#keep the children close. guard them from harm. for they are precious and the gods are callous ( demigods )

[vinethreaded]

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[ddarker-dreams]

Deal With The Devil. Yan Hades Giorno x Reader

Warnings: Isolation, implied kidnapping, forced marriage, brief non explicit sexual themes, and mentions of death.  Word count: 3.2k.

Time alone is better than time spent in the company of someone you despise. 

Skillful fingers run over the wilted stems of your carnations, a frown on your face at the current lifeless appearance. Dull shades of grey slowly turn to a vivacious green where your fingers pass over. Next are the petals, which are all but gone, a far cry from the flora’s typical beauty. At your delicate touch, it’s as if the hands of time are set in reverse. Soft fibers tickle your bare your skin, petals flourishing anew, now with a rosy glow. Standing from your bed, you return the revitalized carnations to their previous position on the windowsill. 

The bright, pastel colors are in stark contrast to the obsidian colored walls that trap you. Darkness, like an everlasting night, cannot be cast aside by your pretty decorations. No matter how hard you try to do just that. The lone sources of illumination in the underworld, torches or lanterns, have also earned your scorn. How you had taken the sun for granted, the natural warmth it provided ethereal in comparison to this manufactured light. Sighing, you push the negative thoughts away, aware they do nothing for you. Wallowing in your grief harms the precious flowers you create.

The onyx marble flooring beneath your bare feet is cold and unnatural. Closing your eyes for but a moment, you remember how blades of grass used to feel in the summer and spring. Those blissful days traversing fields without a care in the world feel like centuries ago. You’ve tried to recreate grass as it is on the surface, but with mixed results, and now stick with forming flowers instead. 

You take a mental inventory of the surrounding flora to check for problems. These creations of yours are a reliable pastime and bittersweet memory. No matter the life you instill into the delicate blooms, in the underworld, they wither away at an accelerated pace. Your days are spent reviving them or creating new bouquets to decorate this dreadful bedchamber. What else is there to do? 

Nothing, you answer the question yourself, scowling. As if on cue, your poppies wilt at the sharp turn in mood, petals falling onto the ground and crumbling to dust. So the cycle continues. Understanding the passage of time when there is no sun is difficult, but if you were to guess, those poppies were just a few hours old. While you consider what to replace them with, a pair of eyes watch from nearby.

“In my brief time down here, this would be my first time seeing such beautiful flowers.” A feminine voice praises. Your eyes widen, head whipping around to find the source of the words. In front of your canopy bed stands a wispy figure. It takes the faint form of a human being, though lacking color and partially transparent. 

It takes a second of tentative thought for you to realize what this apparition is. A soul. Not just any soul, a soul of a mortal, you presume. You haven’t spoken to a mortal in some time now. How did a soul manage to find its way to you, hidden away in the depths of the underworld’s palace? As if sensing your bewilderment, the soul speaks up.

“Is it true that I am speaking to the daughter of Demeter?” The soul questions. You nod, pushing down the agony of hearing your dearest mother’s name. “Then it seems I have hope after all.” 

Silence settles in after the soul’s relieved statement. You take the time to contemplate the possible meaning of this soul’s words, reaching no conclusions. “How is it that you’re here?” 

“... You will not call on his guards?” 

Biting your bottom lip, you swallow down the bile that threatens to rise in your throat at the passing mention of him. “I will do no such thing.” 

“Then lend me your ear for but a moment,” the soul’s voice is tinged with melancholy. “I am dead now, yes, but I was once alive. At that time I was Sotiria. I mothered three children, each splendid in their way, the lights of my life... I do not say this for complaining’s sake but to offer perspective. I never was given a decent lot in life, the child of a sickly widow whose face I can no longer remember. 

Poverty was all I knew until I drew my final breath. I took work equally as it came, whether it was working the fields or being a companion to men at night. Anything for the sake of feeding three hungry mouths. But it was never enough. My youngest, Cyril, fell ill. To keep him alive I had to be by side at all hours. And so it goes… at my wit’s end from starvation, I had no choice, you must understand.” 

Sortiria’s voice grows weaker, barely reaching your ears as she finishes her sentence. “I coveted, and I stole. Nothing more than I would need to keep my children alive for another day. When they caught me, well,” she motions to her phantom-like form with a pained smile. “I was killed.” 

Your heart aches at her plight. “How terrible...” 

“Yes, I’d agree so,” she doesn’t linger on the topic, eager to move to her final point. “But it need not end this way.” 

“There is a reason I stand in your presence now. I heard rumors, waiting among the listless souls for Charon to ferry us to judgment. Rumors that gave me hope where I had none. That the god of the underworld had taken a wife, a wife who boasts a compassionate heart. You, [First].” 

The pieces she’s presented you with fall into place. Your lips part, the world around you spinning, as Sotiria presents a final plea. “Please, go to him and ask that I may return to my body. That I may return to my children. Us humans have taken to praying to you for mercy when knocking on death’s door. I implore you, hear my prayer now.” 

“I will not speak to him, no, I refuse to speak to him. Even if I did as you asked, who is to say he will listen to me? My cries for freedom have been denied, how would this be any different? I hear your prayers but have no power to answer them. My matrimony did not make me the goddess of the dead.” 

Neither of you dares to mention Giorno by name, remaining cautious of what could happen, as he’s made aware every time his name is spoken. Even the mortals fear him, you think. And for good reason. You wonder if that’s how this was presented to the humans. A requited romance between the daughter of Demeter and Giorno, a union that gives hope to those dying. None of them know the truth, that you’re forced to remain here, tucked away from the wistful life you once had. That his self proclaimed adoration is nothing but suffocating and self-serving. 

“You and you alone are the apple of his eye,” Sotiria insists with utmost urgency. “He will heed your words more than anyone else’s.” 

“He has refused me everything of value that I have begged for.” The words are spat out with venom. You fail to notice that with your growing temper, the flowers you tended to prior shrivel up at unprecedented speed, a reflection of your distraught emotional state. Your chest heaves with each strained breath, fists clenching by your side until your nails pierce your skin. Does Sotiria not understand? How could anyone empathize with how the sorrow you feel? You stand in this saturnine chamber that remains your prison, Giorno the steadfast ward. 

“I can not speak on what I don’t know,” she lowers her head. “But I do know this. You have his favor. You are his wife -- whether it was by your design or not -- and he holds affection for you in his heart. Go, speak to him, I beg of you. If not for my sake, then for my children.” 

“But--” 

“I can’t spend any more time here,” Sortiria looks around, her already faint form disappearing. “Please.” 

Then she is gone. 

You stare, eyes wide as a doe, at the spot Sortiria once occupied in your dim room. Nothing of her remains but the convicting call for action. Her words ring like funeral tolls in your mind, unrelenting, and weighing down on you. There’s no denying the effect her request has on you. Sortiria’s dedication to her children reminds you of your mother, who has tried everything to get you back. An ache in your chest pushes you forward, your legs moving subconsciously to the door. 

She risked eternal damnation to speak with you. Leaving your room that never remains locked, you’re met with a similar color palette of midnight black and crimson red bricks. Hell flame is blinding at first, but when your eyes adjust, you catch the demonic guards stationed at your door looking in surprise. Giorno has granted you the freedom to traverse his palace as you please, but you rarely take him up on the offer, preferring to spite him by remaining in your room. When he searches for your company he knows where to find you. Loneliness haunts Giorno Giovanna like a plague, never warded off successfully until he acquired you. 

No one dares question your intentions, averting their gaze to avoid eye contact as you travel down twisting halls. Your heart pounds against your ribcage through the journey, not knowing how Giorno will react to your uninvited appearance. This would be the first time you’ve sought him out of your violation. While wandering his palace, you can’t help but notice the difference in decorum compared to your room. He had tried to make adjustments to your personal space so that it would reflect a different aesthetic than the underground, fully aware of your displeasure with the gloomy architecture. 

Not that it matters, you think. Nothing could make up for what Giorno’s taken from you aside from permanently returning to the surface. Rounding a sharp turn, you hold your breath at the sight. Cerberus towers in this grand hall and immediately picks up on your presence. The daunting creature lowers itself to the ground, three pairs of eyes piercing through you. A tense moment later, it seems content to let you pass, recognizing your position as Giorno’s beloved. 

Behind Cerebrus is where your true challenge lies. Two monumentally sized doors that lead to Giorno’s throne room stand in your way. Taking a deep breath, you close your eyes, Sortiria’s words reverberating in your mind. Perhaps you are soft on the mortals, as your mother once warned you, but she was guilty of the same. Should you be successful, and Sortiria lives to tell the tale, you wonder if your mother will visit her and ask after you. 

The doors open when you take a step forward. This palace is an extension of Giorno, you’ve come to realize, bending to your whims to please you. While lacking the necessary preparation to make a sound argument, you have an idea of what may convince Giorno to do as you bid. Any confidence you may have had from knowing you have his favor melts like ice in the spring when his eyes land on you. These eyes, that belong to one of the universe’s most powerful gods, feel heavy and cumbersome. Giorno nods his head in acknowledgment, a good sign. You wish you could hear his thoughts. His sculpted face is impossible to read as ever, in comparison, you feel like an open book. 

You manage to force out a cordial greeting despite your petrified state. “I was hoping to have an audience if you’re not otherwise occupied.” 

Giorno sits on his sizeable throne, presence imposing yet regal. In contrast to his spun gold hair, the throne is dark as twilight, embedded with rubies and numerous precious gems. He isn’t just the god of the dead, you remind yourself, but also the god of wealth. That’s all Giorno has ever felt like to you, some distant figure. Nothing more, not now or ever. His attempts to kindle an intimate relationship with you have been discarded like weeds. Now in his physical presence, reverence takes place of the disgust you normally feel towards him. 

“If it pleases you.” Giorno’s voice is undeniably soothing, every syllable ringing clear as a bell. At his confirmation, you tread forward, over an expansive vermillion carpet. The walk feels like an eternal punishment. He takes the time to scrutinize your body language. You didn’t expect anything different, fully aware that he’d be taken aback by this bold arrival. Doubts in your head cry louder as you lessen the distance. That after all this time, he might see fit to punish you for this final act of entering his throne room without an invitation. Interfering with Giorno’s work might be the final insult he tolerates. You are his wife, but what respite has that granted you before? 

You bow your head down as a show of respect. “I apologize for arriving unannounced.” 

“Your presence is a welcome one,” Giorno seamlessly dismisses your concern. “Though, I might add, unexpected.” 

Despite your best efforts, your posture goes rigid, likely playing into what Giorno designed. Your husband is as pleasant as he is efficient in his conversations, you’ve learned. It’d be a fool’s wish to think otherwise. Sortiria’s words, though you wish they didn’t, held truth. All have come to know Giorno’s affection for you through his special treatment. It’s a blessing and a curse.

“I would’ve come sooner, but I feared you were busy.” 

Giorno gazes up at your through golden eyelashes, voice lowering as he speaks from the heart. “I will always make time for you.” 

Is it wise to start with your true request? The clock’s ticking and you need to decide without further delay. Anxiety and regret battle for dominance in your mind, but you keep it at bay, recalling the true priority. A mother’s tender love for her offspring. There’s nothing more important to you than doing right by this tormented soul. Sortiria’s words resurface, “Us humans have taken to praying to you for mercy when knocking on death’s door”, she had told you. You were but a minor goddess until this point, and content as you were with that, there was nothing of astonishing value for you to offer the world. Creating and maintaining gardens was all you could do. Now, you have a real chance to do good, to reunite a family. The prayers offered up to you until give strength.

“Would you please stand?” You ask with a sheepish smile. It’s a simple request to test the waters and also a way to feel less intimidated. Giorno blinks but voices no complaints. From his throne, he stands, still towering over you but feeling less intimidating. You step forward, raising your hand and placing it to his cheek. His skin is cold and smooth to the touch. It reminds you of the flower petals you adore so much. There’s no denying Giorno’s beauty, you must confess, it’s almost like his face is perfectly sculpted art. You can tell he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

“Truth be told, there’s something that troubles me deeply,” you confess, to which he frowns. “That’s what I wanted to speak about.” 

Giorno prompts you to continue. “And that is?” 

The worst he can do to me is say no, you tell yourself. He’s had no difficulty doing that in the past when you’ve begged for freedom. No harm would come to you -- any spite Giorno might feel would be directed elsewhere -- but that doesn’t bring comfort. Sortiria would be punished if Giorno believed she was taking advantage of you. Sentenced to eternity in Tartarus. 

“A single request. I wish to reunite a soul with her body, so that she may continue her life that was cut short,” you rub your thumb over his cheek. “Please do me this one good.” 

“Sortiria, was it?” Giorno takes your stunned silence as confirmation, not that he needed any. The two of you were careful not to mention him by name. So he knew all along? It shouldn’t come as a surprise, but you still feel disheartened, blood draining from your face. 

“It’s a rare occurrence that I permit a soul to leave the underworld,” he explains what you already know in a calm tone. “[First], you know I hate to deny you anything, but--” 

“I wasn’t done.” You interrupt without thinking, overwhelmed by enough emotion to drown out logic. Giorno’s mannerisms and subtleties can be picked up on after all this time you’ve spent with him, and you know he was going to politely reject your request. Neither of you utters a word. It’s a split-second decision, but you set your qualms aside, considering the greater implications. 

“Giorno,” you call him by his name for the first time, his eyes widening at the slight nuance. “If… if you do this for me, I… I will allow you to finally consummate our marriage.” 

Your face feels like it’s on fire from the lascivious suggestion. There’s nothing else you can offer Giorno that’s valuable enough to convince him. Nothing other than yourself that is -- which you’ve vehemently refused him up until now -- swearing you’d sooner cast yourself into Phlegethon than let him lay with you. You hear your heart pounding in your ears as you await his final response. Giorno’s eyelids flutter shut, eyebrows scrunching together. 

“This means that much to you?” He asks, not entirely convinced himself. This fiery passion you’re portraying is new. Days of passively tending to your flowers gave him a different impression of you. Now, faced with a cause you truly believe in, you’re willing to do anything. 

“It does,” you confirm without further hesitation. “Please give me this single happiness.” 

You don’t dare breathe until Giorno speaks again. He reopens his eyes and appears deep in thought. Dread clouds your mind, dominating any thoughts that might bring you comfort. You’ve done the best you could. 

“Very well.” Giorno bends to your whims after a long moment’s deliberation. Joy blossoms in your chest, a genuine smile gracing your features. He places his hand over yours, shivers running down your spine from the cool sensation. The negotiations are far from over, as Giorno returns his attention to your prior claim. He wants to test your conviction and see if you’ll give him a piece of what he’s ached for.

He squeezes your hand gently, voice so quiet that only you could hear it. “Is what you said true?”

It’s the only viable option, is how you reaffirm yourself. A degrading option, you recognize, but no one aside from the two of you would ever know. It’s been a long and good fight that you’ve put up. Denying a god his desires is not an easy task by any stretch of the imagination. Goosebumps dot your skin, reality feeling so far away, as you seal your fate. 

“You have my word.”

Giorno smiles -- in a way you’ve never seen before -- an unidentifiable gleam in his omnipotent eyes.

“Then I will see it done.” 

[princehrry-writings]

Moon Over The Meadow

this is my very first harry fic!!! i want to write more for them so if you would be interested in that please let me know!!

word count: 3234

warnings: mentions of death, i don't think anything else though.

It was here that Y/n learned to live off the beaten path she had always known, in the midst of the forest green that was her lover's eyes.

or

Harry is the prince and Y/n is a peasant.

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There wasn’t much to do in the light of day. Not a single shadow to hide in, every corner of the kingdom touched by a ray of sunshine. People would see them. See him. And that just wouldn’t do.

Harry couldn’t be seen by anyone, no. They would ask too many questions, alert the guards, something would go wrong. He couldn’t put her in that kind of danger. So they agreed. Tonight, when the moon peeks over the trees in the meadow, they will flee.

They will find their freedom.

Y/n had never been one to stray too far from the beaten path. Her mother would never allow her to. Is your life really worth something as silly as this, child? She would gripe, fingers bruising the plushy flesh of her upper arm. One could say she was beaten into submission, although her mother never did much in the physical realm or harming her. It was always a look, a tug, and her words. God her words cut deeper than any knife ever could, she was sure of it.

But then she met Harry. By some magical happenstance, one day tending to the gardenia bushes in the garden furthest away from the castle, she stumbled upon the prince. He rested on a bench with a journal laid upon his lap, tears lightly raining down his flushed skin, a soft frown etched across his pink lips. She quietly sat down next to him, with no intention of saying anything, just letting him know he wasn’t alone in his pain. Whatever kind it may be.

She had known of him her whole life, having worked in the palace with her mother since she was just a child, but hadn’t seen him in what felt like an eternity. She remembers afternoons drenched in a golden haze, running around these very grounds with the likes of him and whatever children were amongst the castle, until she was ripped away by her mother just the same as she always was when she strayed too far from the sidewalk. Somewhere deep in her mind, Y/n knew why her mother acted the way she did. Kept her locked away like she had done her whole life.

It was to protect her. The King could be very cruel to anything and anyone that stepped too far out of line. Her mother was terrified that one day her daughter's wild imagination and wanderlust tendencies would get her into the wrong situation at the wrong time, with the wrong people. All she wanted was to protect her precious Y/n. This was the only way she knew how.

Harry, as angelic as he had been as a child, she recalls, slowly slid closer to her, remembering the days they would sneak away and play together until his keeper would come yelling for him. Any and all communication had been hastily cut off with her as soon as his keeper realized where he was and what he was doing. Thankfully for both of the children, it was never discovered who he was with. But nonetheless, Harry was kept under tight lock and key. His keeper would lose her head if the king found out that his son was galavanting around his castle with the help.

But on this day, in the garden amongst the Gardenias, their souls re-intertwined themselves as if they were still those young little kids, playing damsel in distress in the warm afternoon sunlight, as if they had lost no time at all. The only difference now being that they talked instead of played, kissed instead of screamed, and fell into a real love instead of one carelessly crafted from a children's game.

This went on for weeks, months it seemed. Meeting under the disguise of Y/n working in the farthest garden and Harry wandering off to a quiet corner for his studies. It was here, cushioned by soft grass under their bare bodies, that Y/n learned to live off the beaten path she had always known, in the midst of the forest green that was her lover's eyes.

“Petal, we can't stay here,” He sighed one summer afternoon. A mimicked sigh fell from his Love’s lips. She knew they couldn’t. This thought had plagued her mind, keeping her from sleep most nights. In their world, the prince doesn’t get to fall in love with the peasant girl and live happily ever after. A fairytale ending had never been an option on the table.

The only way they’d get to be happy was if they fled the only life they had ever known.

“I know, H. What are we to do though? Where do we go?” It was hard to imagine being anywhere but the castle grounds. But she knew that no matter where she went, as long as Harry was with her, she would be safe.

“We can find a clearing, far away from here, deep in the woods. Somewhere they won’t ever look, and I can build us a cottage, and we can have a garden just like this one. We won’t have to worry about doing the wrong thing in the King’s eyes, or saying the wrong words. We won’t have to hide ourselves.” He said, a dreamy glaze over his eyes.

“You’ll build us a cottage? How? We won’t have anything Harry!” The girl exclaimed. Sure, she knew they had to leave, that they couldn’t stay. But the reality that they truly had nowhere to go was setting in like a thick heavy fog, distracting her from anything else.

“M’love, look at this,” He whispered, taking her hand in his. His free hand came up in front of him, palm out, facing the grass below them. A flower sprouted right before their eyes, out of nowhere. Y/n gasped. Harry had never told anyone this secret. Nobody but his mother knew, and she had passed away three years prior during childbirth complications. Now the only person that knew of his secret was his Love.

It wasn’t a surprise that the Queen had never told the King of her affliction. He would have lost his head, and in turn- she would have lost hers. So she kept it from him, and when her only child began to show the signs that he too possessed such essence, she knew she had to protect him from the likes of his father. She never loved that man, she only ever wished for him to suddenly fall ill so as to free her and her son from his fury, but alas it has been her that faced such a fate.

Harry knew what he would face if anyone other than his Love were to know. It was why he hadn’t told her until now.

“This is how I’ll build our home. You’ll not want for anything, m’love. Whatever it is you desire, just tell me and I’ll make it so,” He had dreamed since he was a child to be able to spoil the girl sitting next to him. Y/n’s effervescent eyes grew wide. She felt a new warmth spread through her at this discovery, now she knew for a fact that as long as she had him, she was safe. For he had just proved to her that he was more than capable.

“Why have you never told me? Did you thinkI would judge you?” Panic grew in the girl's chest. How could her lover think she would ever judge him.

“No, no, no Pet, I didn’t tell you for your own safety! My father is a very cruel man and he would stop at nothing to have my head if he knew about this. I couldn’t bear to live if he went after you because of me so I kept to myself.” Her eyes softened at this and the warmth grew even stronger. She truly did love this boy, he was the only one who’d ever looked at her and seen a person. Not just a peasant girl or a daughter whose only job is to cook and clean and tend to the garden. Harry saw much more for his Love. He saw greatness for her, and he would stop at nothing to give her just that.

So now here they are, standing at the edge of the trees, moon over the meadow, ready to leave behind the only thing they’d ever known. Harry could feel his Love’s pulse racing, he knew she was scared. She had assured him many times that it was only because she was afraid of what lay ahead, not because she didn’t want to go. They both knew that Harry wouldn’t let anything happen to her.

The girl had left a letter to her mother on the pillow she used to rest her head upon. Part of her felt bad for leaving the woman behind, but she had no choice. Her mother wouldn't approve of this and she certainly wouldn’t come. She would scold her daughter for running away. Your problems don’t leave just because you do, child. You must face them or they will haunt you forever. Y/n felt she wasn’t running away from her problems though, because this was the only solution. There was no way to make the King accept their love. So they could either leave or dare to sit and watch what would become of their life. Harry would end up married off or dead, Y/n would, well- she’d be dead either way. She couldn’t breathe without Harry by her side.

In the shadow of the moonlight, Harry led them through the forest. The guards had been alerted that the prince was not in his chambers so they didn’t have much time. They needed to move fast. He went where his intuition led him, moving obstacles out of the way with a small flick of his hand as they went. In the distance, he could hear the cries of men searching for him and the loud cracks of whips used to keep their horses moving.

His Love hummed a tune to distract herself from the loud noises and fear she felt heavy in her chest, Harry’s hand clutched in hers so he didn’t lose her. It was dark but they never stumbled and they never felt danger get too close. Y/n assumed Harry had something to do with that. Every so often they would pause and rest, Y/n’s head laid upon his chest, his back against a tree. His heartbeat kept her own steady as she matched her breathing to his. He had always been able to calm her down by just being near her. His presence was all she needed to feel at peace.

Harry laid his lips on the top of her head, his hand lightly stroking her hair.

“What will we do in the morning light when people can see us?” They had been traveling most of the night now, but she didn’t quite know how far they had made it. She just knew they had lost the guards. Their breaks didn’t last more than 5-10 minutes so as not to waste time, but they were traveling by foot so they couldn’t have made it too terribly far.

“We’re quite close m’love, so I assume we will be arriving just as the sun is ascending. I’ll have you rest while I place a protection barrier around the perimeter of the clearing and then I’ll get started on the cottage so you won’t need to worry about a thing.” He said, dusting his thumb across her cheekbone.

“Will people be able to see our home from outside the clearing?” She was worried about wandering strangers stumbling upon them and causing trouble. Harry beamed at the girl before him.

“I’ll make it so that people can’t find us Petal. We will be safe, I promise you.” This put his Love at ease and they got up to return to their journey when there was a rustling noise next to them. Y/n froze and slowly turned to see a bush being disturbed and clung to Harry in fear that something was about to jump and attack them. To her surprise, it was a small cat.

“What are you doing out here all by yourself little one?” Y/n sunk to her knees as the animal walked over. Harry’s heart almost burst right out of his chest at the precious sight in front of him. His Love had always had a soft spot for animals. When they were little she used to pretend she could talk to them and understand what they were saying. He used to think maybe she really could because, hey- he could make things appear out of nowhere- but it turns out she was just a very imaginative little girl. He loved her nonetheless so he would happily take care of animal communication if need be.

But just because his Love couldn’t understand what the animals were saying doesn’t mean she didn’t love to talk to them.

The little cat, who was small enough to warrant calling her a kitten, nuzzled right up the Y/n. She practically had hearts for eyes when looking at the little furball. She was a beautiful black kitten with starry blue eyes that could be seen even in the darkness, as they reflected the light of the moon.

“You are just the cutest thing I think I’ve ever seen,” she beamed, “Harry we can’t just leave her!” He knew this was coming. He also knew she’d always wanted a cat of her own but the King was allergic, so cat’s were not allowed on castle grounds. That man would have killed her and the cat.

Harry never was able to resist the puppy dog eyes his Love was so good at giving him. Not that she had to do much begging to get him to do anything. He would do whatever she wanted, because when she was happy so was he.

“What should we name her?” He asked and a smile as bright as the sun and stars combined spread across her face. He would do anything to see that smile everyday.

“We can think of names on the way! Come little one, we’re your family now!” Y/n scooped the kitten into her arms as a motor-like pur erupted from her little chest. The kitten rolled over in her arms and nuzzled against her chest, falling asleep immediately. It was like a match made in the stars.

They kept walking, Harry still waving away obstacles to keep his Love from stumbling, and eventually they arrived at a clearing, surrounded by trees at the base of a mountain with a small river flowing through and flowers blooming all around. It was a place Y/n could have only mustered up in a dream, and now she was going to live there. It was more than she could have ever wished for.

Harry led her to a soft spot in the grass and she laid down. He could tell she was about to fall asleep on her feet. As soon as she laid her head down, she was out like a light with the kitten snuggled up to her. Harry cast his hand, warming the ground to keep them comfortable and got to work casting the protection charm. He made it so that people wouldn’t be able to see them or penetrate the barrier, but animals could roam freely.

As he worked the morning sun began to peak over the trees. The whistles of the flowing river served as calming background noise and the singing birds aided the ethereal glow that was cast all around the meadow that Harry and his Love now called home. He could see them living a long beautiful life there. One free of judgment and fear.

Harry hoped to raise a family here. He wanted to raise children who knew what it was like to have their fathers unconditional love, to see what it was like for a father to love a mother, something he hadn’t been privy to growing up.

Y/n woke up to Harry whistling a tune as he went about gathering little things like flowers and twigs. A small flower had been tucked into her hair, on top of her ear, she couldn’t help but smile. As she sat up, she stretched her body, letting out little groans of relief that alerted Harry his Love had awoken.

He strolled over to her and sat down, pulling the girl into his lap. His heart swelled as she buried her face into his neck, running her hand across his chest.

With a kiss to the top of her head, he whispered, “Good morning my sweet girl.”

“Good morning my love,” She sleepily replied, voice still raspy. She still felt tired but not enough to stay asleep and the sun was now too bright for her to rest peacefully.

“I’ve finished the perimeter, I’m going to work on the cottage now. Is there a particular way you’d like it to look?” He asked, stroking her hair lightly. She hummed in contentness before giving him an answer.

“Whatever you create, I will love. As long as there is a roof over our heads to keep us safe from the rain, I will be happy!” He felt her smile against his neck. Running his fingertips along her back, he sighed in adoration of the sleepy girl in his arms. If he could spend every day like this, he would be just fine.

“Alright Petal, can you grab my hand please and focus on taking deep breaths for me.” He asked her, holding his palm out. She took it without question and cleared her head of all thoughts. Harry’s other hand dug lightly into the ground beside him. Y/n felt a small buzzing where she was connected with the boy, and she opened her eyes to see his were closed. A dim golden glow surrounded their hands, surprising her.

Harry had never cast any spells that used this much energy so he knew that he would need the help of his Love. Y/n figured it would be best if she closed her eyes again so she did and waited for Harry to let her know when he was finished. It didn’t take but a few minutes for him to stroke her hair and ask her to look up. When she did, she saw a beautiful cottage. Long vines of Ivy twisted up the beautiful white brick walls, A wrap around covered porch with flower boxes sat atop the railing, and a bay window where Y/n could picture herself reading on sunny afternoons just like this one. It was perfect.

“Harry,” She gasped. This was more than she could have ever imagined. She absolutely loved it.

“Is it ok?” He asked tentatively.

“Love, it’s more than ok! It’s amazing, it’s perfect. Thank you thank you thank you!!!” She cried, wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her face.

“I did good?” He smirked, rubbing her side before wrapping her tightly in his embrace.

“You did wonderful! I love it and I love you!” She gazed into his eyes before leaning up and pressing her lips to his in a kiss full of passion and gratitude.

Harry doesn’t think he could ever get tired of kissing his Love.

[kikyan]

Izaya Ending

His ending is here along with the smut! MDI after the cut! ALSO I RLLY HAD TO HAVE A FRIEND HELP ME WITH THE SMUT CUZ I WAS SO EMBARRASED TO WRITE IT ALL OMFG-

TW: Dub-con! Degration! Name calling! Oral Sex (both giving and receiving)! Collar! Choking! Vaginal Sex/Penetration! Think that’s it if not lmk!

ALSO I RLLY USED THE MOST WATTPAD BASIC ASS LANGUAGE FOR THIS SMUT THIS IS HOW YOU KNOW THIS SHIT WAS WRITTEN YEARS AGO

PART ONE

“Oh? It seems he even has the Dollars searching for you!” 

“ Izaya, please I apologize for anything that I did that caused you to do this, but I need to get back to Shizuo!” 

“ And do what? Apologize for my actions and say everything is fine? You truly are different than other humans (Y/N)! Besides, does Shizu-chan know?” 

“ K-know what?” 

“You can drop the act. I know who you are (Y/N) or should I sa-?!” 

“ Izaya, I won’t ask you again. Please, I apologize for what I said or did but I must return to my fiance.” 

“ I can’t do that (Y/N). You thought you had me fool, no you thought you had the whole world fooled, but unlike Shizu-chan, I know the real you. You are far too unique, too precious to be in the hands of that brute, that damned monster!” 

“ IZAYAAAAAA! GET YOUR ASS OUT HERE AND GIVE ME MY DAMN FIANCE!” 

“ Speak of the Devil, he really did arrive, didn’t he? (Y/N) it’s better if you stay, wait no- I want you to see God punish his worthless creation, than have his Goddess forgive him and the cycle continues!” 

Grabbing her arm, (Y/N) was dragged to the door where Shizuo lay in waiting/ Shizuo’s eyes lit up with hope as (Y/N) arrived, quickly scanning her to ensure that she was not harmed by Izaya. 

“ This is low, even for you Izaya. What the hell do you want anyway?” 

“ I want (Y/N) of course! How rude of you to keep her from society, from me! She is too perfect, in fact, she is perfection! I can’t stand you of all people, a damn monster near her!” 

“ If I am a monster, what the hell does that make you?” 

“ That hurt Shizu-chan, but I’m sure my goddess, (Y/N) would forgive you nonetheless!” 

Grabbing a stop sign Shizuo prepared to swing at Izaya before seeing (Y/N) duck down. 

‘This is too dangerous for (Y/N)! I have to lead him away. . .’ 

“ You see (Y/N)! This monster swung at you! I told you, he would only hurt you! Stay with me, my Goddess!” 

Taking his knife out, he swung it at Shizuo cutting him horizontally across his chest. As Shizuo remained unfazed he swung the sign hitting Izaya as well sending him flying back inside the apartment complex. As Izaya got up and grabbed the knife and (Y/N), before placing the knife under (Y/N)’s throat causing her to panic slightly. 

“ (Y/N)! Izaya you damned bastard! Let her go, that’s low. . .” 

“ It’s fine! Besides, my Goddess is so forgiving, I'm sure she will let this slide! In fact, I feel as if instead of the way I initially thought, it was you Shizuo who used (Y/N)!” 

Catching him off guard Shizuo looked down from (Y/N) with a hurtful expression as he pondered if he did truly use her as Izaya said. 

“ Kid. . . ding. . .!” 

With that Izaya took this time to spin (Y/N) from his hold and bolted to Shizuo, knife ready and a gun to end this beast’s life. As Shizuo looked up he failed to notice the blade approaching fast, approaching close to his eye until it did, leading to Izaya stabbing Shizuo in the eye causing him to crouch down in pain and hold his eye that was bleeding profusely. Izaya held the gun on his forehead before looking down with insanity filled eyes and a smile to top off the look. 

“ Shizuo, let’s ask (Y/N) if she forgives you for using her?” 

Turning to the side he was met with (Y/N) sobbing as she looked at him straight in the eyes before blurting out, “ Izaya, please! Leave Shizuo alone! He did nothing wrong! I’ll do whatever you want me to do just please leave him b-!?” 

“ Oh but (Y/N), you already are. He did nothing wrong? That sounds like forgiveness! Now Shizuo, any last words?” 

Turning slightly noticing he lost the battle and that Izaya won, he mumbled a small “ I love you (Y/N), forgive me” before having his life taken away as well as his fiance. 

“ SHIZUO!” 

(Y/N) ran to catch his body as she sobbed louder before clutching his arm, the one that held his engagement ring. Looking at his corpse (Y/N) continued saying “I FORGIVE YOU I’M SORRY PLEASE, PLEASE COME BACK!” 

“ Heh. . . hehe, ha, haha, HAHAHAAHAHAHA! THIS IS SPLENDID! THIS IS GREAT! THAT DAMNED MONSTER IS GONE! MY GODDESS IS MINE AND MINE ONLY NOW! HEY (Y/N), YOU FORGIVE ME, RIGHT? I MEAN, ON THE BRIGHT SIDE NOW THERE ISN’T A SHIZUO TO EDGE ON, RIGHT?” 

“ . . . I-I-I-I-I. . . I f-forgive y-you. . . I forgive you Izaya. . .” 

“ SEE I KNEW IT! ISN’T MY GODDESS WONDERFUL? NO MATTER THE CRIME SHE WILL ALWAYS FORGIVE! OH (Y/N) YOU TRULY ARE SPECIAL AND ONE OF A KIND!” 

Crouching down to hug (Y/N) from behind, Izaya smiled before speaking. 

“ Indeed (Y/N), you truly are special! Who would have guessed in a million years that I would meet the one who changed me! The one who became my goddess, the one who made me see humanity in a new light!” 

“ I-I-Izaya. . . why me. . .? 

“ Why you ask? Simple, it’s because . . . yOu’Re My FaVoRiTe HuMaN~” 

Standing on the rooftop Izaya was speaking with a female in pigtails as he began to tell her that she wasn’t really planning on killing herself and that she had one or two secrets that she didn’t tell anyone, so if her parents had one. . . what was the big deal? 

“ All humans lie, hide things, no one really makes it through this life being completely honest. Everyone's the same, no exceptions! Well, that is what I thought until I met (Y/N) (l/n) but I’ll let her do the rest from here on out. What you choose to do is on you in the end so choose carefully~!” 

Walking out to the edge with the girl (Y/N) looks and stares at the blood splatter as she turns to her and says, “ we humans will commit the worst of crimes, murder, robbery, rape, you name it. Though, the biggest crime any human can commit and go about not knowing is lying to yourself and making a mistake thinking it will solve the issue. Do not fear, I am not judging you I just want you to know, no matter what you choose to do tonight, I forgive you and I assure you, a second chance is waiting for you all! So please, on the bright side, you now know what is happening and now you know what you can do to change it!” 

The girl began to sob as she clutched onto (Y/N) sobbing and pouring her heart out with her smiling as she looked at the girl. After some time she finally left and (Y/N) looked up to the moon before hearing Izaya speak once again before hugging her and smiling. 

“ Who would have known, so tell me is this you speaking (Y/N)? Or is it Saika?” 

“ You can rest assure it’s me Izaya, but please don’t mention Saika.” 

“ I never imagined someone as happy and cheerful as you to wield Saika, more importantly, go through something as traumatic as you have. Oh well, that’s life I guess! I’ll be waiting by the door whenever you wish to leave my Goddess. . .” 

“ Alright. . .” 

As (Y/N) stared at the moon and then the red blood splatter she began to recall that memory, that small memory that started it all. 

~ 

In a small room all alone lived a young girl in her ‘timeout punishment’ as they called it. It was actually isolation, for three days the young girl hasn’t eaten and was barely drinking enough water to stay alive, but who was she to complain? Looking out she saw several children walking around and playing and it began to sadden the young girl as she could not join them for a small game of tag. Her mother was most likely with some other man and so was her father. As they argued and took out their stress out on other people, such as their daughter (Y/N), they failed to realize the young girl apologize for everything. 

Blood stained the nice mats and floors as two bodies lay on top of each other with wounds in their stomachs causing their entrails to leap out. 

“ I’m sorry mother and father! I apologize, if I wasn’t so weak then this never would have happened. On the bright side, I have freedom now! I also heard that I can play with the neighborhood kids too! Ah, don’t look at me like that mom! I know that I caused you so much pain, but you did too! I know for a fact that I should have done so much more but it’s fine mother! Father was upset when I defied the orders but then again father always got mad!  I ended up reading a book on how to make friends and it said that I should try to make them happy and if I make them sad to apologize! I love people mom and dad! I’m scared they won’t like me or worse hate me! Which is why I need to make them happy, which is why I need to be happy!  I don’t know when they are sad so I will just apologize if I do something you would disapprove of mom, dad!” 

~ 

Looking down from the moon (Y/N) smiled before turning to face Izaya and walking side by side. He too was hurt and didn’t know how else to cope so it was fine! Besides, you’ve made so many friends so any sacrifice that was paid was rightfully paid! After all, you were his goddess and he treated you like one! You’ve made so many friends so it’s been working right! Well whatever, just remember that (Y/N) is afraid of people hating her and never wanting her, so treat a friend right before you start to see not only you fall but they themselves. 

“ What are you thinking about (Y/N)?” 

“ Nothing much Izaya, c’mon let’s go home if that’s all. I still have dinner to make!” 

“Indeed, so what are we making?” 

“ well, what’s your favorite meal?” 

“Well, what was Shizu-chan’s favorite meal?” 

“ Well. . . if you want we can make that. . .” 

“ Then it’s settled! Hey (Y/N). . . you don’t hold it against me for killing Shizu-chan do you?” 

(Y/N) turned to look at Izaya who held the same crazed expression as he did when he pulled the trigger. Shaking her head (Y/N) looked up to smile at Izaya before mouthing, ‘I forgive you Iza-chan!” 

Smiling at the nickname he approached the girl standing before him as he grabbed her by the waist before kissing her softly. Soon after the kiss turned heated as his tongue found its way next to the girls as their tongues entwined together. Feeling the need to breathe, they separated as their only connection was the string of saliva that hung from both of their lips.  

" You are just so forgiving and unpredictable. . . It's exciting to see what our dear (Y/N)-chan will do when faced with a predicament but I think it's more exciting to see how much you of all people can hold on, can withstand before you break! Don't worry my Goddess, because you have me to help you!" 

"Thank you Iza-chan! I appreciate that you will make me happy as much as I make you happy!" 

Grabbing the (h/c) haired female, Izaya began to walk downstairs with his goddess in hand as his mind raced and began to wonder, how far would your relationship with Shizuo last, that is if he was still alive? Well, whatever the case was, Izaya wasn't going to lose to Shizuo so with a sadistic, yet smug grin, he turned to the female he held in his hand and said, 

"(Y/N) - Chan. . . How does a baby sound to you?" 

Pushing Y/N onto the bed, Izaya began to remove his jacket. Pressing kisses onto her neck, mumbling to himself about how this child would be absolutely perfect.

"I-Iza. . .?" 

"Shh. . . (Y/N) - Chan~ don't worry~ The pain you will experience will only make you stronger, our baby will be the summit of all of humanity. Our child will be born to be the perfect mix of our best qualities.”

"Iza. . . I-I. . . If you want a baby then I'll give you one, I'll give birth to our baby. . ." 

" Perfect~ Just to make sure that monster hasn't tainted you, he didn't touch you did he?" 

"No. . . We decided to wait till marriage. . . But it's fine Iza! I mean the one I love is well. . . you isn't it?" 

Not liking the response the young girl gave him Izaya smirked before turning to a straight face filled with anger and lust. 

"That's perfect!~ That means I'll be your first right (Y/N)-chan?"

“O-Of course! You’ll be my very first Iza!”

"That's perfect! (Y/N), you should do more than love me, you should worship you me like your God, your savior, and your salvation. So until then, until I know I have your life, love, admiration, and belief, you are just a lowly human that doesn't deserve my attention."

"Iza! I'm sorry for what I said, but I hope you still know I love y-!?" 

"Apologizing isn't enough (Y/N) - Chan!~ You need to show me you mean it! Show me your love, your faith, show me who you belong to, lowly human. . . " 

" W-w-what should I do?" 

"Well. . . That's up to you to decide! I'm sure Shizuo asked you to do something naughty before right~" 

"W-w-well t-t-that's-!?"

" So you aren't denying it! Well, I guess I'll have you so the same but show more devotion to me! Show me your love!" 

Understanding what he meant (Y/N) turned to the side before nodding and proceeded to get off the bed getting on the floor before nearing Izaya again. 

Izaya began to smirk seeing how submissive (Y/N) was acting and decided to edge her on more.

"Let's make a bet (Y/N) chan~" 

"A bet?" 

(Y/N) tilted her head slightly adding to her "cute" factor causing Izaya to smirk seeing how he was about to taint his Goddess before that monster did. 

"Yes! Let's see. . . Oh! I know! If you can show me your faith by simply being a little naughty then I'll reward you! If not, you'll get punished!" 

"P-p-punished?!" 

(Y/N) scared expression causing Izaya to harden upon her expression. 

"After all, a lowly human like you has to be punished already for doubting in your God! Now (Y/N) - Chan, let's start!" 

(Y/N) began to near Izaya's jeans and nervously began to unbuckle them before turning away with red dusting her facial features. 

"Aww is a sinner embarrassed to face her punishment? Her God?" 

Nodding slowly, (Y/N) began to turn around to face Izaya who was smirking as he saw the young girl timidly stare at his erect member. 

(Y/N) began to fumble with his boxers as she blushed before thinking about the previous time she did something like this. It was late afternoon, Shizuo and (Y/N) had a mini drinking competition which lead to some intense moments. As soon as her mind came back to her she realized that Izaya's member was exposed and she was staring at it. 

A small chuckle brought her out of her daze before she remembered that she needed to do this, to avoid punishment, she didn't mind doing what she was going to do, but if she didn't do well, she was going to be punished and she feared that a lot more. 

(Y/N) began to near his member and placed a small kiss upon the tip causing Izaya to shift a little as he stared at the female below him as she nervously wrapped her lips about his member, begin to slowly suck on it. 

Izaya tilted his head back as he tried to silence his moans. His Goddess was tempting him, in fact, he had to restrain himself from taking her then and there. 

"A-a-ah. . . (Y/N)-c-chan. . . ~"  

Letting small moans escape his mouth he looked down to see the young female, she was red from embarrassment and small tears slipping from her eyes as she continued to tease the young male. 

As the female began to suck a little harder, Izaya bit his lip but it was futile as he huffed a little before letting out soft moans. 

"(Y/N) - chan!~ I-I-I a-a-ahh~" 

Letting his lust get the best of him he grabbed (Y/N)'s hair and pushed her mouth further in causing her to choke a little and to deep throat him. Getting used to his length was difficult for the young girl as she was trying to match the speed of his forcefulness and her own. 

Izaya was shaking a little as he began to chuckle as he stared deep into the girl’s eyes before whispering and grunting a little in response. 

"S-so (Y/N)-chan. . No more like a lowly human. . . Do you believe that was enough? Are you going to finish and follow through with your punishment?" 

(Y/N) continued to suck on his member before hearing more smaller grunts indicating he was close and he was. Izaya was blushing as he continued biting his lip, although this degrading was a big turn on for him and hopefully his "lowly human" he couldn't conceal his excitement as he let one more moan out before releasing inside the girl’s mouth. 

"Swallow." 

(Y/N), already a step ahead, began to swallow the male’s cum making sure to get any leftovers around her mouth. 

"Good job, but I still didn't feel your devotion, your faith in your actions. Nonetheless, I did feel pleasure, so I'll reward you my lowly human~" 

Izaya began to reach for a collar of some sort before showing it off to (Y/N). As she soon understood the message she allowed him to place it on her, she made sure her hair wasn't a bother as she allowed Izaya to gently place it around her neck. Soon after it was placed Izaya noticed how the collar had a circular ring piece in the center and as he smirked he allowed his fingers to wrap around the ring before yanking it causing (Y/N) to jerk forward and meeting his hungry gaze. 

"You were so good, but not good enough. . . Out of my utter kindness as your God. . . I'll pleasure you as well lowly human." 

"I-Iza. . . I-I-I l-love y-yo-?!" 

"THROUGH ACTION! NOT WORDS, ACTION!" 

Izaya grabbed the collar and dragged you to the bed, not before turning and witnessing your red face, you were being slightly choked due to the tightness of the collar, small tears from the previous event and the biggest turn on, you were drooling a bit and it was so cute, like a little ahegao face. 

" You look so fucking hot, are you tempting me? Do you wish to seduce me and make me forget your crimes? Well, that won't work human, but that doesn't mean I can't play with you~" 

"I-Izaya w-what are you doin- a-a-ahh~" 

Small moans escaped from the girl’s mouth as Izaya began to kiss her, his tongue entering her mouth and slowly melting together with hers causing ultimate bliss. Halfway during the kiss, Izaya's hands wandered downwards to the girl’s jeans before he unbuckled them and proceeded to pull them down causing the girl to gasp. 

"Izaya! W-wait!?" 

" I believe you mean God~" 

(Y/N)'s jeans were removed as Izaya's fingers began to near her clothed womanhood. As he massaged your clit through your (f/c) underwear he smirked as he saw his goddess bright red and soft moans and mewling sounds as he made her feel pleasure. Soon after his fingers made it inside and he massaged her womanhood with much ease and it drove poor (Y/N) crazy. 

"I-Izaya. . ." 

" I think you mean God my lowly human!~" 

"G-God. . . I-I f-feel strange. . ." 

" Not yet! Don't tell me that's all! Well, I guess I better start!" 

Izaya neared (Y/N) womanhood as his tongue went to meet her clit and massaged it ever so gently. Making sure she could experience everything he made sure to hold onto her thighs before sucking and nibbling lightly against the bundle of nerves. Causing her back to arch, (Y/N) moaned in pleasure before Izaya began to change not only where he was attacking but the speed. He slid his tongue up and down one last time before he used his tongue to plunge into (Y/N) womanhood. His tongue went in and out of you as you moaned loudly, it was driving you over the edge. Soon after he stopped before getting up and returning back to his position, straddling you but he replaced his tongue with his finger gaining more access. To start off "soft" he allowed two fingers to access the girl plunging them in and out at a small pace before adding another and going faster causing the girl to moan and turn to face her God. 

" I-I-I f-feel f-funny. . ." 

" It's only a matter of time, my dear human." 

(Y/N) began to feel a knot in her abdomen, it was getting more intense and tight with each time his fingers went inside of her. As she was reaching the point of no return he began to speed up as (Y/N) let out one more moan before her body trembled as her eyes slightly rolled back as her juices sprayed everywhere especially on Izaya's fingers. Izaya smirked before seductively removing his finger from inside of (Y/N) and licked them before smiling softly. He leaned down to whisper, 

"That was amazing! You taste so sweet I can't get enough of it!~ but. . . I think it's time we moved onto the main event don't you think, my lowly human, my little slut. . ." 

It was only at this point that (Y/N) noticed the mirror facing the bed. It was a large, floor mirror that gave the observer a good view of the bed. It hadn’t been there before meaning one thing: Izaya had bought it just for this event.

“Ah, I see you’ve noticed it, finally! The perfect instrument for this night of trial! It’s there to test you, you see. . .”

Izaya’s hands snaked around (Y/N) to the back of her shirt. From there, he pulled one of the straps holding her shirt up, letting the tie unravel. 

“You didn’t really think that our fun, little night would end here, did you? I said we were gonna have a main event; an event with a special little treat for you, my lowly slut. Take it all off, we shouldn’t waste any time!”

(Y/N) sat up in shock. Izaya was being too candid, too forward. The darkness of the room led to Izaya’s face having dark shadows. The look made him too lustful and brought a familiar knot to (Y/N)’s abdomen.

Leaning in, Izaya whispered, “Hurry up.”

With shaking hands, (Y/N) brought her hands to her top and took it off in one swoop. The air suddenly surrounded her and she felt ever colder. The easy part was over, but now came the bra. She had been dying to take it off ever since they arrived home, but she couldn’t have expected that it would be in this situation. 

She could feel her face flushing red as she undid the hooks behind her back. She couldn’t bear to face Izaya, but she could still feel his lustful gaze directed towards her. She could feel him surveying every part of her body in arousal.

When she finally slipped the garment off, her body may have been cold but she could still feel the heat pouring between her legs. The air enveloped her body and made her nipples harden up. They perked up even more when Izaya brought his face closer to her.

“No matter what, I want you to look at me. It’s the very least a whore like you can do during this. If you can prove yourself through this, then you’ll get through this next trial~”

Without breaking his gaze, Izaya began to descend upon her chest. Taking one bud into his mouth, he began to swirl his tongue around it. His other hand pinched the remaining nipple and worked together to create a rhythm. Popping it out of his mouth, he bit into the skin around (Y/N)’s chest before moving on to the opposite bud. The sensation made her mind cloud and her mouth threatened to let moans escape. Every part of her body was on fire.

“Mmm. . . Is this pleasurable for you? Are you enjoying it? Don’t forget, my little bitch, that you have to prove your love for me. How devoted are you really?”

“Izaya, I-”

“How many times do I have to say this, (Y/N), only through your actions. Hm. . . Maybe a little punishment will help set you straight?”

Izaya kneeled up from the bed, pulling (Y/N)’s collar with it. The collar constricted around her neck, bringing a wave of euphoria as she was choked for those few seconds as he filled the two of them, leading to Y/N being on top of Izaya. 

“Don’t think this is how we end it. Just for now, you’re nothing more than a slave with a hole. If you ever want to be anything more, prove it.”

Staring at him for a few seconds, (Y/N) was in disbelief of what she was hearing. Did Izaya really believe that, that she was just a warm hole for him? And she already sucked him off, what more did she have to prove?”

“Well go on, prove your devotion to your god, to your complete master.”

(Y/N) knew what she had to do. Her whole body was shaking as she lifted herself on top of Izaya. She could feel her cunt getting wetter by the second, almost soaking Izaya’s midsection. She couldn’t believe that she was doing this with Izaya, much less how obedient she was. It was her first time, she should be hesitant! Maybe she had been secretly wanting this for so long?

Once she was in position, she began to lower herself onto Izaya’s member before being stopped by Izaya.

“Ah, ah, ah, did you think that this is your only punishment? No, no, no! Turn around, (Y/N), face the mirror. If you dare to look away for even a split second, your god will make sure you get disciplined.”

(Y/N) found it good to not upset Izaya. That would be an adventure for another time. Hesitantly, (Y/N) turned around to look at herself in the mirror. When she saw herself, she couldn’t believe the state of her appearance. (Y/N) looked like an arousing mess. Her hair was messy, but it looked artistic in a way. Her hairs were jumbled up and her lips were swollen. Her chest was flushed, riddled with hickeys and as hard as ever. 

“Remember what I said~”

Filled with determination, (Y/N) rose onto her Izaya and steadied herself. She lowered herself onto Izaya’s member, sliding it in with ease. It hurt a lot at the start, but the pain went away and was quickly replaced with arousal. (Y/N) felt like a crab, looking at herself in the mirror. It was uncomfortable to watch, but she didn’t dare disobey Izaya. 

She started moving up and down, watching as her breasts bounced along with her body. Izaya laid below her, helping her along by holding her waist. His fingers dug into her sides, making her squirm around. If only she could see him, what face would he be making?

The room was echoing the moans of both (Y/N) and Izaya. He stayed silent, except for his grunts and the occasional moan. That, along with the sight of such a lewd image right before her eyes, made the knot in her stomach grow and grow. 

The wet claps grew within the room, along with Izaya’s heightened pace. Now, his nails dug into her sides but she didn’t dare comment on it. (Y/N) was too distracted by the intensity of her senses. Her hair started to stick onto her face and she found herself moving into Izaya’s thrusts. Her arms were burning from the position, she kept trying to adjust herself into a better position. 

Izaya’s hands briefly left her waist to play with her breasts some more, before returning to add some much-needed support. The clapping now was wetter, almost sounding empty and echoey. (Y/N)’s abdomen could feel herself tightening around Izaya, but the position just wasn’t enough. Lifting herself up more, she raised her heels and put all her balance on the balls of her feet. The position was just enough and to add more friction, pounding Izaya in further. 

She lowered her hand to play with her clit before her own hand was replaced by Izaya. He said nothing as he played with her folds, rubbing and tugging at it with ways that sent (Y/N) into a frenzy. Her legs twitched and shook, threatening to compromise her position. 

Soon, the passion was more than (Y/N) could withstand. She came all over Izaya, feeling the liquid flow out of her. Her vision blurred and she could feel chills wash over her body. Between her legs, it felt as if everything was pulsating and her heart was ringing in her ears. Izaya followed shortly afterwards, removing himself from her insides and letting her fall onto her side.

His arm snaked around (Y/N) once more, pulling her closer.

“Guess what, my sweet (Y/N). You passed!  You managed to catch my attention through that amazing performance! What do you think?”

(Y/N) had no thought within her mind. The pulsating still hadn’t gone away and the fluid between her legs still felt sticky. If there was one thing she knew, it was that this baby would certainly end up interesting.

[bloodxbat]

(Part 1) Triple W Mafia George x Fem! Y/N series

Warnings: Swearing! that’s it really (unless I've missed something then please let me know)

Word Count: 2,174

Summary:  George Weasley is a renowned Mafia boss who took over from his Father Arthur once he retired, to carry on the Triple W mafia legacy. The only mafia known to be able to keep the Death Eaters (their rival mafia) at bay. However there is one item that they stole from the Triple W’s which George is determined to get back...his mothers necklace, the family heirloom. Y/N Greyback has been forced to comply with the Death Eaters wishes as her family are high up members. What happens when George and Y/N meet? And what happens when they fall in love?

Series Masterlist 

The lights were dim in the what looked like to be an old bar room, the red hue coming from the red lamp shades hitting the walls. Smoke from cigars fogging up the top half of the room barely keeping the floor below visible. At each table there were groups of men, all sitting in perfectly tailored suits, sipping on their glasses of whiskey, laughing and having a good time. At the back of the room however, sat one man, alone. His elbow propped up on the arm of his chair, his finger brushing over his top lip as if he were deep in thought. His other hand held the same glass as every other man in the bar, lazily not caring if it were to fall and smash everywhere.

The man, George Weasley, a tall ginger man who’s eyes were the dark but kind shade of brown. Although seemingly intimidating, George had a kind heart, if he seen someone being attacked or robbed in the street, everyone would end up feeling bad for the attacker by the time George was finished with him. He had no time for the scum who go out of their way to make someone else’s life a living hell in order for them to feel a small, temporary taste for a God complex.

George had only recently taken over the title of the Triple W Mafia Boss, when his father Arthur had decided it was his time to retire and pass over the family ‘business’ to one of his sons. George was one of 6 sons and one daughter within the Weasley family. His identical twin brother Fred was technically supposed to become the next Mafia boss, as he was the older twin. But, he had decided that his brother George was more fit to the job than he was. So, George gratefully took over the role and appointed Fred and his younger brother Ron, to be his sort of ‘Body Guards’ although, of course George was far from needing any form of help when it came to beating or killing a criminal, it was still always good to have a little back up sometimes.

“Hey Georgie, what’s the plan then? What we gonna do about these damn Death Eaters?”

George sat, not moving, deep in thought. ‘What was he going to do about those Death Eaters?’ He has no where to start, the bastards are constantly on the run. He was determined to find their whereabouts however, as they had stolen something very precious to him, his mother’s necklace. The Weasley family heirloom.

-

In a room that was very clearly abandoned and covered in moss and mould, sat groups of men and some women in black cloaks with peculiar pointed hoods. These people, in contrast to that of which the Triple W members, appeared extremely intimidating. The members of Triple W were intimidating,  but these were the sort of people no one would want to encounter in the streets, day or night. There was no smoke from cigars in this small dingy room, there was however and eye watering stench, that was so strong some of the Death Eaters swore they seen a slight foggy green haze floating around the room.

All cloaked members were sitting in a circle all surrounding their leader Tom Riddle, or as he likes to call himself ‘Voldemort’. A tall man (not as tall as George) with black, short curly hair. He wasn’t wearing a cloak like his ‘followers’ but was wearing something that looked more like a bath robe, it was all black of course to fit in with the rest. All were listening in carefully to what he was saying, all apart form Y/N Greyback, daughter of Fenrir Greyback, a man who is considered very high up in the Death Eater mafia. She was sat in the corner, wearing a contrasting blood red dress that hugged all of her curves perfectly. Her Y/H/C hair was curled at the ends in neat ringlets, and she had some makeup on but not too much so she looked ‘dolled up’.

“We all know that the Triple W are cowering out in some fancy old bar, trouble is we don’t know where, I’ve had a few out scouting round the area, unfortunately they have all been caught” Riddle speaks out gesturing and engaging with his followers.

“What do you suggest we do then sir?” Said Fenrir who was sitting right next to where Riddle was parading around the room.

“I say we send out our most valuable member, of course, real them in, make them vulnerable” he smirked

“You don’t mean…”

“Oh yes, but I do, your daughter shall make excellent bate my dear friend, for she wears what Weasley most desires” Riddle finishes

Y/N too busy sat in the corner reading an old book, didn’t even notice that every Death Eater members eyes were on her, all smiling to themselves.

This may actually work, if we send out Y/N who is wearing that incredibly expensive looking, diamond necklace, it may just lure the idiot ginger straight to us” Fenrir laughed.

So their plan was set, send Y/N as bait and hopefully George would follow.

-     George still hadn’t moved from the position he was sat in, he hadn’t taken a single sip of his drink, his eyes focussed and barely ever blinking. He was seemingly ignoring every person who tried to get a word out of him for some sort of plan to take down their Rival mafia. Sure he had killed a lot of spies they had sent out, but he was getting absolutely no leads on where exactly they were coming from, Riddle was smarter than he thought. It seemed he had Death Eaters coming from all over the country in all different directions and disguises. George had to find some way in order to track down where exactly they were based.

The sounds of other members arguing, specifically Fred and Ron who were standing right next to where George was sat, started to sound like a horrible ringing noise, it was driving him insane, how could he concentrate when these buffoon’s were yelling nonsense at each other.

“WILL YOU ALL SHUT UP” He yelled now getting up from his seat and walking to the middle of the smoky room.

“I can’t fucking think when you’re all fighting and arguing with each other on what we’re going to do. I am very aware that those bastards are close to finding us, alright? They’ve gained more members in the past few months than I can count on my two hands. Problem is, they’re coming from all over the country, there is no set direction from where they’re all coming from, meaning that they aren’t coming from their base. This brings us to our next problem, what we’re going to do about it. The only thing I can suggest right now, which I believe may actually be our only two options, is either we leave and find a new base OR we send out multiple people all round the general area of here just outside the boarders of this town where the forests are. Each mile will have two of our members, armed and ready to capture and interrogate anyone that comes from outside the town. This includes anyone who seems innocent to the eye I.e. a mother and child as we all know by now there are families who have been a part of the Death Eaters for years, long enough for them to welcome their children. If you see a mother and child however, you of course don’t attack them straight away, you take them for questioning and more importantly, you look for that damn skull snake monstrosity that they all have tattooed on their left forearm.”

George stands looking between each of his guys trying to gauge what they were thinking by their faces.

“So what’s it to be? Hands up if you think we should move”

No one put their hands up and George smiled knowing that everyone in Triple W are too loyal to the town of Diagon to even consider leaving.

“Good choice boys, now” he rubs his hands together “who’s volunteering to be part of the watch team?”

- Y/N couldn’t believe her ears when she heard the plan to trick Triple W into following her back to the Death Eaters. She also had no idea that the beautiful silver diamond necklace that hung lazily round her neck was the stolen Weasley heirloom.

The actions of her family disgusted her, she knew that what they stood for and what they were doing was wrong, but putting her in harms way all over a stupid rivalry, AND tricking her into thinking that the necklace she had was a gift. She felt so stupid for believing them, Y/N had no options but to accept that she was going to have to go along with their horrendous plan and bait George and other members of Triple W into following her back into her family and Riddle’s evil grasp.

“Perfect” Riddle smiled grimly when Y/N accepted

“But of course, we can’t just lure them in, in one mere night, no, you have to spread this out over the course of a few days. Have him become intrigued by you, follow you a little while. You’ll be staying in a place called the Leaky Cauldron, don’t let him see you in there, it’ll blow your cover. Make sure he only sees you walking through the streets. Got it?”

Y/N tentatively nodded her head

“Good, and then, when the time is right, you’ll lead him straight here. We’ll be in communication with you, don’t let me down”

Y/N shakily made her way to Diagon, bags packed and the necklace still hanging round her neck. She had since changed into a black, silk dress, helping the bright silver of the necklace stand out against the dark colour of her clothes, further, of course to draw George Weasley’s attention.

Once she had settled into her room at the Leaky Cauldron, she was given specific instruction to make sure she wondered round the street at night, as that is most likely when Triple W members will come out from wherever they were hiding.

Y/N took a step out into the cold crisp night air, her heels click clacking off the stone pavements. She couldn’t help but take in the beauty of the town, cobblestone roads winding all through it, the windows on each building slightly askew but somehow didn’t seem out of place. It was as if she were walking through an old victorian town.

Snapping her thoughts back to the task at hand, she pulled her black shawl over her shoulders more and continued to wander aimlessly round, trying to find some form of clue as to were Triple W were hiding.

- George was more than satisfied with the outcome of the meeting they had today. He had 40 people on a list to keep watch each mile surrounding Diagon, meaning that all 20 miles would be covered. They all had their instructions ingrained into their heads and were ready to get to work the next day. Fred and Ron as usual would stay within Diagon with George, communicating to those who were out surrounding the area getting updates and passing round information. George had also decided to send a few extra spies out, including his younger sister Ginny to be on the look out for any Death Eater members who may still be lurking round the town.

George, Fred and Ron made their way out of the old bar room, and onto the streets. George made sure that they each had means of contacting each other. Fred whom George would normally live with, agreed that they each should have their own flats or place to stay in order to cover more of Diagon, and therefore be more accessible to those out in the forest. With their last goodbyes and a few phone calls to book places to stay, the three brothers separated all going in opposite directions.

George headed down the street, his hands becoming slightly red from the cold, and he could see his breath in the air. The dim orange streetlights barely lighting up the path as he walked past the old crooked houses and shops.

Just a George turned the corner he bumped into someone, a woman, dressed in a black dress and shawl.

“Oh I’m so sorry miss, I wasn’t looking where I was going properly, these damn street lights barely light up 2 feet in front of you. Are you alright” George asked looking into her eyes with worry

“I’m perfectly fine, sir, thank you” she smiled back and walked away

But George followed her with his eyes, more specifically he followed her neck, because what was hanging from it made him do a double take. He knew those diamonds from anywhere, they way they glistened brightly in every light. Was that, his mother’s stolen necklace?

Taglist: @amourtentiaa​ @love-peachh​ @pens-and-roses​ @rosietoesy​ @comfortwriting​ @famdomhideout​ @dracofknmalfoy​ @pandaxnienke​ @georgeweasleysbabe​ @le-weasley-simp​ (MESSAGE/ASK IF YOU WANT TO BE ADDED)

[belovedgamers]

not today, tomorrow

Ao3 link! (comments appreciated <3)

rating: teen and up no archive warnings apply

more eternal duo content about reincarnation au and post-Banquet feels :D /rp

It has been a week since the Banquet.

Eret cannot sleep.

He has tried. Kind of. Sort of. Maybe. He has, at least, attempted to try.

But it hasn’t worked.

And it’s not like they particularly mind.

It has been a week since the Banquet.

Eret has not stopped moving.

Well, she refuses to stop moving, does not feel like they should. It would be… It would be wrong to stop. Foolish did not give up his life for hers so she could waste it in idleness.

(Her legs hadn’t moved, her hands had been immobile and her very lungs had frozen, when he was taken, you did nothing—

They do not know how to forgive themself for that.)

She can’t just… stop. There’s… There’s no time for pauses, no time for quiet, only time to move forwards. Eret builds, and he digs, and he does his best to keep away from everyone else’s land of sight.

(your fault your fault your fault what did you do for them but make a toast and place your hopes in their clawed hands what did you do but kneel before your execution what did you do but spill ichor over obsidian with your lies—)

She does not want to stay idle anymore. And… and she doesn’t really know what she would do with rest, anyway. Eret has much to do, builds to finish, people to look after. Legislation does not happen overnight and without supervision. They have already failed enough.

(Now, isn’t this so much better?)

(... the darkness… within you...)

It’s been a week since the Banquet.

Eret knows. They could tell you the exact amount of minutes that has passed.

Even if the hours pass them by as they fill out paperwork, as they pile stone together and mine for andesite, Eret knows how much time has passed them by, knows the information as well as they know the back of their hand.

There is a golden watch around her wrist.

For Eret, it says, the letters carefully carved in its lug. She has never seen Foolish’ writing, but there is a certainty in his heart, born from the proud look in his emerald eyes the night of—

Born from the proud look in his emerald eyes that night. This is his handwriting, measured and neat so it will fit their name. She has not seen him write, but she has seen him type in the communicator, and knows that his typing is a mess. The idea that impatient, active Foolish sat still, the thought that he carefully, delicately carved these letters, one stroke at a time, on a surface so tiny, not for the grand memory of a build to impress others but for this detail that nobody else would see, it… it…

(“Anything for you, old pal.”)

It’s too much to consider. They do not dwell on it.

He’d carved a small figure in the crown of it, too, a poppy.

It’s her favorite flower. She does not know how the god knew.

(he looked at them with bright, proud eyes and extended a hand, come look, he said, he pleaded, a field of red stretched before their eyes, old pal, he was trying to not be weak, to let himself be vulnerable, there was a look in his eyes, look, i have made you a gard—

Shhhh.)

She does not know how he knew. He does not know, and it’s slowly making him desolate.

Sometimes, he finds himself angry at the god who so graciously gave her this gift. It was much easier to go on about her life when she didn’t know a part of themself was missing.

(and do you know he spoke the truth? perhaps he was simply a liar—)

But that sounds ungrateful, and it sounds wretched. Those thoughts make her out to be someone she does not wish to be. He would like to be worthy of Foolish’s sacrifice. He would like…

He is so tired. So very tired.

He must keep moving.

It has been a week since the Banquet.

She has not slept a single day of it, yet he is not tired.

Physically so, at least. There is a buzz thrumming on his veins, a shimmering sensation over her skin. She has not slept and yet she is not exhausted. He goes without eating but is not starving. He hadn’t felt thirsty until he tasted water. She spent hours mining for andesite, armorless, and not a single mob strayed close.

(Tell them their importance to the Universe.)

It has been a week since the Banquet.

She looks down at their hands. Not a single scratch. Not even a bruise. Even though her hands were bare, even though he hasn’t stopped for hours, in days, there is not a single ache in their body. There is nothing that hurts. Not even their back, usually tired after cartography work, after building and finding more resources, tired from the weight of their guilt, does not hurt.

She finds herself in front of a mirror.

The person who stares back does not look like a monarch. The person who stares back looks flawless, unweighted, magical. Beautiful.

He has not changed out of the dress since... that night, and yet there is not a single tear on it besides the ones from the Eggpire’s trap, not a stain or a loose thread. Their crown is gone—

all their gold is, only the watch remains, she cannot stand the look for it but she could stand much less to lose it

— and so is the corset, the shoulder pads, but the red gown still flows and falls, precious in its detailing. There are no bags under their eyes, no grime in his hair. There is nothing wrong with them.

(You look lovely, the captain had said, present tense, when they found each other by the spider spawner, when she showed Eret her graveyard.

Eret builds and Puffy does too. Different families of the same typeface. Different translations of the same text.)

Her hands shake, she steps closer. She is barefoot. How has she not stepped over a rock? How is he not hurt? Why are their heels not sore?

He steps closer.

There is a fine line of gold around her throat, settled into skin.

(You look lovely.)

(Does it know we love it? That the Universe is kind?)

Totems do not heal an injury from before the mortal blow.

But with Eret, there was no mortal blow at all. They know magic, and that night they felt it sink into their body. It had nothing to heal, nowhere to go. It could not reach Foolish, so it curled around her heart.

And the Universe, even then, watched.

The gods are the Universe’s favorite children. One of them died for Eret. It will not let her get hurt. It will not let his sacrifice go to waste.

No matter how much they deserve the pain for taking Foolish away from the living.

(You are not alone.)

Eret collapses into the mirror, catches herself with one hand. Suddenly, they feel like crying again.

You idiot, she wants to tell him, wants to scream it to his face. He wants to tell Foolish off for this. They want to make sure he knows to never do it again, that his life is not a trading card, that she does not want it, that she would rather die herself than see his body dissipate into divine light again and be haunted by his spirit, by his love, by his fear.

But she can’t.

He is back. She knows he is. Sam had told her, when they discussed the Banquet as Puffy collected some dirt, the words he sacrificed himself for me had spilled from her mouth before he could stop them.

Sam had looked at them with a mixture of pity and guilt.

(Those had been his friends once, had they not? Bad and Ant and Skeppy. The Badlands, a land of chaos, a land of love. Always together. Bad and Ant had been Sam’s choice of prison guards.)

(And Ponk had been his choice of beloved.)

(And Hannah had been his chosen ally.)

Sam had said he was with Ranboo and I last night and had closed his mouth around something else he’d wanted to say.

But Eret must have looked pitiful enough, because he’d continued after a pause.

He was pretending nothing was wrong.

Eret’s heart had broken.

She cannot see Foolish, because inevitably she would bring up his sacrifice, and whatever fragile peace Foolish had built around himself, she’d destroy.

He doesn’t want to hurt him anymore.

(All you would do would be to hurt him, guilty, harmful, poisoned, you are but a wicked seed of pain.)

She cannot see Foolish.

So she ignores her communicator when it rings.

(—always late, old pal, you should keep your communicator on you at all times, i will send you signs across the sky, here’s a messenger, did you seriously just leave me waiting—

No.)

It keeps beeping as she retrieves her sickle, as she finds the mirror again.

It keeps beeping as she throws the sickle towards its surface, as the mirror shatters at her feet.

Not a single piece of glass sinks into her skin.

(All you do is destroy. You were not meant for peace.)

(You are growing restless.)

It keeps beeping. She keeps ignoring it.

Eventually, it stops.

Hours pass before she retrieves it.

Old pal.

Hello.

We should talk.

Tomorrow after sunrise.

If you can.

See you soon.

There is not a single mistake in these messages. It strikes her more than it probably should.

(You are not alone.)

Her hands are shaking again. Maybe they never stopped shaking at all.

It has been a week since the Banquet.

Foolish sacrificed himself for them.

(“How do you always keep waiting?”

“I have infinity laid before me.”)

(When he spoke of their past, he looked so sad when you did not recall, guarded and wary and hurt.

What have you done but hurt him?)

We should talk.  

The words echo in their head. They can hear it in Foolish’s voice even if they have never heard him speak them.

Perhaps he should go. The time Foolish proposed is early in the morning but it’s not like Eret has been sleeping. They haven’t even changed, even though it’s been nearly two weeks and counting. They should… They should go. If Foolish wants to see them, maybe they could talk, and he did promise to figure out their memo—

(“Its okay, Eret.”

Your fault. Your fault. Your fault. Your fault.)

Perhaps he should go. But the time Foolish proposed is early in the morning and it’s not like Eret has been sleeping. They haven’t even changed, even though it’s been nearly two weeks and counting. They should… they should rest.

“Maybe next week,” she whispers to no one, to the Universe. “Maybe we can meet next week instead.”

If Foolish wants to see them, maybe they could reschedule.

It has been a week since the Banquet.

It can't hurt to wait a little longer.

.

.

.

.

.

“Just… just let me check something,” Foolish tells the creatures at his feet. “Just let me… Let me see… Just a second…”

But no matter how many times he looks at it, his communicator stays empty. There is no message, no call, there is no rushed footsteps from his portal, no apologetic grin.

“Just let me check…”

.

.

.

.

.

(Sometimes, through the noise of its thoughts—)

.

.

.

“Hey… Hey… Hey, forehead, hey—

can you hear me— Hey, it’s—"

.

.

.

(—almost at the familiar door—)

.

.

.

"— it's me— Hey—  

Eret?”

.

.

.

(I wish to tell them that they are—)

.

.

.

(Wake up.)

.

.

.

.

.

There is a cat by the steps of Eret's castle. It looks a little like a toasted marshmallow.

Eret finds it some food. He sits in the steps while the cat eats from a bowl that may have been too precious to use for a pet's food once.

"Do you have an owner, kitty?" They ask, scratching between the cat's ears. It looks too well-kept to be a simple stray, but there is no name tag around its neck. Then again, name tags are rare to find, that might not mean anything.

The cat simply blinks at her and bumps its forehead against her hand.

Maybe she should give him a name.

[hitbythunder]

Among the Gods of Asgard -1

A dark!Thor x Reader, minor Loki x Reader story with all the drama and angst you’re craving. Including Alexander Skarsgard as Balder. --> Read also on AO3

Summary: The gods are being loved and feared in equal parts by their subjects, more the latter by the thousands of slaves working for them. Ten feet tall, powerful and immortal are the rulers of all beings within the Nine Realms. You, the daughter of an Asgardian merchant, fancy the three handsome princes of Odin - like any woman does - and dream of actually meeting them instead of watching them at public events. That is until, as a consequence of Loki's tricks, you are being forced into slavery at the royal court. Amidst this harsh new reality, you catch the attention of the god of Thunder who then seeks to make you his alone. You are nothing but a toy, a puppet, in the god's eyes and he will use you as he pleases.

Do not hope for mercy.

**** WARNING: dark story, manipulative Thor, heavy rape/non-con elements, no happy ending in sight

____________________________xXx____________________________

Asgard: the golden city at the centre of Yggdrasil, the World-Tree, where the Aesir - the gods - spent their immortal lives in noble estates and palaces. From behind the high walls of the golden palace, the royal family ruled over the city and all the other Nine Realms. Each god and goddess was gifted with special powers and enchanted weapons. Their subjects worshipped them, sacrificing their last penny if need be in the hope of receiving the blessing of the addressed god. Not all gods were inclined to help, however, some ignored the prayers of the common people and a few gods were even considered cruel. The king of Asgard and All-Father of the gods, Odin Borsson, was wise and just but he ruled with an iron hand over the Nine, his word being law to all beings dwelling in his realm. The gods lived in peace among the normal Asgardian citizens and apart from their might, which granted them a superior status, there was one distinct difference between these two classes: the gods were a lot taller than the ordinary people, each of them being at least ten feet tall – the males often taller.

Conclusively, their daily needs, desires and the amount of labor force necessary to satisfy all those were similar to their divine size. As were the pompous mansions and estates, with the royal palace leading the way. Behind its golden towers and walls, numerous chambers and salons housed the many gods and goddesses, the interior fittings matching the royal status of the resident. To afford all this luxury, slavery had become an adequate means and thanks to the many wars, uprisings or revolts within the Nine Realms, there was always ample supply of working hands. No wonder Asgard had become the richest city of all, its wealth being well accumulated over the centuries. Asgard, the city of gods and many wonders. That's exactly where _________ was born as the daughter of an upper-class merchant who traded various luxury goods across the realms. If the gods, or a member of the Asgardian elite, had any special wishes her father would make them come true – in exchange for a pretty penny of course. But money wasn't an issue for those customers.

Due to her father's skills the family had a very good life, absent any worries for money. While ________'s mother tried to teach her brother Einar and her that gold wasn't the only wealth worth striving for, the father succumbed to the former approach. His greed was growing each passing year. Despite being accustomed to the benefits of her father's income, the girl was neither haughty nor spoiled (well, maybe a little). Unfortunately, she didn't realize how the gold harmed her father - how it carved out his soul inch by inch - until it was too late.

xxx

When the celebrations for queen Frigga's name-day neared, prince Balder decided for a special piece of jewelry as a gift for his mother. The stones should be unique, reflecting her beauty and status as queen. But where would the god of light find a fitting piece? Luckily, he had already heard of the Asgardian merchant, Harald Leifson, who managed to obtain even the most exceptional objects for his customers. Thus, Balder summoned the man and stated his wish, stressing the importance of the punctual delivery as well as the quality of the item. The queen deserved only the best and anything less as a gift would bring shame upon the god himself.

Sniffing the sweet scent of a considerate amount of gold, Harald accepted of course and he already had a vague idea where he would get the desired jewelry. Soon later, the merchant returned from his journey across several realms having a splendid necklace with gems out of star-light in his possession. The following day at his shop, when Harald was polishing the necklace before he would deliver it, an unexpected new customer entered. Judging from the rich black silken tunic adorned with little gems and golden beads, the gentleman could only be a member of some rich family, probably pretty high up the society-ladder. “What marvelous piece you have there!” the man with brown short locks assessed as he spied the necklace between the merchant's hands, his emerald green eyes fixated on the glittering stones. “A beauty indeed and worth a good fortune too! 50,000 pieces of gold, hah, that's gonna be the deal of my life!” Harald mused and held the necklace up so that the other man could have a closer look at it.

“I wonder who can afford such a masterpiece... Your client must be truly bathing in gold to afford such like!” the noble man said, those mesmerizing eyes still focused on the jewelry in a fascinated and hungry manner. “Yeah, he better keeps up his end of the bargain. Otherwise he won't get it! God of Light or not, payment is due!” Harald replied in a very arrogant tone and carefully put the necklace into a box carved from ebony, fitting its exquisite content. The brown-haired man's face lit up at the mention of a god involved and with a cunning smile he made Harald an offer he simply couldn't resist. At first the merchant had refused but somehow the velvet-like voice of the eloquent gentleman could persuade him to take this even 'better deal': Harald sold the star-light necklace to the brown-haired man for 55,000 pieces of gold. Since the gentleman had to prepare the trunks of gold at his home estate, the payment would be delivered three days hence – after the queen's name-day celebrations. And as a sign of trust and goodwill, the new customer with emerald eyes gave Harald another necklace of gold and green-blue sapphires which he could sell on to the god of light. Hence, there would be another 50,000 gold pieces waiting for the merchant. A win-win situation.

If Harald hadn't been so blinded by the promised gold, he might have reconsidered this suspicious offer.

xxx

A few hours before the grand feast in the queen's honor, Harald was again summoned by Balder so that they could close off their deal. The merchant handed the ebony box containing the sapphire necklace to the god, eager to receive the awaited gold, but then it all went wrong. When Balder opened the lid he found the box to be empty and enraged he threw it across the salon. The wood shattering into thousand pieces against the wall.

Despite his begging and apologizing, Harald had been taken by the guards and brought down into the dungeons where he would wait for his trial in front of the king.

Later in the great throne room of the palace, the merchant's family watched as the gods presented their gifts to the queen, one item more precious than the other, and everyone wondered why Balder hadn't come up with at least something. Embarrassed and empty-handed, the fair god stood before his mother and had nothing to give except a tender hug and a soft kiss on the cheek. He would make it up to her and the merchant would pay for this insolence. The most stunning present, however, was given to Frigga by her youngest son, prince Loki, who held a marvelous necklace out of white gems that sparkled like star-light in his slender hands. The whole court present applauded in response and Loki, in full awareness of his brother Balder's stern face, proudly put the jewelry around his mother's neck. His trick had worked out just so nicely.

xxx

The very next morning, the king, his son Balder and a small number of counselors gathered once more in the throne room, Harald kneeling humbly at their feet. Never before had the merchant felt this much fear for both his and his family's well-being. Harald knew what the law had in stall for his crime.

Both parties stated their view of the case and the All-Father, being a just king, listened patiently to each. There was no need for him to heed his counselors, however, because the crime was clear and punishment was due. Harald hadn't kept up his part of a legal bargain and as a consequence he had tainted the honor of the God of Light, which was a grave offense against the gods and the royal family. According to Asgardian law, the merchant's reputation and wealth had to be diminished as well. Thus the fitting sentence was a fee of 25,000 pieces of gold for the deed per se. As for the god's offended honor, Haralds' children had to repay Balder for the not received worth of the necklace in hours of slavery. This way the family would be marked by shame for everyone to see, the children serving as a reminder of the deed for the next generations.

Unfortunately, Einar had already signed for the military service for the crown so the burden of the punishment fell solely to his sister _________. 50,000 hours of slavery, which equals 5 and a half years, at the royal court.

[theprofessionalpromptmaker]

Padak: Swimming to Sea meets Little Nightmares with a genuinely happy ending.

(This got me thinking ‘mermaids/sirens version of Little Nightmares’. Also never played Little Nightmares but one of my friends adores the games. And I came up with a dialogue prompt inspired by these AUs that I’m tossing in. Hope these work!

I’m putting these prompts under a read more so my other followers read the tags first.)

[NOTE: For those not familiar with the source material, read the trigger warning tags!]

BONUS DIALOGUE PROMPT:

“They took the most precious and rare among us: our children. Then they locked them in cages and slaughtered them for their meat. How can you look me in the eyes and call me cruel, when your kind did that to our babies?”

Prompts

Person A was a siren who got trapped by humans who ate mermaid and siren children when they were young, but managed to escape and live their life freely. But now Person A has a child, Person B, who got caught by similar humans. Person A has avoided going back to that place, but now disguises themself as a human and pretends to be a guest after sneaking aboard and starts snooping around to try to find their child and escape with them. Along the way, they meet another child, Person C, who helps them and in exchange Person A will help escape as well.

Person A was a siren who got trapped by humans who ate mermaid and siren children when they were young, but managed to escape and live their life freely and has become a bit of a bounty hunter for humans who hurt mermaids/sirens. One day, Person B comes to them and asks Person A to help them save their child(ren), who got taken by the same humans that trapped Person A as a child. Person A has avoided going back to that specific ship due to their bad memories, but Person B is so desperate and willing to pay whatever price to save their child(ren), that Person A accepts. The two end up going together, to work as a team, faking being human guests to sneak in and sneak out with the child(ren).

Person A is a mermaid/siren child stuck in a submarine’s fish tank, going to be killed and served to the humans as a delicacy, but who has managed to hypnotize people who get within range with their voice and get them to do what they want, but only one person at a time. So when Person A gets left alone with just one of the adults, they hypnotize them and get them to get Person A close enough to make a break for it. Using their hypnosis powers, they force different adults to help and protect them, until they can get to freedom outside the ship. Along the way, they meet Person B, a human child who can help them get further because Person B will help them without hypnosis and so Person A can rest their voice. Person A thought Person B was the child of one of the guests, but it turns out the guests don’t just eat mermaid children, and Person B is also escaping being eaten. So Person A and Person B work towards escaping together. They manage to cause the submarine to malfunction and start to crash/fill with water, which lets Person A escape, but they manage to also grab Person B and get them to the surface.

Person A is a large sea-monster mermaid who’s children were caught by humans and brought into a submarine restaurant. Person A has been trying to break in and singing whale songs to their children in the hopes of offering them comfort, and the children responded for awhile, but then they stopped. Person A, knowing their children are likely dead, is now bent on destroying the submarine restaurant, but the submarine has always been armed and whenever Person A approaches, they get shot at. But one day, Person A notices an eerie silence from the ship and uses the opportunity to attack and find an entry point and slip inside. But wanting to kill the owner of the restaurant slowly and not just drown them, gets past the watertight doors and into the inner submarine without damaging it too badly. But Person A only finds some children, Person B+, who apparently killed the owner themselves and all the customers who fed on children. Person A, unsure where to turn their rage, and refusing to harm children after they lost their own, decides to keep the children safe, protecting the submarine from other large and dangerous sea creatures (that the weapons were meant to protect against), and even catching sea creatures to feed to their adopted children, who stay in the submarine, traveling around the ocean, guarded by their large mermaid parent.

Person A is a siren child, stuck in a ship/submarine that feeds mermaid/siren children to rich human guests. The ship is heavily armed, but Person A keeps hearing distant singing that seems familiar. As Person A grows and manages to avoid being eaten, their hunger grows as well, and they eventually find ways to fight back against the humans and kills the owner (and guests and employees). But with the ship unarmed, it’s suddenly attacked by a large sea creature who sinks it, but Person A, who was unaware of their heritage, finds out they can breathe underwater and that the sea monster is actually their parent, who had been circling the ship, waiting for an opening, since Person A was stolen from them.

Person A is a very young mermaid separated from their mermaid family and dropped in a tank with other siren/mermaid children, Person B+, that is located in a very fancy restaurant in a city known for it’s fishing industry (and siren/mermaids are a rare and highly valued delicacy). Person B is the ‘leader’ of the tank, and to survive they eat any weak/injured siren children put in their tank. Person A is determined to get back to their family and the ocean. But the other children believe they’re crazy. But a few days later, a strange guest comes to the restaurant right before a huge hurricane hits. The guest, while the others are panicking, seems unperturbed. Instead, the guest walks over to the tanks and starts freeing the mermaid/siren children. Turns out, the guest is the god of the sea (or guardian of the segment of ocean near the restaurant), receiving far too many complaints about children of the aquatic people in the area going missing/stolen by humans, and decided to take matters into their own hands.

Person A and Person B were supernatural kids in a world where humans have vast moving restaurants inside airships and submarines and walking buildings, etc. where they capture, cook, and eat supernaturals — usually young and easy to catch ones. Person A and Person B met in one such facility. But since humans can sometimes gain the skills of the supernaturals they devour, the facility they were at decided to train them in various skills: Person A with hacking and Person B with fighting. But Person A gets extremely good at hacking and manages to plot an escape with Person B. But during their escape, Person A gets grabbed just as they reach the exit, and pushes Person B on ahead. Person B, now alone in the world, runs into a human who disagrees with how supernaturals are treated and offers to help Person B get revenge on the facility that presumably killed Person A. What Person B is unaware of, though, is that Person A impressed their captors with their hacking skills so much, they were locked in a deeper part of the facility and given the task of controlling the tech, watching the security cameras and running the computer systems of the facility. If Person A lets anyone escape or causes trouble, they’ll be killed. Years later, Person B breaks into the facility, bent on revenge against the owner, but Person A tries to use the cameras and their control of the computer systems to keep Person B from being spotted and trying to guide Person B to where they’re kept, so they can reunite and both escape this time.

(Not exactly a happy ending AU but adding it anyway:)

Person A was a siren who got trapped by humans who ate mermaid and siren children when they were young, but managed to escape and live their life freely. But Person A has recently been tasked with going aboard and sinking one of the largest submarines in the mermaid/siren child eating industry. Person A accepts, and sneaks aboard and gets friendly with one of the guests at a party on the ship who they assume is just a regular guest, until they get up on stage and address the crowd as the owner of the submarine, Person B. Person A is horrified, but also sees this as their chance to get close to and find a way to destroy the submarine easier. So Person A gets Person B alone and uses their siren song to hypnotize them. But while under the hypnosis, Person B admits they started the submarine/joined the industry (or even started the industry) after their own child was killed by sirens.

[vinethreaded]

EDIT: ARISTOKLEIA AND THE YOUNGEST OF DEMIGODS

camp halfblood is no stranger to even the youngest of children. there have been times when young babies are delivered into the capable hands of aristokleia, by parents or others. and the keeper of demigods raises them, cares for them, and loves them as if they are her very own. never does a demigod lack love from the keeper after arrival in the camp.

[razieltwelve]

The Prince and the Rose (Final Rose x GOT)

Robert Baratheon loved all his children, but if pressed, he’d admit that his eldest was his favourite. Aye, he’d loved Edward since the little rabble-rouser had screamed his guts out and then had the temerity to puke on his head. His son had been born with a damn good set of lungs, a fighter right from the start. With his spiky black hair and blue eyes, there had been no doubts whatsoever about which parent he took after.

He was clever too. He’d been walking and talking faster than any child Robert had ever heard of, and he’d taken to his lessons with the sort of glee that could only have come from his mother’s side of the family. It wasn’t long before he was surpassing his teachers, and the damn maester’s proclaimed him a genius.

Robert had worried a bit at that. Being clever was good, but a king needed to be strong. Edward had proven himself again, taking to his lessons on combat with equal gusto. Robert had preened with pride the first time he’d seen his son handle a blade and then a war hammer. It was like he’d been born to it, like he was remembering things he’d forgotten instead of learning them for the first time. Watching a seven year-old Edward knock some squires onto their asses had been one of the greatest moments in his life.

Aye, the boy was the best of both his Houses, as fierce and mighty as a Baratheon and as intelligent and cunning as any Lannister. Perhaps that was why he’d brought his two parents closer together.

Oh, Robert did not like to think of it much, but he’d not treated Cersei well to begin with. He’d been too full of grief and rage to be fair to his lioness. Yet Edward had shown his love for both his parents right from the start, and Robert had looked at his firstborn and the woman who’d birthed him and realised that even if this wasn’t the life he’d dreamed of, it wasn’t half bad either.

It had taken a few years, but Cersei had warmed to him, and they’d had other children. Joffrey could be a bit arrogant, but he was cunning and loyal to those he called friend and family. He favoured the sword more than the war hammer, and perhaps that was better for he had more of the Lannister build to him for all that his hair was as black as Robert’s. Tommen, well, he was a kindly boy, one who loved his books and studies. Yet when angered, his blood rang true, and he was as fierce as his older brothers. Myrcella, his only daughter, was the apple of his eye, a beauty in the making, and he was already dreading the days when he’d have to smash some skulls to keep suitors away.

As he reached the practice yards, Robert took a moment to study himself in one of the polished shields propped up on a bench. He’d let himself get out of shape for a few years, but he’d done a much better job of it since Edward had begun his training. Now, he was fit and strong, a king whose very presence commanded respect. Besides, it wouldn’t do to be bested by his own son before he was even a man grown. Gods, it probably wouldn’t be long now, the boy was just that good with a weapon.

And speaking of his eldest…

“Are you sure you don’t know magic?” Edward griped as he parried a blow from Ser Barristan. “No man should move so quickly at your age.”

The knight grinned warmly and continued his onslaught, his blade a swift, steely viper that never ceased to look for openings. “Are you sure you are a child, Your Highness? I’ve bested men - good men - full grown with the pace I’ve set, and you’ve yet to let a blow slip through your guard.”

Edward grinned back. “Odd words coming from a knight so famous for his youthful exploits.” The boy parried another blow and then replied with a lightning fast riposte that would have landed cleanly on any other man. At the last second, the old knight turned just enough to let it swing past his shoulder.

“An excellent attempt!” Ser Barristan praised. “You almost caught me there.”

“Almost but not quite.” Edward chuckled. “Although perhaps we should pause here. I daresay my father wishes a turn.”

Ser Barristan lowered his blade and nodded respectfully at Robert. “Your Grace.”

“How is my boy?” Robert rumbled, though he already knew the answer. To be able to stand against Ser Barristan at twelve was a feat any father would be proud of. 

“A peerless swordsman for his age,” the knight replied. “And though you did not see it, I did face him when he wielded a war hammer. I imagine it was like facing you in your younger days.”

“Hah!” Robert boomed. “The boy might be better than I was.” He tossed his son a war hammer, blunted and wooden instead of metal. “Let’s see what you’ve got, boy.”

“Of course, old man.” 

“Old man?” Robert chuckled. “What? Do you want the crown on my head already?”

“You can keep it,” Edward shot back. “It looks good on you, and I’m too busy with my other projects to be king.”

“Is that so?” Robert smirked. His boy had a talent for taking those wild ideas of his and turning them into coin. It was definitely something he got from his mother’s side of the family. Indeed, his preferred business partner was his Uncle Tyrion, and the pair had grown quite close. The Dwarf was no warrior, but his mind was as keen as any blade, and his son appreciated that. “How is that new liquor of yours going?”

“The fire water? It’s going well. I promise you’ll have first try of the next batch once we know it’s safe.” Edward tested the weight of his war hammer. “Now are we going to fight, or are we going to talk?”

Robert bared his teeth. “Spoken like a true Baratheon! Let’s see how far you’ve come!”

X     X     X

When Diana had first been reborn, she’d been rather put out at the fact she’d been reborn a man. Her aggravation had only grown when she realised she’d been born in what could, politely, be described as a technological backwater. On the upside, she was royalty, and that put her into a position to make changes.

After all these years, though, she’d gotten used to her new body. Or rather, his new body. He couldn’t complain, though. His new body was immensely strong, even for a twelve-year-old, and far faster than most people would expect. Indeed, it was something he’d often thought about his new father. Robert Baratheon was unbelievably strong, yet it was his unexpected speed that so often granted him victory.

Sadly, not all of his powers had made the trip with him. Ragnarok was… well, not gone, but certainly not there in its entirety. He was still hopeful it would awaken in earnest at some point, but even still, he healed faster than he should, and he’d noticed other things besides. He was careful to conceal the oddities. Prince or not, magic here was apparently serious and often highly unpleasant business.

As he made his way back to his quarters to bathe, he wasn’t surprised when his uncle fell into step beside him. Slowing just enough to help him without making him feel condescended, Edward glanced down at the man many called the Dwarf.

“You’re looking cheerful, uncle. Did you get some good news?”

“Aye, nephew.” Tyrion had a spring in his step. “We’ve heard word from our craftsman about those ‘printing presses’ you proposed. There are some problems still to work out, but the design seems decent enough. In a few months, perhaps, we’ll have a working design. And from there…”

“Profit.”

“Indeed.” Tyrion nodded. Some of the bitterness about him had faded over the years, Edward thought. It did not take a genius to see how his… treatment at the hands of Edward’s grandfather, Tywin, rankled Tyrion. But since their partnerships had grown more and more successful, his uncle had become a very, very wealthy man in his own right. That success had put steel in his spine and dampened some of the old hurts. After all, Tyrion no longer had to worry about begging his father for money, and he had the ear and favour of the crown prince. Not bad for a dwarf. “I saw your practice in the yard. You’re even better than my brother was at your age.”

“Uncle Jaime was a prodigy,” Edward said. “And of all the Kingsguard other than Ser Barristan, I think he might well be the deadliest in a fight if he could be bothered to put his back into it.”

“Ah, he does have a tendency to play with his food, doesn’t he?”

“I think he is so rarely challenged, he likes to savour any real fight he gets.” Edward pursed his lips. “Do you have any clothing suited for cold weather, uncle?”

“I believe so. Why?”

“Jon Arryn is an old man now,” Edward said. “And though he has managed to sire two sons, he has had precious little time to raise them. I do believe my father might seek out a new hand, so Jon can retire to the Eyrie to raise his sons and hopefully sire a few more.”

“And you think he means to go north?” Tyrion’s brows furrowed. “Ah. Right. Lord Stark. Well, they are as close as brothers, and the North has prospered mightily in recent times. Mayhap, your father hopes to bring some of that prosperity south.”

“We’re prospering enough as it is,” Edward retorted. “The crown has never been richer, and if all of our plans go as expected, uncle, we will only grow wealthier.”

“Hmm…” Tyrion got a crafty look. “Perhaps you should think carefully about your future, nephew. After all, the Rose of the North is of an age with you. I daresay, your father would love to join his house to Lord Stark’s.”

“Ah.” Edward had his suspicions about who exactly the Rose of the North was, but he had yet to receive a definitive answer due to how difficult it was to communicate across long distance in Westeros, and he could hardly send a raven to her without his father finding out and scheming for a match. Well, maybe in a few months he could. He’d made good progress in learning how to train his own. “We shall see.”

X     X     X

Lyara Stark rapped Arya on the wrist with her stick just hard enough to catch her attention without doing any real harm. “Your wrist should be supple but firm, sister. Too soft, and you will lose all control and power. Too tense, and you will be slow and ungainly.”

Arya huffed. “How do you make it look so easy?”

“Practice,” Lyara said with a fond smile. Indeed, she almost always had a fond smile ready for her youngest sister. Oh, she loved all her siblings, but there was a lot of Diana to be found in Arya Stark, and the girl who had once been Averia had always had a soft spot for her sister. “Now, again, Arya.”

“Can’t we practice some other moves?” Arya grumbled.

“I do not fear the warrior who has practiced ten thousand moves once. I fear the warrior who has practiced a single move ten thousand times,” Lyara replied. “A warrior must have absolute confidence in their skill, Arya. Do you think you can have confidence in something you haven’t practiced?”

“No,” Arya admitted with a huff. “But when can we do more sparring?”

“Complete your next set of exercises,” Lyara promised. “And then we may spar.” She grinned. “Our brothers wish to test themselves against me again, it seems.”

X     X     X

Ned Stark managed to keep himself from grinning as he watched Robb hammer away at his twin sister’s defences. His son and heir had more of a Tully look about him, but Lyara was almost his sister reborn, albeit there was something unmistakably regal in her bearing that undoubtedly came from Catelyn. 

Robb was a great swordsman for his age, as skilled as any youth, but there was a reason Lyara was called the Rose of the North, and not simply for her beauty. Aye, a rose had thorns, and Lyara’s were the sharpest in the North by a good margin.

“Good,” Lyara praised as she parried another attack and circled away, keeping Robb turning. She was testing his footwork, Ned realised, making sure he did not grow too accustomed to simply moving backward and forward as so many youths were prone to. “You’re mixing your attacks up better.”

“I still haven’t hit you yet,” Robb replied.

“No,” Lyara returned with a ghost of a smile. “But you’re doing better than the last time.”

“Come on,” Theon japed from the sidelines. “She’s your sister, Robb! You’ve got to win.”

“Oh, be quiet,” Robb retorted without taking his eyes off his sister or her weapon. “You didn’t even last a minute the last time you fought her.” Next to Theon, Jon chortled, and Ned himself had to swallow a laugh. “It’s like fighting someone who can see the future. It’s like she knows what I’m going to do before I do it.”

“Because I do,” Lyara teased, blade blurring forward like a viper. At the last moment, Robb managed to jerk his own weapon up to deflect the strike, but a twist of Lyara’s wrist locked the two swords together, and then a graceful pivot sent Robb’s practice sword tumbling end over end through the air until she caught it crisply in her other hand.

Robb put his hands on his hips and glared. “Now, you’re just showing off.”

Lyara’s lips curved up at the edges. “How can I make it up to you, brother?”

“Well, you can bloody teach me that disarm for one,” Robb grumbled. “And… what is that new contraption you’re working on?”

“A new furnace,” Lyara replied. “For making better steel.”

“How about a sword from it when it’s done?” Robb asked. “Then mayhap my wounded pride will be soothed.” He clutched at his chest melodramatically. 

“Of course,” Lyara agreed with a joking half bow. “It would be my honour Lord Robb.”

Ned chose that moment to step into the training area. All of his children immediately look to him, and he smiled warmly.

“I’ve been watching,” he said. “And you are all doing very well.” He nodded at Robb. “Your sister is right, my son. You’ve improved by leaps and bounds. You might well become one of the finest swords the north has ever seen.” He turned his gaze to Jon. “And the same could be said of you, Jon.” He clapped both boys on the shoulder and then nodded at Theon. “Your bow work is impressive, Theon, but your swordplay… mayhap more work is required.”

“Has something happened, father?” Lyara asked.

“Oh?”

“You are a bit earlier than usual today,” she replied. “And you had a most thoughtful look on your face as you watched - but not the one you normally have.”

“You have keen eyes, daughter.” Ned smiled. “We have received word from the south. The king, my dear friend Robert, is coming to Winterfell, and he is bringing the royal family with him.”

“Truly?” Arya asked. “Is the Young Demon coming as well?”

“Arya,” Ned said with just a hint of warning. “That name is… perhaps unfortunate if fitting.” Robert’s boy had been blooded recently, or so he had heard, when bandits had attacked the queen’s party during one of her trips to visit her father. Young Edward, the Young Demon some now called him, had slain half a dozen bandits himself after they had tried to seize the queen. The tale had become somewhat famous, with many drawing the parallels between father and son. In the North, of course, the young prince was popular. Any boy of twelve who could slaughter those who tried to harm his family would be viewed well in the harsh North. “But, yes, I do believe he will be coming.”

“You should fight him,” Arya said to Lyara immediately. “I bet you could beat him.”

Ned chuckled. “Perhaps they can spar.” His daughter and his oldest sons were already blooded too. Poor Bran had almost been seized by Wildlings during a ride, and Lyara had reacted with the sort of deadly precision more common to experienced warriors than girls of ten and four. Robb and Jon had likewise done well during the encounter although they had only slain a pair each, whereas Lyara had slain a good seven on her own. “And perhaps Robert has other things on his mind too.”

Indeed, Ned could easily imagine Robert asking for a match between Prince Edward and Lyara. If he did, Ned would be only too happy to agree. They had often talked of one day joining their Houses, and by all accounts, the prince would not mind a woman who could fight as well as he did. Indeed, if some of the rumours were true, he might even prefer one.

And such an alliance would only be good for the North. His daughter had a keen mind, and she had suggested many improvements that had worked out well. Likewise, the prince was blessed with many ideas of his own. At the very least, such a match would ensure close ties between the crown and the North for many generations, and Ned was certain that the prince would get along with Robb too.

“But enough of that,” Ned said before reaching for a practice weapon. “Let me test my children with my own blade. Who shall be first?”

Arya, of course, all but threw the others aside in her eagerness. “Let me go first, father!”

“If you wish.”

“Remember our lessons,” Lyara advised as they made way for Arya and he to spar. “Father is far bigger and stronger than you. Do not try to fight his strength with yours. You must be quick, agile, and cunning.”

X     X     X

Author’s Notes

Well, I have no idea where this came from. It kind of popped into my brain one day, so here it is. Ah, yes, there will be so many glorious misunderstandings in the future as Edward/Diana and Lyara/Averia try to finagle their way out of a betrothal while saving Westeros from the Others and who knows what else.

If you’re interested in my thoughts on writing and other topics, you can find those here.

You can find my original fiction on Amazon here.

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Sparks Fly (Part 1/?)

A/N: Thor has body image issue and a princess to save. What could go wrong?

Thor frowned at his brother as he strolled into the Throne room of new Asgard grinning, "What trouble are you making now, Loki?" he asked. "Brother why the sour expression? I have just solved half of your problems. I have found you a wife." Thor pinched the bridge of his nose, "How does that solve our problems?" Loki sighed, "You need an heir and a spare and an alliance with a powerful Midgardian realm would strengthen our ability to protect new Asgard." Thor stood and walked to the fireplace. It had been 2 years since the battle with Thanos and the reverse of the Snap. The king stared into the fire and sighed, "For my self, I have no interest in a political marriage but for my people it makes sense." Loki was outlining details but Thor was hardly listening. Too busy with his own thoughts. The god reflected that a political alliance might be the best he could manage. He didn't exactly have the body of a romantic hero anymore. The depression that had gotten him to this state had lifted but the burden of the ruling left little time for the relentless training that had given him his chiseled physique before. He didn't exactly want for lovers but those lovers didn't really want him. They just wanted to say they had slept with him and they left him cold.

Loki was describing the girl to him a matter of factly and Thor waved the words away with an impetuous gesture. "Her looks are immaterial to me. So long as she has good birthing hips and common sense," Loki snorted, "A tall order from most women to have both."

hor rolled his eyes, “Arrange the meeting, brother. And assemble a delegation. We may be a small kingdom but if we’re to do this I would have it done properly.” Loki bowed slightly and walked out of the room. He was sure Thor had not heard a word he said. He was also sure that one look at this unfortunate creature and his Brother would move heaven and Earth to see her be his. Thor always did have a soft spot for lost causes.

Weeks pass and terms are decided. The meeting is to be in fairy. The Asgardians are coming to meet you and you’re terrified. Your fingers won’t stop trembling as you brush your long hair. This is your one chance to get out of this castle. Your one chance to escape the king who holds you, hostage, while calling you his foster child. You don’t even care if you love your husband. You just want to see your people safe and you cannot be a queen without a king. “Princess,” a page says bowing to you, “The Asgardians and their delegates will be here soon. The king bids you come to the stables. Your mount is ready.” You swallow hard and turn to smile at him, golden eyes calm, “Very well, thank you,” you say as you stand, willing your knees not to tremble.

Your foster father does not speak to you as you enter the stables and a groom helps you onto your mount, an unearthly white stag with silver antlers and silver hooves. The King is large and forbidding, a Night Court King in trust fashion dressed in dark leathers and red trappings. His mount a large, battle-scarred black bear with wicked teeth. He lives up to his Title as the King of Fears and he and his delegates stand in stark contrast to your delicate frame and pale blue dress on your gentle stag. Your people are of forests. The Sidhe of Story and Song. Their banners bore snarling bears. Your one lone banner bore the emblem of an oak tree growing from a book on a field of white. Your foster Father’s red eyes look at you and he grunts in approval as you sit demurely on your stag, hands folded in your lap. You need no saddle or reins. The Stag, Declan, would sooner run off a cliff than allow you to fall from his back. He is a spirit of the Forests you played in as a child and feels duty-bound to protect you as the last member of the Royal family still breathing.  Madoc, your foster father urges his bear forward and you take a breath, willing yourself into calm you do not feel, following beside him and slightly behind in your proper place. 

Thor, Loki, Bruce, and Steve wait. This is not a war party but Thor still feels compelled to bring good back up that won’t immediately read as a threat. This night court king does not engender feelings of trust. When the party appears over the rise, Thor and Loki ride out to meet the King and his advisor in the middle of the field. “You seem to have brought a large assembly for such a happy occasion,” Thor said lightly. The Night Court King laughed, “We have a precious treasure to guard,” he said gesturing back towards you. “It would be a tragedy if she were to come to harm under my care. I am duty-bound to protect the Princess of Story and Song. To fail in that duty would be a grievous insult to her house.” Thor’s eyes narrowed slightly as he looked at you, quiet and demure a tightness in your eyes that contradicted the softness of your mouth and the relaxed lines of your shoulders. Thor inclined his head, “Very well,” he said by way of accepting this circumstance. It made sense if you weren’t a fighter and he didn’t think you were. Your bearing was regal. Elegant. But Thor knew fighters. He knew warriors. And that was not your strength. 

Thor and his party followed Madoc back into the castle keep. It had a dark grandeur that while impressive was cold and forbidding. He watched your face as you passed through the gates. Your face betrayed nothing. It was still schooled into a mild, pleasant expression. Vague polite disinterest as was expected of a Sidhe Princess who had not yet been introduced properly to a suitor. But your shoulders stiffened slightly as if the change in energy made you uncomfortable. Grooms swarmed into view to take reins and to help hold mounts. A groom stepped forward to help you and Thor stepped forward, dismissing the groom and offering to lift you down. You accept his help with a smile of thanks, “Thank you, my lord.” You say softly, not meeting his eyes as your feet touch the ground. Thor feels his heart speed up a fraction. You are lovely up close with your golden eyes and dark red curls, a spatter of freckles over your nose and cheeks. Your waist is corseted but you have the suggestion of lovely curves. Your voice is lilting and musical. His heart raced and then drops. You are a Princess from a bard’s tale. As if the Norns had taken everything he could want in a princess to look like and assembled you to his orders. And he was this.

 It wasn’t as if he expected to love but he would already hand you his heart if you asked for it. As much as he distrusted the Night King in negotiations, he now trusted him less to care for you the way you deserved. Thor unhanded you quickly as soon as he was sure he wouldn’t knock you over when he let go and glanced at Loki, glaring at him. Bruce watched, looking bemused but pleasant and Steve’s face was schooled into careful passivity. 

“Daughter,” Madoc said, his voice growling, “Perhaps you ought to leave the gentlemen to discuss matters. I believe the children are in the hall. Perhaps you ought to entertain them.” You drop into a curtsey, making no protest, “Yes, father.” You say as if the words don’t burn in your mouth. You’re gone, bare feet silent on the dirt yard as you make your way across the keep, two large guards silently falling in on either side of you. It was enough for Thor and Loki both to understand. You are not a foster child. You are a hostage. A privileged hostage but a hostage none the less. “Come,” Madoc said, “I have a dinner laid out for us.” The Night King dismissed his servants with a wave of his hand and jerked his head towards the hall. “How did you come to foster Princess Y/N?” Thor asked, falling into step beside him. “An unfortunate dispute between the Queen of the Forests and I,” he said, “A war that got out of hand.” His tone indicates that it was in fact not unfortunate as far as Madoc was concerned. “After the Queen and her human consort perished, I took the care of the princess into my hands personally,” he said grandly. “Thus giving you control of her lands,” Loki said. “Until she comes of age this Samhain,” Madoc said nodding, “Though She cannot rule on her own. Not as a half breed. She requires a king and such an arrangement I think would be beneficial to both Asgard and The Court of Fears.” Thor raised an eyebrow, “With her stuck in Asgard you would remain as Steward. Controlling the Forests of Sighs.” Madoc said nothing but shrugged. 

Thor shot Loki another look and the prince shrugged. She was eligible and in a perilous enough situation not to put up too much of a fuss. Thor toyed with his glass of wine, thinking. “And if I did not leave you as her steward?” he challenged lightly, “If we united the courts of Asgard and the forests of Sighs?” Madoc shrugged, “Anything could happen,” he said, “Though you would find the Forests a hard master. For all their pretensions at art and beauty, the people of that kingdom are fierce and you would find it hard to rule over indeed.” Thor made a thoughtful sound. He knew Sidhe could not outright lie but they could bend the truth until it broke on its own.

 The rest of the dinner was chatter while Madoc allowed the Visiting King to digest this information. Pages showed them to their rooms and a War council of sorts convened in Thor’s room. “I don’t trust him,” Steve declared, throwing himself into a chair. Bruce nodded, “But if we don’t get that girl out of here she may be in trouble fast. I wouldn’t put it past that tyrant to marry her to himself.” Loki shook his head, “Consanguinity,” he said, “They’re too closely related. He has Princes he could have married her to otherwise. Right now he’s banking on her Honor. He means to make her a vassal beholden to him for his years of hospitality.” Thor watched out the window at the alien terrain and sighed, “Loki this was meant to SOLVE my problems. Not cause more.” Loki shrugged, “The forests of Sighs are valuable,” he said, “And their Princess seems to fit your standards.” Thor was glad his back was to the room and they could not see his cheeks color. 

The woman did indeed have nice hips. “What standards?” Steve asked stretching. “Birthing hips and Common sense,” Loki said in a devastatingly accurate imitation of Thor’s voice. Bruce choked and Steve smirked. “Well,” Steve said, “If she’s survived this place since childhood I’d imagine she does have some sense.” Thor turned to face them when the sniggering died down, “Before I decide anything, I will speak with her,” he said, “While a political alliance is not- not my desired way to find a wife, I cannot in good conscience leave the girl in peril. But I will not take her from one untenable situation and put her in another she vehemently objects to. She deserves that much dignity.”

You sit in your rooms, a bevy of ladies in waiting to gossip around you as you stitch. The laughter is cruel like always and you guard your tongue. There is no one in your rooms you can trust to speak your mind. No one is impressed with the Asgardian King and his retinue. They seemed to treat him as a colossal joke. Still, as kings went, he seemed to be a good man. He had kind eyes and the hands-on your waist had been gentle. There could be worse matches. Much worse. You thought thinking of Madoc’s hungry eyes with a shiver. 

The next night, there was a great celebration to welcome their distinguished guests and your official introduction to your potential betrothed. You entered the Hall on Madoc’s arm. His massive black-clad self, dwarfing your tiny white-clad frame, making you look like a child. Thor took your hand at the bottom of the stairs and kissed it lightly, making his formal introduction to you. You blush prettily much to the amusement of the crowd and Thor sweeps you into a dance, away from Madoc where he could speak with you. 

The god reflected at in another life, in another body, he might be whispering seductive bits of nonsense in your ear but for now, he takes the time to learn about your situation, cautioning you to keep smiling and pretend nothing was amiss. He learned that you were indeed a hostage and that when you disobeyed Madoc in the smallest ways your people suffered, something that you found unacceptable and so you obeyed. Instantly and without question. You confessed softly that sometimes you thought it might be better for everyone if you simply died making Thor tighten his grip on your hand slightly. Thor leaned forward and whispered into your ear, “Please, Princess. Don’t give up. Not now.” And the gold in your eyes turned over bright, tears threatening to fall. “Y/N,” he murmured, “Smile. Nothing is wrong, remember. I can give you a home. Away from this but I need you to trust me.” You look up at him, smile fixed back in place, “It seems I do not have much choice, your Majesty.”

Thor returned you to Madoc, and the way his clawed hand looked on your arm made the God’s skin crawl. He wanted to whisk you away then, secret you under his cloak and smuggle your home but he forced himself to go back to his party. “Loki,” he said quietly, “Get word to Brunhilde. See how quickly we can arrange a wedding.” Loki blinked but said nothing. Thor’s face was forbidding and the storm clouds were gathering in his eyes, sparks at his fingertips. The ride home the morning after the feast was silent. Each man knew what they had to do. Thor felt himself bracing for the battle to come and sighed. He just hoped this plan worked.

[mrneighbourlove]

Into the Darkness and Unknown: Ch 5. A Blink into the Void

Bonegrinder woke and was quite concerned when he could not find Leere. He moved all his pillows and even checked near the river. Then the snake went to where Malik was sleeping, snoring rather loudly. Repeatedly, he poked the man with his tail.

"Hey. Hey. Wake up. Tiny princess is gone. Where is she?"

“What the hell are you doing?” Malik grumbled, slapping the snakes tail away. He was so intolerable.

"Tiny princess is gone. Where is she?" Bonegrinder asked him yet again. "She is not in the hut."

“We investigated the origins of Malus on our own. Afterwards, we discussed the origins of your heathen gods and the demon Teufel. I left for the night, but she remained behind.”

"... you let her research Malus? After all she's been through?!"

“Yes. Because she’s not a fragile little girl. She’s her own woman. I respect that.” Malik rose from his bed, grabbing his armour to strap on.

"Malus is dangerous, she doesn't know what horrors it holds! He is trying to protect her from what those fiends would do to her, use her for! Don't you know why Leere's back has that horrid tattoo upon it?!" Bonegrinder was worried and actually looked panicked. "He is going to find her! Stay here!" And with that, he slithered off in the direction of the Temple of Ruin.

“Wait a damn minute!” Malik grabbed him by the tip of his tail, having just barely finished getting into uniform. Holding on, he was dragged by the back as if he were on water skis.

Bonegrinder was old, but he was still damn fast when he wanted to be. When he tried to go through the opening corridor for the temple, the Anagari nearly lost his balance and released a loud 'OOF'. Looking back, the young lord had grabbed onto the side of the stone, halting the shaman's slithering. Lifting his tail, Bonegrinder watched as Malik still held on dangling there.  "... why are you covered in mud and leaves? You have to be presentable for Mother---wait... did you hold onto Bonegrinder's tail?"

Malik arm muscles were pulsing as he held onto the stone to stop Bonegrinder’s advance. “You stupid, ugly mother fucker.” Malik was glad he wore armour, but being splashed through mud, smacked by branches, and over all being dragged about was a completely unpleasant experience. Letting go of his tail, the only thing he could do was strip out of his armour, magically summon a different set of armour, and get changed into it. “You just had to run off like a child. Didn’t you. Your fat ass didn’t even know I was holding onto you.”

"Bonegrinder has little to no feeling in certain areas of his body, too much nerve damage." He wiggled the tip of his tail. "And you're just jealous that Bonegrinder has all the looks and you have none."

“Oh, don’t get me started on that topic you bastard.” Malik slapped his helmet angrily down onto his head. “Let’s go, I can see storm clouds forming. However, if I’m honest, I’d love to see god strike lightning down upon you.”

"Heheheh, you're just angry cause you know he is right." Bonegrinder had that smug grin on his face. "Come. Leere is this way..." He followed her scent into the library... then out of the library... and... "Huh? Oh. OH. We... might not want to interrupt this."

“Why? Where is she?”

"In Mother's bed."

"Nothing. Leere knows a fine piece of ass when she sees it." Bonegrinder then said, poking Malik's helmet with his claw. "You went after Asakonigei, so you know a lovely lady when you see one too."

“Don’t you dare bring up my wife. I’m not fucking the Queen of Danjur, Zarazu, or anyone else when I’m on diplomatic missions.” Malik growled deeply through graded teeth.

"Mother is not a queen, Malik. Mother is many, Mother is all, and Mother is a guardian." Bonegrinder truly did not see the problem. "This will not influence her decisions. Besides, he doesn't smell any arousal... they might just be sleeping."

Bonegrinder felt a punch in the back. “Open with that. God, you really are crazy.”

~

Inside the temple, Leere steered awake, yawning loudly. Seemed she was being held like a little stuffed bear.

Mother was still sleeping soundly until Leere started to stir.

"No bad dreams?"

“None. Yourself?”

"No, I don't dream very often now." Mother told the princess. "When I do, it's often visions of the future to come, the past which haunts me, or what will happen in the present."

“Well, it was nice.” Close enough, Leere snuck a quick peck in. “We should probably get back to the-” Before she could finish her sentence, there was a sound of lightning outside. “That’s odd. I don’t remember signs of a storm forming yesterday.”

"... you are brave to kiss an Echidnan of many like me, Leere." Mother then heard the rumble of thunder. "Hmm..."

A feeling, a shiver, was felt. To Leere, it was small. A coldness. To the Mother, something wrong was taking place in her homeland. “Do you feel something?”

"... something evil has made its way into my land." Mother had a dark frown on her face. "I must handle this situation. I cannot have it harming my children."

Leere stood up, immediately concerned. “I’ll go investigate.”

When Leere descended from Mother's nest, Bonegrinder was there with his arms crossed. "Bonegrinder would like to know why you were up there."

“I was researching the Mortuus. Your mother let me see the remains of your brother and father. Afterwards, I was very tired, so I offered to sleep beside Mother in her nest for the night. Why are you so concerned?”

"They are not his brother nor father, he is not of Mother, Mother considers us all her 'children'. Her people." Bonegrinder was... uncomfortable, being compared to Mother. It showed on his face. "You are in a strange land and trust others too easily here. While Mother said for you not to be harmed, that does not mean you are completely safe. You should have stayed in the hut. The library holds nothing but pain for you."

Leere knew that Bonegrinder was getting under her skin. Did all his people keep secrets? As a way to calm herself, she remembered an old lesson from her mother. ‘Take a deep breath Leere. Don’t let him get under your skin. Just count down. 10,9,8,7,6,5,4,3,2,1, deep breaths.’ Clasping her hands, she felt ready to confront her feelings. “Bonegrinder. I’m going to tell you now that you are pushing my boundaries. I can make choices for myself.”

"He knows you can make choices, but there are some issues you are best left in blissful ignorance." Bonegrinder told the princess. "He does not keep this knowledge from you because he does not think you cannot handle it. He keeps it from you because he does not want you hurt further."

“You want me to stay ignorant!? Are you joking me?!” That certainly cut deep into Leere, with the voice of her reassuring mother shattering from her mind. “You’re contradicting yourself! It would hurt if I couldn’t handle it! You can’t keep information about my past from me! What kind of friend does that? What kind of friend are you if you’d actively deny the truth from me?”

"He does not mean mental hurt, Leere, he means physical hurt. The more you know, the more susceptible you are." Bonegrinder did not know how to explain more without revealing too much to the princess. "There is a reason he removed what he did from your tattoo those years ago. He is trying to keep evil from being drawn to you once more. He wants you to be safe and far from harm. Please believe him, tiny princess, he is trying to help you."

“Physically harmed? On that you couldn’t be more foolish. I’m one of the most committed fighters you’ll ever know, you better believe that.” Leere was going to say something else when she paused. Her face slowly changed to clear and focused attention. “Bonegrinder, Mother. There’s a cart of dead bodies out east not to far from here.”

Malik was the only one who couldn’t pick out the sense of undeath from so far away. “Are you saying Omisha is under attack?”

"Leere, Modoc, you two will have to finish your conversation later." Mother felt the dark magic on the exterior of her lands. Someone was using Mortuus magic and... there was something else. A mixture of rage, hate, and... unbalance. Chaotic magic. This was unsettling. "Modoc, go with the guards to investigate."

Bonegrinder was not going to argue. He nodded his head in agreement and then slithered off to gather some of Mother's most precious treasures; the deadliest of the deadly. These would aid him if there should be any trouble.

Then Mother turned to Leere, "My dear, please do not get too upset over Modoc's intentions. I do believe they are pure, yet at the same time, you do deserve your answers. I ask for only your patience."

“He should have more faith.” Leere turned her attention to Malik, who was already getting prepared to leave. “I’ll need my scythe back Lord Malik.”

The Gerudo chuckled, excited to see how the princess would fight with a weapon. He’d never had the chance before. Handing the hilt to her he kept for safe keeping, he pointed out to the east. “We shouldn’t spare an extra moment if innocents can be in the crossfire.”

"Perhaps when one needs more faith, he must first see the faith others have him. Give Modoc time, Leere." Mother then waited for her precious ones to gather before heading out with the humans. "We must be cautious."

~

The area was a flat plain that made a patch in the jungle’s of Omisha. Fresh green grass whistled with the wind from the storm brewing. Down at an old, crumbling sanctuary near the center of the plain, a Mortuus was channeling a ritual. The sky darkened with the blanket of a storm. Rain fell and thunder boomed after flashes of lightning. From the jungle growth, she saw two figures approach. She needed more time to fulfil her magic. “Kill them.”

As Leere and Malik approached, bodies that sprinkled off the cart and onto the ground came to life. Some shambled towards them with snarling teeth and claws. Other held weapons, brandishing spears and swords.

Malik drew his sword, cleaving through rows of zombies, hurling flesh into the air. With his shield he cracked some skulls open with merely the flick of his arm. He was a wrecking ball that obliterated the fragile bodies of the dead. The princess couldn’t help but remember how brutal he was when she first laid eyes on him as a child. Even amongst the living, she felt very little soul from the man when he was engaged in combat.

Leere could sense the sway of the Necromancer over these victims. These bodies were flesh, as well as human. On the clothing she recognized symbols and styles from Al-Daida. Raising a hand into the air next to three, she squeezed her fist. The heads squashed inward like a crumbled paper ball. Focusing her energy, she over took the will of five others to turn on other undead, chomping at the bits to devour one another. The other Necromancer must have caught on quick, because like a door shut in her face, Leere felt herself unable to enforce her will on more undead. With more time she could break down that door, but she needed to fight immediately. Activating her scythe, the staff extended outwards, a blue blade of energy shimmering with ancient technology. Spinning around she surgically cut down various zombies’ limb by limb. With her hilt, she’d push any that tried to grab her, giving them a lashing of her blade to rip their heads from their body.

When the time came to fight, Mother was going to ensure no one escaped. Trespassers would die. Her precious deadly ones ripped into the zombies easily, flanking the humans that led the charge. Most of the undead could never hope to penetrate the flesh of an Echidnan. It was too easy. What was coming next?

The Mortuus felt she had found the time she needed. These Echidnan’s would be trouble, but that’s what the ritual was for.

All the fighters on the battlefield saw a red glow pierce the sky, and on the ground next to the caster a pentagram pulsed wicked energy. From out of the earth hellfire spat out, and, with the smell of brimstone staining the air, demons set foot on earth. Many were vile, disturbing creatures. Some were humanoid, with edged weapons, but that’s the tamest they were in appearance. Some didn’t have eye sockets. Others had exposed craniums. Most were the size of Echidnan’s. Three had crab like lower bodies with bizarre hooked sails and jagged claws. Worst of all, a few sprouted wings and choose to fly off and cause havoc in the rest of Omisha.

Leere and Malik certainly felt fear, pausing in their advance. However, in a moment of reflection separate to both of them, they dug deep and found their courage to move onward.

Leere broke her promise to Mother. With her own magic, she summonsed forth her Dead Hand. An undead pale monstrosity burst from the earth, with dozens of bloody hands shooting from the ground to pull a demon towards the mark of its jaws. Other demons quickly jumped the undead, clawing and biting back at the creature.

Malik gave into his rage, fuelling his physical strength as he parried the strike of a sword-demon, plunging his blade into the gut of the abomination, and pulling upwards to cleave it in half.

A particular demon with its eyes sewn shut held a staff with an orb on top. With the storm brewing in the sky, it spun its staff around before thrusting it toward an Echidnan. Lightning crackled and snapped down at the pointed target, tearing apart an old warrior. Between that caster and the two humans needing to put a stop to it, a demon with no skin on its muscly arms bounded its chest at Malik and roared.  

The Gerudo Lord tapped his shield at Leere, hoping she’d understand what would need to be done. “Catapult maneuver!”

Leere nodded, already running towards the man. She had witnessed her siblings practice the technique enough times as well as watch Rinku perform it in live combat to know what she needed to do. Jumping on his shield, the princess was thrown over the muscular demon straight towards the blind lightning caster. The demon hissed at her as she flew towards it. With a glare in her eyes, she struck downwards, cutting its head open like a cantaloupe down in vertical swing of her scythe. Landing on her feet, she quickly spun around to snap its staff in half, cleaving its body in good measure.

The other demon threw a punch at Malik, who in the motion of throwing Leere, swung his shield arm down at his opponent. The shield stabbed in between the knuckles of the demon, causing blood to squirt out onto Malik’s armour, as well as rewarding his ears with scream of pain. Least Malik could only hope it was pain; damn things roars sounded nearly identical. Under its screaming, Malik plunged upwards into the demon’s mouth, his blade piercing outwards the back of its skull. With a jerk, he pulled with his sword and shield out from its body, quickly moving with Leere to enter the grounds of the old sanctuary.

The land was full of blood now. The dark magic was tainting the ground and Mother was using her magic to push all of the demonic nature backwards. The leader of her people even used the storm of the enemy to sway lightning to crash upon demons that dared believe they could fly out to cause chaos. She had held the barrier separating Malus and Omisha. Now, she was using a shield to part her children from the demons. This foul magic would not hurt anymore, would not take hold of anyone, would never risk the lives of her people again! As Leere used her necromancy magic, Mother was very incensed. She would speak to the girl about the usage of such dark forces in her kingdom later. For now, she had a job to do; push back the intruder.

Bonegrinder was as deadly as ever, fighting beside of his brothers and sisters. Yet, he was more so experienced with these fiends. It sickened the Anagari to see the destruction, though he was more so worried. These demons were smarter than a zombie puppet. Once or twice, he used his long tail to swat a smaller demon from Leere or Malik, before being engaged by more of the larger abominations.

As Leere and Malik entered the grounds of the sanctuary, the intruder magically constructed a ring of fire around the area to keep anyone out who didn’t want to risk being burned, as well as to keep the two of them in her company. When she dropped her hood, Malik steadied his sword. “I know you.”

Leere felt an odd sense of curiosity towards this woman. She was taller than her, but still had the same red eyes and a similar shade of hair colour as her. This didn’t diminish her caution, however.

The woman raised a finger to Malik, frowning at first. Quickly, she shook off her frown with a light laugh. “Look at that. No longer able to be my puppet. No matter. When you die all over again you shall be a slave to my will once again, Dio!”

“The woman who tried to kill Zarazu.” Malik’s grip on his sword tightened. Leere felt this information was shared to give her clarity, but was also the man giving himself a reminder of why she was a serious threat.

“Indeed. She does not deserve to be the Goddess of Death. I will become the God of Death with her death.”

Malik didn’t take the threat to Zarazu’s life lightly. His hatred of the gods was deep enough, no need for this bitch to have grand dreams of ascending to godhood by taking the life of his friend, especially since Zarazu wasn’t an actual god. “You won’t touch her.”

“You’re right. I’ll probably have someone else rip out her intestines and snuff the breath out of her. Perhaps her husband.”

Leere readied her scythe, familiar with the madness of cultists enough from her travels. She knew there would be no reasoning with this woman. “The first Mortuus I met since my adoption, and you’re revolting. There’s a small hope that the people of Omisha are wrong about those that come from Malus, but I can see in your expression and wordplay that you’re a monster they fear.”

Dio turned her attention to Leere, a glow of examination filling her. “So… you’re the target. Heard stories about you. The Mortuus who escaped alive. You’ve made friends in high places. From what I understand, even a snake who can’t keep himself from destroying everything he loves.”

Leere and Malik knew she was speaking of Bonegrinder, but before they could ponder on this more, a flash of lightning was shot towards them both from a demon that made itself know behind Dio. It’s form Malik raised his shield to defend himself, but Leere had to throw herself to the ground to avoid the attack.

The woman laughed, a mad glee in her eyes. “My master is going to make me a god. I’ll use you both as slaves to build a temple in my honour on this very land.”

Mother knew not of the past incident with this Mortuus, but could put together enough pieces to realize that there was most definitely bad blood between the her and Malik. This demonic magic made her feel uneasy. It was the same kind of magic which was used to torment the souls of her mate and her child. Bad memories were there to help her, the Echidnan ruler reminded herself. She had to be cautious. She had to be faster. She had to be the smart one. With a slam of her tail, the Mother separated the earth between her children and the demons, a rift appearing in-between them.

The demons hissed; their attention being drawn to the Mother now that they were cut off from the rest of Omisha. One flashed frilled quills at the Echidnan. “The souls of your children will be our nourishment. But first, let us embrace you.”

Inside the sanctuary, Dio commanded her demon to attack Malik. It had the appearance of a flying eyeball with flower peddles surrounding the body. With a glow, black lightning shot towards the Gerudo, forcing him to take cover behind his shield and retreat amongst the rubble as the demon gave chase.

Dio herself locked eyes with Leere, her hands glowing with magic ready to destroy her enemies. There was a presence that felt familiar to Dio about this woman. Why? “A pampered princess can’t kill a god to be.”

“You are just another mad cultist.” Leere ran forward with her scythe to strike down Dio. Her blade met the empty air as the devilish woman danced around her strikes. Finally, she retaliated by snapping her fingers. At both of Leere’s sides, two Floormasters, man sized sentient hands, flew towards her to grab her. They were nearly identical to her Wallmaster, simply having a different function. She found herself being squeezed tight together in their grip. Dio snorted in amusement at her conjuration working out flawlessly. “Looks like the Destroyer is going to lose one of her friends.”

Leere felt her skin being torn into, blood leaking out onto the Floormasters. Good. Blood magic made the hands lose their grip, and before Dio could react, Leere threw the two hands together to make an icky battering ram of monster flesh. Both monsters forced together and hurled into Dio had the effectiveness of a giant fist punching her whole body. The woman was flung backwards into ground, blood flying from her now broken nose. Rising to her feet, her mood was soured to see Leere’s hands glowing red with cursed blood magic.

“You dare strike me?”

“I’m going to drain the life from you is what I’m going to do.”

Dio couldn’t imagine how a Mortuus who left the capital of Malus could have so much power. “Ha. We’ll see about-HCK!!!”

Suddenly, Dio wasn’t laughing. Due to Leere’s blood making contact with her skin thanks to the battering ram the princess threw at Dio, she was now able to levitate the body of the other necromancer. Taking her time, she started to squeeze the oxygen out of Dio’s lungs with her magic. This startled the intruder to Omisha greatly. She could taste the thick amount of iron in her mouth as her breath was being taken away.

As Leere stepped forward into Dio’s shadow to get a closer look at bitch she was about to kill, the woman cocked her head to the right at the princess and thrust her arm upwards with all the strength she could to get through Leere’s blood magic. Leere felt her rib cage be violently stabbed as a shadow pierced into her. Taking a few steps back, Leere struggled for breath as Dio rose from the ground. With a cruel smile, Dio made another slash with her shadow. The bladed arm cut into Leere’s back, spinning her around with the force of the impact.

The princess breathed heavily from her injuries. The only thing that felt good was the smell of the rain that started to fall down. Every drop that hit her lacerations stung like hellfire instead of cooling water.

As Dio approached from behind, she paused, her expression being frozen on Leere’s back. “That tattoo… I didn’t think it plausible. But it is it. Schwanz des Teufels: Tyrannin.”

“What?” When the woman spoke to her, there was frightening chill in her voice, as if two people were speaking at once, viewing her body with nefarious intent.

“Rejoice Leere Dragmire. You have a purpose now, a reason to stay alive.” It was defiantly a different voice coming from Dio now, however, when she spoke again, Leere heard the smugness of the woman return. “Doesn’t mean I don’t get to cut you apart so thy can keep still forever.”

Tendrils of darkness lifted from Dio’s shadow, shooting towards Leere with the precision of whips. They crackled through the air as the Princess drew the knife as her side to repel them the best she could.

Mother was able to contain the fiends easily with the help of her deadly children. Most of the demons were massive mounds of flesh without proper training. It was easy to rip into the fiends and dispose of them. Once Bonegrinder had completed his duty to Mother, using his own dark magic to contain the demons where they stood, he turned his attention to Malik and Leere. He had seen the two duel opponents before, yet, this was different. Malik was struggling to obtain an offense with his foe. Leere was holding her own against the Mortuus bitch, yet there was... shadow magic being used. Too much darkness...

When Dio attacked Leere with her assault of shadow whips, Bonegrinder shot forward through the fire. His body smelled of burnt flesh for only a moment before regenerating. It was time to end this now before anymore lives could be lost. Lunging forward, he tackled Dio and had his jaws opened wide. His coils wrapped around Dio's body and his fangs were ready to clamp down on her head.

The eye demon that had Malik pinned behind cover flew in to assist Dio. Before Bonegrinder could kill the woman, the shadow fired a powerful stream of dark lightning into the back of his head. As his coils unfurled, Dio scuttled on her back away from the freak of nature that nearly devoured her.

Leere was quick to try and stop her, claiming and swinging her scythe at the bitch’s head. Dio barely escaped death once again, returning the attempt on her life with a kick to Leere’s wounded stomach.

The pain Leere felt was unbearable, and her scream was shrill and high as she stumbled back. She even dropped her weapon from the kick. Looking up, Leere quickly was electrocuted by a stream of red lightning launched from the fingertips of Dio’s raised right hand. Leere had been electrocuted before, but this felt different. It was of her life force was being drained from her, the very soul being stolen. And its agony she felt from it was unreal.

Malik saw the demon firing a continuous stream of electricity at Bonegrinder. It wouldn’t stop firing down upon him, shredding flesh right down to the bone. Looking the lightning storm above, he quickly thought of a plan. Raising a metal sword to the sky, Malik put just enough of his own energy that the blade started sparking. The sizzling increased volume, until finally, Malik felt it was ready to throw. Launching the blade right under the shadowy demon like a boomerang, a lightning bolt from the heavens struck downwards in a path towards the metal blade, piercing the demon through its entire body to reach it. Its form crumbled into the earth, turning into black goo.

Dio channeled her masters magic. Magic was his domain, so it was only natural he could take it away. He taught her his ways. It hurt like hell to use, but she knew it hurt her enemies even more. Seeing Bonegrinder get up, she fired her other hand of magic draining bolts towards the monster. “Come now. Transform. I know who you are. My master told me. It also so happens you are the enemy of all Mortuus.”

Malik ran forward, throwing himself in front of Dio’s bolts towards Leere with his shield. It gave her a moments recovery to breathe as Malik struggled against the anti-life magic. If he was going to protect anyone, it would be the princess over that bratty snake.

"MODOC!!!" Mother shouted when she saw him being attacked by the life draining magic. If he was unstable... if he lashed out, he could hurt them too. She yelled at the pair, motioning with her tail for them to get behind her barrier. "Malik! Leere!!! Get away!!! Get away from Modoc!!!"

Bonegrinder's body twisted and contorted, his coils seemingly ready to break. His mind was jumbled. Nothing was clear. Where was he? When was he? Why was he fighting? Who was he with? These questions, he knew he had an answer, but could not formulate one. Groaning, he held his head. The Anagari's body was starting to form... particles. Floating particles surrounded him. Ironically, not of dark magic, but of pure energy. Light energy. His eyes were glowing a solid white, and he spoke in a language that no one understand.

"You will not hurt them! You are done hurting innocents! We banished you once and we will banish you again!" Bonegrinder simply shot his hand through Dio's fiendish magic and grasped her by the throat. "You serve a false god who takes pleasure in the torment of others. I will wipe you from existence for your crimes against this world!" With a blast of pure energy, the celestial magic exploded... and threw everyone backwards. Even Mother was knocked off her many centipede legs. All the demons either were obliterated by the magic, or retreated back into the portal that returned them to the deepest pits of the underworld and Hell.

In Bonegrinder’s grasp, Dio tried to speak. Her face was turning dark purple from the tight iron grip around her tiny neck. Celestial magic had burned her body from head to toe. She’d have died outright if something inside her watching deemed her ready for death.

To be completely honest with herself, she was terrified. If her body still had the capacity, she might have been pissing herself from fear, at least, if there hadn’t been a nugget of confidence in returning from the dead. Dio didn’t like the idea of dying regardless, but she’d serve one last purpose first. “My master will r-resurrect me. He will-”

Her eyes suddenly rolled back, and the air grew bitterly cold. The voice that left her mouth was clearly not her own. What’s more, it was the only one that could communicate with the being that inhabited Bonegrinder. “I found you at last. I don’t think you were the brother I expected though.”

Leere’s back was burning with pain and her magic sizzled from Bonegrinder’s explosion. She was flown far away, and when she tried to stand, she found her left leg was broken from the blast. It was hard to tell at sight, but she knew something was terribly wrong with both Bonegrinder and Dio. The air was phased around them like a mirage, the ground crackling with sparks.

Malik was lucky enough to be thrown into some rubble, so he wasn’t launched far. Closer than Leere, he could hear the voice that escaped the Mortuus. “Teufel.”

Teufel simply ignored Malik, as one would ignore an ant on a mountain hike. “I am God. I have subjects in all corners of this realm and others. This dear girl, played her part admirably. I will consider resurrecting her. Your God has one last task for you Dio. The Mother of Omisha insulted me by saying your pathetic tribe of life worshipers could ever control me. Deal with the matter.”

The Mortuus’ voice spoke out in the same tone as a broken note of a recorder. “Yes, my lord...”

Dio’s hand rose, and with magic not her own, a beam of celestial magic shot from her finger towards the Mother of Omisha as a way to pierce her heart. The magic already started to disintegrate Dio’s body as it left her being, too much for a mere mortal to handle such power.

"You will never win. Not as long as Kaksa is here. Not as long as I am here." Bonegrinder, no... an ancient god snarled at the voice of Chaos coming through Dio's body. It was a brother of Creation or Destruction who was in control of his host now. The celestial god of creation had laid dormant in his Echidnan host for a long while. Rarely did he surface. "You became greedy and tried to disrupt her beloved world. Now, you will never be at her side again. The Mother Goddess has wiped her hands of betraying filth like you---!!!"

When Dio shot magic at Mother, Bonegrinder reacted. He could only deflect it. Using a huge blast of his own celestial power, he knocked the beam sideways and it slammed into the side of a hill, exploding the earth. Hunks of grass, rock, and dirt flew through the air and the sudden force of casting his own magic caused the Anagari to sail through multiple trees, breaking the plants in half, before settling into the mud.

"MODOC!!!" Mother rushed to Bonegrinder's side and collected him into her arms. His body was disintegrated in some areas, but was slowly starting to repair itself. "Modoc? Modoc!!! I command you to open your eyes! Modoc!"

“Your goddess, Hylia, and the other gods have already failed. Already have I dominated a few myself. Join Ponca, Osage, and Akihara in Hell Modoc. I look forward to killing the last of your people Malik… Mother… Leere…. Hehe… Hehehe. HahahahaHAHAHAHA!!!” With a final defiant laugh, Dio’s body disintegrated into earth, her masters taunt being heard by all. The silhouette of her body left a black stain in the earth of Omisha.

Malik made his way to Mother, concerned about Bonegrinder’s condition. The last time he’d seen his body so damaged was when he himself detonated a highly volatile powder keg in his face. “Is he alive?”

"He is alive, but he's going to need some time to recover." Mother looked... worried. A huge, intimidating being like her being anxious was surely not a good sign. There was still a bit of celestial magic floating around Bonegrinder's body, yet now, it was harmless. As it sunk to the jungle floor, it actually rejuvenated the tainted parts of the ground. "He took a direct hit from Chaos... that stupid fool." The Echidan of many took a deep breath, fighting back tears. "You've been around as long as I have, yet have suffered more torment. Why do you continue to do such idiotic things when you know we all will need you?" She told Bonegrinder in his comatose state. "I fear that one day your body will not repair and what will we do then?" The other children of Mother made a makeshift stretcher and began to carry Bonegrinder back to the Temple of Ruin.

She then finally looked at Malik, and said, "... you have questions. I will answer. But not here."

Malik looked to Leere in the not too far distance, seeing her still on the ground writhing in pain. “Questions can come at a later time. Let us attend to our wounded first.” Malik walked past the bodies of demons and undead to reach Leere. Seeing the condition the princess was in, he winced behind his helmet. However, he respected her tenacity as a warrior for not complaining from the physical pain. “That leg doesn’t look good.”

“No... shit...” Leere was breathing as steady as she could to get through the pain. “I think my femur is broken.”

The Gerudo lord looked down to see some bone poking out of Leere’s skin. Between that and the gut wound, he wondered how she was still breathing.  “You need a Doctor.”

“No... shit...”

Carefully, but not enterally painlessly, Malik scooped Leere into his arms and carried her back to the rest of the Echidans. “I think a Bonegrinder is this Destroyer god we have heard so much about.”

“We can’t know for sure.”

“We both saw the magic he possessed. He tore through demons and Dio like they were nothing.”

Leere pondered on this theory, noting the facts. Bonegrinder surrounded himself with those that eroded the will of people. He was rather ravenous in his hunger, seemingly having no sight in his growth. Leere was read a tale that one of the known symbols of the end of the world was a giant snake. His own people held rumours about him. And given his powers, it wasn’t hard to imagine the type of destruction he could bring to the world. But he was still her friend, wasn’t he?

“Let’s... save that thought for later. I need rest for now.”

"Bring the princess into the infirmary. My healers will care for her." Mother instructed Malik. "And if you have any injuries that need tending, please tell my children. The Tlanuhwas will be sure to care for you and the princess tonight. Though if you rather have a Kokyangwuti, please tell me. There are many options to treat you, whatever you feel more comfortable." She then said, "I will visit after I ensure the barriers are stable."

“Understood.” With great haste, Malik took off with Leere in his arms. The battlefield they left behind had a remarkable effect. With the rain fall, life started to come back to land, all except marked by the hell and chaos left behind directly by Dio. Her death bed sizzled, whispering promises of more suffering and discord to be pulled in Omisha. Far, far away, a primordial evil was still laughing. The Devil found out the identity of one of its greatest enemies, as well as part of their very being thought forever lost. And if Teufel knew where and who they were, it would be all the easier to control the threads of fate for when its time would come. All in due time…

_______________________________________________________________

Previous Ch. https://mrneighbourlove.tumblr.com/post/190705569511/into-the-dark-and-unknown-ch-4-forbidden

Next Ch. https://mrneighbourlove.tumblr.com/post/190828059731/into-the-darkness-and-unknown-ch-6-poking-the

[final-fantasy-mama]

Reload and Release (Ch.2)

Emet Selch X Mature/Wol

Takes place during the Raktika Great Woods event, loosely follows cannon with some dialogue changes.

****************************

“Can we simply not take a moment to enjoy the view together? Or would you rather I spied from the shadows?” ~ Emet Selch.

“I for one would prefer you where I can see you.” The hero spoke up after everyone else went silent. Emet Selch was grinding on everyone’s nerves with his comings and goings as well as his snobbish attitude. It took all the will power Thancred had not to take a swing at the Ascian while they all made they’re way through the Great woods in search of Y’shtola. If the hero hadn’t stepped in to hold him back, he very well would have.

With a hand holding Thancred’s sword arm, she stepped forward to confront the ever-growing source of their discomfort. “I know we’re all on edge here, but can we please just try to get along for the remainder of the journey. I don’t want to waste precious bullets on either of you!” She scolded like a mother would a child as she was wont to do. She was a mother after all, it ran in her blood. "By the fury, my 8 year old has more sense and maturity than the lot of you put together!"

Emet shrugged his broad shoulders but submitted to her in the end. “Of course, hero, my apologies. But Perhaps you should keep your rabid dog on a leash.”

Thancred ground his teeth and took a threatening step forward. “Why you son of a…!”

“We’ve got children with us and that was a cheap shot Emet Selch!” The hero raised her voice to hush her companions and then marched up to the Ascian. “You are to stay in my sights and by my side at all times from here on out! No ifs ands or buts! And if you give me or them any lip, I’ll throw you over my knee and spank the Zodiark out of you!”

Emet gave a coy smile. “Oh, that is just too enticing a punishment to not attempt.”

She shot him a look that could kill and hissed. “I will make sure you don’t enjoy it!”

With a small bow and look of sly satisfaction he submitted and motioned for her to lead them on. So, she did just that as they walked deeper into the woods. Everyone finally silenced by her intervention and the zipped mouth of the Ascian.

Another hour had passed before Minfilia spoke up. “W…would it be possible to rest for a bit?”

“Are your feet bothering you?” Thancread asked looking down at his young ward.

She shook her head and hid her face. “It…its not that its just…” a loud rumble resounded from the pit of her stomach that made everyone stop and stare at her. She blushed furiously.

“It has been a while since we have had anything to eat. Maybe a rest is in order?” Alisaise suggested with a small laugh.

The hero nodded her agreement as everyone sought the shade of the nearby trees and sat down to rest. Alisaise dropped her shoulder bag and fished out some rations and then passed them around but hesitated when she glanced at Emet who stood by the hero’s side. “I don’t suppose someone like you would enjoy food like this….” She began and he waved a dismissive hand to her.

“You’re correct, I would not.” He said simply.

“No need to be arrogant about it.” She said under her breath and offered some to the hero who also refused.

“I’ll stand guard while you all eat.” The hero offered and walked a few yalms away to a better vantage point with Emet at her heel.

He nearly bumped into her when she suddenly stopped. “I said you had to stay by me not on me!”

“And miss a chance to receive a royal spanking?” He smirked.

“Oh gods, its that your kink?” She groaned and reached into her brassier to produce a small metal case. Inside was a few cigarillos that she put to her lips and lit via small lighter. She took a long drag and blew the smoke away from him.

“I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”

“Tall Guys with pointy ears.” She shot back and offered him a cigarillo. He waved it away.

“How about tall guys with pointy noses?” He joked and pointed to his own rather large hooked Garlean nose.

Another drag of her smoke and she said with a straight face. “Never thought of it. You know I still haven’t forgiven you for invading my room the other night.”

“After the gift and wine and chocolates? I must be losing my touch as most women invite me back after the first time.”

She threw the cigarillo butt to the ground and stomped it out. “I’m not most women and you’re too optimistic for your own good.”

Something dark crossed his face as he stepped in closer trapping her against the trunk of a large tree. “A show of faith then? Shall we continue where we left off the other night?”

With his towering form and shadow hanging over her he leaned in so dangerously close it annoyed her. “Have you made it your mission to seduce me or something????”

“Seeing how it flusters you so can you blame a man for trying?” He purred against her ear.

Her lower eyelid twitched. “Flustered?” She growled as she grabbed him by the jacket collar “Listen here buster! I’m not some red-light hussy you can sway with a cheap smile and bit of gil! I don’t know how they breed women in Garlemald but you’re going to have to work for my favor if you ever hope to gain it!”

Emet’s eye seemed to light up with joy at her rant and he looked at her like a child eyeing a tempting piece of candy. “Oh my you are a fireball!”

She jabbed a finger into his chest. “And you are……..” Her voice trailed off as she gazed over his shoulder and suddenly lashed out, grabbed his collar again and threw him to the side as a arrow buzzed past and planted itself in the tree where his head had been. “AMBUSH!!!!!” She screamed as she pulled out her Musketoon and dragged the Ascian away as they both ran back the way they came.

Arrows pelted the ground and trees around them as the Warrior whipped her gun around, spraying bullets and knocking arrows our of midair with each bang. One hand was firmly on the Ascian’s fur lined collar pulling him along the way one might drag an old dog, only this old dog had a bemused smile on his face the entire way.

The other adventurers were on their feet and ready to go by the time the Hero and Ascian reached them when a group of black clad hunters flanked them and had them effectively trapped.

A large Hrothgar at the lead pointed a finger at them and shouted. “Now surround them!” following a brigade of well-trained bowman had bows at the ready and arrows pointing down at them from all directions.

Everyone slowly put up their hands with the exception of the Hero who only put up one hand and kept the other firmly gripping her companion’s jacket, preventing him from escaping into the shadow’s as was his won’t at times like these.

The lion like face of the Hrothgar looked them over. “These sin eaters…they are not like the others!”

Thancred spoke up in everyone’s defense. “There’s a reason for that. Lower your weapons, please. We mean you no harm.”

“How is it they can speak?” One bowman gasped in confusion.

“It’s a sin eater’s trick! They mean to kill us all!” Exclaimed a nervous female in their group.

There was a moment of silence as both parties sized each other up and tried to mentally decide what to do next. Emet Selch, of course, could not keep his mouth shut to save his or anyone’s lives.

“Oh for the love of…” He drawled in an uninterested tone. “I had hoped that by accompanying you we might come to understand one another. But all I have come to understand is that you have a knack for inflaming the natives. You’ve committed the cardinal sin of boring me. And so I retire to the shade.” When he made to escape in his usually flourish of dark Aether the hero’s hand around his collar kept him in place as she yanked him down to her level and looked him square in the eye.

“No Ifs Ands or Buts, Ascian. Don’t make me regret not shooting you in my room when I had the chance.” She said sternly.

“Then what do you plan to do about all this?” he jutted his head in the direction of everyone else.

A cunning sparkle filled her eye as she let go of his collar to free her hand, grabbed a cylinder off her utility belt, threw it up into the air and shot it quickly with her Musketoon. The whole area bursted with green mist so foul everyone had to raise their hands to block their mouths and nostrils.

While some of their captors did just that others let their arrows loose but the Machinist already anticipated that. She reloaded her gun with special ammo and let off another shot that enveloped her allies in a sphere of blue light and ricochet bullets around them, blocking and knocking any projectiles aimed at them.

With all the coughing and sputtering going on around them from the noxious fumes, she used the opportunity to quick load her gun with gas rounds and shot them off rapid fire, moving her arm in a steady sweeping motion. One after another, the bowman fell to the ground, completely knocked out by whatever gas she managed to pack into her bullets until there was not left but a few spearman  (who were shaking in their sandals) and the Hrothgar who’s eyes were wider than dinner plates.

She had managed to take out the entire brigade in less than a few seconds using only her guns and her keen eyes. She spun the Musketoon in her hand and holstered it on her back as she turned to Emet Selch and said in a cocky tone, “There. Oh Emperor of eternal boredom. Are you not entertained?”

Yellow eyes that quivered with excitement refused to tear themselves from her spry leathered form as a faint blush colored his usually pale cheeks. "Zodiarks Mercy, that was so incredibly and undeniably titillating." He said in a breathy voice that made the hair on her neck stand on end.

[fuckin-nancy]

Winter’s Interlude

rating: E relationship: Samantha McGill (female deputy)/Joseph Seed words: 3,182 summary:

"Enemies don't save each other's lives." After Joseph falls into a frozen river, Sam opts to help him, against her better judgment.

(AO3)

this is for @naromoreau, for the fc5 birthday bash! hope you enjoooy~

(p.s. much thanks to @edensgay for organizing this, it’s been a blast!)

After the night she just had, Sam could hardly believe her good luck.

Yesterday evening, a clash with some Peggies had separated her from Sharky, and she ended up having to run since the two of them were so vastly outnumbered. They pursued her, of course, but she’d shaken them off in a forest that she soon lost her own way in. At least she’d managed to verify via radio that Sharky had made it out okay before its battery promptly died.

So for the rest of the evening, she’d trudged through snow varying from ankle-deep to thigh-deep, trying to find a house, a road, anything, huddling in her jacket and wishing her gloves were thicker. At least the trees, leafless as they were, kept the most of the wind away.

Night had nearly fallen when she finally found adequate shelter, in what looked to be an abandoned house, and the fact that its furnishings and other supplies hadn’t yet been looted only emphasized how out of the way she was.

Exhausted when she woke, she still pressed on. Getting back to civilization, not to mention communication with the Resistance, was worth a couple less hours of sleep. She hated being alone.

Soon she found a river, entirely frozen over by the looks of it, and followed it eastward, figuring she’d have to hit something sooner or later.

Which brought her to now, the now which suddenly made everything worth it:

Joseph Seed, a drab brown coat buttoned up to his throat, stood just twenty feet away by her estimation, right across the river. A gun-toting Peggie accompanied him, but Sam figured the woman would be easily dealt with, so long as she couldn’t raise an alarm before Sam disposed of her.

As soon as she spotted Joseph and his companion, their backs to her, she dove behind a conveniently-placed boulder and planned her attack. She could hear their murmurs, although she couldn’t quite make out their exact words. Sam had to admit, she was almost shocked to see him dressed for the weather, and for once she was almost glad for the cold, since it clearly meant that Joseph couldn’t parade around distractingly bare-chested as he was wont to do.

If she could manage to arrest him now, and bring him somewhere secure out of Peggie influence, it could very well end this silly war. Maybe with their precious leader gone, the Peggies would finally begin to see some sense. She certainly hoped so.

For a while Joseph and the woman stopped talking, so long that Sam almost started to think they’d somehow left without making a sound, but suddenly Joseph spoke, and she strained her ears to hear him:

“You may return home, Hannah. I’ll stay here a little while longer.”

“Are you sure, Father?”

“Go, my child.”

And with that, Sam heard the retreating footfalls of boots crunching snow. Now was her perfect chance—get across the river, incapacitate and restrain him, then get to safety. She waited until the footsteps faded away entirely then counted to sixty, steeling herself for what she had to do next.

Joseph’s voice called out on the otherwise silent wintry day. “You may come out, now. We’re alone.”

She stilled. He couldn’t possibly have seen or heard her. He must be trying to gauge whether someone was here by faking them out, that was all. She only had to wait until his guard was down, and then …

“Samantha, you may come out from behind that boulder. I promise, I won’t harm you in any way.”

Shit. She didn’t know how he’d done it, but there was little use in staying out of sight now. Better to be able to see him. She stepped away from her cover, scanning the area for Peggies; at least there wasn’t any foliage for an ambush to hide behind, not that that was much of a comfort.

“I have a feeling your personal definition of the word ‘harm’ differs from the actual meaning,” she said by way of greeting.

Joseph raised his hands before him in a placating gesture. “I only wish to speak with you.”

“About what?”

“You.” He paused, probably for dramatic effect. “Your pain.”

Sam forced out a laugh. “Right about now, my only pain is you and your followers destroying this beautiful county.”

“You are not as confident as you make yourself seem.” He stepped out onto the ice, his blue eyes piercing, but she met him gaze for gaze. “I know what happened to your unit in Afghanistan, Samantha. I know your guilt.”

Her breath hitched in her throat, but she kept her face carefully composed, chin held high. He continued to make his way to her, practically gliding across the ice, and she for one welcomed his approach—the closer he got, the easier it would be to immobilize him. She was the one with the gun, after all. She surreptitiously scanned the area again, making sure they were well and truly alone.

He spread his arms in earnest entreaty; he’d made it about halfway across the river, now, and he wasn’t slowing down. “You need not feel that way. If you join my family, become one of my children, I can offer all that you—” A distinct crack cut him off, and his expression of calm confidence was quickly replaced by confused fear.

Sam would have laughed at the sight, if the ice directly beneath him hadn’t promptly shattered, plunging him completely into the frigid water.

He soon resurfaced, gasping and sputtering, but all his attempts to scramble back up on the ice only succeeded in fragmenting it more. Without thought, Sam carefully stepped out and slowly shuffled toward him. He stopped his struggling to watch her approach. When she reached as close to him as she dared to venture, she crouched and offered him her hand. “Here.”

When he took it, she nearly gasped; the freezing water that drenched his own gloves quickly seeped through hers. Still, she kept a firm grip, pulling him up with both hands clasped over his. He kicked his legs out, keeping his body as horizontal as he could so he wouldn’t put enough weight on the ice to break it.

They made slow enough progress, but finally, Sam pulled a violently shivering Joseph back onto the ice.

“The closest shelter I know of is about a mile away from here,” she said, starting for the shore. “There’s blankets, plus supplies for making a fire. Do you know of anything closer?”

“No,” he said, faintly. “Thank you for helping me.”

She didn’t answer.

It would take just under half an hour to reach the house. Her hands were numb just from her gloves being soaked, so she couldn’t even imagine how Joseph felt, being completely drenched from head to toe.

She worried for his safety, despite knowing she shouldn’t—he was her enemy, after all. Really, what she should do is leave him to fend for himself, leave him to likely die. That would be the most convenient thing to do.

Sometimes, Sam wasn’t much good at doing what she should.

By the time they reached their destination, Sam was shivering, but Joseph wasn’t. She didn’t know whether that was a good sign or not, but she guessed not.

“Sit there,” she said, pointing to the sofa in front of the fireplace. “I’ll get some blankets.” She promptly left, not bothering to see what he did. Lucky she’d stayed here the night before, so she knew where everything was. Even luckier that the Peggies, or people displaced by the Peggies, hadn’t looted the place either.

So once she gathered an armful of blankets, all of varying sizes and textures, she returned to the living room.

Joseph sat on the sofa, his eyes closed.

She frowned. “Joseph?”

He didn’t answer—didn’t even stir. Swallowing thickly, Sam approached him. “Joseph?” she repeated. Still nothing. Cautiously, she bent down to put two fingers under his chin, and discovered his pulse was faint.

Fuck. She couldn’t let herself hesitate. She removed his drenched clothing, trying very hard not to dwell on the sight of any of his exposed skin, then swathed him in blankets. As far as she could tell he didn’t have any body heat for the blankets to insulate, but the thought of what she would have to do if he couldn’t survive off his own body heat … was flustering, to say the least.

She occupied herself with getting a fire started, and thanked her lucky stars that it only took a few minutes for the kindling to catch. From experience, she knew the room would be nice and toasty in no time.

Her luck seemed to have finally run out, however, because a touch on Joseph’s shoulder beneath the blankets confirmed her worst fear: he was still as freezing as ever. In a panic she put her hand to his neck once more, feeling for his pulse, and sighed with relief when she found it—it was there, but faint. Very faint.

She had to do it: if he couldn’t survive on his own body heat, then she’d have to share hers. But worse than the necessity of it, she found there was a traitorous part of her that wasn’t at all opposed to pressing up against his naked chest and—

Quick as she could, she removed her clothing—all of it. She then lifted the blankets from Joseph and seated herself on his lap, wrapping the blankets around both their shoulders. She pressed herself as tightly against him as she could, chest-to-chest, cheek-to-cheek, bunching her fists in his armpits. He was so much bigger than her that she didn’t even know if it would work, but she’d never forgive herself if she didn’t try.

In a way it was good that he felt like little more than a corpse, because that helped to ward off any wayward thoughts she may have had about their predicament. She closed her eyes, letting her forehead fall to his shoulder.

“You stupid bastard, you can’t die on me,” she whispered hoarsely. “Idiot, walking out on thin ice like that.” Never mind that she’d considered doing the same. “I know you think you’re God’s prophet or whatever, but that doesn’t mean you can walk on water, dumbass. At least you were dressed for the weather for once, I guess—” She suddenly cut off, heat somehow finding its way to her cheeks.

Well, it wasn’t like he could hear her anyway. “It shouldn’t even be legal for a damn cult leader to be that hot. You know, for someone who rails against the sin of lust, you’re sure complacent about inciting it in others, going around shirtless like that all the time. Well, not all the time, but you know what I mean. Or not, since you’re … unconscious and all.” She knew she was rambling, but rambling was the only thing she could do to break the unbearable silence.

After a bit, her eyelids grew heavy; her fatigue was catching up with her, it seemed, calling her to sleep. The fire was starting to warm the blankets on her back and it felt so heavenly, so she just had to …

Seemingly seconds later, a rumbling groan from Joseph woke her. With a start, she realized it was warm, very warm, and no wonder, since the fire roared away behind her. Even through all the blankets, its heat was almost scorching on her back. By the golden light filtering in through the windows, it must have been evening.

Joseph groaned again, breaking her out of her daze, and she gave another start upon the realization that they were still pressed together, bodies slick with sweat. They fit so well together that she hadn’t even noticed until now, and that realization made her bolt up, stumbling away from him.

Joseph’s eyes snapped open and focused groggily on her. She wrapped the blankets ever more tightly around herself, at least until she took note of his utter nakedness and half-erect—

She hastily tossed a pair of blankets on his lap, the heat emanating from her cheeks rivaling that of the roaring fire. At least I’m not the only one who’s fucking turned on.

“Samantha?” Cognizance finally seemed to reach him, and he glanced around the room, taking everything in. “I … ah, I see. Where are we?”

She cleared her throat. “An abandoned house not far from the river.” She shifted uneasily, and her foot nudged something cold and wet. Oh, his clothes.

They were no longer on the point of being frozen, but they were still quite soggy, mostly owing to the fact that in her panic, she’d just tossed them haphazardly on the floor. She busied herself with laying them out in front of the fire.

When she turned, Joseph was standing, fortunately with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, although unfortunately, it barely reached his knees. Was it normal to find a man’s calves hot?

“You saved my life,” he said. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” she said automatically. No problem? This was nothing but a problem.

“It isn’t,” he persisted. “It would have been more conducive to your cause to let me struggle and die. So I ask you: why? Why did you save me, your greatest enemy, when you’ve had no problem thus far with killing my children?”

Her mouth twisted in a grimace. “I don’t kill your followers because I like it—I do it because I must.”

He nodded and said nothing, still staring at her. Embarrassed but unwilling to show it, Sam turned to take the poker and push at the burning logs, even though they didn’t need it. She eyed her clothes, strewn about the floor. They were a little wet from being piled with his, but she thought they were dry enough to put on and be on her way. She wouldn’t even arrest him—if she stayed with him any longer, she might do something stupid. She didn’t know how, but she just knew.

Mind-reader that he apparently was, Joseph said, “Are you thinking of leaving so soon?”

“Why not?” She glanced back at him. “Like you said, I’m your greatest enemy.”

He shook his head. “I said I was your greatest enemy, or at least that I suppose you think that of me—not that I consider you mine.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What’s that even supposed to mean? Your people have killed mine, by your orders, just as I’ve killed yours. We’re enemies. That’s it.”

“Enemies don’t save each other’s lives,” he murmured.

He stepped closer to her, his eyes locked on hers; she glared right back up at him, too stubborn to look away. “I’ve always sensed something different about you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Perhaps that is why.” Her heart fluttered when he glanced at her lips, then back up again, an unasked question in his eyes.

Fuck it, she thought, and closed the gap between them, pulling his head down and pressing her lips against his. The blankets fell from her shoulders.

Joseph groaned into the kiss, wrapping his arms around her waist, pulling her closer against him. Sam reached up to twist her fingers in his hair, barely suppressing her own moan.

She removed his own blanket from his shoulders, and savoured the feeling of his lean muscles against her fingertips. When she felt his cock nudging against her thigh, she reached down to grasp it in both hands, catching his gasp against her lips. She was ready, and so, it seemed, was he.

“Wait,” he said, pulling away slightly, only to gently push her back onto the sofa. He knelt down before her and set his hands on the outside of her spread thighs; she could only watch through half-lidded eyes.

Next he pressed fervent kisses along her inner thighs, the softness of his lips contrasting with the roughness of his beard. “Joseph,” she breathed, leaning back against the sofa. He reached forward to press a firm kiss against her clit, causing her thighs to twitch, and at his soft laugh against her sex, she threw her head back against the sofa, practically trembling beneath his touch. It was too much, yet at the same time, not enough.

From there, his tongue delved deftly between her folds, and try as she might, she couldn’t stop herself from grinding against his mouth. He placed his hands on her hips to still her, and when he placed his lips on her clit and sucked, she didn’t even bother to hold back her low, needy whine.

“Please, Joseph,” she moaned. “I want you to fuck me.”

He looked up at her, his pupils large and dark. “Are you sure?”

It was all Sam could manage to nod.

She shifted to lay back on the sofa, and Joseph moved to straddle atop her, his chest brushing against her breasts as he breathlessly kissed her. The taste of herself on his lips was enough to make her arch up into him; he took the hint, and slowly pushed inside of her.

Sam arched into him even more, thighs locked around his hips, arms wrapped around his back, fingers digging into his flesh. They began to move together, at first slowly, then speeding up.

Joseph buried his face in her neck, groaning as he fucked her deeply, and she echoed when he slid his hand between them and insistently rubbed his fingertips against her clit.

“Fuck,” she breathed out; the end was rapidly approaching, for her as well as Joseph, for his thrusts began to grow erratic.

“Samantha,” he moaned into the crook of her neck, and that was all it took.

They reached their shuddering, gasping release together, riding waves of pleasure until they finally ebbed. Panting, Joseph pulled out of her, and when her eyes met his, he smiled.

“You are simply divine,” he murmured, brushing the backs of his fingers against her cheek.

It didn’t mean anything, Sam thought as Joseph prepared them for sleep, as night had fallen while they had been … otherwise occupied. He gathered a large blanket from the pile then lay beside her, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her against his chest. It was just sex. Even so, she leaned into his touch as he pressed a kiss against her forehead.

Joseph fell into peaceful sleep, but she didn’t. She couldn’t. Uneasy thoughts whirled in her mind.

She somehow managed to untangle her limbs from his without waking him, then rose to take her clothes from the floor. They were completely dry—good. She put them on, grabbed her gun, then paused at the door to watch Joseph’s sleeping form. She didn’t regret their time together; she enjoyed it immensely, and would do it again if given half a chance.

But … she needed to get away, to clear her head, and it was abundantly clear that she couldn’t do so in his presence.

So she slipped out, hoping Addie wouldn’t ask too many impertinent questions when she requested a morning-after pill.

[ombreecha]

The Uchiha’s Wife

FF.NET Fandom: Naruto Pairing: SasuSaku Rating: M Summary: She was an otherworldly being of healing. An absolute nymph of spring. He was an otherworldly being of destruction. An absolute god of war. In a world where war makes him death, and chaos she will be the life, and love his people will talk of for years to come. AU x Warring States Period.

Author Note: Ayyyyye, dooooooooooope I'm still alive. Somehow? My dudes I'm officially 27 today haha and so with this birthday I present to you chapter 19. I've been up to my eyeballs in foam, glue, and more with Katsucon being next week. I wasn't about to not keep my word though, and so here we are. I get to dip my feet deeper into ol' maidhood, and you get new content.

Anyways. . .Man I'm gonna eat some motherfuckin tiramisu to celebrate when I get back from Katsucon and it's gonna be fuckin great #inserttonythetigerhere

Until then, please get some cake or whatever the fuck ya'll like. I love celebrating with you guys even if I can't IRL until after my shoots. Fanfiction is a pretty sweet way to celebrate yisssss.

Chapter 19 The Pandemonium 

Exhausted and worn she’s fallen with her hands digging within the earth. Those scarlet locks the only thing vibrant in this state. It’s those strands that keep him connected to the present.

The oxygen she’s taking in makes it perfectly clear how much this task has drained her. The nine tails is no longer bound by the Uzumaki. They’ve seized him and taken control. 

Words linger upon his tongue never entering the air even as he watches Obito reach down and grip a hold of her arm. After everything she’s done to remove the tailed beast they’re still not done with her. There’s a part of him that feels the need to stop this—there’s something eating away at him as he watches this.



This feels wrong, but this is what Madara demands.
 All of this feels like it’s too much.

What they’re doing right now—could you possibly say this was right?

Was this what their ideals had turned into? Had they become as cruel as the Senju and Uzumaki who had painted their love in the blood of others?

Were they truly any different? Were they not one and the same using such methods?

“You know what you have to do.”

He doesn’t need to be reminded of what’s expected from him. He remembers the words scrawled upon the scroll. He knows what his part in this is. Yet, it doesn’t lessen the way this continues to dig further and further upon his moral compass.

Hesitant. Unsure. He’s of two minds. Yet, he gives that nod of his head.

The way this man drags off his teammate has him wanting to reach out—to yell for him to stop.

To extend his hand and take a hold of her. Protect her. To save her.

He won’t. He can’t. To do so would be to go against what Madara has already put into motion. The way their treating her—she’s no more than a tool.

She was a person. She held a heart. She held a purpose beyond that of a tool. She was no different from him or them.

She had a worth beyond this plan.

“Sasuke! Help me!” her hand flies out as if to reach for him before being yanked without care.

As if she is nothing more than an object.

She’s never dared to say his name without a horrific attached. No apology he gives will ever be enough for what he’s allowing them to do—for allowing this person who had stood beside him unwavering and all on her own to be used so maliciously.

And now against her own will.

The scream she produces and the desperation that echos with the night haunts him. It twists him in uncomfortable ways. Refusing to lift a finger as she tries in vain to stay only makes this feel even more disgusting—more sickening.

He can do nothing. He is not the leader of their clan. He is just an heir meant to inherit the throne.

That’s how he’ll battle the guilt—the wrongfulness of his part in this. He’ll cling to the fact he’s not in control.

Inhaling deeply and removing his eyes from her only increases the disgust before he casts his eyes upon the male who can no longer defend himself.

Step after step—each one slow and careful. Naruto Uzumaki is no longer a threat. He’s on the verge death after having lost the nine tailed beast. Madara had gotten what he had wanted. Obito had succeeded and now all that’s left was to finally be rid of the blonde.

Yes.

Madara demands this. He orders it.
He will follow his leader down this road.

He’ll further dirty his already scuffed moral compass. He’ll ignore the increasing cracks that form upon it. He’ll ignore the voices screaming within his head. 



It’s bittersweet as he watches the weak rise and fall of his chest. He’s known this boy since he could remember. Their mothers had been close friends—a war separated them but they defied refusing to lessen their bond. It was overlooked and it was ignored all because she was a direct heir.



Whispers had filled the funeral when she had passed. —they had mocked and made claims no child should hear.

If she hadn’t been friends with that Uzumaki maybe she’d have lived.


Maybe she wouldn’t have left her children behind.

Traitor.



His tongue slides against the roof of his mouth. The resentment from that time has lessened over the years. It has become a dull ache.

This boy hadn’t harmed his mother—no, she just happened to be on her way home from visiting them when she was murdered in the name of war. Senju and Uzumaki were one and the same to him. They stole his mother from him, and robbed him equally of his father. The days where they played in their garden were nothing now. 



Could you have called them friends? 
Naruto had chosen the Senju, and he had chosen the Uchiha.
 They knew nothing of each other now outside of the battlefield.


No. They were never friends.
Their mothers were, but they, they, were never friends.



What would his mother say if she saw him preparing to kill her bestfriend’s son? 

His throat constricts at the thought. He loved his mother far more than that. He would do whatever it took to avenge her.

He feels lost in time—if he waited here forever would this feeling die? 
Would this sudden fear that his mother will forsake him disappear?

 He won’t cry if he kills this boy his mother had doted on as a child.

He won’t regret this.


They had tried to kill each other plenty of times before this—
Never had they been so close.



This is different. This situation is real. He’s going to kill this man—he’s going to kill Naruto Uzumaki.
He’s going to kill someone his mother had cherished.

She’d understand. She’d know he was doing what was right by her brother’s decree. There would be no shame upon her face for doing what he needed to in times of war. Fingers curl around the hilt of his sword and as it clicks from its hold it’s slide is slow and steady. That floral pendent his wife had given him swaying equally as slow with such movements. 



“Sasuke-kun! Stop!”



Freezing he can’t help but follow the call of her voice—how? How had she found him deep within the chaos? The grip upon his sword becomes loose as he takes her in. She’s out of breath and followed behind.

Seeing someone so close to her makes his grip tighten once more until he can clearly see who is with her—this man had made it clear he adored his wife during the festival.



“This is war Sakura.” 



Can she see how conflicted he is in this moment? Can she see how much it’s twisting him to know he’s going to kill someone so precious to his mother? 
Can she see the way his moral compass is spinning erratically?

Does she see the disgust brewing inside for himself? Does she know he’s dying inside?



Those even steps are there and there’s no missing the wounds she’s suffered on the battlefield. They’re not serious. They’re not fatal—but there is blood, and discoloration upon her skin and that’s terrifying enough.

It’s around her throat, and so many other places.

But as terrifying as that is there is something far more frightening in this moment that he’s clinging to. Is this where her love came to a halt?

She’s stopping him. She’s keeping him from slaying the enemy. They knew each other. Naruto had said it right before her dance. He hadn’t asked. He hadn’t meddled and now it’s clear he should have. 

Had they always been close even before she became his wife?
Was he also cherished by her as well?

Naruto had gained his mother’s affection and now he would take Sakura’s from him just the same.

This. This is what hurts. This is what makes him question what he’s done to deserve his enemy taking everything from him. All of this—everything he’s ever lost—was thanks to the Senju and Uzumaki.

He loathes himself or being so weak. For playing into such thoughts—but how could he not?

He had reached out for her when he had known better. He had known not to give her any part of him. He had—he had given in to her. He had fallen for the anguish he had put her through. He had been desperate to fix all the cruel things he had done to this woman he had finally begun to see as his wife.

He rightfully deserved such things—yet the self pity in him refuses to accept that. He had lost so much already and the world was continuing to take everything from him.

He hates this blonde. Because projecting his self hatred onto him is easier to accept.

Fingers tighten around the hilt only to loosen a moment later. He wants to scream at her—she’s the one being cruel now.

How can she stand with them when she said she supported him? She’s not with him—she’s betraying him.

She is the one who’s cruel for coming into his world and lowering his guard. She’s the one who had made claims she wasn’t intending to keep in this moment.

She is the one he had desired to go further down the road of life with and now they were diverging.

He’ll loathe her too instead of overcoming his own faults—his own disgust for what he’s willingly becoming.

If it wasn’t for her he wouldn’t feel like this.

His mouth has gone dry as he tries to keep himself composed. She’s ruined him. She has completely destroyed it all. He wants to take back everything he’s ever tried to do and every attempt he had made to understand her better. He wants to take back believing she had become an Uchiha.

—as if it had been her birthright. As if she had loved him deeply.

He had never asked for a wife. He had never asked for any of this. All of it had been decided for him.

He wasn’t given a choice in any of this. Yet, he had been the one to let her in.

He wasn’t good enough for her. He wasn’t good enough for her to put him before the enemy.

The tightening of his jaw slackens and then the control he always seems to have in place breaks in two. There’s no way to stop the way his eyes flutter and the way his mouth quivers alongside his heart that drops so painfully within his being. His eyes descend from her to the dirt below only to clamp down in an effort to keep himself together.

“S-Sasuke-kun?”

Teeth dig painfully into his bottom lip as she speaks—she sounds as if she’s panicking. She has no reason to be panicking. She’s not the one being betrayed. She’s not the one being cast aside—he’s not the one abandoning her.

It’s just her pushing him away for the family that came before him.

He had wanted a family with her—he had wanted her to be he one that brought a new life into his world.

He had wanted her.

His eyes snap open and it’s here and now that he realizes he has to stop her. He had done what his leader had told him not to—there’s was no guarantee she wasn’t carrying his heir.

He would not have her rip more from him.

Hands shake. Palms sweaty. Eyes burning. Sword raised high.

She had dug her roots deep—she had squeezed through iron and pushed through stone.

He would cut them down. He had said he would not gaze upon her with these eyes so many feared.

He had been wrong.

He can barely hold his sword still—his heart is loud and the trepidation it sends throughout his body only seeks to send his mind further into the confusion and loathing that’s painted within him.

“You don’t have to do this! Sasuke-kun, please!”

That’s all she has to say to dislodge his voice from the bottom of his throat—it’s filled with petulance soaked in disquietude, “Shut up!”

The way she shrinks back before him sends his heart aching before him, “Not another word—not from you!”

“S-Sasuke-kun—This isn’t war! This is a slaughter.”

He’s seen this look upon her face before. He saw it when he murdered that medic so long ago. He saw it upon that woman’s face when she begged him to give mercy. She’s covered in terror as if he’s already run her through—

He can’t take her back—not when she’ll betray him again. If he can’t have her he’ll be damned if the Senju will.

Can she see how he’s vacillating as she protects Naruto? Can she see how much her choices have completely twisted his world?

Does she know how much he’s dying inside?

He won’t cry if he kills her. He’ll rebuild what she’s dug her roots into.
Their ideals had truly been far too different—

He’ll burn everything down.

His spring wife is daring a step closer and those fingers that had brought him comfort within their two years are raising. She’s stopped all at once with a hand on her wrist.

Yes. He’ll burn it down to the ground.

“This isn’t her betraying you.” there’s an exhaustion in those words as that male he had trusted in Konohagakure to keep his wife safe restricts her from coming closer. 



Here she is against him—not with him. Yet, this man claims otherwise.



He is a criminal without a crime. His good fortune had run out this time. There’s always a reason. There’s not always a rhyme to follow behind it. Those eyes of hers are glowing and just as equally those viridian are showing all that she intends.

She stands before him unable to compromise. That much is clear.

When he was already so hesitant and so lost in the direction his leader was taking them she does this to him. She sends him over the edge, and she casts him aside. Why should he care if the Uchiha are no better than the Senju?

Why should he care?

“Sasuke-kun.”



He’s not crying. He won’t do so in front of her again.



Those shallow breaths, and those twitches that come from her muscles. Tense cannot even begin to describe this moment between them. He’s out of time. He must make a choice, he must follow a faith, and he must cast this ache aside and move forward. Not once has she ever stood before him quiet like this, “Sasuke-kun!” 



No he’s certainly not crying.
 But he is most definitely dying. 



He’s absolutely running out of time. He’s lost in time and he’s certain this ache will never die. He’s truly a criminal. 
—and he holds all of their crimes. He is the one meant to be the example. He is the one meant to show his people where to go.

He’s choosing his leader. He’s choosing what he knows is wrong.

He’ll choose anything that’ll hurt her the way she’s hurting him right now.



She’s never turned against him. She’s never been one to lie. That look upon her face—the tightening of her jaw, and that gaze that bleeds through the night—she’s always been honest and she’s always held her heart upon her sleeve.

It’s the joining of two people. A union. A marriage.



He can question it all, and yet he knows he won’t find the answer of how they now stare back at each other at odds. This woman was his wife, and the one he meant to keep beside him. This woman was one he had allowed himself to trust, and the one he had wanted to bring new life into the world.



This woman.
 He trusts her.
 That’s what makes this bittersweet.



She loves him. 
 Deeply. 
She asked for his love to be just as deep.



He had agreed and allowed himself to feel such a way when he decided that the Uchiha clan was just as much her birthright.


He had trusted her. He had felt so much pride in her.

If I could bring all of that pain you hide onto myself I would do so.

He knows this battle is wrong—he knows it’s exactly what she says. This is a slaughter. There’s no denying the claim. This was no longer war. This blood bath while great and one of the largest was no battle. She was here to rein him in. She was here to make sure he didn’t falter and head down the wrong path. She was the voice that would lead him back from the chaos.

She was the voice inside his head as Karin was dragged from him.

Could he kill her? Could he kill what he had allowed her to obtain? Could he close her out as he had when they first met?

To anger and fight Madara would be to go against the Uchiha. Could he go against his leader? Could he go against his family?


Isn’t that what he is expecting of her?


A shift of his foot and the fall of his crimson from her viridian comes. He doesn’t know what the answer is. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to pick.

Would following her down this unknown road be the right choice? Would he regret not killing Naruto down the line? Would he forever harbor feelings of distrust because of what she’s doing now?

Why do you continue to follow blindly at his call?

His hand wavers and with it his sword scrapes the earth. He’s at the end of the line. Alone in his head—waiting for something divine to answer him. Drowning in silence he prays to make it through. Out on the edge as all these things echo internally.

The storm winds are blowing. His dreams are falling apart. Just like her.

He’s crying internally. Because he cannot do this—he cannot harden himself to do what he has to.

That concept of him and her. It’s blowing away.

And he hates himself for it—he places such hate upon her to make it easier to live with.



It’s that lack of time that seeks to make it clear he’s lowered himself upon the battlefield. It’s that pounding of his chest and that pain deep within his gut. This man. This Senju always catches him when he’s bewitched, and it just proves she would be his end. 



It’s her voice that makes his eyes force themselves open as the contents of his stomach cover the grown and upon his person. The gravel and stone he had set to walk upon with her has given him padding but scratched all that it could touch—

he’s here. 



The force is harsh and enough to send his head back and mind reeling. That punch has made his mind halt to two simple questions—what was he doing here, and was this ever even truly a war?



It’s the collapse of waves echoing out internally.
 Why does his heart feel like it’ll break further than just in two?



“Kisetsuma-san!”



He cannot control the roll of his head and that blur of his eyes. She’ll leave him and there’s nothing he can do. She’ll return to this man who sought her out so violently. 

He can’t protect her—he can’t protect any of them.



“It’s okay.” there’s so much warmth in Kisetsuma’s words for his wife, “We’ll take you back here and now. I’ll protect you from him.”



He feels it deep within—



“Kisetsuma-san, what are you—?”



“I won’t let the Uchiha hold you any longer. You will no longer be a prisoner of war.” 



This exchange. 
 It’s the death of a desire—



The vexation. The distress. The exasperation. The absolute loss.


It’s her choice. It’s always been her choice.



She could hate him. She said she loved him.
 She’s slipping through his fingers. This man will take her even though they—



“Kisetsuma I am not a prisoner—”



“What lies have they been feeding you all this time? These Uchiha—they’ve done everything they can to turn you against your family and friends”



—even though he’s the one she said she loved with all of her heart. He must confess that he feels like a—

“I will protect you.”



Monster.

All of that loathing, and poisonous vexation he’s placing upon everyone but himself. It’s revolting.



He’s barely aware of what he’s even doing. Everything in his world has fallen out of reach. He can’t protect her. He can’t protect the Uchiha. He can’t even protect himself. He’s lost his sword somewhere. He’s lost the ability to feel just the same. He’s lost his mother. He’s lost his father. He’s lost his brother. He’s lost his uncle. He’s lost his grandfather.

—and now he’s losing his wife and any possibility of a child. He’s losing the possibility of a family.

His heads thrown back as this Senju strikes him once again, but that doesn’t stop him from throwing his own fist right within their jaw. Dirt finds its way deep within his nails as he twists to make himself rise.

“Sasuke-kun move!” her voice is shaking, and terror-stricken as it comes within his ears.

She’s calling out to him—if he caught sight of her right now would she be in tears? Hadn’t she abandoned him already? Why is she calling out for him at all? She had chosen to protect Naruto over standing beside him.

She had chosen them over him.

He’s managed to do as she’s plead out, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s raising his hands up and lacing his fingers together before bringing it down upon this Senju’s back and preparing to raise another fist. All of these things are barbaric. All of these things aren’t strategy. They’re literally beating each other down. They’re doing everything in their power to harm the other.

She’s clouded all of his judgment with her abandonment—that’s what he tells himself when he feels that foot connect with his stomach before the ground shakes with an almost godly force. It’s enough to make them both halt and look to her.

She’s taken her arm back, and that male of silver stands beside her ready to attack, “Don’t touch my husband.” her breathing is erratic as if she’s been sent over the edge just the same.

It’s enough though to send his mind back into pandemonium. She’s claiming him. She’s making her position as his wife clear—even though she stood against him.

Even though she—

“Don’t you want to come home?”

His knees are weak but he’s pushing himself up. There’s a stagger to his stance, but he’s not backing down. There’s swelling in his left eye, but that doesn’t stop him from looking at her with his right just the same. Pressing his hand against a tree he’s steadying himself even more, “Sakura.”

“He is my home—” her voice has broke and it’s as those fingers twist within the fabric of her warn torn clothes against her chest that she finds it once again, “To hurt him is to hurt a part of me!”

He’s still and there’s the lightest of feelings within his chest—this woman saw him as home. It hadn’t just been him looking to her for that feeling of home. These words. These feelings.

They’re a lie.

He can’t trust what she says. She’ll trick him once more.

She’ll lower his defenses and then twist the knife she’s dug between his shoulder blades deeper.

How can she say these things?

Yet, here she is. Here she is making her feelings clear even to this man who had sought her out. She had said she loved him with all of her heart—and that’s what makes his mouth drop. She felt that his pain would harm her just the same. She saw him as a direct part of herself.

Is this what marriage was? A union? A joining of two?

His fingers curl into a fist and his teeth grind together—he had never asked for a wife. He had never asked for any of this—but he definitely wanted her. He wanted to keep his trust in her. He wanted to keep that unbelievable pride for her.

He wanted to have a family with this woman. He wanted to continue walking down this road with her. He wanted to travel through the gravel and stone. He wanted to come back to that world of spring she makes a possibility—yes, he wanted her.

God, does he want her.

He can’t. He won’t.

Because it’s all a lie. Everything this woman spills is for show and not out of love. If she had loved him she wouldn’t turn against him at a time like this.

Yes. She’s brought him into complete disarray.

His mind had broken out into pandemonium—and she almost sadistically continues to shove him into it further without remorse.

He can barely hear her. All he hears is noise. It’s loud. It’s hot upon his ears. It’s too much to take in. Shaky fingers hesitate to raise. Lightning flickers upon the tips. To reach for her out of comfort or in an attempt to harm her he’s unsure. He doesn’t know what he wants anymore.

She’s thoroughly split him in two. He’s of two hearts.

It all truly echos internally. 
Failure. Just like him.

He can’t find such things like that right now—she’s completely out of arms reach as his head cracks against the tree he had used for support, and his body is thrown up within the air. The instinct to defend himself is there but it doesn’t lessen the blow of being tossed across the battle field as he seeks to shield himself with his arms.

Her voice is so much further now than it ever had been—it’s masked and drowned out. He’s crying.

[fierypen37]

Held Captive XXXIX

Another chapter up! (keep tissues close by)

 “I’ll make you curse the day your mother brought you into this world, Blackfyre!” Daenerys snarled, leaning southward on Drogon’s back.

Drogon loosed a mighty roar in the face of this new threat. A black sigil snapped in the wind, the red dragon mocking her. The colors should be reversed, bastard that he was. What use was the hoax of being Rhaegar’s son? There were many who would support his claim, Blackfyre or Targaryen. Opportunistic scum would leap whichever way the wind blew.

The pretender and his armies, at last she was to face him on the field! Men who fight for gold cannot lose to a woman. And lose they would, burning and screaming like all the rest who sought to kill her. The thought filled her with a grim relish.

Daenerys frowned. The force, though impressive with ranks of men, cavalry, siege weapons and armored elephants, all together it looked smaller than she envisioned. Was this the might of all the sellsword contracts in Essos, the Golden Company, the Second Sons, the Stormbreakers, and others? A sinking feeling settled in her belly. Had the pretender sent a splinter force to accost her men from the Rock? That would explain their delay. Her wearied northern men couldn’t hold off this onslaught. The pretender had the Others’ timing.

“They will not get to my men. They will not get to Jon.” She would make sure of it.  

Rhaegal and Viserion roared, filling the sky with their rage. A sound answered them, a smattering of trumpeting cries. Daenerys’ brow puckered, leaning over to see the ranks of elephants, their armor gleaming dully in the sunlight. Towers loomed on their backs, bristling with archers and slingers. It struck her heart that those gentle beasts were whipped and burned and prodded into battle rage. The pretender was loathsome for that alone. She remembered the elephant in Meereen with its great sad eyes.

Through their bond, she felt a reflection of her sons’ hunger. To a dragon, an elephant was a fine meal. Drogon dove sharply, arrows rattling useless against his underbelly, even his thick leathery wings. Such blows could not wound him. The swift movement lifted Daenerys in the saddle, wind rattling within the confines of her helm. The speed and exhilaration made her smile as she unleashed her children: “Dracarys!”

Drogon’s black fire burst forth, curling and twisting in the wind. Even from her saddle behind his head, intense heat washed over her. Rhaegal and Viserion followed suit, and below the men of the Golden Company—their standards with golden skulls gleaming in the sunshine—marched grimly on. The fire slew swathes of foot soldiers and cavalry. The elephants’ large ears flapped in distress, some bolted with trumpeting cries. Drogon skimmed low, intent on tasting the lumbering animal, his mouth watering at the tender meat and hot blood lurking beneath that leathery skin, just the right size to bite . . .

“No. Fly now, my love. Feast later,” Daenerys said with a snap of the mental rein. Drogon bristled under the command. He craned his neck to look at her, tongues of black fire licking along his quivering lips.

“Later. I promise,” Daenerys said. It was a razor-thin line she walked guiding her dragons in battle. They needed an outlet for their frustration, but to allow them to hunt and feast would make them slower, more susceptible to attack. Still, Drogon obeyed because she had earned his trust.

Rhaegal and Viserion scattered the elephants, goading them with fire and the hair-raising echo of their roars. Daenerys urged Drogon toward the dragon banner raised amongst the sellsword banners, a mockery of her own. The ground blurred beneath them, Drogon’s wings beat in taut control—perhaps twice the height of a man above the ground. Drogon’s roar was deep and strident, the assertion of a king.

Horses bolted and plunged, breaking their grand charge into a milling mess of terrified horses, sliding and falling in the snow beneath the whips and spurs of their riders. A flick of Drogon’s tail broke the banner’s pole, the false dragon banner fell to the ground shred nearly in half. Daenerys grinned. No army in the world could stand against her children. Did these men not remember the Field of Fire?

Daenerys peered south. Beyond the charging men was the rear guard and baggage wains. A group of pack ponies, a semi-circle of covered wagons. Energy sang through her. Ballistae! Two men tore the tarp away, revealing a barbed scorpion. Too close. Too close! Her heart thundered in her ears.

“Drogon!” Daenerys screamed.

“Fire!”

A hideous crank and twang as the scorpion fired. Drogon tucked his wings, rolling like a cork-screw to the left. Daenerys clenched her jaw to keep from biting her tongue as the world upended. Her brave, clever son, he was too swift for them! Drogon righted himself, wings striving to gain height in the air. Her breath came swift and sharp, the fear and excitement singing through her muscles making her hands tremble. Rhaegal and Viserion shrieked. Viserion dove like a falling star, shattering the machine with a passing sweep his claws. Rhaegal snatched three soldiers from the scorpion’s cart, tossing them up in the air and consuming them in green-tinged flame.

Daenerys urged her children higher in the air in tight formation, flying in wide circles. Men scrabbled for the scorpions. A quick tally found roughly two dozen, some made entirely of metal, gleaming dully in the sun. They’d planning facing her on the field, then. Viserion was the swiftest flyer. He could quickly burn the wooden scorpions. Rhaegal’s fire was hottest, but he would need time to melt the metal ones. Drogon’s bulk and strength would be enough to defend his brothers. Daenerys struggled, straining through the bond to touch their minds. Blood trickled from her nose, pain a steady heartbeat behind her eyes. Her hand strayed to her belly. The shivering part of her soul fretted the stress of battle would harm the babe. Jon’s precious, miracle babe. . . Daenerys took a steadying breath. She could only focus on the task at hand, and trust the babe had its parents’ resilience.

“Viserion! Rhaegal!” Daenerys shouted. Her sons answered with rumbling growls. Rhaegal snaked his head out to blow a ring of white smoke around her. A rush of affection flooded her, she channeled it in a warm flood through their bond. I love you, my brave, fierce children. Viserion preened, Rhaegal wreathed her in smoke, and Drogon uttered his clicking growl.

“Let’s get to work,” Daenerys said.

                                                          ~

 Jon galloped toward the edge of the western line, now riding a bay courser. A squire shoved a waterskin into his hand as Jon set his foot to stirrup. The water was reprieve enough; there was no time for rest or food, not when the pretender’s dragon flew beside the double pane of Connington’s red and white griffins.

Daenerys flew to meet them, the dragons shining in the sun like buffed jewels: black diamond, emerald, and opal. Fire consumed the field. Gods, we’re spent. It will be a miracle if we take the gatehouses on the walls with the men we have left. Even with Asha’s fresh men from the Dragonstone garrison, we’re in desperate need of reinforcements.

Jon heeled the bay towards Lord Royce’s men, already forming a front. Umber’s men in the van were busy with the siege ladders, and the Blackfish’s men were galloping hard for Blackwater Bay. The rivermen would be invaluable aid for Asha’s ironborn.

The soldiers were mixed in any company, though as a rule the lord commanded their own men. Vale knights were straightforward, disciplined, and unflappable. Together with the Unsullied stationed at the Harrenhal garrison, it would be a decent defense against the pretender’s sellswords. A grim smirk tugged at his lips. If his wife allowed any to survive their approach. Daenerys and the three dragons had neutralized the Volantene elephants effectively. Their panicked trumpeting and stomping tugged at the heart. It was the animals and children who suffered in war.

Jon loped up and down the line, urging the men into position. He gestured with Longclaw to an Unsullied soldier.

“Go to the siege engines, have them concentrate fire on the center of the pretender’s men,” Jon said.

“Issa, azantys!” he said, tucking his spear across his back and sprinting north to the looming bulk of trebuchets and catapults. Jon pulled up his blowing mount at the Royce banner.  

“Lord Royce, how goes it?”

The Vale lord’s white cape was spattered with mud and blood, his bluff face red with exertion. His son Willem, a sturdy blond young man, pressed a wineskin into his hand. Lord Royce took it with a grimy gauntleted hand. The wine dribbled down into his white beard like blood. Jon swiped the blood from Longclaw on his trousers before sliding the blade into its sheath.

“Ser Snow, good to see you well. The Targaryen boy proves to be an impulsive lout,” he said. Jon’s lips pursed. Given his newfound lineage, it cast the pretender in a different light. You will not lay a finger on my wife or her children!  

“Along with a liar and traitor,” Jon said. The battle would prove exhausting for her. Daenerys would need every ounce of her strength.    

“The queen is quite magnificent,” Lord Royce said, eyes lifting to the dragons on wing, “I never thought I would see dragons fill the sky with their fire.” Fire and Blood, Jon thought, now as much his words as the Stark’s.

Jon squinted into the sky, the sun sank towards afternoon and still no reinforcements from the Rock. Men like Barristan Selmy didn’t dither when it came to obeying their queen’s summons.

“She is. Thank the gods for her children,” Jon said, watching Rhaegal shred a hapless destrier in two.

“I’ll join them. The queen will need someone to guard her back,” he said. Lord Royce offered a knife-thin smile while Willem laughed.

“Aye, wouldn’t that be something?” Willem said.

“Ser Snow ride dragon. This one has seen this,” another Unsullied said with a laconic shrug. A look of startled awe flitted across Royce’s face. Jon shrugged, uncomfortable.

“Hold the line, Lord Royce.”

“I . . . I will, Ser Dragonrider,” he said as Jon touched his heels to the bay’s sides. He broke into a controlled canter, hooves sliding on bloody field then, as they left the battlefield behind, crunching through the crust of snow. Jon shoved up the visor, letting the cold wind baptize his burning face. His first clean breath in hours, the fresh air was almost dizzying.

The dragons looked like mythic gods silhouetted by the golden afternoon sun.  

“Rhaegal!” Jon shouted.

The green dragon heard him, white teeth as long as his arm cutting off the flow of his fire. The bronze candle-flame of his mind loomed close. His roar held an almost irritated edge. He could almost hear Daenerys’ voice translating in his head. What took you so long? Jon grinned, dismounting from the bay. A slap on his rump sent the horse trotting back toward the hay promised him with the baggage wains. Jon stretched sore muscles as Rhaegal veered south toward him.

“Come on, let’s burn the fuckers,” Jon said.

                                                       ~

 If she killed the Blackfyre, the sellswords and traitors would scatter like rats. She scanned the confused scrum of men below. He would be in extravagant armor, perhaps mimicking Rhaegar’s at the Trident. The bloody glow of ruby flashed in the corner of her eye.

There he was, in night-black plate aglitter with rubies, surrounding by a thorny mass of spears and swords. He rode a lathered white destrier, a red dragon laid in rubies on his breastplate. Silver hair fell to his shoulders beneath the crowned black steel helm. Violet eyes met hers, hard with hate. Lying worm. To his right, Jon Connington’s griffin helm snarled, within she saw a gleam of seamed blue eyes. This man was said to have loved Rhaegar like a brother. Why then, would he throw his lot in with a bastard pretender?

“Blackfyre!” Daenerys shouted, echoed by Drogon’s roar.

“Is this all you have to bring against me? My children have proven you false. You are a liar and pretender. Surrender and you will be well treated, I swear it.” It was a generous offer by any accounting. He would be wise to take it. Even given his force’s size, all three of her children would make short work of them.

“I will accept nothing less than my birthright, aunt,” the pretender sneered, drawing his sword. Daenerys smirked. The new steel gleamed pale and clean in the light. Remembering Duckfield’s sniveling, his bared steel did not frighten her. His men loosed arrows and spears at her and Drogon, but he flew beyond their range.

“A bastard’s inheritance is naught but ash,” Daenerys said, holding his gaze. Drogon arched his neck, anticipating the ancient Valyrian word for ‘fire’ to leave her lips—

“You best mind your handsome northern toy, my sweet aunt!” the fair pretender said.

Fear sliced her vocal cords like a knife on string. Daenerys swiveled in her saddle, squinting southward toward the city. Rhaegal swooped over the ground, flying toward a dark speck on the ground—Jon. He was landing to get Jon. Heart in her throat, she scanned the field for danger. The Lannister men had all fled for the safety of the city . . . Daenerys sucked in a gasp. A trio of ballistae, loaded on light chariots, ran at a dead gallop toward the two. Rhaegal would be most vulnerable on the ground as Jon mounted.

“Viserion! Stop them!” she shouted in Valyrian.

Blood pounded in her ears, fear and rage coursing through her veins. A cruel smile sat stamped on the pretender’s face. Daenerys had felt such passionate hatred and helplessness before, beneath Viserys’s thumb, beneath Drogo’s cruelty. No! No, she would not allow it again!      

“Dracarys!”

Drogon’s fire flew in an arch, black and seething. Three men leapt in the way, blocking Drogon’s fire with their bodies. Their corpses fell in charred heaps, armor welded to red, weeping flesh. Gods! What oaths had he extracted from them to sacrifice their lives for his? The pretender’s white charger bolted, fleeing south toward the safety of his gathered war machines. Drogon cut off the stream of fire to utter a harsh roar, thwarted from the kill he craved.

Daenerys leaned forward in the saddle, intent on having Drogon tear him limb from limb. A thin sound shivered through her, too high-pitched for a roar. A warbling shriek, borne of fear. The fine hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. She twisted around in the saddle. Horror struck her heart like a knife of ice.

“Viserion!”

The ballistae swiveled upward, the bolt flew. Viserion strained higher in the air, uttering that frightened shriek that shattered her heart into tiny pieces. The bolt flew wide, but with barely a pause, another chased him, and another! How was that possible?

A flutter of movement at the tail of her eye. Rhaegal! Daenerys kneaded the striving muscles between Drogon’s wings. Faster! Faster! Jon, Jon—where was Jon? Daenerys clenched her eyes shut, surging through their bond. Viserion’s fear washed over her, a torrent, a river of it. She surged toward him, swimming up through the current, striving for a calm she didn’t feel. Drogon and Rhaegal hovered close, so close the edges of their thoughts seemed to tangle. A net, a rope binding them tight together.

Pain severed any other thought. A sharp cold bolt in her center.

Painpainhurtohgodsithurt!

Daenerys clutched her chest to stem the hot flow of blood pouring out. All her fingers found was cold, smooth steel. What--? The sound that left her didn’t sound human. The keen of a dying soul.

With a sucking breath, she opened her eyes in time to see Rhaegal falling from the sky. Frozen in place, she watched, her throat raw and burning. Blood fell in a crimson torrent from the wound in his chest, along with a burst of green fire. Rhaegal’s cry was full of pain as he crashed into the ground. How? What had--? Jon? Where was Jon? Rhaegal’s saddle was empty.

Every detail was sharp as cut glass.

The pattern of snow hissing on his scales.

One wing bent at a painful angle beneath him.

The piteous edge to his growls.

The cruel iron spike thrust into his chest, right at the wing juncture.    

Oh gods.

Drogon landed with a teeth-jarring thud. Her ice-cold hands fumbled with the leg straps. Soon she was free, staggering to Rhaegal. The ground boiled with his blood, a gauzy cocoon of steam rising up. Words bubbled from her lips like blood’s flood from his great heart. Words of love, of solace, when there was none. The world was bitter and cruel, eager to rend and shatter and defile. Daenerys cradled his horned head, rocking gently, staring deep into pain-fogged bronze of his eye. Gods, he was so cold. The searing heat of him ebbed to a candle’s flame.

“Rhaegal, oh Rhaegal my love. Please . . . please,” she said thickly, pressing her forehead to his snout. She didn’t know what she pled for or to whom, but plead she did. To any god who would listen. Please, not my baby, spare my child . . .  Through their bond, he clung to her as he had as a hatchling, trusting her to save him from pain and fear. Daenerys cradled him in that place, trying to pull him into her and absorb the blow herself. Nonononono he was slipping!

“Rhaegal?” she said, swiping a warm, ticklish sensation from her face. She gritted her teeth through the tearing pain, trying to stitch together the holes torn in his soul. The abyss loomed, ever patient. Blood pattered on his snout. Was there another wound--? Rhaegal uttered a soft, sad whine, gently nudging her chest.      

“Gods. Rhaegal,” Jon’s voice behind her was soft, broken into pieces as she was. Jon was bloodied, limping, but whole. There was no room inside her for relief at that fact. Her child was dying. Rhaegal lifted his head to nudge Jon’s chest, his growl soft and sweet.

“Rhaegal, no!” Daenerys said, clinging to him in body and mind. She felt the exact moment his heart stopped. The bronze-hued beauty and heat of him quenched into ash and darkness. Bound as close to him as she was, the death was hers too. Not a soft embrace of cold and silence, but a sharp, soul-deep rending. Pain bloomed and burned, hotter than dragonfire. She was drowning, drowning in an ocean of pain and grief. She screamed, clawing at the pain in her head.

Then, blessedly, darkness rose up to meet her.

                                                        ~

 “Dany? Dany? Oh gods, Dany, please,” Jon said, swiping tears from his face as he groped for a pulse at his wife’s throat. Gods, that scream as Rhaegal died. He would remember that sound for the rest of his life. Her face was a mess. Blood trickled from her nose, even from her eyes, mingled with tears wetting her face. Jon cradled in her in the crook of his arm, bleating her name.

There. Thank the gods, her heart still beat. Jon mopped her face as best he could.

He sat in the snow, the cold seeping through the seat of his trousers, frozen and stupid. Jon’s skin was slicked with cold sweat, his breath coming in shuddering, sobbing gulps. Rhaegal was dead. He died protecting Jon, protecting Viserion.

“What do I do? What do I . . .” Jon said, looking for help, for answers.

Drogon and Viserion were there, radiating heat and strength in the dying sunlight. Drogon’s low growl rattled in his chest. He couldn’t look at Rhaegal’s body, already so cold. A howl rose in his throat, a wolf’s keen mourning. He swallowed it, choked down the burning. Viserion’s yellow-gold eye met his. Dimly, Jon felt the press of the dragon’s mind. His was different than the mellow bronze of Rhaegal’s. Viserion was sharper, swifter, a gust of warm wind.  

“They’ll die for this,” Jon swore. Dragons understood revenge.

There was no strategy, no thought. Jon existed in a deeper wild place. Targaryen blood ran as hot as wolf’s blood, and he felt ablaze with it. With a harsh cry, he heaved Daenerys’ limp body onto Drogon’s back. Tenderly, he tightened the legs straps, guided her lie with her head on Drogon’s shoulder. His shield strap lashed her torso to Drogon’s spikes. As safe as he could make her. Jon knelt at Rhaegal’s head, pressing a hand to his snout.

“I’m sorry, my friend. I wish we could have . . .” his voice broke, “. . . could have had more time. I will avenge you, I promise.” On impulse, he dragged a finger in Rhaegal’s blood, painting a stripe across his forehead. The blood held a vestige of his heart’s heat, warm on his skin. Jon would carry his warmth close.

Jon turned to Viserion, offering an upturned hand.

“I know we haven’t time to--”

Viserion interrupted him by lifting his head, impatient and haughty. No saddle, but there was no time to linger. Jon climbed up Viserion’s gold spikes to sit on the hot cream-colored scales.

“Sōves!” Jon shouted.