's killing you with it. Swallowing you in darkness, drowning you.

He abandons his guitar to dig you out of the mass. He rips out a chunk but it's immediately replaced and healed. Your muffled breaths can still be heard from under, he doesn't leave you. He won't leave you to die in the arms of the thing that took you from him.

Claws cutting and tearing, he heaves, breath stuck in his lungs. Yanking his helmet off, you see his face from the last pinprick of light. You wish there was a smile on his face instead of the desperation and fear. Still, you wished for home and you got it.

He pleads, and he calls for you, and his face is the last thing you saw before you fell into the suffocating depths.

The bridge collapses from under his feet, and he falls with you, holding onto you, plunging into the icy tides below. In the water, venom dissolves into nothingness, and he could finally hold you again as he joins you on the other side.

[luversgirl]

MY OBX REC LIST, part five

( ☾ = angst, ☆ = head-canon, ❀ = fluff, ✧ = smut )

rafe cameron

— five minutes ✧ ( i- )

— need you ☾ ❀

— promises ✧ ( omfg 💀 )

— dating rafe cameron should include ☆ ❀

— silent love ( literally such a amazing series )

— don’t make a sound ✧

— the pogue and the kook ☾ ❀

— best friends little sister ✧

— midsummer’s ❀ ( this is disgusting GIVE IT TO ME NOW )

— frenemies ☾ ✧

— new light blurb: next to you ❀ ( this is so cuteeeee )

— love is a dangerous game ☾ ✧ ( THE ANGST OMFG )

— forbidden ( series )

— good luck charm ❀ ( awwww )

— naughty ✧ ( i want y/n the fawk me wtf )

— hard to love you ☾

— limousine ✧ ( the driver 👁👄👁 )

— and yet…❀

— love at sea ☾ ❀

— can’t sleep ❀

— glory and gore ✧ ( poor jj lmaooooo )

— ambivalence blurb: phases ☾ ❀ ( give me this in life rn )

— unexpected valentine ❀ ( SO MF CUTE )

— night swim ✧

— protecter ☾ ❀ (top tier work, like literally weekly reread)

jj maybank

— i will leave ☾ ( THIS!!! part 2, part 3… etc )

— strawberry ❀ ( living for this )

— scary love ☾ ❀

— mine ❀

— promise ☾ ( oh my fawking god )

— take it slow ✧

— messed up ☾ ❀

— pretty girl ❀ ☾

— for me ❀ ☾ ( someone gimme a jj rn )

— princess ❀

— sweet and salty ✧

— jumped ❀ ☾

— wrestle ✧ ☾ ( oh my lordddddddd )

— nightmares ❀ ☾

— can’t kill a pogue ☾

— underdressed ✧

— i got you ☾

— meet me at our spot ❀ ☾ ( absolutely love this )

— enough for you ☾ ( sobbing )

sarah cameron

— exposed ✧

— lifeguard ☾ ❀ ( why not meeeeeee )

— call rafe ❀

— watermelon sugar ✧ ❀

— welcome home ❀

— kook princess ✧ ( lawd, part two, LAWD )

— the little things ❀

— don’t make me over ❀

pope heyward

— rose water and bubbles ✧

— this ❀ ( idk the name but i LUV IT )

— charm bracelets ❀

— full kook ☾ ❀

— noisy neighbours ❀ ( GIVE ME THIS IN LIFE RN )

— stick shift ❀

— tutor ❀ ☾ ( this is so cuteeeeeee )

barry

— art of seduction ✧

— issues ( ik this is a rafe fic but my blueberry is there so here )

— watch you’re mouth country club ☾ ❀

— softie ❀ ( awwwwww )

— responsibility ❀

john b

— let it snow ❀

— truth or dare ✧

— sticky notes ❀ ( jarah )

— i love you ❀ ( awwww )

— you and me against the world ❀

— always ☾ ❀

— knuckle kiss ❀

— 3 am ❀ ( I CANT ITS SO 😩 )

— pogue bonfire ☾ ❀ ( why not me god? )

— lazy river ❀

— i love you ❀

kiara carrera

— fuck up the friendship ✧ ( it’s kiesarah but it’s so good )

— take care of my girl ❀

— this omfg ✧ ( the title is long for here lol )

— nsfw alphabet ✧

— facades ✧ ( LAWD )

— enough ☾ ❀

— this concept ✧ ( l- l- lord )

[theetherealbloom]

AS GOOD A REASON - CH. 4 | OBERYN MARTELL

Chapter Four: I Will Be Your Executioner

Summary: You, who has made it her life's work to get retribution on those who mistreated and harassed you when you were a child. The scars on your body are a physical reminder of the suffering you endured at the hands of abusers, and they also provide the fuel for your years-long quest for retribution.

Paring: Oberyn Martell x Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ MDNI DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, MINORS GO AWAY, GoT is full of serious and harmful topics, mentions of SA, Rape (not the reader), Murder, Violence, Gore, War, Poison, Scars, Burns, Scratching, Su!c!de, AU, Age–Gap Romance, Angst, FLUFF, Eventual SMUT, Swearing, PTSD, Depression, Anxiety, Crying, Suggestive content, Flirting, Blood, War, Religion References, Nudity, Domestic Abuse, Incest, Prostitution, Weapons, Fire, Horror, Character Deaths, Rewrite Alternate Universe, Sex, Alcohol, Revenge, Panic Attacks, Anxiety Attack,

Word Count: 9k

A/N: OMFGGGGGG I’m actually writing non-stop. Wtf. Guys this part is heavily inspired by many quotes from the Glory. It’s so goooooddd! Go watch it. ALSO LMAO sorry for the chonky chapter. Hope you enjoy!

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: No Choir by Florence + The Machine

Previous Chapter → Next Chapter | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

THE WEDDING RECEPTION  

KING'S LANDING GARDEN, RED KEEP — AFTERNOON

The once-vibrant garden has turned into a scene from a nightmare. Joffrey’s lifeless body lies in his mother’s lap, the blood trickling from his nose and mingling with the vomit caking his lips. Cersei’s scream cuts through the chaos like a blade, her finger trembling as it points directly at Tyrion. 

"You did this! You did this!" she shrieks, her voice cracking with grief and rage.

Tyrion barely has time to react before three guards seize him from behind, their grip firm, dragging him back. The entire court is thrown into disarray, nobles scrambling, unsure where to look or what to say. The shock hangs in the air, heavy and suffocating.

Your eyes flick to Sansa as she watches, wide-eyed and frozen in place. Ser Dontos Hollard, the fool, sidles up to her, his face pale with urgency.

“We have to leave,” he whispers frantically, his hand tugging at her sleeve.

Sansa looks to you, her expression a mix of confusion and terror, searching for an answer. You meet her gaze and give the smallest, subtlest nod, speaking in the quietest voice that only she can hear.

"Run."

You keep your posture relaxed, every movement calculated, as though the chaos around you is nothing but a passing storm. Let it swirl, let them scream, none of it touches you.

Cersei’s piercing voice shatters the air again. “Take him! Take him!”

The guards drag Tyrion away through the crowd, his face a mask of resignation. You shift, sliding further to the edge of the gathering, your eyes tracking Sansa as she and Ser Dontos disappear, swallowed by the throng of horrified nobles. As Cersei’s head whips around, searching for a new target for her grief, her shrill voice rises again.

"Where is his wife? Where's Sansa?!"

Tywin's voice booms over the garden, commanding attention with the force of authority, “Find her. Bar the gates of the city. Seize every ship in the harbor.”

The tension mounts as Cersei, distraught and frenzied, clings to Tywin. “Where is she?!”

“No one leaves the capital!" Tywin's voice echoes like a decree from the gods themselves. "No one!”

The wheels are turning, but you remain steady, unmoved, watching everything unfold like a distant observer.

KING'S LANDING, RED KEEP — DUSK

The bells toll ominously across the city, signaling not just the king's death but the beginning of a lockdown. What had begun as a celebration of young love and power had spiraled into a suffocating horror—a wedding turned funeral. The streets were locked down, the gates barred, and whispers spread like wildfire among the servants. Every corner of the Red Keep hummed with dread.

You sat in the dim light of your chambers, fingers tracing over the pages of your journal. On the list of names you had scrawled, Joffrey’s stood out, now crossed out in thick ink. The weight of his demise did not lift your heart, but there was a cold satisfaction in seeing that line through his name. 

A knock on your door broke the silence. You didn’t even look up, your voice calm, measured. “Enter.”

Serena stepped in, her movements quiet and careful as she shut the door behind her, turning the lock with a soft click before coming to sit beside you. Her eyes fell to your journal, to the page you’d been reading, and her gaze lingered on the crossed-out name.

Her voice was soft when she asked, “Did you…”

You didn’t hesitate. “It wasn’t me who slipped the poison.” Your tone was blunt, matter-of-fact. Serena was smart—she could piece together the rest on her own. She nodded slowly, absorbing the truth behind your words.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said softly. “I’d still like to thank you. For doing this.”

Her gratitude was real, but it didn’t touch you. Nothing did anymore. You turned to her, your expression as unreadable as stone.

"I didn’t do it for thanks," you said, your voice as cold as the air before a storm. “I did it because people like him—people like them—will only understand one thing from now on.” You paused, holding Serena’s gaze, unblinking. “They will suffer, just as we have.”

Serena nodded, her lips tightening into a thin line. She knew. She understood.

And so, your revenge continued. Joffrey’s name may have been crossed out, but there were others. And as you sat there, cold and detached, you knew this was only the beginning of a longer reckoning. The suffering had only just begun.

THE NEXT DAY 

STREETS OF SILK, CHATAYA’S BROTHEL — DAY

The city pulsed with a nervous energy, the fallout of Joffrey’s death rippling through every alleyway, every corner of King’s Landing. It was rare for you to have a day free from the palace, but amidst the chaos, no one had cared when a few servants slipped away. The Red Keep had become a den of paranoia, each person trying to avoid the eye of suspicion. A perfect time to disappear—even if just for a while.

As you walked through the streets, your steps silent, deliberate, you overheard a conversation between two guards. Their voices were low, yet their words unmistakable. Tywin plans to confront Oberyn. The Hand of the King knew of Oberyn's frequent visits to Chataya’s brothel—it was no secret that the Dornish prince indulged himself openly. Tywin’s suspicions were spreading like wildfire, and you needed to be there to hear what he might uncover.

Pulling your cloak tight around you, you kept to the shadows, slipping between the narrow alleys that twisted like veins through the streets of silk. The map of the city was etched into your mind as clearly as the secrets you kept—memorized over years of service, of watching and waiting. 

You reached the brothel just as the sun began to dip lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the cobblestones. Slipping through the back door, you moved with the practiced silence of someone who knew how to remain unseen. A shadow among shadows. The moans and laughter of the brothel’s patrons created a cover of noise, perfect for hiding in plain sight.

The scent of incense and sweat filled the air, thick and cloying, but you barely noticed. Your eyes were fixed ahead, scanning for any sign of Tywin or his men. You crept further into the brothel, slipping behind a large stone pillar that stood near one of the darker corners of the room. Hidden in the gloom, you were just another part of the architecture, unseen, unnoticed.

The dagger strapped to your thigh pressed reassuringly against your skin, a small comfort in the uncertainty of the moment. You had long since learned that in King’s Landing, secrets and steel were your best companions. One cut as deep as the other, and both had their uses. If anyone saw you, anyone grew suspicious—you would be ready.

You crouched lower behind the pillar, listening as Oberyn’s voice carried faintly from one of the rooms. His tone was as smooth and dangerous as ever, a man who never feared consequences, not even from Tywin Lannister. You stayed still, your heart steady but your mind sharp, waiting for the moment when Tywin would confront him. 

You could feel it—the unraveling was only just beginning. The tension in the city would soon give way to something far darker, and you were determined to be ahead of it, to see everything before it was hidden away in shadows again.

As footsteps echoed down the hall, heavier, more deliberate, you pressed further into the shadows. Tywin. You could not afford to be seen, but you could not afford to miss this either. Information was your weapon. And today, you would sharpen it.

Just in time, you watched as three naked whores and Ellaria Sand stepped out of one of the rooms. Her dark, wavy hair cascaded down her bare shoulders as she laughed softly, her gaze briefly scanning the room before she and the others disappeared down the hall. The guards trailed after them, though one remained standing by the entrance. Close, but not too close.

The door to Oberyn’s room was slightly ajar.

You slipped inside with practiced precision, the heavy scent of incense clinging to the air. The room was bathed in the warm, golden light of the midday sun, filtering through the heavy curtains. Oberyn Martell was seated on the bed, shirtless and glistening with sweat, his bronzed skin catching the light as he stretched with the grace of a panther. The gods must have shown you some favor—he was still clothed from the waist down. 

His gaze shifted lazily toward you, a faint smirk tugging at his lips as if your presence amused him. He knew you were there long before you entered.

“Would you like to sit?” he asked, his voice low, teasing. He gestured casually toward a chair in the corner, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

Tywin Lannister stood at the other end of the room, his expression as hard as stone, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of irritation. “No, thank you,” Tywin replied curtly, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade.

Oberyn’s movements were slow, deliberate, as he rose from the bed, his lean body practically dripping with confidence. He stepped toward a small cart by the window, where a tray of wine and goblets waited. “Some wine?” he offered again, pouring himself a generous amount, the dark liquid swirling in the cup.

Tywin, still standing near the door, remained unmoved. “No, thank you,” he repeated.

Oberyn, with a patterned towel draped over his shoulder, took a slow sip of the wine, his eyes never leaving Tywin’s. “I'm sorry about your grandson,” he said smoothly, though the sincerity in his tone was questionable.

Tywin’s lips twitched, barely containing his disdain. “Are you?” he asked, the question laced with accusation.

Oberyn shrugged, moving across the room like a predator sizing up his prey. “I don't believe a child is responsible for the sins of his father. Or his grandfather. An awful way to die.” His voice was casual, but his eyes—those dark, piercing eyes—were watching Tywin’s every move.

The tension in the room was recognizable, thick enough to choke on. You remained hidden in the shadows, every word falling like stones in a still pond, sending ripples of suspicion through the air.

“Which way is that?” Tywin asked, his voice sharp.

Oberyn tilted his head, a sly smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Are you interrogating me, Lord Tywin?” he purred, settling onto a plush bed of pillows, lounging with the practiced grace of a man who feared nothing.

“Some believe the king choked,” Tywin mused, watching Oberyn closely.

“Some believe the sky is blue because we live inside the eye of a blue-eyed giant,” Oberyn replied, his tone mocking. He took another sip of wine before adding, “The king was poisoned.”

Tywin’s eyes narrowed, the faintest hint of suspicion creeping into his expression. “I hear you studied poisons at the Citadel.”

Oberyn’s smile widened, like a cat who had caught the scent of a mouse. “I did. This is why I know.”

Tywin’s voice dropped, edged with danger. “Your hatred for my family is rather well known. You arrive at the capital, an expert in poisoning, and days later my grandson dies of poisoning.”

Oberyn didn’t miss a beat. “Rather suspicious,” he agreed with a chuckle. “Why haven’t you thrown me in a dungeon?”

Tywin's gaze hardened. “You spoke with Tyrion in this very brothel on the day that you arrived. What did you discuss?”

“You think we conspired together?” Oberyn raised an eyebrow, amused.

“What did you discuss?”

Oberyn’s playful demeanor faltered, as he moved to stand, approaching Tywin, his voice dropping into something darker, colder. “The death of my sister.”

Tywin did not flinch, though his eyes gave away nothing. “For which you blame me.”

Oberyn leaned forward slightly, his voice like steel wrapped in silk. “She was raped and murdered by the Mountain. The Mountain follows your orders. Of course I blame you.”

The silence that followed was thick with unspoken threats. You remained perfectly still, your heart a steady drumbeat in your chest as you watched the two men circle each other, both poised for an attack that would never come.

Tywin, calm as ever, gave the faintest shrug. “Here I stand unarmed, unguarded. Should I be concerned?”

Oberyn smiled, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “You are unarmed and unguarded because you know me better than that. I am a man of reason. If I cut your throat today, I will be drawn and quartered tomorrow.”

“Men at war commit all kinds of crimes without their superiors' knowledge,” Tywin said, almost conversationally.

“So you deny involvement in Elia's murder?”

Tywin’s voice remained steady. “Categorically.”

Oberyn’s gaze sharpened, his smile fading into something colder. “I would like to speak with the Mountain.”

“I’m sure he would enjoy speaking with you,” Tywin said evenly.

Oberyn’s lips curled into a grim smile. “He might not enjoy it as much as he thinks he would.”

Tywin’s eyes flickered with a dangerous glint. “I could arrange for this meeting.”

Oberyn’s brow arched, intrigued. “But you want something in return.”

Tywin’s voice was calm, measured. “There will be a trial for my son. As custom dictates, three judges will render a verdict. I will preside. Mace Tyrell will serve as the second judge. I would like you to be the third.”

Oberyn’s amusement returned, but his tone remained cautious. “Why?”

“Not long ago, the Tyrells sided with Renly Baratheon. Declared themselves enemies of the throne. Now they are our strongest allies.”

Oberyn shrugged, taking another sip of his wine. “Well, you made the Tyrell girl a queen. Asking me to judge at your son's trial isn't quite as tempting.”

Tywin stepped forward, his voice dropping low. “I will also invite you to sit on the small council to serve as one of the new king's principal advisors.”

Oberyn studied Tywin, his eyes narrowing slightly. “I never realized you had such respect for Dorne, Lord Tywin.”

“We are not the Seven Kingdoms until Dorne returns to the fold,” Tywin replied, his voice cold, calculated. “The king is dead. The Greyjoys are in open rebellion. A wildling army marches on the Wall. And in the East, a Targaryen girl has three dragons. Before long, she will turn her eyes to Westeros. Only the Dornish managed to resist Aegon Targaryen and his dragons.”

Oberyn’s smile returned, slow and sharp. “You're saying you need us? That must be hard for you to admit.”

Tywin’s expression didn’t change. “We need each other. You help me serve justice to the king's assassins, and I will help you serve justice to Elia's.”

The room seemed to hold its breath as Oberyn fell silent, his gaze turning inward, distant, as if he were calculating a hundred possibilities all at once. The tension lingered, thick and unspoken, between him and the absent Tywin. The delicate balance of power that had just played out was clear—two predators circling one another, masking threats with diplomacy.

You pressed yourself deeper into the shadows, watching Oberyn with a sharp, practiced gaze. His expression remained contemplative, still lost in the aftermath of his exchange with Tywin. Outside the room, the echo of Tywin’s footsteps faded into the distance, and the door clicked shut with finality, leaving behind an uneasy stillness that hung thick in the air.

But you had lingered too long. In a silent breath, you pulled back into the shadows, slipping toward the door like a shadow yourself. You moved swiftly, soundless, as you had been trained—disappearing without a trace. The world outside was teeming with noise and life, but none of it noticed your departure. You melted into the alleyways, your cloak drawn close, your steps swift and measured as you darted through the maze of streets that threaded King’s Landing. 

The market was alive with its usual chaos, the scent of spices mingling with the salt of the sea, merchants shouting over one another, selling everything from silks to stale bread. You wove through the crowds, your face hidden beneath the hood of your cloak, eyes scanning your surroundings. You had always known how to vanish in plain sight.

But then, the sound hit you.

A sharp sizzle, the searing of meat against hot metal. Your steps faltered as the scent of charred pork filled the air, thick and overwhelming, clinging to your skin like smoke. For a moment, the world around you seemed to blur—the market, the people, the shouts—it all dimmed. Your breath caught in your throat, your chest tightening as the memories surged, unbidden, unstoppable.

Flames licking at your skin, the scent of burning flesh, the sound of your own screams echoing in the back of your mind. The fire that had marked you, that had seared itself into your memory, now clawed its way to the surface.

Your hands trembled as you stumbled into a corner of the street, your back pressed hard against the cool stone of a wall. The sounds of the market seemed distant now, drowned out by the roar of the fire in your mind. The panic clawed at your chest, squeezing tighter and tighter until it felt like you couldn’t breathe. 

You gasped, desperate for air, the weight of your cloak suddenly too heavy, the noise of the market too loud. The edges of your vision blurred, and the ground beneath you felt like it was spinning. The world seemed to close in on you, suffocating, the past and present melding into one.

Burning.

You clenched your fists, nails digging into your palms in an attempt to ground yourself, to remind yourself that you were no longer there. But the searing sound, the scent—it was too much. The memories flooded you, pulling you under. You pressed your back harder into the wall, trying to fight your way out of the suffocating panic, trying to escape the fire that only existed in your mind.

But it felt so real.

Your breaths came in short, shallow gasps, and your vision swam. You had to get out. Away from the market, away from the noise, away from the memory that gripped you like a vice. You pushed yourself off the wall, your legs shaky but determined, and forced yourself back into the crowd, pulling your cloak tighter around you.

With every step, you fought to steady your breathing, to clear the haze from your mind. The streets blurred around you as you moved, each footfall feeling heavier than the last, but you pressed on. Away from the market. Away from the sound.

Away from the fire.

KING'S LANDING, RED KEEP — AFTERNOON

By the time you returned to the castle, fatigue weighed heavily on your limbs. The maze of tunnels under the Red Keep stretched out before you like a winding serpent, familiar yet suffocating. Each step felt heavier than the last, your breath shallow, as the cool stone walls seemed to press closer. 

As you rounded a corner, your thoughts interrupted by hurried footsteps, you almost collided with someone—Podrick Payne. His wide-eyed expression immediately softened when he realized it was you.

“Oh, my apologies,” Podrick stammered, stepping back in his usual bashful manner. 

You shook your head, waving off the apology. "No, it was my fault. I wasn’t looking where I was going."

He hesitated, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "Oh well…"

There was something about his awkwardness, a sincerity in the way he held himself. Podrick was kind, genuine—a rarity in King's Landing. You had a peculiar way of prying information from him without much effort. It wasn’t something you set out to do, but it was almost as though the right questions spilled from your lips, and he couldn’t help but answer.

You tilted your head slightly, eyes narrowing as you noticed the tension in his shoulders. "Are you heading somewhere urgent?"

Podrick blinked in surprise, glancing at the wineskin he carried. “Yes, I’m on my way to see Lord Tyrion in the cells.”

Your gaze dropped to the wineskin, lips curving into a faint smirk. "You’re bringing him wine?"

He nodded, looking somewhat guilty, as though he’d been caught red-handed. 

"The guards will take it from you, you know that, right?"

Podrick’s expression flickered with brief defeat, but he nodded again. The innocence in his eyes spoke volumes, but you weren’t fooled. Deep down, you knew he was smuggling more than just wine. You sighed, rubbing your temples as the exhaustion from the day wore at your patience.

"They've chosen the judges for his trial," you added, your voice soft but deliberate.

Podrick glanced around as if someone might overhear, then leaned in slightly. “I heard. Lord Tywin, Mace Tyrell, and Prince Oberyn of Dorne."

"Word travels fast," you murmured, more to yourself than to him. Your eyes drifted over his face, reading the tension etched into his features. His frown deepened, and you couldn’t help but ask, “What’s wrong? You’re frowning.”

Podrick’s sigh was almost inaudible, but in the quiet of the dimly lit tunnel, it seemed to echo. He lowered his voice as if confessing a secret. "There’s something else. A man—someone I didn’t know—came to me. He asked if I’d testify against Lord Tyrion. Said I’d be named Ser Podrick Payne if I told the judges Tyrion bought a poison called the Strangler.”

Your stomach twisted at the mention of the poison, but your expression remained impassive. You frowned, though, as the weight of his words sank in. Podrick, in his innocence, stood at the crossroads of something much darker than he fully understood.

"You…" You took a slow, deep breath, steadying your tone. "Lord Tyrion has been kind to you."

He met your gaze, his eyes filled with uncertainty. "He has."

There was a heavy silence between you, the kind that lingered just long enough to feel uncomfortable. The weight of your secrets hung in the air, unspoken, but Podrick wasn’t foolish. He knew you were holding back, but he never pressed. 

"Do you know what happened?" he asked softly, as though afraid of the answer. His voice was tentative, laced with the hope that you might offer him clarity. "Who did it?"

You blinked, your gaze distant, the apathy you had so carefully cultivated slipping back into place. His question lingered, but you gave him no answer—just a soft pat on his shoulder, a rare gesture of kindness in a world that had none to spare.

"You better be careful, Podrick," you said, your voice low, carrying a quiet weight. "You’re one of the rare ones out there who are truly good. Take care of yourself."

His lips parted as if to say something more, but you had already turned away, disappearing into the shadows of the castle, leaving him standing there beneath the flickering torchlight.

KING’S LANDING, QUAY OF THE PORT BY THE SEA OF THE RED KEEP — AFTERNOON

The salty breeze whipped across the sea, crashing waves against jagged rocks below as you crouched beneath the cliffsides. Hidden from sight, you watched with keen eyes as Jaime Lannister and Bronn sparred near the water's edge, the sound of clashing steel ringing in the air.

Jaime’s face was flushed, his breath labored, but his movements were sharper than before. He spun his sword with renewed vigor, pressing the attack against Bronn. But the sellsword was as sharp as ever, his parries quick, his footwork steady. They deadlocked, Jaime’s golden hand clashing with Bronn’s grip. With a wicked grin, Bronn swatted Jaime across the face, sending him sprawling onto the ground with an unceremonious thud.

Jaime let out a grunt, pushing himself up from the dirt. “What the hell was that?” he spat, wiping the dust from his tunic.

Bronn tossed Jaime’s golden hand back to him with a smirk. “That was me knocking your ass to the dirt with your own hand."

Jaime caught it, shaking his head. “You’re a rare talent. When you’re fighting cripples, anyway.”

“You learned to fight like a good little boy," Bronn quipped, his grin widening. "I’ll bet that thrust through the Mad King’s back was pretty as a picture. You want to fight pretty, or you want to win?”

Jaime’s jaw clenched. “You talk to my brother this way?”

“All the time. He got used to it.”

They sat together on a low stone wall, the tension easing between them. Jaime took a swig from a wineskin before handing it to Bronn.

“Do you think he did it?” Jaime asked, his voice low, hesitant.

Bronn shook his head. “No. Oh, he hated the little twat, sure. But who didn’t? Poison’s not his style. Or murder, for that matter. You want to know for sure, why don’t you ask him?”

Jaime remained silent, his gaze distant.

“You haven’t been to see him yet, have you?” Bronn probed, his tone carrying an edge of judgment.

Jaime stood abruptly, tossing the wineskin back to Bronn. “We’re done for today.”

As Jaime walked away, Bronn called out, “Your brother ever tell you how I came into his service?”

Jaime paused, his back still turned. “You stood for him in his trial by combat at the Eyrie.”

“Aye,” Bronn replied, his voice steady. “But only when Lady Arryn demanded the trial take place that day. You were his first choice. He named you for his champion because he knew you’d ride day and night to fight for him. You gonna fight for him now?”

Jaime’s silence lingered, the weight of Bronn’s words hanging in the air as he disappeared into the distance. 

Once Jaime was gone, Bronn stood alone, shaking his head. That’s when you emerged from your hiding spot, the faint sound of your boots scraping against the stone catching his attention. He turned, spotting you walking towards him, your loose long-sleeve tunic billowing slightly in the wind, trousers and boots practical for the sparring you had in mind. The sword sheathed at your side glinted in the afternoon light, a far cry from the ladylike appearance most would expect.

You let out a low whistle, drawing a chuckle from Bronn as you approached. “You really handed it to him, huh?” you remarked, eyes twinkling with amusement.

“Who knew today would be the day you make a joke?” Bronn quipped, his smirk never far from his lips.

You huffed, crossing your arms. “Might as well get a laugh in once in a while.”

Bronn gave you a quick once-over, his eyes sharp as always. “You here to practice?”

In response, you tossed a small pouch of gold coins at him, which he caught with a practiced ease. “It’s been a while. Was wondering if you were simply busy or if you’d run off.”

You shrugged, the weight of the past few days pressing on your shoulders. “Well, it hasn’t been quiet at the Red Keep.”

“Aye,” Bronn said with a knowing look, his expression softening for just a moment. Then, with his usual swagger, he added, “Well, let’s see if that sword of yours still works.”

The two of you squared off, the tension of the moment melting into the familiar rhythm of training. Bronn was a formidable opponent—quick, sharp, and never one to play by the rules. He tested you immediately, launching a fast strike aimed at your side. You parried it easily, the weight of your sword light in your hands.

"You've gotten faster," Bronn noted, his tone almost begrudging as he stepped back to assess you, his sharp eyes taking in every movement, every subtle shift of your stance. 

You shrugged, gripping your sword a little tighter, the weight of his words sinking in deeper than he realized. Faster—it wasn’t just speed you needed. Strength. Precision. Ruthlessness. All of it would be necessary if you were going to do what needed to be done. Your thoughts flickered briefly to him, to the Mountain, and the moment you had been turning over in your mind, rehearsing endlessly in the quiet of your own head.

One well-placed strike—that’s all it would take. You’d studied his movements, watched how he fought. Brutal. Unforgiving. He crushed his opponents like insects beneath his feet, but there was always a weakness. There had to be. You just had to find it, and when you did, the Mountain would fall.

But you didn’t say that out loud.

Instead, you offered Bronn a casual shrug, masking the storm of thoughts beneath your calm expression. “Learned a few tricks while I was busy,” you replied with a half-smile, keeping your voice light.

Bronn smirked, though his eyes still lingered on you as if trying to peel back the layers of your thoughts. "Busy, huh? Hope those tricks keep you alive long enough to show me more."

He didn’t press, and you were grateful for it. There was no need to tell him, not yet. The time would come soon enough, and when it did, you'd be ready.

A FEW DAYS LATER

KING'S LANDING, THE THRONE ROOM — DAY

You stand off to the side, shrouded in the shadows of the grand pillars, your eyes flickering over the scene before you like a predator studying its prey. The High Septon stands at the heart of it all, his voice booming as he leads the coronation of Tommen Baratheon. The crowd has gathered, a sea of nobles dressed in their finest silks, feigning respect and devotion. Your gaze drifts, settling momentarily on Ser Jaime Lannister, who patrols near the back, his golden hand gleaming in the soft light.

"May the Warrior grant him courage and protect him in these perilous times," the High Septon intoned, his voice heavy with ceremony. "May the Smith grant him strength that he might bear this heavy burden. And may the Crone, she that knows the fate of all men, show him the path he must walk and guide him through the dark places that lie ahead."

Tommen’s face, still soft with boyish innocence, betrays the weight of the moment. You can see it in his eyes—the bewilderment, the fear hidden behind a facade of calm. He’s a puppet, and the strings are woven through the hands of those more powerful. But he’s not the one you’re watching.

The High Septon finishes, his hands raised toward the heavens. "In the light of the Seven, I now proclaim Tommen of the House Baratheon, First of His Name. King of the Andals and the First Men and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms. Long may he reign!"

"Long may he reign!" the crowd echoes in unison, their voices a rehearsed chorus.

Your eyes narrow as Tommen bows, exchanging a fleeting glance with Margaery Tyrell. The hint of a smile plays on her lips, barely noticeable unless you knew what to look for. It’s the look of a woman who knows exactly what she wants—and how to get it. Cersei sees it too, her expression tightening, though she maintains her grace.

You smirk to yourself. The plot never stops, not for a moment.

The grand hall is quieter now, though the air still buzzes with soft chatter. Tommen sits awkwardly on the Iron Throne, his small frame swallowed by its looming presence. Tywin Lannister stands beside him, commanding the room with nothing but his cold, stern silence. The line of courtiers shuffles forward, each taking their turn to bow and offer hollow pleasantries.

"Your Grace," Grand Maester Pycelle rasps, his aged voice grating against your ears.  

"Your Grace," Varys follows, his tone smooth, unreadable.

Tommen exchanges nods and small smiles, barely keeping up the appearance of a ruler. Margaery lingers nearby, her gaze soft but calculating. It’s Cersei’s eyes that catch yours, though, burning with possessiveness and suspicion as they land on Margaery.

Your fingers twitch at your side, the weight of your dagger pressing against your thigh through the fabric of your cloak. There’s no need for it now, but the comfort of steel is a constant reminder of why you’re here—watching, waiting, collecting secrets like coins.

The crowd parts as Cersei approaches Margaery, offering smiles to the onlookers as she moves through the room with the grace of a lioness on the hunt. You observe it all, taking in the flickers of power, the undercurrents that ripple beneath the surface of every interaction.

You sigh, stepping away from the scene and slipping back into the shadows. There’s nothing more to see here. The coronation is just another piece in the larger puzzle, and the trial—the real battle—is yet to come. Your secrets can wait, for now.

KING'S LANDING, THE GARDEN — DAY

The day was warm, the sun casting a golden glow over the lush greenery of the royal gardens. The scent of blooming flowers mingled with the salty air from the sea, but none of that registered as you went about your tasks. Servant duties, tedious and endless, consumed most of your time. Today, it was carrying supplies from the kitchen to the gardens—bundles of herbs, fresh fruits, a few linens. You balanced them carefully in your arms, eyes scanning for a spot to drop them off before you moved to the next errand.

As you passed through the garden's winding paths, the soft murmur of voices caught your attention. You stilled, instinctively pressing yourself into the shade of a tall shrub, out of sight. The voices were familiar—Cersei Lannister and Oberyn Martell. The temptation to eavesdrop, to gather just a bit more information for yourself, was too great to resist.

You shifted slightly, your heart thudding in your chest, trying not to rustle the bushes as you angled your body closer. From where you stood, you had a clear view of Oberyn sitting on a stone bench, writing on a scroll. He paused as Cersei approached, her guards flanking her.

"Your Grace," Oberyn greeted her, his voice low and polite as he stood.

Cersei’s cold smile barely reached her eyes. "Prince Oberyn. Writing letters?"

"A poem, actually," Oberyn replied, his tone light, yet unreadable.

Cersei’s eyebrow raised slightly, more curious than amused. "May I show you the gardens?"

Oberyn glanced down at the scroll he had been working on before standing fully to his feet. "I couldn’t very well refuse a royal escort."

"No, you couldn’t," Cersei said, a slight edge in her voice. You could almost see the power shift between them as they started walking side by side through the winding paths of the garden, their steps measured, calculated.

You trailed discreetly behind them, clutching your bundle tightly, ears straining to catch every word.

"I didn’t realize you were a poet," Cersei remarked, her voice laced with feigned curiosity.

Oberyn chuckled. "Not a very good one."

"For your paramour?"

"For one of my daughters," Oberyn corrected, his voice softening at the mention of his children.

Cersei’s eyes flicked toward him. "You have several, don’t you?"

"Eight," he said, a touch of pride in his voice.

"Eight? Eight daughters?" Cersei repeated, incredulous.

Oberyn nodded. "The fifth is difficult. I named her after my sister, Elia."

At the mention of Elia’s name, your heart clenched. You had always known the depth of his loss, but hearing it aloud, even in passing, reminded you of the storm that brewed constantly beneath Oberyn’s surface.

"Beautiful name," Cersei mused.

"Yes," Oberyn agreed, though his tone darkened. "But I can’t say it without turning sad. And after I turn sad, I grow angry."

"Perhaps that’s why she’s difficult," Cersei remarked, her tone dripping with cynical wisdom. "The gods love their stupid jokes, don’t they?"

Oberyn's gaze narrowed slightly, intrigued. "Which joke is that?"

Cersei’s smile was sharp, almost mocking. "You’re a prince of Dorne. A legendary fighter. A brilliant man feared throughout Westeros. But you could not save your sister. I’m a Lannister. Queen for nineteen years. Daughter of the most powerful man alive. But I could not save my son. What good is power if you cannot protect the ones you love?"

Her words struck like venom, her bitterness palpable. You watched Oberyn’s face shift, his jaw tightening as the memories of his sister undoubtedly flashed behind his eyes.

"We can avenge them," he said after a pause, his voice resolute, cutting through the air like a blade.

Cersei met his gaze, her lips curling slightly. "Yes, we can avenge them."

Oberyn tilted his head, watching her intently. "You really believe Tyrion murdered your son?"

Without hesitation, Cersei replied, "I know he did."

Oberyn’s expression remained calm, though you could sense his skepticism. "We will have a trial, and we will learn the truth."

"We’ll have a trial, anyway," Cersei muttered, her voice tight with impatience. "I haven’t seen my daughter in over a year."

Oberyn’s face softened slightly. "The last time I saw her, she was swimming with two of my girls in the Water Gardens. Laughing in the sun."

Cersei’s eyes briefly glistened with unshed tears. "I want to believe that. I want to believe she’s happy."

Oberyn’s tone was gentle now, sincere. "You have my word. We don’t hurt little girls in Dorne."

Cersei’s voice was a mere whisper, filled with more sadness than she would ever admit aloud. "Everywhere in the world, they hurt little girls. Would you bring her a gift for me? I wasn’t there for her name day. I don’t know when I’ll see her again."

Oberyn’s gaze softened as he nodded. "Anything at all."

Cersei pointed toward the bay, her eyes lingering on a ship. "The best shipwrights in King’s Landing have been working on it for months. Myrcella loves the open water."

Oberyn’s lips curled into a small, understanding smile. "I will have it sailed down to Sunspear for her."

Cersei turned to face him fully, her expression momentarily vulnerable. "Please tell her... her mother misses her very much."

She left then, her guards following behind as her regal figure disappeared from the garden. Oberyn stood still, watching her go with an unreadable expression.

In the silence that followed, Oberyn’s voice cut through the air, calm and composed. "You can show yourself now."

Your breath hitched, but you stepped out from behind the pillar, clutching the supplies you had been carrying, your heartbeat still racing from all you had overheard.

Oberyn's dark eyes, gleaming with that unspoken intensity, never left yours. The weight of his gaze made the space between you feel smaller, heavier, as though every unspoken word lingered in the air. He took a slow step toward you, his expression caught somewhere between amusement and curiosity.

"I still don’t know your name," he said, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips, though his tone remained casual, as if this was just another conversation, nothing more than passing the time.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you swallowed, straightening slightly. "It’s..." You hesitated for a second, then finally offered, your name.

Oberyn hummed in acknowledgment, his smirk widening just a little, as though your name now held a secret weight between the two of you. He moved closer, studying your face carefully. He repeated your name, tasting the name on his tongue like it was something to be savored.

A silence hung between you for a moment, but Oberyn had a way of piercing through it with his words. His eyes narrowed slightly, his head tilting just enough to catch your gaze again. "Tell me," he began, his voice soft but laced with a quiet danger, "did you poison the king?"

Your chest tightened at the question, though you knew it was coming. You didn't flinch, your heart steady despite the accusation hanging in the air. Meeting his gaze, you shook your head firmly, your voice calm but resolute. "No. I didn’t."

Oberyn’s intense gaze lingered on you, as if he was peeling away the layers of who you were, searching for the truth hidden beneath your calm exterior. His dark eyes burned with quiet judgment, tempered by curiosity. The corner of his mouth tugged upward, barely perceptible, when he let out a soft hum, the tension in his posture easing. "Good," he murmured, the single word carrying weight, as though it was meant to confirm something greater. Yet, behind his eyes, the storm never ceased, always swirling, always waiting.

You inhaled deeply, the air between you thick with unspoken things. For a long moment, you said nothing, your mind racing through the years, the faces, and the memories long buried under the weight of time and pain. The ocean waves crashed in the distance, steady and unyielding, much like the man before you. The ships bobbed on the horizon, their sails catching the wind as if they were fleeing toward freedom, away from all that was this city—this place of blood and betrayal.

You turned your gaze toward the sea, your voice low as you spoke, almost as if the memory itself had pulled the words from your lips. "You were right, your grace. I knew her… your sister, Princess Elia." 

Oberyn’s expression flickered, a subtle shift from curiosity to something more personal, more vulnerable, as he stepped closer to you. His presence was quiet but commanding, the warmth of him beside you drawing your attention. You didn’t look at him; instead, you watched the ships, the waves crashing against the cliffs in the distance. 

"It was a long time ago," you continued, your voice soft, filled with a kind of sorrow that time couldn’t quite erase. "I wasn’t a good person then… I don’t know if I am now." Your words hung in the air, fragile but true.

The wind whipped through your hair as the memory surged forth, pulling you back to that day—the day you first met her. You had been standing on the cliffs near Sunspear, staring down at the waters below. The waves had seemed so inviting, so final. You’d been ready to let go, ready to fall and end the pain that had gripped you for far too long. 

But then, you heard a cry. 

Princess Elia had been in the water, struggling against the currents, her graceful arms failing to keep her afloat. It was instinct, something primal within you that made you dive into the water, though you had been moments away from letting it take you. You swam with a strength you didn’t know you possessed, reaching her, pulling her to the shore. You’d saved her, though you had been prepared to die.

When you reached the sand, both of you gasping for breath, Elia had looked at you, her deep brown eyes searching yours, knowing, seeing far too much. "You were going to jump, weren’t you?" she had asked, her voice soft but piercing. 

You had only nodded, the pressure of your decision still clinging to you like the seaweed wrapped around your legs. 

Elia had smiled then, a gentle, sorrowful thing. "Thank you for saving me… even when you couldn’t save yourself." Her words had haunted you ever since.

The memory faded, and you were back in the present, the ocean still stretching before you, endless and indifferent. Oberyn stood beside you, silent for a long moment, absorbing your words. His expression remained unreadable, but his eyes flickered with understanding, with a shared pain.

"You were the one," he said quietly, almost as if speaking to himself. "The servant girl… the one who survived." His voice was careful, probing, seeking confirmation of a story long buried under the rubble of war and tragedy.

Your face remained void of emotion as you turned to meet his gaze, your eyes hollowed by the weight of the years and the scars you carried. "I haven't forgotten even a day," you replied, your voice eerily calm, devoid of the turmoil you felt. "Some hatred resembles longing. It's impossible to get rid of." 

Oberyn's gaze lingered on you, his expression softening, though the tempest within him still raged. His eyes, dark and intense, mirrored the turmoil that churned beneath your own surface. “I’ve also hit rock bottom before,” he said, his voice carrying a rare gentleness. “So, I understand the weight of your anger.”

His words hung in the salt-tinged air, a bridge between the two of you—both bound by memories of a woman long gone, and a shared desire for something that felt like justice but tasted more like vengeance. The sea continued its relentless assault on the cliffs, indifferent to your pain, your histories, and the scars neither of you could erase. The world moved on, as uncaring as ever, while you stood still in the face of it.

Oberyn turned slightly toward you, his expression more searching now. "Is that why you came to King's Landing?" His question was quiet, but the weight of it settled between you like a stone dropped into a deep well.

Without turning to face him, you let out a bitter laugh, the sound lost in the crash of waves. "Isn’t that why you’re here too?"

The words hit him with a force that made him pause, a flash of something unreadable passing across his face. Oberyn was silent for a moment, studying you as if trying to gauge the depth of your resolve. He shifted, his usual confidence tempered by something more cautious now. "You know what revenge does to people," he said softly, his tone laced with concern. "I’ve seen it. I’ve lived it. It devours you, bit by bit, until there’s nothing left but the anger. It’s… not something someone like you should carry."

You scoffed, the words cutting through you, sharper than any blade. "Someone like me?" you echoed, turning to face him fully for the first time since the conversation began. Your eyes locked onto his, challenging, as if daring him to explain what he meant.

Oberyn’s brow furrowed, a rare crease in the otherwise unshakeable mask he wore. "You carry enough," he said, voice low but firm. "You shouldn’t be the one to deal with this. It will change you."

His worry was unexpected, disarming even, and for a moment, you saw the weight of his own guilt reflected in his gaze—the burdens he carried, the losses he had never fully avenged. But there was also a flicker of something protective, something he wasn’t ready to admit to.

You turned back toward the sea, your heart heavy with a mix of rage and sorrow. The waves below crashed louder now, their rhythm matching the pounding in your chest. "I’ve already been changed," you whispered, your voice barely audible above the roar of the ocean. "There’s nothing left to take." 

Oberyn stepped closer, his presence warm beside you, though the space between you felt vast. “There’s always something left,” he murmured, his voice softer now, the edge of worry still lacing his words. “You just don’t see it yet.”

The silence between you stretched long, as the sea kept its pace, unbothered by the weight of two broken souls standing on the cliffs above it. Neither of you spoke again for some time, each lost in your own thoughts, but bound by an understanding neither of you had expected.

Both here for vengeance. Both already paying its price.

KING'S LANDING, RED KEEP — EVENING

The evening air clung heavily to the Red Keep, filled with the scent of the sea and the distant hum of King’s Landing. After leaving Oberyn by the cliffs, the weight of exhaustion settled into your bones, dragging you through the motions of the day. Each task completed, each conversation had, felt like a necessary distraction—an anchor to keep you from drowning in your thoughts. Yet, none of it could quiet the storm within.

Once your duties were done, you retreated to your small chambers, the flickering light of a lone candle casting shadows against the stone walls. You sat at the edge of your bed, a leather journal resting on your lap. The worn pages were a map of your thoughts, your plans, your vengeance. You traced a finger over the spine, staring down at the leather-bound book that held all the pieces of your story. It was here, in the quiet of the night, that you could feel the weight of everything you’d worked for, everything you had planned.

Your revenge.

You glanced at the drawer where your dagger rested, a constant companion in this journey, but tonight you would leave it behind. Tonight was not for the blade, but for something else entirely. Whispered words from the servants confirmed that Ellaria was out in the brothels, and that knowledge settled something within you. 

You changed swiftly into a nightgown, the soft fabric brushing against your skin, and draped a dark cloak over your shoulders. It shrouded your form as you slipped through the halls of the Red Keep, every step measured, your path taking you toward the guest quarters. Toward Oberyn.

MAIDENVAULT, GUEST CHAMBERS

KING’S LANDING, RED KEEP - EVENING

The corridors were dimly lit, and you moved like a shadow, slipping unnoticed through the Keep. The cold stone beneath your feet did little to deter you as you made your way to the door of Oberyn’s chambers. 

You hesitated for only a moment, then pushed the door open, slipping inside before the guards could take notice. The room was dim, lit only by the pale silver of the moonlight filtering in through the window. Oberyn stood near the bed, surprised by your sudden presence, his dark eyes meeting yours as you stepped into the moonlight, the cloak falling away from your shoulders. 

He closed the door behind him, his gaze flickering over you, curiosity and something else stirring in his eyes. "I didn’t expect company tonight," he said, his voice low, a touch playful as he stepped closer. "Is this what I think it is?"

You didn’t respond immediately. Instead, your fingers moved to the ties of your nightgown, pulling them loose until the fabric slipped down from your shoulders, falling in a whispering heap at your feet. Oberyn’s smirk faltered as the moonlight revealed the truth—scarred, burned, and marred flesh stretching across your body like a grotesque map of past pain.

"It felt like a white night, and sometimes it felt like a polar night, too."

His amusement vanished, replaced by horror, by understanding. "Gods…" he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper as he took in the damage that covered every inch of you.

“Ugly, right?” Your voice was toneless, cold. “My scars.”

Oberyn’s eyes darkened, but not with revulsion—only fury, a quiet, simmering rage that burned behind his otherwise calm exterior. He didn’t need to ask who had done this to you. The answer was written in the jagged lines that crisscrossed your skin. He knew. He had always known the darkness that resided in this city, but seeing it on you, it seemed to strike deeper.

“They’re not ugly,” he said softly, stepping closer, his eyes never leaving yours. “They’re injuries.” His voice was a mixture of defiance and sympathy, the edges rough with something dangerous.

You shook your head, meeting his gaze with a stark intensity. "I’m not looking for a prince," you said, your voice steady and without emotion. “What I need is not a prince, but a headsman who will join me in the sword dance.”

Oberyn’s jaw tightened, the weight of your words sinking into the space between you. For a moment, you could see the conflict in his eyes—the warrior who knew the toll of vengeance, and the lover who wished to shield you from it. But as he looked at the scars on your body, the decision seemed to solidify within him.

"Once your revenge is over, your world will also be in ruins," he said, his voice still holding the trace of concern, but it was quickly fading.

"I’m already in complete ruins with no dignity left," you replied, your voice like iron. "So, go back. I’d like to stay faithful to my rage and vice"

Oberyn exhaled slowly, the storm within him finally breaking. His fingers flexed at his side, as if already reaching for the hilt of his sword. “I’ll do it,” he said, stepping even closer until his presence was all-encompassing. “I’ll be your headsman. I’ll join the sword dance.”

Your heart pounded in your chest as his words sunk in, the finality of them sending a thrill through you. “I’ll do whatever you say,” he continued, his voice like a vow. “As if it’s a royal command. Anything at all.”

He reached out, his fingers brushing lightly against your arm, his touch surprisingly gentle despite the violence in his words. “I’ll show you a wild sword dance,” he promised, his eyes locked on yours, filled with a deadly sort of resolve. 

In that moment, you both knew there was no turning back. The sword dance would begin, and neither of you would emerge the same.

TAGLIST:

@christinamadsen @greenwitchfromthewoods

[tiniedemon]

GLORY & GORE . . . series masterlist

hunger games au

kyle broflovski / fem!reader

“ladies and gentlemen, this is the seventy-fifth year of the hunger games. and it was written in the charter of the game that every twenty-five years, there would be a quarter quell to keep fresh for each new generation the memory of those who died in the uprising against the capitol.

“each quarter quell is distinguished by games of a special significance. and now on this the seventy-fifth anniversary of our defeat of the rebellion, we celebrate the third quarter quell as a reminder that even the strongest cannot overcome the power of the capitol. on this, the third quarter quell games, the male and female tributes are to be reaped from the existing pool of victors in each district.”

in which y/n, a victor from district three, is reaped for her second games.

tw . . . gore, murder, emetophobia, panic attacks, mental illness, ptsd, alcoholism, substance abuse, prostitution, forced prostitution

tip! search ‘capitol commentary’ for information provided by the capitol

PARTS . . . one, two, three, four, five

MOODBOARDS . . . one, two, three

PLAYLIST . . . glory & gore

all credits go to suzanne collins

[rise-my-angel]

Heart of the Great Wolf

20 - Visions in Eye and Flames

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

Length: 12.4k

Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, discussions of warfare, minor blood and violence, talk of executions, mentions of child death, mild gore, suicidal ideation, references to rape

Notes: We got a few big boy chapters coming up, so I'm posting this one early. Previous Chapter Here, Series Masterlist Here.

Renly Baratheon spent so much of his days taking little of anything seriously. Only a child when he was given Storm’s End meaning much of the ruling had to be taught to him, if at all. Then being brought to King’s Landing when he became old enough did once more he get granted a position on the small council without ever truly doing the work to earn it. Most days he spent it laughing and gambling with Littlefinger and the more that piled onto Stannis’s desk the more tiresome he found his brother. 

It was why he begun sending his eldest daughter away in the first place. Renly was spoiled and had no idea what true hard work it took to run Robert’s Kingdom for him and he had no intention of letting you become the same. The North was a surprising choice as it also was easy. Many of the Seven Kingdom’s were no different then the backstabbing of King’s Landing, and he found no ally he trusted in Dorne nor did he appreciate their much more free leisurely way of life. 

No one would call Stannis a friend of Eddard Stark, but then most would not call Stannis a friend to any person. A bitter taste in his mouth after spending a year holding off a siege of Storm’s End, starving as slowly they made their way through the horses, then the dogs, the cats, the rats and finally just as there left was only option left to them, just as he was sure his wife as dying, did a boat appear carrying enough food that they could hold off for just a bit longer. Long enough to have it end. And it was Ned Stark who arrived, ending the siege and it was Ned Stark which was given the credit for the work. 

He was the man Robert wished was his true brother, the one that was looked at and trusted in ways that he would never be. And as much as there was a stubborn resentment, he was smart enough to know that there was no glory or gain from the actions Ned Stark took. He was not a man who let his successes influence who he was and it was his best option. 

Dragonstone was dark, and grim and you for a long time there were very alone with little in the way of friends. He could send you there for a time, and know you would learn as much from the man as you did gain from being around the Stark’s children. He had two sons around your age and it would do you some good to be around them. 

Selyse had an issue with it. She had just lost her second boy before birth, and she considered the Northerners to be unruly and unbefitting of her daughter. Saying keeping her around boys as she grew up at that time would only serve a distraction. Putting suggestions of houses at least with a girl your age to be sent to, but Stannis trusted none of them to teach you. You learned a great deal from him, even in the months before the Jon Arryn’s death you would still travel to spend your time in Winterfell at Ned Stark’s side. Taking it as seriously as you did your first months ever there. 

She wasn’t wrong about his boys however. You made friends with his sons faster then you did anyone on Dragonstone and the more you would write home or visit, the more you talked about them and not what you were learning. Each time you would come home a little more light in your eyes, a little more wild then before but that also was why he finally took you with him to King’s Landing. Selyse had Shireen to dote on by then, and he wanted to crush out whatever carefree nonsense the two Stark Boys were influencing you with. And he had watched as that wild streak tamed over time finally as you took far more after him then you did Renly, or the Northerners you stayed with. Or so he once thought.

Until sailing to Eastwatch by the sea, Stannis had never set foot in the North. He had no reason to, most didn’t. It was large, and cold, and the Northerners too difficult to control but somehow they had seen you as one of their own. He had hoped that meant finding allegiance in them would be easier then he thought, but they were a stubborn people. 

As the snow mounted around his army, he had both demanded they stay quiet and out of word and sight to the rest of the Kingdom, as well as to find reassurance in their god which wasn’t burned in a fire. Early on his men asking for burnings as sacrifices for better luck and weather, but Stannis only told them “I will have no burnings. Pray harder.” 

He had left the red woman behind on purpose, her fire god asking too much of him and the more he spent listening to her the less chance he had to gain the people’s support. He had lost it in the wildlings, and if he continued as such he would lose any new chance of an ally. Regret was not often a word in his vocabulary, but the longer the war went on, the more he looked back with disdain on the inhumane actions he had chosen so brazenly. He would remember that look of hate in your eyes that day in the field. 

As much as he went on about how you were a traitor, realizing that you had died hating him, was the worst punishment Stannis could receive for his sins. A punishment for those sins that had yet to cease.

The Bolton’s were smart, keeping their presence around the North minimum but Stannis’s silence meant that they now had no idea if he was out there to attack. His biggest issue now, lay in the scattered remains of the Ironborn. With no unity to fight them out with, each House seemed doomed to fight them off on their own as their new wardens prepared for Stannis alone.

But the North it seemed, did not break from what his daughter had told him. What Robb Stark had told him. They wouldn’t have him as their King, and as his army encroached onto Deepwood Motte it was an itching question of who exactly would they even listen to at this point. 

Robert many times went on often and loudly how difficult it was to control them, and truly Stannis was starting to understand that fact. 

It was a tricky spot to approach in, not quite close enough to the waters to push them back into and corner them. It was going to have to be a risk of cutting himself a path and holding the line rather then trap them between two spots with nowhere to run. Then again, many of his moves now seemed to be gambles of varying pay off. His one with Jon Snow certainly didn’t.

A man as stubborn as his father but it was not his place to argue. He made his choice and Stannis had to plan regardless of the difficulty without him. He had seen great potential, but there was much holding him back that day and he could only guess as to what upbringing led a son of Ned Stark to be alone in the Night’s Watch. 

He had hoped to feed into the injustice of what the Bolton’s had done to his family and his home, remind him that the man who held Winterfell was the same man who murdered Jon’s own brother but still he said no. Offered to make him a true Stark and become Lord of Winterfell himself and still he said no. What would get him to say yes, what was left in this world for Stannis to offer him that would finally pull Jon Snow out of the frozen waste of Castle Black and into the fight. 

But if only for that particular day, he had to shelve that thought for later. Or at least he thought he did. 

The men for House Glover had no fight, pushed back into their own home and not enough of an advantage to overpower the Ironborn infesting it. Coming up from the southeast, he was strategizing for just that fight. And as that fight proceeded, he knew he needed to push them back enough to give the Glover’s a chance to break into it on their own as well. 

Only, it was not the allies of the North which came from the northwest. There in fact for the most part, were none in the hands of the men who came. Not Ironborn either. 

Stannis had the line blocked so they could not pass through them but it was the men which came from above that circled around the rest and cut off any escape. Blocking the Ironborn in as their fight grew fruitless. Their fighting was a mix, some with a tactical approach others with a brutal bloodshed that charged with little fear. 

Only in the midst did he realize he in fact, recognized there was at least one image he knew. Pressed into the shields and armour of the men was that of a bear. But it was the ones they fought with that was confusing. The very wildlings who had so adamantly denied his cause.

But as the fighting stopped finally, it was an image he almost thought he hallucinated the first few seconds he realized what he was looking at. But standing in front of him and not frozen away still.

So this was that feeling. It had been a long time since it passed through you, but you recalled the shaking in your bloodstream vividly then as well. This time you knew what to expect, but did you really?

The worst of the battles were eluding you by the end of the war. Lannisters on the run, and hiding away so much there was no fight to be found for some months. But now, after everything that has been between the last fight you remembered and now, you could very well be right before that first one in Whispering Wood. Uncertain for the safety of those you care about going into this, but far less of that was wondering of yourself. 

This time as you sat in the Mormont’s armoury all on your own, slowly lacing up your boots in the quiet you contemplated something you had told Robb. Back in Winterfell when men once more were gathering around to prepare for war, “I know how to swing a sword, but maybe that doesn’t mean I have the right to be out there with you and these men.” 

Robb had assured you on it then, but his words no longer reached your darker mind now. Maybe you were really just trying to play in something you couldn’t handle anymore, but who would you be if only now did you just hide away from it?

Only as a pair of gloves lightly smacked into your chest, your eyes instantly peeled up in a glare to the somewhat amused Theon. “I’d ask if you were alright, but I know you’d just lie.” Leaning back against the wall closest to you, he watched as you tugged them on irritated. “Don’t think I’ve seen you this wound up since-”

“I know.” Cutting him off you looked back down. Letting your foot step from the stone bench back onto the ground, you swung yourself to sit forward. “I can’t tell if knowing what the fight we are walking into will look like makes me feel more assured or less.” Pausing you looked up to him, his own eyes wandering off as he was lost in thought. “What about you? Ironborn are your own people, are you sure you’re up to being on the other side of them?” 

He didn’t respond right away, but you felt the conflict. “Don’t know. Guess I’ll only find out when I’m actually out there again. Were you prepared to fight on the other side of your father?”

Your eyes snapped up, stuck to a meaningless spot on the floor before you shrugged and continued fiddling with the leather. “Always figured it was an inevitability. He thought I was a traitor, there isn’t much space for love in there to hesitate towards.” 

“Thought I was the traitor.” 

He said it so casually that when you looked up with a confused look, you could see the humour hiding his deep struggle of it. The sides of your mouth quirked up a bit to alleviate the weight on his shoulders. “At this point I’m not sure there’s even one of us who isn’t seen as a traitor to someone somewhere along the lines. Just something they will have to move past.” 

“Oh, just like how you’re so good at moving on from things.” You glared up at him, but he just crossed his arms looking at you with a more narrowed, almost analyzing gaze. “Ever since the day you rode into Winterfell with the royal family you’ve taken every single problem and just put it on yourself with blame and never let anyone take any of it off. You just keep holding onto everything like you’re afraid to it’ll all crumble the second anyone helps.” 

You didn’t respond, and you knew it was hypocritical of you to even do this. You had told Robb so assuredly, that he shouldn’t be carrying the burdens of leadership and war all on his own but yet you found no reasonable solution to such things other then to take it all on you. “Don’t know any other way, I suppose.” 

“Could try not being so miserable all the time.” A small smirk shared between you at the insult but you found not the strength to really bite back on it. “I’m not trying to tell you what to do, but you’re likely not going to feel any better by assuming everyone wants to blame you. They’ll have enough to blame me for, so try letting me share some now.” 

You bit your tongue in thought, trying to contemplate how these people even still saw any good in you when a pair of entering footsteps caught your attention. Looking up to the main door though, was not in a manner as subtle as you were perhaps hoping. He was having one side of thoughts, you were having the other and quickly the third part in Theon found no desire to be in between. Grabbing both sets of bows before leaving the room. 

Jon was better a this then you were, acting so natural as if there was nothing to think back so distractedly. Given better attire and armour by the Mormont’s set something off in your blood when it was not the time nor the place. Dressed not like others of the Night’s Watch any longer, his new colours draped in a dark, blueish green and browns in leather armour that all made him look like a proper warrior, a leader. Strapped around him still was Longclaw that stood out far more against this look then blending with the black before it. 

Only sight was your eyes narrowing a little as you glanced to him, looking discreetly from his sword to his hair now pulled all the way back most wouldn’t think anything of it, but Jon knew better. Especially now. “Something on your mind?” 

Quickly finding his eyes again before you closed yourself back up, fussing with the tightness of your boots laces only to find a distraction. “No.” You paused before trying to slip out in a flat tone, “I’ve never seen you dressed for a fight like this, is all. Caught me off guard.” 

Unlike Theon, there was little wait in Jon approaching you, taking a seat beside you despite how you tried to not look at him. “I haven’t seen you like this either, remember?” You shrugged, to many nerves about too much at one running inside your mind. Jon called your name, turning your head slightly to his direction but it wasn’t enough for him. Saying it much more stern in a deeper tone, causing you to finally look up at him. 

He looked incredibly handsome like this and you hated that you were even thinking about that right now. 

“I want you away from the main fight as long as you can.” Once perhaps he would’ve thought you’d argue back but you just sat in quiet, eyes looking at him but still far away as he continued. “You haven’t been in a real battle in well over a year, and you’re not even fully healed yet. I can’t have you getting hurt out there.” 

Biting your tongue, your nodded as a weight settled in your chest. Leaning your forearms over on your knees as you clasped your hands you quietly muttered, “No, I get it. Stay on the sides, out of the way.” 

Jon was quick to jump on that, tone a little more tinged in a frustration. “That’s not what I’m saying, and you know that.” You sighed deeply, he was right but you didn’t really know what else to feel sometimes outside of whatever this hopelessness was. “If I let you out there, trying to risk your life just because you think you’re expected to, could you really tell me that you care enough about yourself anymore to not get hurt?” 

Once more, you said nothing and he was right. Shaking your head slightly you sighed, “Sometimes I hate that you still know me so well. Especially now that you’re much bossier.” Leaning away from him, you missed the fond smirk slipping onto his face briefly. 

“You stay closer to the sides with Theon, you were always a better shot with an arrow then you were with a sword.” If the nerves in you weren’t screeching you may have nudged him for that, and Jon picked up instantly how difficult it was to find that playfulness the closer to a fight it was. Leaning forward he matched your position but never tried invading your space. “You’re allowed to let other people do some of the hard work, you know.” 

“You are King. And that means realizing you don’t always have to do everything yourself.” 

Since when were you such a hypocrite? Were you always this was, and no one had made notice of it to you? Nodding weakly, you could feel his eyes on you, you only seeing part of him in your side vision without turning proper. “As long as you do the same. Make me do some of the hard work for you, I mean.” 

By not looking at him, you did however miss the dark greed in his eyes flashing by quick, as he also swallowed, forcing something very not appropriate for this setting back down his throat. Trying desperately to focus on anything but how breathless you sounded with his name moaning from your lips the other night, and how much of a siren’s song the taste between your legs called to him as. “Think we could figure something out.” For a moment you both sat in the quiet together before he asked, “Are you ready?” 

He knew you had too much anxiety to speak much, taking your nod as his answer. Standing up, Jon held a hand out to you to pull you to your feet. Looking at you closely for a second, giving a slip of softness in the heavy looming air. His hand letting yours go as it reached up, running gently down your cheek and cupping your jaw with a thumb running along the skin it just passed over. 

In an easier time, Jon wouldn’t have hesitated to lean down and kiss you. But he told himself, ease you into things. The closer this fight got to Ramsay, the more he knew you would lose the capability to relax even when alone. Instead he pulled back, gently pushing you towards the door with a rasping, “Come on, they’re all waiting on us.” 

It was Galbert Glover which was the one who displayed which side confused Stannis. In the final calm of everything, finding an easier victory then presumed as the Ironborn were not prepared for the wildness of the free folk being led with genuine strategy. “Never thought I’d live to see the day I was grateful to see the wildlings coming through those woods.” 

Recognizing a once fellow soldier in Maege Mormont, the pair of them clasped arms in a firm shake, a gratefulness on both of them seeing the other still alive. “Can’t say I did either, but they get the job done don’t they.” She easily recalled the last time she had seen Stannis Baratheon, and the many since rumours she’d heard didn’t make the formal greeting any more welcoming. She let her little spitfire Lyanna send that raven for a reason afterall. Give him a taste of how the North felt about his claim.

Turning to look at him, as the free folk surrounded the Baratheon men unsure as to what fight they may be looking at next. Tormund staring down the man, no faith in what he would presume they were here for and he received it. “Your people deny my cause, and yet you show up in battle regardless.” 

Tormund’s unimpressed voice rumbled out loud for all to hear, “We didn’t come here for you.” 

Stannis asked for who, and like a parting sea in the crowd of free folk they all turned to make way a path for the one who did lead them. His own armour doused in as much blood as his sword dripped but certainly it was indeed Jon Snow. The men around him holding a confidence in how they looked to him come into the clearing. 

Meeting each other half way, and certainly not looking for any kind of fight further, both men reached out to shake the others hand firmly. Stannis speaking up first as they let go, “I take it this means you’ve reconsidered my offer.” 

But Jon was confident, a furrowed look in his brow as though it spoke of something he knew that the King before him did not. He knew two things, and both were as much as a hit to the gut as the other as far as he was concerned. “No. I haven’t, your grace. I’m not here to fight for you, I’m here to fight for them.” Looking to where both of those in House Mormont and House Glover stood before turning back. “I mean no offence to your help, but the North isn’t your home to defend. It’s mine, and theirs.”

Gesturing to those who stood behind him before finding all certainty full in his tone. “I’m not here to kneel, or to ask anyone else to. One of your men, Ser Davos, told me that as long as the Bolton’s hold the North it will suffer, and that just maybe I’m no use to anyone if I hide at Castle Black while my home gets torn apart. But I’m here for my people, to fight with them, and beside you if you will. Not to submit them to your cause.” 

If Jon had to wager a guess, he would assume that the King was currently trying to decide if he admired him for his brazenness or hang him for his insolence. That narrowed, sharp expression in his eyes on top of a cold face gave little away and his tone gave even less. Even as it could sound. “You got them to follow you.” 

Years ago, such a statement would have had Tormund stepping up in an angry defence, but things were different now. And Jon appreciated the trust in him to speak for them with honesty. “The free folk didn’t follow me beacuse they had to, they did it beacuse I asked them for help. Not to bend to me, but to fight beside me. After what we’ve seen, they understand we can’t let whose King of who get in the way anymore.” 

Galbert Glover approached the pair, “If there’s a wildling army on my land, then that means you must be Jon Snow.” 

Willing him not to say anything in front of all these people the two shook hands. “I am, my lord. It isn’t easy, asking to put years of fighting with wildlings aside but I’m grateful you agreed to hear us out.” A flicker of eyes between, Jon could recognize was the realization Stannis was having of missing key information. Jon stepping towards Lord Glover in a lower tone, “There are matters would be best discussed in private, my lord. If you still are willing to-”

Getting used to being treated with the kind of respect he could see these same men giving Robb, was strange but there was not a single ounce of ire in the interruption. “My home has been ravaged by the Ironborn for over two years, and that’s all ended now thanks to both of you. I am more then willing to hear your proposal.” For a second, Jon had glanced in the distance and if he was seeing Ghost he knew who was not far behind, and doing it in front of all these people was a big mistake. 

The lord and the Southern King greeted each other at least showing the same degree of respect to his own fight for Deepwood Motte. If there weren’t so many people around, Jon may have tried it. But eyes were lingering too much in the crowd of a once battlefield and there was enough to discuss then to add that. He could only hope he was conveying enough to Ghost from their eyes meeting far off, that he understood to keep back. Ghost backing up a bit before turning around and taking off. 

He wasn’t going to parade you around your father and his men like a spectacle to gawk at. 

It wasn’t supposed to take this long to join, but truth be told there weren’t only hangups for you that were keeping it back. Beckoning the men with you to go on ahead you looked back up from your arm to them with a narrowed glare, “Keep this scrape out of your mouths, would you? No need to go blathering everytime I get a cut.” 

You’d spent more time around these men then Theon did. Spent more years in a war with soldiers of the Mormonts on your side and it seemed the striking attitude was taken with a grin and a mumbled agreement as they left. Theon knelt at your side pulling the bloody leather on your upper arm apart enough to glance at it. “You think he’s not going to notice the second he sees you?” 

Rolling your eyes you huffed, “I would just rather not be fussed over right now, I’d rather be anywhere then here right now.” You had been the one to spot out your fathers men right away and you were thankful if you had any skill with you still, at least you could hold your own with a bow. An excuse to stay as far away as possible. “What about you?”

Raising an eyebrow with a glint of mocking, “You asking if I want to be fussed over? Because if it’s by Snow, then no thank you I’ll pass.” You rolled your eyes again, finding no amusement in it but as Theon cleared his throat and tore the leather open a bit more to see how deep it was, you knew the facade wasn’t as strong as he pretended. “I don’t know, I can’t say I feel bad, didn’t know these men and they didn’t want to know me. The more we get on our side the more they’re going to start thinking that way about me. Hope you’re still coherent enough to defend me then.” 

His voice hissing a bit as he seemed to finally have noticed it was deeper then you had admitted the slice to the arm was. You were taken by suprise by an Ironborn in the ends of the fighting, running behind you enough to slice at your arm before you could defend yourself. Theon sending an arrow through his throat moments after. 

One fight back and you already were worse then the first one you ever battled in. A dreading promise of your future uselessness. Glancing up with a guarded, but almost regretful expression sinking into your eyes at Theon, he tried not to look as he carefully wrapped a bandage inside the tear of your armour and around the cut for now. “I will be, if my father doesn’t hang me for being a traitor that is.” 

If you were joking, neither you nor Theon expanded upon that sentiment. “You’ve done nothing wrong.” 

Satisfied with the wrappings for now, he pulled you up to your feet as you just looked at the other for a moment. You were both stalling, and you both knew it but finally you walked closer to the edge of the snowy cliff to snatch your bow. “I’ve done plenty wrong.” 

The bodies around couldn’t help but make you wonder, if the Ironborn were still this prevalent in areas of the North and from what you had gathered there was little help from the Bolton’s, you wondered just what their numbers looked like. The houses on their side, and their now more untouched army having cleared their way to Winterfell would give them a mighty advantage should they have that amount against yours. 

As you got closer, the more your nerves flared up. Seeing a clearing further from the Glover’s Keep, you found the stares from both sides to be unnerving. One side looked to you with knowledge of the dead and the other likely just saw you as a traitor to be taken care of. Stares of men you hardly knew anymore, and then stares of men you barley knew to start with but it seemed conversations had moved on without you. 

For once, you were thankful not to be in on it. Your arm already was sore from your own incompetence, you nodded to Theon who parted ways, already reading what you intended to ask of him. The only other one around with any casual intention finding his way to you in the quiet mess. “One of these days I’m going to have to see what a pretty crow like you, looks like swinging that sword.” 

Glancing up from your partially knelt over position, you raised an eyebrow at Tormund with a small huffing breathe of amusement before directing your attention back the count still holding on a number in your head. “Might want to start one now then. Once my father realizes I’m alive I’m fairly certain the upstanding holder of duty and justice will serve my treason a swift sentence.” 

Coming around to see your face more clearly, it was twisted in a terse frustration that narrowed your brows into a scowl as you continued on. “You think any of us will let that happen?”

You shrugged, voice tight and restrained. “It isn’t up to you. It’s up to the King.” 

Kneeling down, the wilder man took no issue with snatching the wiring you were coiling and tossing it out of sight. Leaning to follow your turn to watch it go before you relented. Once more making eye contact with him, eyebrow raised in waiting. His own features narrowed slightly, “How are you more stubborn then your crow, in there?” Head nodding to the Glover’s reclaimed Keep. 

Expression did not move not twitch, flat tongued tone spilling out. “Spend a few years being raised by my father and see for yourself.” Tilting bit as your shoulders dropped, voice a bit more quiet. Not quite relaxed, but a relenting ease. “I spent three years at war thinking eventually, I would find myself fighting against him too. Called me a traitor and my husband a thief and a usurper, and the only reason he’d feel any guilt about it is beacuse he spent a year thinking I was dead. You’re likely not aware of this, but guilt is not exactly a strong motivator for a man like Stannis Baratheon.” 

“So why’s it so damned strong in you?” As you braced your hands on your thighs to push yourself up, Tormund did so with no effort and dragged you up in the process like you weighed nothing. Your hands braced on your hips, knees slightly bent favouring one side he noticed, you were looking out to the snow melting landscape he got the sense you were simply trying to accept the worse case scenario. “As if you’re crow’s going to let anything happen to you. Can barley take his eyes off you for more then five seconds when he’s near you, you’re not going anywhere.” 

As Theon reemerged, you nodded to your current companion lungs constricting with each step. You tilted your head slightly in question, and he did for what it was worth, look somewhat apologetic. Head dropping fully to one side as your face fell and eyes narrowed, he gave you an incredulous look in return. “You think your father’s going to hang you, well Jon would hang me if I sent you to him and didn’t mention you were hurt.” 

“I’m not hurt, it’s barley-” 

Theon didn’t give you the chance, walking passed you with a shove to your upper back. “It’s only going to be worse if you make him come find you himself.” Yelling fading as he got further away. 

The walk to the keep was short, but felt an eternity passing each step forward. A childish wish weeks ago that maybe the gods would bring just your father to you when it was all you loved that you thought you lost. Now, you couldn’t possibly conceive of a less appealing idea then having to face what you did, and what she did. 

And how if he didn’t hate you when you died, he would knowing you were what he has left and the pathetic failure to live up to what he had tried to teach you to be for your entire life. What leader were you by now that could live up in Stannis Baratheon’s eyes? Especially one with eyes as cold and dispondant as you were coming up the steps, guards at the main doors opened for you with mutterings of a title you wish wasn’t you anymore. 

Even worse, as soon as you stepped inside, Jon all but accosted you too suddenly for your dreary haze of a mind. One hand on your cheek, inspecting anything major on your face as the other gentle just below the bandage clearly bleeding through. “What the hell happened?”

Shaking your head the nerves just raced inside it bouncing like coins. “Jon, I’m fine-”

“You’re not fine.” The hand on your cheek joining the other to pull your arm towards him, turning it as you looked at the slight blood and grime over him. “You should let me close this before it gets any worse.” 

Trying to pull away, it didn’t even phase the far stronger man as he just pulled you back with a hand at your waist. The other peeling back the bandage enough to gauge how deep it was. “One cut, it’s one cut, Jon.” 

As if something suddenly swam into the fore most of his mind, his fingers gently ran through the loose strands of hair at the side of your face before cupping it tenderly. His own eyes dark, tied between angry and upset that made your heart ache even more when his face twisted to the same expression match as he spoke. As if out of breathe, and full of a worry and irritation. “How the hell did Robb do this?” 

Your face fell a bit, but he moved the other from your arm to the other side of your cheek, not pulling you any closer but keeping you right where he could see your eyes. “Do what?” 

Both knowing it wasn’t anger at him, not at Robb. An anger however, at something far more complex in detail only made worse likely by both of you in visions of blood and death to the other. “Stand fighting knowing you were out there too. I hate it, hated every second not knowing where the hell you were or if you were alright. How did he just let you into the thick of all that and not lose his mind?” 

In truth, you both were just more confident then. Fought and loved together it was easy to feel on equal grounds together with Robb. But who you had become? Now you were painfully aware that Jon was so much more then you were. Even when being generous towards your own worth. Wanting to reach out to him, but you hesitated like many times before, fingers stretched but flexed back into themselves rather then find somewhere on him to rest them. “Jon, it’s just a scratch. I barley did anything out there, regardless.” 

The blackness faded away some as he calmed. The grey now looking over your face like it had been ages since he’d been allowed to see it. “You shouldn’t have to be out there at all.” For a split second, magnets coming together like a fate meant to be as Jon’s eyes slipped down to your lips and back up. And as quick as the force pulled him barley an inch closer did doors opening in the distance once more pull you apart entirely. 

For the best you thought. You hadn’t felt his lips against yours since that first night and whatever restraint still existed in you was quickly dying each time you felt them anywhere on you at all. 

Head tilting down for a moment when no one passed by or turned corner to interrupt, you broached with caution. “Does he know, or are we leaving that up to me?” 

Sighing, Jon’s brows narrowed a tinge as he glanced between you and the path to your father. “Lord Glover has agreed to pledge his own men to us, saying that if Robb refused to bend to Stannis, then he wouldn’t either. But I think he’s starting to put it together.”

Feeling the breeze around you, sat atop your horse your memory could see the simple disdain for your choices in his eyes. That your duty was beside him as his daughter, but even still you found no favourable manner of crossing to his instead of the people who looked to you as their own. “Either way.” You dropped your arms from their crossed position of your chest to your side as your face stilled. “Suppose it’s time for me to find out what it is he still does with traitors.” 

Jon tried taking a step back towards you, but how closed off you were becoming to him to stop in his track. Looking you over, eyes glazing across your arm. “You really should let me take care of that before you see him.” 

The shrug on your shoulders didn’t sit well with him. Wishing you would find something within yourself to push for and still coming up short. “If he’s going to burn me, a little blood won’t matter much then will it?” Jon tried calling your name in a quiet warning, but you turned to walk towards the doors. Not needing the sight to know that Jon was following you. 

The doors to the main hall opened, and inside was both Lord Glover, and Stannis Baratheon. One looked at you with the same shock most others did while the other was more challenging to ascertain the meaning. Yours was the same for him, however. 

Eyes watching you carefully with heavy air and the scent of blood still fresh around you even so far removed from it’s vicinity. Your life and his both caked in layers of death yet never once stood on the same ground as anything but enemies. Not once in the emotion of care did footsteps carry you to the table they both found themselves around while your own heart was steady enough to keep yourself willed together. 

Not as unseemly as the last, more full of colour and life as if the thing which took toll had long healed with eyes dull in colour giving away nothing. Or much and you simply did not know him well enough to detect anymore. The only man you were sure you could read was your father but as foreign to you as was as detached to the memories with you. 

Those early days on Dragonstone as he continuously hit you with a practice sword, little instruction each time but a few words that you connected in a string of lessons. The quicker you became under his instruction, the more he would smile when you came close to striking him. No such fondness in the echoing quiet of the room. 

Jon had approached to your side, “Lord Glover, I don’t want to impose in your own home but perhaps some privacy would be helpful.” You didn’t look anywhere but him, a coldness sitting so heavily within the colours of your eyes that where else was left for you to go but freeze over entirely. 

Standing, he took no offence to you not making any motion towards him. Lord Glover clearly was used to you by now, even if it seemed like such a stand off behaviour for a not so keen eye. “Of course. The room is yours as long as you need it, your grace.” 

Eyes of a father flickering to beside you, and the pieces fit closer to making the right image when he was not sure who it was the title was directed towards. But knowing the Glover was not looking or speaking to him. You cared not with him, it was a truth he had failed to face before and you would not stand for it again. 

Two Baratheon’s staring with the same analyzing judgment before your tone came out, flat and even with not a hint of anything to detect behind it. “Heard you were dead.” 

Stannis’s eyebrows quirked up only a single breathe as his voice was yours as yours was his. Clearly he raised to be like him too much. “The North is large, word of my whereabouts travel slow. Yours however, didn’t travel at all.” You spoke nothing and forced him to keep the conversation float enough to keep from sinking. “Rumours are rarely true, what am I to make of the one I know the Northerners are whispering about you.”

Match met in eyes, you saw them flicker down to where it could not be seen. “Just because I stand before you now doesn’t make them lies.” Images almost came upon his eyes as your father seemed to find little doubt in whatever it was was spoken of you. 

Coming up to the thin table, you stood at the other side facing him directly. Your palms flattening across the smooth surface slightly wishing that this could just be done and over with. Your father was quiet, only not one that was comforting or easy. Faint sounds muffled and echoing both within the halls and outside them as you watched. 

Your father spoke with more genuinity in his tone then you’d heard in years but you soon wished he didn’t bother. “I’m sorry about your son.” Instantly yours flickered away, to the side downcast as a heavy weight stole the breathe from your lungs and left only a burning that travelled down to the scar under your clothes. “I wish I could have told you sooner. Your mother and I know better then most, you didn’t deserve that.” 

The force of your heart pounding made you want to throw up, the only hope that had been found in a long time for you both but a shattered memory that bled out just as fast. You didn’t look where you knew Jon was outside, close enough to hear. You didn’t even know if he knew. You didn’t want to know if he knew. You wanted no one to speak of it ever again and your father took your silence as that deceleration. 

“You betrayed me. Siding with a crown that fought against my own.” 

Peeling your eyes up to him finally, you leaned further into the table only to look away to nothing of important on the table once more. “What did you have in mind? Dragging me in front of your men up to your gods flames? Or have you found even a shred of mercy to have it be quicker then that?” 

You saw not the blinding light of rage in the grey eyes somewhere behind. He and the King had come to an agreement already, but your acceptance of death made him uncomfortable and angry. 

Stannis stood a little more with ease. “I’m not punishing you for those crimes. Or any of your crimes.” 

Sharp eyes flickered up to him, a confused tint of rage that almost hissed along with your breathless tone. “Why?” He had no care for mercy when he was ready to stand against you and Robb. “You’ve never taken kindly to traitors, why change that now?” 

Brows furrowing as he gave you a forming look of incredulity. “You’re my daughter.” 

A hiss still seeping out only one thing came to your mind. “And Renly was your brother.” You could still recall the last day in front of him, begging with naivety for him not to declare King for himself. Not to do something so rash and stupid, and only having him throw back in your face that if you didn’t want the family torn apart you should’ve sided with them. 

If it was guilt you caught, he smothered it just as fast as he grumbled out, “He denied my right as King, stole my bannermen, conspired to keep me off the throne. Tell me what is the penalty for treason under the law? What justice is there in letting him steal what was rightfully mine?”

You had tried for long not to believe such a thing but he didn’t make it easy. “Robb did too.” Trying to claim that was different, you cut him off with no care for how that looked. “It wasn’t different when you threatened to destroy us. Your grief over my death is not a forgivence for three years thinking you’d come for us one day.” 

An aggravation slipped into his voice, bracing his hands on the chair in front of him similar to your own stance. “What is it you want me to do then, I can’t change the past or any mistakes I may have made. I don’t do this, any of this, to be cruel in intention. If the law is cruel, if our own duty is cruel, who are we to go against that?”

“I know half of what you’ve done was for what you think was right, but I also know the other half was only done because she demanded it so.” A sting in your eyes was at the sights and words haunting you from what whispered reached. “You aren’t a man who slaughters innocents, or burns people alive to appease some god a that woman whispered in your ear of. You were never that man until her.”

His eyes narrowed towards you, “She does what needs to be done, does what others aren’t willing to admit. I never asked for this, no more than I asked to be King. We do not chose our destiny-” 

A flash of rage swam through your veins, palms slamming down onto the table with a bang with a biting anger so close to sorrow fighting for control in your throat. “Don’t speak to me about destiny. You had the gall to let that woman tell me of a future I’ll never have and stand in front of me now that I’ve lost all of it? You stand here and tell me this was all meant to happen this way, that everyone we’ve all lost was worth it just to get here?”

Not with rage which matched yours but as he stood there with a radiating feeling around him that was as tense while it was intertwining with yours. “We’re at war, we lose the people we love. That’s the sacrifice we have to make.” You shook, trying not to let it break but the water was spilling over and the glass begging to crack open. “Even when it’s our own. We don’t have to like it, but we have to accept it.” 

A whisper all you could muster in case the sounds otherwise to high and break it. “You truly believe that? That we have to sacrifice the people we love, our families just to fight for some future of a god so few of you even have faith in? That even losing your children is worth what she speaks of?” 

Your father thinking it was your own being referred to. Tone softening a bit as he found your glaring eyes. “Your son is gone, you can’t change that. I thought I lost you, but something brought you back for a reason and you need to accept that regardless if you don’t like it.” 

It was a mistake letting it come out of your mouth, because as soon as it was spoken into the air there was no avoiding it. “And if it was Shireen?” 

Stannis knew in an instant something was wrong, something as a horror painted over your eyes and your skin paled had him suddenly standing at a cliff’s edge of a nightmare. “If Shireen what?” You couldn’t breathe, or move. Stuck in that position as the world stopped spinning and all you could feel under your palms was the horribly smooth glide of a blade before a blazing fire in the snow had followed. 

He called your name, but you didn’t look at him. Wanting only to flee or cry, likely both as the thoughts and feelings still fresh in your hands was as if you were there once more. Only it was worse, because you knew she never could be again. The fires in your mind was bright but you saw nothing of a god in them, only loss that was your fault. 

Turning round the corridor, you tried to shake away your father’s new duty for you. Only repeating in your head as there was no escaping this fate, he’d drag you into this duty if he had to but your father knew better then to think you’d truly make any fuss. 

The grim walls surrounding you were darker and more closing in then the previous, and the air was thick and heavy where there were there not windows flowing the wind through. But as you neared the room you were headed towards, you felt both a breeze and the sound that followed. 

Voice a little more solid then last, two years making quite the difference you imagined as the gentle singing reached your ears. No doubt sitting by the window so the singing could be heard by whatever birds passed by it. Leaning against the open door, she continued to sing running her hands along a doll you recall having gotten for her. 

It had been a while since you had visited her, her nameday rapidly approaching and yet you had not seen her since a little over two years. Dragonstone was easier to visit then the North and you had been on ships heading there countless times. You had only just reached your teens the last time, old enough to be trusted on your own for such journeys across the bay and still young enough that your duties were not quite your fathers yet. 

That would change this time. Two years in Winterfell had done a number on your willingness to return to King’s Landing and this time you insisted on being here first. You needed something to occupy your mind after the final few months there had changed into. 

Finally whispering into the afternoon air in a lull of her song. “Hey silly girl,” 

Turning in an instant, she yelled your name and jumped up. Running for a hug as you met her half way, kneeling down to catch her as she all but lept into the final few feet between you. Both of you laughing with joyful grins as you both kept a tight hold. 

Finally pulling back you held her at her arms, looking her with a mocking squint up and down before running a hand along her hair. “You’re going to be grow to be even prettier then the Queen at this rate.” 

Huffing at you with annoyance, making you laugh even more as you kissed the top of her head. “You’re older then me, that makes you the pretty one.” Face twisting into a playful doubt and shake of your head that had her insist further. “It’s true, you look so pretty coming back from the North.” 

You felt your heart soften a bit. It was why you didn’t like to visit her while departing King’s Landing, needing time to come down from the aggravation such a city caused, but the ease from the North still feeling the remaining trails of something like home. Standing up, you both moved to sit on her bed as she crawled to sit in the middle more. 

Once more you ran a hand over her hair, moving strands to the lay behind her shoulder. “Well, I am just going to have to find a way to convince father to let you come with me one of these days, aren’t I?” 

She nodded before hesitating, a little more dejected then before. “And mother.” Your eyes narrowed a bit in question as the girl looked away, like she was debating a secret to tell. “She says the North isn’t helping, that you are still too wild and that Lord Stark’s sons are a bad influence. Mother would never let me go.” 

She never said it in so many words to you, but had made it clear she thought your attitude as too lively and quick when returning from there. This time was especially bad. Two years had truly made it feel like home and those in it. Chuckling you raised an eyebrow at her, “Being honest with ourselves, Shireen? I think there isn’t much mother does like whenever I come visit.” 

Not even the age you were when first visiting Winterfell, she was too young to understand if you tried to tell her about it the way you wanted, you had no one here nor King’s Landing to discuss it with. Her eyes widened suddenly, “I made you something, come look.” Flipping onto her stomach she hurled half her body over soft surface to a small cupboard to the side of her bed, rifling through things to grab a piece of paper. Pulling it back, you turned to your stomach as she flipped it over. 

Her drawing far better then the last one she included in a raven to you. She was unstoppable about sending things to you now that she knew how to write. A winter scene no doubt she tried to copy from one of her books, and in the middle were two stags, one smaller then the other and beside them was a large wolf bigger then the other two. The stags coloured with browns and yellowish golds and the wolf was a deep black that made it look menacing. You smirked at her, turning your head slightly. “Are you trying to warn me about something?” 

She nudged you with a bashful smile and you nudged her back. “No, I thought about making it look like us but when I grow more I didn’t want to have to redo it, so I made us our house animals.” Pointing to the first taller stag, “That one is you. You’re fully grown already so I had to make me a bit smaller, but that’s okay it can just mean this one’s younger.” The second being smaller clearly her. 

You nodded to the wolf, “So whose that?”

The little grin turned a bit shy, you tilting your head to the side to better look at her as she flickered between you and the drawing before settling on the drawing. A shrug she finally relented. “I can make a new one if it’s wrong but you said he has longer black hair. I didn’t mean to make him so scary looking, it just turned out that way.” 

Were she not so innocent and so young you may have told her how ironic it was she made you this while you were away in Winterfell finding a new dynamic with the wolf in question. “I think he’d find it amusing you made him so scary and menacing.” 

“You have to keep it a secret though, mother says you talk too much about him in your letters. Says you shouldn’t be so distracted with a boy.” The North in general were not suited to your mother, loud and charming in their own unique ways, some bold and brash that would not sit in her stomach well. “So I have to keep it until you leave, so you can take it with you and she’d never see it.”

Hiding back, you both stayed in that position whispering like misbehaving children. “Well, I’m not leaving for King’s Landing until after your name day. So, we have plenty of time to figure out how I am to smuggle it out. What do we think your onion knight would do?”

You didn’t want to think about how long he and your mother were talking with no sign of either of them. What on earth they could be saying to each other now that it was all out, but perhaps it wasn’t your business anymore. He didn’t react as much as you knew it crushed his heart but you had to be the one who did it. It was your hands the blood was spilt and stained too forever, but you couldn’t lie about it. 

Talks back and forth between the Northern Houses now pledged to you, as well as the free folk who followed beside him, went back and forth but as you stood with your back against a stone wall, arms crossed as your eyes just glazed over the images and plans splayed out you knew you were being of no help. 

You hadn’t even been allowed outside further then the overhands and balconies of the second story or the high peaks of the castle walls that were no escape but a painted mess. You were out of your depth, no knowledge anymore of the state of the Bolton’s army or what their strategy may look like. But more then that, all you could think of was that look on your fathers face. 

Wishing it was just a desperate plot from two people who had no concept of what to do without Shireen between them, you knew better. You could see how that look behind his eyes was as in awe as he was cautious of his words. Telling him the truth that if you didn’t send that woman away you wouldn’t have the restraint later to not shove a blade through her. That all you could see was here lies. 

“I can’t tell you what to believe for yourself, but I won’t follow it. How many more have to die before we find any true fate in this destiny she speaks of? How much more of this family do we have to lose. How much more do you and I even have left in us to give?” You still didn’t ask about Renly, maybe you didn’t want too. Didn’t want to hear what he was capable of doing to his own brother, but then, you were the one to wield the dagger yourself for her.

Perhaps you were as guilty as he was. Traitors to more then just each other because it was the only choice you saw, the only duty left in front of you. 

Speaking low, in a rumble as he stepped back towards the other end of the table. “I saw a vision in the flames.” Slowly, your head rose up, peeling from it’s nonsense focus and following the path up to meet his eyes, as if recalling what should not be possible. It had been a very long time since you had recalled such an incident, but not with him. “A great battle in the snow, I saw it.” 

Dreams were one but images in your minds eye were others, nowhere near sleep nor flames but they had been there all the same no matter how much you pushed them away, how much you tried to deny they were there. You could go the rest of your existence avoiding looking at it, but the scar along you felt as real as inhuman it was. Your eyes looked to the other, a strange pulse in your heart as you saw not an enemy. 

Stepping forward, he braced his knuckles onto the surface leaning towards you in mimic, a knowing on his tongue that you know didn’t come from you. “And I know you saw that you raised him from the dead.” That freezing cold from your dreams swept over you but ran straight through your veins and down your spine. Eyes falling from his as you recalled how the marks felt on his cold corpse that very first time in horror. 

Quietly murmuring your name, there was a genuinity in his face that was one you knew carried the truth of his conviction. “I never used to believe, but when you see it, when it’s right there in front of you. As real as these stone walls, how can you deny that you have a true purpose here?”

By the time Jon found you again he had spent much of the time planning that you had lost in your own head. If you listened closely, you could still hear her faint singing as you would always walking the halls of Dragonstone only to have it replaced with the hissing in your ear of words still haunting you the closer you came back to him. 

“If you’re a lucky girl, I’ll find you a pack of real wolves to replace all your dead ones. Strip you right down and throw you in with them. We could all finally see our Queen in the North back where she belongs, just something for the wolves to fuck until I kill all of them too.”

When the true wolf came upon you, you almost jumped out of your skin. Jon moving to reach out and steady you, but you already had moved back a step with a gasping sigh and leaning back against the stone wall. Looking out into the thick of the snowy woods. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

You barley shrugged as he leaned back for himself beside you. Both arms crossed in front of your chests but his didn’t have any shake in it, unlike the one you were trying to hide. “Did we come to an agreement?”

Jon nodded, “We have. Lord Glover seems confident the Manderlys will give us a chance as well as the Hornwood’s.” Only nodding being any indicator you heard him, your eyes were trained on the sun lowering itself to hide behind the trees. “It was strange they said. Having me be the one in charge and you not there at all.” 

You shrugged again. Something in you was mentally drained and you just did not have the energy to talk about leadership in that moment. “And my father?” 

From the side you could tell Jon had turned in place to look at you, still leaning as you were but his sights now only on you ignoring him in favour of the setting sun. Voice rasping out your name gently wanting you to just turn and look at him. But you couldn’t. You didn’t want to see the colour in anyone’s eyes right now save they fade away. 

“Come on, I’m patching you up. Now.” Not bothering to wait, Jon encouraged you forward with him and you just didn’t bother arguing. The bandage was soaked through and blood drying thick by that point and you knew it wouldn’t be a pleasant sight. 

Never questioning where he was heading, it was always like that with him. You’d follow him anywhere he’d lead you and even in moments now where it felt like the world was between you you still managed to just trust where he was taking you. The voice in your head though, he you’d fight everytime. Only make it worse as you wondered what else could he have planned and yet it was always worse then the last. 

It wasn’t until Jon already had you sitting down, him sideways next to you, sitting a few things out did you notice he was far more cleaned up then before. You truly hated how easy he made it at any time to admire him. Gesturing towards your outer layer, “I need that off.” 

Looking down you swallowed that feeling before starting to wince as you slowly pulled it off, only to feel flushed in an instant as Jon swiftly reached over to pull it off without any effort, only to feel winded as he also pulled off the softer long sleeve underneath where there was only enough material on left to cover your chest. But he only put them to the side, reaching back to peel off the bandage. 

Trying your best to look forward instead of the soft glint in his eyes towards you, right now it might break you and you just didn’t want to deal with that. Not now, not here. “Is your quiet signifying good news or does it look infected?” 

You missed the small shake of his head, but you heard the deep exhale. “No, it looks like it should be fine if I stitch it up now.” Turning and gathering what he brought over, you felt the burn of the slightest bit of water, gently running across to clean it enough for Jon to see better. Pausing as he glanced up to you, “Ten years ago you would’ve already complained about that.”

Smiling a bit, you raised an eyebrow. “Ten years ago we were still all teenagers chasing each other through the wolfswood.” The smile on your lips small, but enough that it brightened the grey in Jon’s eyes. 

You did hiss slightly as he first pushed the needle through, but didn’t move otherwise. Collecting yourself as he continued on. “If I’m remembering correctly, me and Robb were the ones doing the chasing.” 

Neither of you noticed in that moment, but it was the first time Robb had been brought up between you both that didn’t skip to pain or distant agony. Mentioned in passing with a fond smile on both at the memories alone and none of the blood came forth in that moment. 

“Pretty sure that was the point. See if I could hold out until midnight and not get caught.” 

With each wince or hiss, Jon’s eyes flew up to your face but saw none of the unfamiliar points of agony that used to come with cleaning such injuries. And a little more heavy something weighed in his chest at how you didn’t notice you were so used to it. 

His hands were large and rough, yet such a gentle touch as he continued to stitch the sliced skin together. Much like the tone of his voice sounding as a tender rumble despite the husking deep thickness of his accent shining through. “And how’d that go for you? Not getting caught.” You just rolled your eyes playfully as he looked back between you and his work. “Hard to believe we just came home that night, and no one suspected anything was different.” 

You never forgot it, the way he gained the upper hand and had your back against a tree so you couldn’t run only to press himself against you in a kiss. A kiss that somehow led all the way to right this very moment together. “Hard to believe there used to be a time you didn’t make me nervous.” Your eyes both flickering to the side to peek a glance at the other as you turned them to the floor. “Though I always wondered if you simply got a kick out of making me nervous around you for fun”

“I did.” You’d turn to him were it not to jostle his steady hands still very carefully sewing the wound together. “It was cute, that out of the two of us, it was you who was always nervous. Always a bit shy whenever I’d go to kiss you after. Not that much has changed.” 

You didn’t look past at the memory, trying to look forward. Not wanting to base whatever careful balancing act it was you held with Jon at an impasse, for a night you both had not repeated. The other night, that first on Bear Island came the closest, but he had directly told you he wouldn’t kiss you. So how would he truthfully knew if it still made you nervous or not?

For a while it was just quiet. Just your shaking breaths every now and again before Jon had finally finished clearing up your arm, and wrapping it fresh. You weren’t sure why it slipped out, but there was no stopping once your mouth betrayed your thoughts. “I thought of you sometimes. When Ramsay would...it wasn’t always but sometimes the only way I could cope was to focus on something else..and I often ended up thinking about you.”

Your name came out in a husk, his eyes narrowed as he looked at you. “How often did he hurt you?” 

Trying to recall, the time was varied in your mind. Unsure of how long you were really at the Dreadfort locked way. “He only started when the Lannisters had officially made him a Bolton. Around the time they retook Moat Cailin, so..whenever that was. It started then. Only got worse, made it worse for myself ,honestly. Fighting back as much as I did. Think he actually enjoyed when I put up a fight.” 

That feeling of the cool air on your skin as you rode into Winterfell that paired so ugly with how horrific of a journey it was to get back. It only got worse when you were given an actual room to live in that he could visit whenever he wanted. 

Jon was deathly silent and you dared not look at him. “Sometimes he’d drag Theon in..force him to watch. Would tell me I was lucky he.. otherwise he would’ve forced him to help.” Looking down your nails dug into whatever skin on your fingers it could find but the pain served no distraction from the nightmares. 

“They took everything I still had with Robb and tainted all of it, Ramsay plastering his nightmares all over it like this was all I was ever worth after Robb. As if I was supposed to feel worthless without him, not be able to think of him without thinking of how Ramsay came and ruined all of it..the only thing that they didn’t ruin was you. You were the one thing still intact enough that I could escape to when it got too much.” You inhaled a shaking breathe that followed with tears, no point in pretending they weren’t there, or hide them. Jon always caught onto your state, always knew what you were trying to hide in your feelings. 

Shrugging with a fake lightness in your eyes that played on your lips as if to placate whatever was behind you within him. “Sometimes it feels like I’m now just ruining you in the same way. That all this I dragged into you is going to stand out more then...then..”

“More then what? More then how much you mean to me?” You rolled your eyes, not wanting him to do the same placating but Jon had none of it. Moving to crouch in front of you forcing you to look in his eyes, somehow raging yet flashing of a softness. “You didn’t deserve that, any of that. No one does.” A glint of doubt in your eyes and Jon reached up to cup both your cheeks in his hands. “I know you wish you could just be fine, but you’re not. You’re not fine, darling. And I can’t seem to get through that beautiful head of yours enough to convince you that it’s okay to not be alright.” 

You smiled weakly, and in a risk of your heart, one hand of yours gently reached up. Wrapping around one of his wrists, which only made him hold tighter and lean into you closer. “I was always stubborn, wasn’t I?” 

Thumbs running along your cheeks, you could see he wanted to be angry, wanted to be furious but also found none of that red when you looked into his eyes. Only a love that was as strong as it was the day you two left one another on the Kingsroad with a screaming in your hearts that parting was more then sweet sorrow, but blood and horror. “You’re also clever, quick in a fight, and I know behind all this you’re someone who inspires these people. But, you’ve also been through hell, and it’s just going to wind up killing you if you don’t let someone in, let me in.”

Pushing the ends of the fabric around his wrist you gently ran a thumb over his pulse, eyes almost slipping closed at the reassurance. “I don’t know if I have it in me anymore, Jon. I don’t know if they’ve left any kind of a leader I once was in me. I don’t know where I fit in here anymore, or where I’m supposed to be.” 

Leaning forward, Jon pressed his forehead to yours murmuring your name as one hand readjusted against your cheek and the other gently ran along your hair at the back of your head. “You don’t have to always be the one carrying everything yourself. If you don’t think you can stand on your own, that’s okay but I want you by my side. You have to let me protect you, let me take care of you, if you don’t think you can do it yourself.” 

Heart wanting to melt away in your chest almost crumbling to dust. “Why are you still so sweet to me, after everything I’ve put you through?” 

Hesitating in his own right not to kiss you, he gently ran his nose along the length of yours, nudging you until you leaned more into his touch properly. Letting him cup the back of your head to stay closer then you were before. “We gave each other up once, and we both ended up dead. But you’ve been given a new chance, you gave me a new chance and this time, I need to be the one to protect the woman I love. Because you belong with me, and I’m not giving you up to anyone else ever again.” 

Pulling you to your feet, Jon only let you go long enough to change where his hands sat, pulling you into his chest. Your hands spared no time wrapping up around the back of his neck. Jon’s were split between holding the back of your own head into his neck so he could lean down to nuzzle his own into yours, and the other wrapped tightly around your waist keeping you both close. 

Only the calming of each other’s breathing sounded in the air. Every single thing outside of this small moment could be entirely ruined, a horror waiting for you both as soon as you left this room. But as long as you both stood there in the others arms it felt like maybe you both weren’t so beaten down and broken. 

Jon for his part however, knew a striking hot rage was building and the closer you all got to Winterfell the more he knew it was going to be likely impossible to properly contain it. 

Especially when the next day’s early morning sun rose and arriving with it, a vicious note of terrorizing threat towards Jon for not giving you back. Laying out the vile, bloody thing’s he’d do to you in front of him before killing him just to prove his “bride” didn’t belong to Jon. But it was what came with the letter that was the beginning of an urgent nightmare that no longer could take it’s time getting there.

The bloody, rotting, decapitated head of a black direwolf. 

[truths33k3r4]

PART 20 of the Mutation Situation Comic Dub is UP!!!

All credit for the art and comic goes to the talented @indieyuugure , while I lent my voice to do the dialogue, A Cappella Theme Song, and edited. Epidemic Sound covered the music and sound effects! 😁

I have truly LOVED dubbing over this series so far.. It’s really stretched my vocal chords, as well as made me practice getting out of my comfort zone. ( blood, vomit, gore sound effects hfbwjwkx ) But MAN ALIVE it has been SO MUCH FUN. :) Thank you to everyone who’s been so supportive of my dubs!!

Hope you enjoy!

To God be the glory!

~ Melissa

[jeanbie]

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ★ ATTACK ON TITAN Last Updated: 1st June, 2024

genres: ♥︎ sexual or mature content

⏤⏤ 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 ★

☆ lovely [ jean x reader ] ↳ jean and y/n being a domestic couple

warnings: suggestive content, non-graphic material | status: discontinued/complete

ch1. 7am ch2. den of monsters ch3. pancakes

☆ wordless [ levi x reader ] ♥︎ ↳ sometimes, saying “I love you” is inappropriate, and given your circumstances, you think it might send levi over the edge if he hears them again

genre: sugar-daddy/contract killer au | warnings: mature content, sexual themes, depictions of violence, gore, blood, gang themes, gun violence, knife violence, cheating | status: complete

ch1. 10 ways to say i love you without really saying it ch2. 20 ways to say it... ch3. 30 ways to say it... ch4. 40 ways to say it... ch5. 50 ways to say it (and two ways to make things right)

☆ ways to say i love you [ multiple characters x reader ] ↳ imagine the many ways they say "i love you".

warnings: angst series, character death, violence, heartbreak, suggestive and mature themes (see individual chapters) | status: complete

ch1. erwin ch2. zeke ♥︎ ch3. armin ch4. jean ch5. levi ch6. reiner ch7. porco

☆ qpids [ jean x reader x multiple aot ]♥︎ ↳ jean and his girlfriend make porn for a living, and they love their fans almost as much as they love eachother.

warnings: afab!reader, explicit sexual content, porn couple!au, see multiple fic warnings | status: ongoing (2/?)

ch1. lessons in love ⏤ jean x reader x eren ch2. lana ⏤ jean x reader x armin ch3. 777 ⏤ jean x reader x mikasa ch4. pretty girls make graves ⏤ jean x reader x levi x eren ch5. into twilight ⏤ jean x reader x eren

⏤⏤ 𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐒 ★

⏤ eren

☆ lessons in love ; the sight of his shit-eating grin leaves eren with a prickle of hot frustration that hurts when the video rolls to an end, with no flashy end credits or promotion. just a black screen with his own idiot reflection staring back at him ♥︎ ☆ moonlight in your hands ; i never knew you could hold moonlight in your hands ☆ everything looks different (now that i see you) ; to be betrothed to eren is not only a great business advantage for your families, but a great honour for yourself. to be betrothed to eren, and one day bound to him, would be your greatest glory. ☆ if i lay here (would you lie with me?) ; eren has had enough - it's been four months since he's last seen you, and he's not going to let his fame status keep him from seeing you any longer. he just hopes that you feel the same way when you see him again. ☆ dancer in the dark ; eren hasn't found anybody who makes him feel as good as the drugs and alcohol do, but all of that changes when he stops by levi's music shop and meets you behind the counter. ♥︎

⏤ jean

☆ lessons in love ; the sight of his shit-eating grin leaves eren with a prickle of hot frustration that hurts when the video rolls to an end, with no flashy end credits or promotion. just a black screen with his own idiot reflection staring back at him ♥︎ ☆ lana ; this position is particularly ambiguous; your face is almost gone, only slightly in frame, with the lens zoomed further in to your ass and jean’s thighs, his ass there but moving as he leans for the lube across the bed. if he wanted, armin could pretend the figure beneath jean was a boy- could be him, if he wanted. he does not want ♥︎

⏤ armin

☆ lana ; this position is particularly ambiguous; your face is almost gone, only slightly in frame, with the lens zoomed further in to your ass and jean’s thighs, his ass there but moving as he leans for the lube across the bed. if he wanted, armin could pretend the figure beneath jean was a boy- could be him, if he wanted. he does not want ♥︎

⏤ levi

☆ fireflowers ; “good day?” you ask, pulling back from his neck with your arms still around him. levi settles his hands just below your ribs and looks at you, sweetly pressing a kiss to your mouth. he doesn’t pull away too far, your hands threading in the hair above the back of his neck. “better now.” ☆ sweet unwind ; when levi's not working, he likes to take things slow, and as of late, he's found that baking desserts is an excellent way to unwind. yesterday, he made a beautifully sweet strawberry drizzled cake with cream. on today's menu, his personal favourite: cream pie ♥︎ ☆ higher than heaven ; levi wants to be mad that his neighbour keeps screwing guys really loudly. but how can he be mad when she's just so goddamn pretty? ♥︎

⏤ yelena

☆ love game ; yeah. yelena didn’t really know what to say to ymir when she showed up to one of the meet-ups with the most gorgeous girl she had ever seen. in her silence, zeke made the most of the words he knew. 'normally yelena’s such a bitch, but notice how she’s suddenly silent now a fit girl’s here?' what can she say? she has eyes ☆ silver bullet ; yelena has only ever seen you at your best, and what she thought could have been your worst back on paradis. nothing could have prepared her for ever seeing you this way, bleeding out, gasping at every touch ☆ love and war ; yelena wanted nothing more but to warn you of what was to come, even better to hide you from it, but in doing so would mean running the risk of everything they’ve all worked so hard to set in motion coming crashing down

⏤ connie

☆ ghostface ; you've got no idea who dressed up as ghostface to eren's halloween party, but damn, do they fuck nice ♥︎ ☆ prescott ; after halloween, you've been trying your hardest to avoid being near connie springer, but a little bit of alcohol on porco's birthday is all it takes for you to find yourself back in his arms ♥︎

⏤ all characters / multi

☆ acts of love ; as long as you’ve got a good group of friends, anything is possible. thankfully, you’ve got the best group you could ever ask for ☆ unorthodox ; nobody knew hange zoe had a sibling, and it was more shocking to discover that you are exactly like them.

⏤⏤ 𝐀𝐔𝐒 ★

THE twitch streamer au

☆ eren is yeagerbomb ☆ mikasa is mikasa ☆ armin is artlerto ☆ jean is kirstein ☆ sasha is sashabun ☆ connie is romconnie ☆ sasha & connie are springles

THE hogwarts/harry potter au

☆ attack on titan characters & their hogwarts houses ☆ slytherin zeke ☆ slytherin erwin

THE firefighter eren au

☆ ...and how much you love when he comes home in his uniform

⏤⏤ 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒 ★

⏤ all characters

☆ ...as best friends ☆ ...and how they act during zoom classes ☆ ...and their icks ☆ ...as specific things that i love ☆ ...and helping a lost child ☆ ...but they're actors ☆ ...and cats ☆ ...and how they act during the zombie apocalypse ☆ ...having a new years party ☆ ...going to the club ☆ ...aot boys and having a partner who likes their muscles/seeing them flex ☆ ...and their favourite sex positions (aot boys) ♥︎ ☆ ...and their lockscreens

⏤ eren

☆ ...comforting you when you're upset ☆ modern day headcanons ☆ ...and valentine's day ☆ nsfw alphabet ♥︎

⏤ mikasa

☆ ...comforting you when you're upset ☆ modern day headcanons ☆ ...and valentine's day

⏤ armin

☆ ...comforting you when you're upset ☆ ...and valentine's day

⏤ levi

☆ modern day headcanons ☆ dating headcanons ☆ nsfw alphabet ♥︎ ☆ ...and how he acts with his pregnant partner

⏤ zeke

☆ nsfw alphabet ♥︎

⏤ yelena

☆ ...comforting you when you're upset ☆ nsfw alphabet ♥︎ ☆ modern day nsfw alphabet ♥︎

⏤ annie

☆ modern day headcanons

⏤ porco

☆ modern day teen headcanons ☆ modern day teen headcanons pt. 2

⏤ sasha

☆ sasha and connie headcanons

⏤ connie

☆ connie and sasha headcanons ☆ modern day headcanons

⏤⏤ 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐁𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐒 ★

101 days of creative writing [ multiple pairings ] status: inconsistent updates

genre: multiple | warnings: see individual fics for warnings, character on character pairings, no reader, not all pairings are romantic

1. murder on the train [ jean + erwin ] 2. four seasons [ eren x armin ] 3. unrecognisable [ jean x sasha ] 4. starting at the end [ eren x mikasa ] 5. at the museum [ sasha x levi ] 6. the suitcase [ jean + levi ] 7. shorebird song [ armin x annie ] 8. the bridge [ eren x armin ]

⏤⏤ 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐂 ★

☆ modern day eren aesthetic ☆ modern day mikasa aesthetic

[sangoqueenkoko]

I don't want realism; I want magic

angst

MAIN MASTERLIST | SERIES MASTERLIST

.

Previous, Part 1 | Part 2 | Next, Part 3

Synopsis: Being with Dottore for some time is enough to drive some insane. But what about living with him? Thick and thin. Sweet and sour. Love and hatred. Lust and chastity. It all burns passionately. Wrapped around each other's fingers.

Warnings? This is an experimental series. Also contains the mention of inner body parts, blood and gore.

He finally exploded. Combusted.

Shattered.

Finally.

All the built-up anger that led to this moment could finally escape. In an unfortunate way.

And unfortunately, this isn’t an illusion. It’s actually happening. Whatever toxic gas that could be concocted in the Hell that is his Lab hadn’t affected you to the point of changing your reality to the magic most wanted. No.

His breath was heavy—seething, in fact. He looked over his shoulder at you. At this point, he had removed his mask so you could see the anger in his eyes in all its glory. They pierced your soul.

He would turn to you before walking over. It was like he suddenly appeared in front of you, and the fast rhythm of your panicked heart may as well have been the speed at which he was walking. The closer he got, the more of his body heat you could feel and the more anger you could sense.

"Of all pathetic homo-sapiens to be this disruptive and disrespecting to my research, I never would have never expected it to be you", Dottore growled with his hands behind his back, coat nowhere to be seen again. His eyes were full of fire, no reconciliation to be seen nearby; they were alluring to some, deadly to most. Like the so-called innocence of a rosebud, to the prickly points on its stem, dealing harm even if it didn’t want to, no matter how careful. His hair is a little unkempt due to the amount of time he's spent working with no self-care. Which you always cared for even if he didn't. But he didn't seem to care about what you thought at the moment. He didn’t care what anyone thought at this point. But his mask was always perfectly in place. As if he's always trying to conceal something away from everyone he comes across.

But he isn't concealing his anger now. He's let it out.

"I-I'm sorry, Zan-" you would try to muster up an excuse he would take, but you don't know why because he can see through anyone's lies like glass. No one else’s anger made your usually composed and undeviating composure waver unless it was from Dottore.

"Do NOT call me that!" he spat, lunging forward towards you, but he caught himself at the last second and tried to hold himself back. The sudden movement from him made you move back, too; you hated being in the path of his destructive anger; he could do literally anything. But he hated that name. Zandik. It reminded him of his Akademiya days. "Never, EVER speak of that name again! I have heard that name FAR too many times over the years, and I am sick of it! Especially hearing it from you! I loathe it! You make it oh so much worse. And I. AM. FINISHED!"

What happened after that—an argument or conversation, if you even call it that—was awkward but surreal. You had never seen him so angry, especially towards yourself, especially over the measliest of things. Now you know what other people felt when The Doctor was beyond seething.

Poor you.

Pity.

Though you were used to it, it still hit close.

When he was in various moods, you knew it was better to leave him alone and let him cool off, to do whatever cacophonous activities he pleased.

In the meantime, you knew to do your own thing, be it reading, talking, walking to let your thoughts simmer and fester, or practising sparring. No one could ever separate you from your blade.

"Heh," Childe mused with his usual shit-eating grin as he put his bow away, it disappearing beside his waist in a small cloud of golden sparkles before they hurridly faded away, "remember, we've been over this, girlie. Many times. Disputes happen. Adohiro and I have them, even over the pettiest things. And it's no different for you and The Doctor either. Even if... he tends to be a loose canon sometimes," he admitted openly, because you obviously knew that already. But you wouldn't call it 'petty.'

Despite your loose friendship, as in you and Childe, you were both good at fighting. He was always looking for a fight with those who would... 'ask for it,' and you were always up to the opportunity to refine your skills and execute them perfectly. So, if someone came upon you two sparring, they would think it looks like a dance. The way both of your manoeuvres melt together creates something that flows smoother than water: perfect pars, swift flourishing, and endless energy. Flashy.

It was comfortable for both of you. Your sword, slender, dark in colour, like obsidian, yet shiny, with no stains despite your work, would collide with Childe's slick, ocean-blue Riptide blades. From time to time, it would be some friendly jabs and remarks at each other before it would work up the energy and get a little more aggressive, as it would be if you were to actually fight against a foe. More flamboyant.

You could easily tell he was enjoying it, almost like he was showing off. But the word 'petty' stuck in your mind like an adhesive; he may not have meant it to be necessary, but you didn't see it like he did. That drove you to fight for your life, so to speak. And whatever he said next would fall upon your deaf ears.

Let’s just say that no words were spoken for a while.

Nothing but the sounds of quick swoops and clangs as weapons collided. The occasional friendly jabs turned into witty quips shared between the two of you, only before more swoops and clangs would sound out more rapidly with more force. With wits at their ends, it would be a surprise if someone got hurt, right? Right?

No matter. Because how could either of you get hurt? You’re both skilled bladesman. Meaning that no matter the circumstances you shouldn’t get hurt, you should only deal damage to those that don’t matter.

That was also told to you in your line of work. Constantly. This drove you. And it drove you insane. The idea of hurting the seemingly innocent until proven til they perish. They’ve worked alongside the criminally insane without knowing? Kill them. Their family? Kill them; there can’t be any more ‘bad blood’ spared. Knowing that you were once as innocent as the genuinely innocent you have killed haunted you; it was this burden that sat and will forever sit, on your shoulders until your own death. Constantly whispering to you, reminding you every day. Without fail. Like the angels and demons on either side of you. Only that it was only the demon. The angel was still there. But it was long dead. Dead by the hands of your own being. Signifying you are no longer innocent. And haven't been for a long time

You had a quick breather between quick rounds. During this break, you protested because you wanted to keep going, but Childe persisted.

"You've gotten much better than last time, Konchina" He took a deep breath as he put his arm in front of him, stretching it as his other arm held it close to his chest before lightly shaking it, relieving the tension pent up from the sudden blade swings.

"Of course, I've gotten better, Tartaglia", you retorted, mocking his enthusiasm in the way he said your 'name' "I can only get better from here."

He shrugged after a brief silence as he let the air settle between you both. "Okay, whatever you say. Just don't push yourself. I have to keep telling you this; the more you do this, the more you push yourself to your limit, and the more likely you will get hurt and put out of commission, depending on the severity, of course. And you know that Her Majesty can't have any of her followers, especially one of her close subordinates, out of action when work needs to be done. And you know what The Do-"

He would begin to carry on but was immediately cut off by you groaning at the name, throwing your sword down as it bedded itself into the dirt, standing at an angle, "Do not bring him up now. I can't tolerate him now, and I don't think he will be able to tolerate me now after... what happened." You would rather not think about that again.

And, of course, you know what The Doctor will say; it wouldn't be the first time. He keeps you close to his lab until you get better, not until he patches you up while giving you a long lecture. Ugh. You can't stand his lectures. As knowledgeable as he is in the medical field, it doesn't help that when you want peace, he can't keep his mouth shut.

Like last time, the last time you hurt yourself was during another spar session, this time with the Captain himself, Capitano. You got too into it, pent-up emotions up to the brim as you swung your weapon a little too hard and fast and accidentally dislocated your shoulder. As uncomfortable as it was, Capitano advised you to get it fixed, against your wishes, as you still wanted to fight. Thus sending you to the lab that is Dottore's. When you walked in, and he saw the damage, even at a glance, he knew; he sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose, as he didn't have his mask on due to what he was working on; he snapped his fingers, echoing across the room, before pointing at the chair beside his main lab desk.

He pushed your arm back into place with a resounding POP, immediately followed by you sounding in agony despite restraining yourself.

"Tut. You know full well not to throw your body weight in a fight unless it is detrimental. You should know that by now." He would say things like that, only more patronizing; at least, that's what it felt like.

"You know to leave him alone and do whatever he wants," Childe mentioned. I've heard that before, you thought. Many times. "Now. Where were we?" he smirked as he picked his weapon up again.

Reaping up your weapon out of the ground began round two.

Those memories came back and took control. What you've been told many times came back and took control. And it wanted to do some damage. Yet, it would only backfire.

CLANG. CLANG. CRASH. PING.

Was the sounds of your blades. Only the PING was when Childe managed to disarm you and accidentally pierced your right upper quadrant. He dropped his weapons once he noticed.

"(Y/N)! Oh my- I genuinely didn't mean to do that-"

"Childe! I'm fine," you said with a shaky voice, speaking through the adrenaline rush that was now coming to a close, the pain slowly yet quickly overtaking your side.

"Let's get you to the lab- and yes, we are going!" he said quickly before you could even think about protesting, "and I don't care what The Doctor thinks; he has to help."

He will.

He must.

taglist: @jqnehr • @rain-soaked-sun • @mmeatt • @leoisgayforwriting (for Childe) •

please fill out the Google form on the series masterlist if you want to be added! :3

[clementine-thedestroyer]

Aroura Borealis - König x reader - Part 3

Series master post - Read on Ao3

Chapter specific tags/warnings: Nightmares, and body horror/gore (both skippable), smut, f!receiving oral sex.

You have a nightmare, König is there to help.

Part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7

Tags for this series as a whole can be found on the series master post, if you don't read them before reading this, that's on you.

If you want to skip the body horror, simply scroll down until the large paragraph break, it still may be mentioned past that but there shouldn't be anything big.

You’re in the shop- the small one owned by the elderly couple from yesterday. You don't remember getting there, but you’re at the register, watching as the old woman who’d you talked to and who’d checked you out last time scans a load of groceries that you don’t remember putting in your basket.

“Will that be all dear?” The woman behind the register asks, smiling up at you with crows feet adorning the corners of her eyes, and you don’t hesitate to nod- the lack of memories regarding why and how you’re here failing to raise your concern.

“That’ll be all,” You reply with a smile, handing your card to the woman before starting to stack your groceries into one of the store’s paper bags.

“Well then, be a dear and hurry home. We wouldn’t want you getting stuck outside too late in the storm.” She says, printing your receipt before filling a second bag of groceries for you and tucking the slip of paper safely inside.

“Of course,” You say with a soft nod. “You take care too.” You add as you scoop the other bag of groceries into your free arm, giving the woman one last smile before making your way to the door.

“Oh don’t worry about me,” You hear alongside the sound of the door opening and closing and the jingle of the wind chime attached to it.

Outside, you take a few steps before looking up.

It’s snowing, you think idly, feeling the snowflakes dust your cheeks and melting against your skin. The moon’s full too, your mind adds as you take in the light peeking out from behind the clouds.

The clouds part and the moon is revealed in all of its glory, casting an eerie glow across the sleepy village.

Has it always been that big?

You hear a chime behind you as the shop door opens before you can finish your thought, the old woman hustling out and clutching something in her hand.

“You forgot your card!” She says, shuffling her feet quickly as she tries to hurry over to you.

“Oh- thank you!” You say, meeting her halfway and reaching out to take the card from her.

The pad of her finger brushes your hand and you watch in horror as her skin begins to bubble and slough off where she had touched you.

You can’t look away as the woman draws her hand back, letting it fall to her side as if nothing was wrong.

She tilts her head, smiling at you with the same sweet kindness as before.

“Is something wrong, dear?”

“Y-your hand-“ You whisper, pointing at where her skin bubbles and fizzes into a liquid with a shaking hand- where what was previously her flesh drips down into the snow, staining it putrid shades of red and yellow.

She reaches out to hold your cheek in a soothing manner, and you nearly retch at the stench of decaying flesh. You jerk away, talking a few stumbling steps backwards and slapping a hand over your mouth, trying to keep from retching.

The woman takes another step closer- smile unwavering- and it’s all you can do to retract yourself further, furiously waving your hands in a stay back gesture.

“No no no- stay there, I’ll go get help.” You cry, scanning the empty streets for a sign of life. But before you can take another step away, the woman has her hands on your wrists.

The bails of her intact hand dig into your skin, drawing blood as the flesh there starts to bubble and slough too. While with her other hand, there’s no skin or flesh left to hold you, only the painful pink of bones around your wrists.

You scream, kicking and throwing punches as you topple back into the snow, taking her with you.

Your hands at one point end up on her face, trying to push her away from you as her hands claw at your arms. To your horror, her face begins to decay similarly at your touch.

Your hands sink into the muscles of her face until you can feel bone. You thrash, screaming and throwing her off of you in a surge of strength and breaking into a sprint- not looking back for a second.

You trip over your own feet, falling face first into the snow- bracing for impact and squeezing your eyes shut.

Only to jerk awake in bed instead, soaked in a cold sweat and panting like you’d run a marathon.

You look around, balling up the sheets in your clenched fists as your eyes dart around the unfamiliar location and your body aches for a familiar feeling you can’t quite place. It takes a moment for you to remember where you are, and it takes even longer for you to realize that König is gone, and that the feeling you're missing is König beside you.

You stand up from the bed on shaky legs, cringing at the cold outside of the bed- only made worse by the layer of sweat covering your body and dampening your clothes.

You walk quickly to the bathroom, practically scurrying as you try not to bite your tongue through the chattering of your teeth- even as you keep your arms wrapped tightly around yourself.

You lock the bathroom door behind you, leaning over the small sink and panting, trying to catch your breath.

Your chest heaves and your arms shake as you try to purge the image of the woman’s melting face from your mind.

You look up at the mirror, seeing a pale, shivering person you hardly recognize as yourself.

You quickly redirect your gaze down when your own features start to morph too much into the woman’s.

Deep breaths, you tell yourself. It was just a bad dream. But it’s still a good minute before you feel ready to stand on your own two feet.

You try to build a mental wall between you and the contents of the dream. Most of the time, it’s easy enough to calm yourself down after something like this, but every time you close your eyes it’s like the dream’s being projected onto your eyelids.

Rationalizing it is harder- you hadn’t watched any horror movies or come across any particularly disturbing information recently- it was harder to just chalk it up to a dream about something you’d been focused on recently.

You consider taking a shower but decide against it, instead, splashing your face with water before taking a deep breath and making one last attempt to banish the images from your head. After a moment, you do the same to your arms, wetting your hands before running them up and down your arms and letting them dry. The water’s cold, but it feels nice- helps get rid of the “sticky” feeing of dried sweat.

You feel slightly better afterwards, coming out of the bathroom and changing your sleep shirt for a dry one before looking towards the bed with a frown.

König’s not back.

Aside from the bathroom, the cabin was one room, there weren’t exactly many places he could be.

You check the couch, wondering if he’d moved there after being kicked one too many times by you in your sleep, but it was bare as you’d left it when you two went to bed.

“König?” You call, receiving no response.

You feel panic start to prick at the corners of your mind, taking a deep breath and trying to keep yourself calm. You’re not sure where else he could be if not outside, maybe he had gone out for an early morning walk or something of the sort-

You open the blackout curtains covering the window by just a slit, using your sleeve to wipe a patch clean of condensation and peek outside.

It’s dark outside, definitely still night- and no sign of König… although you weren’t sure what you expected to see- given that the widow looked out over the least-traveled side of the cabin.

When you go to the front door you find it unlocked- despite König’s coat, snow pants, and boots all still being inside.

You frown, growing more concerned by the second.

When you crack open the door, the cold, dry outside air burns your face and sinuses as you breathe in, and you nearly jump at the sight of König on the porch.

He’s standing outside in nothing but the sleep shirt and flannel pajama pants he wore to bed. He doesn’t even have on house slippers, he’s simply standing barefoot on the porch in the freezing cold staring up at the horizon with a distant look in his eyes.

“K-König?” You ask, eyes wide in surprise.

At your words, he seems to snap out of whatever daze he was in, looking to you and quickly pasting a smile onto his face.

“Ah, Schatz, I thought you were asleep.” He says, gently cupping the side of your face with his hand.

His hand is ice cold against your face and you find yourself immediately overtaken by concern for the man, ignoring the creeping unease settling over you.

“I had a nightmare- why are you out here…” You say softly, looking over him.

“Oh? A bad dream?” König says, gently petting at your cheek with his thumb. “I was just out looking at the stars, it’s so pretty out here without the lights from the city.”

You frown, his statement striking you as odd, given how heavy the cloud cover is.

“Where’s your coat? You shouldn't be out here in just your sleep clothes, you’ll freeze.” You mumble, tugging at his free hand in a bid to pull him back inside and cringing when you find the digits just as frozen as the ones cupping your cheek.

König laughs softly at that, looking down at you with a teasing smile. “You worry too much, I can handle much more than a little cold.” He says, letting you pull him back inside and teasingly poking your forehead. “I think someone just wants their boyfriend to hold them after their nightmare, hm?”

You struggle to not to react to that, not about to admit how worried you’d been when you woke up and couldn't find him.

König takes your silence as confirmation, laughing.

“You can just say that, Schatz.” He says, grinning and way too happy with himself.

“I don’t think I could go back to sleep anyways-” You mumble, not fighting back against his teasing- not particularly in the mood too after the night you’d been through… you still felt like you could see the woman’s face when you closed your eyes.

At your words and tone, all hints of teasing were gone from König’s face.

“Do you want to talk about it? The dream?” He asks, brows furrowing.

You shake your head no, keeping your eyes low.

“I just feel too wound up to go back to sleep… I don’t want to lay down because I’ll just think about it.”

König is quiet for a moment, furrowing his brow until a grin splits his face.

“I can help you take your mind off of it.” He says, slipping an arm around your waist and pulling you flush against him.

Your eyes flicker down as you think, hesitating but nodding your head after a moment.

“Okay…”

You’re not given a chance to take back or add onto your words, as the second the word is out of your mouth, König is hauling you towards the bed.

He ignores the yelp you make and dumps you unceremoniously on the bed, clambering on top of you until he’s hovering over you. He captures your mouth in a kiss, licking into you and gripping your hips like hand holds. It’s not long before you find yourself reciprocating, looping your hands around his neck to keep him close and hooking your leg around his thigh, pulling it out of the way and to the side to slot your core’s together.

König groans, cradling the back of your head and worrying the fat of your lip between his teeth. When you feel his fingers at the elastic waistband of your underwear, you only angle your hips up into his touch, letting him pull down the fabric as far as he can.

The kiss breaks as he pulls away, pulling your underwear off the rest of the way and letting it fall forgotten to the floor. He looks down at you cunt, his eyes briefly flickering back up to you accompanied by a wicked grin before he slips his hands under your hips and lifts you to his mouth.

You yelp, shocked as your head is dragged down the bed and off the pillows and instinctively hooking your legs over his shoulders. You scramble to grab onto the sheets below you, and squirm- cut off by a long, firm stripe being licked from your hole to your clit.

The position isn’t exactly comfortable- your pussy is lifted to his mouth like a cup for him to drink from and your back is left down on the mattress- you can already feel an ache radiating from your neck as when you have to crane your head to make eye contact with König- finding him with his head buried between your thighs and grinning like a kid on Christmas.

“Don’t worry, I won’t drop you, Schatz.” He says before working his tongue into your hole and scooping out any slick that’d accumulated into his mouth.

“That’s not what I’m worried abou-“ You start, cut off by a loud moan you’re nearly startled to find coming from yourself as König’s lips wrap around your clit and start to suck, hard.

His stubble scratches against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs and your hips rol in short, aborted movements as his tongue moves to rub over the sensitive bug.

“K-König!” You moan, balling up your fists tighter in the sheets below you.

König groans at your words, changing his grip to hold you up with one hand as his other jerks down to yank down his pants and boxers.

If you crane your neck, you can just barely see his thick cock drooling precome as he strangles it in his own rough hold.

König curses, squeezing his eyes shut and furrowing his brow while bucking and rutting his cock into the space created by his hand and the mattress.

The dry drag of his cock against his hand looks borderline painful, but he keeps his mouth latched on your clit regardless, occasionally jostling you with rough jerks of his hips into his own hand as he works your clit with his tongue.

When you feel your orgasm building, the whines slipping from your mouth increase in volume as you try to reach for the fluffy mess of König’s hair, practically humping his face as warmth builds in your clit and crests, spreading throughout your core.

König comes a few seconds after you do, bucking his hips and coming with a few particularly cruel jerks to his cock before cupping the tip and filling his hand with cum.

It’s a moment before either of you move, sitting there, tangled together and panting as you enjoy the aftershocks and come down from your high.

König is the first to move, holding up his cum covered hand to show you with a grin. You nod, not sure what you’re supposed to do with the information until König speaks.

“It’s a lot, you made me come hard.” He says, gently lowering you back down the the mattress before reaching over you and grabbing a tissue from the box on the nightstand to wipe his hand.

You nod, somewhat idly. Still coming down from the glow of a good orgasm, but still finding it in you to be vaguely impressed at the mouth of cum being wiped off his hand.

Once he’s done, he lays down beside you, pulling your right to his chest and making sure you’re sufficiently buried under the blankets.

“Feel better? Ready to sleep?” He asks, and you can’t do much more than nod with how fucked-out you feel, pressing yourself closer to his chest and letting your eyes close.

The exhaustion you’d ought to have been feeling for this time of night had returned in full force, and when you closed your eyes, the sights of your dream didn’t plague you or dance across your eyelids. The cocktail of happy hormones released from your orgasm were enough to keep your mind quiet in the few moments it took for you to slip into unconsciousness.

It helped that König was beside you. His presence was inexplicably calming to you in a way few others could match, as if something inside you simply knew that no matter what crept out of the dark, the scariest thing in this forest was the man pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head and wrapping a strong arms around your waist.