#ill see you in seventeen hours | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

vickytaa · 3 months ago

Text

Music keeps me alive. M.S. Chapter I

summery: y/n's father passed away, and she moved to Boston to finish school. She always keeps her headphones on, only she knows the reason why. What happens when she meets Matt?

Chapter II

"‘Hey honey, can you give me a hand with this?’ Y/n heard her mom’s voice from a distance. Seventeen-year-old Y/n had moved to Boston with her mom after her dad passed away, and they were still unpacking boxes. She’d lived her whole life in LA, but her mom had decided to start over, so they’d had to move. ‘Coming,’ Y/n replied, quickly putting her headphones back on. She wore them all the time, for reasons only she knew; she listened to all kinds of music, knew all the lyrics by heart from listening to them over and over. She loved everything from Romeo Santos to Billie Eilish, and even 2Pac or Bob Marley—basically anything.

After a couple of hours of unpacking, Y/n finally managed to grab a book from her bookshelf, ‘When the Cherry Blossoms Bloom’ by Liliana Cinetto. She climbed into her new, cold bed, turned on her bedside lamp, and put on some jazz. It had been a long day: saying goodbye to family, moving into the new house, unpacking, packing her school bag for the first day—the list went on.

Later that night, Y/n and her mom had dinner—a cold pizza—and talked about what her life would be like now that it was just the two of them. Her dad’s passing had been tragic but expected, given his terminal illness. Y/n avoided talking about him, preferring to keep her mind occupied with other things, like how her first day at a new high school would be. It was going to be tough, sure, but as long as she stayed out of trouble, passed her classes, and kept a low profile, everything would be fine. But it would be nice to have a friend, right? At her old school, she had been well-behaved and got along with everyone, but no one well enough to call a friend. It would be difficult, but she didn’t really care anymore if she made friends or not."

Y/n fell asleep with her headphones on, but her mom woke her up to say goodnight. This had happened before, so her mom simply took the headphones and set them on the nightstand. She sat down next to Y/n and looked at her for a while. Y/n was beautiful, with long, silky hair and porcelain skin, just like her dad. Her mom gently brushed a strand of hair off her forehead and kissed her forehead. She knew that Y/n was hurting inside, even more than she was, because Y/n and her dad had been inseparable.

The next morning, Y/n woke up to the sound of her alarm and the delicious smell of food coming from the kitchen. Her mom loved to cook, and her food was always amazing. Y/n got out of bed and walked to the kitchen, passing by the bathroom, the laundry room, the living room, the guest room, basically everywhere. "Mmm, that smells delicious," she said as she reached the kitchen. "Good morning, sweetheart. Are you ready for your first day?" her mom asked, turning around to see Y/n leaning against the doorframe. Y/n didn't react well to the question. "Yeah, can't wait to meet new people," she said sarcastically, forcing a smile. Her mom rolled her eyes and gave her a serious look. "Come on, Y/n. You're going to do great. You're smart, you're kind, and you're beautiful. Everyone will love you." Y/n chuckled and left the kitchen to get ready.

Y/n kept repeating to herself, "You're going to be fine." She put on a pair of black sweatpants, a white t-shirt, and a gray sweatshirt that matched her headphones. She tied her hair up in a messy bun, leaving a few strands loose. She put on her perfume and went to the dining room, where her mom had breakfast ready.

After breakfast, Y/n grabbed her backpack and left for school. The school was close by, so she arrived on time. As she walked into the school, she noticed that there were several groups of friends, all of them seemed very close. Making friends was going to be difficult, and joining one of those groups seemed impossible.

Y/n went to her locker, put away a few things, and then headed to her first class. She preferred to stay under the radar and listen to her music. But as soon as she walked into the classroom, the teacher made her introduce herself to the class.

"Oh, Y/n, right?" Ms. Amy asked. She had a sweet voice and was wearing a long white dress. Y/n nodded, not knowing what was about to happen. "Class, please welcome our new classmate!" Ms. Amy said loudly. Y/n's face turned bright red. She had never been so embarrassed. She simply smiled at her classmates and walked to the first empty seat.

When Matt saw Y/n, he couldn't take his eyes off her. She was so beautiful, with her flawless skin and silky hair. He noticed that her cheeks were red, and it made her even more adorable.

Matt wasn't very popular in class. He had a few friends, but not many. He was a sweet and kind boy, and he was a triplet. His brothers were Chris and Nick. Matt was the quieter of the three.

Ms. Amy started her lesson as usual, and Y/n paid attention, kind of. She had her headphones on, so she was really in her own world. Matt, on the other hand, couldn't focus on all; all he could think about was when Y/n had walked into the room. He was lost in thought until Chris snapped him back to reality. "Hey, you okay, man?" Chris asked. It was unusual for Matt to be so distracted, since he was usually pretty studious. "Yeah, sorry, I was just... thinking about the new girl," Matt replied, looking over at Chris. "Oh, now it makes sense," Chris said, rolling his eyes and playfully punching Matt on the arm. "Cut it out, I was just thinking maybe she's lonely and doesn't know anyone." Chris chuckled. "Why don't you go talk to her?" he suggested. Matt's eyes widened. "Why don't you go?" he asked. "Because you brought her up," Chris replied. "What are you guys talking about?" Nick interrupted. "Matt's got a crush on the new girl," Chris announced. Matt quickly covered Chris's mouth to shush him. "No, I'm just trying to be nice!" Nick looked at him skeptically. "Sure, you are," he said. "I'll go ask her if she wants to hang out with us," Nick offered. "Hey, what about me?" Anna asked. She had been friends with the triplets since they were little, but she was closest to Nick. "The new girl," Nick replied. "Oh, yeah, she's pretty. I get good vibes from her," Anna said. "Oh, you and your vibes," Chris teased. They all laughed except for Anna. "You know, you should really—" "Hey, quiet down back there!" Ms. Amy called out.

The boys quieted down and focused on the lesson. Y/n, oblivious to the attention she was getting, continued to draw in her notebook and tap her foot to the beat of her music.

When the other classes ended, Y/n really wanted to leave. Not having anyone to talk to was a problem she would probably have to get used to in the future, but right now she would rather be doing other things, like helping her mom finish unpacking. But as much as she wanted to, she couldn't just leave school like that.

At lunchtime, Y/n had considered her options for eating alone. She could sit at a table in the cafeteria, but she knew it was impossible to find one empty. She could eat in the bathroom, but that seemed unsanitary and dramatic. She could go to the library, but she didn't know where it was and didn't want to ask for directions. Finally, she decided on the sports field. She found a spot under a tree, far enough away from the playing fields to avoid getting hit by a ball.

As she finished eating, she realized she had some time to kill before her next class. She pulled out her book and started reading. A few minutes later, she heard footsteps approaching. She looked up to see a boy and a girl standing in front of her.

"Hi, I'm Nick, and this is Anna," the boy said. "We saw you sitting here alone, and we wanted to say hi."

Y/n was surprised, but she smiled and introduced herself. They talked for a while, and Y/n realized that they were pretty cool. She was starting to feel a little less lonely. And she felt her heart fill with happiness as she talked to them, even though it was just a brief moment.

When it was time for her next class, Y/n said goodbye to Nick and Anna. As she walked away, she couldn't help but smile. Maybe making friends at her new school wouldn't be so hard after all.

At the end of the last class, Y/n headed to her locker and heard their voices. "Hey Y/n, see you tomorrow," Nick said. When Y/n turned around to reply, she realized there were more of them. "Oh, sure. I didn't know you had brothers," she said, confused. They looked identical; she only knew Nick because she had spoken to him and his clothes were the same as earlier. "We're triplets. This is Chris," he said, pointing to Chris who smiled, "And this is Matt," he pointed to Matt, who looked a little embarrassed, his red cheeks giving him away. "Hi, I'm Y/n, nice to meet you," she greeted them. "See you tomorrow," Y/n said, smiling at all three of them. Matt swore that if he opened his mouth, he would burst with butterflies, his heart was pounding so hard.

The walk home was short, but all Y/n could think about was Matt. She didn't know him very well yet, they hadn't really talked, so it was hard to say what he was like, but she could tell he was special. The way he looked at her with his bright smile, his blue eyes that seemed to see right through her, and the way his cheeks turned a deeper shade of pink every time he looked at her, it was endearing. She knew he was going to be important, but she didn't know how."‘Hey honey, can you give me a hand with this?’ Y/n heard her mom’s voice from a distance. Seventeen-year-old Y/n had moved to Boston with her mom after her dad passed away, and they were still unpacking boxes. She’d lived her whole life in LA, but her mom had decided to start over, so they’d had to move. ‘Coming,’ Y/n replied, quickly putting her headphones back on. She wore them all the time, for reasons only she knew; she listened to all kinds of music, knew all the lyrics by heart from listening to them over and over. She loved everything from Romeo Santos to Billie Eilish, and even 2Pac or Bob Marley—basically anything.

When Matt saw Y/n, he couldn't take his eyes off her. She was so beautiful, with her flawless skin and silky hair. He noticed that her cheeks were red, and it made her even more adorable.

Matt wasn't very popular in class. He had a few friends, but not many. He was a sweet and kind boy, and he was a triplet. His brothers were Chris and Nick. Matt was the quieter of the three.

The boys quieted down and focused on the lesson. Y/n, oblivious to the attention she was getting, continued to draw in her notebook and tap her foot to the beat of her music.

"Hi, I'm Nick, and this is Anna," the boy said. "We saw you sitting here alone, and we wanted to say hi."

When it was time for her next class, Y/n said goodbye to Nick and Anna. As she walked away, she couldn't help but smile. Maybe making friends at her new school wouldn't be so hard after all.

a/n: First chapter, what will happen on the next one?? I am very happy to do this. Love ya:))

#matt sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #sturniolo #the sturniolos #chris x reader #christopher owen sturniolo #nick sturniolo #matthew #matthew bernard sturniolo #matt x reader #matthew sturniolo #chris x y/n #christopher x reader #i love chris

127 notes · View notes

markm3upanywayy0ul1ke · 3 months ago

Note

not a request but i saw ur post answering the request for baby cat scratches and tumblr really does desentitize you like an insane amount bc like ill see stuff that should probably get stitches like seventeen times an hour and i end up thinking thats normal when in reality none of this is normal. like a fucking community where everyone is like sharing self harm and all (no offense) its kinda fucking insane (i mean this positively)

Fucking exactly dude..... Remember everyone!!! Your s/h is valid, your e/d is valid, you are valid no matter what- Please don't let the extremes of these sites get to you, social media is literally designed to conflate and change your mindset towards the extreme :<

#greyasks #988blr #cvtblr #s3lf harn #s3lf mutilation #abvse me #s3lfharmm #self mutalition #self mutilator

61 notes · View notes

kitchenisking · 10 months ago

Text

April Fic Rec

Hello everyone! happy spring! I just want to say thank you to everyone who enjoys my recs. I was thinking of taking a break from posting the last two months but then I thought 'fuck it'. the response that I got from you guys showed me how much my recs are enjoyed! so to everyone that reblog and likes the recs - I see you! I see your names pop up every months and it brings me such joy! and to all the new follower - it makes me happy that new people are finding my recs and are enjoying these amazing stories written by these amazing authors!

please don't forget to kudos and comment for our authors and ill see you soon😘

Knot My Favorite Smell by KnottheWolf - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 2,470, sterek)

Day 1-Scent Marking: Derek just missed his mate, Stiles, so he decides to visit Stiles at college. Only to grow upset when his mate’s room doesn’t smell like him anymore.

Just Stopped Working For Me by dedougal - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 11,447, sterek)

Stiles never expected to meet Derek Hale. He definitely never expected the movie star to slide into his cab and ask for his help.

Clueless by IgnorantofTime - (Rating: G, Words: 1,775, sterek)

Scott comes to the realisation that his best friend is in love with Derek Hale. Now he just needs to make them realise it.

an awful curse by blinkiesays - (Rating: T, Words: 6,253, sterek)

Isaac is asleep in a chair. The angle of his neck makes Derek wince in sympathy.

"Isaac," Derek says.

Isaac snaps awake immediately.

"You're-"

"Where's Stiles?"

"Stiles?" Isaac asks.

Jesus. It's not like they know more than one.

"That’s fate." by EvanesDust - (Rating: G, Words: 2,256, sterek)

…the one where Stiles meets his future husband.

That I Miss You by Noname109 - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 1,741, sterek)

The pounding of the water against the tenseness of his muscles makes Stiles let out a long, drawn out groan of pain and pleasure. After a hard day’s work, the proof of it is shown in the coil and rigidity of his shoulders, torso, and legs.

And it’s not like he doesn’t love interning under his dad and getting to help out solving crimes and chasing down the bad guys, but at the end of his shift it leaves him gone to the world unless it involves a shower.

He’s so relaxed five minutes into it that he doesn’t even jump when two arms snake around his waist. Stiles just hums contentedly and lets his body go slack.

Things We Know, Unsaid by uraneia - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 6,036, sterek)

Inspired by this Tumblr post, and written for lupinus's birthday.

Stiles accidentally finds a trunk full of Derek's professional dom gear from when he lived in New York. They don't talk about it. Then Stiles turns eighteen, and they do.

If he thought Derek would be angry or embarrassed at Stiles finding a trunk full of quality BDSM gear in his closet, he’d have been wrong. “I used to do it professionally, in New York,” Derek says easily, and Stiles—Stiles doesn’t know how to process that. Because he’s seventeen and has eyes and an unfortunately vivid imagination, and if he lets it go there he’s not going to get any use out of any body part except his dick for several hours.

Cravings, Pack and Angry Sex by Jumping_Jess - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 1,953, sterek)

It's a Pavlov response okay?! Pregnant Stiles + Angry Stiles = Horny Derek

Little Red Prince by SterlingAg - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 48,974, sterek)

Running from a group of bandits, Stiles finds himself injured and on the land of none other than the Shifter Derek Hale. But what is a Shifter? Is this Derek a friend or foe? What about the secret Stiles himself is keeping? What will become of the odd pair in this tale set in a fantasy world?

Basketball Shorts and Highlighters by sffan - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 1,720, sterek)

The UST between Derek and Stiles finally reaches a tipping point.

#derek hale #sterek #stiles stilinski #stiles x derek #fanfiction #ficrec #fanfic #kitcheniskingficrecs

127 notes · View notes

dancinglikebutterflywings · 4 months ago

Text

Not Dead Yet | Part 02

-> Pairing: Yoon Jeonghan x Medium-Fem!Reader

-> Synopsis: After trying to avoid Jeonghan (and the other ghosts) Y/N encounters him on the stairwell and is unable to ignore him anymore.

-> Warnings: Paranormal au. Hints at a possible evil spirit lurking about. Sick child in hospital but doesn't mention the illness, hints at her having been in hospital for a while. Y/N almost cusses a couple times. Hints at Y/N and Jihoon fake dating. This is a work of fiction. In no way does it reflect the guys.

-> Word Count: 2,616

-> Taglist: open. Leave a comment on the masterlist post, send an ask or fill out the Tag List Form.

Not Dead Yet Masterlist | SEVENTEEN M.List

As Y/N walks along the footpath leading to the hospital, she digs through her bag, looking for something she promised one of the kids she visits. When she can't find it, she starts to cuss but stops herself when an elderly lady glares at her as she passes by. She bows in apology before continuing her search.

Just a moment later, Y/N feels a sudden chill run down her spine and turns back to see the woman has completely vanished and is nowhere to be found.

Frustrated, she scans the area, mentally scolding herself for revealing her ability to see ghosts to the old woman. “You would think I would know the difference between the living and dead by now,” she mutters under her breath, ensuring that only her brother on the other end of the call can hear her.

“You chose to volunteer at the hospital,” Seungcheol, chimes in. “You’re surrounded by both the living and the dead there.”

“I’m surrounded by the living and the dead everywhere I go,” she replies, rolling her eyes at his comment. But then, she suddenly exclaims, “Aha!” as she finally finds what she was looking for. It’s a small ballerina doll that used to be hers. She believes it deserves a new home with the little girl she’s befriended through her volunteer work. The little girl loves ballet more than she ever did. “I need to go. Tell Eomma I’ll be there tonight, but if she tries to set me up with one of her friend’s sons again, I’m going to leave and-,” she pauses, an idea coming to her. “Actually, I should bring Jihoon. That might keep her off my back for a while.”

“You brought Jihoon a few months ago,” he reminds her. “Are you going to tell eomma that you’re fake back together?”

“Shi-Yah!” she exclaims, stopping herself from cussing again as the elderly woman from a minute ago suddenly reappears in front of her. “I’ll find someone else to bring,” she quickly says, ending the call before he can respond. She frowns at the lady, taking out her earbuds and placing them back in her bag. The elderly woman says nothing as Y/N moves past her to go inside the hospital. Making her way up to the children’s ward, she keeps her head bowed so she doesn’t make eye contact with any more spirits.

“Jeon Nari, I have a surprise for you,” Y/N calls out as she enters the room where the six-year-old girl is sitting on the hospital bed, colouring in her princess colouring book. She notices that the young girl’s father is with her and greets him politely with a slight bow of her head.

Jeon Wonwoo, Nari's father, looks up from his phone and stands to return her greeting. “It’s good to see you, Y/N,” he says, his voice reflecting the worry and exhaustion of a parent who has spent long hours in the hospital with his sick child. “Nari’s been talking about you non-stop since your last visit,” he adds. “She was so excited to learn that you used to do ballet.”

Y/N smiles, her heart warming at the thought of Nari's excitement. It confirmed that she’s making the right choice in passing her once beloved doll down to the sweet little girl. “Well, speaking of ballet,” she says, pulling the ballerina doll with a pink tutu from behind her back and holding it out towards her. “I thought you might like this.”

Nari’s eyes widen in excitement, her colouring book momentarily forgotten as Y/N passes the doll to her. “Wow! She’s so pretty!” Nari exclaims as a large smile makes its way onto her face.

“Will you promise to take good care of her for me?” Y/N asks, her smile mirroring Nari's as she sits down across from her, her heart swelling with affection for the little girl. However, her smile dims as an unsettling chill fills the room. She senses a presence lingering in the doorway, and for a brief moment, it feels as if time has frozen.

The atmosphere shifts, the warmth of the moment dissipating as Y/N's gaze drifts toward the entrance. A figure stands there, half-hidden in the shadow. The air grows thick with an unspoken tension, and Y/N's heart races as she tries to decipher the emotions swirling around her.

“Y/N?” Wonwoo’s voice cuts through the silence, bringing her back to reality. He gazes at her with worry. “Are you okay?”

She manages a smile, though it doesn’t fully reach her eyes, and nods. “I’m sorry, but I can’t stay for long today,” she says, causing Nari to pout. Unbeknownst to Y/N, her visits have become one of Nari’s favourite parts about being in the hospital. “Since it's my day off from work tomorrow, I’ll be here much earlier than usual. You’ll be the first person I’ll come and see.”

"You promise?" Nari asks, her expression a mix of hope and excitement as she holds up her tiny pinkie finger.

"I promise," Y/N replies with a smile, linking her pinkie with Nari's and pressing their thumbs together, sealing their promise. The gesture brings a comforting warmth back into the room, yet an unsettling feeling still lingers in the air. Looking towards the doorway, she sees that the figure is no longer there. Trying to shake off the feeling, she turns her attention back on Nari. “I should get going, but I’ll see you tomorrow morning, okay?”

After saying her goodbyes, she exits the room, the unsettling feeling following her as she walks down the corridor and exits the children's ward. The air around her starts to feel almost suffocating so she chooses to take the stairs instead of the confined unescapable space of the elevator. As she descends the stairwell, the unease turns into feeling of being followed, the presence heavy, dark and ominous. Half expecting to find the figure from the doorway, she looks behind her only to find no one there, living or dead. With her heart pounding against her chest and her footsteps echoing in her ears, she quickens her pace and reaches the next landing. There she stops for a moment, taking a deep breath to steady herself, her eyes never leave the stairs she just descended, wary of any spirit that might choose to show itself.

After a brief moment, she braves herself and turns to continue her walk down the stairs, but just as she does, a sudden fright nearly sends her tumbling backward. A scream escapes her lips as another presence makes itself known, breaking the suffocating ominous feeling in an instant.

"I knew you could see me!" he exclaims, his voice echoing off the walls. His eyes gleam with a wild intensity, a mixture of mischief and something deeper. "You can't pretend anymore."

“What is with you ghosts sneaking up on me today,” she groans with a frown on her face.

“I’m not a ghost,” the man insists.

“I hate to break it to you, but you are a ghost,” she informs him, her voice tinged with exasperation. “That is why I can see you while no one else can.”

“But I’m not dead,” he counters, frustration clear in his voice.

“Yes, you are,” she replies, her gaze flicking nervously to the door off to the side, hoping no one decides to walk into the stairwell at that moment.

“I’m not!” he argues, reaching for her wrist, only for his hand to pass right through her. He tries again, with the same result.

Each time he does it, it sends a chill through Y/N’s body. “Would you stop?” she scolds him moving her wrist away.

“I’m trying to show you that I’m not dead,” he growls as the fluorescent lights above them begin to flicker, his frustration and anger boiling over. He’d spent the week trying to get her attention, unable to communicate with anyone else. “Just... come with me.” His voice softens, a hint of vulnerability breaking through as he almost sounds like he’s pleading. “You have to believe me.”

With that he turns on his heal, walking through the door. Y/N hesitates for a moment but there is something within that compels her to follow him. Her curiosity piqued; she walks closer to the door. Pushing the door open, she steps into a brightly lit corridor with an intensive care unit sign hanging from the ceiling.

Y/N's heart races once again as she takes in the scene, her breath hitching in her throat. The ghosts are everywhere, some with solid forms, others with translucent forms flickering in and out of focus, some hover near the doors of the patients rooms, their expressions a haunting blend of hope and despair and others drift aimlessly, looking at nothing in particular.

The distant beeping of machines and the soft murmur of voices fills her ears as she searches for the man that led her this way. She finally spots him standing before the automatic glass doors of the unit.

Reaching into her bag, she pulls out her earbuds, sticking them into her ears and keeps her head down, avoiding eye contact with the other ghosts as she makes her way over to him. "I can't go inside," she tells him.

"I'm right there," he says pointing to one of the cubicles at the back of the room. She can just make out the end of the bed, but she can't confirm if it’s really him.

“If you’re not dead, how can I see you?” she asks, more to herself than him.

"How should I know?" he replies anyway. "You see the others, right?"

"But they’re already dead," she answers.

"How can you be so certain?" he asks out of curiosity.

"You think there’s someone in there in a coma from the Joseon Dynasty era?" she says, motioning towards the woman at the end of the hall, her face etched with worry. "I bet she’s here because she’s watching over someone in there. You’d be surprised how many ancestors show up to welcome their family member into the afterlife. It makes it less scary to cross over into that dimension." She pauses, her gaze drifting back to the woman, who stands with her hands clasped tightly in front of her. "It’s like a welcoming committee," she continues. "They reassure them that they’re not alone and guide them over. It’s a beautiful thing, really.”

His gaze turns to the woman, "So, you think that’s what’s happening here? That she’s just waiting for someone to join her so she can welcome them home?"

"It’s that, or she just doesn’t want her ancestor to be alone," she replies, her heart racing with the thrill of her own conviction. "It’s not just about the end of life. She could just be here watching over her entire bloodline, making sure they’re safe and healthy. It’s probably why she looks so worried.”

“I guess you’ve been doing this a long time,” he says, turning his gaze towards her.

“A very long time,” she sighs looking back inside the intensive care unit. “But this has never happened before. I’ve never seen or communicated with someone who’s in limbo.”

Just as he opens his mouth to speak, someone calls out Y/N’s name. Her eyes widen as she turns, pulling her earbuds out. A blush creeps onto her cheeks as she greets the handsome man in a white coat. “Dr. Hong,” she says, bowing her head.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you today” he smiles, causing Y/N’s heart to flutter and for a moment the situation she’s found herself in is a distant memory.

“I—uh, I just dropped something off to Nari,” she stammers, feeling a little bashful. Joshua Hong, a doctor who transferred from America, seems to have that effect on anyone he comes across. There’s reason his nickname is the gentleman. He’s kind, polite and respectful to everyone, he doesn’t anger easily even in intense situations, and speaks with a soft, calming voice. He’s also incredibly handsome.

She quickly snaps out of her little trance that she found herself in when the man who isn’t quite a ghost, loudly clears his throat from besides the doctor. Glancing at him, he doesn’t look impressed by the sudden interruption. Quickly looking back at Joshua, she continues “I-I also thought it would be a good time to stop by and see how my friend,” she looks out the corner of her eye at the man before focusing on the doctor again, “is doing.”

“Who’s your friend?” Joshua asks, glancing down at the folders in his hands.

“Uh-” she pauses, her eyes flickering between the doctor and the man she now realises she never got the name of.

“Yoon Jeonghan,” he tells her.

“Yoon Jeonghan,” she repeats and Jeonghan nods with a small triumphant smile. This is his chance to get some more answers.

“I was handed his case this morning,” Joshua informs her. “I can’t really tell you anything but it’s a strange one. Just know that were doing everything we can to figure out what happened and why he won’t wake up.”

“So, you don’t have anything?” she hears Jeonghan ask even though Joshua can’t hear him, the frustration from earlier resurfacing. “This is great,” he scoffs but his voice quickly turns to one of panic. “What if I’m like this forever? I can’t be like this forever.”

“Oh,” she says, her look turning to one of sympathy when she hears the tone in Jeonghan’s voice. “Thank you for doing everything you can do,” she thanks Joshua. “Hopefully he wakes up soon.”

“I hope so, too,” Joshua says reflecting her sympathy. “Well, I should get in there and start my rounds. It was good seeing you.”

“You too,” she says, her heart not fluttering like it usually would when he said the last part. She watches him step inside the unit and make his way to the back of the room where Jeonghan pointed out the bed he was laying in.

“Now you believe me,” he says and all she can do is nod. “Not even the doctors know what’s going on. What hope do I have if you don’t even know what’s going on?” he sighs, sounding defeated. “Maybe it all goes back to that weird guy. He must have done something to me. It’s the only explanation that I have.”

“What weird guy?” she asks, now looking at him.

“There was this weird guy that was leaning against my car, he was talking nonsense, then I passed out when I went to leave and woke up here, like this,” he explains. “He told me the person who can see me will know his name,” he adds looking at her, expectantly.

“I don’t know anyone who would do that,” she tells him.

“He also said something about the Gods,” he says, thinking back to the strange encounter.

“The Gods?” she asks, surprised by his words. “If the God’s are involved, I’m not the person you’re looking for. I just see, feel and communicate with ghosts, that’s it.”

He rolls his eyes, “I’m not exactly a ghost, am I? Yet, you can still see and talk with me.”

“This- this is way above my pay grade,” she shakes her head, now trying to deny that this was happening. “Not that I get paid for it. I should go. I wish you luck with everything and I hope you find the answers you’re looking for.”

“You can’t leave-” Jeonghan starts as Y/N begins to walk away at a fast pace, trying her best to put distance between them.

She steps inside the elevator, her eyes connecting with Jeonghan’s desperate ones, one last time before the doors close.

©️ 2024 dancinglikebutterflywings - do not copy/modify/repost anywhere. reblog instead

@staytiny2000 - @rainydayteacups - @hipsdofangirl - @do-you-remember-summer-127 - @cookiearmy

@catzachvsvt - @ateez-atiny380 - @lovrehani - @reiofsuns2001

@lixisoul99 - @satoruifys

** Bold means I wasn't able to tag you at all or properly. If you get the notification please let me know. If not, make sure to check your settings. I made this post: how to change mention (tags) settings on phone.

61 notes · View notes

lucysgraybird · 6 months ago

Note

Billy x female reader where she gets the same sickness as her mother and brother but she manages to survive and he takes her to their graves (yep long hours traveling) just to share that part of his past with her because he loves her and is glad she survived because he wouldn’t have bared another lose

hiiii this is so brutally late. im sorry. ive also adjusted a little because i wanted to write it but im so bad at writing travel and couldn't figure out a way to do it that didn't feel drawn out but i can do a part 2 if u want!!

warnings: dscs of death and illness

Billy feels like he's been living in a haze. First a haze of ignorance, pretending that he didn't recognize the wet, hacking sound of the coughs you muffled into your elbow, that the way your brow bloomed with dry heat didn't throw him back into the pit of being seventeen and curled around his mother's febrile form. Then a moment of clarity, like a bucket of ice dumped over his head, when the doctor touched his elbow and confirmed consumption. Finally, and he can't decide which stage he's hated most, a thick fog of despair and desperation, rimy water dripping from washcloths down his arm in twin trails to the sweat he's wiping from your forehead, trying to convince himself of minute drops in your dogged temperature. He nurses broth down your raw throat and prayers up his own, pleas to a God he might not believe in to just leave him with something good in this world and pleas to himself to believe that this time will be different.

And he might just make a return to church, because his calls are answered. Slowly, like a slug creeping to salt, you recover. Color fades from the pyretic spots high on your cheeks and returns to the rest of your face, you sleep through the night without a coughing fit tearing you awake. The brightness in your eyes starts to look more lively and less dazed, and eventually you're strong enough to stand and bathe. Billy helps you into the tub and then opts to sit outside the door -- close enough that his anxiety isn't spiking, that if something happens he can help, but far enough that you can regain some of the autonomy that is ripped away in illness.

He'll never quite figure out why he says this. Maybe it’s the dim candlelight, coaxing the world out of reality and into a dream, a place where anything that happens will stay forever locked somewhere out of time. Maybe it’s that he wants to pretend you have the kind of relationship that demands this honesty, because you've said “‘Til death do us part” and meant it and so he owes you his greatest love and his deepest fears. He'd give you the former without question, of course, but he's still practicing that the latter is an unavoidable sidecar to that kind of devotion.

"I thought you were going to die," he says, and his stomach immediately twists in shame. You're recovering still, and here he is making it about himself. When you don't say anything, surely listening in that tranquil, soft-eyed way that you somehow always managed, he continues.

"I wish you could've met my ma. She was...good, like you. At her core, that's all there was, this sturdy kindness that I never understood how she maintained. Sometimes she'd say that when good people died young, it meant that God thought that spirit belonged more in Heaven than on Earth, and I was so scared that he got...impatient again, with you, and I was so scared that..."

Silence for a moment, then your voice, still hoarse:

"I would've liked to meet her too. She must have been quite the woman, to have raised someone like you."

Billy snorts out a laugh. "Something like that."

There's the sound of sloshing, and Billy can see the way your spine curves in his mind's eye, chest pressed to your thighs and chin rested on your knee. He can hear the way the position stretches your neck in your voice when you speak.

"I'm not letting anyone take me away from you. I don't care how much I'm needed somewhere else, I need to be here with you. You make it easy to be this good, Billy. It isn't in spite of yourself that you always manage to find warmth; there isn't a fire I've found that...exists without stoking."

Tears prickle his eyes and his throat tightens so that the next deep breath he takes squeaks like his voice is dropping again. He can't bring himself to use the crackly tone he knows is the only one he can access now.

"We should visit your ma," you suggest. "Someone's gotta tell her what a wonderful young man she raised."

"Her grave is far," he manages, though the end of the sentence cracks and so does the dam, silent tears streaking his face. In all truth, it's not outrageously far, but he's been scared to visit. Scared to tell his ma who he's had to (chosen to?) become, scared she'll smell the gunsmoke that seems to cling to his hands and clothes and memories, scared she'll meet the ghosts that have become more like his shadow.

There's the patter of wet feet on the bathroom floor and he stands with the intention of making himself scarce by the time you emerge, leaving nothing but the pale ghost of his vulnerability on the floor outside the bathroom as proof of the wall that just crumbled there. He'll calm in bed until you're done bathing, and hope for your mercy in disregarding his momentary fragility. But the door clicks open and there you are in your nightgown. There you are with your skin scrubbed clean, you with your hair in the braid you wear to sleep. There you are with tears on your face, with your arms open to him like the Virgin Mary, offering a forgiveness that he doesn't deserve. The guilt of this will carve stigmata into his hands later, nailing him to the cross of his history, but for now he takes the pity and collapses into you.

"We'll start out tomorrow," you say, overcoming the awkward angle your height difference creates to pet his hair. "I'd like to meet her. We should bring her flowers."

#ehhhh . idk how i feel about this #(presses post)#tom blyth #billy the kid #billy the kid x reader #tom blyth x reader #billy the kid 2022 #billy the kid fanfiction #billy the kid imagine #billy bonney #billy the kid hc #billy the kid x you #william h bonney fanfiction #william h bonney x you #william h bonney x reader #william h bonney imagine #william h bonney

64 notes · View notes

theredofoctober · 7 months ago

Text

MANNA- CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: FISH

Dark!Hannibal Lecter x Reader x Dark!Will Graham AU fic

TW for eating disorders, noncon, abuse, Daddy kink, cannibalism mentions, non consensual drug use

Read after the cut

---

Two hours after guests and staff alike have made their egress from the house the host himself leaves it, getting into his car with a solitary glance up at your barred lodgings. You cringe from that look, from the purpose that coaxes him out like a stoat into the rain-clothed night.

Hannibal has known perhaps since the first Lover killing the culprit's identity and abode.

He himself is beyond a murderer, a master of games, lording himself above the board of life and only involving himself directly in that play when it serves to amuse him, or else he has no choice but to interfere.

It occurs to you that his current motivation is, in part, both the former and the latter, being that he’d likely sensed a collision with Freddie Lounds or some other disruptive circumstance that would result in his going after Amy again. He’d perhaps even devised such an event; you—predictably affected—had merely struck the spark of it into birth.

Always Hannibal’s intent has been to make some grand demonstration of his influence, a court magician with a vanishing trick: now you see it, now you don’t.

Who else has disappeared through his performance and returned only in death?

You’re convinced by now that he is indeed the Copycat, need only proof in absolutes to entirely believe it. But if he is so then all food consumed within this den has been of human produce, and there is no length of starvation nor manner of purging that will expunge this from your history.

They are part of you now, the whispering dead; you are built of cadavers, and the entrails of stars, and champagne, engorged with the reeking malign of the jackal you’ve become in your imprisonment.

You resign yourself to bed, feeling truly ill, and so do not hear when Hannibal returns in the early hours of the morning. Do not fully wake as he comes into your room, a needle between his fingers, nor when he whispers to you over the click of the metronome.

Nor, too, when through your lips he passes some fatty soup, which in a half doze you attempt to expel.

“You need to eat, my love,” he says. “Let’s try again.”

You dream of Savannah Belmont, her dark eyes turned grey in absence of life, sitting on a kitchen chair beside the muttering waters of a river. The fingers of her right hand play idly between her legs, and the other reaches into the foramen of her open gut, emerging full of water beetles and wriggling fish.

“I’m not hungry,” you say, as she offers them to you.

The dream repeats all night and on into the day until you think you may never escape its smothering hold.

You rise the following afternoon like the personification of the sin of Sloth, unsure what to make of Hannibal’s visitation, or of the hours lost to the shifting hallways of memory.

Grudgingly you go down through the house in search of your jailer, knowing that you must play inquisitor and have the truth of Amy’s fate out of him.

It is in the grand living room with its many decorative animal skulls that you find him, a king of the deceased amidst his plenty.

He sits in an armchair, holding his iPad on one crossed knee as he might the works of Kafka, dignified and invested in the screen. Standing on tiptoe to peep over his shoulder you see a news reporter standing against a backdrop of half bare trees.

The volume is low, only a scattering of words reaching your ears.

“Breaking... the woman thought to have been the most recent victim... found hitchhiking along a forest road just outside...”

"Amy," you say, aloud, and Hannibal part turns his head to you, his face like that of Jesus Christ, all grace and mercy.

"Hello, Little One,” he says. “Please sit with me. There's something I'd like you to see that should comfort you."

You hesitate to approach, your instincts a vortex of craving to run. Yet you must make nice with the monster, or else become his meat.

"Yes, Daddy," you mumble, and perch stiffly on the arm of Hannibal's chair, straightening your back in aversion to even accidental contact with him.

He blinks at your inappropriate use of his furniture, but does not reprimand you aloud. Instead he turns the iPad towards you and taps a forefinger on the screen.

“Police say the victim was kept in an abandoned shack after being struck in the head and abducted the previous night,” says the reporter. “Glass was able to escape through an unlocked door while her assailant was distracted by an unknown individual. After fleeing through a forested area she was able to find the nearest road and flag down a passing driver, who promptly called the police.”

“That was you,” you say, softly. “The ‘unknown individual’.”

Hannibal puts a finger to his lips.

“Keep watching, please.”

“Glass is suffering from concussion and minor memory loss, but is otherwise healthy,” says the reporter, through a grin of chemically whitened teeth. “Police are investigating the area in which she was held hostage for any evidence left by the attacker.”

The screen flashes to video of Amy, her eyes marbled with broken veins, bruising spread across her temple like an abstract watercolour piece. She’s wrapped up in an oversized sweater that only makes her look thinner within it, her every bone like armature against her skin.

Jealousy yanks at you like a vicious hook, and you find yourself appalled by your disease, that seeing a friend unwell inspires in you desire to replicate her sickness.

One of Amy's older brothers, Darrien, stands with an arm around her narrow shoulders, a surprise to you, being that they hadn't liked one another in childhood.

They both stand smiling like hospice patients forced to attend some miserable function against their will.

“I just want to say how grateful I am to be home with my family,” says Amy— she sounds stilted, almost scripted, unlike herself. “I know how lucky I am to be here. I’d like to thank Morgan Vance, who picked me up at 5am and never complained once. If she hadn’t stopped for me I don’t know where I’d be right now.”

“As a family, we’re asking for privacy,” says Darrien, and he rubs Amy’s shoulder, an unimaginable gesture from the boy who’d once shunned his sibling in school hallways. “I get people have a ton of questions, but right now we’d appreciate it if everybody gave us time to process everything.”

The news segment shifts to another topic, the falling of a church roof in Savage, Maryland.

You glance up at Hannibal, tears brimming in the fonts of your eyes. His face is pretty in the afternoon daylight, the age coaxed out of it by the sun.

"You saved her life,” you say.

"Yes."

Like a witch come to some blue blood’s birth he extends his curse to you as a gift, and you know better by now than to decline it.

In a whisper, you say, "Thank you."

"You're very welcome,” says Hannibal, and he puts a light hand upon your trembling knee, his thumb stroking the joint where a knife might cut it out. “I only hope that now you see the genuine intent behind my words, as well as my capabilities."

"How did you do it?” you ask. “How did you even find the Lover?"

Hannibal continues stroking your knee through your skirt, sending a tremble of sensitivity up your thigh.

"I've known his identity for some months now,” he says. “I can't tell you how just yet. But I can divulge that the Lover is following his own investigation, and knows that I've been helping Jack and Will when I can.

“Through this the Lover came to learn of our connection to you. When I called him to suggest Amy as his next interest he informed me that she’d already been considered."

You struggle down from the arm of the chair, taking a few hasty steps back.

"You... you gave her to him,” you stammer. “I knew it."

"And I returned her to you safely,” says Hannibal, patiently. “At my side, you'll receive all that you could ever ask of me, but as my enemy there is much to lose. I don't mean to threaten you, Little One. My interest is only in being truthful with you."

You gather your hands at your mouth, breathing in quick, stinging bursts.

"Why did the Lover want Amy?" you ask.

"He, like Freddie Lounds, had deduced some connection between you and Miss Glass. The Lover believed that abducting her would sow discord in our household, and therefore derail the investigation. I suggested that I agreed with his assessment."

How unemotionally he speaks of his this, as though reading aloud the introduction to some dull novel.

"Then what happened when you went out there the other night?” you ask, sweat staling your neck. “Why did he just let Amy go?"

"I told him that we'd made a mistake,” says Hannibal, “and that Will had grown suspicious. The abduction itself had gone poorly due to Amy putting up more of a fight than was expected of her; from Will's piecing together of the scene and certain evidence noticed there he would have located the shack the Lover was using in some days.

“So I encouraged the killer to allow Amy her freedom and abandon the building entirely. I’m told he burned it some minutes after her escape."

You picture your friend staggering by dark morning through some wood, the stink of smoke all through her hair.

"Won't she give you both up to the police?” you ask. “She must have seen his face, then there was the phone call—"

"Amy will remember very little prior to her liberty,” says Hannibal. “The avenue for her escape itself was staged by the Lover and I to resemble an unexpected interruption. I spent some hours with Amy before this, ensuring that she wouldn't stray from the official version of events. Her concussion is not the cause of her lost memories."

"You hypnotised her,” you say. “With the white lights. The ones from therapy."

You do not mention the day taken from you by similar practice, afraid of that vacuum of memory.

"You’re correct,” says Hannibal. “I did.”

"But her phone records—"

"The Lover removed Amy's cell phone from her person and took care to destroy it. I believe this is procedure with each of his killings."

Appalled, you wonder how you are to smile and be the swaddled baby of the doctor now the first layer of his ghillie suit has been shucked away.

"So you're like, friends with the Lover?” you ask, unable to entirely disguise your disgust.

"We are acquaintances,” says Hannibal, “with a similar goal: that of proving our love to an individual so adamantly set against receiving it."

He polishes the iPad with a thin cloth and puts it away in a silver case, labouring with a quiet delight over the mundane nature of routine.

"When are you going to tell Will who the Lover is?” you ask, bleakly. “You can't just let him kill more and more girls."

“Will is already on the verge of uncovering the killer's identity without my intervention,” says Hannibal. “By enticing the Lover to be reckless he has somewhat revealed himself, and is no longer the enigma he once was. Besides, if I were to unveil the Lover myself I would invite questions I cannot safely answer.”

Naturally he is self-preserving, first and foremost. But above all, to end the killer’s reign too quickly would bore him; from Hannibal’s handling of your own case you understand this.

"Don't you care about those dead girls at all?" you ask, and your captor smiles without warmth.

"Their deaths are part of the Lover’s exhibition. He is a crude artist, certainly, but he is not yet in possession of his muse. It’s satisfying to observe the progression of his work.”

Your balance wavers, threatens to give under the shock of this confession.

"Daddy,” you say, pitiful in your horror. “You’re scaring me."

Hannibal regards you with a kind of disappointment.

"God frequently inspires terror with His might, but those who follow Him with obedience need never fear His hand. I’d hoped that you might learn this through Amy's safe return."

Alarmed, you slip from the couch and kneel before Hannibal, feeling that you must display some false devotion or else be expelled as a heretic by terminal design.

"I'm grateful," you say, clutching at him with fervent hands. "I am, Daddy. I get why you did it. And I'm thankful you did what I asked. Just... please don't do anything like that again. I swear I'll try harder to be good. I'm trying to understand you. Really I am.”

Hannibal gazes down at you for a beat, seeming on the cusp of some internal decision.

"I can see that,” he says, at last. “And you’re young. There’s time yet for you to study under me.”

Will's voice, hoarse with illness, swerves through the room like an abrupt change in the forecast.

"What have I missed?"

You think to leap up and away from Hannibal as though caught in some illicit tryst, but a look from the older man impels you to remain, your cheek resting in his lap.

"She's offering me gratitude for my leniency regarding her outburst at the party," says Hannibal, unruffled by the interruption. "It's fortunate that my guests were unsurprised by Miss Lounds' deliberate attempt to provoke our Little One. They've been wholly charitable and sympathetic."

Will steps into view, his eyebrows almost at his hairline. His face is cadaverous and glazed with the resin of sweat.

The case, his illness: they suck from him his vigour, and though he is accomplice to your deadly keeper you’ve soul enough in you to pity him.

"Honestly, I don't know why you even invited Freddie,” he says. “It was a bad idea."

"In hindsight, I concur,” says Hannibal. “But my intent was to give the impression of having nothing to hide."

Will laughs and shakes his head.

"Freddie’ll see dirt on us both no matter what we do. Now she'll have even more of a reason to look."

"We mustn’t concern ourselves with the idle fodder of gossip columnists. I’ve had a stern word with Miss Lounds discouraging her from provoking our charge at future events. The matter is much resolved.”

Eyeing your sniffling figure, Will says, "Doesn’t look resolved from here.”

"There was another matter. Our Little One also chose to overindulge in champagne.”

Starting, you look up at Will and see him struggle not to laugh again.

Rather than be a hypocrite and side entirely with his friend, he asks, "Did you explicitly tell her she couldn't drink?"

"No," you pipe up from Hannibal's knee. "He didn't."

"I've never claimed to be faultless," says the doctor. "Evidently I haven’t been clear in my stance. But the implication was strong enough that you deliberately hid your drinking from me. You were far from subtle, I assure you."

You turn your face against his leg, hiding it in the fabric so as not to see the developing lust for punitive sex in his eyes.

"I’m sorry."

"Perhaps I'd be more inclined to believe that claim if you made a demonstration of it."

"Well, she knows how to give apologies," says Will, as much to diffuse the dark tension between you as to follow his own sensual curiosities. "I received one once in this exact room that seemed pretty genuine.”

“Hey," you say, rather hurt; you’d rather hoped he’d rise more strongly in your defence.

You’re uncertain whether the two men would be on such cordial terms if Will shared your knowledge of Hannibal. Yet already he suspects at least partly his shadows, and still is willing to flank him in the act of rape.

Still, you know his revulsion for the Lover to be genuine, see it in its wearying of him. There is a line for Will Graham, somewhere, but you do not know how long it will remain before he crosses it.

“Little One,” says Hannibal, gently reminding you of your duty.

As you begin working listlessly at Hannibal’s trouser button that Will says, "Mind if I help?"

For a moment you imagine him on his knees beside you, sharing the heavy phallus with eager tongue and coarse, pale hands, and you loathe the little light that flares between your compressed thighs.

Instead Will comes to stand behind you, smoothing back your hair as you bow your head to Hannibal; the other man bends likewise, arms going out to you as you consume him in a bite without teeth.

Four hands, then, upon you, two in your hair, twins caressing your face and neck with a touch that bears the prospect and willingness to love, should you become, like the dancing myth, a swan by night— you shift beneath that touch as ash, eating of the hated one as though for the taste of him.

You kiss his length, look up into the face that shunts through you a stake of killing fear and see him clearly, then, a legend brought earthwards by the wants he shares with men. See through the tiers of guise and truth that you fear most his humanity, that he can love.

Even in this coaxing to consent in your dismantlement you know it, see through a window of time how gently he would rear you as his own.

You do not want him, or this, and yet you feel yourself seduced by him, if only in a subconscious attempt to lessen the guilt that is sister to you.

His gaze, of lowered lids and pleasured shine, watches you with enjoyment. As your tongue whispers on his cock Hannibal murmurs to you praise and urging, sometimes an utterance of your name; while he is sated, you are safe, and so into your narrow throat you sink him down.

You owe him, you think, in some cosmic fashion, for the gold of two lives spared, yours, and that of Amy Glass. Like all Gods Hannibal demands his offering, and though you are no virgin you give yourself to that altar, raise and drop like the sun upon a mountain.

“That’s it,” says Hannibal. “My talented darling.”

Your mouth is a grail to him, some magic article; you know it from the breathy groans with which he exalts your attempts to satisfy.

“Don’t give her an ego,” says Will, but then he kisses your bent neck, and you feel a pulse between your legs again like the last heartbeat before death’s oblivion.

Hands, hands, mouths.

You take their lips on yours like a rat bite, assuming they’ve already long begun to infect you with their disease.

Then as you suck again, aware of Will’s thin form over you like a bower, enclosing you in the act, with them.

Mouths, mouths, hands, only one pair of which have not given themselves to murder, yet are not wholly clean of sin.

You wear your shame like a bridle as you mouth Hannibal’s cock, feel its restraint and harsh leading as you tongue him to his peak.

Will’s fingers tense slightly at your throat, something of his old meanness in it— threatened, you realise, by your curiosity in Hannibal’s affections for you, which you test now with your submission.

Even if Will ever offers up the steaming muscle of his own heart to you that unpleasantness will remain like gristle on the meat.

You do not wish to be a partner in this business of mystery and sex, and yet there is power in it, power with which you may bend Will to your side before you’re contorted by what you may become.

This you think even as you hold Hannibal between your jaws to swallow his finish, a desperate thought that may deliver you to some dinner plate. But you think of it still, think it even as you get up from your knees and turn to Will, twitching with resentment that he, to whom you’ve grown close, still allows you to be so abused.

Light as a fairy child on tip-toe you cross to him and push your wet mouth to the invitation of his lips, spilling warm seed between them so that he, too, might share in the taste of his man.

Will’s eyes widen, yet he does not withdraw from the affection, merely kisses you back with a silent passion. When you draw apart he swallows, glancing down and away from you, his fingertips on his mouth like a stitch, holding Hannibal in.

Later, when the doctor makes brief leave of the living room to prepare dinner, you find yourself looking at Will with the haughtiness of betrayal.

“I’d better address the elephant in the room,” he says, at last. “I should have been in your corner. It’s not easy playing both sides, but I know that night was hard for you. I won’t judge you for making a mistake.”

“I don’t care about that,” you say. “You should have told me the Lover took Amy. Sure, it’s been years since I’ve seen her or anything, but it doesn’t matter. You should have told me as soon as you knew.”

Will looks away into the fire.

“I didn’t want to be the one to hurt you with that news. If she hadn’t survived—”

“So what? I’d rather you hurt me than anybody else.”

You hear Will murmur your name, the beginnings of an explanation.

“I don’t care,” you snap, again. “I don’t want your apologies. I got you back for it, anyway.”

Will turns away quietly, ignoring the barb.

Then he says, “One. There’s another reason I’ve been holding back. Not just about Amy, though she’s part of it. Since the Copycat murder I’ve been thinking a lot about previous killings in the area. How similar they are to what happened to Savannah. Have you ever heard of the Chesapeake Ripper?”

“I don’t know,” you say, with a moody shrug. “Maybe.”

“Over the past few years he’s killed in groups of three, always putting the mutilated victims on display after removing their organs from their still living bodies. Savannah Belmont was also still alive when her stomach was cut out of her. Both killers have surgical knowledge.”

At this you twist towards Will’s armchair, watching nervily as he feeds a new log to the hearth.

“You think they might be the same killer?” you ask. “The Lover and this Ripper guy?”

“I won’t know for sure unless there are at least two other murders,” says Will. “He always follows a pattern.”

“But you can’t just wait for that to happen.”

“I know.”

You yearn to tell him about Hannibal, daren’t breath even a letter of his avowal.

“The organs the Ripper cuts from his victims,” you say. “Do you know what he does with them?”

Will glances up, rapidly alert.

“The way you’re asking me that makes me think you’ve made some kind of guess,” he says. “You want to tell me what it is?”

At first you say nothing, knees brought high under your chin like a child’s.

“Will,” you whisper. “What if he eats them?”

#yandere hannibal lecter #yandere will graham #will graham x reader #tw noncon #tw nonconsensual drug use #hannibal lecter x reader #hannibal lecter #will graham #darkfic #dead dove do not eat

113 notes · View notes

shybasementkid · 1 month ago

Text

To convince the hated

warning: again, this is an au. implications and hints of sexual trauma n repressed trauma. also bill

a/n: ill leave WHY ford waited up to interpretation but ill say that he didnt want the outcome. ykw feel free to ship billstan in this au too ok ill stop yapping, enjoy folks!

Stan could barely see anything. His head hurt. He could feel himself bleed from the left side of his face. Everything was dark.

Quick, last things he remembered. That usually worked in states like this. Letter from his brother after ten years. Showing up. Being asked if he was gonna... steal his eyes? By Ford? And then, two fatal shots to his eye and head. Being pulled up on the outside couch. Ford ran up to the house. But he didn't.. come back out.

Was this it? Was he dead? Was he gonna spend forever in a dark void, cold, bloody, and alone? Well, the alone part wasn't exactly new, he supposes. Then, he heard a maniacal laughter that was almost comforting in that situation in the distance. And the one eyed-triangle appeared in front of him.

"WELL, WELL, WELL, WELL, WELL, WELL, WELL! ISN'T IT THE MAN OF THE HOUR, STAR OF THE SHOW, STANLEY PINES? LET ME TELL YA, SIXER'S TOLD ME ABOUT YOU!"

".. What the fuck even are you."

Stan said, backing away. His one functioning eye looked at him with a look of anger, shock, and a dash of shock.

"I'M YOUR NEW BEST FRIEND! NAME'S BILL, BILL CIPHER! AND CAN I ASK YOU IF YOU'VE LOOKED IN A MIRROR RECENTLY?"

He popped a mirror into existence and held it towards Stan. The look in his.. well, eye, twisted into horror. Half of his face was bloodied, with an arrow through his eye and head. He touched his own face.

".. No.. he didn't."

"OH, YES HE DID! AND LET ME TELL YOU SOMETHING! SIXER HAD EIGHTEEN MINUTES BEFORE YOU FINALLY KICKED THE BUCKET TO SAVE YOU, BUT HE DIDN'T USE A SINGLE ONE!"

Stan looked down. His look could only be described as unreadable. Everything that ever happened to the twins flowed through his mind like a waterfall.

The nerd he shared a room with for seventeen years had ten real years to hate him and put an arrow through his head. And left him to die, it seemed.

Bill's eye iris turned into a dark blue, as the rest of it turned pitch black. He was hatching a plan.

"TELL ME, KID. DO YOU EVER WANT REVENGE?"

The word revenge seemed similar to the arrow in his eye at that very moment. No. He had only wanted his brother and family back. He never felt.. deserving of more than that, or even just that. Never even felt deserving of an 'I'm sorry' from anyone.

".. No.. and I'm not gonna want it now. He doesn't deserve vengeance upon him.. especially not from me."

"IF HE WAS IN YOUR BOOTS RIGHT NOW, YOU'D ALREADY BE DEAD! HE HATES YOU, GUILTLESSLY, AND YOU'RE SCARED TO WANT REVENGE?"

The look in his eyes twisted into an repeessed anger he's had, deep in his gut for ten years.

Ford did get to hate him. Guiltlessly. He's hated him for a stupid school project for ten years. It sunk in. He might not have gotten into his dream college, but he got thrown out of the house because of it. And yet, he was hated. For ten years.

"WHAT ABOUT SOME OTHER FELLAS? FILBRICK, THE ONES FROM TIJUANA, HELL, YOUR CHILDHOOD BULLY? DON'T YOU EVER GET ANGRY? WELL, MY FRIEND,"

Bill's hand reached forward towards Stan, seemingly catching on fire, in a blue ember.

"YOU GOT THE RIGHT GUY! JUST SHAKE MY HAND, AND I'LL GIVE YOU EVERYTHING YOU NEED!"

".. What's the catch?"

"ALWAYS A CATCH, ISN'T IT? BUT YOU'LL SEE WHAT THE CATCH IS. ONE DAY. DEAL OR NO DEAL?"

Stanley looked down at his hand. Was he really about to do this? Make a deal with the devil?

A devil like the one they warn you about in stories when you were a kid.

.. Fuck it.

Stanley put up his hand and shook Bill's. He heard as he cackled, and when he opened his eyes, he was in a dark, shitty trailer. It was HIM.

The one with the coke back in Tijuana. He was smoking a cigarette, without a trace of remorse or anything. Like he didn't hurt Stanley in such a matter.

And he laughed.

Just low enough for him to view it as far away, but just loud enough for him to look around.

Now he'll know what it's like to be the smallest thing in the room.

Now they'll all know.

#levity falls #gravity falls au #stanley pines #bill cipher #stanford pines #but like not really hes just mentioned

20 notes · View notes

novankenn · 3 months ago

Text

Tenuous Partnership (7)

Upon landing at Beacon Professor Port carried the sleeping form of Jaune as Glynda leaned against him on the trip to her accommodations. It always amazed Peter, even after all this time, and all his personal experiences fighting "others" how fragile they could be. Currently it wouldn't take much for someone with ill-intentions to best Jaune, and only slightly more difficult for Glynda.

The need to feed on red meat, very rare, preferably raw meat. Peter was from his studies and encounters with feral versions of Gylnda and Jaune's species, that is was more the blood over the actual protein. He still didn't understand it, as scientifically meat has more calories than the same volume of blood.

"And the researchers think grimm are hard to figure out." Peter chuckled as he assisted the pair of Gorgons into Glynda's private chambers.

"Did you say something Peter?" Glynda asked, her voice slightly slurred.

"Are you going to be able to stay awake until your meals arrive, or should I return after speaking with Ozpin?" Peter asked as he carefully set Jaune down upon Glynda's couch.

"We should be fine." Glynda replied, her head starting to drift downwards.

"I'll drop by after speaking with Ozpin." Peter announced as he moved to help adjust Glynda so she wouldn't fall out of her chair if she went to sleep.

He knew as soon as he started to speak, Glynda was also asleep, like her nephew. He sighed. It was hard seeing his peer and friend in such a compromising position. The torpor the pair was suffering after using their gazes was very much akin to the crash someone hopped up on adrenaline would suffer once the hormone wore off.

Again he thought back to what he knew and had witnessed. Glynda and by association Jaune would be able to fight and use their gaze attacks for hours while in prolonged combat, it was only after the need to be aggressive did Gorgons fall into a torpor state.

That was in fact Peter's preferred tactic when facing the feral versions. Get them to attack. make them attempt their gaze attack... and then back off and capitalize on the torpor state. Of course that only worked if his target was alone.

He knew the torpor Jaune and Glynda were suffering was due to the fact they no longer hunted. They had no need, so their ingestion of raw flesh and blood was minimal, making the torpor state that much worse.

"I bring you something once I meet with Ozpin." Peter said softly as he pulled out a short red cylinder from his vest pocket, and closed Glynda's hand around it.

"What?" she muttered, her head tilting slightly towards him.

"If anything happens, crush it and I'll come running."

"Okay..."

Taking a minute to make sure the room was secure, and the blinds drawn completely, Peter left, securing the door after himself. was Peter being a little obsessive? Oh yes, he knew he was, but he was well aware that many did not appreciate the presence of "Others" in peaceful society.

While there was little chance of an incident happening on Beacon's grounds, Peter still preferred to be safe over sorry. Stepping away from the door, he pulled out his scroll and send a quick message to the head-chef requesting two orders of the "Glynda Special" receiving a thumbs up as a response, he then send Ozpin a text, asking to meet with him.

As Professor Peter Port made his way to a meeting with Headmaster Ozpin, halfway across the world Pyrrha Nikos was studying, though not those subjects one would feel would be normal for a seventeen year old student, or even a soon-to-be huntress. No she was studying more esoteric subjects. Many of the books spread over her desk penned by none other than Beacon's Professor Port.

"For gaze based attacks, you need to break the line of sight of the creature." Pyrrha flipped back and forth through the well worn pages. "I know it says sunglasses wouldn't really work, but what about the newer polarized and mirror laminated ones?"

Pyrrha sighed and jotted down some more notes and questions she wished to ask the Professor during her mentorship once she reached Beacon.

"It's a pity he stopped publishing papers and manuals." Pyrrha grumbled. Her newest work of the professor's dating back to prior to her birth.

Leaning back in her chair she stretched her arms above her head. Soon she would be on her way to Beacon, and while she would be taking part in traditional classes associated with becoming a huntress, she was extremely more interested in the classes and studies she would have with Professor Port, ones aimed at being a slayer.

"Maybe I can escort him on an actual hunt!" Pyrrha almost squealed at the thought.

==> One <==> Two <==> Three <==> Four <== ==> Five <==> Six <==

#rwby #jaune arc #pyrrha nikos #headmaster ozpin #utter and complete insanity #jaune is a gorgon #pyrrha is a monster hunter #glynda goodwitch #glynda & jaune are related #glynda is also a gorgon #peter port

21 notes · View notes

sadceline · 2 months ago

Text

THE ENHYPEN HOST || 23

|| Reverse harem || ft. TXT, Mingyu (Seventeen) & BTS

WARNINGS: foul language, explicit content, group sex, humiliation, sex in public, threesome, foursoome, rough sex, red flags, immoral acts, unprotected sex, morbid jealousy, comedy, parody, possessiveness, violent quarrels, arguments, betrayals, lies, femdom sometimes.

GENRE: +18, reverse harem, comedy, enemy to lovers, friends to lovers

INDEX (Chapters order)

"See you again." Amanda comments, looking out the window at the Hybe office we pass. "Did you miss it?" Ester asks wryly, sitting next to her. "I'm not sure." Her friend replies.

Jungwon and I are in the front, I'm driving while the younger one seems intent on chatting to someone, though I couldn't tell who. Jungwon is very good at hiding frustration, anger and even sadness behind a serene smile.

It could be Hanni.

We take the long way round to get into Hybe's underground car park. I parked the car but didn't get out immediately, I was confused - a bit, by being with Ester and Amanda at the same time.

Even though we were all wearing black masks, the guard recognised us immediately, a little surprised to see us with the two girls.

"Where is the doctor?" Jungwon asks him.

The man looks at him, seems to understand - maybe he thinks we are here to abort the girls' pregnancies, how embarrassing, but above all how annoying that we cannot deny it.

The guard gives us directions and we take the lift to the ninth floor. Amanda seems to have calmed down at last, away from those two lunatics, but I am annoyed that she is comfortable - after all, we let her know last night that we were going to continue to take use of her.

On the contrary, Ester seems calm, although she seemed distant from the start. We didn't talk much, but I saw her again and we did, so I thought she would be more affectionate towards me, and that makes me nervous.

Could Amanda have told her about our conversation? I don't think so, I think she's more the type who would never do something like that to avoid hurting her friend - and besides, it's not like there could be anything between us after the way things turned out.

"We'll wait for you here." Jungwon says, after we have met the doctor.

He doesn't have a reassuring look on his face at all, on the contrary, he seems far too enthusiastic, especially after he tells the two of them to take off their masks before entering the office.

"Does he look okay?" I ask Jungwon, leaning against the wall as I stare at the door. "No, but Ester is there. Besides… he'll be a professional if he works here." He says it, but doesn't seem to believe it. "Like the other professionals who work here." I whisper, irritated.

Jungwon chuckles irritably. He is not too happy about Hybe taking over our agency either, although they have always been present in Belift, now they have direct decision-making power.

"What do you know about Intaek?" Jungwon asks me at some point, partly to kill time. "Why? I don't think it's dangerous for Sunoo to be with him, and I don't think it's because of what you think." "You think? He's never introduced us to the person he's with, why not him?" "I don't think he decided to tell us all of a sudden after hiding it from us for a long time. And Intaek is straight anyway, I'm pretty sure." "But… now things have changed, haven't they?"

We both sigh. I'm not in the mood for this discussion.

It hasn't even been half an hour and I'm already getting bored.

"Shall we have lunch together?" He asks after a while. "Are you sure it's okay? For Hanni? I know it's not a good time for her and the girls, does that sound right?" "Don't lecture me - Jungwon sneers amusedly, but I can tell he's nervous - I'm starting to think there's someone else who can comfort her, since she's not asking me for help." "Maybe she's just proud." "I know Hanni. - He says, but her tone has become serious. - Don't worry, just because I want to spend some time with noona…"

Instead it bothers and annoys me. I wanted to spend some time with Ester after the visit, alone, so I planned to take them home. If we were all together, at home, nothing could have happened to Amanda, right?

Or should I be worried about the opposite?

"Don't get hung up on this you too." "I'm too proud to fall for someone who has already fallen for one of us. I'm just sadistically curious." "What you say is definitely not reassuring." "'Yah! - I hear Ester talking loudly, just as two people pass by in the corridor (unbelievably, no one had passed before). - I said I don't fucking need it!" She curses in perfect korean.

Jungwon, who had been sitting down, suddenly gets up, but waits for the people to move away to abruptly open the door, finding a bizzarre situation. Both Amanda and Ester seem fine, except for the doctor in the middle, who looks very embarrassed. He is a middle-aged man, well-groomed but not handsome.

"It was just a proposal." The man says, clearing his throat. "I told you no twice! What's the point of asking a third time?" Ester replies, grabbing Amanda's wrist. I walk towards them. "What's going on?" "I just asked the young lady if…" "If she wanted to be visited? - Jungwon interrupts in disbelief. - Oh my God, really?" "Never mind." Ester complains and leaves the doctor's room without her mask, as does Amanda.

Jungwon stares at the doctor and I sigh nervously, I can't behave the way I'd like to for fear of causing a scene, but I understand the situation perfectly. I grab Jungwon's arm and drag him out, though he continues to stare at the doctor until we are outside and follow the girls.

"Wait, Ester!" I call to her. "Let's go!" She only answers me when we are in front of the lift, which is still on the first floor. "What happened?" "I don't want to get Amanda in trouble, but he was a pervert. - She says in a low voice, but clearly nervous. - He enjoyed watching her while examined her. He even had an erection, it's disgusting. He asked me if I wanted to be examined…. He kept asking fucking inappropriate questions!"

I knew I couldn't send her alone, if she had come with our manager we would never have known. Obviously our hands are tied, going back to his fucking office to beat him into unconsciousness is out of the question.

"Let's get him fired." Jungwon says, not laughing. "We can't do that. - I remind him, because he's letting his impulsiveness get the better of him. - He might tell everyone about the host and cause a scandal. "He must have signed a NDA." Says the leader. "He works in Hybe, he might have enough money to cover the debt." Jungwon slaps the wall quickly but firmly. "This sucks, I hate this shitty place." "Why didn't you call for help before?" I ask Ester. "I-I told her to leave it alone! - Amanda replies and I'm forced to look at her. - I don't want to make a mess, please. It's risky, you know. M-Maybe we should apologise." "Are you kidding? - Ester asks, and I don't know what to say. - He should be fired, warn his wife and children about what he's doing. And the other? The others host will probably go alone!" "It's absurd that nobody ever reported it." Jungwon says. I sigh and massage my eyes, the lift doesn't seem to be coming any more. "Maybe they did, and they've been covered up. We know Hybe, we know the people who work there and how they deal with the most inconvenient problems." "Fucking shit." Ester curses again, this time in english, and she has a really sultry voice.

She is so beautiful and mature. She takes care of Amanda. She gives her the attention of an older sister, even though she knows all the backstory and even though she knows we were together and probably suspects it will happen again.

"If this got out, it would hurt everyone in the company." Amanda explains sadly. Ester strokes her head and hugs her. "Are you OK?" "He didn't do anything weird, he just had a lot of fun…" She nods, perhaps trying to reassure us all. "And you? - I ask Ester. - How are you?" She stares at me in silence, not seeming to want to answer me, but then she smiles and looks back at Amanda, though she doesn't seem to be sincere. "Nothing happened to me."

Just then the lift arrives and I sigh with relief. The sooner we get out of this building, the sooner the two of them will be safe - I'm not forgetting that we might run into…

Shit, that's him. Coming out of the lift, it's him.

Ester turns around confused and paralysed when she sees him coming out, he just stops and smiles at her, realising she's a fan. Of course he looks at Amanda too, he makes a 'damn girl' expression, then very smiling he turns towards us.

'Taehyung sumbae. - I say, uncomfortably, making a polite but very hinted head sign. - How nice to meet us." "Fuck - says the BTS senior, putting a hand on Jungwon's shoulder - you guys got big, huh?" "Sumbae… great - sighs Jungwon. - Why are you at Hybe?" "I fell recently, hurt my shoulder. - He explains with great kindness that I don't remember it belonging to him, though. - Hybe doesn't want me to go to real hospitals, so they can hide what they want from me. How about you?" He asks, looking at the girls, Ester cannot speak.

I am, yes, objectively jealous. She used to have these reactions with me, didn't she?

She's already got used tome, I see.

We all laugh, I less sincerely though because everything that shouldn't have happened has just happened, after all Murphy's Law says it too, if something can go wrong, it will.

"Routine visit." Jungwon replies in a seemingly good mood, though I notice he is getting closer to Amanda. "Dude, you brought company. Man, they're too good for newbies like you…" We laugh again. "But here we are." "Why don't we have a drink? Seokjin's coming over."

What the hell… well, at least it's not Jungkook.

"Ah… that sounds safe? Where could we go tomorrow morning?" Jungwon tries to respectfully decline the invitation, but for a sumbae of his calibre, it would be a serious offence to refuse. "Hybe has a nice café. - Taehyung replies immediately with a smug smile. - Don't worry about what they might say at Hybe, we often come here with girls, it's the only place where we can have breakfast in the area. They'll think they're with us, it's okay."

No, all is not okay. I look at Jungwon, he looks at me, although we try not to show it, we share the bad mood.

"That would be great, sumbae - Jungwon replies, pretending to be enthusiastic - do you want us to wait for you while you go to visit? In the meantime…" "I'll go another time, it wasn't that important - Taehyung says smiling as he holds the lift open for us to get on - and besides, it would be crazy of me not to meet with the doctors from outside." He confides under his breath as he gets on behind us. "We've never spent any time together, have we?" I remember, annoyed, as I press the button for the seventh floor, where Hybe's cafeteria is located, or rather the one that is more intimate and private than the one on the first floor.

Of course, I know this place too.

"Oh, it's never too late. - Taehyung says as he looks at the girls. - Since the last time we saw each other you've grown taller, prettier and much more famous." "Yeah, but you're still working with TXT, right? They are quite famous too." I remind him. "We don't decide on these kinds of collaborations, we just accepted when they proposed it to us." The older explains. Jungwon laughs. "It's nice to be able to choose, isn't it? We can't do anything like that." "Oh well, it's like that for everyone - Taehyung sighs amusedly - but it's only because of us that Hybe is Hybe, today. We should be the ones to make practically every decision, but all we can do is choose.

Nice future perspective. I'm sure Taehyung isn't being entirely sincere, I'm quite sure Hybe treats them honourably, but to be fair there aren't many prospects who see us as the next BTS.

That is, if Hybe doesn't go bankrupt first.

"I don't want to scare you, just become more popular and things will be easier for everyone." Taehyung explains. "It's hard to believe that someone like you, sumbae, wants to spend time with us." Jungwon encourages him to throw in the towel. "Actually, I just want to meet the girls. They're not really your girls, are they?"

I look at him very badly, even he notices it and starts giggling nervously. In general I think I would be calmer if Ester wasn't there too, instead I feel guilty, I almost feel belittled, and it's ok if the person I compare myself to is Taehyung from BTS, but why am I not ok in front of Ester?

"What are your names?" He continues, looking directly at the redhead, and I twist my lips in annoyance. "Actually, they are." "And you brought her here? - Taehyung asks amused. - If you have chicks, Hybe shouldn't know. Do you bring them here?" "What kind of girls do you bring to the Hybe cafeteria? - Jungwon asks amused. - Oh, wait…"

Ester looks at me, her eyes narrowing. Has she noticed that I am jealous? No, I'm not jealous, it just wasn't supposed to be like this - and she wasn't supposed to meet any of the BTS.

"I'm Ester, I'm a big fan of yours." She introduces herself as we stop in front of the café. "Ours? - Taehyung asks smugly. - Not mine?"

She's surprised, literally speechless, but I remind her to wake up, resting my hands on her slender hips, squeezing my fingers as I gently push her into the cafeteria, I don't want it to be perceived that I'm annoyed, Jungwon and Amanda follow us, giggling amongst themselves.

Everyone turns to look at us. There aren't many people around, mostly staff - but even though nobody pulls out their phones to film us, they're probably surprised to see this strange collaboration.

"And what is your name? - Taehyung asks, gently moving the chairs for both girls. - Are you quiet?" "Amanda, not a fan of yours. - Answers for her Jungwon and I laugh, so I turn away to hide it. - Engene in the deep." "It-it's still a great honour-" Amanda tries to speak. "I mean, it is." Jungwon interrupts her, making our host sit down after placing his hands on both shoulders and pushing her forward.

Now that I see sumbae Zico coming into the cafeteria with some friends, I'm thinking that Newjeans might also come here, even though it's very hostile territory for her these days. What if Hanni sees Jungwon paying all that attention to Amanda? That's a problem.

"How cute, you're jealous of your little doll, huh?" Taehyung laughs and raises his hand to call for table service. A waitress who is literally trembling in front of us, looking mainly at Taehyung, though I avoid looking at her as she is highly uncomfortable, takes several seconds before she manages to speak. "It's an honour… s-sir Kim." The boy turns and watches her quietly. "Call me oppa. Listen, I'd like a caramel mocha, also an americano ice. What would you like?" He looks at Ester, into her eyes. "Pancakes. Do you make them?" She asks the waitress. The girl is confused at first. "Yes, of course." "With maple syrup, please." She smiles nervously. Jungwon looks inspired. "Wow, now I want a dessert too. - He says and seems to think about it. - Ok, a croissant and espresso."

What refined taste, I smile, is he trying to impress Amanda because she is Italian? What an idiot, doesn't he know that croissants are french?

"An Ice Americano is fine." I sigh, unlike the redhead I'm not really in the mood for sweets. "I'll have an espresso too! - Amanda says and the waitress backs away. - It's too strong, it makes you hyperactive". She jokes, under the curious gaze of Taehyung, who probably sees them together - not knowing that they are not a couple for real. "So how did you two meet?" He asks Ester and me, while the other two continue to joke. "Mutual… friends?" She raises an eyebrow , doesn't find her own words very credible. "Mutual friends." I repeat more confidently. "Weird? - Taehyung asks amused. - Or maybe not, are you models? You look like."

Amanda smiles embarrassedly like a child, she seems to blush, the fool, Jungwon notices and pouts. Ester, on the other hand, continues to stare at him, still unbelieving that she can speak directly to him.

Still, Taehyung sumbae doesn't seem so bad. It's obvious that he has Ester in his sights, but he's still polite and has only made jokes so far. I'm annoyed that he's not a jerk, because if I've noticed it, she certainly has.

"Do we look like that?" Ester asks. Taehyung raises his hand and picks up a strand of Ester's hair with his finger, I guess with the intention of finding out if it is natural red or maybe just to invade her personal space. 'Absolutely.' - He says, then looks at me and smiles. - I know you've been doing great lately. You are very talented and have improved a lot recently." He compliments me. I'm really honoured, I don't even know what to say because I wasn't expecting a compliment. "Thank you…" "Jay hyung has become much more confident." Jungwon explains. Ester smiles but doesn't look at me. "Sometimes I forget you are so young." "Young? Aren't you his age?" Taehyung asks. "No, I'm much older." She giggles embarrassed. "Nah, no way. - He says. - Are you older than me?" "No, but…" "Then if you can't call your friend oppa, you should call me…" "Oppa?" Ester repeats incredulously. Amanda looks at him and seems to repeat the word, but Jungwon promptly shuts her mouth. "No, don't say that!" "She prefers younger guys, sumbae. Forget it." I tell him in a forced friendly tone. Taehyung laughs happily. "How cute, you remind me of me at your age. Anyway, when do you start the promotion again?" "We leave for Spain on the 10th." Jungwon says. "What?" Ester asks, confused, turning to me.

In fact I didn't even think of telling her, I was hoping she would know. The Music Bank has been planned for many months, if she was a fan she would know. Even Amanda only seems to know now, but she is justified considering what happens to her on a daily basis….

"Oh yes, the Mubank. First time abroad? I feel like no." Taehyung sumbae says. "Not really. But we love the idea of going to Madrid." I say. "Oh yeah, that's what it's called. - Jungwon replies with a chuckle. - I keep forgetting." "We've been to Europe before, even to the Prada event. - I explain. - In fact, we are leaving for Milan on monday for this year's."

Ester is still looking at me, I know she's angry, but we haven't had such relationship yet. I feel a bit guilty, though, because we have only just found out about the trip.

"Monday." Ester says, nodding. "You didn't know? - Taehyung asks amused. - Fuck I didn't know, sorry." He says to me. "When they go to my country? To Italy? Yes, of course I knew that." Ester says, laughing.

Meanwhile, the waitress returns and we are all silent for a long time as she places our orders in front of us.

"Are you Italian?"

Ester smiles as she pours herself some maple syrup, she is incredibly elegant even doing something so common.

"Can't you feel my heat? I'm hot."

Taehyung bursts out laughing, Amanda follows, Jungwon hints at a giggle, while I remain impassive.

"I'm going to meet his parents."

Ester drops the bag of maple syrup on the pancakes, Amanda raises both eyebrows in surprise, she has the same expression as Jungwon. Soon they all burst out laughing and I sigh with relief, I was starting to feel uncomfortable.

"It's not true, he's lying." Ester says, still visibly shaken. "Well, before you take such a way - he puts his ear to her as they sit side by side in front of me - you should look around. Aren't you an army? I know someone in the BTS, even the handsome one, V, I think". He jokes, amused, how funny. "Are you happy with this collaboration with TXT? - Jungwon asks, noticing that the tone in which he said it not only didn't please me, it was really starting to get on my nerves, and it was blatantly touching her face. I sat up stiffly as I glared at him. - They seemed very sure that this would happen." "Hybe treats them way too well, doesn't it?" Taehyung asks, as if he wants us to say something. "It would be nice to think so - I sigh - but they're not doing too well either. They keep getting injured, but Hybe does nothing to ease their work." "Indeed. - He agrees with me without saying anything about it. - But I'm sure that sooner or later we'll be working together too, and then… since you're the perfect number, seven like us, I'm sure you'll break through. But of course I'm not saying that because this, you're good - he chuckles as he looks at us - and yes, very cute too". "You think so? - Jungwon smiles nervously, realising that he has somehow made us out to be a BTS clone group. - I hope you're right, sumbae." "Call me hyung." He tells him.

Taehyung is certainly strange, I think irritated, but here comes Jin Sumbae, Taehyung's colleague. He looks at us all very surprised.

"Aigoo, what is this, a reunion? - Then look at the girls. - With call girls?" Amanda chokes, Ester, despite being one of the BTS, gives him a dirty look. "W-What?" She's angry, but you can tell she's excited as she speaks to him. "Oh God, I thought you didn't speak korean. - He says, laughing with Taehyung as he sits next to Amanda. - Sorry, that was a stupid joke. Let's start again!" His tone is cheerful and friendly, then he focuses on us Enhypens and grins. "Wow, what brings you to Hybe? Don't you have your own place?" I sigh in irritation. "A lot of the things we used to do in Hybe, we have to do here now." "Oh right, the takeover - Seokjin nods - I feel sorry for you." "We feel sorry too." Jungwon comments amused.

We all laugh, a little coldly. As Jin starts to drink the drink Taehyung had ordered for him, he starts to tell us how surprised he is by our sudden and incredible popularity, then we try to congratulate them for their amazing success.

"And you are…" Seokjin asks after a while. "Amanda - the redhead points at her friend, then at herself - and Ester." "I'm sorry - Jin says, looking into Ester's eyes - it's just a joke we often make between us. It was absolutely rude of me, how can I make it up to you? - He then turns to Jungwon and me, who are sitting nearby. - Are they your girlfriends? You're out of your mind bringing them here." "It's okay, Hybe knows about them." I say rather sombrely.

I see Seokjin looking at Taehyung as if he understood something, but the junior just smiles, as if he doesn't want us to understand anything. Do they really understand? That would mean that they might have had one too… or at least in the past.

"I'm in Seoul only for a few days anyway - Taehyung says, looking at Ester. - I'm having a party tomorrow, why don't you come? We were going to invite our dongsaeng anyway." Seokjin laughs and looks at his friend, then at Jungwon. "Right, you were on the list anyway." "We're leaving the next day, that would be inconvenient." I reply. "Should we only invite girls then? Do you have friends pretty as you? The boys will like that." Jin laughs. "I don't think it's appropriate for them to come without us. - He laughs along, Jungwon, who must be really annoyed now. - But that is for another time! You'll have to invite us again." "Come on, you can't? The trip takes about fifteen hours, you'll sleep on the plane". Tries to persuade, Taehyung, gently, but his eyes suddenly look evil.

We know that there is no point in refusing, and frankly I have my doubts that Heeseung wouldn't want to go - even to the detriment of Amanda herself, I don't even doubt that, and then we should ask everyone else, not even Jungwon as leader can make such a decision without consulting the others.

"Thanks for the invite - I say, confused - where will it be?" "I'll send you everything later. I think I have Heeseung's number." Taehyung says.

We finish our drinks, Ester looks completely exhausted from the pancakes, in fact they brought more than usual, she can't eat them but looks at them as if it would be a shame not to eat them.

"Why didn't you order a drink? - I ask sternly, handing her my still half-full glass. - Here, drink this." Ester looks at me with her big eyes and long black lashes. "Thank you." Just replies. "Let's go, we still have to pick up those things. - Seokjin says and puts his hand on friend's shoulder. - Guys, that was fun. Girls, I'll watch this shit for the next seven days if it makes you happy. If I see you again, I'll apologise again. "See you at the party." Taehyung says and stands up. "Don't worry about the bill, we who are older will pay." Jin warns us, waving goodbye.

We are alone at last and I seem to be able to catch my breath now that they are gone. I turn to Ester, not what I want to show, but I think my expression is rather grumpy now.

"Thanks to you, I also met the Bangtans. - She says, but looks at Amanda. - Oh my God, you are a blessing!" "Actually you should be thanking us." Jungwon says offended. "I don't think so." Ester replies amused. "Shall we go?" I ask seriously.

After all, we are walking out of this goddamn café and far this goddamn fucking agency. I open the door for Ester but she walks in without even looking at me, Jungwon does the same with Amanda.

Why the hell is she mad at me? If anything, it's me she should be mad at, the way she wagged her tail for her beloved Bangtans. Besides, if we actually go to the party, they'll see Ester at her best and I have reason to believe that the other BTS will be there too.

"Jungwon, I'll drive you home." I say. "What? No! That was not the deal!" He protests immediately. "Where am I supposed to leave you?" I answer dryly, needing to talk to Ester alone. "You can drop me off at the next stop - Ester says, making me even more nervous. - I'll take the bus." "Really?" I ask, looking completely superior.

Jungwon stares at me for several seconds, speechless.

"Noona, do you want to see my house?" He asks our host a few seconds later. "N-not sure…" Amanda says shyly. "I'm telling you, don't worry. - He's persuasive as usual, Jungwon. - Can we have lunch while you… I don't know, argue? I hope not".

He just wants to be alone with Amanda, away from those vultures, I can understand that. Apart from spending the day with Ester, somewhere safe and secluded, I don't mind, but I'm still angry.

"All right, let's do it. - I mutter, suddenly changing direction and practically knocking everyone in the car over. - You idiots, you need to put your seatbelts." "Or you could drive well." Ester says to me after buckling herself back in, glaring at me from the mirror. "Let's try again." I reply, swerving sharply again. " Yah! - Ester shouts, her genuinely shocked voice making me smile, but I hope she doesn't realise I'm amused. - Do you want to die?" "Shall we try again?" "Stop it!" She screams again. Amanda whines as Jungwon dies laughing. "Hyung, I feel so many emotions!"

16 notes · View notes

darl-ingfics · 5 months ago

Text

Sicktember Day 5: Rogue Organ

Fandom: Seventeen

Sickie: DK/Seokmin (tonsilitis)

Caregiver(s): Vocal Line

Word Count: 1266

Notes: Medical inaccuracies who? Also, for the timeline, we're putting 'late award season' around early January cause I was getting overwhelmed looking at different lists. Also, was this inspired by this post by @btshurtcomfortprompts? Yes, it was, but it clearly took shape for a different group, so I do apologize for that.

“Wait. Are you sick again?” Seungkwan asked after Seokmin’s coughing fit subsided. The older vocalist shrugged noncommittally, rubbing at the base of his throat. “Hyung, that’s like… the fourth time in as many months. That’s not normal.” Seokmin mumbled something unintelligible as his head fell into his arms folded on the table. Seungkwan looked desperately between Jeonghan and Joshua. “Guys, this isn’t normal!”

The two older members exchanged a glance. No, this certainly wasn’t normal. Seungkwan wasn’t exaggerating: Seokmin had indeed fallen ill several times in the last few months. It had started near the end of award season, when a nasty cold had spread around the whole team. No one had really batted an eye when he was sick again in early February, assuming he’d jumped back into work too fast after bug from January. March had seen the members completing more solo activities, coming and going at such odd hours that his third cold had almost gone completely unnoticed, except for the watchful eye of Soonyoung and Seungkwan, who’d forced him to the doctor for antibiotics. Which had helped. Obviously, temporarily.

Joshua pulled out his phone. “I can call our company doctors and see if they…”

“No, no doctor.” Seokmin cut him off with a violent shake of his head. “I’m fine. It’s probably just overuse.” He missed the way Jeonghan and Joshua’s eyes narrowed at that excuse, how they made eye contact.

“Okay, first of all, overuse doesn’t cause a cough like that,” Jeonghan argued. He crossed his arms over his chest, worried hyung-mode activated. “Second, you take incredibly good care of your voice so it doesn’t get overused. And third, we haven’t even done anything recently that could even cause…”

“Okay, hyung, I hear you.” There was an edge in Seokmin’s voice none of them were used to hearing. Seungkwan grabbed Joshua’s shoulder, confusion and worry clear on his face.

“What’s with the attitude?” Jeonghan asked.

“It’s not an attitude. I just don’t appreciate being treated like a child.” Jeonghan scoffed at that, and Seokmin glared up at him. “I’m serious, hyung! I can make my own health decisions, and I say no doctor.”

“Seokmin, you’re being ridiculous. It can’t hurt to at least see a doctor…”

“I’M NOT GOING!” Joshua and Seungkwan both jumped at the volume of Seokmin’s voice. Jeonghan flinched away too. All three were frozen in shock as Seokmin bent over coughing again. When the fit finally left him, gasping wheezily, he whispered, “Please don’t make me go. Please.” With those words, Seokmin shrunk in on himself, hiding his face in his hands. The silence that followed was palpable. The remaining three members’ eyes volleyed back and forth.

Joshua moved first, sliding into the chair next to Seokmin. He gently wove his hands with the younger man’s, noting how Seokmin’s muscles tensed at his touch. “Why don’t you want to see a doctor?” Joshua asked, voice quiet, as if they were the only people in the room.

Seokmin finally raised his eyes. Joshua did his best not to flinch at the tears clouding his friend’s vision. “Cause last time I was there, they said it might be my tonsils and that I’d have to get them out!” The last word was choked by a sob that sent the tears pouring down his face.

“Oh, honey.” Joshua pulled Seokmin to him, allowing the younger vocalist to completely break down. Seungkwan ran to the other side of Seokmin’s chair, rubbing his friend’s back.

“It hurts so much,” Seokmin cried, words muffled in Joshua’s shoulder.

“I’m sure it does, if it’s your tonsils,” Joshua replied.

“Hyung, it might not be the worst thing to get them out, though,” Seungkwan suggested carefully. “That would stop the pain.”

“But…” Seokmin took a shuddering breath, sitting up from Joshua’s embrace to look at them both. “But what if something goes wrong?”

“Goes wrong?” Joshua asked. He gently tucked Seokmin’s hair behind his ear, attempting to maintain as much contact as possible.

Seokmin nodded, clearly trying not to sob again. “What if they ruin my voice and I can’t… I can’t sing any-anymore?!” The hiccup in his voice triggered another cough.

Joshua smoothed away a tear from Seokmin’s cheek. “Baby, that has to be so rare.”

“But not impossible!”

“Minnie, look.” Jeonghan, who had appeared without any of them realizing it, thrust his phone between the trio, pointing to a highlighted quote on the screen. “I’ve been doing research and it says that it’s a myth that tonsillectomies change your voice. They don’t even touch your vocal cords.” Seokmin took the phone, rereading the screen several times. He clicked out of the article, scrolling through other articles from Jeonghan’s search. “Plus, if you do get your tonsils out, that means unlimited popsicles.”

“That’s not helping right now,” Seokmin admitted simply, eyes still glued to the phone. Joshua patted Jeonghan’s back, a ‘thank you’ for trying.

“Well you know what might help?” Seokmin didn’t even have time to respond before Seungkwan threw his arms around him from behind, crushing him in a hug that nearly squeezed the phone from his hand. With the speed of vipers, Joshua and Jeonghan swooped in, capturing their sunshine from all sides. “What do you say now? Feel any better?”

“A little bit,” Seokmin conceded, even though fresh tears were brimming in his eyes. But that had more to do with the love of his members than the pain in his throat or the fear that came with that pain. “Thank you.”

“What else are we good for?” Jeonghan joked. A ripple of laughter passed through the group hug.

“But I still don’t want to see the doctor.”

“It’s not a matter of want anymore, hyung,” Seungkwan replied. “

Seokmin rolled his eyes. “I said I didn’t want to, not that I wouldn’t go.”

“Well now you’re just being difficult.”

“Did I… miss something?”

Instead of breaking apart, the four men assembled in the group hug simply craned their necks to see Jihoon standing in the doorway looking desperately confused.

“Dokyeomie needs to get his tonsils out,” Jeonghan explained. “So we are providing him moral support and positive vibes.”

Without a word, Jihoon hurried to join the hug. “I’m so sorry, Kyeomie.”

“It’s okay. I had a bad feeling it was coming when the doctor said it last month.” He laughed once, a tad of embarrassment hidden in the noise. “And I may or may not have overreacted a bit about it this morning.”

“What? You? Overreacting? Never!” Jeonghan gasped much to the delight of his dongsaeng who nudged him, shuffling the whole hug in the process.

“I assume that means you haven’t told anyone about this yet?” Jihoon sighed.

Joshua shook his head. “It was kinda hard to call a manager with a friend so severely upset.” Seokmin gently rested his forehead against Joshua’s shoulder, a soft ‘thank you’ for the support that shoulder had provided just moments before.

“So what I’m hearing is that you have no real confirmation that your tonsils need to come out…”

“Hyung, please don’t give me hope. I want to keep my delusions low.”

“I think that’s nearly impossible for you, hyung,” Seungkwan said in reply. “But I admire your delusion in your own delusions.” Seokmin attempted to elbow him, managing to hit Jeonghan instead and setting off a minor skirmish that ended in the breakup of the group hug. But the hug had served its purpose: all five of them, especially their precious Seokmin, were laughing together. And that laughter would carry them through, no matter what the doctor had to say.

#sicktember2024 #sicktember #sicktember day 5 #seventeen sickfic #svt sickfic #kpop sickfic #kpop fanfic #seventeen fanfic #sickie dk #caretaker jeonghan #caretaker joshua #caretaker woozi #caretaker seungkwan #darlingfics

21 notes · View notes

freakcliff · 21 days ago

Note

I had an idea right before i went to bed last night (prime idea-having hours) and i wrote it down so here it is, in its entirety.

“See, it's like this,” says Edmund, looking straight ahead. “Right now, I’m―how old am I?” Eustace waits for him to go on, assuming, naturally, he's asking a rhetorical question, but Edmund doesn't continue. “You're seventeen?” Eustace says, with a healthy bit of trepidation. He knows Lucy is a year older than him, and Edmund is somewhere in-between a year and two years older than Lucy. “Yes! That's just about what I thought,” says Edmund, either unaware of or uncaring of how strange he sounds talking like that. Eustace can never tell whether it's one or the other, with him. “Anyway,” he goes on, “I'm seventeen right now. And, when me and the others―” the Pevensie siblings always referred to each other as ‘the others’ no more specifications needed “―first went into Narnia, through the Professor’s old wardrobe, I was about thirteen.” Eustace nods to show that he's listening, even though Edmund isn't looking to him at all while he’s speaking. He's always had a terrible habit of that, but Eustace is too polite to rebuke him. “And when we came out of Narnia for the first time―well, it was the second time for me, and the third for Lu, but that's not important right now―when we came out, that first-ish time, I was nearly thirty.” Eustace doesn't really have a proper response to that, so all he says is, “Oh.”

the general train of thought was like, thinking about the differences in characters who've been to narnia & their relationship to narnia . the plot idea was basically . at a get together edmund / one of the pevensies gets angry at eustace over something stupid bcos among the friends of narnia the pevensies have this unique trauma of growing up in narnia & then going back to earth and all that so then they talk about it and learn about each other & id also have something in there i think about caspian & eustace's two visits to narnia because he got to experience some of the Terrible and Endless Grief in the silver chair. titled this one 'eustace encounters the endless grief'

ask game-- send me a number 1-4 and ill tell you about the corresponding wip in my document that was SUPPOSED to only have one wip

#cleb talky #narnia #cleb writes

8 notes · View notes

rise-my-angel · 9 months ago

Text

Heart of the Great Wolf

50 - News From the South

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

Length: 16k

Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, disturbing and graphic imagery, character deaths, illness and disease, mentions of rape and sexual assault, trauma

Notes: An intermission bonus chapter set over a period of many months, covering previous chapters and future chapters. Various different and new povs to establish a plot basis around Westeros. Not every pov switch is made in a chronological order on the timeline. Does not feature Jon and the Reader. Previous Chapter Here, Series Masterlist Here

“Ser Barristan, I believe none here could dare question your honour.”

He could not have been prepared for what was about to unfold when those words had come out of your mouth. Things within the Red Keep had been tense longer then only the short hours since King Robert had passed, but now that intensity sat tenfold within the throne room. You had entered to the injured side of Lord Eddard Stark as both held that matching look with blazing expressions.

Something was to come and Ser Barristan had not the knowledge to guess it. When he approached you, you did him as well with but a paper sealed in your hand. You met his eyes when handing it, and he had long since regretted not recognizing it earlier. He had asked you before the King left for his hunt if something was troubling you, and you had been reluctant to answer. It was that very look you were giving him that said, whatever was about to unfold held part of that answer.

Looking down to it, there was no doubt of what it was as he informed the Queen Regent. “King Robert's seal. Unbroken.” Glancing back, you had stepped back to Lord Stark's side as he read forth what his late Kings final words were. “Lord Eddard Stark is herein named Protector of the Realm. To rule as Regent until the heir come of age.”

When Queen Cersei had requested she see the letter, Ser Barristan had not thought anything strange yet. It would make sense, Joffery while almost seventeen, was still by all legal standpoints, a child. There was nothing wrong with such a deceleration and yet both sides of the room behind and in front of him seemed to radiate a feeling otherwise. The words and actions which came next only proved it. Ripping the paper she almost huffed a laugh. “Is this meant to be your shield, Lord Stark? A piece of paper?” As he reminded her that those were the Kings words, he was taken back very much as she so callously declared with ease, “We have a new King now.”

She continued to speak, telling them that if the two of you before the throne were to swear fealty to Joffery, the Queen would allow Lord Stark and yourself to simply return to Winterfell. But not only was something not right with pushing away both he and you with ease, there was something Ser Barristan knew was about to go very badly the moment the words left Lord Stark's mouth.

“Your son has no claim to the throne.”

Joffery yelled in an instant that he was a liar, but it was the expressions of you both. Steadfast and sure of yourselves you two stood tall against the power before you, not flinching to what you both clearly thought was right. It made him hesitate when the Queen demanded of him. “Ser Barristan seize these two traitors.”

He didn't move with much intention, hesitant of his duty knowing it had to be done but something inside him said this was wrong. Something was not right more then what was being said. Eddard Stark had instantly urged to the Gold Cloaks who shifted towards him, “Ser Barristan is a good man, a loyal man do him no harm.”

Ser Barristan had looked to you, but you only saw behind him the boy on the Iron Throne with something red blazing behind the green in your eyes. Something not that of a stag, far more that like a she wolf you stood as. Neither you nor Eddard Stark were liars or thieves, he was a man bound by honour and you carried the weight of your fathers fist of justice. He had known you since you were a girl, but you did not stand there looking as unprepared for life as you had at three years old.

Swords were drawn behind him and still he had not moved. Joffery yelled, “Kill them, kill both of them, I command you.” You raised your head, something far more sure in your eyes as you met that of your cousins and Ser Barristan felt the tension rising to something unsustainable in this calm.

Eddard Stark raised his own voice with a command that this room so desperately needed to listen too. He stood as Kingsguard, but as a man, something was telling him the truth lay on the side he was being ordered to arrest. “Commander, take the Queen and her children into custody. Escort them back to their royal apartments and keep them there, under guard.” The watch had all shifted into position, and one last plead of reason came. “I want no bloodshed. Tell your men to lay down their swords, no one needs to die.”

But in the seconds that followed, Janos Slynt had commanded his men, and in an instant, the Stark guards were all attacked. Around he stood watching the chaos, you and Eddard had moved to the others side instantly protective of the other even through your mutual shocked confusion, and just as fast, it all finished for you both.

When you had turned to face the Stark, Janos Slynt moved and rather violently grabbed you before hauling you away from Eddard, aggressively holding you at bay with a knife to your throat. Only feet away, to many's surprise, Lord Petyr Baelish snatched a dagger which sat at the Starks side and held it to Eddards own throat as well.

The Gold Cloaks had hauled you away from Eddard Stark, dragging you separately to the Black Cells as chaos around continued to erupt. But it was not the voices within the throne room or the Red Keep which drew his attention next.

It was a voice which had been nowhere near that day, and without shifting to any sight of someone coming behind him, did Ser Barristan hide away the small letter which had sent him down such a memory in the first place. “I'm not sure I have ever seen you sleep, Ser Barristan.”

Glancing to his right, Tyrion Lannister had made his way to where in the dead of night, Ser Barristan had found himself contemplating far too much. Looking back out to the city of Meereen, the knight only commented in return, “Not much sleep to be found in my line of work. Too much to be on the lookout for.”

For a man of such short stature, Tyrion was not without the ability to make up for it in speaking more words in a day then some did in an entire year. “Can't imagine what could be on your mind. Let me guess, is it that our Queen has returned from her unprecedented journey. Or perhaps it is the sickness spreading through the city making her priorities seem rather misguided? No. The most likely answer I suspect of what is keeping you up, is the boy.”

He attempted to rationalize it to himself, “It was dangerous and foolish to be anywhere near them.”

But it seemed the Lannister was not quite as convinced as the others were of Ser Barristans conviction. “Ah, now you are sounding much like Daenerys. If I recall, Ser Barristan, on many occasions you implored him to leave the city for his own safety. Strange you would blame him now.”

Eyes slipping closed, he withheld a deep sigh of regret. It was a horrid sight, one which their Queen had not even gone to see herself when informed. Only commenting with irritation that now Rhaegal and Viserion were free from their chains in the catacombs they were being kept. It bothered many, her lack of reaction to such a horrible event, and not a single soul spoke up about it.

Until it slipped from his mouth in the safety of such silence. “It would have been mercy if Rhaegal had eaten him alive instead. No one deserves to lay suffering like that for days. An awful way to die.” If Ser Barristan allowed himself, he still might have been able to hear the screaming of Rickard and Brandon Stark.

Daenerys at least, had not laughed when hearing of Quentyn Martell's death, but part of him worried if no laughter was more dangerous. Her father had been called the Mad King for a reason, he was paranoid and utterly lost in his loss of sanity by the end. He did horrible things because putrid voices in his head whispered that traitors were all around him. But was no reaction out of sanity worse then too much from insanity?

Tyrion was blunt about it, “The Martells will not be happy.”

Once more, he found himself taking the path he's always known. Sticking to his duty. “The Martells are all the way in Dorne. Unless they plan on marching here anytime soon, we have more pressing matters to worry about.”

Once more, he only spoke a truth and it frustrated him that it seemed as if Tyrion knew the questions on the inside of his mind. “He was a the son of the Prince of Dorne, and he died trying to tame one out of, what? A love for Daenerys? Sounds like a pressing matter if you asked me.”

It was nothing that time but honesty, he knew Tyrion didn't believe what he himself had just spoken. “He didn't do it out of any love. The boy did what he thought was his duty for Dorne, and now he died for it.”

“I cannot imagine she will be given much welcome there once she sets her eyes west. Even less once the rest of the realm starts to hear things. Which in Westeros, they always do.”

Ser Barristan reminded him sternly, not sure though if it was Tyrion or himself he was speaking to personally. “We don't serve those in Westeros. We are here because we serve Queen Daenerys. If we think her support in the Seven Kingdoms is weak, then it is our duty to fix that.”

Tyrion had one question though. “And if we can't, what then? I don't imagine leaving everything behind for a losing cause would be the last years Ser Barristan Selmy wishes to spend his duty towards.”

The raven scroll hidden on his person weighed a thousand pounds. He was currently acting as the Queen's hand. It was his duty to inform her of this, so why did he read it alone and why was it still hidden on him long after Tyrion had left him for the night?

But as he looked back to the night he could still see you, much more specifically, the first time he had met you. A small girl for even one of three, the most carefree he had ever and would ever see you. When not with your father or uncle, you had quickly attached yourself to Ser Barristans side. He would in the privacy of the open cliff sides of Dragonstone, pick you up to give you a better view of the sea beyond as you would speak in quiet tones instead of the excited girl dragging him by the hand only hours previous.

You never returned back to that excited girl, but remained the quiet one who always did what you were told no matter what. You always did your duty and never with anything selfish behind it. Some days, he wished you would, just to show him there still was a girl capable of being happy underneath your burdens. But then you were gone before he'd ever have that chance to find out.

It was not news to any at the time which hurt but to him. You were the niece of Robert Baratheon, as far as Daenerys was concerned, you being dead was only good news for her cause. The lightness in her eyes matched that when he had told her of King Joffery's death too.

“Without her in my way, I have one less significant enemy today then I did yesterday.”

You were the enemy, it was as simple as that. Then and now, his Queen was a woman who gave forth no care for when her enemies were slaughtered. But, the letter from across the Narrow Sea? He kept it to himself.

He was as conflicted as he was heart wrenchingly relived. Someway, somehow, you were alive. Somehow you had survived being butchered by the Boltons and the Freys. You had helped Eddard Starks last remaining son reclaim Winterfell and the North, you and him were allied both with Stannis Baratheon and held some sort of peace treaty with Aegon Targaryean, and your Northern King had brought the wildlings south of the Wall in another peace treaty.

Eddard Starks last living child, his bastard son Jon Snow, was crowned King in the North and you married him as his Queen. It seemed, things were happening back in his homeland which spoke of far less confidence for Daenerys pride in her cause, then she seemed to understand.

You and this Jon Snow had reclaimed the North, and made nothing but alliances in peace with what should be adversaries. Daenerys was building a body count, and sending back a boy prince of Dorne with a body so burned only a sheet was what any saw of him as they put him on the ship. And still Ser Barristan wondered, had she forgotten that little girls name Drogon had burned to death, and if she did, was he ready to face the truth of what all of these signs were adding up to? If you were the enemy, why was he hesitant to tell the Queen he was sworn to, that you were alive?

What would the Queen he served now, think if she were to learn that he was the very one who helped you escape Kings Landing with your life in the first place?

Or worse, how would she react, if she were to find out Ser Barristan still never regretted it?

Selyse Baratheon rarely wished to think of that night.

The lost feelings swirling her mind and the Lady Melisandre whispering in her ear what needed to be done, almost as if she would do it one way or another. She had managed to pull and pull at just at the right strings that she said yes. Selyse had said yes in a moment of desperation, and chaos had erupted from that very moment from then right up until in the early hours of the morning when the gates of Castle Black opened from the south.

The begging of her young daughter turned to screaming pleads and Selyse had been in tears trying to not hear it, trying not to go out there and see it. It wasn't until those pleads turned to true terror did she realize that this is what she feared she would become. Ser Davos, despite his own twisting turmoil had enough in him left to turn and haul Selyse from jumping into the fire to cut her daughter free herself, as she begged for it to stop. It had been men of the Nights Watch and the wildings both who put a stop to it, but it was far too late for no damage to be done. Shireen was still alive, but for how long she had wondered.

It was then the very large white furred direwolf which came sprinting up to where the scene had settled. Arguments of why the Lord Commander was no where to be found to have stopped any of this interrupted by the startling aggression of the direwolf growling, barking with something feirce behind it's intention. By the time the men who followed the wolf to investigate returned, they all quickly understood why the bastard boy had not been there to stop this before it got to that point.

The next days were no better. Confronting the truth of what she had done. When you had approached the small little pyre meant only to burn the already dead, you had done Shireen the decency to wrap her in a sheet. You hadn't wanted your baby sister to be remembered that way.

It was a strange feeling, that she was not regretful for not arguing to let the Lady Melisandre stay. She did not miss her, not after seeing the truth of what she was. But that did not mean Selyse never thought about her. For years she was someone Selyse thanked the Lord for sending to them. Now she could ask him, was sending her a test of her strength, and had the events of those horrible days proven she succeeded for him or failed?

Losing Shireen felt like her punishment, but then again, Selyse couldn't stop but wonder why if he sent the Lady Melisandre to them as a force for good, why was Selyse's heart less heavy and troubled without her any longer? The worst part, was that it was not the first time Selyse had doubted her presence in their lives.

You were dead. Or, you had been dead and none yet knew you were once more alive. Further and further into faith did she let herself fall after the dust settled. She had spent years denouncing you as a traitor with a thief of a traitor husband, but then Stannis had came to her. He didn't say anything, he knew letting her read the words of the raven scroll said it all.

It was strange after you were gone, it was as if her and Stannis could only cope by falling further into such belief and yet the more they did, the less and less sense did the Lady Melisandre make. The more her insistence's and goals seemed to not align with what Selyse thought their Lord would want. They soon were to part on the waters to Eastwatch by the Sea, and it was that night which Selyse had not forgotten. The night she went to go see her.

Already, she was not comfortable with the manner in which the Lady Melisandre was content with not hiding any of her nude form in front of her as she bathed. But then Selyse kept seeing, and more and more did something return which she had long told herself was not a right she had anymore. She was to give up her jealousy and insecurities on the matter, their Lord had wanted Stannis to have Lady Melisandre in that way. A way in which he had not looked at Selyse in for many years, if ever. But as she stood there, it became harder and harder to not wonder would Stannis have wanted Selyse more if she looked like that.

But she wasn't here to talk about that, and try as she might, Selyse was pushing through such insecurities to eventually find the core of what she wanted to discuss. Eyes naturally drawing to the brazier, her attention was drawn back to the Lady Melisandre's voice cutting through the quiet. “When I looked into the flames this morning, the Lord spoke to me. He said, tonight, you will have your last good bath in a long while. Make it count." Not quite grasping the point she was getting at, Selyse hardly gave a false laugh to follow when she explained, “A joke. Not a very good one, I'm afraid.”

Dismissing as best she could without giving away the degree of uncertainty in her head, “It was. I- humour isn't my strength.”

“That's because most jokes are lies. And you are devoted to the truth.”

Once perhaps Selyse would agree, but in that moment she was not so sure. It would feel some days as it she could not recognize herself while the woman was there. Pressing a little bit however, it in fact exposed the vast difference between their approaches. Selyse saw no reason to lie about the Lord of Light or his power, and yet it was what followed which led to those cracks of doubt in her forming more and more.

Climbing out of the water she was bathing in, Lady Melisandre walked to her cache of potions and vials, explaining the truth of her deceptions. “Most of these powders and potions, lies. Deceptions to make men think they witnessed our Lord's power. Once they step into his light, they will see the lie for what it was. A trick that lead them to the truth.” Moving along a shelf, Selyse stood as some of them were explained to her, but it wasn't until one vial did the doubt become quite loud. “And a drop of this in any man's wine will drive him wild with lust.”

It would be so much easier, she wanted it to be such an easy answer. But when Selyse asked, “Did you use it with Stannis?” She knew the truth was as necessary as it was hurtful.

“No.”

Once more her eyes drew down to her figure, was this what her husband wanted, Selyse wondered. Was the key to filling their marriage with lust as never had really existed between them, to only be found in the body of another woman? Selyse in truth, did not appreciate the manner in which Lady Melisandre approached her.

The sympathy did not feel real. It felt much like her days when you were young and Selyse would coddle you when you would get upset about things you were too young to understand. Gently cupping the side of her face, she was told, “Don't be upset, men never crave what they already have. It's only flesh. It needs what it needs.”

One part of Selyse inside snapped. Demanding to know why was it her flesh which Selyse's husband needed, and what did she say to him to convince him that was left out in what was told to her afterwards. The other, tried to justify it.

Don't doubt her intentions, Selyse told herself. Trust the lord sent her for a reason. She whispered the words to herself, but this time they did not feel as if they were what Selyse believed in their entirety. “No act done in service of the Lord can ever be called a sin. I thank God every day for bringing you to us. And Stannis to you.”

Finally, she found the strength in her to say it. As unsure as she was about it, she found the point she came to discuss. “He wants to bring Shireen with us. I think that would be ill-advised.” It could be debated now and then if Selyse meant it, what she had said. “My daughter has heretical tendencies, as you're well aware. I don't know if her doubt is real or simply meant to spite me, but whichever the case, she should stay home.”

Did she really not wish for Shireen to come because of her tenancies, or in truth, did the idea of bringing her young, sheltered, only remaining daughter to a place such as the Wall, simply fill her with fear? What dangers would Shireen be forced to experience in such a place?

Grabbing both of her hands, she played well. “I understand how you feel. But that is impossible. You don't need powders and potions, my queen. You don't need lies. You are strong enough to look into the Lord's light and see his truth for yourself.”

Guiding Selyse to the brazier, it was those next words which Selyse now, thought of all too often. It was those, which were what made Selyse not argue, when you sent the woman away for good. “However harsh it is. However hard for us to understand. You don't need my help, but I will need yours soon. When we set sail, your daughter must be with us. The Lord needs her.”

Selyse looked into the fire that night, and did not, in fact, see her daughters death. She did not see her as being the one to allow it. She did not see the guilt she would bare the rest of her life for her failures as a mother. No, all Selyse had seen in the flames that night, was a memory. The image of the final time she had seen her daughters alive and together and happy.

The manner in which you had jumped down from your horse and knelt down to catch just as Shireen threw herself at you, both so excited to see one another and how you never looked brighter on Dragonstone then how you smiled then. Cupping Shireens cheeks and pulling her in to press a kiss at the top of her hair in another hug. Selyse only saw what she had lost in those flames.

She could recall so easily a day in Castle Black, coming down to where Shireen had been with the wildling girl. Sending her and Sam away, turning to her daughter the moment they were alone and sternly warning her, “You need to stay away from that girl.” Asking why, Selyse had been short, assuming it spoke for itself. “She's a wildling.”

Yet Shireen gave only an answer that of a child could come to with such ease. “Her name's Gilly. She's nice. I'm teaching her how to read.”

Perhaps once Selyse would have found it in her heart to have thought good of such a thing. She knew her young daughter had been teaching Ser Davos and it had a positive impact then, but she could not see passed what felt like so much darkness stacking up on each other. Selyse didn't mean when she could come off as dismissive, but in the many months since she had lost you, she knew it was becoming less and less common to find that softness left in her to give to Shireen.

Flipping through the books sitting out mindlessly as she explained to her, “She's a wildling. Your father defeated her people, he executed their King for treason.” Passing her by closely with a low tone, muttering to her, “They could strike at him, by striking at you.”

Shireen's answer was soft, innocent, and naive. “Gilly wouldn't do that.”

They all knew she didn't know. Ser Davos had told her of you when the raven came, but he had not said how or the details of why. Stannis had not said, and neither had Selyse. Shireen was a girl, telling her such details would give her nightmares beyond what she'd ever had, it gave Selyse them for a long time.

But it hadn't made it easier, it hadn't made it any less difficult to handle. For every boy Selyse had lost, it was natural. It had been the fault of her own body's ill. Shireen knew you had been killed that night, and that you had been pregnant. She had not a clue that you had been butchered like cattle, and your unborn son with it. She had not a clue the whispers of a body so soaked in blood it was said the grey's and blacks of the dress on you, had been so stained it looked a deep red.

She had not a clue that it was whispered you had been so cut open from your womb that the stories spoke that you died within seconds. Shireen had no idea that they would never be able to bring your remains to your families proper home in Storm's End, because the Freys left not a single scrap of your body left behind to find.

So she turned to Shireen that afternoon. Short and stern, something dark in her eyes which told stories that dismissed the manner her daughter so easily trusted people. You couldn't even trust the men at your side, after all. “You have no idea what people will do.”

She not looked further into those days. Because Shireen did find out, and it was a fruitless hope and prayer that Shireen had enough left in her to have known her mother had begged and pleaded to take it all back. Shireen found out, and then you had come riding in through the gates with the Greyjoy that very next morning.

You had come back, but now it was Shireen who was gone for good. Though, now it felt difficult to recall that. While you were not dead again, you weren't here. Selyse understood why you and Jon had to do this, but she hoped it would not make her an outcast within her new home.

So far though, it seemed as if as strange as it was, as quiet and stand offish Selyse could be, those of the North who knew you well, were well used to such mannerisms. None pushed her out of things because of her quiet, more stern nature and some like Maege Mormont, had laughed with ease saying things such as, “Suppose now we know where she got it from.”

Jons sister Arya, loud and eccentric as she was, reminded Selyse a bit of Shireen. Some of her happier days, Shireen too was mischievous, clever and quick on the draw. Arya seemed much more abrasive then her own daughter ever was, but not something Selyse did not know how to work around. She clearly felt a void here now that her brother had gone, as Selyse did you.

Selyse was quiet but stern, and it worked rather well with Arya's loud brashness when things needed to be done. Selyse had for many years been the Lady of Dragonstone and with the help of her brother, ruled her husbands castle and small island villages as he worked in Kings Landing. Winterfell was far larger, but they found some form of synergy as time passed.

Arya would seem surprised Selyse was not put off by her nature, but she had commented to the girl one evening, “I raised two sullen and stubborn daughters. At least you listen.”

In return, Arya had looked away awkwardly before muttering in between bites, your name. “Did you ever get mad at her for not growing up to be a proper lady like the other girls?”

Selyse had to think for a good moment, but in truth she knew what that answer was. “Once earlier in my years raising her perhaps. But not terribly. Her attitude was one problem, but quickly I learned she did not have many interests in the things her septa wished for her to do. But if she did not wish to do those things, Stannis didn't force her. He preferred she spent her time learning under his wing then forcing her into things she hated, if they would not benefit her education.”

She hadn't said anything of it, but she could see cogs behind Arya's eyes turning all the same.

But still she would think. Did the Lady Melisandre know what was to come for Shireen? Was what she saw in the flames the ones which she would ignite around her daughter? What could she have done or said to convince Stannis not to have brought her?

More then once she had suggested sending her to Storms End, stay with to Alester. He was Shireens uncle and would have been thrilled to keep his niece safe in his company. But now she wondered, was the Lord testing her and she failed? The woman knew Shireen would be needed, what had she seen in the flames which she had not told a soul? Had she seen her daughter up on that pyre? She seemed shocked at the idea Stannis was defeated in battle to his end, but confident to bring him back with this.

Selyse knew she could not rid herself of her own blame, but part of her also felt used. As if Lady Melisandre never truly respected in Selyse's belief, and manipulated her into buying what she said without question.

Now, left with her only daughter and you had gone beyond the Wall unknown when you would return, and Selyse feared she would be alone once more should the worse come to pass. She knew what sacrifices needed to be made to ones own happiness or well being for this fight, but it was a hard ask to be left without either of her daughters for the remainder of her days.

It was all rather loud, the thoughts in her head. All Selyse could do, was hope as the months ticked by, you and Jon both would return home soon.

Until that was, the day Arya came to her chambers and suddenly both of them knew they had something far more pressing to do in their days to come then merely wait for you both to return.

Ser Davos Seaworth was once more reminded of his King's stern nature as he spoke of the Targaryean King down south.

“They would be fool to underestimate him.”

Walking at the side of King Stannis, Ser Davos felt both rather used to it and yet unfamiliar to a once normal place. Serving you and Jon was a very different experience, there was more charm amongst the Northerners, and the rowdiness was not a determinant to their cause, but somehow added to their unity.

But now, his place was once more at the side of the King he was sworn too. Winterfell was not his home, nor did he have any reason to stay despite finding companionship amongst the men there. It helped perhaps, that now Stannis had a firm cause without the back and forth flipping between kings and kingdoms to fight against. Here, he had one purpose. Prepare the Wall, and his men for what was to come.

Currently though instead of where his command was garrisoned at the Nightfort, the King once more found himself in the ranks of Castle Black. Working through plans and decisions specific to the Nights Watch and coming to agreements between him and the new Lord Commander in Edd. They were not leaving anything up to chance anymore, but that did not mean his Kings attention was not drawn away many times with news from the South.

Having received a raven discussing the movements of Lannister forces, it seemed all attention now was converging towards Aegon. For a good while, the remainder of the Kingdoms were in a mess. Riverrun had been stomped out in their final fights as forced led by Ser Jaime Lannister ended their remaining sieges, forcing the far inferior number of the River Lords to finally renounce their sworn loyalty to their late King and instead to the Iron Throne.

Now, the Lannisters were forced to turn their eyes to Aegon.

He had taken Storm's End which swiftly was being followed by him taking the Stormlands, no doubt due in part to Stannis ordering the remainder of his army North, giving the Targaryean ample opportunity to conquer without the early defeat of loss. It seemed the Lannisters considered his claim to be a lie, and the bravado of nothing more then a green boy of summer. Stannis, seemed to disagree. “My opinions of him aside, underestimating him at this point is unproductive to their fight.”

Ser Davos could tell that such an opinion did not seem to be very favourable, but he suspected it was more then the sort of ire held for those in the war previous. “What makes you think that?”

The answer from Stannis however, was simple. “They underestimated Robb Stark at every turn, and he spent three years humiliating them with defeat after defeat. They have less then half the forces they begun that war with this time, and to the realm, the fight for the Iron Throne appears to be a two sided one now. Lannister or Targaryean.” Shaking his head a bit, Ser Davos could almost sympathize with those back South.

Voicing as such, “Not sure how happy everyone is going to be trying to pick a side for that one. Not as if either family has a record which speaks highly of them.”

Glancing around, if he could say one thing, Davos would note that much of the organization put in place previously by Jon was standing strong. Knowing too well, had it been still under the likes of Ser Alliser Thorne, it surely wouldn't be in the same state. It appeared, the Nights Watch had to murder a second Lord Commander to finally learn that lesson.

It was admirable though, that even now faith in him had not wavered.

Thoughts drawn back to Stannis as he spoke. “If the realm still stands once winter is over, we can turn our attention then to putting my Kingdom back together properly. I will deal with Aegon then.”

He had let Stannis's forces leave, but that did not mean it was beacuse of peace. After all, the negotiation was made between Aegon and Jon. The King which he had an actual peace treaty already established. He was simply doing Stannis a kindness on behalf of Jon. But clearly, Stannis was sure to keep the boy in his attention. Letting the ball drop now, would only mean taking on Aegon then would be much harder.

Ser Davos, like most of them, knew not of the dragons flying in the east.

“I can station a thousand men at each castle, though I do wonder why it is you seem to be so confident resources can be shared between your men and my own.” Once Jons place of work now Edd's, the three men all looked at the layouts made of the Wall and areas surrounding it.

Edd had an answer to Stannis's question, saying it almost in passing. “Can thank Jon for that if he ever comes back.” Davos could see a slight raise in Stannis's eyebrow in a silent ask but the Lord Commander either did not notice or barrelled passed it anyways. “Was his deal he made with the Iron Bank, almost hoping we don't make it so I don't have to spend every day until I die paying it off.”

Davos counted himself grateful that of everything to come easy to him learning to read, numbers was as simple as any of it. There were only ten of them in different combinations and he didn't have to sound them out to figure out what the whole of their printed version meant. Looking over some of the papers, Davos too knew he was well acquainted with how the Iron Bank works. “You won't pay it off in your lifetime, or the Lord Commander after you or the next. The Iron Bank doesn't care how long it takes for you to pay them back, only that you do. The longer it takes in fact the better, build more interest up that way.”

“Know a lot about it?”

Edd and Davos both looked at one another with almost a degree of amusement as he titled his head. The hint of an exaggerated grimace forming on the elder mans face. “They run on predictability, what they know will be stable for the long run. They knew making a contract with Jon he wouldn't be paying it back any time soon, they were counting on how much interest they would build up in the long run.”

Stannis cut through, changing directory right back to the original discussion. “Resources won't be as much an issue. The more men guarding the Wall, the more it tells them the likelihood you will have the capability of holding up your end of the bargain.”

It seemed however, Edd held the same curiosity which had started the discussion about the dragon earlier that day, but from Davos. “So how do you know they won't just change their minds and start funding the Targaryean now that you're up here?”

The answer wasn't one Stannis answered, but one he and Davos both knew was written in blood.

Jon Connington could tell the frustration was mounting in Aegons shoulders, it was obvious.

Less and less as this went on did he look a boy anymore, but a man, a King struggling for his own cause. Lord Varys had not been kidding when he had informed them at the start of this journey back east, that Westeros will not be easy to take in the state it is in.

When confronted about his promises to have prevented making this any harder, the clever tongued eunuch had a simple defence and a detectable jest in his tone. “And when should we have struck, my Lord? When Robert Baratheon lived and would have seen our dear King and his army of sellswords thrown into the sea for his name alone? Or when Robb Stark was dominating the South in years of war as Balon Greyjoy invaded the North tearing the country into pieces?”

What was more frustrating, was that Jon Connington knew he had no argument against it. He had trusted the spider this far, there was no reason to doubt that now. But he let the best of his irritation take out on him anyways. Leaning in with more of a gruff mutter, “At least if we had done it when originally talked about, we wouldn't have already lost two whole Kingdoms.”

A huff left him as if with knowledge being explained to that of a child. “There isn't a family in all of Westeros which would side with Euron Greyjoy. If being Ironborn wasn't enough, his reputation speaks ill for itself. When our King sits on the Iron Throne do you think it will be a difficult choice for the people on whom to overpower?”

Gods be good, Westeros has changed too much since this was a place Jon Connington last had called it a home. The sheer fact of the Iron Islands engaging now in two rebellions was news all in and of itself, they were hardly better then those wildling savages. Enjoyed bloodshed and violence to an unseemly degree and had no organization beyond their ships. Not great warriors they were.

Balon took the North because it was empty and open as the Lannisters hid away from the Stark boy's army. What had Euron done since then? Nothing of importance, nothing which would truly effect Aegons fight. He did not care for Lord Varys' paranoid whispers of magic and whatnot though. He heard far too much of that from the King in the North. Asking him to believe such nonsense, a ridiculous and superstitious people.

Aegon though, Jon Connington was beginning to wonder if such words were beginning to weigh on his mind. They had been standing on the beach in Storms End when it happened. It was light and hardly stuck, but gently in the grey sky it had begun to snow. The distance in his eyes as he did so, and the hesitant look when asked what was on his mind only to have him talk around the real answer.

He had to take the Iron Throne, Aegon did not have time to think about scary bed side stories Jon Snow had told him about. Every now and again he would spot him looking at the North on their maps, or looking in the distance trying to see what was too far away. He never spoke of it, but it was on his mind, Connington knew it.

And it frustrated him as much as this war was weighing down on Aegon. Both were tense, but only one of them had to keep it together to keep the other standing. He still had time after all, he still had years to be that for him.

Aegon hadn't even said a word throughout the entire meeting. Hovering over his maps and not moving an inch as his mind and jaw were as set on something as could be. Connington was surprised at the choice in words Aegon made to speak, interrupting the back and forth between the two men. “If the choice is that easy Lord Varys, why is it we could not secure the Iron Bank for our campaign? As far as I am aware we approached far before they reached out to Stannis Baratheon.”

Choosing his words tentatively, Varys looked to Connington before directing full attention back to Aegon with clarity. “You must remember where your family comes from, your grace. What your true name stands for. The Bravvosi are a very sensitive and wary people towards Valyrians.” Aegon did not shift whatsoever, and Connington could not tell what that meant. For over a month now, any mention of family had been in discussion of the Martells. It had been even longer then that since the boy at all made any mention of his father. “They are descendants of slaves of the Valyrian Freehold. Their homes were destroyed by dragons, and were treated and used rather cruelly by their Valyrian masters. They would not trust you anymore then they do not trust in your aunt.”

Once more Aegon did not move, and Connington found it increasingly strange he was struggling to read the emotions of a boy he helped raise his whole life. He knew Aegon better then this. Interrupting whatever thought may come first, he spoke with a shortness. “When Daenerys sits with him on the Iron Throne, Lord Varys, I imagine such power will change their minds rather swiftly as to who they would be wise to support.”

Only raising his expression in an almost mocking, he seemed to disagree and once more Aegon allowed the ensuing argument to start as Lord Varys found a knowing tone. “In my humble opinion, I would say your estimation may be bordering on unrealistically ambitious. Having her sit by our Kings side may prove to be the quickest way to draw away support to those who would rather see him thrown back to the sea. They do not answer your requests for an audience when it was only him, and but with a woman such as her?” A slow shake of his head dropped his tone. “I dare not think the money they would be willing to offer to our enemies then.”

Leaning forward across the table, Conningtons voice dropped. “I would watch yourself, Lord Varys. Get used to spouting such opinions and you may find yourself in rather hot water once they marry.”

It was as if Varys knew something he didn't. The manner in which he didn't seem to find himself phased by such words. “Is that set in stone? Declared somewhere I do not know of?”

“We have been planning this since-”

Loud and commanding, Aegon cut through both of them with a heavy sigh to follow. “My Lords, this is not about who I am to marry. If my aunt wished to be part of this, she would be here supporting my claim. But she is not.”

Looking with a pleading, Connington urged him once more to be more cautious then this. This was the best plan, with both of them together the people would so obviously rally around the return of their proper rulers. “Aegon, it is best-”

“Leave us.” His eyes though, were only on Connington. Only he was being asked to leave the room.

Aegon did not blink nor repeat himself, as Lord Varys stood with a collected confidence in his place in this meeting, but yet he was being asked to leave? What whispers was the spider putting in their Kings ears about this? But it was not his place to argue with him.

Swallowing roughly with a twitch in his jaw, Connington gave but a small bow and a low, “Your Grace.” Before parting ways, the guards closing the doors behind him and leaving the two of them to discuss whatever it was they were plotting without him.

When had this started he thought, when had Aegon not sought his council first? When did that begin to change when their whole lives together he was the one there for the boy. He knew the bloody answer though, it was the same time in which Aegon also had begun letting part of his mind become preoccupied with that of the North.

Door slamming shut to his chambers, and the first thing reached for was not to remove the armour across him but to pour whatever wine sat on his cupboard. A grimace as Connington let it all slide down his throat in one go, until shaking it out and letting the bottom of the goblet thud against the wood once more. Some days he wondered how easy it would have been to die the manner in which he had told the world to convince of his death. Certainly he was frustrated enough to see the benefit in drinking ones self into a stupor.

If he could throttle that bastard King he would have. He and Aegon did not get along terribly well, but enough that they found kinship in their words to debate time and time again. That first meeting, Connington already did not like him. He had the audacity to stand there and yell at the true King of Westeros as if he were a child in need of lecture. Blaming him for things which he had barley been born during.

Nothing King Aerys did was Aegons fault, and nothing Prince Rhaegar-

Hands splayed out along the surface still, Connington stood up straighter, head tilting slightly as he put pieces together. The bastard too had yelled at Aegon for faults of Rhaegar, but that was just it wasn't it? Using something which looked on the surface raw and painful only to turn it into something to manipulate Aegon with.

Pushing off, his feet carried him into pacing about his chambers. Guilt was a powerful motivator, and there were many ways to manifest it. Dawning on him that if Jon Snow were to set the stones of doubt of Rhaegar to him, it would begin to falter his ability to stay focused. Then fill his head with lies and tales of monsters to distract from what he was doing.

Some said bastards were born from sin, of course this one couldn't be trusted. How though he thought, was he supposed to convince Aegon of this now? He would dismiss discussions of the North in their meetings, shut down speculations around intentions of the King in the North and his wife.

His insufferable, Baratheon bitch of a wife, he thought callously.

Jon Connington was a fool, wasn't he? This was not only about vengeance for thirty years past, this was the vindictive remains of Robert Baratheons blood to rid the Seven Kingdoms once more of House Targaryean. If Jon Snow was the manipulator, you were the one plotting it. Of course you would wish to wear Aegon down, weaken him so his enemies could take care of him for you.

Leaving the only good, benevolent rulers the ones in the North. And oh what a surprise, you also just so happened to be the heir of Stannis Baratheon. The only other man here with a true claim to the Iron Throne. It was all a ploy, use Aegons kindness against him to sneak your way into power once more by sicking your bastard husband on Aegon to fill his head with falsehoods.

Jon Connington was sure of it, he only had to figure out a way to convince Aegon of it too.

By the time he had sat carefully on his bed, he had the windows covered and checked the door was locked and bolted thrice now. He would live in his armour until he was sure he was alone. Before peeling off the final covering over his arm.

It wasn't so much bigger, but it was indeed, not as small as a patch of grey. Sooner or later, it would begin travelling down to his hand and then up his arm. He had to convince Aegon and soon, Jon Connington did not have time to let his King figure out this deception on his own. Before the greyscale took his mind first.

He had given Jon Snow the benefit of the doubt because of you, because you had come down to manipulate him into guilt about Rhaegar's actions against his family. A perfect couple you both were, willing to lie and manipulate just to swindle your father onto the throne which one day would be yours. He would not be surprised at this point either if Stannis too was to find himself manipulated out of your way.

Pretending you were dead, and now pretending your husband had been dead to spook the Northerners into worshipping you both. Aegon had allowed Stannis to pull his forces out of the Stormlands because of his peace agreement with Jon Snow. He couldn't imagine what you and the bastard were preparing for up there.

But as Jon Connington knelt to the ground, he pulled out the cache stored away full of the anythings hoping for a miracle. Not much was written to cure this, but he would try everything until he lost either his life or the remainder of his mind. He had to try for Aegon.

He couldn't let the vengeful pursuits of the Starks and Baratheons to get in his way, he had to finish what he started. But Aegon had pushed him out of the meeting that day, so what else was he being tricked into believing without Conningtons knowledge? He did not know.

He used to not think of what fate became of the girl Lyanna Stark, because she was just that. A girl who died with the paintings of Rhaegar as a monster. He once thought she was of little blame, but now he doubted it.

Perhaps Lyanna Stark was as much a lying snake as her nephew and his deplorable wife are.

Arianne Martell knew that the sun shined bright down on the lands of Sunspear and yet not a shred of that light was found in any hearts of the people that day.

The bells tolled and echoed across the halls as silence was given with a bow each time she had passed someone. Not often she found reason to adorn herself in black, but it it sat heavy on her person even in the striking heat. It had the last time too, but this time, somehow her dress made her feel as if it was sinking her feet into the ground to be swallowed by the earth.

Long had she lost track of the time she had spent standing there, but her eyes had not blinked despite seeing nothing but the same image. Most others had come and gone by the time she found the courage to go see him, and those whom came after did not stay by her silent side. She did not blame them, it was a pain to all, but only three of them felt it so deeply.

Trystane was still young, hardly even old enough to begin growing facial hair but he looked as old as she felt when he stood beside her that day. He hadn't known what to say, and by the time the tears wished to fall on him, he had left. Unwilling to cry in front of the sister who was still holding that all in. She hadn't blamed him for it, she would have too were she his age.

Others had come and gone, Ellaria Sand and her daughters, Arianne's young cousins included. Elia was Trystane's age but she had suffered a great loss too, as it was only years ago. In those days, it was Arianne who stood where she had. Beside a daughter unsure how to feel that she too, was not permitted to see the final visage of her loved one before his funeral proper. When Oberyn Martell's body had been brought home to Sunspear, the only ones who had seen the truth were his brother Doran and his paramour Ellaria, the later having witnessed the horror firsthand.

This time, Arianne spent the entire time standing there wondering if she should defy tradition and peel back the coverings to see the truth her father had told her was not for any eyes of his loved ones. She knew then when he had told her against it, it was worse then she had imagined. The truth of his wounds.

Returning home from the Stormlands for this news was devastating. Gone to seek the truth of one claiming to be family, and returning to find the death of another. Quentyn Martell had travelled across the Narrow Sea to seek the Targaryean girl, and if once she was unsure what to think of it, now she felt another. She felt something she suspected, was not unlike the red rage which seeped into the blood of many Martells when their loved ones were wronged.

Some will blame one thing, others will blame elsewhere but there was only one truth.

It wasn't until the sounds of feet echoing across the way and the distinct sound of something being rolled along with it did she know her silence had to find a voice this time. They had spent too much of their lives not speaking, and it had to end now.

Prince Doran Martell, Arianne's father was brought to be placed beside his daughter and only when the retreating footsteps echoed away did she speak. Her voice distant and faint but solid and sure. “I used to wish I could hate him.” Doran said nothing but to let his daughter speak. “I would look up to the star of Nymeria at night and hope he could see the same, and tell him however far away we were, that he will not rob me of my birthright. Over and over again I would tell him that, no matter how much he could not hear me. Even when you told me the truth, I was still angry.”

Her fathers voice was always calm. It was smooth as a knife slicing through warm butter sitting in the morning sun, and it had hardly ever been comforting. Perhaps there was still shreds of but a girl in her heart, but it felt as such now. “We are a stubborn people in our blood, and it took me a long time to learn it was me who held that problem, not your mother. She had not forgiven me for it, and now never will. If I won't blame her for it, I will not blame you for the same.”

As even toned as he, Arianne's voice hardly picked up to echo within the empty halls against the distance of bells. “You made wrong choices and paid for it, as did my Uncle, as did I. Blaming you won't take any of it back, nor will it change that you did not do this to him. She did.”

“Arianne-”

Not picking up her tone, but the sternness in it was all to similar to that of Oberyn she knew. “We can blame each other all we like, but there is only one truth father. I had a little brother until the days he set off to find her. And when he did, he returned to us under a sheet. Had he not gone to her, Quentyn would still be with us. I could still stand here and accuse him of robbing my birthright, and wishing you could have been honest with me earlier, but we can't. And I will not blame us for it, we have done enough of that.”

Doran's voice vibrated in a confidence through her chest, finding it's way to her heart. If for only moments, it helped ease them temptation to uncover the sheet to see for herself. “Every year since Elia was taken from us, I have spent my time with guilt. What more or different should I have done to protect her, but it was Oberyn who reminded me of the truth. We could stand here and argue amongst ourselves, or we could turn our eyes to the ones who did it to her, to her children.”

A sorrowful look crossed her face, one which even only from the side did her father catch. “He didn't look much like her.”

Doran however, felt not shaken by that thought it seemed. “He never had. Rhaenys did, though. Eyes, skin, hair all looked exactly like Elia had when I held her as a babe. She would write me, saying that Aegon had their purple eyes and silver hair, and it upset her to think that they would love him more then her daughter. The truth is not so different now is it?”

He had not looked how she expected. Her claimed cousin. Skin pale as the rest of them, eyes which turned from blue to purple depending on the sun and light shining around them, and a hair dyed a striking blue to hide the once secret. Arianne had not questioned why he kept it, but when asked why such a colour, it was his answer that felt like family.

“The Tyroshi have such drastic colours in their hair. That was where I would tell people my mother was from, and it was to honour her.” Arianne had wondered if that meant the one he still held onto was her, she had desperately hoped so. She did not remember what Rhaegar Targaryean looked like, but not once did his name ever come out of Aegon's mouth.

Only Elia, only Rhaenys. In a moment of quiet before she had left, he looked more of a boy then a man fighting to be King when he had said it. Looking at her with a sad smile, “I never knew what she looked like, my sister. I never met any of my mothers family, never knew what they looked like either. If I imagine my sister could have grown up to look as you do..” He had hesitated, brows narrowing not in nerves but in something painful she now understood. “Perhaps it would be of some comfort.”

Comfort was not found here though. Comfort was not what Arianne would ever use to describe anything of her home in such hours. Comfort was for those who had not been taken from their families with such cruelty and horror. Comfort was for those who wished for their lives to be comfortable, and that was not the life of those looking for justice.

Her father it seemed, could read her more then she expected. Cutting through the quiet once more. “I have kept you in the dark, as you have I. We cannot do that anymore. I have spent too many years letting you think I wished to push you away, and I will not waste the rest of mine doing it anymore. You are my daughter, I need you by my side. As equals.”

That was all she ever wanted. Her whole life she wished to be seen as such by her father, and as much as she wished she could be a child upset it took to this to let it get there, she wouldn't waste that time on such childishness. Her voice was low, something hinting at an anger. “They said the beast had snuck up behind him. As if hunting him down like prey. One of them flies free in her skies too. Who else has burned like my little brother?”

Her father had the right answer. “What did he say of her?”

Her answer was truthful, and as unsure as he was. “He didn't need to say anything. He's afraid of her, and that tells me as much as the complete truth.”

A choice was going to have to be made. One plan to the next, they all had to be on the same understanding, one united front. Arianne's plan to crown Myrcella was one she had believed in before it was stopped in its tracks, but she was no fool to the other side presented. None could prove or disprove that Aegon was Elia Martell's son, but he believed it, and if a scrap of possibility said he was right, that was enough.

Myrcella was a good kid, smart and bright and better then the mother she was said to look so similar to in every way, but if the realm were to be asked? There was only one side to pick. In due time Myrcella had every right to be Arianne's sister by law, but Aegon was her cousin by birth and blood.

Elia was her aunt by birth and blood. And it was her memory the Martell's fought to avenge. It was her which Oberyn had died to avenge. And even moreso, there was another fact to consider.

The realm would choose Aegon over Myrcella, but the realm too, would choose Aegon over Daenerys.

The Lannisters who killed her aunt and uncle on one end, and the Targaryean girl who killed her brother on the other. Who would the Martells side with? Arianne would say neither, Arianne would say blood protects blood. And her father had agreed.

So father and daughter stood there, looking over the sheet covering Quentyn Martell's body, burned so horrible by dragonfire that she could not even look upon his grown face one last time. Once she had refused to allow him to rob her of her birthright, but Daenerys Targaryean's dragon had robbed her little brother not only of his life, but the mercy of a quick death.

Targaryeans were dragons, but Arianne was a Martell. There was no light or burn brighter then that of a sun, and as winter would one day enclose on the lands, it was her responsibility to ensure the sun shined bright and protective over her people. It was a dragons nature, to burn it all away to cinder and ash.

She had never wanted Quentyn dead when she thought he wanted to take her place as heir to Dorne, but Daenerys Targaryean would come to Westeros and burn the lands with dragonfire and invade their people with blood to take what she thought was her birthright. They soon would hold the final funeral for Quentyn, but the sun would soon illuminate brighter then ever before. After all, Aegon was not cruel and he was the blood of her family.

The Targaryean girl was a dragon, and the Dornish had never been defeated by dragons before. They would not start now.

Ser Yohn Royce did not mean to sit there with such ire, but it was all he had left.

His patience had worn thin, and there was little he could do to stop what was coming any further, he had done all he could without compromising all he held dear and he had to hope he did enough. Now, all he had left was the hope he was a good actor, or liar. Depending on which they would see him as should it be discovered too early.

The day was surprisingly bright for how cool the morning air begun. The three of them sat there and the sight had yet to stop being so utterly pitiful. His Master at Arms could only work with so much, and this was next to nothing compared to where his own sons had been far before this age. Yet there he sat watching meek Robin Arryn get beat every which way by the boy sparring with him. At the rate he had been going, he was shocked the boy had enough in him to pick up the bloody thing.

“Sword up. Attack my lord, attack- don't cross your feet.”

Ser Royce looked at the sight, and dared not to peek to his side. He knew he was at odds with the man, and it was easier to play dumb and begrudging then contemptuous and suspicious. A huff left him as Robin once more tripped over his own feet at another parry. “My sons have had swords in their hands since the time they could walk. This one..”

If there ever was an understatement, Petyr Baelish had won it's greatest feat. “Lord Arryn will never be a great warrior,”

Interrupting with ingidnance, Ser Royce almost rolled his eyes at the pomp in such a claim. “Great warrior? He swings a sword like a girl with palsy.” Just as he finished speaking did a squire approach the benches where they sat, handing Lord Baelish a note.

Don't look he told himself. The man had eyes on the back of his head, and even if he didn't, there was no doubt the pair of blue eyes attached to dark hair would seek him out should he glance out of place. He was no fool, he knew even something as simple as a seating place was strategy to the slimy man next to him, and it was not out of the possibilities that Alyane Stone was here to watch what Lord Baelish could not.

After all, he was the only one who had not come around to trusting Petyr Baelish. He had been the only one of Lords of the Vale to protest against giving Littlefinger another chance to serve as Protector of the Vale in Robins name. He still protested it, but he at the time, was a fool.

He was as much a fool then as they thought he was now. It was why they watched him, they did not trust fools. Well as it turns out, he learned from his mistake and did not trust either of them back. Had one asked Ser Royce over a year ago if he would look at Alyane with such suspicion he would have taken offence.

The man did not believe the story she told, but he did fall prey to her name and her tears. Now realizing, it had always been an act. She no doubt had lied for him, and if Littlefinger hadn't told her what lie to tell, then she was always just as manipulative to come up with the very same he had separately. Neither option made Ser Royce comfortable.

He did not like Lady Lysa, but she was the widow to Lord Jon Arryn, and he had to respect her to respect the memory of the man he did greatly respect. Flung herself from the moondoor was the story father and daughter told. He thought it was no better then hogwash then, and he still thought it now. But then Alyane had told him who she was with utter tears and he fell for such acts.

Were he to brave a look at her now, nothing close to tears sat in her eyes. She was well postured, and prim and proper, a true lady and as watching of a hawk as ever. He'd known many a bastards in his time, and none he met were quite as formal as Alyane Stone.

What had the years in the Vale done to the crying girl he met that day? Did that crying girl ever exist?

Ser Royce dared not think of Eddard Stark would say. In a horrid way, he was glad he was gone. No one should see it end up this way, none wanted Petyr Baelish to be the one any grows up to follow in the footsteps of.

So he sat there, ever the disapproving brute watching the boy fail once more as Petyr glanced at her as he tucked the raven scroll away. Returning to the conversation before. “Some boys develop more slowly. He's still young.”

Arguing back right away he commented, “He's thirteen. Boys have been known to go to war at thirteen.”

Petyr Baelish insisted however. “He has other gifts.” When Ser Royce asked what those would be, the answer was all the more work to not act as if it meant anything suspicious to him, “The gift of a great name. Sometimes that's all one needs.”

Offering his hand out to Alyane, the two begun to step down onto the grass as he led her away from the fight. Ser Royce followed in toe, knowing once more, if he did not play as he needed, either one of them would sniff his intentions out.

They were leaving young Robin at the Runestones to be ward under House Royce, but the man was not mistaken. They were dumping a problem at his doorstep hoping to clear up their obstacles, and clog his time and effort up away from poking around them too much. So he agreed to take the boy in, but that did not mean much.

Petyr Baelish and Alyane Stone were not the only ones with plans none else knew. She played her part though, respectful and kind as she turned to him. “Goodbye, Ser Royce and thank you for all you've done for me.”

A small nod back, “I've done nothing more than my duty, my lady.” And that was it. Duty to be a fool and a host and once they were gone from his home his duty was to once more do the honourable thing. The right thing, even if it too, had proven to be the deceptive one.

Lord Baelish played his part well too, they both did. He taught her to play as well as he. “I have no doubt that upon my return, Robin's skills will have improved immeasurably.”

Glancing back to the boy, Ser Royce was almost sure he somehow, had gotten even worse in the minutes they spent looking away from the scene. “He'll be safe here. As for his skills, I make no promises.”

The carriage leading them away was said to be taking them to the Fingers. He doubted that. He knew more then doubt, he was sure of it. For everything Petyr Baelish did to keep his plans close to his chest, all it took was one little slip to unravel the workings of a webbing of lies. One single raven scroll put into the wrong hands by accident and a mystery had unveiled.

Afterall, he had wondered that day, what on earth did Lady Barbrey Dustin of Barrowton have any sort of business sharing correspondence with Petyr Baelish. In the privacy of night, was the only time he read it. He trusted no eyes but his own in that moment and for good reason. News travelled, but why on earth was this news coming from her to him?

Why was Barbrey Dustin the one to inform Petyr Baelish, that you had married Eddard Starks last living child, his bastard son, and King in the North? And why he wondered as he read it, did it entail the name of a girl. Daisy. Who was she, and why was Lady Barbrey telling Littlefinger that Daisy could not get any of her girls anywhere near Jon Snow before the wedding. It had taken place the eve of their return from Dragonstone, Daisy had not the time to try.

What in seven hells did any of that mean?

Well, looking into things when he had as many names on one raven scroll as he did, was not something that was going to be terribly difficult. Maester Coleman had copies of many raven scrolls coming in and out of the main rookery, and when asked if any had come from Winterfell he had only a fair few. Those fair few, were the words of a girl named Daisy.

He had asked the man if anything seemed out of the ordinary from such letters, and he said no. But not before one thing, saying that Lord Baelish and Alyane both kept requesting that Lord Robin be given sweetmilk to handle his outbursts instead of essence of nightshade. It was odd the Maester commented, that small does of the later left the body after some hours in small does, whereas adding drops of sweetwine to milk would build up in the bloodstream. But that the requests had stopped just as plans to send him to the Runestones had been made.

How strange it was that such an oddity had ceased, around the same time Littlefinger seemed to find interest in learning that Jon Snow had married. Even more strange it was, the raven had said the girl Daisy could not get any of her girls near him before, so imagine Ser Royce's surprise when he learned the profession this Daisy worked, was running the Winter Town brothel.

It was easy then, figuring out at least part of it. The most standard reaction was what Littlefingers plan had hoped. Get a whore into Jon Snows bed before he marries you, and what likelihood was there that a wedding at all would occur in such an aftermath.

Ser Royce had never spoken to Eddard's bastard son before, but he had been beginning to suspect, this was not a mystery for one man. By the time the raven came for him, the sigil of a direwolf on the seal, Ser Royce knew that he had to be more careful then ever.

Two men never having met one another before, thousands of miles apart, had to piece together a mystery which was playing out right in within both of their homes. But that was months ago. Petyr and Alyane were leaving right now, and the Fingers was not where they were going.

It felt an insult to Eddard Starks memory to say it, but was certain, she was heading North with as ill intentions as the day she pretended to cry a sob story to garner his sympathy into hiding her in the Vale in the first place. She had lied to him from day one and she only got better and more clever about it, but Petyr's kind of clever was not to be admired. Any learning from the likes of him, was to be considered just as dangerous.

He could only hope his raven found Jon Snow with enough time to prepare. Ser Royce hated how much he did not trust Alyane, but it had to be said. Were Alyane Stone accompanying her father on a journey to the Fingers, he would not care.

But, it was Sansa Stark who was travelling with Petyr Baelish to Winterfell.

Theon Greyjoy could define himself as a man motivated by regret.

Each day he spent in Winterfell should have felt more and more like home but it didn't, in fact it fell far too much as if it grew emptier each passing one. He did his duties, sat in on council meetings, but there was nothing which truly put away that feeling deep inside that he had made a mistake.

He was angry, of course he was. Twice now you had left him behind, when a little over three moons past, did it mark a year since he and you ran from these very halls together. Grabbing you to jump from the battlements and run into the wolfswood below as the sounds of yelling and barking increased to gain on you. You and him knew then, you wouldn't leave the other behind. Not now, not after every horror you both were forced to endure with agony.

Theon had seen and known things which were utter nightmares and you had as well, and such knowledge of that did not make leaving that bond behind easy. If he could pin point the worst of it he had ever known Ramsay to force you to endure, it would be an easy mark on such a map of horrors. It felt just as surreal now as it did then. That such a threat used only to scare you to comply had come to pass. Theon hadn't dared think what happened between you and Ramsay to push him to force that threat into fruition.

As he stood walked down the steps now, the silence in here was calm and serene. Nothing like the heavy one in Maester Wolkan's study.

If any knew what to say, none dared break the rooms silence. It was deathly quiet in the most horrific of manners, and even worse so, you were the one between the three of them which looked the most dispondant over it. You had from the moment Theon was dragged into the room.

It was no mistake what he walked in on to some degree. In a morose manner he was almost getting used to that being the normal procedure. After the worst of it, Ramsay would send him your way to ensure you always looked clean and proper despite what was done. He'd only ever send Theon right after such events, knowing there was no hiding what occurred in the immediate aftermath. He was smart enough at the least, to know when to keep you away from the watchful eyes of the Northerners around at your worst.

A threat was one thing, even knocking you around in front of them was the other, but sometimes Theon would walk in on things he dared not imagine. Whatever occurred when he walked in that afternoon was long since done, but still you had not even been allowed to dress. Yet Ramsay was already keen on making his way. Telling him to bring you to Maester Wolkan before you caught something. He hadn't known right away what he meant, but he figured it out. As did Wolkan.

You didn't have to even answer his questions for them to put it together. Asking if a bite wound he was tending to on your calf was from a hound, your silence spoke that answer, and the subsequent wounds Wolkan tended to afterwards said all that was needed to be said.

Once more, Reek stood in a shaking quiet barley having the courage to look. But on the inside, Theon had the stunning realization that you weren't going to last much longer. Ramsay hadn't even yet married you and he had- he couldn't even think such words. There were many unspeakable things done to him, done to you by Ramsay and yet Theon finally found the worst of it.

Neither of you said a word as Wolkan prompted you to a number of ailments, and Theon dared not try and question what each one was for. He didn't want to know. You had no life in your eyes, you looked at neither of them and any words spoken were cracked in a painful sounding strain of a whisper as it that was all that was left of your will.

He did know however, you begged for death in your eyes. He should've gotten it over with sooner, he should've done it when you both first arrived at Winterfell. It wouldn't even matter now he supposed, there was little which was worse then this.

“If there's some part of you that still wants to atone for what you've done, you'll just slit my throat in my sleep before that day comes.”

Theon didn't, and part of him that afternoon stood there worrying his lack of action had made your life more of a nightmare then it previously was. You said no more in Wolkan's study, no more as you left into the halls, and once you had found a cold spot up on the battlements, hardly dressed for the snow falling around, you continued to say nothing. Not as the sun was up, not at the supper the Boltons forced you to play pretend at, and not as you were finally graced with the privilege of going to sleep. Knowing as you walked there, you could hear the judging giggles of Myranda who no doubt knew all about what happened by then.

Theon didn't see you until the evening the next day, when you were walking silently arm in arm with Lady Walda. The younger woman carrying the conversation with little input from you. There was more emotion of you that day, but a pain in your eyes that was drawing closer and closer to killing yourself. You had more strength then Theon, if he was forced to do what Ramsay had made you do the day before, he would've done it already.

It was that same evening did Theon see her. He had on more then one occasion during his time in the Dreadfort, but not often since their move to Winterfell. She was once more dressed in black and a thin lipped frown that likely lived on her every waking hour. Lady Barbrey Dustin was meeting with both Boltons by the time he came upon them. Forced to Ramsay's side when you were spending time with Lady Walda. Roose Boltons insistence no doubt he thought. Getting you to play nice with his young wife would make the lie sell easier when the time came.

Roose and Barbrey seemed close, cordial but friendly in a manner Theon knew was not the norm for the man. They spoke of things that didn't matter to Theon, but they at one point as his back was turned, spoke of you. To them of course, he was only Reek. And back turned or facing their way, Reek was a creature, not a person.

“It's foolish if you ask me. You risk those hearing of her by allowing such freedom.”

Roose Bolton was sat back in his seat, as usual the only one without a drink in hand and was a calm as ever despite the silent but agitated Ramsay next to him. “She has never attempted to run, she does not speak to any she is not permitted to. What else would you have us do with her?”

Barbrey answered without hesitation. “Lock her in her chambers. She shouldn't be allowed to roam even the castle grounds. All is needed is one to hear about her and the people will rally to her side.” It was still strange to think that the realm all thought you dead. Theon was forced to see you tortured every day as you wished you were dead.

Not blinking, Roose raised but one eyebrow. “The North will rally to her side, when we present her to them with an heir. She is not to be hidden away forever, eventually people will find out. We are simply waiting until the right moment to do so when we already have more allied to us then against. Anything they hear before then is rumours and hearsay.”

Little emotion was found in Barbreys tone or expression but at the very least something vaguely associated to compassion might have been a trace found in her words. Her glare found towards that of Ramsay. “Rumours are one thing, but if in the time I have been here even I have heard about whispers of those hounds of yours, then others might be inclined to hear and spread it as well-”

“I'm sure you'll make your point eventually.”

Not receptive to Ramsay interrupting her, she let a pause sit in the air before more of a hiss spat out towards him. “You wish to defile the girl before wedding her, fine. But have even a shred of decency and keep such acts to a whore in a brothel. She is still our Queen.”

Theon did nothing because Reek wasn't supposed to react in anyway.

Roose let his gaze flicker towards his rattled son, the later gripping the goblet in his hand so tightly were it made of glass it would shatter. Normally, no one said a word about the things Ramsay was doing. His voice was tight but fooled none in the anger being held back. “My hounds are girls, my lady.”

Barbrey was as quick on the draw as Roose was to let it happen. “If I am not mistaken you need at least one or two males in order to produce a new litter of bitches, do you not? I'm sure such a beast was fully equipped for the task in your mind.”

The air was tense, Barbrey wasn't even defending against what was done to you, just that it would look bad should people know about it. You were as much an object to be abused as Theon was. No one here cared about the inhumanity of it all. Of course some of the Lords knew you were alive. The ones who sided with the Boltons or were doing so not of their own volition, but they couldn't do anything about it as much as the common people could.

Theon wasn't even sure if Harald Karstark, who seemed to have have a grudge against you for unknown reasons to him, would think this was even remotely acceptable behaviour. But all the three in the room were doing, was sitting in a study bickering about it as if it was an inconvenience.

Air thick only as long as it took Ramsay to huff a fake laugh. “Now now, my lady, the poor girl is my bride, how could you say I'd ever allow such things to happen to her. Or do you need her word on it?” Only glaring his way, Ramsay continued with ever growing confidence. “Shall I bring my lovely bride in here, drag her from her sleep and have her ensure you not a soul, man or otherwise has touched her since coming into our care?”

It was all a ruse no one bought here. They all knew you would never confirm what he had done in any capacity, not here, not to people who wouldn't help regardless. You would say he was your betrothed, that you loved him and were happy Ramsay took such careful protection of your well being in these trying times. You would play along because admitting the truth would mean accepting it was indeed, happening to you.

And after this, Theon wasn't sure you would ever admit a thing Ramsay had done to you.

“Ramsay.” Roose's tone cut through the thick tension in the air. “I'm sure the Lady Barbrey only means to ensure your bride's reputation is not sullied due to false reports. Some whose ears it may reach might not take well to such allegations more then others. Regardless of their own position.”

Both Boltons knew too well who they were talking about, but Theon at the time had not put it together. But the elder Bolton was all too aware the risk it posed should a certain bastard hear even a shred of such rumours.

Though, much time later Theon would admit, even when both Boltons were dead and gone, neither you nor Theon had brought up that event for sometime. Not to yourselves, not to each other, and certainly not to Jon. For how much he knew of what happened to you, the truth was, Jon had only been told perhaps a third of it, and none of which were close to the worst.

But even now, Theon couldn't stop seeing it. He should've gotten you out of there so much sooner. He should've gotten you out of there the day Yara tried coming for him.

Had he not been in such a terror, Theon would've gone with Yara, and make her and her men rescue you before they left. Get you out of there before Ramsay had ever touched you.

Instead as the sun hidden by winter grey skies tried peeking through the middle of Winterfell, Theon thought of much but tried further not to think about the hounds. He could only think that being angry you had left for what was right, made him in such a drastic field of wrong.

Theon knew what was coming and he still got mad at you for leaving to fight it anyways. The sheer fact that you had found enough in you to do such a thing, after such horrors beat any spark out of your soul made Theon feel guilty for the way he said goodbye. Or didn't.

He knew what was coming, and the moment you came to speak with him about it, he was short, dismissive, angry, and overly formal to end the conversation. He knew you were leaving so he wanted you to simply leave. You didn't bring him the first time you took off, why would he expect any better that time?

It wasn't about him, he knew that. And Theon felt more and more unwell as the months passed. The North was closing in on six months since you and Jon and gone beyond the Wall and Arya had done a significant amount of work to ensure the people that you both were still alive.

She'd stand up from where she took her place in Jons seat, short as any but with that loud voice she could deafen a room with and remind them that they thought her dead for five years. She had crossed the Narrow Sea and back and she was still alive, so they had to have faith in Jon and in you that six months was nothing.

“Jon said it could take them three months to get to the Frost Fangs, meaning it will take another three to come back. They'll be home soon, and they will bring Bran home with them. They'll bring back your children, Lord Howland, Meera and Jojen. They promised, and has Jon ever broken a promise to you before?”

Arya was good at defending her brothers honour, as Theon was terrible at having faith in you.

For everything said between he and Yara, everything that happened, you were the only sister he cared about. You were the sister he wanted to see come home. Yara had told Theon not to die so far from the sea, well Theon wanted to tell you not to die so far from the only home that matters.

But, as it turned out, Theon only had one place he wanted to express that guilt within. He hadn't been down here yet, in all his time back he hadn't been down there. Each step echoed within the vast halls, and by the time each statue passed of faces he did not know, Theon felt himself growing nervous. The moment he passed the statue of Brandon Stark, Theon knew the one to come was the brother he was buried next too.

It looked so much like him. The statue of Eddard Stark. The sword carved for his hands looked like that of Ice, the sword he long thought would take his head before Winterfell felt like a home. Stern and serious as he always was, and Theon knew Jon was right. Ned Stark was a better father to Theon then Balon ever was.

Balon died, and Theon never went home. Never wanted to come back for him. But he did stand in the crypts looking at Ned and felt that pull. Hoping he understood all he shamed his memory with, was not forever a stain between them. But his head was a mess and he just wanted to apologize for it all.

Take back how much he wronged the family who took him in like he belonged, how much he wronged you for letting you leave thinking Theon did not care you may not come back. He was still just as much a fool as Balon thought of him the first days back on Pyke.

You were the one thing Theon truly had left, as much as everyone else around him tried to make make amends between each other, you were the only one who never questioned Theons place back in your life. He was there and you never wanted him to feel he deserved otherwise. And he was stupid enough to let you go beyond the Wall thinking Theon was actually angry at you for it.

You weren't abandoning him the way Yara did. But the night was quiet and he knew there was plenty of time to sulk. Only, Theon could leave it to Arya to come barrelling down the halls of the crypts of her family shouting his name.

Pushing where he made a home for himself sitting against a wall, Theon shot his arms out to snatch her by her forearms as she panted for breath. An urgency in her eyes and wide as her tone was short and serious. The words should have been ones of good news, but yet they came out in sound of fear and the face of a girl who knew what was coming to her doorstep. But this time, Theon knew why.

And he couldn't sit there feeling sorry for himself anymore.

#jon snow x reader #robb stark x reader #jon snow #robb stark #game of thrones #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf #jon snow x you #robb stark x you #jon snow imagine #robb stark imagine

36 notes · View notes