#leona writes

[vii-is-free]

Hello, 60 followers!!

I have nothing to give yall but gratitude honestly lmao just wanted to say I’m so grateful that there’s so many people out there willing to read my nonsense 🥰🥰🥰

Here’s to even more nonsense!

[starlightartemis]

I want to write Marinette & Batfamily content SO BAD but my stupid garbage brain can only conjure up VIBES and SHENANIGANS but without the words :'))

[vii-is-free]

DONT WRITE IN THE AO3 TEXT BOX ITS LIKE WANTING TO BE ON THE TITANIC

okay so I was talking with a friend about writing, and I was about to infodump about an au of mine over discord to them because I can't actually write out the ideas rn since ao3 is dOWN-

and they freaked out??? Apparently I'm weird for writing my works *in* ao3? Like I know people usually write in docs or something but I only feel motivated to write when I'm in the ao3 textbox HJLGFJGDH

So now I have a question for fellow writers on ao3:

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

GUYS… 💀

Skully J. “I greet you with a kiss” Graves

You wake up in his arms after blacking out

Calls you “my dear” and “lovely”/“wonderful” even though we literally just met

Comments that your names are beautiful

Offers to escort you (well, Trey technically) through the woods even though Skully has no idea where tf he’s going

Remarks that it would be nice to hold hands and stroll through the forest together

He tends to use the term "fated" to refer to things he has in common with others

Is the first character in all of Twst to have a BLUSHING face

He holds your hand and kisses you (on the back of it??) without even waiting or asking for your okay (avert your eyes, Grim…)????

HE ALSO KISSES GRIM AND ALL THE OTHER BOYS ON THE HAND

HE KISSES YUU MULTIPLE TIMES THROUGHOUT THIS EVENT

HE WALKED OUT OF a DAtinG SIM 😭

Other Skully facts:

He’s taller than Malleus (not including the horns, just judging by the models) and Sebek (stated explicitly in the dialogue)

He’s is a first year student

He’s 16, same age as the other first years (though Skully only recently turned 16)

Speaks very respectfully, even to fellow first years (Riddle remarks on Skully being very gentlemanly and even Vil calls Skully elegant)

He refers to himself using an archaic form of “I” (wagahai)

HE’S AN OTAKU FOR HALLOWEEN, he calls Jack Skellington “Jack Skellington-sama” and says Jack is the person he admires the most dbsksbsiqguzvs

Skully asks everyone else call him Jack-sama too

He comes from a small isolated fog-shrouded rural village; it is located at the bottom of a valley

His hometown considers Jack Skellington the founder of Halloween; Jack Skellington is not known outside of this village

The people in Skully’s hometown love Halloween and its founder, Jack

He seems to be sleep deprived???

Skully tries to tell others at his school about Halloween and Jack, but his peers don’t listen and get mad at him

Skully doesn’t like to talk about his school (and seems to actively dislike it, calling his classmates fools and asking to avoid the topic of school)

He self-admits to not having many people who understand him

Confirmed a mage (Leona says he has the same amount of magic as Epel), but he doesn’t have a magical pen/doesn't seem to know what they are???

He doesn't know Malleus either.

Skully claims he was also sucked into the book while attending the used book fair in Foothill Town

Chunibyo?? Like, he presents as mysterious initially but actually has very excitable reactions to things, lots of purple prose too

Leona calls him a BADGER

He calls his classmates “worthless” for not understanding/listening to him

He thinks lowly of those who disagree with his opinions on Halloween; there is a drastic shift in his personality when the NRC students express dissent

Skully’s ideal Halloween is solemn and desolate, involving: beating up all ghosts, painting rooms entirely black, no decorations, and no music

This is how his village spends Halloween, in solemn silence; Skully grew up thinking this is how it always is

He likes classical music and opera

He acts gentlemanly because he believes Jack is also a gentleman

He wants to learn piano someday

Skully believes that staying traditional and respecting and protecting the past is important

Details about his unique magic

(Side note: GRIM’S NEW oUTFIT 👌 He looks perfect in that suit!! LOOKS At HIS WIDDLE PAW gLOVES… And the chest fluff sticking out gives the illusion of a cravat! Aaaaaah, so cute 💕)

[tempvstas]

"You were a wonderful experience."

Trey, DEUCE, Jack, Jade, Floyd, KALIM, Rook, Epel, LILIA, Silver

"You were....everything."

Riddle, CATER, Ace, LEONA, Ruggie, AZUL, Jamil, Vil, IDIA, MALLEUS, Sebek

[alice-everafter]

"Stop moving around, herbivore."

The otherwise heavy silence is broken by Leona's deep timber of a voice. Rolling onto your back puts you in line of sight of his bed, where you can see the Savanna prince half covered in sheets you couldn't even afford to breathe on. He's facing away from you, barely moving. If he hadn't just spoken you'd assume he was dead or something.

"I could hear your squirming from half way across campus. Settle down or get out, you're disturbing my sleep."

"...Sorry." Your throat twinges with the faint reminder of how you got to sleep in the dorm room of Leona Kingscholar in the first place.

After being so rudely ejected from your beloved Ramshackle home on such short notice, possible sleeping arrangements were few and far between. Now, you could've taken Ace and Deuce up on their offer, but Jack was... he was Jack. And only Jack could convince you to stay in Savanaclaw. But, then Leona had to come and say no, and then you panicked cause you saw yourself and Grim on the street. And that panic plus the sleep deprivation from finals lead you to perform your own rendition of "Cotton Eye Joe" outside his bedroom out of sheer desperation.

You didn't even get to the second verse before he bodily dragged you inside with a growl that had you accepting death like an unspoken principle.

The room was once again blanketed in a thick silence. Grim, who slept by your feet, didn't even make a peep. Banging those pots around while providing you backing vocals must've taken it out of him. Poor guy. Out of anyone in this room, he's the one you'd feel the most bad for disturbing.

So, with a sigh, you accept your fate and get up from your collection of floor blankets. Your destination being one of the Savanaclaw couches.

You knew your mind, you wouldn't be sleeping for a while. There was just... too much. Azul and his contracts, Jade and Floyd and their sharp teeth, Leona and his eyes. The ones that once looked at you like you were vermin to crush through the haze of a raging sandstorm. While Ruggie batted and kicked and cried for breath. And you swore his eyes had glazed over as he fell limp and━

"Hey."

You stop, both bodily and mentally, as his voice once again breaks the silence. There's a cold sweat you didn't notice gathering on your back. You turn to find him staring at you with those same green eyes. You can't tell if he's searching for something in you or debating heavily with himself. But, whatever it is, it isn't for long before he seems to come to a conclusion with a rumbling sigh.

"Come here."

What. "What."

"You heard me, come here."

To say you were conflicted would be the understatement of the century. You had just been spiraling not even 30 seconds ago and now the object of your trauma was beckoning you closer like the parent to your distressed child.

"I don't have all day, herbivore. You coming or not?"

"...It's night."

"..."

"..."

"Just get over here before I change my mind."

"Right."

He heaves another grumbling sigh as you shuffle across the room. Stood next to his bed gives you a view reminiscent of that time in the greenhouse. Him, splayed across his bed, hair cascading over his pillows. While you're stock still and more than a bit puzzled and kind of scared. Even though you're looking down on him, you don't feel like you have the advantage that you should. He looks almost too calm, too relaxed. Like he's assured of a victory yet to come.

That thought sends a chill up your spine, reminding you of the sweat that persists on your back.

"Well?" He raises a brow expectantly.

You blink, "well, what?"

"Are you laying down or what?"

"...Am I laying down or what?"

"Need me to spell it out for you? Or should I help you into bed?"

"Not necessary."

You don't know what possesses you━whether it's self preservation or annoyance or curiosity or just straight madness━but you get in. You pull back those luxurious sheets and slide beneath them where you're immediately accosted by warmth. Heat seems to be radiating from him like a fire.

The revelation is... not an unpleasant one.

You realize he's still staring at you. But, not intently, not like he's trying to pry a secret from you. Leona never looks at anyone like he means to take their person apart. He simply observes and acknowledges, anyone and anything.

"Think you can finally go to bed and stop flopping around like a dead fish?"

"...Haven't I dealt with enough fish today? And now you bring them up in Savanaclaw of all places. Is no where safe?"

You're surprised when his brows pinch in amusement and a short but gruff chuckle leaves his lips.

"My bad then, for touching on such a tender topic."

"Yeah, your bad indeed."

No one says anything else afterward and he seems to take that as an invitation to turn onto his back. Letting out a deep breath through his nose while nestling an arm behind his head, eyes sliding shut.

Somewhere between you climbing into his bed and him settling down to sleep, the sweat has cooled off your skin. Not to mention the sudden heaviness dragging at your eyelids. Seems that you would be able to sleep some after all.

You turn away and towards the open balcony, towards the spot where you had once laid and Grim continues to snooze. The moon lights up the room, and though it's not the sun, it still feels just as warm somehow.

Speaking of warm, there's a heater pressed to your back. Scratch that, Leona is pressed to your back. And that's his arm, sliding over your hip and resting draped over your side.

It feels like the world hiccups when you feel his next breath puff against your hair. But, surprisingly enough, you're not shaking in your metaphorical boots. Just... very confused, once again.

"...Is this supposed to be punishment for 'Cotton Eye Joe?'"

He says nothing at first, and you begin to fear for your safety before he eventually does.

"Whatever helps put you to bed faster."

That arm over your side moves before you feel his hand settle atop your collarbone. Those same hands that had once brought ruin and pain were now just a small brush away from your neck.

This should terrify you, but it doesn't. Because he's gentle in this moment. His arm isn't an insistent press, it's a steady weight. His hand isn't a branding clasp, it's a soft touch.

There are words left unsaid between you two that his body seems to carry instead. And you drift off with the feeling of his tail draping over your ankles beneath the sheets.

[natsukishinomiyaswife]

Lovesick

This is a love letter to all of my wonderful friends, who I appreciate so so much!! ♡ These are short scenarios featuring their favorite characters being sappy and in love with the Reader ♡ Enjoy! ♡

Characters included: Leona, Ruggie, Jack, Jamil, Rook, Vil, Idia, Lilia

Leona Kingscholar

☆ For @midnightmah07, @meltedbluecaterpillar, @nicoliharu, @crystallizsch ☆

The botanical gardens was home to many plants, interesting and unique. Some were breathtaking, some were bizarre, drawing people in with their appearance and scent.

Napping in the gardens Leona has seen many, none of them getting his attention. Flowers, bushes, trees. None of them could compare to you, to your smile, to your eyes.

He cracks an eye open when he hears you enter, familiar with the sound of your footsteps. He'll go back to sleep later, after he admires the scenery for a bit. You always were his favorite sight ♡

Ruggie Bucchi

☆ For @midnightmah07, @nicoliharu ☆

Ruggie's a thief, and he'll take whatever he can get from you.

Your attention, your laughter, your smile. He wants it all, and all for himself. So he'll tease you, taking something small while you're unaware. It guarantees he can see you again, talking and laughing as he teases you once more.

It's only fair, after all. You already stole his heart. So let him steal yours too, alright? ♡

Jack Howl

☆ For @skriblee-ksk ☆

Comfort, safety, piece of mind. His feelings for you feel too much at times, wishing to take care of you however he can.

To protect you, and that smile he adores. He doesn't even notice at first how you do the same for him, looking out for him and caring for his safety.

He's supposed to protect you, yet here you are, protecting him in turn. He can't help but smile at the thought, knowing you had each other's backs. You can rely on him, just like he can rely on you. His amazing partner, his one and only. The only love for him ♡

Jamil Viper

☆ For @crystallizsch, @midnightmah07, @cheerleaderman, @0honeybones0 ☆

You don't need an excuse to dance, no party or music needed. Dancing comes naturally to you and Jamil, the motions, the laughter. The looks, the mutual smiles.

Your dance was cautious and slow at first, Jamil keeping his distance. Over time the dance changed, each of you moving closer, your hands joining together.

Your dance isn't perfect, filled with bumps and missteps. Yet, it was perfect for you, moving alongside Jamil with a laugh. He hopes this dance will never end ♡

Rook Hunt

☆ For @offorestsongs ☆

There were many beautiful things in the world, many that he's seen. None of them can compare to you, to the beauty that you have, to the love that you've shown him.

Watching from afar isn't enough, and photographs can only capture so much. Your personality, your heart, that voice that rings in his ears and drifts him to sleep. The eyes he dreams of, the smile he longs to wake up to.

He'll write you as many letters as it takes, as many poems, as many songs. Until you feel just as beautiful as he sees you, until you know just how loved and adored you are ♡

Vil Schoenheit

☆ For @offorestsongs, @ladyzsgolla ☆

We all have bad days, days that don't seem to go right and leave us feeling down. Vil understands, he experiences them too. Days he's unhappy with his appearance, with his acting, with the work that he's done. Feeling like it's not enough.

He gives you a space to relax, a space to breathe, alone in the comfort of his room. He takes the time to remove your makeup (if you wear it), drying your tears as he soothes you with his words.

He touches you gently, as if you were fragile, precious. Running his hand's through your hair, giving you something more comfortable to wear. He gets you to bed, holding you close in his arms.

You've done the same for him in the past, helping him remove his makeup, taking down his hair. The comfort you would provide him after a frustrating day meant so much to him, just like the hold you had on his heart. It's the least he could do, wanting you to know just how much he loves you. Just how much he cares ♡

Idia Shroud

☆ For @cheerleaderman (and myself lol ♡) ☆

Late night messages, gaming sessions, voice calls that last for hours. You were different than he expected, having similar interests and hobbies. He wasn't sure when the shift happened, when your friendship became so much more.

He doesn't want to call it love (he can't, there's no way), but he can't ignore what he feels either. The smile he gets when there's a new message from you, how his heart races when you remember a show he likes or a reference he made.

When did he start ordering merch from a game he doesn't play, knowing you would like it? When did he start buying snacks you like, hoping you'd stop by?

He won't say he's in love (he can't), but he might be... falling for you (even if it scares him to think about) ♡

Lilia Vanrouge

☆ For @ladyzsgolla ☆

The years pass by, yet Lilia remains, watching as people come and go. The days were too short, the months not long enough, Silver growing before him.

He watches his sons, teenagers now, making friends and considering their futures. It makes him think of his future, of the time he has left, how short the years seemed to be.

Then he met you, with your playful words and teasing banter. The surprise in your eyes as he appears in front of you, how your face lights up as you laugh at his mischief.

He feels younger, like a boy with a crush, his heart racing as he watches you fondly. How long has it been since he felt this way? He couldn't recall, moving the thought to the back of his mind.

For now, he wants to enjoy every moment he can with you. For however long time will allow ♡

𝓣𝓱𝓪𝓷𝓴 𝔂𝓸𝓾! ♡

[wolfiesmoon]

Ratted out

sometimes friends and family accidentally (or purposefully) reveal things they shouldnt :)

characters featured: Leona, Kalim, Jade, Jack

ufff idk whats wrong with me but i ended up creating an entire (unrelated to this fic) movie plan related to twst this is mentally stable activities, truly

also unrelated but the new event got me SCREAMING how do they look so good😫

ᐟᐟ☆๋࣭ ⭑໑ Leona Kingscholar

when hanging out with your boyfriend Leona, a little lion boy suddenly jumps him and he immediately lets you go

who is this child???

"Uncle Leona!" the boy clings onto him and you can feel the annoyance eminating from Leona

it's like its own aura thats how annoyed he is🥴

so his nephew (you presume) looks to you all of a sudden and asks "who are you?" with an innocent look on his face

"I'm his lover...?" you said, a little unsure. But when you looked to Leona, he had a look of pure horror on his face...? What is even going on?????

"What?! No way, you're dating Uncle Leona?!" the kid got all excited and ran off somewhere before you could stop him

"...What have you done?" Leona hissed at you through clenched teeth, holding his forehead

you do realise you just revealed that he's dating you to the most big mouthed child in the world, right? that his whole family will know in a matter of minutes, right? that you've basically just invited yourself to every future family gathering at once, right?

and sure enough, in a few minutes he got a surprised text from his brother which he left on read 💀

"Damn brat..." he muttered under his breath, you still confused over what just happened

ᐟᐟ☆๋࣭ ⭑໑ Kalim Al-Asim

let's be real babes there is nothing for his siblings to rat him out on because he immediately told his family he was dating you

however....😈

his siblings happened to overhear a little something...

"Hey, hey." one of Kalim's younger brothers pulled your sleeve, wanting to tell you something

"yes?" you answered absentmindedly, thinking he's going to start talking about a strange thing he saw today or something

"Kalim's gonna marry you." he whispered to you, looking around to make sure no one heard

You laughed a little. "If you think so." you pat his little head

"No, he was like, asking mom if he can marry you soon. We heard it." another one of his brothers joined in after hearing the tea being spilled

"What?! Really?!" you're both extremely surprised and happy and mad at his brothers for ruining the surprise right now

oh well, what's done is done, and now you know Kalim is SERIOUS about you

that gets you thinking about wedding stuff now...🤔

What none of you know tho is that Jamil overheard all of you

"Okay, maybe we need to scrap the whole surprise wedding proposal thing..." he sighs, making a mental note of it and preparing to dissapoint poor Kalim

ᐟᐟ☆๋࣭ ⭑໑ Jade Leech

jade is like... oddly nice to you after you first meet him

you're a little wary of him considering his reputation but he hasn't done anything weird at all so... might as well accept his gifts?

one time he approaches you with jade in tow and you think absolutely nothing of it since they're together like 90% of the time anyways

"Hello there, are you enjoying your lunch?" he just sat down next to you without asking if he can at all 😔

"Uh, yeah, I suppose." you didn't really know what to tell him and it seems he doesnt know how to continue the conversation either so u just kinda... stare at eachother while Floyd casually steals a bit of ur food

"Maaaan, aren't you like, supposed to be crushing on Little Shrimpy or something? Then taaalk about stuff, I'm bored." Floyd looked bored when he saw the two of you didn't start talking about weird stuff

Jade simply smiled at you, telling you to ignore Floyd

But on the inside he was planning approximately 10 ways to... get rid of someone without others noticing

or alternatively, just beating the everloving crap out of his twin brother if the first plan is not a possibility

"Do you have a crush on me?" you wanted to know now...

"That's for you to think about." he smiled oddly eerily, but then just started talking abt something mundane 😥

ᐟᐟ☆๋࣭ ⭑໑ Jack Howl

You're visiting him for the first time because you got curious what his family is like

OF COURSE HE'S AN OLDER BROTHER IT ALL MAKES SENSE NOW

his younger siblings immediately ambushed you with their little sniffer noses as soon as you stepped in the house🤔

"Who are you?" they asked, always curious about anyone that Jack brings over

When you told them who you were, they immediately ran away to "TELL MOM" and were literally screaming that the two of you are dating so loudly that the whole neighborhood could hear

You could also hear some woman (who you presume is his mom) laughing from somewhere in the house so uhhh.... atleast she isn't mad about it?

You looked back at Jack who seemed more annoyed than anything

"Aren't you gonna... go stop them?" you asked, raising a brow.

"Nah, I was gonna tell mom I'm dating you anyways. I'm just mad that they beat me to it." he crossed his arms, huffing in annoyance

"Actually, speaking of, isn't me dating you kinda a big deal? You told me before that wolves have one partner for life." you actually got kinda nervous, i mean, you gotta impress his family good now

"It is. But I think everyone's just happy I got someone at all." Jack looked at his overly excited siblings who were still celebrating

"Wow, that's sad." you sassed him 😝

"...I shouldn't have brought you."

[viaviavie]

BLOT BATTLEMENT (100 FOLLOWERS MILESTONE)

in which he suffers watching you fawn over his overblotted copy who seems to be in love with you.

SUMMARY: after an experiment gone wrong, an overblotted clone of one of the victims has re-emerged. luckily for everyone, it's reasonably powerless and will eventually disappear. unluckily for him, the clone seems to reflect his true feelings towards you.

PAIRINGS: overblot gang x reader (seperately)

WARNINGS: suggestive (for jamil, vil, and idia), slight possibility of drowning (azul), projection for ob!vil

NOTES: this is in celebration of hitting 100 followers! thank you so much for following my work, and for all the comments you have left behind! i will also be rewriting malleus's section once book 7 is complete! on another note, pls invade my inbox if you immediately see that reference from malleus's section, mwah!

"That's enough. If one of you barks one more time, I will have to show you what happens to unruly puppies that won't obey." Crewel sighs and pinched his nose, another hand gripping his baton in irritation. "Unfortunately, we cannot fix this in an hour. You bad doggies need to get along until this entire issue is resolved."

The professor clicked his tongue, shoving the two out of his office. "I have already contacted someone to get you both. Surely, the Prefect has survived both of you once and will be able to do it again. So stay put, and be good. Or else."

RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS

Seeing his Overblotted self summons waves of shame and embarrassment for Riddle. It was not his best moment at all, and that inky copy is a reflection of his worst flaws and traits. You could imagine how rushed Riddle was to collar his copy in fear that it would hurt others again, especially you who had already dealt with it once.

"Don't make me repeat myself, I demand that I see my King of Hearts, this instant!" It's very much like babysitting a spoiled child, and it makes Riddle so wracked with embarrassment. He cannot control his copy as it stomps and yells outrageous demands to see you. Riddle was really on the verge of collaring it and dragging it back to Heartsyabul when you turned the corner.

OB!Riddle's smile is so wide that it could be mistaken as sinister. "My rose!" Inky blot is smeared all over your uniform as the fake runs towards you. Just as Riddle was about to whip out his wand to stop it, you relax and return the embrace, albeit with a confused expression. Riddle manages to explain very quickly whilst trying to pry off his copy, but you suggest that it is best to let it do what it wants.

What Riddle doesn't tell you is that his copy reflects his desires as well, claiming he is uncertain why it insists on being so affectionate with you. However, it seems to be quite the blessing when OB!Riddle marches to the Heartslabyul dorm to resume its position as Housewarden. In fact, the entire dorm thanks you profusely for being able to manage that little tyrant with a bat of your eyelashes and a gentle voice.

"Trappola, have you not learned your lesson!? Rule #186, you shall not eat hamburg steak on Tuesday! OFF WITH YOUR HEAD—" Tapping lightly on its shoulder, you attempt to placate the copy with a weak smile. "Riddle— I mean, Housewarden Riddle, Ace has not been able to eat all day and the steak was the only thing left in the cafeteria. He did not have much of a choice." Suddenly, the copy's face softened before relaxing back into its seat.

"My rose, I mustn't bend the rules. If I bent them for one, I would have to bend them for all." It scowls, only sinking further into its chair as you rub gentle circles around his forearm. The entire table stares at you with looks of gratitude and relief, all in agreement that you just saved everyone a tantrum's worth of stress. You hummed at the copy, nodding softly. "I know, dear. May I remind you that rules are there to ensure everyone is happy and safe? If Ace hadn't eaten his lunch, perhaps he might have gorged on the tarts instead."

"I suppose you are right, my King of Hearts."

Riddle seethes from the other side of the table, arms crossed and face on the verge of turning red. It was hard for him to decide whether he was merely jealous, or upset at his own copy rampaging around as if he were the real one in charge. He pauses for a moment as an epiphany comes to him.

Is this what it looks like whenever the Prefect is here to calm me down from my temper?

Even though OB!Riddle cannot use his magic, Riddle is extremely watchful of his copy. It is perhaps the ugliest side of him, and the last thing he wants is an Unbirthday Party ruined and spoiled by ink. They only had to put up with it for a day, and surely, Riddle has enough patience to ride out this episode.

He does have to watch and hold himself back as his copy acts so familiar with you. A hand at your lower back, perhaps an inky kiss on the cheek, and you being referred to as 'his rose'? It should have been me!

When his copy disappears, Riddle takes the time to pull you aside and admit the truth behind the blot's behavior. His jealousy seems to have pushed him into confessing, and he makes it clear that he would rather earn your feelings properly instead of coercing you for affection with potential tantrums.

"Forgive me, Prefect. I apologize for my copy's behavior. I have to tell you the truth— it was reflecting my innermost feelings. Prefect, I harbor these affections for you and I yearn to be more than friends. You do not have to tell me anything else at the moment. If you wish for time, I understand as well. Allow me to be curt, at least just this once. I like you more than a friend should, and I would hope to hear your response soon." (So polite!)

LEONA KINGSCHOLAR

What a drag. Does he really need to help monitor his own Overblotted self? If you were able to survive it once, you should be able to handle that huge lion on your own. OB!Leona appears to be nothing but a grumpy lion who answers to no one, only being forcibly dragged around by his original self.

It changes when you show up. Suddenly, the copy springs to life in your presence and is completely disobeying the original.

You are taken by surprise when OB!Leona backs you onto a wall, a clawed hand lightly brushing against your cheek. "Herbivore," He breathed as his green eyes zoned in on you. "You should be more careful when you wander these halls alone." You couldn't help but gulp as he grins, fangs glinting against the sunlight. "You never know who might just be planning to eat you."

But when Leona takes notice of his Overblot's sharp nails cut into your skin, his attitude changes as well. The original takes initiative to pull you away and stand between you both. Perhaps you don't understand the way they bare teeth at one another, taking aggressive stances as if one or the other would jump and claw at their target. It sets the tone for a very tense environment as you attempt to drag them both to Savanaclaw.

It was best to keep both lion beastmen confined in his room. Considering that OB!Leona was focused on getting your attention, it wasn't hard to manage him. It was all that his overblotted self wanted; attention and absolute adoration. Leona, on the other hand, was more so bothered by the fact you smelled too much like ink in his own room.

"Tell me, do you look at anyone else like this?" Having been kicked out of his own bed, Leona could only stare blankly from his couch as his copy kept you trapped against its chest on the mattress. It only served to annoy him further when you seemed to reciprocate the attention it was giving you. "No, only you." The copy smirks, its tail entangled around one of your legs. "Then tell me, why? What do you adore about me?"

You hummed, sighing while your hand began to play with his mane-like hair. "You're brilliant. You're the most cunning lion that I know." Leona swears you were teasing him as you take a quick glance at him, smiling slightly. "And you're the only one that can protect me." With a mocking grin, the copy cups your cheek and returns your gaze to his own. "Tell me more, herbivore."

When the copy finally reverts back to ink, Leona can't help but find some relief in having the bed (and you) all to himself again. The first thing he does is drag you to the mattress and keep you trapped against his chest. You still smell of ink and lion, and it's his job to fix that.

"Go to bed, herbivore... Ha? I don't have to give you an explanation. You're a smart cookie, haven't you figured it out yet? ... Even with all the answers my blotted copy gave you, you're still not satisfied? Hmph, that's not my problem anymore. You're mine now, is that what you wanted to hear? ... Good. Now if that is all, let's go to sleep. You reek of ink..."

AZUL ASHENGROTTO

It had become priority to get Azul's overblotted self into the biggest Octanivelle tank, which also happened to be the most isolated one. While OB!Azul seemed to be temporarily human, he seemed more irate with each second spent on the surface. It only relaxes slightly when it spots you, but his grip on your arm never relents. "Prefect, please. I need the sea..." He's just so needy and in pain. You'd help him, would you?

Azul is absolutely livid. He doesn't want you to see his copy in such a pathetic state. He most certainly tried to get you to turn the other way and march straight home, but you had to hit him with, "Even if it's your overblotted self, I would still help you." It might have been just a small comment, but he takes it as if you would move mountains for him. You weren't making it transactional, and that's practically special treatment for him.

You thought that his overblotted self would settle once in that tank. The copy immediately sheds its human form in favor of his merform, much to Azul's embarrassment. The businessman ready to drag you out and leave that blotted mess to fend for itself when a tentacle had dragged you into the water. Suddenly, you're met with teary blue eyes just before you were submerged. "You didn't plan to leave me here alone, did you?"

And goodness, Azul is just torn between fuming and panicking as his copy drags you further and further down. To make things worse, you haven't even taken a breathing potion! That was more than enough to make the octomer shake off his anxieties and plunge down into the waters after you before you drowned.

"And then what? What exactly were you planning to do once you had the Prefect here?" Azul pinched the bridge of his nose as he crossed his arms, unable to even make eye contact with you. Clutching at the little potion bottle in your hands, you do your best to ignore the way that the copy's tentacles seem to latch onto every single limb of yours. Not to mention how they twitch and slowly coil against your skin, or the way that the copy buries itself into your neck with a whine while it ignores its original.

"Why? Why won't you give me an answer?" It murmurs, arms caging you into its chest. You can see Azul's jaw clench, but you cannot exactly tell if he's embarrassed by how pathetic his overblot can be or envious of how it got a chance to be so close. "I'll give you everything. You will never want for anything. All you have to do is say that you'll be mine." The copy grits its teeth as it tightens its grip on you, tearing a surprised gasp from your throat.

"Why won't you surrender to me?"

The moment that this entire fiasco ends, you never see Azul for another two weeks. Every time you go to the Mostro Lounge to see him, he's suddenly occupied with every single disaster known to man. It isn't until Floyd gets bored of the entire thing when you get the opportunity to be tossed into the tank again. It isn't until Azul jumps into the tank after you with another breathing potion to save you, again.

"Please don't speak of that incident, Prefect. I wish you never had to be witness to such a sorry display... W-What do you mean Floyd told you about that botched blot experiment?! ... Don't play with me, Prefect. You can't just say that you'll surrender to me, you'll hurt my poor heart! ... If you dare say it again, I am afraid that the contract can never be broken. Choose your next words wisely, Prefect. Not all agreements have to be in writing."

JAMIL VIPER

Of all the Overblots here, Jamil's was the most... unhinged one, surprisingly. It was also the nastiest, based on how it seemed to disregard everyone around him. Truly, it was the worst of Jamil's envy and wrath towards everyone around him for shaping him as a servant. No matter what Jamil did to snap some sense into his copy's head, it only served to tick it off even more.

When you came to assess the situation, however, you immediately got the sense that the Overblot will not be cooperative unless it gets what it wants.

"Master Jamil," Both copy and original froze, slowly turning their heads to you, who has knelt onto the floor with a small smile. "A frown does not suit such a handsome face. Is there anything I can do for you?" Jamil remains frozen, mentally screaming in his head while his Overblotted self smirks, sauntering towards you with desire swirling in his maddened gaze. "Rise, my diamond. You certainly may do a little favour for me..."

Thanks to Kalim and the coordination of the entire Scarabia dorm, everyone has tricked OB!Jamil into thinking it was the boss of the place (at least for a day, Kamil is super understanding of the situation!). At least someone expected the copy to see through this farce, but OB!Jamil's ego was so stroked by you and everyone around that it seemed to buy into the delusion.

Unlike Leona's copy which was super uninterested with anything that didn't concern you, Jamil's blotted self was extremely irritant with everyone else. Had it not been for you, Jamil would never be able to live down the embarrassment for having such an... unpleasant copy. So far, there have been no disasters while Jamil was occupied with keeping his copy at bay.

It's just that... Jamil has been watching from the sidelines as you are perched on his copy's lap, feeding it and attending to it's every beck and call!

Gripping his knee, Jamil's eyes narrowed onto your flushed gaze as your fingers combed through his copy's hair. If he had envied everything that Kalim ever wase, he certainly envied the abomination wearing his face as it rested its head on your lap. You didn't have to look at Jamil to know that he was seething, but it wasn't as if you could abandon the blotted copy either. It had only been a few hours since it had latched onto you, and this was not the best time to agitate it.

"It seems that I have not rewarded you." The copy sings. Its expression remains content, shuddering at the sensation of your fingers pulling gently at its scalp. "Do tell me what you desire most." Your breath hitched at the copy's purr. You do not react either as the fake Jamil sits up to caress your warm cheek. Biting onto your lower lip, you shook your head. "I desire nothing but to make you happy, master." You swear that you see Jamil's expression strain itself, and you already see how tight he grips his knee.

"Is that so?" You say nothing when the copy leans in closer to you, licking its lips with intent. You should be frightened, and most certainly be running away, but you don't. "You wish to make me happy, then? Is it me that you want?"

All the signs were there. That copy's hand was pressed against your lower back, the other hand was on your cheek, and his face was so so close—

Its lips are hot to the touch, and you melt immediately into his hands as he pushes and prods with his tongue. Against the candlelight, Jamil cannot tell if your cheeks were truly flushed red. He watches as your own hands crept up onto the copy's shoulders, pressing and digging nails into its shoulders until you have the strength to push yourself away for air.

You pant as your vision returns to you, meeting the copy's cruel smirk. It is looking down on you, and yet, you do not feel animosity towards it. You only feel disappointment once you recall it was only a fake.

"Or perhaps," A gasp is torn from your throat when the fake grabs your cheeks with a firm hand, forcing your gaze to fall upon a stunned, yet flushed Jamil. The copy smiles wickedly against your cheek, humming with absolute glee.

"Is it him that you want instead?"

You nod, and Jamil's heart skips a beat.

Yeah, no. Our boy Jamil ain't recovering from this. The moment that the blot disappears, you best expect that Jamil ain't letting you leave that room without an answer.

"I wouldn't act coy right now, Prefect. You may be clever, but I have no patience for your antics. Now, are you going to be honest with me? ... Why don't you tell me what you want, instead? What? But you were so honest with that fake only a few moments ago. Where have your words gone? ... You wish for me to force the truth out of you, then? ... As you wish, Prefect. I will give you everything you want."

VIL SCHOENHEIT

This was such an inconvenience for poor Vil, and he hates his copy to the same extent that Azul does. Just like Riddle, Vil feels a sense of shame when he looks at his doppelganger because it was a personification of his insecurities and selfishness. However, at least the copy was very calm and cooperative, perhaps even melancholy until it sees you.

Seeing Vil's Overblotted self again doesn't change the fact that the fake was still so beautiful. You are actually stunned into silence when you are brought before the two. Grim swears you have stopped functioning because being in the presence of two Vil's is too much for this world.

If you weren't watching yourself, you would've passed out the moment OB!Vil cupped your cheek with its inky hand and smiled down at you. "Ah, Prefect..." You gulped as it cooed at you, much to Vil's alarm. Its surely dangerous, but danger loves you so much and you can't pull away from it.

OB!Vil never lets you out of its sight after that. Wherever you went, the blot would follow. It seems to be fixated on being in your sights, which was not exactly a problem when you brought yourself to Vil's quarters where you would wait the entire thing out. It does concern you, however, just as the copy seems to grow more and more unhinged with each second that passes.

Vil is not exactly envious of how intimate the fake acts with you. Rather, he's extremely perplexed and observant of the way it pines for your attention and praise like a lovesick puppy. However, it isn't always so sweet. It isn't so sweet when the copy comes so close to scratching at your skin as it begs for your honesty. It certainly does not appreciate being lied to.

"Tell me, Prefect. Who is the fairest one of all?" It asks for the hundredth time.

Vil cannot exactly explain how he found himself watching his copy cage you into his own bed. It has straddled your hips, pinning your hands down onto the mattress without a care for the mess it makes. Ink drips and spills over his silk sheets, his pillows, you. Your neck has been smeared with ink, and so have your clothes. His copy is smiling with ink dripping from its lips and its hair, an obscure yet beautiful mockery of the original.

The original's breath hitches as your lips part into a breathy smile. You look like absolute art, and his fake looks like an absolute mess. "You, Vil. You're the fairest one of all." Vil shut his eyes at your quiet whisper, and he wishes that you stop bending yourself over for this pathetic imitation of him.

The copy snorted in dismissal, a sinister grin taking over its features. "Ha!" Even as it grips your wrists tighter, you know better than to believe that the copy would dare hurt you. Your heart pounds, however, as it leans in closely to your face with desperation on its breath. "Why do you say such, Prefect? Why do you say such when you feast your gaze on the ugliest part of me?" A choked breath stills the copy, its grin growing more crooked and maddened. Ink splashes against your cheek, and the copy pathetically takes a long finger to smear it away, only obscuring your features further.

"Are you trying to lie to me?" It croaked, maintaining that desperately smile.

Vil thinks you'll push it away. Vil thinks that you think of his copy so hideously, and so ugly. Vil thinks that you see him as ugly.

And you dispel all those cursed thoughts as your hand reaches out to cup the copy's cheek, dirtying your own hand in turn. "You've pushed yourself so hard, Vil. You've worked hard for everything you dreamed of." The copy's crazed expression remains, and more ink pours into you. Still, you return it with a gentle smile of your own. "Even when everyone complains, you're only pushing them because you care the most. Perhaps you act like the evil queen everyone makes you out to be, but that crown is yours by right."

Vil's heart stops. He still cannot bring himself to look at the sight. It's that cynical part of him that believe in your acting skills, that this was all a ruse to satiate his fake. The knife digs into his chest further as you hummed sweetly. "Your flaws are just as beautiful to me."

Only then does Vil bring himself to look at his copy. It is still smiling, eyes so wide as blotted tears fall upon your skin. You are covered in ink, covered in the ugliness that had consumed Vil, but you accept it all. You embrace the mess, just as you embrace the ugliness of Vil's heart. "Do you truly mean it, Prefect?" Its whisper shakes with hope, very much unlike the weariness and suspicion it held towards you the entire time.

Both you and the copy slowly glance at the real Vil whose eyes had widened at your softened gaze, filled with nothing but adoration. The heart in his chest ached, and he imagines that his entire body is melting into your hands. You are his weakness, after all.

"I mean every word, Vil."

When the situation died down, Vil takes the time to walk you back to Ramshackle Dorm. However, he makes a quick stop when the moon is set at the right spot, just to cast down light on your starstruck gaze.

"To think that the ugliest part of me revealed such feelings— you deserve an appropriate confession, at the very least. The affection that my fake expressed to you was no different to what I feel for you. I realize... that you meant more to me than you should have. I am not a benevolent prince, nor am I pure as the white snow. Still, I offer my heart for you to keep in a box. I only ask you to accept me, for all my beauty and ugliness... Ha, potato. My lovely potato, you're mine..."

IDIA SHROUD

Surprisingly, Idia got along the most with his Overblotted self. It wasn't as if he was driven by pride or competition— there was just some sort of acceptance when OB!Idia was first manifested. There wouldn't have been much issues.

At least, that was what he wanted to believe before OB!Idia set his eyes on you. It sent Idia into a choking fit when he saw OB!Idia approach you with such cool indifference, acting like one of those aloof protagonists from those dark otome games that he saw on a playthrough once. It's the way that OB!Idia leaned down towards your ear, muttering something about his boredom and suggesting to retreat to his dorm.

Idia took an hour to recover before sprinting to his dorm to ensure nothing has happened. All he found was you sitting on OB!Idia's thighs (it insisted!), and Idia swore that his copy was smirking at him.

OB!Idia was nothing to be concerned about. It wasn't as if it had the power to open up the Gate of the Underworld, which so happened to be far away. Other than the fact that the copy seems so... forward with you, Idia tried his hardest to ignore it.

"You look tense, Prefect." The copy smirked as it gently backed you against the wall. It places an arm right above your head, the figure leaning down at you. Behind the mask it wore, you can almost see it smirking down on you. "Don't I scare you?"

If this was the copy's attempt to intimidate you, ha! You got it covered! Idia is practically weak to any sort of romantic notion, it should surely send his overblot into a flustered fit! Boldly, you close in the gap slightly, crossing your arms around his neck and smiled at him. "Not at all, Idia." Much to your surprise, however, the copy takes its hand to cradle the back of your head, gently nudging your face closer until you barely a hair's worth away from kissing his mask.

"Are you sure about that?"

Suddenly a flare of red catches your attention as you glance to the side to see a fuming Idia who snuck over to your side. Wrapping a possessive arm around your middle, the original Idia glared at the fake and gritted his sharp teeth. "Listen here, bucko. You ain't getting more action than me, so buzz off!" He towers over you, hair threatening to burn orange if this fake continues to toy with you. "You wanna play, huh? Only one of us can have her, and you're nothing but a MagicMart knock-off!"

Cocking its head to the side, the copy snorted. It didn't seem to relent its hold it had on you. Instead, it leaned in towards Idia with a taunting stare. "Yeah? Why don't you ask the Prefect, hm? Seems like our little guest is enjoying all the attention." Both of them glance down at you, who seemed to be busy turning red to even give a proper response.

The blotted copy takes its hand to cup your cheek gently, but it was only a ruse as it forces you to look at Idia, eyes hazy with want. The way your breath shudders makes the original itch to steal you away from the copy.

"Don't you?"

Take that ending however you will. Idia does end up confessing to you once his copy is reduced to ink once more.

"Don't give me that look, Prefect. You totally loved seeing me get all riled up. And don't you dare deny you hated the idea of getting sandwiched by two of me... Please don't make me say it. I ain't good at the 'asking out' part, but I don't wanna skip over to straight up dating. Ugh, fine. I actually liked you for a really long time, and oh Great Seven, I just hope that I'm saying the right stuff to get onto your route. You're the only route that I wanna pursue."

MALLEUS DRACONIA (Book 7 is incomplete at the time of this posting)

Had it not been for the lack of potency in the blot, OB!Malleus would have been the end of NRC. Lilia was not a stranger to Malleus's ability to change the environment based on his mood. Even when this was a mere fake that they were dealing with, no one really wants to find out the consequences of upsetting the copy.

Malleus looks down on his Overblotted self. It was a flawed part of him, but nonetheless, a part of him that he was most disappointed by. The Fae Prince should know better than to act so wickedly, but the original understands. He tries to be as sympathetic as he can be for the copy, but it was only indifferent to what the original demanded of it.

Being the concerned friend that you were, you went to see them both despite all warnings from Sebek. Admittedly, Malleus would rather you be as far away from this poor imitation as possible. He does not want to see you hurt, let alone be at the mercy of his copy. Alas, it is too late now. The blotted copy will not allow you to leave.

Malleus hid his frustrations and anger underneath that collected demeanor. The only thing keeping him from doing anything rash was the fact that you were cradled against his chest. With a protective arm holding your waist, you were seated upon the fae's lap. The copy is forced to look up at him as he sat on his makeshift throne, and the fury behind its eyes is most evident, based on the way its hands grip your knees as if it were the only piece of you left.

Alas, it is only a stalemate now. With each tug that the copy made at your lower half, Malleus would simply pull you closer to him in turn. The fae hummed, glaring down at the copy who seems indifferent to intimidation. "Prefect, you may only say the word and this fake will be no more." He grunted, and you resist the urge to whimper as the copy's lips turned upwards into a smile. "If you wish for it, Prefect, I will disappear." It cooed, and the glint in its eyes reflecting the madness of blot.

Hesitantly, you shake your head and only feel Malleus's nails brush against your waist. "I don't want you to disappear." You whispered meekly, uncertain of what to think of the fake's lovestruck gaze. "Prefect, do you know what I can give you?" Even as the fake is forced down by the original, it still has the nerve to reach out and cup your cheek. "I can grant your dreams. I can make your fantasies a reality. I can give you everything."

Malleus lets out a breath of warning, leaning down to your ear as he narrowed his eyes at the fake with restraint. "Do not listen to this mockery, Prefect." His words are tinged with a hint of desperation, as if he had something to hide, something to shield you from. No matter how much he attempts to intimidate the fake, his blotted self presses on with a cruel smile.

"Prefect, all you have to do is love me, fear me, and do as I say. I will be your servant to will, to rule, to ruin." You are frozen as Malleus loses his temper, swinging out his staff to dispel the fake once and for all. Much to his dismay, his blotted self backs away just in time as its glowing green eyes lock onto yours once more.

"All you have to do is stay with me, forever."

The campus lets out a collective sigh of relief when the OB!Malleus disappears. However, suddenly, the entire campus is holding its breath again when Malleus doesn't immediately let you leave his room.

"Prefect, I beseech for your forgiveness. I fear that the fake has reflected my most selfish desires... You have nothing to fear, for I shall never withhold you against your will. How could I do such a thing when I am already so weak to your whims? ... Perhaps you do not have to stay forever to render me your servant. I pine for you, Prefect. My heart has already been yours long before I noticed. Please, grant me your forgiveness, Prefect, lest you cast me aside and I shall let my feelings fade with time."

[yuuchama]

(Leona Kingscholar x gender neutral reader)

Leona had groaned and ranted against you sleeping in his bed all night. "There's no room," he claimed while sprawled out on a mattress wide enough to fit an entire Spelldrive team. If you laid down to claim the bed's edge, he'd kick you to the carpet or nudge you over the side and quickly pretend to be asleep. The hours he spent coming up with excuses and dirty tricks would have been better spent actually sleeping.

Many times he'd yawn and repeat, "what kind of herbivore willingly crawls into the den of a beast?" while keeping you at arm's length. Every time you thought he was out cold and snuck back over, he'd swat you away. It was a raging battle of endurance.

Yet when morning came, Leona sang a completely different tune. Perhaps it was the exhaustion of staying up late. Perhaps he was just done fighting his feelings. At some point he really did fall asleep, allowing you to take over one pillow and the fringed corner of a blanket. They were temporary luxuries.

You awoke with the heavy prince on top of you, each slow breath warm against your ear as he nuzzled his chin against your shoulder. His arm curled around your head. Strands of long, dark brown hair stuck to your lips. Sunlight poured through the windows, bringing the dry heat of the day with it. You could have cooled off by moving a leg if the prince hadn't hooked his own knee over your thighs.

"Leona...?" You whispered the name. The pressure of his chest pushing down on yours made inhaling an inconvenience. Your hope that he would wake up was successfully answered by a twitch of his ear against your cheek.

"Leona, I can't breathe." Though still half asleep and uncoordinated, you felt uncomfortable. The sensation of pins and needles danced in your hands, along the bottom of your feet, and you wanted to roll over. Leona's tail tuft began to swish lazily, trailing over the hem of your shirt. Bit by bit, it helped you wake. "I want to get up."

You strained to move out from under the mass of muscles, grabbing the mattress's edge to pull yourself up. Leona huffed and buried his face further against your skin. There was an odd sensation at the base of your neck. A little damp, a little sharp, and very warm. Leona gently nipped at your throat until you stopped trying to escape.

"Did you just bite me?" Though tired, you were now fully awake and could take in more of the situation. Leona responded with a sleepy grunt. You retaliated with a couple strikes to his side, weakly aiming for the only spots within reach. "You're hot! Let me up!"

It was the wrong course of action. Leona stirred, only to move his arm across your chest and lock both legs around yours. Fingertips grasped at the fabric of your attire. "Be quiet," he grumbled, turning his face towards yours. He knew you'd talk less if your chin had to fight the weight of his head.

You were more stuck than before. "I can't move."

"Should have listened when I warned you." You were nothing more than captured prey in the lion's embrace.

Leona's chest returned to a rhythmic rise and fall as the morning birdsong lulled him back to sleep. You were going to have to put up with his body heat for a few more hours.

[bunnwich]

Rituals☁️(Leona x Reader)

Leona is low on spoons after the Tamashina-Mina tournament and needs some attention. Also what better way for him to sneakily court his favorite creature?

Curated from my 200k+ words Leona x Yuu fic

Characters: Leona Kingscholar x Yuu!Reader (GN. No physical description for Yuu. Yuu knows massage therapy.)

Words: 3k, 3rd person

Notes: I saw a meme the other day about how: “Liberalism leaves people’s bodies when mental health starts to affect someone’s hygiene” and I thought of how the fandom used to treat Leona. Also, I really wanted to make the “he uses you as a pillow” cliche not icky. 

Tagging: @comingyourlugubriousness @nammanarin @twst-the-night-away @twstinginthewind @ephemii @the-monday-witch @anevilbunnyinthehat @stagefullofsilly @theshipthatneversetsail @patrioticarcreactor @ice-cweam-sod4 @beaniz @the-nightingales-song @efsstash @cyn-write @porcelain-animatronic @lowcallyfruity @bestmannequin2018 @h0rr0r-10ver-69

-

It was baffling enough of a request that Leona Kingscholar invited Yuu to his home, but even more so was the thing he asked of them now.

“What? Am I your servant now, too?”

“No, course not.” He seemed deeply offended at this implication, nostrils flaring in indignance while his ears flopped backward against his hair. “I’m…askin’ you.” His ears flipped back up as he took a step closer, awaiting their response.

“Wait. You're serious…?” Yuu asked with a crinkle of their nose.

“Please…?” The word was barely audible, the man’s green-eyed stare never breaking from theirs. “If you’d be so kind…” He smirked, putting on an air, propping a hand on his hip. It was a warm day at the palace and he donned a pair of loose linen pants and a matching cream-colored tank top, all embroidered with gold.

Yuu swayed their head back and forth while they considered the idea, unimpressed by the sudden “princely” act. What was he up to? They gazed down at the object in their hand as if it held the answer. Well, it wasn’t often that they heard that word from Leona Kingscholar. “Fine, okay.” 

Was it really such a big deal, brushing his hair?

–

The hammock below the two of them swayed with both their weights as they sat face to face, each teetering on each edge of the colorful canvas. Late afternoon light filtered through the stained glass over all the greenery of the palace gardens, gilding everything it touched. 

Sighing, Yuu made another move, leaning forward to grab another section of the dark waves from the man’s shoulder. They hadn’t even ended up using the brush much so far. The only thing it had been good for was hitting the man when he talked back. 

“Well, the good news is…I got most of it.”

On their way here, Yuu grabbed their bag, bringing it with them to the gardens. Luckily, they kept a few favorites with them at all times. A small vial of rosehip oil; that would work. It could be used for both skin and hair in a pinch. Removing the dropper from the bottle they dripped some more into their palms, rubbing them together before applying it to the end of the man’s loose curls.

“Stinks.”

Yuu couldn’t help but roll their eyes at him. “It’s just rose. It’s nothing compared to that eye-watering cologne you bathe in every day. They sighed, working it through his thick tresses in the silence, pulling it all through to the ends of each section. “...I shouldn’t really be brushing it when it’s all tangled like this, you know.”

“Tch, I know that,” He said indignantly, his lips pressing into a small pout, eyes downcast to watch them work. “Everyone just assumes my hair is like my brother’s…”

They pressed their lips together. “Hmph. Then do it yourself, next time, huh? ” Letting out a huff, they released the bushel of soft curls, the dark curtain falling over Leona's neck. His hair honestly wasn’t as bad as he had made it seem. It just needed some moisture and careful detangling.

“Naw, why would I…when you’re already doing it for me.” The man reclined forward, propping his elbow on the canvas. “Mmm.” He watched them move on to the next section, meticulously separating the frizz and smoothing it over with the oil. Releasing a small sound in his throat,  he stared up at them with lethargic eyes, seemingly in a trance. 

Yuu shook their head at his comment, knowing that secretly he was just eating up the attention.  Keeping their eyes down on their work, they were careful not to pull too hard on his strands.

Leona muttered something as his lids fell completely closed, the end of his tail tapping on the edge of the hammock by their knee. A steady drumbeat.

They took their time with the rest, with only the noise of a few birds calling and Leona’s occasional sigh or grumble. It wasn’t long before, their lids lulled down too. It was relaxing in a way, quietly detangling someone’s hair.

Every once and a while their eyes flitted to the man’s face, catching the little twitch of the corner of his lips. After Yuu was done the detangling, they pulled two equal parts of the bottom sections forward, trying their best to get them even. They stuck their tongue out while they focused, before braiding them as neatly as they could manage, in the way he normally wore them. 

“There, you look more like yourself...” Yuu shrugged when they were done, tugging on one of the braids, and making sure the man wasn’t actually asleep.  “Better?” They crossed their arms, raising a brow over at him.

“Yeah.” The man opened his eyes slightly, the edge of his mouth falling into a crooked, but satisfied smile. “You did good.” His voice crackled just like the way a warm fire would. Like the bonfires at Savanclaw. He may have been sincere, but everything Leona said was always dipped in just a little bit of patronization.

Yuu palmed him on the forehead, pushing his face away slightly before letting their fingers drift up to his scalp, moving some of the hair out of his face.

“Hm?” He questioned, shifting slightly, turning his head to look up at what they were doing.

“Are you uh- still having those headaches?” They began to work their finger into his crown, between his twitching ears, pressing gently down on a few familiar pressure points. “I have to tell you, I’m the best.”

“I always have a headache when you're around.”  He sat up erect, suddenly seeming full of energy, grabbing their calves and yanking them closer to him, practically into his lap. He kept going until the backs of their legs were hooked over his thighs. He chuckled in delight at their bewildered deer-in-headlights reaction. 

Yuu froze at his boldness, pressing their lips together into a pout as they stared up at him with blinking eyes. 

“Don’t be all shy, now. Prove it. I think I got a big one coming on.” He purred at them.

Still playing, hm? “Hmph.” They huffed out a breath at his shenanigans.

Leona didn’t let them get far though, keeping his lock around their ankles, leaning over to study their reaction. “Feel free to say no.” He released them, holding his hands up innocently. “...If you’re not up to the task that is.” A bit of his white fangs gleamed as his sneer widened, leering at them through his dark lashes.

“You-” Yuu stuttered, resigning themselves. They were falling for it. This is what Leona was best at: pushing others into “proving themselves” by gently prodding them from their comfort zone.

“Fine.” Saying nothing more, they only lifted their hands to evaluate him once more, taking in a breath before tracing their fingers down the sides of his muscular neck. 

Ah, the man seemed a bit surprised to see them agree, but he quickly masked it with another smug smile as he lifted his jaw to accommodate them.

Leona’s skin was much warmer than theirs and surprisingly smooth, his excited pulse fluttering under their fingers. “Hm. You are tense.” They muttered aloud, pressing their thumb into one of the hard muscles there. “That hurt?”

“Ack, what do you think? Beast…” He hissed, his ears lowering slightly, grabbing their wrist to stop them.

Yuu smirked, most people didn’t expect that kind of strength from them…until they gave them a chance to prove it. “Sheesh, sorry you big baby. I was just askin’.” They rolled their eyes and swatted his nosy hand away. This allowed them to focus again, laying their palms on both of his broad shoulders. 

They could see it clearly now, his shoulders were rounded forward, and his left side was higher–signaling to them he probably held more tension there.

The man was studying them again, one grumpy eye barely open. 

Yuu chuckled, no one expects how much it hurts. Though as much as they enjoyed hurting the man, they went in softer this time, gently kneading his shoulders and neck, before they bothered to poke him anymore. As they worked closer to his jaw, they became enveloped in his signature smell. Traces of cinnamon, hints of orange, and star anise lingered on their fingertips as they explored his exposed skin, taking care to not pull on the golden necklace that hung from his neck.

“How…did you know?” Leona asked through a groan.

 They had hit the right spot.

“The way you walk, for one. You know, with your head forward. For royalty…your posture is terrible, you know. You heard Vil. Anyways, I can just tell by feeling most of the time.” Yuu added, continuing to work on the tightest areas first.

“Tch, you’re one to talk,” He said through his groans, brown ears flopping to the sides as he began to relax into their skilled touch. “...I recall us both getting reamed by Schoenheit at those practices.”

“Hey, I’m not the one on trial here. You asked for my expert opinion.” They continued, reaching around to the back of the man’s neck to rub circles in the base of his skull, moving up into his thick hair.

Leona made a rumbling noise in his chest at this, letting his head nod forward until he went completely limp in their hands. Somewhere, between the ticks of both their breaths, he had slumped his whole weight on them. A whole lion in their lap.

“Mmm.” He nuzzled his forehead against Yuu's shoulder, moving his hand from their calf up onto their arm, running a finger across the loose thread of their sleeve.

Yuu tensed, the man’s warm breath tickling their neck. It felt a little surreal to think such a powerful mage lay against them now like an oversized house cat. It was sort of an honor that he felt so relaxed around them. Sort of. 

They shook their head, trying not to giggle, and straightened their back to accommodate the new weight. Yuu kept on working as if nothing had changed, ignoring the fluttering in their guts that his soft breaths over their cheeks stirred. 

After they finished with his scalp, they worked back down to his shoulders, grabbing both of them and twisting them to one side, signaling wordlessly for the man to turn around for them. The hammock squeaked as he rearranged himself and Yuu pulled his head down into the center of their lap.  

Some people they had worked on, like Jack, could never fully relax for them, no matter how many times they reminded him to. However, the oxymoron of man before them seemed to have no problem flopping over like a sleepy kitten, ready to be petted. 

Going by cat behavior, he had shown them his belly, a small sliver peeking from the edge of his top. Now, with a completely malleable lion in their lap, Yuu couldn’t help but smile. He was totally at their mercy, moving whichever way they pulled him.

Their fingers made their way up and down his neck shoulders and even a bit of his chest, respecting the barrier of his tunic's low neckline.

Every once in a while, Leona’s lips tumbled open with a deep rumbling sigh of relief, pressing himself in their touch with each stroke, seeming to crave more and more. Their face grew hot, some part of this felt…too intimate. No, no. It was just a massage, but the man’s touch-starved reactions were becoming harder and harder to ignore.

 It was only when Yuu’s fingers reached up to his jaw did Leona open his eyes once more.

As their fingertips settled on the sides of his face, his shoulders went stiff under their care, Leona’s pulse ramping up for the first time during the massage.  His jaw tightened as they brought their fingers up to the temples of his grimacing face, trying to soothe him. 

He couldn’t be nervous now, could he?

“You…hold a lot of tension in your face too,”  They said calmly, urging his head to the right side, “Especially your…jaw.” They moved down to press their thumb into his cheek, easily finding the small, rigid muscle on the left side of his face.

The man grunted, “Easy.” 

Yuu shook their head again and eased up some. “...Just breathe.” They sighed, rolling their eyes as they massaged his jaw. “That right there is probably a big culprit of your headaches, you know.”

“Hmm,” He replied thoughtfully, his face softening some at their more gentle method. 

Their fingers worked each side of his face some more, then trailed slowly up his nose, rubbing circles across his sinuses. When they made their way up to his “third eye” area they rubbed extra hard to make a point, trying to get him to relax once more. “Sorry, just trying smooth out that permanent wrinkle you got there…”

Leona scoffed, dipping his head back into their touch, and closing his eyes shut again. “Tch, yeah well, every time I come home to visit it ages me five years, so...” He chuckled.

Yuu let out a light chuckle too, taking the strokes they made on the man’s cheeks upward and into his hairline, brushing against his scar a few times.

Leona’s forehead creased, an uncommon expression gracing his usually stern or sarcastic face. His broad nose curled in discomfort and they could see his eyes flicker anxiously under his lids. He was even holding his breath.

“Hey…Just breathe I told you!” They repeated with another soft laugh. “It helps with circulation.”

“Mmph.” The man said nothing and grunted at them before exhaling loudly. They would have thought they were doing something painful to him by his expressions.

Yuu tilted their head, realizing exactly what this was all about. They cupped their palms around his cheeks before dragging the stroke up, one of their fingertips running over the edge of his scar again to test the theory. 

The skin was dryer there and slightly raised. It created extra pull whenever they went over it. But, besides that…it was no different than any other part of his face. The Leona Kingscholar couldn’t be self-conscious, could he? No one ever really commented on it, and it surely did nothing but, to quote Rook: add to his “handsome and rugged charisma.”

But, the more they thought about it, they could understand why he was so dodgy about it. A memory like that, couldn’t have been pleasant.

The more times Yuu went over it they sensed a strange pull of energy from the area, like deep space. They were sure it was something the man had buried deep, so he could convince himself that he didn’t remember what actually happened anymore. 

Can’t remember every little scratch, he said once. How many people knew the real truth, they wondered. Or if there were any legends behind it in the palace.

“You don’t have ta’ touch it.” The man blurted out, trying to keep a straight face. His lips pressed together hard before he feigned a usual smug grin. “Though, I know that you’re a professional and all.”

“Wha-” Yuu almost wanted to roll their eyes at him for how dramatic he was being but, they didn’t. 

 “And- Why…would it bother me?” They asked casually, continuing the face massage as normal.

“Hmph.” Leona let out a huff, one side of his mouth arching upwards into a small smile. “I…see.” When he opened his eyes again, they were shiny, reflecting the tree tops around them. “Not many people have uh-”

 “Feel better?” Yuu lifted their hands from his face as they finished, saving him from the awkwardness of elaborating further. They had seen plenty enough to know how relieved he was at their response. That was enough.

“Mmhm.” He answered, clearing his throat before sitting up to face them again, the whole hammock groaning in response.  “....Thank ya.” He muttered, reaching behind to rub the back of his neck. “Much looser now-”

Leona sighed, eyebrows curving up over his eyes. Then, all at once his gaze snapped up to them, taking them in from head to toe. In one smooth movement, he let his body settle down against theirs, his strong shoulder pressing against them. 

Yuu’s heart hammered against his, mirroring the same fervid beat. No, this was more than just hair brushing. They hadn’t considered the implications until this moment, those of beastmen courtship and personal hygiene that they had read about. The concepts were often interlinked. Sacred.

A hug? No, he was just still just staring at them now, inches away, like a cat ready to pounce. The usual slits of his eyes were dark pools of space, reflecting back their own baffled expression. 

Yuu swallowed. They were so gridlocked by his intense stare, it was hard to speak or even breathe with him pressing them so firmly to the canvas hammock. He seemed at odds with something, his worn gaze downcast. “W-What…what’s wrong, Leona?” They whispered through an unsteady chuckle, managing to keep their head.

“Nothin’. Nothin’ at all.” He whispered, letting his weight sink further into them. There was a peaceful smile on his face as he reached up to grab a section of their hair from behind their ear, twisting it between his fingertips, tail flopping behind him lazily.

It felt like they were being chosen for something.

“Wha-” Their eyes widened, it took them a whole 30 seconds to realize the man was braiding the pieces together, calm and methodical, like when he was arranging his pieces on a chess board. Part of the plan. It was obvious Leona knew how to braid hair but it was…surreal to behold it.

When he was done the corner of his mouth turned up more, creasing a dimple into his cheek. His eyes fixated on the sight of his results, he was so…proud of his work.

Yuu didn’t even have time to speak before he turned his head away, lying his cheek on one side of their shoulder once more. He had done it so casually as if he had done it a hundred times before and would do it a hundred times more.

They understand why he did it, the two of them were…a matching set now.

He chose them. Their heart squeezed as the man draped his arms around their waist, locking them in place once more as something shifted between them.

 Leona’s cocky air had all but dissipated. “...Is this okay with ya?” He muttered so softly they almost missed it. He was asking permission, asking if they would accept him.

“Oh um…Y-yes.” They let their arms fall around his back, tugging on the end of his curls as they held him. Yes, he was getting way too comfortable, but it was their fault for allowing it, right? Yuu laid their head on his, letting him know for sure that: yes, it was okay.

“Hey, I know you're not falling asleep right now.” They grumbled playfully, tugging on his hair and furrowing their brow. Meanwhile, they curled their legs around his torso like a koala as he held them tight, making sure there was no space between them.

They knew it was all a lost cause. He had set the board how he wanted. He would not let them go again, and they didn’t want him to.

“Shh,” Leona mumbled into their shirt, inhaling deeply. “ You’ve been real workin’ lately hard, right? Rest wit’ me.”

“But I-” Yuu yawned, their eyes watering some as they did. The action had forced their eyes shut. The breeze also was not helping, rocking them both gently inside the hammock.  “Fine. But just for a little while.” They breathed out, their own shoulders finally relaxing. Yuu’s head slumped over to gently bob against Leona’s. 

“You win…this time.”

The man only chuckled at their admission of defeat, a warm note buzzing against their chest. 

The last thing they saw was the colored glass of the greenhouse, filtering in pink light through the serrated leaves of the palm trees.

Leona’s sighs of contentment traveled through their body, as his warm fingers kneaded into their back. 

--

[vii-is-free]

The Path of Freedom, an HOTD Fanfic

Summary: If you know you know. Criston/Rhaenyra.

Read/Review on AO3

Prologue

Chapter 8

---A/N: Made some minor changes in canon in order to fit the story I am telling. ---

Criston knew this was all bullshit. 

He laid outstretched on the floor, arms extended with palms up as instructed. He was encircled in...whatever symbol these witches used. He took glances of Rhaenyra from time to time. She stared up at the ceiling, bored, flashing a wink at him whenever she caught his gaze. 

It was a simple thing, really. Let the red woman chant her chants. Maybe something would show up in the fire. Maybe nothing would happen, and the two would exchange ideas and possibilities for the rest of their lives. 

“Close your eyes.” Alyxandria instructed. 

Criston sighed, doing as commanded. He was growing annoyed by the woman’s chants. Did he have to be in some kind of peaceful state to see anything? Didn’t people have to actually believe these things to experience them? In that case, Criston knew he was safe. He took comfort of the darkness and the occasional flickering of the temple flame. 

All he had to do was play the part, and they would be out of here --

A blast of winter air smacked Criston like a Morningstar to a bare face. 

He gasped aloud, dropping to his knees. Wait, when did he ever stand up? He stared at his hands supporting him, buried in snow. 

Where the fuck was he!?

He looked around, surrounded by trees. He brought himself to a stand, looking at the sky and saw nothing but bright blue clouds. Figuring out his surroundings, Criston realized a horrible truth. 

He was alone. 

“Rhaenyra!?” Criston cried out, his voice muted by the howling wind. There were no footsteps in sight, no broken branches, no signs of life at all. It was as if he appeared in this wintery forest out of complete nowhere. There were no steps to trace, no sense of direction. 

Criston instinctively drew his hand to his hip, reaching for his sword. The hollow dull of metal hit his ears, and he looked down to realize he was wearing his kingsguard armor. 

Was he drunk? Did she slip poppy in that wine? Criston screamed at his mind, begging himself to wake up. 

Was this his punishment for not believing the red lady? She just dropped him off in the middle of nowhere, watching from above, cackling like the witch she was while he froze to death in a winter ---

Then it hit him. Winter. The North.

He must be near Winterfell. 

Criston eyed the position of the sun, ascertaining his direction. He knew Winterfell laid east of the Northern lands. But the sun was difficult to find in the winter clouds. He calmed himself down, shutting out his thoughts. He could not help Rhaenyra in this state. 

Finally, a faint light in the sky, the hidden sun. 

Criston turned around, walking east. 

There was nothing to do but walk. He trudged forward, surrounded by nothing but trees and snow. Criston walked for what felt like hours, calling for Rhaenyra and Harwin to no avail. His body temperature fell with each step taken. He had no furs, no supplies for a fire. Searching for supplies in the satchel around his waist, all he found was the notebook he purchased for the trip to Assai. 

Had his face not been completely numb from the wind, Criston would’ve frowned. He didn’t remember bringing this to the temple. 

Criston felt his body slow down as the hours passed. His legs shook furiously, his body attempting to keep warm with no avail. Finally, he spotted a two men, chopping wood near a horse with a wooden cart. He used all of the strength he could find to break out into a sprint, waving his arms up in surrender. 

He tried to shout, but the wind had frozen his vocal cords. Nothing left his chapped lips. They saw him, approaching slowly and Criston collapsed into the snow. 

I’m sorry. 

“Ser!” 

“Hold on, we’re going to Winterfell.” 

“Get this off of him, he’s freezing himself worse.”

Criston groaned, body writhing in frozen pain as the men took the armor off of him. They left him into his aketon, grabbed him by the arms and legs and threw him onto the cart. The furs they covered him in did nothing to ease the cold. 

“How did you get out here!?”

Criston tried to answer but any words came out in murmurs and gasps. 

“Don’t bother, his body is too cold.”

He watched, catatonic, fading in and out of blackness as he passed through two large wooden gates. 

“This man needs help! Fetch the maesters!”

As the men carried Criston out of the cart, he saw two figures approach. His vision began to blur, and all he could see was the flowing red hair of one of them. A woman. 

She spoke to the men in a deep, country voice he recognized as Northern. “Who is this!?”

“No clue, Lady Stark. He had no horse, nothing.”

“His men?” Another asked, a gruff, male voice.

“There was no one else. No footsteps, nothing.”

“As if he dropped from the sky!” 

The woman scoffed. “Perhaps one of the dragons was hungry.” 

They carried Criston indoors, and he was thankful for the absence of wind. However, he was so cold that the warmth inside set his skin on fire. He jerked slightly as he was dressed down to nothing, body shaking violently. 

And then, burning, unspeakable pain.

Criston cried out in agony as warm, wet towels were placed across his legs, then his torso and arms. He tried desperately to fight them off, but his body was so weak, he could only jerk his limbs. 

“Get some milk of the poppy, now!” A voice roared. 

“Shh,” The redhead knelt beside him, stroking his hair, “The pain will go away. We’re trying to help you.” 

His vision improved slightly, and he looked at the at the man towering over her. The dark curls adorning his head, the square jaw, told Criston he knew this man. 

“Simon!?” Criston breathlessly cried out, and his arm wavered as he tried to reach for him. 

The man shook his head, revealing the scar over his face.

“No, Ser. Jon.” 

______________________________________________

Criston desperately took the warmed liquid they gave him, dry mouth finally satiated. As towels were replaced with warmer ones, the burning remained, but his mind finally drifted off to peaceful slumber. 

In his drugged rest, Criston kept hearing voices fade in and out as he went from sleep to wake.

“Who comes to a fortress alone?”

“It wasn’t a dragon, there was not a scratch on that armor.”

“I’ve never been seen that type of armor before. Where is he from?”

The third time he awoke, Criston heard a soft, feminine voice that did not belong to the Northern woman.  

“He looks like Jon.”

Criston opened his eyes, vision still blurred. He saw smooth, golden hair and bright blue eyes. Ones that he had seen before. 

A voice beside her said, “Hm. A bastard, perhaps? They do have that....smoldering look about them.”

“Rhaenyra,” Criston whispered. 

The woman’s eyes widened and she immediately jumped to a stand, backing away. Criston took his hands out of the layers of fur blankets to rub his eyes, his vision becoming clear. He was in a room, built from wood, a fireplace in front of his bed. On the bedside table sat the notebook that traveled with him. He turned to Rhaenyra, realizing it was not her. 

A male voice cleared his throat. “You’re about 200 years off with that.”

Criston looked up to find the source of the voice. 

“Down here.”

He glanced at the edge of the bed and saw a dwarf. A wretched looking thing, with a full beard and a scar over his eye. Criston noticed the pin on his jacket. 

The hand of the king. 

“Tell me Ser,” said the dwarf, “Did my sister send you here as a joke?”

“Depends,” Criston said as he slowly rose to a seated position. “Is your sister a witch?”

The dwarf and blonde woman stared at him, stunned. The woman bit her lip and leaned forward, bursting into laughter. 

“I won’t...argue with that,” the dwarf sighed. 

“I needed that reprieve,” said the woman.

“Well you clearly are not from these parts, which serves your interests.” The dwarf extended his hand. “Tyrion Lannister.” 

Criston took his hand, giving a shake. He nodded. “Criston Cole.”

Tyrion frowned. “No, you aren’t.”

Criston blinked. “Alright?”

“Please be serious, because we have a room full of Northmen downstairs eager for your throat.” 

Criston glanced at the woman, who was clearly confused and amused at the same time. He looked back at Tyrion. “Who are you...to tell me who I am?”

Tyrion scoffed. “Someone with a calendar and sanity. The Kingmaker is has been dead, in the ground, centuries before you were a twinkle in your mother’s eye.”

Criston frowned. “Kingmaker?”

Tyrion threw his hands up. “This is getting nowhere.”

“Allow me to try,” the woman said, and she sat back on the stool next to the bed. “How did you arrive here? The Northmen found you alone. No horse, no...anything.”

Criston stared at the bundle of furs in front of him. He had no clue. He couldn’t answer. His head was killing him, pounding in sync with his beating heart. 

“The man is clearly ill from the cold,” said Tyrion, “Perhaps when his mind returns--”

Finally, he remembered. “I was in Asshai. With my wife.” 

The woman continued, much to Tyrion’s annoyance. “And...who is your wife?”

“Rhae--Princess Rhaenyra Tar--”

“Okay, no,” Tyrion interrupted, turning to her. “Your Grace, I highly recommend we no longer entertain--”

“Tyrion. Let him speak.” She took Criston’s hand and he looked down. Her touch was soft, gentle, and familiar. 

“Pardon my ignorance,” said Criston, looking up at her, “But are you the unburnt woman?”

“Ah!” Tyrion cried out. “Even the ignorant knows of my queen.” 

“Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen,” she said, chuckling, “First of my name. Queen of the Andals and the First Men. Protector of the Seven Kingdoms. The Mother of Dragons. The Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea. The Breaker of Chains, and yes,” she squeezed his hand, “The Unburnt.”

Criston chuckled nervously. “That’s...quite a many titles.”

“Yes, well,” Daenerys laughed, “I had to earn them. All of them.”

Criston released her hand to rub his eyes again. “Where the hell am I?”

“You’re in Winterfell,” said Daenerys.

“At presumably one of the worst times to be here.” Tyrion muttered. “Fine, Ser Criston Cole, before I humor you and believe who you say you are, tell me this. Who is the current king?”

“Viserys,” Criston without pause, “First of His Name. King of --“

“Yes, yes the Andals we all know the script. Name his kin.”

“He has a brother, Daemon. A cousin Rhaenys who is wed to the Lord of the Tides. His oldest is Rhaenyra, Heir to the Iron Throne.” 

“And your wife?” Daenerys asked slyly. 

“Yes,” Criston nodded, “He has two other ---“

“Wrong,” Tyrion snapped. “He has four. And you are not married to Rhaenyra.”

‘What do you--“

“Next question!” Tyrion did not let Criston finish. “How many eyes does Aemond have?”

“Who is--“

“You aren’t gaining my favor, Ser Cole.”

Criston sighed, growing irritated at the sudden inquisition. 

“Why were you in Asshai?” Daenerys asked.

Criston closed his eyes, wandering deep into his own thoughts. Slowly, he began to remember. Criston and Rhaenyra came to Asshai to find out about the unburnt woman. But why? 

Why he was here. Was this even real.

Winterfell. Why did the witch send him here? Tyrion’s words suddenly echoed in his head, At one of the worst times to be here. 

Criston’s eyes shot open. 

 He got up frantically, ignorant of his nakedness. Daenerys and Tyrion stared in shock as he began to ramble, pacing furiously. “The Long Night! That’s why I’m here! I was in Asshai, and this woman made me drink her blood and--and Winter is Coming! Something terrible is about to happen and we have to.....”

Criston stopped when he saw their faces. He glanced down, and hurriedly grabbed the furs to cover himself. He wasn’t doing himself any favors. They clearly did not believe him, and he needed go get out of this situation to find Rhaenyra. 

“I’m sorry,” Criston said, “You’re right. I cannot be who I say I am, I believe the chill has affected me. With your permission, I will leave the castle immediately.”

“Get the witch.” Daenerys commanded Tyrion.

______________________________________________

“You seem to be brought here from one of my sisters.” The new red woman said, “I am Melisandre.”

Criston sat by Daenerys, at a long table, accompanied by Tyrion and the two he recognized earlier. They were Jon Snow and Sansa Stark, Lord and Lady of Winterfell. Besides Sansa sat a girl named Arya, boyish and somber looking. Every time she eyed Criston, he shrank. Behind her, sat Bran, a boy confined to a wheelchair. He studied Criston and, while his face remained blank, Criston could see millions of thoughts behind his eyes. 

“This man is who he says,” said Melisandre, “He is here to bear witness to the long night. We must grant him safe passage or face the consequences.”

“That’s fine,” said Jon, “If you help us fight the dead, we will help you find the one you’re looking for.”

She could still be out there. Criston thought. He then froze when he realized Jon’s words. “The dead?”

“You want to know about The Long Night,” said Jon, “You’re about to see it firsthand.”

Criston’s mouth dropped, about to argue, when Bran, the boy in the chair, finally spoke. 

“She is safe, Ser Cole.”

Everyone looked at him, confused. He kept his gaze on Criston. 

“You both came for answers. She is currently receiving hers.”

Criston swallowed, his nerves alight by Bran’s disturbing calmness.  

“Alright,” said Tyrion, “Now that’s settled.”

“Nothing is settled, yet.” Sansa replied. 

“Lady Sansa, if I may--“

“We received word before this meeting that Jamie Lannister has just arrived.” Sansa announced. “Shall we meet with him?”

Criston saw the light in Tyrion’s eyes fade, his shoulders slouching. The dwarf looked at Daenerys, who returned a steely glaze. The warmth of the unburnt woman had suddenly escaped through the gates of Winterfell.

“Let’s greet him, then.” Daenerys said.

______________________________________________

Later that evening, Criston sat in the dining hall with Tyrion and his brother, Tyrion and Jamie Lannister. While Tyrion remained somber, serious and concerned, Jamie looked upon Criston with praise and excitement. 

“Kingmaker,” said Tyrion, “Allow me to introduce you my brother Jaime. The Kingslayer.”

“I still can’t believe it,” said Jaime, “You’re here, in the flesh.”

“Stranger things have happened,” quipped Tyrion sipping his wine.

“Yes, like an army of dead people,” Criston said, staring at his bowl. “How do you kill something that’s already dead?”

“Dragonglass,” said Tyrion, “Valyrian steel. We do have the tools, it’s the numbers that concerns me.”

Criston nodded, eating his stew. He cared not for numbers. A soldier such as him had been outnumbered in many battles, and still emerged victorious. As long as they had what they needed, they could survive tomorrow night.

Another thought hit him. He looked up at the two. 

“You both called me the Kingmaker earlier. Why?”

Jaime gave a confused glance at Tyrion, who sighed. “It’s a long story.”

“We have time,” said Criston, “if the night is truly long.”

Tyrion sighed. “As brief as I can be...there is a war. The blacks and the greens. Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen against the Hightowers, yourself and nearly the rest of the realm. When Viserys dies, the council fears Rhaenyra as queen and do not want her to rule. As a result, you crown his son, Aegon II. Hence, Kingmaker!”

“That’s not possible,” Criston said, horrified. 

“Neither is your presence,” said Tyrion, “Nor is the army of the dead. Yet, they are both true.”

“Perhaps the history is false,” Jaime mused aloud, “And the Dance never happened.”

Tyrion glared at his brother, scoffing. “Then were are the dragons?”

“Valar morghulis,” Criston murmured, “It must apply to dragons, as well.” 

“Valar dohaeris,” said Arya, from afar. She leaned against the wall, keeping her cool gaze on him.

Criston tried to avoid her and kept his eyes on Tyrion. “How do I prevent this?”

“Easy,” said Tyrion, “Don’t crown Aegon.” 

“But why would I do such a thing in the first place?”

Tyrion folded his hands on the table, slowly interlacing his fingers. “May I speak freely of your beloved?” 

Criston nodded cautiously. 

“She was a cunt!” Exclaimed a man behind him. Criston turned, glaring at the hideous burned man. He stared at Criston in the eye and said, “You’re a cunt as well.”

The man returned to his meal, leaving Criston speechless. He looked back at Tyrion, brows furrowed and mouth agape. 

“Ignore him,” said Tyrion, spinning the wine in his goblet. “History does not look on her kindly. She was selfish, arrogant, and ruthless. She broke hearts, including yours, and destroyed alliances, including her own family. At least, that’s what is written.

“Maybe she does rule justly. Maybe things are different in your world. I only hope the same for our queen in this world.” 

“Hm,” said Criston, “Was she truly that bad?”

“Maegor with Tits.” Jaime quipped. 

“Gods,” Criston groaned, rubbing his head. “Is there any way to avoid this all.”

“Valar morghulis” said Tyrion, raising his goblet, “You’ll never prevent war, Kingmaker.”

“Valar dohaeris,” said Criston, retrieving his notebook. He set it on the table and slid it towards Tyrion. “If you may...write down everything you know about this war. Before, during, after. I don’t want this to be my future.”

“Of course,” said Tyrion, placing the book in his jacket, “I don’t imagine that I will be sleeping soundly tonight.”

The sound of a violin filled the room, and Criston averted his gaze to the musician. The song was sad, somber. Oddly fitting for the situation.

“Jenny of Oldstones,” said Tyrion, “A story after your time. Prince Duncan Targaryen abdicated his position as heir to the Iron Throne for a peasant woman. A brilliant love story.”

“Will she abdicate the throne for you?” Jaime asked. 

He kept his silence, staring at the violin, the strings bending to sing the tragic tale. Criston knew the answer. The Iron Throne loomed over them, no matter where they went. 

He then began to chuckle, and the brothers eyed him curiously. 

“I’m sorry,” said Criston, “The name reminds me of a song my brother made, to steal a girl from me. Jenny Big Tits.”

Jaime nearly spit out his food.

“Now that is a song I want to hear!” Tyrion exclaimed, his eyes filled with light. “Bard! Come over and play Jenny Big Tits!”

The violinist stopped, looking at the bard. The bard shrugged at Tyrion and said, “I don’t know that one my lord--“

“Well you’re in luck tonight! The Kingmaker shall teach it to you!”

The room turned from sullen sorrow to idiotic revelry as Criston recounted the song. The violinist picked up on the tune and quickly put his bow to the strings. Soon enough, the entire galley was thanking god for Jenny and her massive tits. 

Sansa and Daenerys looked on, disgusted.

“I think I like the Kingmaker.” Jon said, laughing.

______________________________________________

Criston awoke at dawn, still in Winterfell. 

He leaned to the edge of the bed, rubbing his eyes. His fingers trailed up, running through his thick, black curls. No matter how hard he tried, Criston could not wake himself back up in Asshai. 

Where was Rhaenyra? Was she safe? Was she afraid? Did Rhaenyra worry for him as much as Criston worried for her? 

Could either of them die in this world?

Criston stood up, dressing in the thick wool and furs Lady Sansa provided. He had to trust Bran’s word that the princess was safe. He buckled his sword, useless in the war to come but necessary this morning. 

After all, Jaime Lannister begged him for a spar. Who was Criston to refuse?

 Walking along the deck, he noticed Daenerys and Tyrion outside, embroiled in argument. He ducked behind the corner before being noticed. He was about to turn the other way, when he heard her voice, 

“I am the one who will sit the Iron Throne!”

Criston bit his lip, stifling a chuckle. He definitely heart that before. But what she said afterwards gave him pause. 

“And yet they rise for him. There are still Northmen here calling him king, despite me sitting in the same room!”

“He is a soldier, and had to earn their trust,” Tyrion said, “With all respect, your Grace, we are no longer in Essos. The people in the North do not take well to intimidation.”

“Then I shall cut their knees and make them bend! Lock up every man who dares utter the phrase The King of the North.”

Footsteps hustled towards him and Criston quickly sped away. He walked, hands buried in the furs, feigning ignorance as Daenerys suddenly met his side. 

“You heard that, didn’t you?”

“Heard what, your Grace?” Criston asked. It was odd, calling this woman such a title, but he needed to drop the fealty to Viserys as a means of survival.

Daenerys scoffed. “Princess Rhaenerya was denied her lineage by her own court. And you.”

She felt his eyes on him, and Criston shivered. “I don’t know anything about that. I would have to take your word for it.” 

“Tell me, Ser Criston. What makes a man bend the knee?”

Honor, he wanted to say, but he knew she wouldn’t like that answer. Duty was his second choice, but such a code was subjective. The northmen held a duty to the North. It led to only one answer. Respect was one no person in Winterfell held for the young queen. 

“Fear.” Criston answered. 

“Hm.” Daenerys turned on her heels and walked ahead of him. 

“Gods,” Tyrion murmured as he walked up to Criston, “Is it bad if I wish to not survive the Long Night?”

Criston nodded. “It means you fear something greater than the dead.” 

______________________________________________

“Tell me Ser Jaime,” Criston said as he drew his sword, “What king did you slay?”

“Aerys Targaryen,” said Jaime, “Father of the woman upstairs.”

Criston’s eyes widened. In the realm, this man’s actions made him a traitor. And yet he came here, risking death to offer his sword. It was quite brave of him to face Danaerys for a greater cause. It intrigued Criston, for this man was no mere traitor. 

“Would you like to know his last words?” Jaime teased, “Defeat me and I might tell you.”

They parryed for a moment, swords clanging in song throughout the courtyard as they struck each other. As Criston jumped left to avoid another block, he noticed that Jaime was fighting with one hand. He glanced at the other, not a human hand but a solid gold replacement. Did the king slice that hand? Is that why Jaime slayed him? 

Jaime was suddenly upon him, taking the opportunity to strike. Criston’s reflexes were too quick, however, and he slammed his foot against Jaime’s chest, knocking him to the snow.

Jaime laughed as Criston kicked his sword away. 

“Ah. A blessing. To fight one of the greatest kingsguardsmen in the history of Westeros.”

Criston offered a hand. “I’d hate to see how you fight with two hands.”

Jaime accepted and rose to his feet. They both looked at each other intently. 

“What were his last words?” Criston said.

The warmth of Jaime’s face fell, his eyes growing a stone cold blue. “Burn them all.”

Criston’s gut sank. He grew incredibly unnerved. Targaryen war seemed more normal than not. Was this Dance of the Dragons merely inevitable? A symptoms of an old Valyrian thirst for bloodlust? 

Was the world trying to rid them with the Doom?

The voice of a lady broke his thoughts.

“The Kingmaker and the Kingslayer standing feet apart,” said a tall woman, dressed in armor, “Who knew I would ever see the day!”

“I introduce to you,” said Jamie, “Ser Brienne of Tarth.”

A female knight. Criston nodded and said, “My lady. Or...Ser.”

“May I?” Brienne asked, hand on the hilt of her sword.

“You may.” 

Criston was impressed with Brienne’s skills, her agility being her strongest. Brienne seamlessly blocked Criston’s sword, allowing him to get close just enough to only jump out of the way. 

Criston bid his time, waiting for her to make a mistake. Finally, he jumped to her, and she swiftly attempted a kick. But Criston anticipated this move correctly and leapt to the side, snatching her ankle with his upper arm. Brienne fell the the ground, stunned. 

As Criston knocked her sword away, he caught the sight of Jon Snow. His dark, coal eyes were slight at the scene before him, and he wore a grin Criston knew well.  Were these people trying to wipe him out before the dead could? 

Criston smirked. They could try. 

As he helped Brienne to stand, Criston shouted towards Jon, “I suppose you would like a turn?”

Jon shrugged. “I was just here to watch,” Jon then drew his sword, “But I'm not one to back from a challenge.”

They minute the blades touched, Criston could feel the colossal strength behind it. This was no mere knight. This was a soldier, born in combat. Any maneuver Criston tried, Jon blocked it effortlessly. Criston placed all his strength in one great swing, a move that could seal or cost his victory. Jon struck near the hilt, the vibration from the sheer force causing Criston to lose his grip. As the sword flew from his quivering hands, Jon placed the blade right at his neck. 

“You’ll survive the night,” Criston quipped, chuckling at the cheers and jeers by the spectators. 

“I hope we all do.” Said Jon, releasing his sword and offering his hand. “Who is Simon?”

Criston accepted it and they gave each other a strong shake. “My brother.” 

“You will see him again, I promise you that,” said Jon. “Is this your first time in Winterfell? Allow me to show you around.”

______________________________________________

They walked together to the Winterfell godswood. Criston gasped at the great weirwood tree, the red leaves vibrant in the background of snow. Bran sat under the tree, his eyes closed in slumber. Next to him was a longsword, leaning against the chair.

Jon snuck quietly to Bran so he would not disturb him. He took the sword, carrying it to Criston. 

“That’s a nice sword you have, but it will be useless,” said Jon, offering the blade, “Lady Forlorn, the sword of House Corbray. Made from Valyrian steel.”

“Thank you,” said Criston, bowing his head. 

They sat beneath the tree, sharing their own stories of life and war. The more Jon spoke, the greater the intrigue sparked in Criston. 

A bastard son of the former lord, Ned Stark. He was sent to the wall, living there for years. Jon had learned of this terrible army of the dead when he went beyond the Wall. From there, he had made friends with the freemen, called Wildlings. This man, a bastard, brought enemies together, now sitting as friends, to fight against the great evil. 

But despite all of his accomplishments, the man was humble. Almost to a fault. Danaerys was intimidated by him, his power with his men. However, he walked like he had thought nothing of it. She could slit his throat in her sleep, and he wouldn’t even wake to see it. 

Criston surmised that he was in love with her. 

“I’m eager to know how one marked a bastard became King of the North.” Criston said. 

Jon chuckled. “I’m not the king.”

Criston shook his head. “That’s not what your men say.” 

“I was,” Jon said with a sigh, “And I bent the knee to Daenerys.” 

“Hm,” said Criston, “I imagine they aren’t happy with that.”

“Like they say in King’s Landing,” said Jon, “Duty is the death of love.”

“Or it the opposite?” Criston mused. 

Jon raised his brow. He looked ahead at the castle, digesting Criston’s words. 

“You tell me,” said Jon, “Knowing what you know now, about Rhaenyra Targeryen, will you stand by her?”

Criston paused, then shook his head. “She isn’t capable of such things.”

“And if she is?”

Criston frowned. Was he asking for guidance? Criston saw that steel glare in the eyes of Daenerys. He saw those eyes before, in Daemon. From time to time, he saw them in Rhaenyra. He wondered to himself. Would the Rhaenyra of the future commit tyranny? And, most important, what would Criston do?

Would he throw away his honor and morality? Would he sell his soul to stand beside her? Would he make the difficult decision to stand against her?

He thought of Jaime Lannister’s words of Aerys. 

Burn them all. 

“I would stop her,” said Criston, “save her soul before she made a mistake.”

“You would kill her.” Jon pressed. 

Criston would. It would tear him from the inside, leave his heart hollow and empty. Perhaps he would kill himself from the anguish. But he would never let Rhaenyra betray herself for the sake of Targaryen power. 

She rejected Criston initially, for the sake of duty. Duty to the Realm, to the poor souls too young and sick to raise a sword, stood before all. Rhaenyra understood that. 

Criston was wasn’t convinced that Daenerys understood. 

“You were right,” said Criston, “Duty is the death of love.”

“It’s both,” Bran quipped, and the two men nearly jumped. 

“How long have you been awake?” Jon asked, unnerved. 

Bran stared at him. “I wasn’t sleeping I was...just thinking. My master told me the past could not be changed. But to see a man in the past sitting beside me. Perhaps not all is set in stone.” 

Criston felt hope for the first time in days. Hope that the Dance was avoidable, that war in the Targaryen family could be avoided. That this family that he had grown to care for was in fact not as monstrous as history had written. 

“Can you see where she is?” Criston asked.

Bran mused, seemingly on whether or not he should answer. Finally, he said, “She is in King’s Landing.” 

Criston breathed a sigh of relief, but Jon looked unsettled. “With who?”

“With you.”

Jon scoffed. “So we do make it out of this alive.” He turned to Criston. “When the night falls, I will face the king of the dead. I promise to protect Rhaenyra when the time comes but tonight...please, protect my sisters for me.”

“Of course,” Criston nodded. “But you still haven’t answered my question.”

Jon chuckled. “I’m no king, like I said. Just a bastard.”

“He’s not a bastard,” Bran said.

“Bran, stop--“ Jon pleaded.

“He’s Aegon Targaryen. The heir to the Iron Throne.”

______________________________________________

Criston stood at the castle wall, annoyed. 

Jon Snow had left that part out, the fact that he was a Targaryen. Jon was a man who took leadership only when it was needed. But in the face of Daenerys he caved, only wanting peace. 

Much like King Viserys. Inaction can spiral turn into destruction. 

Sansa was standing quietly beside him, gazing at the vast darkness before them. Finally, she glanced at him and said, “You must have heard.”

Criston feigned ignorance. “About?”

Sansa scoffed. “My brother. I wore the same look on my face.”

Criston tested her. “Because he’s a man, does he hold more claim?”

“Of course not,” said Sansa, “Much like your betrothed, it’s the duty of lineage. His father was Rhaegar Targaryen, eldest brother of Daenerys, and the true heir.”

The situation between Jon and Daenerys was beginning to sound like Rhaenyra and Daemon. He remembered the day she flew to Dragonstone to face him. She dared her uncle to kill her right then and there. 

Criston looked ahead. “Seems to me like--“

“Trust me, I know.” Sansa said, then lowered her voice to mock Jon. “I don’t want it.”

Criston made a face, and they both broke into laughter. 

“I don’t know your princess,” said Sansa, “From what I’ve learned about you, Ser Cole, you don’t seem the type to align with a tyrant.”

“Tyranny is a matter of what side of the line you stand on, Lady Stark.” Criston said. 

Sansa made a face. “No it’s not. What do you see when you face the woman downstairs?”

Criston thought about Daenerys. At first she was...kind. Gentle, even. He would say far more gentle than Rhaenyra. But he also saw something else. Something bubbling beneath her beauty. The unquenched thirst for power.

Criston chuckled. “I see dedication. A woman who built herself from nothing is worthy of song. But I also see... ego. A fragile one.” 

“Whatever kindness she has shown you,” said Sansa, “It is a mask. I know masks all too well.”

Criston looked at Sansa. He could tell in someones eyes whether they were soldiers or common folk. She was fair, too fair and too small to wield a sword. Sansa Stark was very much a noblewoman, a lady. But the look in her eyes told him, she was a soldier. 

Just like him.

“If she discovers Jon’s identity,” Sansa said, “it will be his death sentence.”

She was right. 

“Want me to kill her?” Criston asked flatly. 

Sansa stared at him, mouth agape. She saw the tiny smirk flash on his face and shook her head, stifling a laugh.  

“No,” said Sansa, “Not tonight, at least. I hate to admit it but we do need her.”

The door to the watchtower opened, revealing Tyrion, Arya, and another man Criston had met named Ser Davos. His thick, familiar accent gave Criston a comfort for home. 

“You should go where it’s safe, my lady” Ser Davos said. 

Sansa rolled her eyes. “Oh yes. The crypt. Truly nothing safer.”

“Take this,” said Cole, giving her a dragonglass dagger.

Sansa frowned. “I don’t know how to use such things.”

“It will come to you,” said Criston, “When you need it.”

Tyrion approached the two, and Criston acknowledged him with a nod. The man certainly did not sleep, as the dangers of the night, and potentially the days to follow, deepened the lines of his face. 

His eyes were tired, yet open wide. The fear and worry of what was to come quashed any wish for rest on Tyrion. 

“If I don’t make it through the long night,” said Tyrion, offering Criston’s notebook, “I want to thank you for your wisdom.”

“You’ll make it,” said Criston, accepting the book. “Find Rhaenyra for me.” 

“I eagerly await meeting the Realm’s Delight,” Tyrion said, and then he turned to Sansa. “Come, my former wife! We have much to catch up on in our den of safety.”

Sansa followed, rolling her eyes. Criston looked at the two of them in absolute confusion. 

“Another long story.” Tyrion said with a smirk.

______________________________________________

Criston thumbed through the pages of Tyrions words, refusing to read them. He sighed, drawing the book to the pocket underneath his furs. He wasn’t ready for the story of their downfall. He had to keep himself focused on the immediate threat. 

“You’re from the Stormlands,” Arya said, cool brown eyes looking up at Criston. 

Criston nodded. “I am.” 

“I wish to see it one day,’ said Arya, looking sadly across the dark, quiet winter horizon. “I wish to see the entire world. Not as a lady, or even a soldier.”

She wished for freedom. 

“You will.” Criston said and placed a hand on her shoulder. Arya gave a small smile, a gift Criston knew she saved for very few. He then looked at Davos. “How did you end up here?”

“I was the hand to Stannis Baratheon,” said Davos, “In the War of the Five Kings. Look below.”

Criston looked down to the line of Dothraki soldiers. Melissandre, in her red cloak, walked to the Dothraki captain, touching the blade of his arakh. His eyes widened in amazement as, one by one, the blade of each soldier became engulfed in flames. 

“Stannis let her sacrifice his own daughter in the name of victory,” Davos said angrily, “It made no difference.”

These witches really were cunts, Criston thought. He had quite a few words for the one who left him in the middle of an abandoned forest. 

“Spells and prophecies do not make kings,” said Davos, “Or queens.” 

“Aegon the Conquerer dreamed a Targaryen would lead the army of men into victory on this night.” Criston mused. “The Prince Who Was Promised. Or Princess?”

“You’re right,” said Davos, “And he will.”

Criston frowned. “Who else knows about Jon Snow’s lineage?”

Davos scoffed. “As of now, everyone except Daenerys Targaryen.” 

Arya gave a soft, sarcastic laugh. “Perhaps they’ll rule together. King and Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. And we will all live happily ever after.”

Davos shook his head. “She won’t have another Targaryen beside her. I fear what awaits us tomorrow even if we live the night.”

Criston wanted to press further, but the silence was interrupted by a whirlwind of chants and howls. He looked below as the Dothraki horde, lead by a man named Jorah Mormont, fearlessly rode into the dark. 

______________________________________________

Looking below, he saw Jaimie and Brienne amongst the soldiers at the guard. A pang of guilt hit his chest. Criston should be down there. He was a soldier. Jon beseeched him to stay in the wall, so that he could live the night and return home. 

Arya lifted herself by the forearms onto the stone as she watched the Dothraki ride in amazement. 

Everyone’s awe quickly turned to horror, as the lights of the flame suddenly went out, one by one. The chanting was gone, and the stillness replaced with a different noice. Quiet as a whisper, menacing as the night wind, a sound of faint clicking and growling filled the castle. 

Out of the thousands of men who charged to the enemy, few came back, running for dear life. Criston held a gasp. Were all those men truly gone?

What in hell were they about to face?

And then they arrived. Men on foot. Thousands if not tens of thousands. But they weren’t men. Even from the highness of the tower, Criston saw them. The decaying faces. The blue eyes that held nothing but bloodlust. They swarmed, like a crashing wave, on the men, tearing apart whatever limb they could grab. 

Criston’s breath quickened. They were too far from the castle wall for any arrows to give assistance. All they could do was stand, watching in horror and disgust. 

The sheer depravity of the dead soldiers was unlike anything Criston had seen before. They climbed over each other, ruthlessly, for the chance to destroy a living man. No reason, nothing could stop these soldiers. 

Criston and Arya jumped back at the sudden sting of heat rushing against them. The dark night almost looked like day as a wall of fire surrounded the line of battle. A great roar fell upon them, and Criston looked up to see the two dragons, unleashing fire upon the dead. 

An amazing sight. 

Criston felt hope again as they decimated the army with flame. Then just as fast as the fire came, a wall of frost followed, enveloping the dragons, the guard, the entire castle of winterfell. The dragons were suddenly out of sight, lost in the storm. 

It was as if winter itself had waged war on men. 

Criston didn’t belong up here, in the height of safety. It took everything in him to stop from leaping off the wall into the fight below. But he remembered Jon’s request to him. 

Protect my sisters. 

Criston turned to Arya. “Go, now.”

She ignored him, reaching for an arrow in the basket between them. 

“Your brother will kill me if you stay out here.”

“If the army of the dead doesn’t kill us first,” said Arya, lighting it on fire. 

Criston set an arrow alight alongside her. He wished his brother Peter were with them. An expert marksman, he made Criston look like he was shooting blind. Carefully avoiding the retreating men, Criston took his time, aiming flaming arrows into as many of the dead as possible. 

Even the unsullied began their retreat. 

The guard was immediately falling back. Running into the fortress like frightened children. Criston didn’t blame him. This was one of the few times in war he was shaken by fear. 

The archers began directing their arrows to the trench. Criston fired several, annoyed that they were taken by the wind before they could reach their target. Out of the corner of his eye, Melisandre walked slowly to the trench, kneeling down. She shouted her Valyrian prayers, and the wood became alight, leaving a wall of fire surrounding the castle. 

Criston breathed a sigh of relief. Surely they were safe for now. 

He watched as the dead stood in front of the fire, one by one walking into the flame. Then another, and another. 

What mindless beings, he thought. Truly these corpses lived a miserable existence, and only found salvation in the fire. Then he realized what they were doing. 

No. 

They stacked themselves on top of each other, one after another. The fire began to dim, and slowly faded with the mass of bodies.  The tiny opening was  all the dead needed to swarm the wall. 

Then they began to climb. The enemy was here. Criston unsheathed his borrowed sword - Lady Forlorn- and readied for battle. 

“Man the wall!” Several men began shouting. 

In a seconds, time, the dead had scaled the impossibly high wall. They climbed on each other, swarming the men like a broken water dam. Criston at some point was swinging his sword blindly, slicing dead men with pure luck. 

Skeletons. Half-rotted corpses. Women. Children. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Arya fall to the bottom of the steps. 

“Arya!” Criston shouted, but he failed to reach her. 

He swung his sword ruthlessly, but to no avail. With every corpse he sliced through, three more were on him. The sheer force of numbers pushed him further and further towards the edge. Finally, he was knocked off the wall and fell into the courtyard. 

Mere feet away from the wooden pikes. 

Criston had no time to ponder how close he was to being impaled, for as soon as he left to his feet, he was fighting off more hoards of corpses. 

Pain shot up both of his arms with every swing. His legs were shaking to keep him from surrender. His eyes burned from the sweat dripping from his brow, but to close his eyes for even a second meant certain death. Out of the corner of his eye, Criston saw men around him fall, screaming in agony as their faces were eaten. The shine in their eyes fading to black as their entrails were torn from their bodies. 

It was a slaughter unlike anything he had seen in the Marches.

The army suddenly stopped, each undead soldier seemingly frozen in place. Criston paused for a moment, then dropped to his knees, furiously rubbing his eyes. His lungs were on fire from each pained breath he took. 

Was it over? Did Jon succeed?

Criston glanced at the body of a young girl. Lyanna Mormont, the young head of her house.  He crawled over to her, and gently shut her eyes. He said a quiet prayer to the Warrior, to grant her eternal reward for her bravery. 

Her eyes suddenly shot open. They were no longer the dark brown northern color he knew around him, but a bright blue. She now wore the same eyes that matched the ones of their enemies. 

Criston jumped in shock, nearly landing on his back. He snatched his sword by the hilt and held steady. Before him, the dead soldiers, their allies, were now standing back up. But they were no longer allies to the North. 

They were the new recruits of the dead. 

Criston’s mind went blank as the dead attacked again. He no longer saw the Northern comrades fall beside him. He did not lament the cruel fate of those who had passed. Survival was the only thing on his mind. 

Getting home to Rhaenyra was all he thought of.  

His second wind kicked in, and he paid no mind to the exhaustion in his body. 

A blue flame from above suddenly encircled him, setting the dead and undead on fire. He took the distraction as a chance to retreat, sheathing his sword. As he ran, Criston looked above. 

A dragon, dead yet alive, eyes a sapphire blue.  Blue flame flickered along his rotted neck as he spit fire amongst the courtyard. 

He ran faster, fear taking him where human endurance had long failed. Criston dove behind the pillar closest to him, grabbing the stone and pulling him to safety just as a rush of blue fire flew past him. 

He bumped into the shoulder of another man. He looked, chest heaving, at the sight of Jon. 

The peaceful, white serene Winterfell was no more. They were in true battle, the sky red as the blood of the men in the ground. The air was littered with smoke, ash, and occasional falling snow. Men were no longer eating and drinking, but fighting with what strength they had left. And those who had lost, still alive, screamed as corpses ripped away at their flesh. 

The two men held to the stones projecting from the wall for dear life, legs heavy with exhaustion. Jon’s chest heaved with every inhale, curls matted to his face by the sweat. Criston knew he was looked no different. He knew they had failed. 

He would never see his wife again. 

Still, the soldier in Criston refused to spend his last moments as a coward. 

Criston and Jon looked at each other, eyes filled with fear and fury, and they both knew. 

I cannot die like this. You cannot die like this. 

They had no time for the sinking void of failure.  Criston saw the fire and fury in Jon’s eyes that belonged to those with the last name Targaryen. 

In a split second, he watched the man accept his destiny. He would take his name, become a Targaryen. He would sit the Iron Throne. But first,  he would slay this dragon. 

The men nodded, a final goodbye before once again fighting death. They jumped from their hiding place, the swords singing tales of courage as they left their sheaths. They ran towards the dragon, screaming, a final cry of man’s strength to the gods. 

The dragon opened its maw, a ball of brilliant blue appearing, and as it grew larger, Criston felt the stinging cold. 

He no longer feared the chill. 

Goodbye, Rhae. 

Suddenly, Criston awoke with a gasp. 

[starlightartemis]

In which Leo doesn't tell his family he's going to keep Kraang on the other side of the portal.

(And they realize a little too late.)

I wrote a little thing (it’s been a while :D) so I’m sharing it here! (It’s literally a 850-word ficlet)

[another-random-paradise]

Your writing was adorable! I have a headcanon request for TWST. Feel free to ignore if it's not interesting, I won't mind. (￣▽￣)=3

Lilia, Leona, Azul (or whomever as long as Lilia is there)'s reaction to crush!reader sleepily telling them they want to marry them one day.

I'm a sap for mushy things. ˘͈ᵕ˘͈

A sleepy confession

Thank you so much for the request, it's adorable!! and of course, thank you for the compliments too! I'm a sucker for mushy things too, so this was so much fun to write!

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

Crush!Reader sleepily telling him, they want to marry him / Part two

Characters: Lillia, Leona, Azul

Format: Headcanons

Warnings: None that i can think off

Lillia

-you probably found silver asleep somewhere comfortable and instead of waking him up like usual (cause you're a good friend) you decide to also lay down and sleep... You most likely had History with professor Trein before this.

-Lillia just happened to be nearby, or maybe he was keeping an eye on silver, yk, like a good dad :D

- If you're napping under a tree, he might just be sitting on one of the branches

-You'd sleepily look up to him on the branches, as the old fae smiles down at you, and you, probably already half a sleep and maybe even thinking it's a dream, mumble out a soft "I wanna marry you one day.." 

-poor guy almost fell out off the tree

-you can't just do that to his old heart!! You can and you did

-his expression would soften, like he'd still be smiling, but it wouldn't be his typical trickster kinda smile (please tell me you know what i mean)

-Despite his usual attitude, I feel like he was very worried about loving you. I'm a huge believer in the Idea that fae usually only fall in love once, so after Meleanor, he believed that was it, he'd never love again. And then you came into his life, like a shining star, guiding him out of the darkness.  

-While he was grateful that he got a second chance at love, especially with someone as amazing as you, it's also nerve wrecking for him. The last and only time before this, he had his heart broken and ended up raising her son. Just the thought of the same thing happening again terrified him.

-But after what you just said, he won't need to worry about that anymore, right?

-Now he just needs to come up with the best way to confess... maybe he could cook you something! 

Leona

-Due to Leona being a bit of a tsundere, I don't feel like he'd get you to cuddle/sleep with him before officially dating

-BUT, if you two got paired together for a project, especially if it's in the botanical garden, chances are very high, you are doing the project and he's napping

-and doing a project by yourself gets you tired, especially one meant for magic as a magicless student, so you eventually lie down next to him

-due to his sensitive hearing, he lazily opens eyes, and sees you, already half asleep, looking at him, confusing him at first not that he's complaining, till.. "Despite you making me do this project by myself, i somehow i still wanna marry you some day" and just like that you're asleep.

-He, on the other hand, is suddenly very wide awake. 

-what?? you didn't mean that, right?? that's just the tiredness speaking, right?? you couldn't have meant that, right? why, or rather how, could you like him of all people?....He can't imagine being anyone's, let alone your, first choice. He's so used to being second.

-For the first time in forever, he is fully awake and can't go back to sleep, just what are you doing to him, Herbivore? 

-But this means you like him back, right? alright fine, he'll put some work into confessing, just don't expect anything to grand

-He'd still be awake once you wake up again, much to your confusion, but still deliberately refuse to help. Not a word of what you said is spoken, but if you look closely enough you'll see the blush on his cheeks!

Azul

-You wanted to rest after a long day, maybe even after a long shift at the mostro lounge, and Azul was gracious enough to let you rest on one of the couches in the VIP room, while he worked. He actually wanted to appear like a gentleman in front of you and impress you.

-You can't convince me that those couches aren't comfortable. Which is why you almost immediately fall asleep the moment you lay down.

-But before you do, you make one last comment "I already want to marry you one day as is, but if it means I get to rest like this every night, I'll buy the ring tomorrow"

-If a student walked in right now, they might just confuse him with a crashed pc; or maybe with riddle, considering how red he is

-Just completely stops everything he's doing, he's in shock. he doesn't believe he can actually be loved

-It genuinely shocks him so much that you actually like him back, let alone want to marry him, but he can't say he isn't happy! So him being even more of a gentleman to you and giving you countless discounts worked! (You actually already liked him before that! but he was to busy being insecure to notice)

-Immediately starts working on a relationship contract for you two, hell, you said you want to marry him, right?? might as well start working on the marriage certificate!

-He continues to be absolutely flustered as he writes the two contracts, if either of the twins saw him right now, he'd never hear the end of it!

-Prepare to be asked to dinner at the most romantic table in the mostro lounge with Azul, where he will then ask you out and discusses your relationship as if it was a business meeting :)

Ahhhh my first request, thank you so much again for your kind words and the adorable request, I truly hope i lived up to it's greatness <3

I'm still in book 4, so i tried to write Lilia as in-character as possible based on what i saw of him during events and from other writers :)

feedback is welcomed, just be Kind! Hope you all have a lovely day/night!

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

you’re kidding me, right?? 😭

***Please note:*** Sharing merch images + news is not intended to encourage and/or to pressure anyone into making purchases. It is up to the individual consumer to be informed and to choose how they spend their money.

BEHOLD THE LATEST TWST MERCH… a toy truck?????? They made merch of the isekai truck?!?!?!!!!/j 💀

IS IT JUST ME OR???? It looks like the dorm leaders and Grim are tacked up missing people posters… or wanted posters…

[azuronel]

my predictions for the end of book 7

EDIT: part two here