#mare answers things

[wishmaker-astra]

Offhand, I can't wait to see how flustered you get when someone calls you divine in a flirtatious way.

@suddenlyauntiemaya

Already happened with Mare (@aura-acolyte) jokingly. Kinda. Wasn't flirting, but could be misread as that. She was just joking around with compliments and called me a love goddess or something, but she's a friend, so that's kinda different.

For some rando? Man, I don't know what I'll do. And you're right. It IS going to happen at some point unfortunately.

[zkretchy]

anyhow ...hi @alllthequeenshorses​

I am currently busy trying to figure out if for this lil spontaneous au idea I do wanna go all into the new quest but make it Kiyan and detective roadtrip or such

or if I myself wanna lean more towards Kiyans more canon place simply because that’d leave me with a body to bring him back to instead of just murder (think of it as a combined “who did it” with amnesia and also a possible happy ending beyond justice via revenge killing-I have many notes discussing this with myself and I do tend toward the latter because it can still allow for a somber “get revenge and die peacefully” end but with trauma literally buried leading towards more mystery stuff and idk if any of the things I wrote even made sense)

here is miniscule context

[elytrafemme]

every single fictional character i like should split and have mood swings like me. "ohhhhh but it's not canotical" "ohh they have good control over their emotions and stable views on the world" i don't fucking care. i see cq in his fake desert i see klavier's control dialogue i see dahlia and her serial murders and komaeda and the gun literally fuck with me right now. we need to stop being cowards about our fictional character headcanons i think everyone should kill people always because i can't

[aura-acolyte]

Wow. I suddenly realize why all you Hoennians are so self sufficient. . .I'm sorry abt your legendaries. . .

If they break out again they'll have to worry about me and my sky noodle.

[fctedivided]

Christmas gifts! - @ancicntforged sent:

Mare would get some handcrafted sea glass jewelry from Tsunami!

The water witch gasped in awe. "These are all beautiful, Tsunami! Thank you so much!" Mare couldn't help but giving the other a tight hug. "I already bet these will fit nicely around my wrists and ankles!"

[ninetailedfoxmanchi]

The Northern Winds (pt. 2)

PART 1

Plot: Arranged marriage between the Lord of Winterfell and a lady from a minor house

MASTERLIST

Warnings: profanity, mention of blood, violence & death, menstruation, miscarriage, sexism and medieval notions of women, mature NSFW content (18+), possessiveness/over-protectiveness, brief mention of r@pe

Summary: Whilst Cregan is on a march against the wildlings, Lady Y/N navigates the ruling of Winterfell in his absence as she awaits his return

Words: 15k

A/N: There will be a part 3, with which this series will end (I think). The intro of this part is a bit long but it gets better I promise! (Cregan comes back 🤫)

Taglist: @nixtape-foryou @accountforreading123 @melsunshine @lovemesomevesey @goldenxshine @beebeechaos @mckennah123

@blonde-scandinav1an @letaliabane @answer-the-sirens @lilyed777 @travelingmypassion (I hope I didn't forget someone! <3)

***

It has been a week since the Lord of Winterfell took his host north to Last Hearth, the seat of House Umber, to fight against the wildling invasions. The number of his warriors and those of his sworn bannermen was strengthened by some three thousand men provided by Lord Jonos Whytefort in exchange for his daughter’s hand in marriage with the Warden of the North. Lady Y/N and Lord Cregan Stark were wed for near half a turn of the moon before he was bound to ride north. Although Lady Y/N was instructed in the ways of Winterfell’s functioning and her duties before Lord Stark’s departure, it was one thing ruling the North with her husband by her side and a whole other to do it on her own. Lady Y/N had noble servants whose loyalties lied with Winterfell to advise her, yet the burden of duty and responsibility weighed heavy on her shoulders. The North was a vast and colossal place to rule with hundreds of thousands of people who looked to House Stark for leadership. Even in the days before Aegon the Conqueror, the North knew no king but the King in the North whose name was Stark.

Winter is coming. The words resonated with Lady Y/N as if they were those of her own House. She thought them every morning when she woke up for her duties and every evening as she laid to rest. The emptiness of her bed at night proved an even greater challenge to Y/N than the absence of her husband at her daily duties. She was surrounded by people great and small whilst the sun was still in the sky. Yet at night, Y/N grew lonely and yearned for home, yearned for Whytefort. No matter how hard she attempted to persuade herself that Winterfell was her home now, Y/N had yet made no memories in this place, felt no familiarity nor true comfort. She found consolation only in her mare, Blackspur, and her ladies-in-waiting, particularly Lady Ellyn Mormont. Whilst Y/N did not mind the company of the other ladies, she had grown the closest to Lady Ellyn. They would often share their meals and walked the castle grounds, although they could not ride together for Lady Mormont had a terrible fear of horses. She was thrown off her mount when she was but a child, which caused Lady Mormont to break her leg. Y/N had not noticed it until it was pointed out to her but there was a small limp in Lady Ellyn’s walk because of this accident. Lady Y/N did not wish to make her companion uncomfortable so she shared her rides with Ser Tybald Cassel, the master-of-horse, or lately more often with Ser Harwyn, the master-of-arms. Whilst Ser Tybald was undoubtedly a man skilled and knowledgeable when it came to horses, he often gave the impression that if Lady Y/N had not been Lady Y/N Stark, he would not have paid her the respect she deserved on the account of her being a woman. Ser Harwyn, on the other hand, proved himself a man as loyal as they come and a pleasant companion on adventurous rides around the grounds of Winterfell. Lady Y/N grew even fonder of him than of Maester Bennard, who was also a tremendous help in navigating the ways of her duties as the Lady of Winterfell.

One day, as Lady Y/N and Lady Ellyn walked the glass gardens of Winterfell that were warmed with hot spring water on which the castle was built, Lady Ellyn asked her mistress whether she had been able to grow accustomed to living at Winterfell after near a moon of staying there.

“I imagine it is not the same now that Lord Stark is gone as well,” said Lady Ellyn as they sat down on a stone bench beneath an orange tree.

“No … It is not,” thought Lady Y/N saddened as she played with the sleeve of her lilac gown.

Y/N gazed around the glass gardens. Half of the plants in them Y/N had only seen painted and documented in books. They did not grow in the north, especially not in an area as mountainous as Whytefort. They would not grow here either if not for the thermal waters. Most of the plants were brought from the south through White Harbor in large wooden crates, tended to by maesters specialising in botany and herbology. There was a type of fruit that looked much like an apple, red and yellow with fuzz on its skin that reminded Y/N of moss. She could not remember what it was called, however. And another which seemed like pumpkin yet its flesh was green and sweeter than that of a pumpkin although the foreign fruit smelled similarly. There were also strawberries the size of pebbles unlike those as small as raindrops that grew in the mountains. There were vegetables a plenty too: all sorts of green leafy plants that were often served at nuncheon or for supper along with grains, seeds, and eggs. There were many medicinal herbs and roots as well, particularly for the brewing of potions and infusions.

Nevertheless, Y/N’s favourites remained oranges. She looked up at the big round orange fruits. “Do you suppose we could take one and share it?”

Lady Ellyn smiled to herself. “Of course, my lady. Everything you see is yours.”

Lady Y/N smiled as well although she still felt like nothing more than a guest at Winterfell, especially without Cregan in the castle.

“It …” began Lady Y/N, unsure whether she could trust her thoughts into Lady Ellyn’s care yet she had to speak to someone or she might go mad. “It is hard being away from home,” said Lady Y/N whilst Lady Ellyn’s smile slowly disappeared as she listened.

“I know Winterfell is my home now but I cannot help but long for the familiarity of Whytefort. I miss even the people I thought I despised – and I do, I do despise them still!” Y/N laughed but she might as well have cried. “It is only … It is only this feeling in my chest …” told the Lady of Winterfell as she held a hand over her heart as if to keep it from falling apart. In that moment, she really did think she might cry for everything that she had to leave behind.

“It seems to me that everyone expects me to fail, that they think less of me because I am not from as a great and noble House as they would expect the Lady of Winterfell to be,” spoke Lady Y/N evenly as she tried to contain her emotions. “Lady Daela—” considered Y/N, remembering the comments she swore were meant only as jests and the looks given to her by Lady Manderly when she believed Lady Stark was unaware.

“My lady,” Lady Ellyn cut her mistress off. “I believe Lady Daela’s moods may be a consequence of her having harboured notions of becoming the Lady of Winterfell herself.”

Lady Stark’s gaze darted to her lady-in-waiting. She felt a sting inside of her, an itch she did not only want to scratch but cut out altogether. Suddenly, the thought of Lady Daela made Y/N’s stomach twist into knots; not only of Lady Daela alone but of her and Cregan.

“I had believed you knew, my lady,” said Lady Ellyn. “That is why I did not mention it sooner. I thought you did not wish to speak of it.”

“Tell me,” asked Lady Y/N when so many things about Lady Daela suddenly made sense. The looks and the comments, her little japes and glares.

“I do not know much, my lady,” said Lady Ellyn. “As you would know as well, she is the youngest of Lord Manderly’s four daughters and all of them are already married to men of great and noble Houses: Tallhart, Mallister, and Arryn. White Harbor is one of the largest harbours in Westeros and the largest in the North. The match between Lord Stark and Lady Daela would not be unseemly.” Not like the one between Lord Stark and me, thought Lady Y/N with a heavy heart.

“But Lord Manderly is already fighting his own war at sea with the pirates from Essos,” thought Lady Y/N aloud. There was often news from White Harbor at the councils Y/N attended as the Lady of Winterfell. “He has no men to spare whilst my father has nothing but men.” And sheep.

“Indeed,” agreed Lady Ellyn. “Yet as far as I am aware, the match was never proposed by Lord Manderly. The prospect of Lady Daela’s hopes of marrying Lord Stark are but that – hopes and illusions,” Lady Ellyn gave her mistress a reassuring smile.

“I see,” said Lady Y/N, her blood boiling at the thought of Lady Daela and Cregan, and yet at the same time, Y/N felt a heavy weight in her stomach. She had already felt like everyone was judging her before Lady Ellyn told her of this – a match between a lady much nobler than Y/N herself and the Lord of Winterfell – and now the feeling only grew worse.

“If I may be so bold, my lady,” spoke Lady Ellyn when she saw the storm of thoughts in her lady’s features.

“Of course,” said Lady Y/N, “I wish nothing more of you than to speak plainly and in the manner you feel.”

“I long knew I would be a lady-in-waiting for the Lady of Winterfell when Lord Cregan would wed,” began Lady Ellyn. “Yet when I left Bear Island, I felt just as you do, my lady. Lost and alone, with everyone staring at me and watching me. I too had to leave my home and my family, my sweet little brothers and my lord father,” spoke Lady Ellyn, a sadness to her voice. “Even with Lady Daela, with Jocelyn and Harryett, I could not find peace here at Winterfell… Until you arrived.”

“Me?” asked Lady Y/N, her big eyes widening still.

“You were so kind to me – to us. Even when you need not have been,” said Lady Ellyn quickly. “We … We all bear names of great Houses: Manderly, Dustin, Karstark, and Mormont. But we … Lady Daela is devious, Jocelyn barely speaks a word without being called upon, Harryett is in her own world of gallant knights and pretty maidens, and myself … I cannot even accompany you at the thing you love most because of my stupid, stupid fear of horses.”

“And yet it matters not because you are a friend to me,” said Lady Y/N honestly as she took Lady Ellyn’s hand and squeezed it. "A true friend."

“I … I cannot make friends easily,” confessed Lady Stark. “Acquaintances, yes, quick friends perhaps, but not true friends, not loyal friends.”

“If not for you, I …” said Y/N as she looked away. “I would have no one to talk to but Maester Bennard,” she said. “He would have tried to invent a healing potion for my thoughts or ascribe it all to moonblood,” Lady Y/N laughed and Lady Ellyn joined her.

Just so, both the Lady of Winterfell as well as the only daughter and the oldest child of Lord Mormont breathed a little easier and shared an orange on their way back to the castle.

***

It was a moon’s turn since Lord Stark departed for north. Lady Y/N’s days were still filled with council meetings, settling disputes, and listening to the woes of the smallfolk and trying to find solutions. She hosted lesser members of House Dormand and later House Flint. If Y/N could not find the time to take Blackspur for a ride, she would at least take a walk around Winterfell. Yet she would visit the godswood everyday even if the sun had already set only to pray for her husband’s safe return. For the longer he was away, the less news arrived, and the more anxious Y/N grew. She prayed for her family as well; for her lady mother and her brother, and even her father, who was fighting against the wildlings alongside Lord Stark. If there were no duties waiting for her, Y/N could sit beneath the heart tree for hours, wrapped in her thick fur coat as she would lean against the weirwood tree. Whilst her own bed brought her nothing but sadness these days, Y/N encountered what little peace she could find at the godswood and sometimes in the presence of Lady Ellyn, when Y/N found the strength for company.

The stars appeared in the sky that night and the moon was so bright it made the evening frost glisten like crystals. There had not been any snow in a week yet the cold was even greater than before. Lady Y/N was returning from the godswood, hardly needing a torch to light her way as the moon was bright enough. She was more restless then normally and her body felt as exhausted as if she had climbed up to the top of the Iceraven. There were weights bound to her legs and a pressure in her stomach. Y/N had venison for supper with buttered beats and a slice of blackberry tart. The sweet must have been too much because Y/N had to steady herself against a tree and catch her breath. Cold drops of sweat gathered on her chest and neck before she bent over with nausea. All that she had eaten that evening left her body. Y/N leaned against the tall pine and tried to find the strength to return to the castle. She slowly made her way up the cobbled path that lead back. She had to stop twice when she felt too weak to continue.

As Lady Y/N finally made it to the castle, she was awaited by Lady Ellyn.

“My lady,” gasped Lady Mormont as she hurried to her mistress’ side. She took her arm as Y/N leaned against her friend. “Somebody call the maester!” called Lady Mormont. The servant girl nearby dropped the linen from her hands and ran to fetch the maester whilst Lady Ellyn escorted Lady Y/N to her chambers, her skin as pale as the weirwood tree.

“I do not need the maester,” spoke Lady Y/N weakly when she laid in her bed. “I only need some rest.”

“My lady,” implored Lady Ellyn. “You have to allow Maester Bennard to see you.”

“Tomorrow,” whispered Lady Y/N. “If I do not feel better.”

“At least allow me to stay with you, my lady. You must not be alone like this,” said Lady Ellyn as she helped her lady out of her clothes. She brought Lady Y/N her nightgown and a cup of water which Lady Y/N could not be more grateful for. Yet even simply drinking some water made Y/N nauseous again. Lady Ellyn fetched the basin for washing and held back her lady’s hair.

“I beg of you, Y/N,” spoke Lady Ellyn gravely. “Allow Maester Bennard to see you. My lady, you could be gravely ill—”

“I am not ill,” said Y/N as her eyes let in hot tears. She had known it for some time now yet she did not want to admit it to herself. She realized it that afternoon in the gardens when she joked with Lady Ellyn about Maester Bennard.

Lady Y/N rose her gaze to her lady-in-waiting, who could read the answer from her mistress’ eyes.

“You are with child,” breathed Lady Ellyn. Y/N nodded as salty tears slid down her pale cheeks. Lady Ellyn put her arms around her mistress. Lady Y/N’s hands clutched to her friend’s back as she sobbed.

“Are … Are you not glad, my lady?” spoke Lady Ellyn carefully and not without compassion.

“W-What … What if he … What if he does not return?” Lady Y/N’s voice broke. The thought of her alone at Winterfell without him was unbearable, what more alone but with his child. The child who would never know their father nor could their mother tell them much about him as they were only wed for half a moon before he had to march north. The child that she would love with all of her heart but would remind her of the man she had lost.

“Lord Stark?” asked Lady Ellyn.

Lady Y/N nodded.

“He is one of the best swordsmen in all of the Seven Kingdoms,” said Lady Ellyn with every confidence. “Everyone says so and not only because he is our Lord of Winterfell. He will come back to you safely, my lady.”

Ser Harwyn said so himself, Lady Y/N considered, although that is not what concerned her. She had seen Lord Stark train with the master-at-arms herself and many other seasoned warriors with whom he won every time. Yet Lady Y/N also remembered her husband’s body, his scarred chest. If the savage’s arrow had aimed but an inch lower and pierced Cregan’s lung …

There was a knock on the door with Maester Bennard awaiting outside. Lady Ellyn got up to speak to the maester whilst Lady Y/N managed to change into more comfortable garments.

Lady Ellyn asked Maester Bennard to return in the morning, explaining of her lady’s sickness – but never mentioning the pregnancy – and how she was feeling better already.

As she closed the door behind her, Lady Ellyn’s heart grew heavy. She had not known Lady Stark for very long but they had grown quite close in the recent weeks. Lady Ellyn wished to help, to comfort her Lady Y/N but she could not find the words that would do so.

“Lord Stark will come back,” assured Lady Ellyn once more. “And he will be delighted with the news,” she tried to cheer Y/N up. It worked because Y/N’s dark thoughts were replaced with bright, happy memories the child would bring to her and Cregan. She imagined telling him, mayhaps sending a raven or a messenger to deliver the news. Or she could wait for him to return and see for himself.

Lady Ellyn was sitting on the edge of the bed beside her mistress, gently caressing her hair. Although they had spent a lot of time together, she noticed Lady Stark was shutting herself away from others. She would take her meals alone more often and spend much of her time in the godswood. It must have been since she found out she was with child, Lady Ellyn considered. Whilst herself, Lady Daela, Jocelyn, and Harryett could somewhat bond over their duties as the ladies-in-waiting to the Lady of Winterfell, Y/N had no one to share her burden with, not truly.

“Allow me to stay with you tonight, my lady,” asked Lady Ellyn, her hand pausing on her mistress’ shoulder. Lady Y/N nodded, allowing someone in properly for the first time in as long as she could remember.

Lady Ellyn laid down in bed beside Y/N, who turned around to face her lady-in-waiting. Her eyes were closed as her tears slipped down into the pillow. They fell asleep together in silence, Lady Ellyn’s hand tightly wrapped around Y/N’s palm.

It was in the hour of the owl when Lady Stark woke in terrible pain. She had felt it coming for hours but half believed the pain was only in her nightmares. Lady Y/N whimpered in pain as she sat up in bed, her nightgown wet with blood. The candles were out but there was still the light from the hearth and the brightness of the moonlight through the windows. Y/N cried in horror, waking up Lady Ellyn, who sat up immediately. Her gaze followed Lady Y/N’s, her mouth parting in shock at the sight of the blood.

“Gods …” breathed Lady Ellyn as her mistress’ hands shook uncontrollably. “Guards!” called Lady Ellyn and got up. “GUARDS!”

Ser Martyn, Lady Stark’s sworn shield, burst into the Lord and Lady of Winterfell’s private chambers.

“Get the maester! NOW!” shouted Lady Ellyn, surely waking half of the castle before she returned her attention to the Lady of Winterfell. “It’s alright, it’s alright, my lady,” whispered Lady Ellyn soothingly over and over again yet she could not mask the doubt in her quivering voice at the sight of all the blood.

“N-No, no, no … No, no …” cried Lady Y/N as she stared at her blood-stained fingers. “Wh … What is happening?” she whimpered. Lady Y/N clutched to her abdomen in the moment of another striking pain, more painful than anything she had been feeling throughout the night. Lady Y/N’s nightgown was soaked with sweat, her wet hair sticking to her chest.

Although an old man, Maester Bennard rushed to his liege lady immediately. His assistants were with him, all three of them freezing at the sight of all the blood. Maester Bennard knew then that Lady Stark had been with child but no was longer so.  

After the maester and his assistants did the best they could to stop Lady Stark’s pain and bleeding, they let her rest. Although Lady Y/N was given milk of the poppy, it only helped with her physical pain, which was nothing compared to what Y/N felt in her heart. The dawn had already broken and yet Lady Stark could not stop weeping since she had awoken in the hour of the owl.

All four of her ladies-in-waiting wept with her yet none could truly understand. Even Maester Bennard’s heart went out to his lady although he was a man of science, who placed logic and stoicism above most everything else, particularly feelings.

Nevertheless, Maester Bennard allowed himself to approach the foot of the bed. “Even if you had let me come see you last night,” spoke the maester gently, “I would not have been able to make a difference, my lady.”

Lady Stark was blaming herself for losing the babe and her eyes would not go out of tears like deep and endless dark pools do not run out of water.

“It is not uncommon for women to lose their first child, especially this early in the pregnancy,” continued Maester Bennard. “And they go on to have perfectly healthy children, my lady. Do not despair …” The old man wished to comfort her but Lady Y/N could not be consoled. A part of her believed Maester Bennard’s words. If one of her ladies-in-waiting had been in her position, Y/N would be sure to tell them the same as the maester told her. Yet she could not help but feel that it had been her fault. That she had not loved it enough, that she had not wanted it enough and feared for it too much, and that that is the reason why it went away.

Lady Stark’s chest broke into a heart-breaking sob as she clutched to her chest. Maester Bennard decided to leave his lady in the company of Lady Ellyn instead. She wrapped her arms around her lady but Y/N’s pain could not be contained. That day Lady Ellyn shared Lady Stark’s bed once again for Y/N could not bear to be alone with her thoughts. She took some sleeping drought prepared by the maester and drowned her pain in the depths of sleep.

***

The days which followed were the hardest. Lady Y/N spend the first few days in bed, recovering from the loss of blood, but mostly from the loss she felt inside. Lady Stark commanded the maester not to send a raven north to the Lord of Winterfell. If someone was to tell Lord Stark of what had happened, it was going to be Y/N herself. She recalled their final night together at Winterfell and how he said she might be with child by the time he returns. A part of him spoke with hopefulness and Y/N’s heart broke even further at the thought of it.

The recovery was hard. Lady Y/N could not even think of food, much less make herself have an proper meal, which did not go unnoticed on her weight.

“The servants will prepare anything you wish, my lady,” said Lady Jocelyn as she helped her lady get dressed properly for the first time in days. “Lemon cakes, apple tarts, anything you wish. Lord Stark will not be pleased to find you like this when he returns,” begged Lady Jocelyn and did the lacing on Lady Y/N’s dress.

The mention of Lord Stark made Lady Y/N turn around to look at her lady-in-waiting. Lady Jocelyn Karstark was plain of face with brows which would always have one believe she was saddened. Her hair was like wheat, her frame slim yet hardy. She enjoyed wearing gowns in blue shades as she thought it would make her hair seem more golden than brown. Yet what Lady Y/N learned of Lady Jocelyn was that she was timorous in the face of authority and did not care much for Y/N personally, rather what the Lord of Winterfell and his maester will write to her family of her service at the castle.

Once when in her cups, Lady Jocelyn confessed she wished nothing more but to be married. She never wanted to come to Winterfell and doted on a boy from her family’s castle in The Grey Cliffs. She was Lord Karstark’s youngest niece through his only remaining brother for fever took the rest some years ago.

The boy Lady Jocelyn spoke of had only his name but no House he belonged to. He was the castle smith’s apprentice. Neither her father nor Lord Karstark would ever allow for them to marry but Lady Jocelyn refused to lose faith. She sometimes accompanied her lady to the godswood where she prayed that the Lord of Winterfell should send her home and she could marry the boy.

Lady Stark felt sorry for the girl. She was only four-and-ten, and although a girl flowered, Lady Jocelyn was not yet a woman grown. She had yet to learn that life was not as simple as a maiden’s dreams or Y/N would have been a stable master’s apprentice or a knight in some lord’s service, trained in swordplay and travelling on horseback throughout the Seven Kingdoms. She had always wanted to see the yellow sands of Dorne and the Red Keep of King’s Landing. She wanted to ride the Rose Road through The Reach and have wine in some meadow outside Highgarden. And if she would have found the courage, Y/N would have even boarded a ship to Essos.

“Go and break your fast with the ladies, Lady Jocelyn,” said Lady Stark as she fixed her earrings herself. She wore a gown of deep juniper green with a slim headpiece of yellow gold and a matching belt.

“And have the servants prepare stewed beef with wine and cloves for nuncheon,” Lady Y/N instructed her lady-in-waiting. Lady Jocelyn curtsied and left Y/N’s private chambers.

Alone at last, Lady Y/N sat down at the table and helped herself to some cheese to break her fast. She was not truly hungry. She had not been able to gain appetite in days. Nevertheless, as the sweet and savoury taste of bread and cheese mingled in her mouth, Y/N’s body recognized the need she had been avoiding. Y/N had some wine with her food when a knock came on the door. Ser Martyn entered and bowed, announcing that Maester Bennard wished to see his lady. Y/N had half a mind to ask him to meet her later when the council was to take place.

“He speaks of a raven from the north, my lady,” said Ser Martyn. Lady Y/N’s heart stopped in her chest as she looked up at her sworn shield.

“Send him in,” urged Lady Y/N and got up immediately.

Maester Bennard entered her private chambers, a scroll of parchment in his wrinkled hand.

“My lady,” the maester bowed. “A raven flew in from the north bearing Lord Stark’s seal.” He handed the scroll to Lady Stark. She took the letter eagerly, but once in her hands, the parchment paper seemed to her as heavy as an sword of steel. Even if the news were grave, Y/N could not wait any longer. She broke the direwolf in the grey wax and rolled out the parchment. Her heart beat savagely in her chest as heat crawled all over her body.

Y/N left out a shivery breath.

“What is it, my lady? What word comes from the north?” asked Maester Bennard with haste.

“They are well,” breathed Lady Stark as her eyes welled with tears. The scroll in her hand, she leaned against the table, her chest raising heavily as her tears soaked the walnut wood of the furniture. Lady Stark took a deep breath as she collected herself and brushed the tears from her face. She looked at the maester who was visibly relieved as well.

Lady Stark offered him the scroll to read.

“They had already pushed the wildlings north of The Gift. It is only a matter of time before the host is defeated and whoever is left flees back across the Wall,” told Lady Stark as she sat back at the table with great relief whilst Maester Bennard read the news for himself. He nodded, a hint of a smile hiding in his usually unemotional features. He was neither a tall nor a strong man but the wisdom of books and age made his presence as prominent as any.

“Will you sit, maester?” asked Lady Y/N and poured the man who brought such joyous news from a flagon of sweet Dornish red.

“If it pleases my lady,” said Maester Bennard. Although they have always been courteous to each other and Maester Bennard was an indispensable source of wisdom with a deep personal loyalty to House Stark, Lady Y/N never found a moment to form a personal bond with Maester Bennard unlike with Ser Harwyn, with whom it happened almost naturally.

“The wildlings are just that, my lady, wild and untamed,” commented Maester Bennard on the letter. “Their kind may fight in numbers but not in form and organization, nor is their steel any match for ours.” He never doubted the strength of Winterfell or its lord, yet strange things may happen when an army goes on a march – disease and weather being just two of them.

Lady Y/N saw a wildling once. He was caught in her father’s mountains stealing sheep from the shepherds. The men brought him to Whytefort to her lord father. The man wore sheepskin and leather and seemed to Y/N no different then any man she had met other than in his choice of garments and lack of courtesy. Lord Jonos made his men cut off the wildling’s hands at the wrists before he was hanged and made an example to warn both the smallfolk as well as any other wildlings that thought of sealing in his lands.

“If my lady would consider writing back to Lord Stark,” suggested Maester Bennard carefully.

“I will write to him,” Lady Y/N nodded.

“I am sure my lord would wish to know of my lady’s recent condition,” agreed Maester Bennard. Lady Stark’s gaze rose to him, an unusual coldness lying in her eyes.

“No,” said Lady Stark. “I would not worry him. He needs a clear mind,” she concluded although that was only half of the truth. The other half was that Y/N did not know how she would tell Cregan what had happened. She did not know how he would react and if he too would blame her as she blamed herself.

Maester Bennard wished to speak, to persuade her, but Lady Y/N got up.

“I would have the council gather today, Maester Bennard. It has been too long since I sat in it,” said Lady Stark. Near a week had passed since she fell ill. The North had been in the capable hands of Winterfell’s councillors in the meantime, but Y/N would not allow herself to disappoint the Lord of Winterfell in failing to rule the North in his absence as well. She mustered all of the strength she had left.

“As my lady commands,” said Maester Bennard and left her chambers.

Y/N sat on the edge of her bed, her fingers running through the soft furs laid on her husband’s side. He will come back, thought Y/N. The smile slowly faded off her lips at the thought of it. She was grateful to hear that the warriors were successful, that Cregan was alive and well. She could cry out of happiness. But Y/N could not imagine telling him, not even at the insistence of the maester.

***

Yet another turn of the moon passed before the raven came with news of Lord Stark’s return to Winterfell. Some of the warriors remained south of the Wall to make sure the wildlings were gone, one of those hosts led by Daeron Whytefort himself whilst Lord Jonos returned to Whytefort with the greater part of his army.

Lord Stark’s host was to return to Winterfell half the moon’s turn after the raven of the same news arrived. The castle was in upheaval with the preparations for its lord’s return. There would be a feast held in the honour of the victorious host of warriors. The lords and commanders were to dine in the Great Hall whilst a feast for the soldiers and warriors of Winterfell was to be held in the winter town.

Lady Stark ordered the servants to prepare sweet beef, pork-and-onion pies, roast venison and baked mallards for the feast in the Great Hall.

Lady Y/N paced around the watchtower in her skirts of deep blue with embroidery of flowers in the string-of-gold on her long bell sleeves and ornate bodice. She wore her tear pearls with yellow gold and a cloak of deep blue and fox fur for warmth. Y/N watched the horizon every day, waiting for an army of men to appear in her sight. It had been so for days until a rider came in one of the evenings, announcing the return of Lord Stark’s host on the morrow.

“My lady,” said one of the soldiers who was with her atop of the watchtower. Lady Stark’s gaze followed that of the young man where it found riders on the horizon. Y/N’s heart began to beat harshly against her ribcage, threatening to tear her chest apart and escape. She licked her dry lips when she saw the banners of House Stark flying in the cold, northern winds.

It was midday when the host of warriors reached the castle gates. Lady Stark was waiting in the courtyard with Maester Bennard, Ser Harwyn and Ser Martyn, and countless others. Even the smallfolk who served in the castle gathered in the courtyard to see their lord’s return, at least those who were not busy preparing the feast.

The sound of hooves approaching echoed through the castle walls. Lady Y/N’s arms prickled with goose bumps. She held her breath as the riders arrived into the courtyard, Y/N’s gaze immediately finding that of the Lord of Winterfell. Lady Y/N’s chest quivered. Cregan’s hair was longer and his cheeks covered in yesterday’s stubble. Other than that, Y/N felt like nothing had changed, and yet everything. For a moment, it seemed to her that she was looking at a stranger, someone from a dream she remembered but did not know.

The Lord of Winterfell and his men dismounted as the stableboys and squires took care of their coursers. Lord Stark made his way to his wife with Maester Bennard and Ser Martyn by her side.

“My lady,” spoke Lord Stark, a warm smile hiding in the somber line of his lips. He took Lady Y/N’s hand into his, kissing the top of her knuckles and held it a moment. The touch of his hand felt so familiar and yet so strange to Lady Y/N.

“Husband,” breathed Lady Y/N quietly. Their gazes entwined as neither could manage to fill the silence with words and yet their eyes spoke a thousand phrases.

Y/N remembered to breathe and curtsied gracefully, “Welcome.”  

“Thank you, my lady,” said the Lord of Winterfell and watched her as if he had just seen her for the first time. His grey eyes were neither cold nor warm, neither hiding nor revealing; at least not to her.

The Lord of Winterfell greeted the rest of his court whilst the commanders expressed their courtesies to the Lady of Winterfell. Y/N could hardly focus on them as her gaze kept escaping to her husband’s broad back hidden beneath a heavy cloak of wolf fur. Y/N’s eyes watered yet she was unsure whether it was from the icy wind or her husband returning. She could feel Maester Bennard’s gaze on her, however, hiding only one thought.

***

“I would have a bath, scalding hot,” Lord Stark instructed the servants as himself and the Lady of Winterfell reached their private chambers. The servants disappeared to fetch the water and the tub as Lord Cregan took off his heavy coat with a suppressed groan.

“Are you well?” asked Lady Y/N, not anticipating the strange awkwardness that lingered in the air after the comfort she had grown to feel in their time together but that was four moons ago.

Lord Stark smiled to himself whilst he hung his coat over one of the chairs. He had been longing to hear his wife’s voice in the long, lonely days that he had been away.

“I am well,” said Lord Stark as he took Lady Y/N’s hand and gently pulled her to him. “Only tired from the ride,” he spoke more quietly, leaning his forehead against hers. Lady Y/N wrapped her arms around her husband’s waist and came closer, resting her cheek against Lord Stark’s chest. He smelled of horses, smoke, and pinewood but she did not mind, not in that moment. Cregan held his wife, realizing how much he had missed her. There was nothing but blood and slaughter and battle everywhere around him, frustrated advisors and fellow commanders, and warriors impatient in the cold northern climate. Lord Stark’s mind often drifted to his lady wife, to Y/N. He longed for the peace of holding her in his arms, for the touch of her soft skin beneath his sword-calloused hands. He missed her big, pensive eyes and her warm, gentle voice.

“Have you been well, my lady?” asked Lord Cregan in turn. Y/N paused. The moment was perfect to tell him yet she could not do it.

“Yes,” spoke Lady Y/N quietly and nodded. In truth, she had been anything but. Ruling Winterfell in her husband’s absence was one thing, yet trusting her body and finding leave to grieve at the same time was a different matter entirely. When Lady Y/N was with her moonblood for the first time since she lost her babe, she wept. She wept from happiness of things going back to normal and she wept from sadness as the blood only reminded her of what she had lost.

The servants returned and prepared a bath for their lord. Lady Y/N stood by the window as she noticed the snow had begun to fall almost as if it knew the Lord of Winterfell had returned to his castle. The servants retired once they readied the bath, leaving their lord and lady alone once again.

Cregan began unclasping his thick, leather jerkin lined with warm wool.

“I can leave you if you wish,” offered Lady Y/N gently as Lord Stark pulled off his boots. He turned to her with a frown.

“I have been gone from you for neigh four turns of the moon, wife,” said Lord Stark. “I do not wish to be parted from you a moment longer.”

A blush crept to Lady Y/N’s face as her spoke those words, an even greater fever flushing though her cheeks when Lord Stark took off his tunic and breeches and stepped into the bath. The feeling lasted for but a moment, however, because Y/N’s gaze fell to Cregan’s built chest, which was bandaged beneath his armpits and across his left shoulder.

Lady Y/N hurried to him and knelt by the bathtub.

“What happened? You said you are well,” asked Y/N quickly, her eyes wide and her brows in a frown. She wished to reach out and touch the bandage yet she did not dare.

“I am,” assured Lord Stark, the hint of a smile returning to his lips. His wife’s concern for him warmed Cregan’s heart.

“But—” Lady Y/N shook her head, looking at the red-brown stain of a wound trying to disguise itself in the pale bandages.

“You have my word, my lady,” said Lord Stark as he reached his hand to Lady Y/N’s cheek. His thumb brushed against her soft skin. He leaned in slowly as Y/N’s hand reached just beneath his jaw and their lips met in a kiss not of lust and desire but of profound longing. Y/N wondered how she could find the strength to hold back and not kiss her husband the moment he climbed off his horse. An overwhelming set of emotions washed over Lady Y/N as she rested her hand on her husband’s cheek, his lips leaving ever so familiar kisses on her own. It has been too long.

Lady Y/N pulled away hesitantly and reached for air. Her husband’s eyes lingered on her lips before they shifted to her eyes, his gaze warm and full of longing.

“I should call Maester Bennard to attend to your wound. Gods only know what sort of pretender treated it on the battlefield,” said Lady Y/N, whose voice was grave with worry and even anger at the thought of some charlatan posing for a maester treating her husband’s injury.

“Later,” agreed Lord Stark to reassure his beautiful wife. “I would have this bath first.”

Lady Y/N nodded, still holding her husband’s hand that held her cheek only moments ago. It was wet from the water yet still Lady Y/N held it tightly, drawing shapes into his palm with her thumb. Her eyebrows were in a deep, troubled frown, her eyes like big pools of worry and sadness.

“What is it?” asked Lord Stark, not unkindly, yet his own voice was grave with worry and suspicion. Something was amiss, something must have happened whilst he was away for Maester Bennard’s eyes were also hiding something when he awaited Lord Stark in the courtyard. He saw the meaningful look the maester gave to his lady wife yet the meaning was still unknown to the Lord of Winterfell.

Lord Cregan’s brows hung formidably as he studied his wife.

“Hm?” Lady Y/N looked up. She felt as if she had been caught red-handed yet Cregan could not have heard her thoughts. “Nothing,” lied Y/N and pressed a soft kiss atop of her husband’s hand before she let it go. “I was only … I am glad you have returned.” Lady Y/N offered a small smile but she could not mask how troubled her mind was to Cregan. He had learned to recognize in their short time together when something was amiss with his wife even when no one else would notice. 

“I should prepare for the feast,” Lady Y/N changed the topic and got up. Lord Stark did not question her any further yet his grey eyes lingered on Lady Y/N as she walked to the dressing area.

Lady Y/N had a gown made especially for the feast in the white and green of the field of House Stark’s banner and string-of-silver for its grey direwolf. The base of the dress was white with the hems of the sleeves, collar, and the bodice embroidered with dark green jewels, Myrish lace, and string-of-silver. Lady Y/N wore her necklace of emeralds and pearls and matching earrings gifted to her by her mother and had her handmaidens braid her hair for the occasion.

When Lady Y/N emerged from the dressing area, Lord Stark was already in his dark boots and breeches yet held off the tunic and jerkin until the maester would change his bandages. As the servants and the handmaidens left, Lord Stark’s grey eyes fell upon his wife wearing the finest gown in the colours of his House. His mouth parted softly.

“I had it made for this occasion,” said Lady Y/N when her husband would not speak. She felt a mixture of self-consciousness under Lord Stark’s gaze as well as some satisfaction at his reaction.

“I hope it pleases you,” said Lady Y/N as she locked her hands, offering a small smile.

“Pleases me?” breathed Lord Stark and got up eagerly. Yet before he could even take two steps towards his wife, the door of the chambers opened, announcing the arrival of the maester.

Maester Bennard brought his assistant, who carried a heavy yet ornate wooden box of herbs, potions, and medical supplies. Lord Stark’s gaze lingered on his beautiful wife a moment longer before he sat back down and allowed the maester to change his bandages. Lady Y/N stood by, watching it all from a distance. When Maester Bennard revealed a gash in Lord Stark’s chest just above his heart, Lady Y/N’s brows returned to a concerned frown. Whatever blood there was was old, dry and crusted on the bandage whilst the wound seemed to be healing. It was a cut caused by a wildling’s short axe who managed to steal into the Lord of Winterfell’s tent one night. The savage came at him with a dagger but did not know Lord Stark was still awake. Cregan knocked the man on the floor and took his dagger but the wildling recovered as they rolled on the floor. When the man got up, he came at Lord Stark with his short axe but managed only a weak blow for the Lord of Winterfell broke his arm when he had knocked him on the floor. Cregan got to the wildling’s own dagger and stabbed him in his side and then in his heart.

As Lord Stark told the tale of his new scar, he did not look at his wife. Cregan could feel her worried gaze on him with every word he spoke and did not want to give her any more cause for concern. Lady Y/N, however, had to hold her breath to keep the tears from her eyes as she listened, refusing to show her feelings, least of all in front of Maester Bennard. They have been working relentlessly since Lady Y/N recovered from that night, never speaking of it once since Lord Stark’s letter from The Gift arrived – other than checking on her health once in a while to ensure the lady’s recovery. Lady Y/N did not want to give Maester Bennard any more cause to see her as weak or incapable of ruling Winterfell in her husband’s absence. She made all the efforts to keep the council happy and Winterfell functioning as it should.

“Considering everything, the wound is healing nicely, my lord,” concluded Maester Bennard after he changed the bandage and stored away his supplies.

“Thank you, maester,” said Lord Stark as he got up and pulled on his tunic and jerkin. His cheeks were shaven clean and one of the servants must have shortened his dark hair some. For a moment, it seemed as if the march north had never happened, thought Lady Y/N, although in truth she felt as if four years and not four moons had passed since Lord Stark marched.

“Will you join us at the feast, Maester Bennard?” asked Lord Stark.

“I will. Thank you, my lord,” smiled Maester Bennard and bowed courteously. “And if I may, my lady, you look exquisite,” he added, turning to his lady and bowed as well.

“Thank you, maester,” said Lady Stark, slightly taken aback by Maester Bennard’s comment.

The Lord and Lady of Winterfell joined the commanders in the Great Hall where the feast was held. The music was already playing merrily as the lords drank on ale, waiting for their liege lord to begin feasting on delicious foods as well. Once the presence of Lord and Lady Stark was noted with everyone rising in respect before they sat down together, the servants began to bring dishes of beef and venison, meat pies, buttered vegetables, and even baked mallards. When all of the food was brought into the Great Hall, the Lord of Winterfell rose with a cup of ale in his hand.

“My lords,” addressed Lord Stark firmly, his voice booming and as solemn as ever yet unmistakably pleased. “Another march north is behind us and once again we have defeated the wildlings and sent them beyond the Wall where they belong!” he spoke with a heavy northern accent as the Great Hall roared with cheers and fists and cups slamming against the heavy oaken tables. “We protected our homes and we protected our people; our wives and our children—” the Lord of Winterfell continued but Lady Y/N’s heart sank to her stomach at the sound of his words. Her eyes rose to Maester Bennard, who was holding onto his cup of warm honeyed wine and watching his lord address his noble commanders. Still, Y/N wondered whether the maester wrote to her husband in secret, whether he told him of what had happened without her leave.

“This feast is for you! The finest warriors in all of the Seven Kingdoms and PROUD NORTHERNERS!” Lord Stark’s voice thundered through the hall as he rose his cup. The men cheered even louder and got up as well as did Lady Y/N, all emptying their cups to Winterfell’s victory over the savages.

The men dug into the delicious food prepared for them, having lived off stew and porridge for too many days on end. It was difficult enough to cook anything in a camp, much less something that did not come from a big pot for a great many people.

The Lady of Winterfell helped herself to some sweet beef and some buttered potatoes, having no more than a cup of wine all evening as she feared it might make her say something she would regret. For a moment, Lady Y/N considered it was all in her head – Maester Bennard’s burning gaze that she seemed to feel on her at all times. Nevertheless, when she rose her eyes to the maester, he was already looking at her. He averted his gaze when the Lady of Winterfell caught it. A part of her was furious with the old man and yet a part of her understood. He would not have his lord remain in the dark about anything, not even his wife.

Lady Y/N lost her appetite even before the desserts came. She made the kitchens prepare blueberry tarts and rice pudding with spices that warmed up even the coldest hands.

The Lord of Winterfell did not care for sweets yet he nevertheless had a slice of the blueberry tart. The tension at the high table could be cut with a knife, the mood no longer reflected only in Lady Y/N and Maester Bennard, as well as Lady Ellyn who sat by her lady’s side, but also in Lord Stark himself. The uneasy looks, the silence on both sides, where there was usually at least talk of the weather, made Lord Stark’s thoughts drift into dark and unsettling places. A seed of anger and frustration grew inside of him and it did not go unnoticed in a man who was usually as calm and stoic as a rock. He was tired and his patience was thinning.

“Would you tell me what is it that you are hiding from me?” suggested Lord Stark to his wife as he washed down the slice of tart with a cup of ale. The tone of his voice was harsher than he intended but once the words lingered between himself and Lady Y/N there was no taking them back and his wife’s silence only frustrated him more.

Lady Y/N stared into her husband’s eyes as if she were searching for something, something she hoped to recognize from many moons ago. She squeezed the fingers of one of her hands inside the other until it hurt. Lady Y/N licked her dry lips as she realized she would no longer be able to keep her secret to herself. If it would not be she who tells Lord Stark, the maester surely will.

“Will you … Will you walk with me?” asked Lady Y/N as she avoided her husband’s gaze.

Cregan studied his wife as his brows rested in a formidable frown but agreed nevertheless. “I will.”

The Lord and Lady of Winterfell got up from the high table and walked the grounds of their castle, its walls filled with the sound of merriment of its warriors. They walked the path to the godswood, the crowns of the pine trees blocking the snow some. Lady Y/N slowed her pace once they were finally alone and away from even the smallfolk attending the castle.

“Do you …” began Lady Y/N, not sure where to start. “Do you remember what you said to me the night before you left Winterfell?” she asked, her voice small and shiver-like. Her breath came out in small, white clouds.

Lord Stark looked at his wife as they walked. His face was frowning in such a formidable way that made Lady Y/N’s stomach twist into painful knots. She remembered her father and his anger.

“You asked me to return safely and I said I would,” said Lord Stark, his voice clear and sombre. Lady Y/N nodded but he could see that that was not what she meant. They walked down the path of cobblestones towards the godswood. It was narrow enough for only one person to walk it at a time. Lady Y/N went first, Lord Stark following on her trail. Y/N could almost feel his warm breath on the back of her head from his closeness. Goose pimples rose on her arms and legs. She held up her skirts as she passed some stairs until they reached the godswood, the heart tree, and the black pond.

“I told you that I loved you,” tried the Lord of Winterfell as they stood beneath the great, haughty weirwood tree. Lord Stark’s voice turned quieter yet remained earnest.

Lady Y/N’s gaze rose to her husband’s grey eyes as her entire body froze. Her heart broke into a million small pieces like a figurine made of glass shattering on the floor. Her eyes watered with tears although she had been doing everything in her power to keep herself from crying. She turned her head away and bit her lip to keep her chin from quivering yet it was all in vain. Hot, salty tears escaped her eyes and stung her cheeks as she closed her eyes. She could not make the words pass her mouth.

Cregan watched his wife, his own heart aching at the sight of her tears. A thousand and one thought had passed his mind on their way to the godswood. If something had gone wrong with the ruling of Winterfell in his absence, if there had been a falling out with one of the Houses, Maester Bennard would be sure to write of it to him whilst he was away. Yet another, more pressing thought weighed heavy on Lord Stark’s mind, a thought that made him burn with anger, with fury and jealousy unlike he had ever known before. If his wife had been unfaithful … He would not allow himself to believe that thought. He did not know what he would do if it proved to be true. Yet when he saw Y/N’s tears when he mentioned the time he told her of his love for her, Cregan had almost believed it – believed there was another man. But as his wife turned away, her body shivering with tears and a sadness so great that it threatened to break her, Cregan knew it could not be the love of a man that made her weep.

Lady Y/N’s small, delicate hand rested on her stomach as she looked down, her cheeks stung with tears.

“You might be great with child by then,” the Lord of Winterfell remembered his words from the night they last lied together. Cregan’s heart dropped to his stomach and he could not swallow the heaviness that formed in his throat. Furious with himself for his foolish thoughts and his harsh behaviour, Lord Stark’s mind overpowered with concern for his wife. He understood now too why the maester was involved.

Although Cregan was saddened about the babe, the feeling could not be compared to the sight of Y/N, his wife, in such a state of sorrow.

Lady Y/N’s chest allowed a small sob to escape, her hand closing over her mouth.

“Y/N …” spoke Lord Stark, his voice deep and hoarse as he reached for his wife. Y/N took a step back instinctively, her shoulders tensing around her neck as if she believed he might strike her.

“I am so sorry,” whispered Y/N as she shook her head, tears stinging her cheeks.

“If you will ever … ever be able to f-forgive me,” Lady Y/N’s voice broke as she made to kneel.

“Y/N,” Lord Stark spoke again, this time even more gently as he took her shoulders. The frown on his face was no longer one of anger and frustration but one softened with sadness and worry. Y/N’s eyes were red, her lashes clumped with tears.

Cregan pulled her into his arms. Lady Y/N resisted at first but Cregan held her tightly. At last Y/N’s chest broke into a painful cry, one with sobbing so sorrowful it made even the Gods cry. The face of the heart tree was lined with red streaks as the Lord of Winterfell held his wife.

“I am so sorry … I am so sorry,” spoke Lady Y/N over and over again against her husband’s chest. Her fingers were buried in his coat as Lord Stark held her head close.

“It is not your fault, Y/N,” assured Lord Stark with all of the authority in him but it made no difference to Lady Y/N. “You are not to blame.”

“I was so afraid, Cregan,” cried Y/N. “I was so afraid you would not come back … And it … It made it go away …”

“That is not true, my love,” Lord Stark spoke more gently against Y/N’s hair. “It is not your fault.” Cregan kissed the top of his wife’s head and rested his chin there as he held her trembling frame close to his.

“Maester Bennard said there was nothing he could have done,” whispered Lady Y/N tearfully as her crying soothed down some. “There … T-There was just s-so much blood.” Lady Y/N's chin quivered as she remembered that night. “I was so scared …” she whispered so quietly she thought her husband would not be able to hear but he did.

“It is not your fault, my lady ... I am here now, my love,” spoke Lord Stark quietly against his wife’s hair as he caressed her head.

“I thought … I thought you would be so angry with me,” spoke Y/N in the same voice.

“Why would you think so?” frowned Lord Stark, his body tensing.

“I only thought … I thought you wished for it …”

“I did,” spoke Lord Stark gently and cupped his wife’s cheeks and made her look him in the eye. “But not as much as I wish for your happiness and health,” he said earnestly. Y/N closed her eyes. She could not look into her husband’s eyes no matter how much he wanted her to.

“We will have dozens of children if that is what you wish,” said Cregan but he could not stop his wife’s tears.

“Two dozen,” tried Cregan again. Lady Y/N laughed a small laugh through her tears and nodded. Cregan wiped away the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs before he kissed her forehead. Their lips met as snow began to fall. Lord Stark leaned his forehead against his wife’s, his eyes closed whilst he took in the scent of her hair. He longed for her; not only for her body but for her company.

“Come, my love,” spoke Lord Stark quietly, his hand caressing his wife’s cheek before they returned to the castle.

***

Neither the Lord or the Lady of Winterfell got up at the break of dawn that morning. Cregan laid on his side with his wife’s arm hung over his waist as she pressed against his warm back. Even in her sleep, Lady Y/N could not make herself part from the safety of her husband’s touch now that he had returned. As Lord Stark began to wake in the late hours of the morning, he took his wife’s hand absently and pulled it to his chest where it rested in his. Cregan could hear her sigh, her nose nuzzling against his broad back and making him smile. He turned around carefully.

“No …” murmured Lady Y/N as her source of warmth shifted, her eyes still shut tight.

Lord Stark smiled to himself and guided his wife’s small hand over his side once again. He pulled her closer and watched her catch the last minutes of sleep before the morning would turn into day. He studied the colour of her beautiful hair and the line of her jaw and her nose, the shape of her shoulder, which disappeared from his sight beneath the covers. Lord Stark guided his hand from his wife’s ribs down to the curve of her waist, which made his body warm with desire. The feeling did not linger long, however, as Lord Stark’s mind drifted to his time away on the march and the loss not only he but especially his wife suffered. Cregan reminded himself to speak to Maester Bennard about Lady Stark’s health and what happened. He caressed his wife’s head and shifted his body lower so that he could kiss her forehead. Cregan left soft kisses on Lady Y/N’s cheek until she smiled through her sleep and slowly opened her eyes.

“What time is it?” mumbled Y/N just before Cregan softly kissed her.

“Late,” said Lord Stark yet did not seem to care. He had just returned from a march – he was entitled to a good night’s sleep for once.

“I can get dressed,” said Lady Y/N but snuggled closer to her husband’s body. The Lord of Winterfell smiled yet could not hide the worry that settled in him. His body was tense and his hands secured its grip protectively around his wife’s body.

Lady Y/N rose her head and looked at her husband. “Is something the matter?” she asked softly. After they returned to the castle last night, they only went to sleep. They had not been together since Cregan returned although in truth it has only been a day’s turn.

“I’m sorry I was not here for you when it happened,” said Cregan, caressing his wife’s cheek. All of the sudden Y/N was wide awake. She hoped they had closed this matter last night in the godswood.

“Why … Why are you sorry if I … If I was the one …” Y/N tried to find the right words without triggering any tears but that was harder than she thought.

“You had to go through such a terrible thing alone,” said Lord Stark solemnly. “If I were here—” But Y/N could not hear it, she would not hear it, and so she placed her palm over her husband’s mouth.

“Please,” pleaded Lady Y/N. “Don’t make me talk about it any further … I just want to forget.” 

Cregan nodded and took his wife’s hand and kissed it. “Forgive me.” But Y/N only shook her head. She leaned in and softly kissed her husband. His large hand cupped her cheek instinctively as he brought her closer.

“You cannot imagine how I longed for you all this time, my lady,” said Cregan against Lady Y/N’s lips in a deep, husky voice of the morning. He shifted and leaned against his arm so that his wife laid beneath him. She wrapped her soft legs around his waist. Y/N realized how she too longed for him and his touch and how it was even possible they had not been together yesterday already. She pulled Cregan closer, her hands wrapped around his neck as she tugged gently on his hair. A soft moan escaped Y/N’s mouth when Cregan’s hardness brushed against the inside of her thighs. She gathered the hem of his shirt, yearning to see his body. Cregan pulled off his loose tunic, revealing his strong, built chest but also his injury that sobered Y/N some.

“Are you in pain?” asked Lady Y/N quickly. “Should we—”

“I am only in pain from not having you,” Cregan cut her off and pulled off his nightbreeches before entering his wife. The pleasure he felt was so great that when Lord Stark steadied himself against the headboard, the wood cracked beneath the grip of his fingers. Cregan could not be bothered as he savoured the delight of his wife’s body. He tried to go slow and gentle but his desire was too strong. Instead, he slid an arm behind Y/N’s waist and turned them around without leaving her. Cregan laid on his back and let his wife take control or he would lose it.

Y/N pulled her hair to one side of her neck as she leaned down to Cregan’s lips and kissed him passionately. She almost leaned her arms against his chest before she saw the bandage that she had forgotten about in her pleasure. Y/N steadied herself against the bed instead whilst Cregan’s hands wrapped around her hips as she moved steadily against his waist. Her heart beat hard against her chest when she began nearing her climax. She both wanted to stop and have Cregan take over but at the same time Y/N would do anything for the feeling never to end.

“Fuck,” muttered Cregan when he saw how close Y/N was. He sat up, drunk on desire, and helped her by moving his hips as well. His hands reached for her soft breasts that he squeezed and kissed, his fingers brushing against her nipples that made Y/N whine in pleasure.

Y/N was almost there. Her thighs quivered and her nails dug into Cregan’s back. She leaned against his body when a series of quiet whimpers escaped her mouth and her entire body trembled with pleasure. Her shivering breath disappeared in her husband’s loud groan with his arms locked around her waist tightly. They were breathing heavily in each other’s arms, incredulous how they could bear so long without each other. Cregan was still inside of her as they already laid back on the bed, him unable to stop kissing Y/N. His strong arms were wrapped around her bare shoulders, holding her to him as if he feared she might disappear if he let go.

“Gods, I love you,” murmured Cregan against his wife’s lips. Y/N pulled away some, looking up in to her husband’s grey eyes, the warmest she had ever seen them.

“And I you,” spoke Y/N softly.

***

After breaking their fast, the Lord and Lady of Winterfell attended the council together. Lady Y/N wore a grey dress with embroidery of string-of-silver in the pattern of tree branches with small red leaves representing the heart tree. She wore her pearls and the ruby necklace of her wedding day.

Lady Stark sat beside her husband at the long table whilst the councillors discussed the matters of the past few moons. Lady Y/N spoke herself at times, adding and taking from some of the words of the lords. Some would make things seem better or worse than they were to please the Lord of Winterfell and look good in his eyes. Y/N did not say anything then but after the council, in the private audience only between herself, Cregan, and Maester Bennard, the three could discuss plainly what was said and where the real truths lied.

“Thank you, Maester Bennard,” said Lord Stark as they came to the end of both daily matters as well as things concerning his recent absence. “I will see you in the evening should there be more ravens and matters to attend to.”

“Of course, my lord,” said Maester Bennard. His small eyes glanced between the Lady of Winterfell and Lord Stark. “Would you allow me a private audience, my lord?” asked the maester carefully. He looked down in respect and Lady Y/N did not think twice of it. She told Cregan everything and if the maester wanted to check on that, she would let him. If it was about another matter, Y/N could not be happier to be relieved of her duties for once.

Lady Y/N looked at her husband but Cregan was already waiting to hear her wishes. Y/N smiled reassuringly and curtsied.

“I will take Blackspur for a ride. It has been too long,” said Lady Y/N and left the maester and her husband to speak privately.

Lord Stark leaned in his chair and watched his loyal advisor take a seat before him. He had been meaning to speak to Maester Bennard himself ever since he learned of what had happened in his absence.

“My lord,” began Maester Bennard hesitantly, which was rather untypical of the maester. He usually spoke with conviction and certainty.

“If you mean to speak of my wife’s passing condition in my absence, I would have you know she had already spoken to me about it, maester,” said Lord Stark neither kindly nor upset. The maester seemed relieved at the news and nodded.

“It gladdens me, my lord,” said Maester Bennard. “Lady Stark commanded she should be the one to tell you.”

“I see,” said the Lord of Winterfell. “And if she had not spoken to me prior to this audience?”

Maester Bennard paused as he sensed tension in his lord’s voice. “I was of a mind that a raven should be sent to you when my lady fell ill,” said the maester. “These things rarely happen without complications. If nothing else, the loss of blood can be significant.”

The maester’s words made Cregan sick to his stomach. He had seen men’s limbs torn from their bodies, their heads hacked in half and cut off; he himself cut off many a man’s head be it as punishment or in battle, but the thought of his wife in a puddle of blood made Lord Stark’s stomach twist.

“But my lady recovered well,” said Maester Bennard encouragingly. “I believe she found solace in work although she is spending less and less time with her ladies-in-waiting, even with Lady Mormont, who was a comfort to Lady Stark in her darkest hours.”

The Lord of Winterfell listened.

“Whilst losing a babe, especially if it is the first, is nothing unusual and the body oft heals relatively quickly,” said the maester, “The healing of the heart, especially a woman’s heart, is a different matter.”

Cregan nodded to himself. “Thank you, maester,” said the Lord of Winterfell, understanding now.

“My lord,” bowed Maester Bennard and left Cregan be. Lord Stark looked through the window on his right. The sun glistening in last night’s snow blinded his eyes. He wished he knew what to do.

***

Buried in his work, the Lord of Winterfell lost the sense of time. One of his personal servants came to call him to a late nuncheon, making Lord Stark realize how long he had been chained to the desk.

"I will join the Lady Stark in a moment," said Cregan and pressed his seal into hot, grey wax.

"My lady has yet not returned from her ride, my lord," said the servant cautiously.

"What do you mean she has not returned yet?" said the Lord of Winterfell, his stern, grey eyes rising to the servant's. The young man looked down.

Lord Stark rose from his desk and stormed to the master-of-stables who informed him that Lady Stark had left only with Ser Martyn as her escort.

“How could this happen?” Lord Stark rose his voice mindlessly at his servants. They all bowed their heads and looked at the ground, even Ser Tybald. “She is the Lady of Winterfell! She should have an escort of at least a dozen knights!” thundered Cregan with anger boiling within him. His fists were squeezed tight as he stormed outside and called for his men to gather. The hour grew darker by the moment with a snow blizzard on the horizon. A party of two dozen men was gathered, most of them horsed save for the master-of-kennels, Ser Jon, and his apprentices that held the hounds on their chains.

The cruel northern winds whistled mercilessly as Lord Stark mounted his courser Nightkeeper. The snowflakes were dancing in the air, not a single one reaching the ground in the wild wind seeming more like ash than snow.

The party did not even make outside of winter town before they ran into the Lady of Winterfell and her sworn shield, Ser Martyn. He looked as pale as the weirwood tree in the face of his lord’s anger yet his sword was bloodied and his armor soiled red.

The Lord of Winterfell dismounted immediately as did Lady Y/N and Ser Martyn. Cregan stormed to his lady wife, grasping her shoulders before he pulled her into an ardent kiss of relief never minding his men watching. Lady Y/N was knocked out of wind and would have stumbled backwards if Lord Stark had not held her arms so securely.

“Where were you?” demanded Lord Stark from his lady wife. He still held her tightly by the shoulders, his brows in a terrible frown. Lady Y/N’s cheeks were flushed red where the cold wind lashed at them but not only that. The redness masked the small cuts that neither bled nor remained insignificant. Her neck, where visible, was more of the same and her head of long hair loose from its braid and windblown.

“And you!” snapped Cregan before Lady Y/N could manage a word and grabbed Ser Martyn’s breast plate. “How could you leave without an escort?” Lord Stark roared at one of his best men, but in that moment, Cregan could just as well kill him with his bare hands for endangering his wife. Lord Stark could not tell what angered him more: the thought of his wife alone with another man or that man, her sword shield, allowing Cregan’s wife to leave the grounds of Winterfell without a proper escort to protect her.

“Please, everything is alright now,” urged Lady Y/N as she came up to her husband, “A host of bandits attacked us ... ” She touched Lord Stark’s arm but he winced livid with fury, his cold, grey glare snapping to his wife.

“I should think,” snapped Lord Stark. Lady Y/N took a step back and lowered her gaze. Cregan was breathing heavily, still holding onto Ser Martyn’s breast plate although his eyes were on his wife. Lord Stark’s breathing began to calm although not so much his anger born from concern.

“I will hear of your pretensions later, knight,” the Lord of Winterfell growled at Ser Martyn as he let go of his breast plate with a yank.

A shivery breath of relief escaped Lady Y/N’s chest as she stared at her lord husband. He turned as did she, intending to mount Blackspur.

“No,” commanded Lord Stark, his insides still boiling with anger. Lady Y/N’s big eyes found her husband’s furious glare as he took her hand and led her to his courser. The dark brown stallion paced restlessly as he sensed his master’s rage. Cregan grabbed a hold of his wife’s waist and lifted her effortlessly on his courser. Y/N gasped soundlessly but dared not say a word. She had never seen her husband so furious or his anger so slow to cool. She wanted to tell Cregan what had happened and how Ser Martyn was not to blame but the wind whistled so loudly she could barely hear her own thoughts. They had to get back to the castle and quickly.

Heavy snow began to fall as the Lord of Winterfell climbed up into his saddle, one of his arms tightly wrapping around his wife’s waist. Lady Y/N held onto his strong, tense arm as Cregan spurred his mount around and they rode back to the castle. One of the men took Blackspur’s reins and led her to the castle with them. Y/N could almost sense the white-hot anger radiating off her husband’s body as he held her to him. Lord Stark’s anger only cooled some when he began to realize his wife was unharmed for the most part but was fuelled yet again as he knew none of it would have happened if a larger party escorted her. A tempest of thoughts ran through Cregan's mind. He doubted they could have got lost and were ambushed. Ser Martyn may not have been born in Winterfell but he had been a squire for his father since he was a boy of seven. He knew Winterfell as well as any.

Cregan’s heart pumped furiously as a seed of jealousy began to grow in him once again. Just the thought of Y/N alone with another man, any man. The foolish idea in Lord Stark's mind was soon overpowered by a thought that could prove to become all to real if Ser Martyn had not brought Y/N back safely. A pack of bandits, if they had prevailed over Lady Y/N's sworn shield ...

Cregan’s grip on Lady Y/N’s grip tightened even more just as they passed the castle gates. Lady Y/N squeezed Cregan's forearm, trying to tell him wordlessly that the grip was too tight but Lord Stark was too deep in his thoughts. The more Y/N tried to peel his arm off her waist, the stronger Cregan’s grip became.

“You’re hurting me,” said Lady Y/N at last. Her words sobered Lord Stark immediately and woke him from his poisonous thoughts. His hold softened immediately and he released a long held breath.

They reached the castle where one of the stableboys took the reins of Lord Stark's horse. The Lord of Winterfell dismounted and took his wife’s waist carefully. As her feet reached the floor, Cregan towered over her easily. He was suddenly acutely aware of his strength and how his thoughts carried him away.

“Forgive me,” asked Lord Stark of his wife, “It was never my intention to harm you.” Lady Y/N looked up into her husband’s eyes, taken back by the change in his voice. Cregan was far from calm, she could tell, but calmer still than he was only moments ago.

“Only if you can forgive me, my lord,” said Lady Y/N and bowed. Her hands began to tremble as she remembered the group of bandits. Neither herself nor Ser Martyn were sure they would be able to escape and it was her fault for persuading the knight they do not need more men with them. But she was no longer the young Lady Whytefort who no one knew of. She was the Lady of Winterfell, wife to the Warden of the North, and therefore much more valuable to bandits and delinquents.

“There were six of them,” told Lady Y/N once in her husband’s solar. “One of them was slain by Ser Martyn and another lost his arm at the wrist but the rest of them remained unscathed. Some of them had swords and short axes, and two of them were ahorse – one of those died at the hands of Ser Martyn when they chased us through the Wolfswood,” said Lady Y/N quickly, her words flying out of her mouth as if they were in a race to be heard by Lord Stark and Maester Bennard.

“Is there anything else you remember, my lady?” asked Maester Bennard as he wrote down the details for there would be a search party and an award for anyone who would provide information of the delinquents.

Lord Stark stared at his wife, wondering what it would be like if her and Ser Martyn had not returned, if he could not find her in time. Cregan had only just returned home only to neigh lose his wife, the woman he dreamed of every night on his march north.

The snow blizzard raged outside but that was the least of Lord Stark's concerns. If Lady Y/N could not have managed to escape the bandits … The wax stick in Cregan’s hand snapped like a twig. He had been rolling it around his fingers to keep his focus and pace his temper.

Lady Y/N’s eyes moved from Cregan’s eyes to his hands and finally to the maester. She shook her head.

“Thank you, my lady,” said Maester Bennard curtly and put the quill away. Lady Y/N nodded and finally felt at ease enough to remove her cloak. She hissed when the heavy fabric drew across a deep gash on her shoulder that she had forgotten about in the midst of it all.

Cregan jumped up hastily at the sight of the wound. The sleeve of Lady Y/N’s riding gown was drenched in blood.

“I think I caught a branch when we were running away,” said Lady Y/N, her fingertips red with blood as she inspected her wound.

“Why didn’t you speak before?” asked Lord Stark, rushing to his wife’s side. Lady Y/N looked up into her husband’s eyes, his formidable frame looming over her. He looked the wound before he tore off a strip of his tunic and wrapped it around her upper arm to stop the bleeding, whilst the maester went to fetch his things.

“I forgot,” said Lady Y/N quietly yet in all honesty. Cregan frowned at her, hardly believing what she was saying. Only then could Cregan see the tremble in her hands and the fear in her eyes. The small cuts on her face became more prominent once the blush from the wind drained from her cheeks. Lady Y/N should have taken a larger escort but the bandits had no business lurking the grounds of Winterfell in the first place, much less attacking its high lady. If Cregan feared for his wife's safety, how frightened must she have been in the face of it all.

Cregan caressed his wife’s cheek gently and pulled her closer, careful not to brush against her shoulder. He kissed the top of Y/N’s head as he felt her small hands reach around his waist.

“Please forgive me,” said Y/N quietly. Tears soaked her voice as she leaned against Cregan’s steady frame. "I was a fool not to heed Ser Martyn's advice. I never thought ..."

“Forgiven,” murmured the Lord of Winterfell against her hair. A different kind of anger rose inside of Cregan as he caressed his wife’s hair.

“I will have their heads and hang their from the walls of Winterfell, my lady. You have my word.”

***

It took a week for the snow blizzard to settle and near another three for any traces of the bandits to be found. Ser Martyn led one of the search parties, knowing full well what the men looked like. Just so, it was his group of knights who found them. Ser Martyn delivered the news as the Lord and Lady of Winterfell had their nuncheon in private. They had trout prepared in a skin of herbs with baked potatoes and a flagon of dark ale.

Lady Y/N’s heart paused in her chest when she heard the news.

“How did you find them?” asked Lady Stark. It has been so long everyone began to lose hope of ever catching the group of delinquents.

Ser Martyn hesitated a moment, showing a clear discomfort. “We found them despoiling a peasant girl,” he told.

Lady Stark’s lips parted but she could not find the words she wanted to say. Her stomach twisted and turned into knots and Y/N had to do everything in her power to keep her meal down. Blood began to boil in her veins. Out of nowhere, Lady Y/N could see the men’s faces in her mind as if it were yesterday that she encountered them in the Wolfswood. The man slain by Ser Martyn, the one who lost his hand, the short one with missing teeth, the two lanky men who seemed to be kin and the one who remained on horseback. Y/N did not know why but she wanted to see how the life would leave the bandits’ eyes. She wanted to be there when Cregan would pass the judgement and condemn them to whatever punishment he saw fit.

“I will see them,” said Lord Stark severely and got up from the table. Lady Y/N's eyes followed him.

“There are only four of them left, my lord,” informed Ser Martyn. “We interrogated the men separately and all claim the fifth was taken by the snowstorm.”

“After I am through with them, they will believe the frozen fool fortunate,” said the Lord of Winterfell.

***

The bandits were brought to Winterfell in chains, unharmed at the command of the Warden of the North. When the day of their execution came, most of Winterfell and the winter town gathered in the main square to witness the deaths of the men who had been pestering their lands. The Lady of Winterfell was not the first person they attacked and the peasant girl would not have been the last if not for Ser Martyn and his knights.

As the four men were led to the scaffold, not one of them walked without a limp. Their faces were broken and bruised but Lady Y/N could recognize them still even with the blood drying on their wounds. As per law, their heads were to be cut off for their crimes, but the Lord of Winterfell ordered their carcasses be hanged above the main gates of the castle as a warning to others.

The morning already broke but the snow was falling heavily in the silver-blue light of day. Lady Stark was standing with Lady Ellyn on the dais beneath a canopy that shielded them from the worst of the late autumn snow. Lady Y/N had trouble sleeping and had been feeling uneasy all morning. She could not find comfort not even in her husband’s embrace. Y/N could not stop thinking about the peasant girl nor of the day herself and Ser Martyn were ambushed. She could have ended up as the peasant girl or worse. The whole of it made her sick to her stomach. Lady Y/N wanted to be there for the execution, she wanted to see, and yet she wished for all of it to be over as quickly as possible.

The Lord of Winterfell marched on the scaffold where the prisoners waited in line. Thick snowflakes nestled in his heavy fur cloak and his long, dark hair. Ice hung solemnly on Lord Cregan’s back as the charges were told to the prisoners and the crowd that gathered.

“The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword,” Cregan told Lady Y/N when she asked last night who will bring doom to the bandits in the morn. The words rang almost as profoundly of House Stark as those of “Winter is coming”. Y/N had long thought it an old-wife's tale yet the longer she stayed at Winterfell, the more she began to believe there really never was a Stark without honour.

An eerie silence filled the square when the Lord of Winterfell unsheathed his great longsword. Cregan took off the prisoners’ heads one by one yet before he could reach the third, Lady Y/N’s head grew light as a summer cloud and a sickness settled in her stomach. She could not watch any longer but it was too late. Y/N tried to grasp Lady Ellyn’s hand to steady herself but her grip was no grip at all, merely a touch before she came crashing to the ground and darkness swallowed her vision.

Lady Y/N could feel the pillows beneath her as she began to wake but even the slightest movement of her head sent her head spinning. Y/N groaned and steadied herself against the mattress, slowly opening her eyes. She recognized the ceiling of her private chambers. There were voices speaking but there was ringing in her ears and she could not understand them. Suddenly, a heavy nausea came over her and she threw up, a basin already by her side. Someone took her hair and held it back as sweat coated Lady Y/N’s neck and forehead. The ringing in her ears gradually stopped as did her vomiting. She was offered a cup of water by someone. Lady Y/N rose her gaze and saw her lady-in-waiting.

“It’s alright,” whispered Lady Ellyn with a small smile.

“What happened?” asked Lady Y/N as she looked around her chambers. Cregan was standing by her side, his eyes bright and restless and his brows in a concerned frown. If this were a battle, he would have been swinging his sword and shouting orders. But this was no battle although his body was just as tense.

Lady Y/N noticed Maester Bennard was there as well as were her other three ladies-in-waiting. The ladies wore cheerful smiles and exchanged silent whispers.

Maester Bennard offered a small smile. “I am pleased to say that your ladyship is with child again.”

[hischokehold]

does konig fuck bunny in those skirts???

Love your writing 💮😖🎀

like a 90s movie.

König's favorite pastime is to bend bunny over his desk and pound her pussy raw. It's therapeutic to him, having a soft fluffy thing on one's lap should be on the list or essentials for every colonel— soldier, if they can afford one. Hybrid wives are a luxury, after all.

Lately, you've developed a bit of a habit. Running along his office in the afternoon with hastily made sandwiches and orange juice in your tiny hands, acting like a proper woman all while pampering him with kisses and lathering your scent on his neck.

You've become territorial, leaving violet and blue hickeys in your wake. Bunny bites, as he liked to call it. Your little fangs were sweet, though useless, barely doing the damage you thought you were inflicting. Instead, he wore them as a badge of honor. A symbol of his woman's love.

"Naughty thing." He tuts, cupping your ass through your adorable pastel blue miniskirt that you begged him to buy last week, along with a myriad of things. You were teasing him, he was sure. You knew how much he loved how your legs looked in those slutty skirts, a stark contrast to your innocent eyes.

He suspects those movies you've been watching on the TV have influenced your recent behavior. You had a thing for those old school 90s DVD's that he kept on his shelves.

Carefully, you weasel your way out of his arms, beaming as he takes a bite of the sandwich. It made your heart feel prideful. You weren't so useless now, you could help him, help your savior!

Gently, he pats your twitching ears, paperwork all forgotten. "You made this all for me, hase?" To which you answer with a satisfied hum as his rough hands travel to the small of your back.

"Oh," you squeal, instinctively raising your perky ass into the air, little knees bending in pleasure, bunny tail twitching directly on his face. You lift your head from the desk, soft hair a little disheveled, cheeks flushed from his intimate touch. "D-Do you like it?"

König found it funny how you were trying to maintain your composure, as if you weren't flashing him, chubby bunny cunt soaking those flimsy panties. "Hm? I'm not sure as to what you're implying, bunny." He slyly licks his lips, teasingly swiping his index finger against your clit, making you jolt. "The sandwich? Or the delectable view?"

In typical bunny fashion, your brain completely blanks in the face of pleasure, pretty eyes almost going cross-eyed. It takes a little while before your cheeks heat up with embarrassment, processing the situation. You came here to help your owner, to show him that you were a big girl, but now you were just moaning like a common whore from a single touch.

"Sandwich, daddy. Sandwich." You manage to blurt out.

"Oh that," he responds rather nonchalantly. "We can get to that later. I see something far more enticing in front of me right now." He easily yanks your panties to the side, raw, dripping pussy in full view, earning a deep guttural growl from the man.

It's not long before he's slurping on your poor cunt like a madman, long tongue darting in and out of your fuckhole. "Scheiße, moaning like a bitch in heat." A heavy slap lands on your ass cheeks when you begin to fight back, kicking his torso, overwhelmed from his assault. "You forgetting who's in charge here, huh? You should be thankful," Slap! Slap!

"I bought this pussy, little girl. I own it." A harsh slap to your pussy makes you jolt in fear, tears streaming down your eyes. "If not for me, you would've been underground in the auction, whored out and kept a breeding mare for every man out there." You brace yourself for the next smack, only for König to place a gentle kiss on your forehead, as if sensing your fear.

His fat cock flung out of his trousers, the sheer weight causing it to hang down. You stuck your tongue out greedily, manly musky scent slowly filling your lungs, making you revert to your primal instincts. Gotta breed!

"Please," you hiccup, pleading for a sliver of his attention. "Please, daddy!"

His darkened baby blues engulf your very being as he turns his gaze towards you, inching his middle and index finger down your throat, using your spit as lube. "What, pet?"

"Please," you sob. "Please kiss me while you put it in!" The naiveness and the desperation in your voice makes the man laugh at your face, condescendingly patting your wet cheeks.

His rough hands cup the sides of your cheeks, forcing your mouth open. "Open up." He takes a good look at that slutty face before letting his saliva drip in your mouth. There's this fucked out look in your face as he forcibly shuts your mouth. "Swallow." He licks a messy, messy stripe from your cheeks to your pliant lips, coercing you to take his tongue.

You barely have any time to react as his bulbous cock prods your tight hole open, the stretch so painful yet so, so, so delicious. What was originally supposed to be a short office visit quickly turned into a pound fest; your pretty face locked between your daddy's biceps, bunny ears pulled back as his right hand played with your tongue, broad hips pounding against your ass while he brutalizes your raw pussy.

"Why're you crying, baby, huh?" He mocks your weepy face, and you swore you could feel his laugh vibrating in your tummy. "I know you like this." Slap! "Don't you love being used by daddy, huh?"

"I like it! I like it!" A tiny girl like you couldn't even dream of escaping, with a man like your owner holding her down. All you could do was lay there and take it. You were a big girl, after all, right?

"Then you better suck up those tears and smile, Hase. After all, you're the one who decided to wear such a slutty skirt. If you didn't wanna be treated like a slut, then you shouldn't have dressed like one. Mark these words in that tiny head, bun. Daddy knows best."

authors note:

A quick little story for you sweethearts 💓hope you enjoyed because I had a hellish time writing this😭 my first draft got completely scrapped by Tumblr. Thank you for the sweet messages and to my anons who told me to prioritize my health, I greatly appreciate it 🌷 this request has been rotting away in my inbox for about two months now. So excited to finally be getting back at it again.

[starmocha]

Neglecting my 373829927299 wips, my tasks, my errands, my fucked up sleep schedule, my life in general, because I am obsessed with this new wip I have:

More tribal warrior!Sylus, but make it childhood friends/arranged marriage/soulmates AU-flavored. This is my new ✨need✨, please enable me, I'd already written 4.6K words and that's only like 1/3 of the story I'd envisioned

(other things in the story to consider: light breeding kink, definite pregnancy kink, body worship.....just worshiping in general, because my other current obsession is Sylus being grossly in love with you and this fic is lowkey just him being "my wife ❤ I will worship the ground my wife walks on ❤ I will worship the air she breathes ❤ she can kick my ass idgaf because she does it so prettily ❤")

As you returned to the village, nightfall had already descended. You and Sylus had ridden back in silence, the awkward atmosphere only worsening with each passing minute. Sylus had kept an arm protectively around your waist the entire time while his other hand held the rein. You looked down, eyes following the horse’s hooves as he trotted back. “We’re almost back,” Sylus’ soft voice broke through the tensed atmosphere. You looked up, seeing the huts that lined the outskirt of the village and your mare quietly grazing in the distance. You wriggled a little, but that only made Sylus tightened his hold. You looked down at his arm around you and you said softly, “Let me down. I can walk back.” “No,” he answered. “Sylus—" He suddenly yanked the rein, forcing the horse to turn around in a different direction. “Sylus?!” you looked up panicked, not expecting this sudden change in pacing. Sylus’ sight remained ahead, and your heart sped up at the sight of seeing his handsome face from this angle, bathed only in moonlight. Sylus commanded his horse skillfully and you both rode atop the stallion at a brisk pace. The cool night breeze brushed against your cheeks, drying your earlier tears. You even found yourself starting to smile and laugh, the adrenaline taking over. Eventually, Sylus took you back to the village once he had seen that you had calmed down. The horses were returned to their stable. You turned just as Sylus handed you the saddlebag. You looked up surprised. “They mean nothing to me,” he said resolutely, “Burn them.” “I’m not going to…” He stroked your cheek with the back of his hand. “I’d never meant to make you upset or have you cried like that, nor did I mean to make you jealous…” “I wasn’t jea—” He leaned down and kissed your lips, silencing you. You dropped the saddlebag, the pouches spilling out on the ground. “Sy—” He lifted you into his arms and you looked up in surprise. “What are you—" He carried you out of the stable before letting you down again. You looked at him exasperatedly. “You always do what you want—this is not fair…” “What’s not fair?” “It’s not fair…how…I’m the only one…feeling insecure…” In the village square, you could hear the celebration dying down as people started making their way home. The bonfire in the center still blazed brightly. “You are right,” Sylus responded, “I don’t feel insecure.” Your shoulders slumped and you kept your eyes lowered. You suddenly felt Sylus’ finger under your chin, tilting it up so your eyes met his. “You were promised to me,” he said, hushed, “And I to you.” He kissed you. “We are meant to be, and were we not, I would rewrite the stars, to change the course of destiny and weave a new tapestry of fate to make you mine.” His forehead pressed to yours. “My love,” he held his gaze with yours, “There is only you…no one else.” He kissed you again, and the last remnants of your jealousy and hurt faded away. Just you.

[clockwayswrites]

Both Ways at Once Part 1

wc 868, Masterpost

“You’ve read the dossier?”

The clipped words were in time with their quick steps down the pristine white hall.

“Yes.”

“All of it?”

Danny resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Unlike you, Hellblazer, I read my contracts before I sign them.”

“You wound me, Pomp,” John said, twirling an unlit cigarette between his fingers. “I’m just trying to protect you from the Big Bad Bat. He’s had a bit of a mare over this case. Hell, as a consultant, you shouldn’t even be seeing this with the access level things are at, but…”

“But you’re stuck and need my pretty baby blues on things to help you out,” Danny said, batting his lashes obnoxiously at John.

“Fuck off,” John said without any heat and shoved Danny away. “But the Bat is anxious about it. All the Bats are. If you can help us solve it sooner, then the better, because when the Bats are on edge, everyone is on edge. And it’s a fucking nightmare around here already with all the bloody do-gooders let alone when they’re all worked up about something…”

“Everyone’s on edge, got it.”

“Nightingale,” John said, voice unusually serious— serious enough to make Danny stop even without the hand on his arm. “I’m not saying this lightly. I like you, like you well enough for a psychopomp and whatever the fuck else you are at least. Tread lightly.”

“Got it, Constantine. I’ll work extra hard not to piss anyone off,” Danny said, patting John’s hand with his own tattooed one. Danny picked back up his same quick pace, but his mind now spun trying to figure out what exactly he was walking into. The dossier hadn’t gone into details, just conditions. Supposedly the risk— some side effect created by a villainous magical spell gone wrong— was presently and thoroughly contained. Danny would be able to observe the risk, the individual originally affected, and the items present at the time. He was not to interact directly with the risk, answer it’s questions, or under any circumstance touch it.

It read as a pretty standard contract magical unknown.

John wouldn’t be this concerned by a standard magical unknown. So what was he about to walk into? It seemed like he might actually want to listen to John this time, even if that was always a fifty-fifty chance of being an absurdly stupid idea.

Danny shifted his grip anxiously on the handle of his kit: an old traveling salesman’s briefcase fitted out with a careful collection of haphazard items. Most of the other occult practitioners mocked Danny’s tendency for used items. Half burned candles, old books wiped and rewritten, estate sale candy dishes— odd choices for most people, but for Danny they sang. They spilled the secrets of the world known and unknown to him. He had to trust that between his tools and his skills (let them believe he was a mere psychopomp), he would come out of this at least safe, if not with answers.

Didn’t mean that a few of his tattoos didn’t crawl in warning.

(Who knew what spot of skin that damn ink moth would wander to now.)

“Justice Leaguers,” Danny greeted with a nod as they finally finished winding through repetitive hallways and stopped outside a room.

“Nightingale, thank you for being able to attend to this so promptly,” Wonder Woman greeted him. Of the Justice League members (outside of the Darks) that Danny had interacted with on other consulting gigs she might be Danny’s favorite, so he offered her a smile.

“Of course, it sounded like things were possibly on a time table from the contract, so I’m glad I was between pressing matters,” Danny said. Right then his most pressing matter was a need to find a laundry mat, but the Justice League certainly didn’t need to know that.

“Right, well,” John jumped in when no one else said anything, not that Danny had expected much from Batman with how he was lurking like a shadow. “Er, this way.”

Danny glanced at the room label of ‘containment cells’ as the door unlocked with a clank and hissed open. After John’s warning, he wasn’t surprised that they were taking whatever this was seriously.

There was more white and gleaming metal behind the door. A neat row of spartan cells were set behind thick acrylic glass and metal. Danny’s eyes locked on the figure in the third cell. He stumbled.

He might be sick.

“What the fuck are you all doing?!” The words ripped from Danny in a snarl.

That was a protector spirit.

He brushed past Wonder Woman and through John’s reaching arm.

They had a protector spirit in a cell.

Intangibility washed over Danny, cold as always, as he stepped through the glass wall of the cell.

The spirit stopped in their pacing, the opaque red helmet tilting.

John screamed something at him.

The flashing red of alarms glinted off gleaming surfaces.

Danny reached out and rested his hand over the spirit’s sternum, and they practically crumpled around the touch. Gloved hands clung desperately to Danny’s arm.

A low growl rumbled in Danny’s chest. “They’re hurting you.”

They had a protector spirit in a cell.

How dare they.

----

AN: So, um, yeah. Still sick. Not a cold or allergies at all and not easy to clear up and prob a new life long thing. Which is great. Super cool. I needed more ways to be sick.

But have the start of this thing that I used to take my mind off things! My, what could be going on?? (Also why do I apparently have a tattooed Danny agenda?)

Stay delightful (and well), darlings!

I no longer tag people for various reasons. You can instead be notified by subscribing to the masterpost!

[volklana]

To You I Belong

Title Comes From This Song:

Summary: It was supposed to be a simple spying mission, like the ones he had done many times over, draw no suspicions, take no prisoners, leave no casualties and then slip away into the night with the precious information he had learned. What he did not factor into this equation was encountering the love of his life.

Warnings: Reader is a slave for the first part of the story.

The moment he laid eyes on you something stirred in his very soul, something he had never felt before, and it unsettled him, deeply.

Sihtric had never failed Uhtred before. 

Not once. 

But he was about to.

And if he was honest with himself from the moment he had entered the Dane’s camp, he knew he was going to do something he had never done before, he was going to be selfish.

Because from that very moment he saw you he had decided he would do whatever he could. Suffer whatever consequence came his way to get you out of here. 

It was supposed to be a simple spying mission, like the ones he had done many times over, draw no suspicions, take no prisoners, leave no casualties and then slip away into the night with the precious information he had learned. 

Except he was sure of one thing with great certainty, he would not be slipping away into the night unless it was by your side. 

He had watched you for nights now, pouring ale into the cup of the brutish Dane Ulf, who possessed you, slave irons around your neck, which tethered you to him. 

He watched you flinch every time he rose, and watched in horror as he backhanded you roughly for dropping his cup once when he yanked too harshly on your chains.  

“Saxon bitch,” he hissed as you held a trembling hand to your cheek, before gathering yourself and pouring the drink into his cup. 

“Pour one for my friend too,” he instructed, and Sihtric almost held his breath as you stepped into his proximity to pour into his empty cup, he thanked you with a small nod of his head, and for a moment your eyes lingered on his before you were yanked backwards and were forced to stand beside your brutish slaver again. 

“Why do you keep those chains on her?” Sihtric had asked and Ulf sighed a long hard sigh before leaning forward, voice dipped as if sharing a secret with Sihtric, “Do not let that face fool you. She is wild like a mare, bites like one too.” 

Sihtric was beginning to despair at how he could get you away from Ulf.

He thought about slipping into his tent at night, slitting his throat and simply stealing you away but he couldn’t trust that it would be so easy, and Ulf never left your side for long enough to simply steal you away.

The only time he ever left you unguarded was when he had you chained to a stake not far from his own tent and it was in these rare moments where Sihtric could talk freely with you. Bringing you stolen rations of food or allowing you to sip from his own water pouch.

If,you fought like a mare, Sihtric thought it was only because you were frightened, he could read it in your huge worried eyes whenever he was near you.

You always expected pain and it took you days to accept the food straight from his hands and not from the ground where he placed it, hands up and backing away to show he meant to harm.

It broke his heart.

Sihtric once again found himself around the campfire, sipping slowly from his cup, eyes once again on yours when Ulf’s booming voice pulled his attention.

“You like the look of my woman?” he teased, half slouched back on the ground, his gullet filled with ale and Sihtric swirled the liquid around in his own cup instead of answering.

He yanked roughly on your chains and you were pulled forward, “I said,” he commanded again “Do you like the look of my woman? You have been humping her with your eyes all evening. Perhaps I should cut your eyes from your head so you learn to not look upon things that do not belong to you. Or perhaps,” he suddenly rose and made to tear at your clothes to expose you, “I should show you what you are missing.”

Sihtric rose from his seat like a lightning bolt, sword drawn and ready to strike when Ulf suddenly laughed and stood back with his hands raised “I jest friend, come, let us sit, there is no need for blood to be spilled this night.” 

He plonked himself drunkenly down on the ground and even though Sihtric was seething, chest rising and falling in anger he slowly put down his weapon, before doing a quick check over of you.

You remained standing eyes wide, looking like a rabbit cornered by foxes, and remained frozen in fear of another blow from Ulf.

You were being punished. For two nights now you had been forced to sleep outside, chained to that godforsaken stake in the ground, denied food and drink because you had nearly bitten Ulf’s ear clean off in an attempt to flee him a few nights before. Tired of enduring him, tired of his violence. And you would have made good on your escape were it not for the stupid shackles you wore around your neck, for as soon as you had run a few hundred paces he managed to grab a hold of the chain you dragged along behind you and yanked you down to the ground, you still bore the cut where your lip had split from his blows and your throat still ached from where he had nearly strangled the life from you, but unfortunately you had survived the ordeal and knew you would never have the chance to flee again.

The nights were freezing, and frost covered the ground, you shook so violently your teeth chattered in your skull and Sihtric came both nights to cover you in his furs, sitting with you in silence until your body stopped shaking, although sometimes you wished he wouldn’t so that the frost may take you with it, but you would have been lying if you said your heart didn't flutter in your chest when you saw his figure approach each night.

“Here lady,”  a gentle voice pulled you from your despair as Sihtric hunkered down in front of you and passed you his leather pouch filled with water to drink from, “You must be thirsty.”

Your anxious eyes scanned the night for a glimpse of Ulf, and Sihtric whipped his head around to follow your line of sight, and realised it was the brute you were looking for, but you visibly relaxed when you could not find him.

The cold liquid soothed your scratched throat and Sihtric encouraged you to drink some more, “Take as much as you need, I will bring you more later,” he said honestly and your heart fluttered in your chest at his unwavering kindness.

“You are not like them,” you said after a few moments' consideration, “You don’t belong here, you are gentle.”

Sihtric stilled all actions for a moment, it was the first time you had ever spoken to him and he had not been expecting it.

“That has always been my problem lady, I have never wanted to be like them,” he smiled sadly, remembering back to the days when Kjartan the Cruel would have him tortured simply for being so soft. “Weak,” he had spat at him, yet him and Sven, his one eyed goat turd of a brother, were gone and only Sihtric remained. 

“You will not hurt me?”

“I will not.”

“You will not try to claim me?”

“I will not,” he promised again and you took a second of liberty to look up into those open, honest, mismatched eyes and found no lies there.

“My name is Y/N,” you told him as you handed his leather pouch back into his hands, his rough fingers momentarily encapsulating yours. 

“I am going to get you out of here,” he promised and a lump caught in your throat.

“You cannot promise that,” you cried and he took your hands fully in his.

“I swear to it y/n, when I come for you and I will, be ready to run,”

“You swear it?” you cried, voice wobbling and he squeezed your hands with conviction.

“I swear it, on my gods and yours.” 

There was a skirmish in the camp and your heart caught in your throat, you were trapped and caught in the centre of it all. You could smell the burning boats and blood and next thing Sihtric was in your vision, axe in hand hacking at the chain that held you in place and when it finally snapped in half he was pulling you wordlessly, your legs ached and your lungs burned but you ran as fast as your legs could carry you, Sihtric hacked and stabbed at any Dane who attempted to stop him “Keep going to the horses,” he urged whenever he was slowed down “Don’t stop I will meet you there!” 

True to his word he hoisted you effortlessly onto his horse and took to riding with all his might, away into the night.

As you finally reached Coccham, Sihtric offered you his hand and helped you climb down from his horse, he brushed you down but was careful not to allow his hands to linger or make you uncomfortable. 

“You will be safe here,” he promised.

His friends had suddenly gathered around eager to hear what information he brought with him and the head of Uhtred’s household stepped forward.

“I claim her,” she suddenly demanded “She is a good strong one. I claim her as a servant.”

“No,” Sihtric barked and Uhtred stood to attention in front of him, “She is not yours to claim and she will never be a servant again. Is that clear,” he commanded, demanding anyone to even dare to defy him.

“Fine,” she sneered “Keep your little slave.”

“She is no slave,” he spat “She is free.” 

Sihtric was like a wild animal, teeth bared and ready to bite.

“She is free!” Finan concluded coming to stand beside his friend and he did not need to speak it aloud for Sihtric to understand he too would fight any man or woman who dared to challenge Sihtric.

“It is agreed,” Uhtred nodded and Sihtric was marching upwards to the burgh to find the blacksmith to finally remove the shackles from your neck, there would be time to pass on his information over supper.

“I don’t know if I have the tools,” the smith looked sympathetic but not too worried about finding the tools but Sihtric was irate, “You will find the tools or you will never yield another tool again,” he threatened and within moments the iron shackles were removed from your bruised neck and you were free.

You stood before Sihtric in bewilderment as he was pulling off his armrings and placing them into your hands. 

“You are free,” Sihtric said gently but sadly because he genuinely expected you to flee, now that you had the option to but you remained rooted in place.

“I promised you I would not claim you, your destiny is your own. If you would like to return home I will arrange a horse for you, if you would like to stay I will arrange boarding for you here within Uhtred’s household.”

You considered him for a moment, standing before you shyly and then you flung yourself into his arms, wrapping your own arms around his neck, “Thank you,” you whispered softly into his skin “Thank you.”

His own arms locked around your form, and he gently brushed his fingers through the length of your hair.

“I wish to stay,” you said when you broke away and Sihtric made to say he would arrange it, “Not in boarding, not in Uhtred’s household. With you. I would like to stay with you.” 

Sihtric swallowed thickly and blinked quickly, but nodded nonetheless.

You bathed and dried your hair by the hearth in Uhtred’s hall, and with warm food in your belly and proper clothes on, you felt somewhat human again.

Sihtric was sitting amongst his friends, eating and deep in talk, no doubt deciding what their next plans would be. 

You touched your hands to where the weight of the shackles had been for months and were not used to the feeling of not finding a weight there. 

Osferth, the monk came to sit by your side so he too could warm himself by the fire.

“You are Christian?” Osferth enquired and you shook your head.

“I was,” you said, looking towards Sihtric “Now I only believe in strength and those brave enough to do the right thing.” 

“You look to him,” Osferth mused, following your line of sight. 

“He cared for me when none other did.” 

“Could you? - Might you care for him?” he asked sincerely and you nodded, unable to stop the tears that formed in your eyes, when Sihtric’s own eyes landed on yours.

“Yes, I believe so.” 

“We are to ride on to Winchester,” Sihtric informed you, “You will be safe here until we return,” he added and you shook your head violently.

“I will go with you,” you stated and he shook his head.

“Y/n, you should stay where you are safe.”

“I am safest with you,” you pleaded and he grimaced.

“You are free. You owe me no fealty, you are not bound to me. You do not owe me-”

You pressed your lips to his, cutting off whatever it was he was about to say.

“I do not choose to stay with you because I feel indebted to you. I stay because I am your woman now,” you told him, cupping his face in your hands “You hear me? I am yours by my own choice. Of my own free will. If you will have me, that is.”

The smile that broke out over his face was almost boyish and his own hands sprung up to rest on yours, still holding his face.

“You are the only decision I’ve ever made that was selfish, that was purely my own- that was for me and me alone.”

“Then choose me again,” you smiled back “Choose me every time, as I will choose you.”

Sihtric closed the distance, crashing his lips to yours and he was agreeing to take you to Winchester because he would have asked the gods to carry you to the moon if you asked it of him.

"To you I belong Sihtric," you had whispered that night as you made love under the stars, and you traced the scars of Sihtric's body trying to commit every one to memory. "To you I belong."

Father Beocca joined your hands together and Sihtric’s smile was contagious.

“Behold my oath, that I will take no other as my wife but you,” Sihtric promised.

“Behold my oath, that I will take no other as my husband but you,” you returned and Father Beocca blessed the union, and when he finally announced you man and wife, Sihtric leaned in to seal the union with a kiss.

You reached for his Thor’s amulet and brushed your thumb across the hammer and whispered,

“May Thor bless our union with strength and courage. May Freya bless us with family and prosperity, and may Loki never deny us laughter.”

Sihtric chuckled and swept you up into his arms as Beocca looked on blissfully unaware of the heathen oath you had just made in his presence.

“And just where did you learn these words?” he mused and you turned your head in delight towards Uhtred.

“Say the part about Freya again my love,” he urged. 

“I have said it once,” you teased “And now only our actions will bring it to fruition.” 

“Well let us make haste,” he cocked with a smirk “For we would not want to disappoint the gods.” 

And indeed Freya did bless the union for many years later, when Sihtric became the Lord of Dunholm you had enough offspring to form your very own witan.

And true to his word Sihtric never allowed you to be a servant again, but he would never know that you served him and only him from the moment you laid eyes upon him until the day they would shut forever. 

But your vow to him was always the same.

To you I belong.

Tagging:

@canyonmoon-2 @sihtricfedaraaahvicius @whitedarkmoonflower @thenameswinter99 @foxyanon

@acdassenza @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @gemini-mama

@troyottonick @alexagirlie

a-beaverhausen nebulamorada izzydlb knight-of-flowerss

justcuriousandbored

[arc-misadventures]

Jaune is asked FMK on his all female teammates, but instead it’s his mom asking BMI.

Body mass index? No, Breed, Mate, or Impregnate.

BMI: Jaune

Juniper: Oh, Jaune~?

Jaune: Oh great… hell is here…

Pyrrha: What are you talking about, it’s just your mom?

Nora: Hi, Mom!

Rin: Hello, Mrs. Arc.

Juniper: Hello girls!

Jaune: What do you want mom?

Juniper: Can you answer something for me~?

Jaune: No.

Juniper: What? But, I haven’t even asked you anything.

Jaune: Aye, but it’s you, so what ever it is, is something I don’t want to answer!

Juniper: Please~!

Jaune: …

Jaune: Haa… fine ask your question… But, it better nit be MFK, or so help me!

Pyrrha: You relented pretty fast.

Jaune: She’ll keep bothering me until I finally say yes, so I might as well as get this over, and done with.

Rin: Wise choice.

Juniper: Okay, Jaune… BMI…

Jaune: BMI; the hell is that?

Juniper: Breed, Mate, and Impregnate~!

Jaune: WHAT?! What the hell is that?

Juniper: It’s things you do when you have se…?!

Jaune: I know what it is! It’s just, why are you asking me this?

Juniper: I thought you were tired of doing, MFK, so I decided go spice things up.

Jaune: Ironically I would have preferred that… Haa… okay… who are the poor victims you have chosen this time?

Juniper: I want you to BMI: Pyrrha, Rin, and Nora~!

Jaune: WHAT?!

NPR: 😳😳😳

Juniper: What? I’m simply curious what you would do with your friends if given the opportunity to, BMI.

Jaune: But, Mom, you’re asking me to do this to my…

Pyrrha: Jaune, answer the question.

Jaune: What?! Pyrrha, you can’t be…

Nora: Answer the question, Jaune.

Jaune: But, she asking me to…

Rin: Answer the question.

Jaune: But…?!

NPR: ANSWER THE QUESTION!

Jaune: Okay! Okay! Okay!

Jaune: Haa…

Jaune: I would, Mate with, Pyrrha.

Pyrrha: Why?

Jaune: Do you really want to know why?

Pyrrha: Yes!

Jaune: Okay?! Because I believe you are not ready for the other two options because you’re focusing on your career.

Pyrrha: A fair assessment.

Jaune: I’d breed, Nora…

Nora: Why?! Tell me?! What position would you take me in?! How long would you do me?! How many loads would you dump in me?!

Juniper: Oh my~!

Jaune: …?!

Jaune: I s-said, Nora because I thought she would be into it. I didn’t think she’d be that into it!

Nora: I’m totally into being breed like a brood mare by you, Jaune~!

Jaune: Uhhhhhhhhh?!?!

Pyrrha: So that’s what, Nora’s moaning in the middle of the night were about.

Ren: Like yours are any better.

Pyrrha: Y-You know?!

Jaune: And, lastly I would… I would impregnate, Rin…

Rin: Wonderful~! When shall we start!

Jaune: B-Beg pardon…?

Rin: You said you would impregnate me. Shall we get started now, or what?

Jaune: You want me to do that now?!

Rin: Yes.

Jaune: B-But, what about your career of becoming a huntress?

Rin: I much rather have a career as a housewife for our children than be a huntress.

Jaune: But, we’re still in school!

Ren: And?

Jaune: Ah?!

Jaune: Guys help me out here.

Pyrrha: Help you impregnate, Rin? Of course I’ll help~!

Jaune: Help?!

Nora: Would you be upset if you knocked me up while you impregnate, Rin?

Jaune: WAIT, WHAT?!

Rin: Come on, Jaune; let’s go start our happy family~!

Jaune: Ahh, no wait! Mom! Save me!

Juniper: Make sure to drink lots of water dear~!

Jaune: You traitor!

~~~

Glynda: Mr. Arc…

Jaune: Yes, Professor Goodwitch…?

Glynda: You impregnated… your entire team…

Jaune: Yeah… Mom, put ideas in their heads, and well… that happened.

Glynda: I see… Juniper getting involved would certainly answer things… But, let me ask you something.

Jaune: Yes, Professor?

Glynda: Why wasn’t I involved in this game of BMI?

Jaune: …

Jaune: Eh…?

[dyns33]

Family's House

Next episode of Alfie Solomons and his wife dayly life as idiots in love

Y/N knew how to keep a house. Or almost.

In any case, she knew how to manage on her own, cook, clean, do the laundry, but that didn't mean that she loved these activities, or that she did them perfectly well.

However, since she was married, it seemed important that she behaved like a good wife who took care of the household chores, so that her husband could rest when he came home from work.

And with his "work", Alfie needed a lot of rest.

Since he was not very trusting, he didn't like the idea of ​​letting a housekeeper hang around unsupervised at their house, but he had found the sister of one of his loyal employees who could come by three times a week to take care of the cleaning, laundry, dusting, checking the silverware, and other things that he didn't care about at all.

On top of that, he often insisted on cooking. Maybe he was afraid that his meals would be poisoned, or he had noticed that his wife's food were too salty or overcooked, but in any case, even if he was gifted, that also annoyed Mrs. Solomons a lot.

"I could do it !" Y/N insisted, who also didn't like coming home and finding herself in front of a frightened girl, who didn't know that her boss wasn't the type to punish someone because the forks were put away wrong.

"And when would you have time, love ? You're often with me at the bakery, to help me keep the accounts, check that everything has been done properly and stop me from killing everyone."

"I'm not there as often as you."

"And the employees regret it. I think they're plotting. Ollie's been making me walk a lot lately, he knows my back doesn't like it, and that you'll take my place if I'm bedridden. Little vermin. I heard about an election project."

"Stop, I'm serious."

"Me too, love. For the plot, and the fact that I don't care who cleaned the house, as long as it's cleaned."

Maybe he didn't care, but the Candem harpies did. Y/N wanted to convince herself that she didn't care about their opinions, but that wasn't entirely true.

She wanted to be a good wife, for everyone to know that Alfie Solomons had made the right choice in marrying her, and that they were very happy.

Of course, it was also good to have a cleaning lady. A sign of wealth. But she couldn't help it, she needed to feel useful, and to show that she cared for her husband. In her family, they took care of each other, even if it wasn't always in a conventional way.

Since he was an excellent husband, Aflie had noticed her nervousness. He had first thought that she was bored. That was partly why he gave her work at the bakery, but also because he trusted her, that she was very talented, and that he liked to be with her all the time.

Since that didn't seem to be enough, he made the mistake of asking Tommy for advice. Except that since he didn't consider Thomas to be the best at relationships, or at keeping secrets from his sister, he talked about horses.

"Why ? Are you planning to buy a horse ?"

"Well, you see dear Tommy, maybe. You guys like these devil's creatures, and I love my wife. I was thinking of getting a mare, I found a charming one, adorable, but a little crazy. Agitated. Oh, I know what you're going to say, she senses that I'm not comfortable, all that bullshit, but no, she's like that with everyone. How can I calm her down ?"

"If she's naturally like that, you won't be able to. But you can always try to talk to her nicely, stroke her head and blow on her nose." Tommy answered seriously, not understanding what they were talking about and really lovng horses.

"… Yeah, I'm not sure she'll appreciate it."

The moment he put his hand on her head and complimented her, Y/N stared at Alfie with a dark look, as if she had perfectly understood what he was doing and why. He was certain of it when she stood up, leaving the room after blowing on his nose.

"Damn witch." he mumbled, thinking he was completely under her spell.

With her problem not resolved, Y/N took the time to consider the situation while remaining calm. It was not necessary for her to do great things to be a good wife.

Cleaning his shirt after work, preparing a good meal from time to time, lighting a fire in the fireplace in winter by offering a pillow for his back and tea. Simple gestures, but very important.

It was the middle of the afternoon when she decided to do all this before Alfie returned. Nothing impossible.

But in the end, she burned the dinner, missing even a simple loaf of bread, she broke plates, one of which had belonged to Alfie's maternal grandparents, she almost set fire to the carpet, and her husband's favorite shirt fell into the mud, in the middle of the street, after Cyril barked cheerfully, making her jump as she wanted to hang it on the windowsill.

So Alfie found the house in this state, with his wife crying in the middle of the living room, her hair disheveled, full of flour, and her dress covered in soot.

"It reminds me of the war." was the only thing he could think to say, looking into the distance before approaching, his hand gently caressing her shoulder. "So, love, did you lose a battle ? What happened ?"

"… I wanted to please you."

"It's a success, I love seeing my wife sobbing."

"You're still not funny. I can't even make bread. I ruined your shirt, the carpet… I broke one of your plates. I'm a horrible wife, you're the one who should be crying."

He could have answered right away, but Alfie Solomons knew his wife well. She had many qualities, just as many reasons why he had fallen in love, and one of them was that Y/N was a stubborn woman.

Worst, she was a Shelby, so she was worse than a mule.

So he took a deep breath, forcing her to stand up so that she sat on his lap like a child, letting her finish crying and talking nonsense before speaking.

"Treacle. Listen to me carefully. First of all, I am a very funny man."

"Medium funny, and often without meaning to." she mumbled, her head nestled in his neck.

"True. In any case, I'm not a man who gets attached to stupid things like a shirt or a rug. I'll buy others. Same thing for the plate. I have lots of memories with my grandparents, I don't need a plate, I have lots of plates. I can go and break all the family's china."

"No."

"As you wish, love. For cooking, I admit that I would love to come home and enjoy a meal made by you with love. But if you don't like cooking, I love cooking, and I love watching you eat what I cooked for you. You don't know how to do it ? I can teach you. My bakery may be fake, but not my talent. My breads are the best in the country, my mother's recipe. Family secret. But we are married, so I can let you in on it."

"… You're really not angry ?" she asked shyly, feeling a little ridiculous, a feeling she didn't like at all.

"It would be very tempting to tell you that you deserve a punishment and to spank you, but no, treacle, I'm not angry. I appreciate that you wanted to do all this. You are a perfect woman, at least the perfect woman for me. I am fulfilled. And I don't tell Ollie and the others, but I also think that you do a better job than me at the bakery. Mutiny always lurks."

No doubt she got that from her family, the business sense and the ability to work perfectly. To compensate, Y/N was simply not good at being a housewife, and Alfie didn't give a damn.

He gladly kicked the clichés, the old ideas and the gossips of Candem who dared to criticize his wife or make fun of him because he rolled up his sleeves and went into the kitchen.

Why wouldn't it be normal for a man to take care of his wife ? A good husband had to recognize all the work done during the day, and in thanks, he could cook, massage the poor feet of his sweetheart, and make tender love to her in the marital bed.

And Y/N really had a lot of work with him and his company. No one could deny it.

Just having to put up with him was already a full-time job. He himself wasn't sure how she managed it, or why she loved an old fool like him.

"It's true that you're crazy, we're going to burn the house down !"

"No, love, we're going to make a brioche."

"Not if you keep holding my butt like that, instead of watching the oven !"

"My nose will know. While my eyes and hands can't resist the sight of my wife, kneading dough, wearing only my apron."

"I don't even remember how you convinced me to do this."

"A lot of charm and the promise of a heavenly tasting brioche."

"I'll eat it alone, after throwing you naked in the street."

"It wouldn't be the first time, treacle. If I promise to stop kneading your beautiful behind, will you let me taste our work with you ?"

"I'll think about it."

The brioche ended up burning, because despite his promises, and his shrewd nose, Alfie was particularly distracted when Y/N leaned over to grab a dish.

But it wasn't her fault, and since he didn't stop kissing her, she didn't have time to think that she would never be completely good at keeping house. It was already wonderful that she knew how to keep her husband on the right tracks.

[dark-night-hero]

Imagine being in a relationship with Dottore but with a twist. He has a fake amnesia.

Imagine months after reuniting with your lover. You started to notice that he was a little different from before. He was your Dottore, at the same time, just like what you have felt before. He was different, there were times where it felt like he was the man you love, but there were also times where you wonder if this man was really the man you love.

"Dar- no, Dottore. Can we talk?" He was busy, you knew that. He was always busy. But at the same time, he always make time for you. He always does, that was something that never changed. "Dottore? Little one, what did I do wrong this time?" Setting down his paper, his masked face came into view. "You always call me Darling but often call me by my name whenever you're upset." He spoke gently, standing up from his seat and started walking towards you who was now looking down at your lap, unable to face him for the words that you are about to say.

Imagine, you love Dottore. Even when he went missing for months. Even when it has to be you to go and went to look for him not the other way around. You did that because you love him. But you do not know what to feel anymore. He feels different. Or maybe you never get to know his true self, maybe what he have shown to you was a mare fragment of himself. You love him still, you do. But sometimes he scares you. It was not just you, you could see the way others look at him, some were admiration, respect and there there was the look of terrified people. There was also that fact that he never once, after meeting you, took of his mask. Did he not trust you anymore?

"Little one." There he was right in front of you. "Couldn't bare to look at me anymore hmm?" There he was sweet talking you, it reminds you of the past where he would often do the same when soothing you. "Look at me little one." You felt him gently place a hand on your chin before gently lifting it up. "Tell me what's wrong, hmm?" You were contemplating, once in a while looking back and front at him and into our side only to let out a sigh. "Dottore, I think we need a break..."

Imagine, Dottore thought you were really interesting. That fact that you, manage to capture the heart of one of his clones, telling you about his real name let alone where to find him. Tells how important you have become to that clone of him. And to be honest for the past months that he has been with you, he did see why. Why his clone had gone through such measure. You were kind and innocent. Very innocent. He could tell you a lie and you would believe it with no questions asked, makes him wonder how could such human being give their trust so easily. It makes him thrilled and it cames him greedy. He wanted to keep you at all cost within his arms, make sure yor world would only revolve around him.

so Imagine the way his eye twitches as soon as you said those words. He have always been patience with you. But at those very moments, he almost grabbed you by the neck, almost asked you why, why would you say such scary thing? Take a break? Why was that needed? He was giving you everything that you want. His time, affection, expensive gift and jewellery, the books that you want. So why was that needed? What was wrong? Why the fuck would you think the two of you needed a break? But then he needs to calm down, he needed to calm down. So with silent rage, he asked. "Why?" Then you answered. "Because sometimes, you felt like a different person, Dottore. You're scaring me sometimes." You answered, eyes tearing up. "I'm sorry." You sniff, looking down once again as he halted.

Imagine the way Dottore halted. A different person? Of course that make sense. He and his clone may be the same but at the same time, they were not. And it was his clone you fell in love with. There might be a resemblance when it comes to him and his clone but the fact that you thought, you felt like they were different, he was different was making sense. But so what? So what if they were different? In the end, he was the one who remained, the was the original. His clone may have found you, but you found him. And that was his win.

Imagine, to your surprise. Dottore suddenly kneel down in front of you. "What are you doi-?!" When you urged when to look at you, his mask was gone, forgotten on the floor. This- this was the face of the man you love. "Little one." You felt your heart ache at his pained smile as you felt him take a hold of your hands that was resting on your lap. "I'm sorry you felt that way." The way his face sadden, his lips curling down, you felt bad to yourself. "Maybe it has something to do with my amnesia." He looked away as you looked at him wide eyes. "What?!" "No- that was a slip of tongue Little one. Do forget what I have just said." Then he stood up and was about to leave. "Perhaps you are right, Little one. Maybe we should take a break.." He sound so heart broken that it immediately snap you out of your flabbergasted state.

Imagine the way you chase after him, grabbing him by the hem of his coat just like the first time the two of you met. "Wa-wait. Dotto- Darling. What do you mean amnesia?" You sound like you were about to cry that it almost made his lips curl up. "Di-did you get hurt while you were away?" This time you thug his coat harder. "Is that why you were not able to come home to me?" You felt so bad. "Is-is that why you were acting to different? Because you lost your memories?" Then you felt his shoulder tremble causing you to panic and hug him from behind. "I'm sorry. I was wrong. Darling, I was wrong. We don't need a break, I was a fool. I'm sorry, please don't mind what I said. I did not know you have gone through such thing. If I have known I would never do such thing. I should have never doubted you, Darling."

Imagine the way he turn around and how his heart broken face. Making you feel even bad, his time hugging him, hiding your face on his chest as you cry silently, telling him sorry for saying such hurtful and stupid things. But when you felt him hug you back, you felt a little relief one to feel bad once again when you could clearly feel his shoulder trembling. Once again you murmur stings of apologies, promising you'll be by his side until the end. But in contrast to your imagination. He was not crying like you has imagined him to me. In fact he was laughing, he was laughing silently that it causes his shoulder to go up and down. A devilish smile on his lips as he pull you even closer to him. "It's alright." In contrast to his grin, his voice sounds hurt no one would ever assume it was coming from him if they were to look at his face right now. "You're forgiven, Little one. Stay by my side like you promised, hmm."

[ⓒdark-night-hero] 2024°

[gremlingottoosilly]

hi!!! Hope today is treating u good

I was thinking about your ask about the monster141 and readers hobbies, and how gaz tries to be your favorite

In that group dynamic, what would happen if reader started having a favorite? Whether by accident or she just happens to get along with one of them more than the others, how does the 141 pack deal with that?

And even more evil...what if reader was doing it on purpose? Even if she's not being honest about her "favorite" she likes to make them mad/jealous to get what she wants ?

Anyway just wanted to present the thought, please don't stress about answering ❤️

Take care!

Smart reader!! Hehehe!!! Ouf of everyone, Gaz and Soap are the ones with a RAGING praise kink. they might be cocky as hell and receive a lot of praise from the higher-ups, but they still want to get it from you too, their pretty little petmate. They love getting together with you, and they would definitely fight for your attention - especially since, being from a grounded and elevated species, they can give you things that no other duo could. Gaz drags you on the most beautiful flights, while Soap is the softest guy for nesting - they know that you will pick up one eventually, and, despite them being very smart in their military fields, they end up falling for your game...Kyle could be more cunning than anyone else in the pack, but he would still give you the moon and the stars if you would as much as to just give him a bit more attention...and Soap would allow you to go out if you just scratch him behind his ear and call him a good boy. If you ended up liking Gaz more, Soap is the one who is dragging you out, allowing you to walk without a leash and enjoy (somewhat) freedom. If you like Soap more, then Gaz will bring you whole pounds of golden jewelry, of shiny gifts - from candies to little rings. You can play with them for so long, preferring one over the other when it's convenient, but... Oh, neither Price or Ghost are having it. if they can see that you're just a smart little thing who is manipulating them, you'd get a spanking of your life. Price forces you out of every gift you have, making you sleep in a tiny and uncomfortable bed along with other communal pets in the compound - if you want to be a dumb girlie who can't understand what privileges she has as their wife, you might as well see how others are doing. You wouldn't survive a week without fancy fabrics and pretty gifts - and without your favorite snacks, of course. If you're ready to apologize and stop playing favorites, Ghost could sneak up at night and...cool you down before you're finally caving in and begging Price to let you return. As a punishment, you'd lose all of your free roaming privileges - a pretty dumb pet should know her place, and so you are nothing but a little breeding mare for a few weeks - your pussy being pounded by all four of them until the seed takes and you're fucked out dumb, so you'll never pull a scheme like this again.

[tangibletechnomancy]

Doing It Wrong On Purpose: Episode 1 - The Un-Ship

Today's experiment: What happens if I prompt for something, and then negative prompt all the main keywords, plus various synonyms and related words?

The answer: Some gloriously weird stuff.

For example, let's look at a negative cat:

Positive prompt: A cat on a windowsill during a storm

Negative prompt: Cat, feline, felidae, kitty, kitten, animal, pet, windowsill, window, glass, pane, house, storm, rain, water, lightning, thunder, clouds, torrent, downpour, snow, blizzard, wind, windy

Interesting! Let's get a little more fantasy with it and try for an anti-deer:

Positive prompt: A deer in a peaceful flowery meadow, crystals, midnight, fantasy, colorful

Negative prompt: Deer, cervidae, animal, elk, moose, stag, doe, fawn, reindeer, antelope, cervid, antlers, flowers, night, dark, trees, foliage, bloom, stars, night, tranquil, fantastic, vibrant, cool, magic, blue, moon, sky, crystal, stone, statue, topiary, floral, blossom

Between these two experiments, including a few dozen other generations that remain unposted, one thing I can say for sure is that for living subjects, it's a great way to get the kind of anatomical wonk that older models are (in)famous for - and it makes sense why, the model is trying to make something that looks like a certain subject...but once it starts to look too much like it, well, shit, we told it NOT to do that! Break something up! Given that I love that kind of wonk, I think I've found a useful tool for myself.

One more living subject, and let's get even more abstract with our direction here:

Positive prompt: mind horse

Negative prompt: horse, equine, colt, filly, mare, stallion, bronco, pony, mind, brain, thought, essence, psyche, intelligence, consciousness, imagination, dream, soul, visualization, intellect, wit, cognizance

Now let's try something that isn't alive. One thing I love AI for is surreal settings and landscapes - lets try one now!

Positive prompt: A magic palace garden made of crystal and gold

Negative prompt: Palace, magic, crystal, gold, fantasy, castle, estate, stronghold, temple, garden, flowers, plants, blossoms, bloom, blooms, trees, grass, stems, foliage, leaves, greenery, branches, bush, bushes, hedge, hedges, metal, luxury, stone, glass, brass, rose, polished, jewel, prism, courtyard

I then tried to see if, learning from the animal subjects, I could make it more likely to return one of my favorite "mistakes" - making it impossible to discern the point where a water area ends and a sky area begins. I wasn't immediately successful, but I came up with some results I found pleasing regardless-

Positive prompt: Secret hideout in a cave behind a waterfall in the foggy forest on a floating sky island in fluffy clouds

Negative prompt: hideout, camp, campsite, home, abode, house, dwelling, rest, shelter, waterfall, water, cave, grotto, forest, woods, woodland, trees, fountain, cascade, pond, stream, lake, river, brook, puddle, creek, pool, beach, ocean, sea, cloud, clouds, sky, cumulus, cirrus, nimbus, fog, storm, rain, sunshower, falls

It seems that with landscapes it's got a much clearer and more specific "idea" of what a [SUBJECT] without [SUBJECT] looks like; it's more inclined to invent very specific, very consistent unasked for related elements. With the animals, I was tweaking the weight on the positive prompt to avoid getting straightforwardly just what I had positive (and negative) prompted, but with landscapes, I just get... almost something else entirely.

So how about inanimate objects? Let's try a ship, perhaps?

Positive prompt: A huge sailing ship with brilliant prismatic crystal sails on a stormy, turbulent sea of sunset clouds

Negative prompt: ship, boat, sailboat, sailing ship, pirate ship, galleon, ketch, schooner, sloop, cutter, sail, sea, ocean, storm, wind, rain, water, waves, cloudy, clouds, fog, sunset, dusk, dawn, sunrise, twilight, evening

...okay, I'm in love with the un-ship. It truly does manage to consistently give me results that look like, yet entirely unlike, a ship. It is everything I love about AI as a medium. More than that, it is my friend.

At lower positive prompt weights, they only get even more beautifully chaotic.

I want to live on one of these (in an alternate universe where they're geometrically possible and structurally sound, that is).

Failing that, I will be featuring them a lot from now on.

All images generated using Simple Stable, under the Code of Ethics of Are We Art Yet?

[lovelytsunoda]

sleigh ride // lance stroll

summary: christmas has never been his holiday. but she adores it, and he wants to make this christmas one that she won't forget.

pairing: lance stroll x fiancee!reader

warnings: marriage proposals, fluffy lance, it's super duper cheesy, lance quotes emily henry's "beach read", where can i get a lance

the snow fell down on niagara falls in scattered flurries, the waterfalls the town used as their namesake almost frozen solid in motion as they spilled into lake ontario. the sun was setting, with niagara-on-the-lake doused in an orange-pink glow as the couple ran out of the b'n'b, giggling hand in hand.

"lance, where are we going?" she giggled, mitten-clad hand clutched in her boyfriend's as he pulled her along the snowy sidewalk.

"just trust me, but you'll need to close your eyes." lance stroll insisted, turning to face her, pressing his warm lips to her rapidly cooling forehead. "we're almost there."

"if you say so." she chortled, closing her eyes and following lance as he guided her, gentle flakes falling against her knitted hat.

the breeze was cold, cutting through the many layers that they both wore as lance urged her forwards. her mind was swimming with all the possibilities lance could have come up with, but she couldn't settle on any.

christmas had never been his thing. he was raised jewish, and she had celebrated hannukah with his family before, so why would he celebrate christmas anyways? the answer was simple: because she enjoyed it. he could convince himself to embrace a little more of the christmas spirit than normal when she was around, when she insisted on putting that stunning tree in their living room, or buying elf ears for their dog.

"okay, you can open your eyes now."

she opened her eyes, instantly covering her mouth to stop the delighted scream from coming out and scaring the horses. sitting in front of her were two stunning black mares, towing a snow-white sleigh, decorated with white glitter and snowflakes, a plush throw blanket thrown over the bench in the back.

"lance, this is incredible!"

lance beamed, glowing under the streetlamps as he pulled open the metal gate door. "milady." he giggled, reaching for her gloved hand to help her into the sleigh.

she curled into him on the bench, lance fluffing the blanket out behind and over their bodies before the well-dressed man sat in the driver's seat of the sleigh flashed them a smile, and the horses began their slow trot down the cobblestones.

she slipped her gloves off, taking lance's cold hand in hers as she played with his fingers, head resting comfortably on his shoulder. her breath crystallized in the air, snowflakes falling into the sleigh and promptly melting on the winter mats on the ground.

lance himself was fidgety, the tiffany and co. box burning a hole in the pocket of his parka. he was so anxious about asking that he'd almost done it that morning, over coffee and croissants at breakfast.

but she deserved more than that. she deserved something meaningful, something special (not that there was anything wrong with a little bit of privacy and keeping it lowkey, he just wanted to have a great proposal story to pass down to their kids. after y/n told him that her father proposed to her mother by saying 'we need to talk', he vowed that his proposal would be special).

she turned her head, pressing a frosty kiss to his warm skin. "i love you, lance."

he smiled, burying his nose in the top of her knitted hat. " i love you more, pretty girl. i've got another surprise for you, if you're up for it."

she looked up at him, hair falling in front of her face, skin pink from the cold as she smiled back at him. "what kind of surprise?"

"you'll see. it's just around this corner, love."

the sleigh pulled up to a small gazebo, cords of string lights wrapped around the weathered wooden beams to light up the small space, now that the sun was behind the clouds, the last dregs of daylight hovering in the space between night and day.

lance got to his feet, opening the sleigh gate before the driver could even get down from his perch. with her long fleece scarf hanging down to her knees, she daintily descended from the sleigh, hand in hand with her boyfriend as he led her towards the gazebo.

the snow beneath their feet was dusted with deep purple rose petals, some small tea light candles on the steps. as they got closer to the gazebo, she could see the small lightbox letters, lit up in a warm, soft yellow as they got closer, spelling out two words.

marry me.

"oh, lance." she breathed, at a loss for words as she anxiously wringed her hands.

she could hear the wooden boards creaking behind her as lance sunk down to one knee, reaching into his pocket for the turquoise box. he rested the box on his knee, frozen hands shaking as he pulled it open.

"i really should have thought this through a little better. i'm cold as shit." he giggled nervously. "but i know christmas means a lot to you, and i wanted to make this as special as i could."

she gasped, hands coming up to cover her mouth as she saw the ring: a single princess-cut diamond resting on a silver band, two small pink gemstones holding the center gem in place.

"y/n, i'm head over heels for you, and i always have been. every morning i wake up next to you, and i think, this could all go away. the racing, the money, the fame, all of it. but as long as i had you by my side, i wouldn't care. as long as i had you, i'd be happy. because you make me so happy, y/n. you remind me of all the good in the world, all the reasons to keep going. in the words of emily henry, yes, i've read your romance books, 'when i watch you sleep, i feel overwhelmed that you exist'. man, she got that right. i feel overwhelmed with love, and with care. and some days, i wonder why you chose me when you could have had any man you wanted. y/n y/'l/n. pretty girl. love of my life." lance sniffled, wiping at the tear that was threatening to fall into his stubble. "will you marry me?"

"yes!" she shouted, her voice echoing across the clearing as she started to giggle. "yes, of course i'll marry you." her eyes started to sting, tears pricking the corners of her vision, so overcome with love for man on his knees in front of her.

she sunk to her knees as well, the frost on the gazebo cold against the knees on her jeans. she clasped lance's hands in her own, pulling him in for a gentle kiss before he slipped the ring onto her finger, foreheads resting against each other.

"thank you so much for saying yes. i can't think of a day in the foreseeable future that i don't want to spend with you by my side."

"oh, lance." she laughed through her tears of joy. "don't make me cry."

"i'm not trying to, my love." he laughed, tears pricking at his eyes. "god, i just love you so much."

"i love you more." she laughed, tucking her arms around him, pulling him in for a hug before glancing down at the sterling silver on her finger.

lance kissed her hairline, holding her close and breathing in her scent.

if this was every day for the rest of his life, then he was wondering why he'd waited so long to ask.

TAGS:

@libraryofloveletters @magnummagnussen @lorarri @httpiastri @cartierre @sidcrosbyspuck @scuderiamh @oconso @thatsdemko @silversainz