#miss Gullet

[missggullet]

[heathtrash]

kacey ainsworth recently shared this geraldine gullet gem from the archive

source: x

[mrs-starkgaryen]

Let's talk about last night's episode of HOTD-

Oh

[missadacackle]

Hi miss cackel 🤣🤣

Is miss camel your favourite character

Well met Sybil,

First of all, I have no idea who Miss Camel is, but maybe you could introduce me to her? She sounds kind ;) But no, I am not my favourite, it would be very selfish of me to favourite myself, don't you think?

Actually, my favourite is Agatha. Agatha has always been stronger than me and she is quite amazing. I still can't firgure out what for evil mother saw in her... In all honesty, She would be a great headmistress if I hadn't been asigned that place in the first place, and I really think she deserves better than what she got. Don't tell Miss Hardbroom I said that though 🤫🤫🤫 (If she asks, she is my favourite, of course 😉)

[kalisbaby]

“From the River to the Sea.” A Poem by Samer Abu Hawwash, translated by Huda Fakhreddine

every street, every house, every room, every window, every balcony, every wall, every stone, every sorrow, every word, every letter, every whisper, every touch, every glance, every kiss, every tree, every spear of grass, every tear, every scream, every air, every hope, every supplication, every secret, every well, every prayer, every song, every ballad, every book, every paper, every color, every ray, every cloud, every rain, every drop of rain, every drip of sweat, every lisp, every stutter, every yamma, mother, every yaba, father, every shadow, every light, every little hand that drew in a little notebook a tree or house or heart or a family of a father, a mother, siblings, and pets, every longing, every possibility, every letter between two lovers that arrived or didn’t arrive, every gasp of love dispersed in the distant clouds, every moment of despair at every turn, every suitcase on top of

every closet, every library, every shelf, every minaret, every rug, every bell toll in every church, every rosary, every holy praise, every arrival, every goodbye, every Good Morning, every Thank God, every ‘ala rasi, my pleasure, every hill ‘an sama’i, leave me alone, every rock, every wave, every grain of sand, every hair-do, every mirror, every glance in every mirror, every cat, every meow, every happy donkey, every sad donkey’s gaze, every pot, every vapor rising from every pot, every scent, every bowl, every school queue, every school shoes, every ring of the bell, every blackboard, every piece of chalk, every school costume, every mabruk ma ijakum, congratulations on the baby, every y ‘awid bi-salamtak, condolences, every ‘ayn al- ḥasud tibla bil-‘ama, may the envious be blinded, every photograph, every person in every photograph, every niyyalak, how lucky, every ishta’nalak, we’ve missed you, every grain of wheat in every bird’s gullet, every lock of hair, every hair knot, every hand, every foot, every football, every finger, every nail, every bicycle, every rider on every bicycle, every turn of air fanning from every bicycle, every bad joke, every mean joke, every laugh, every smile, every curse, every yearning, every fight, every sitti, grandma, every

sidi, grandpa, every meadow, every flower, every tree, every grove, every olive, every orange, every plastic rose covered with dust on an abandoned counter, every portrait of a martyr hanging on a wall since forever, every gravestone, every sura, every verse, every hymn, every ḥajj mabrur wa sa ‘yy mashkur, may your ḥajj and effort be rewarded, every yalla tnam yalla tnam, every lullaby, every red teddy bear on every Valentine’s, every clothesline, every hot skirt, every joyful dress, every torn trousers, every days-spun sweater, every button, every nail, every song, every ballad, every mirror, every peg, every bench, every shelf, every dream, every illusion, every hope, every disappointment, every hand holding another hand, every hand alone, every scattered thought, every beautiful thought, every terrifying thought, every whisper, every touch, every street, every house, every room, every balcony, every eye, every tear, every word, every letter, every name, every voice, every name, every house, every name, every face, every name, every cloud, every name, every rose, every name, every spear of grass, every name, every wave, every grain of sand, every street, every kiss, every image, every eye, every tear, every yamma, every yaba, every name, every name, every name, every name, every name, every name, every name, every name, all…

[princessbellecerise]

Beacon of Hope

Summary ✩ After the war, Jacaerys finally finds his purpose for living again

Warnings ✩ Slight spoilers for Fire and Blood

Notes ✩ Hosue of the Dragon has been so depressing lately and I needed a little something to lift my spirits. I hope you guys enjoy!

Some days he just couldn’t sleep.

It had nothing to do with his bed, as he had slept in multiple uncomfortable places during the war. But it was more so that Jacaerys was still in disbelief that this was his life now.

A year ago, the realm was at war and he was on the brink of death. After getting shot at during the Battle of the Gullet, Jacaerys suffered a major injuries that many didn’t believe he would survive. He spent his days floating in and out of consciousness, one foot in the grave until miraculously, the fever broke, Jacaerys rose again.

When he did, he learned that he was no longer a Prince. The war had ended with the death of his mother and the poisoning of the usurper, Aegon. And when he opened his eyes, he was a King.

Broken by the losses he took at war, yes. But slowly over the years, life turned.

Along with the many allies that still fought for him and his mother, Jace begin to rebuild the kingdom until it was whole again. What was once destroyed by dragon fire and blood was rebuilt, and in a few years time, King Jacaerys was able to restore what his family had destroyed.

It made the nights easier, knowing that the threat of war was gone and the realm was finally at peace, but even though his two remaining brothers were alive and the realm had settled, Jace still felt as if something was missing.

The holes that the death of his mother, his brothers, and his stepfather left never seemed to go away. And their death haunted him. For a while, the King believed that even though the realm was whole again, he never would be. The war had taken so many things—precious things—from him, that he no longer thought that hope and love was possible.

Then he met you.

When you came into his life, Jacaerys’ world had been upside down. He was alone with only his infant brothers to share his pain with, and he constantly felt like he was submerged in darkness.

But you…you were his light.

Not like dragon fire, which destroyed everything in its path, but rather the kind of light that inspired hope and growth.

With you, he learned what it meant to love again. What it meant to trust, and to have someone by his side that loved him unconditionally.

You were his greatest hope, and though many credited the maesters for keeping his broken body together, it was you that made his soul whole again. You were his missing piece, his beacon of hope, and he would never have it any other way.

So sometimes, when he couldn’t sleep, and the memories that he tried so hard to repress during the day came hunting for him at night, Jacaerys would stop and he would look upon your sleeping face and realize that everything was okay again.

Though the losses he took would never fully heal, he felt the pain ease knowing that he had you, little Aegon, little Viserys and little Luke to keep him striving towards the future.

Along with the babe that was currently in your belly, your growing family gave Jacaerys purpose. For the first time since waking up, the darkness that shrouded him faded, and it was instead replaced by hope.

Hope a better life. Hope for a better future.

A future he swore that no one would ever take from him again.

[novaursa]

The Wolf's Flame

- Summary: When you take your son flying, Cregan keeps fires warm for your return.

- Paring: velaryon!reader/Cregan Stark

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, is only daughter of Rhaenyra, has silver hair and violet eyes and is bonded to a dragon. These events happen after Fires That Never Freeze. To read all parts in chronological order, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Word count: 4 000+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @daeryna @21-princess

Your fingers gently trace the downy softness of Alysane's silver hair, a mirror of your own. Her tiny eyelids flutter as she breathes steadily against your chest, her warmth a comfort in the quiet of the nursery. The light filtering through the windows casts a soft glow, making the strands of her hair shimmer like moonlight on water. She stirs slightly, letting out a small, contented sigh, and you can't help but smile, though it is tinged with sorrow.

You can still vividly recall the first time Jace held your son, Killian. He had been so careful, so reverent, as if the boy was made of the finest glass. 

"He's got your spirit," Jacaerys had said, cradling Killian in his arms with a grin that could have brightened the darkest day. "And a bit of Cregan's stubbornness too, I reckon. He's going to be a strong one."

You remember how his brown eyes had softened, his usual warrior's stoicism giving way to a tenderness that was rare to see in him. You had laughed then, a light, joyful sound that echoed in the stone halls, lifting the spirits of those around you. 

But now, that memory is a dagger to your heart. Jace is gone, another brother taken by the cruel hands of war and treachery. The Battle of the Gullet claimed him, like it claimed so many others, leaving behind only a hollow ache where once there had been warmth and love.

Your grip on Alysane tightens ever so slightly, as if you can protect her from the world that has already taken so much from you. She shifts in her sleep, her tiny fists clenching, and you wonder what kind of life she will have in this world that seems so determined to tear your family apart.

The door creaks open softly, and you glance up to see Cregan standing in the doorway, his gaze heavy with unspoken thoughts. His presence is a comfort, a solid anchor in the storm of your emotions. He steps into the room, his boots barely making a sound on the cold stone floor.

"She's beautiful," he murmurs, his voice rough with emotion as he comes to stand beside you. His hand comes to rest on your shoulder, a warm, steadying presence. "Just like her mother."

You smile faintly at his words, but it's a fragile thing, easily broken. "She reminds me of Jace," you say quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. "The way he looked at Killian… it was as if he could see all the good in the world reflected in him."

Cregan's jaw tightens, and he nods, his eyes darkening with shared grief. "Jacaerys was a good man," he says after a moment, his voice low and filled with respect. "He would have been proud to see how you're raising our children, Y/N. Proud of the mother you've become."

His words are a balm, easing the sting of your loss, even if only slightly. You lean into him, resting your head against his chest, drawing strength from his steady heartbeat. "I just wish he were here to see them grow," you admit, your voice thick with unshed tears. "To see the family we’re building…"

Cregan wraps his arms around you, careful not to disturb Alysane, who remains peacefully asleep in your arms. "We'll make sure they know who he was," he promises, his voice strong and resolute. "We'll tell them stories of their uncle Jace, of his courage, his kindness. He won't be forgotten."

You nod, a tear finally slipping free, tracing a path down your cheek. "I just miss him so much," you confess, the words breaking like waves against the shore.

"I know," Cregan whispers, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. 

For a long moment, the two of you stand there in the quiet of the nursery, holding each other close, sharing the weight of your grief. Alysane stirs again, and you look down at her, at the peaceful innocence on her tiny face. She is a beacon of hope, a reminder that even in the darkest times, life continues, new stories begin.

As you gaze at your daughter, you feel a small spark of determination flicker within you. You will protect her, protect Killian, and ensure they grow up knowing the love and legacy of those who came before them.

"I'll make sure they know," you whisper, more to yourself than to anyone else. "I'll make sure they remember him."

Cregan nods, his grip on you tightening just slightly, a silent promise that he will stand by you, no matter what. Together, you will keep Jace's memory alive, woven into the very fabric of your children's lives, a legacy of love and courage that even death cannot erase.

The chill of the northern wind bites at your cheeks as you stand in the courtyard of Winterfell, the ancient stones of the castle walls towering around you. The sky above is a pale, wintry blue, the kind that stretches on endlessly, promising the first snows of the season. Thraxata, your beloved dragon, is a dark silhouette against the sky, her massive form casting a shadow over the courtyard as she awaits you with the patient stillness of a creature who knows her place in the world.

Cregan stands nearby, holding Killian in his arms. Your son's violet eyes are wide with excitement, his small hands clutching at the fur-lined collar of his father's cloak. His breath comes in quick, excited puffs, visible in the cold air, as he watches you secure the last of the straps on Thraxata's saddle. 

"Is Mama ready?" Killian asks, his voice high with anticipation, his gaze flicking between you and the towering dragon. 

"Almost, little wolf," Cregan replies, his deep voice softened with affection. He adjusts his hold on Killian, allowing the boy to lean forward slightly, getting a better view of the magnificent creature before him.

You finish tightening the final strap and turn to face them, your heart swelling with love at the sight of your son’s eager face. "She's ready," you confirm, walking over to them with a smile that feels more natural now, more present. The cold air feels invigorating, as does the promise of the flight ahead.

Killian wiggles in Cregan’s arms, his excitement barely contained. "Can we fly now, Mama? Please?"

You chuckle at his enthusiasm and reach out to take him from Cregan, who hands him over with a tender smile. "Of course, we can, little one," you say, holding Killian close for a moment before lifting him up to press a quick kiss to his forehead. "But you must hold on tight, alright? Just like we practiced."

Killian nods eagerly, his little hands gripping your cloak as you turn to face Cregan. Your husband’s grey eyes are filled with warmth, the kind that always makes you feel grounded, no matter how high you fly. He steps closer, wrapping an arm around your waist as he bends down to press a kiss to your lips, a slow, lingering gesture that speaks of love and longing. 

"Fly safe," he murmurs against your lips, his breath warm in the cold air. "And bring him back to me in one piece."

You smile against his mouth, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze. "Always," you promise, your voice soft but filled with the certainty that comes from years of shared battles and shared love. "We'll be back before the sun sets."

With a final kiss, you turn back to Thraxata, your heart thudding with a mix of excitement and the familiar rush of anticipation that always accompanies a flight. You cradle Killian with one arm as you approach the great beast, who lowers her massive head in greeting, her violet eyes shimmering with intelligence and recognition. 

“Hello girl,” you whisper, your free hand brushing against her polished obsidian scales, which glimmer faintly with hues of violet and blue in the sunlight. Thraxata rumbles in response, a sound that vibrates through the ground beneath your feet, as if she’s sharing in the excitement of the day.

With practiced ease, you swing yourself up onto the saddle, positioning Killian in front of you. His small hands reach out instinctively to grasp the pommel, and you secure him with a careful, reassuring grip. He giggles with delight as he feels the warmth of Thraxata’s body beneath him, the thrill of the impending flight already bubbling over.

“Ready?” you ask, your voice a blend of both motherly concern and the thrill of the adventure ahead.

“Ready!” Killian exclaims, his voice filled with a joy so pure it sends a spark of warmth through you, despite the cold.

With one last glance at Cregan, who watches you with that same steady look, you give Thraxata the command to take flight. The dragon responds immediately, her powerful wings unfurling with a sound like thunder. She launches into the air, her great body rising smoothly from the ground as the wind rushes past you, carrying the scent of pine and snow.

The world below falls away quickly as Thraxata soars upward, the chill of the wind tugging at your hair and cloak, but the cold is nothing compared to the exhilaration of the sky opening up before you. Killian’s laughter rings out, a bright, joyous sound that echoes across the open sky. He turns his head back to you, eyes wide with pure wonder. “Mama, we’re flying! Look, we’re really flying!”

You tighten your grip on him, feeling the steady thrum of Thraxata’s heart beneath you, the power of her wings carrying you higher, above the walls of Winterfell and the endless expanse of the North. “Yes, we are,” you say, your voice filled with the same awe you see reflected in your son’s eyes. “Just like I did with my mother when I was your age.”

The dragon’s flight is smooth, a testament to the bond you’ve shared since her hatching in your cradle. She’s been with you through every trial, every loss, and every victory. Now, she carries your son just as faithfully, as if she understands that he is a part of you, a continuation of your legacy.

As Winterfell grows smaller beneath you, you feel a sense of peace settle over you. Up here, with the sky stretching out infinitely above and the world below far removed, it’s easy to forget the weight of your grief, the loss of Jace, the uncertainty of the future. Up here, there is only the sound of the wind, the warmth of your son in your arms, and the steady, powerful beat of Thraxata’s wings.

You glance down at Killian, whose eyes are now glued to the horizon, a look of pure wonder on his face. “What do you see, little one?” you ask, curious to hear his thoughts.

“Everything, Mama,” he breathes, his voice filled with awe. “I can see everything.”

You smile, leaning down to press a kiss to his temple. “Then let’s see where the wind takes us, my brave little dragon rider.”

As Thraxata glides effortlessly through the sky, you let yourself enjoy the moment, the rare freedom it offers, the bond between mother and child, between rider and dragon. And for a time, as the cold wind whips past and the world falls away beneath you, you are simply Y/N Velaryon, a daughter of House Targaryen, a mother, a wife, and a rider of dragons. The rest of the world can wait until your feet are back on solid ground.

Cregan Stark watches as Thraxata’s obsidian-black form rises higher into the sky, the great dragon’s wings beating with a rhythm that reverberates in his chest. He stands in the courtyard of Winterfell, eyes locked on the shrinking figures of his wife and son as they ascend into the endless blue, until they become little more than a speck against the pale sky. The wind whips through the courtyard, carrying with it the scent of pine and the distant promise of snow, but Cregan remains still, his gaze unwavering as long as they are visible.

There’s a sense of awe and pride that fills him every time he watches Y/N with her dragon. Even after years of seeing her soar above the battlements, it never fails to stir something deep within him. She is a true daughter of the Targaryen line, a force of nature bound to the skies, and it amazes him that she is his—his wife, the mother of his children.

As Thraxata and his family disappear from sight, he finally lets out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, a mix of contentment and longing. He knows she’ll be back before long, but there’s always that small pang of separation, as if part of him takes flight with her every time she ascends into the heavens.

With a final glance at the now empty sky, Cregan turns and heads back toward the Great Keep. The stone walls of Winterfell rise imposingly around him, offering a stark contrast to the boundless sky from which he has just watched his wife and son disappear. The weight of his responsibilities returns to him with each step, grounding him in the reality of the world below.

As he enters the Great Hall, the warmth of the hearth fires greets him, a welcome change from the crisp air outside. The hall is quiet this time of day, the usual bustle of Winterfell subdued, with most of the household attending to their duties. He makes his way down the familiar corridors, his boots echoing softly on the stone floors, until he reaches the chamber where his daughter, Alysane, is being tended to.

The door is slightly ajar, and as he steps inside, he is greeted by the sight of a nursemaid cradling the infant in her arms. Alysane is awake, her bright violet eyes—so much like her mother’s—tracking the nursemaid’s movements with the curious intensity only a baby can muster. The soft, cooing lullaby being sung to her halts as the nursemaid notices Cregan’s entrance.

“Lord Stark,” she says with a respectful dip of her head, adjusting her hold on the child. “The little lady has been a delight today, though I daresay she misses her mother already.”

Cregan crosses the room in a few long strides, his gaze softening as he looks down at his daughter. “She’ll have her back soon enough,” he replies, his voice a low rumble of reassurance. “Let me hold her.”

The nursemaid carefully transfers Alysane into his arms, and Cregan feels the familiar, grounding weight of his daughter settle against his chest. She’s so small, so delicate, and yet she has a strength in her grip that makes him smile every time she reaches out to grasp his fingers. Alysane’s eyes, so much like Y/N’s, meet his, and he can’t help the rush of love that fills him.

“Have you been good for the nursemaid, little one?” he asks, his tone lighter, more playful as he gently rocks her. Alysane coos in response, her tiny fists waving in the air as if to say, Yes, Papa, I’ve been very good.

“She’s taken to her feeding well, my lord,” the nursemaid informs him, a smile tugging at her lips as she watches the interaction. “And she seems to enjoy the warmth of the fire. Perhaps she takes after her mother in that regard.”

Cregan chuckles softly, nodding. “She has the blood of the dragon in her, no doubt. But she’s a Stark, too. She’ll grow to love these cold winds, just as we do.”

He spends a few more moments with his daughter, savoring the simple joy of holding her, of feeling her small heartbeat against his chest. It’s a different kind of peace than what he feels when he’s with Y/N, but no less profound. Alysane is a part of them both, a perfect blend of fire and ice, and he treasures these quiet moments with her.

After a while, he gently hands Alysane back to the nursemaid, who resumes her gentle rocking and humming. “Thank you,” he says, his voice warm with gratitude. “Keep her close to the fire. The day will grow colder before it ends.”

The nursemaid nods. “As you wish, my lord.”

Cregan leaves the chamber, his thoughts now turning to the evening ahead. The wind outside has picked up, and he knows Y/N and Killian will appreciate a warm welcome when they return. He heads toward the Great Hall once more, this time with purpose in his stride. The fires need to be tended, more wood brought in, and the hearths stoked to a roaring blaze. Winterfell might be a cold, unforgiving place at times, but it was also a home—a sanctuary for his family—and he would see to it that they returned to warmth and comfort.

As he reaches the Great Hall, he calls out to a nearby servant, a young man quick on his feet. “We’ll need more wood for the hearths,” Cregan instructs, his tone commanding but not unkind. “Bring in what you can carry and see to it that the fires are stoked high.”

The servant nods eagerly, hurrying off to fulfill the request. Cregan moves to the main hearth himself, where the fire is already burning but not nearly to the level he desires. He takes up a heavy iron poker and stirs the embers, watching as the flames leap higher, their glow reflecting off the stone walls. 

As the fire roars to life, filling the hall with a warm, golden light, he steps back, satisfied with his work. The crackling of the flames, the scent of burning wood, and the comforting heat are all reminders of why he fights, why he endures. It’s for these moments—for the quiet, peaceful evenings after the storms have passed, when his family is safe and together under one roof.

He can almost hear Killian’s excited laughter already, the way his little boy’s voice fills the hall with joy whenever they return from a flight. He imagines Y/N’s smile, the way it lights up her entire face, and how her silver hair catches the firelight as she steps inside, Killian in tow, both of them flushed from the cold and the exhilaration of the sky.

The servant returns with an armful of wood, and Cregan helps him stack it near the hearth. The warmth is already spreading through the hall, driving away the chill that had begun to settle as the day waned. He can feel the sense of home building around him, the very thing he’s fought to protect, to preserve for those he loves most.

With the fires now blazing, he takes a moment to himself, standing in the center of the hall and letting the warmth seep into his bones. It’s a simple pleasure, but one he doesn’t take for granted. The flickering light of the flames plays across his face, casting shadows that dance along the stone walls. 

He glances toward the door, knowing it will soon swing open, admitting his wife and son back into the safety and warmth of Winterfell. He’s ready to greet them, to hear about their flight, to listen to Killian’s breathless recounting of the view from above and to feel the reassurance of Y/N’s presence beside him.

As he waits, the fire crackling at his back, Cregan Stark feels a deep sense of contentment. There’s a storm coming, as there always is in the North, but for now, his world is warm, his heart full, and his family is safe. And that is all he could ever ask for.

The warmth of the fire mingles with the lingering heat of your bodies, still flush from the passion that had just consumed you both. You lie nestled in the soft, thick furs of your bed, the heavy pelts providing a cocoon of warmth against the biting cold that lurks just beyond the walls of Winterfell.

Cregan's strong arm is draped around you, his hand tracing lazy, soothing patterns on your bare back. Your head rests on his broad chest, rising and falling with each steady breath he takes. The intimacy of the moment is profound, the kind of peace that only comes after such intensity, when every barrier has been stripped away, leaving only raw, unfiltered affection in its wake.

His fingers slide through your silver hair, untangling the strands that had become tousled during your lovemaking, and you feel a contented sigh escape your lips. The connection between you is tangible, a bond forged not only in love but in shared trials, in the promises whispered in the dark and the strength you find in one another.

"Sometimes," you begin softly, your voice barely more than a murmur in the quiet of the room, "sometimes I wish I could be down there, in the thick of it, fighting alongside my mother. Facing the Greens with fire and blood, like we were meant to."

Cregan’s hand stills on your back for a moment before he resumes his gentle caresses. He knows how deeply the conflict weighs on you, how much you struggle with the separation from your mother and the battles you were born to fight. "You’re a warrior at heart, Y/N," he says, his voice low and full of understanding. "It’s in your blood, in your very soul. But you’re here now, and there’s strength in that too—in being the heart of this family, in raising our children with the knowledge of who they are and where they come from."

You nod against his chest, taking comfort in his words. It’s not easy to be away from the fight, to know that your family is out there, risking their lives while you remain here, safe in the North. But Cregan is right—there is strength in what you’re doing here, in the life you’ve built together, in the legacy you’re creating.

"I know," you whisper, tilting your head to press a soft kiss to his chest, right above his heart. "I know. But I’m grateful, Cregan. For this, for you, for everything we’ve found here in Winterfell. It’s more than I ever imagined for myself."

He shifts slightly, turning so that he can look down at you, his grey eyes dark and intense as they meet yours. There’s a tenderness there, a love so deep it nearly takes your breath away. "You’ve brought light to this place, Y/N," he says, his voice filled with conviction. "You’ve made it a home, not just for me, but for everyone within these walls. You are the heart of Winterfell now, just as much as you were born both of Dragonstone and Driftmark. And I will always be grateful for that, for you."

You smile up at him, a warmth blooming in your chest that has nothing to do with the fire. "And I, for you, my love," you reply softly, lifting your hand to trace the strong line of his jaw, feeling the roughness of his beard beneath your fingers. "I never thought I could find such peace, such happiness, in a place so far from the warmth of the South. But here with you, it feels like I’ve found something even better. Something that feels like home."

He leans down to capture your lips in a slow, lingering kiss, one that speaks of love and promises, of the future you’ll face together. When he pulls back, his gaze is serious, his expression thoughtful. "Winter will come soon," he says, his voice taking on a more somber tone. "The snow will fall heavier, and the North will sleep beneath its blanket of white. But when the spring sun melts the snow, when the rivers flow again and the ice recedes, the North will rise. And we will march south, to deliver the justice that has long been owed. Just as I promised you, Y/N. The time will come."

You see the resolve in his eyes, the fire of his conviction, and it stirs something within you—a spark of hope, of purpose. You’ve always known that the North was a place of endurance, of long winters and even longer memories. But with Cregan by your side, you also know it is a place of honor, of loyalty, and of promises kept.

"And I will be ready," you say, your voice firm with determination. "We will be ready. For whatever comes."

He nods, the tension in his expression easing as he presses another kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there as if to seal the promise between you. "But for now," he murmurs against your skin, "we have this. These moments, this peace. And we will hold on to it for as long as we can."

You close your eyes, letting his warmth and the steady beat of his heart lull you into a state of calm. The world outside can wait for now—the battles, the struggles, the uncertainties of the future. Here, wrapped in Cregan’s arms, you find solace, a reprieve from the weight of the world, and the strength to face whatever comes next.

As you drift off to sleep, cocooned in the warmth of the furs and the security of Cregan’s embrace, you feel a deep sense of contentment settle over you. The future may hold its challenges, but in this moment, all is well. You are together, and that is all that matters.

[tamajiki2]

𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐒!! 🫙 𝐒. 𝐀𝐈𝐙𝐀𝐖𝐀

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒;

student/teacher relationships,

facefucking, age gap, pred reader,

manipulation and blackmail, top reader,

hehim amab reader, general dark content.

𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐀 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄.

it was a fucking mistake.

that was all aizawa could think of as he shakily knelt on the shiny white tiles that floored his office. sure, it was a mistake, but it was one he could actually feel. and best of all? it felt good.

a hazy night dancing with coworkers and a few too many drinks. terrible decisions, and groaning into the crook of someone's neck. a blurry face, and the hard imprint of a cock rutting against his back. he could hardly see anything, let alone remember. bright white and a loud, shuddering orgasm. he could've sworn he was floating.

however, his fun was promptly put to an end when he was met with one of his third-year students sitting lazily at the desk chair in his office the following morning.

"[ name ].", he warned.

you smiled. what you were so giddy about, aizawa wasn't in a hurry to find out. you were usually a quiet, mild-tempered kid who remained comfortably around his friends, and never behaved outside the norm of the average student.

he watched, puzzled, as you ignored his call and rested your legs on top of his desk.

so what was up with this brazen display of confidence?

"i don't think you understand the situation you're in, teach.", you chuckled and pulled your phone from your pocket. that fateful day, he was too wasted to recognize you and you were too horny— sorry, ambitious to reject this shining opportunity right in front of you. you turned the screen so that aizawa could see its contents clearly.

his heart dropped.

it was him, sprawled out on pure white sheets. his eyes were half-lidded and hair disheveled as he was fucked on camera. he looked like a mess. he hardly even had the sense to cover his face while the flash raked over his entire body.

you waved the phone around, watching aizawa's eyes follow it with a gaze of pure resentment. "sleeping with a student, mr. aizawa? gee, that's terrible. you could lose your job over something like that, you know?", you hummed, voice light and teasing.

aizawa opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

you continued, "it's alright though, i have no intention of telling. as long as you do me a teensy favor..." you gestured for him to come close and aizawa knew he had no choice. aizawa grit his teeth as you stood, now face to face with him.

"on your knees."

which brought him to now.

aizawa stared down at the floor when the familiar jingle of metal scraped at his ears. then, the rapid clinking sound of a zipper. a pool of dread filled his stomach. a long pause during which he didn't dare to look up.

two light slaps against aizawa's cheek. you were already hard. he couldn't miss the distinctive feeling of veins pulsing against his skin.

"open wide.", you singsonged, pressing your tip to aizawa's lips.

reluctantly, he did, and immediately wished he hadn't as you gagged him on his cock. you didn't waste a second setting a brutal pace. you gripped him harshly by the hair, groaning something about how sexy he was. but aizawa couldn't hear you over his own rhythmic choking. aizawa desperately grasped at your thighs.

"ghk—", his back was arching, body trying to struggle against your hold. his eyes were burning.

globs of saliva and pre streamed down his chin and splattered onto the floor. you fucked his throat pliant; aizawa could feel every trace and curve of your cock in his brain. you looked down at him and, god, that almost threw you over the edge. his eyes were sparkling and wet with tearful shame. he no longer had energy to glare at you. not like it would do anything anyway, with your thick dick down his gullet. stray hairs stuck to his face which framed it like a pornographic painting. aizawa kneaded the back of your thighs in a wordless plea. that only drove you further into your descent to orgasm.

he thought that he'd surely die at a particularly rough snap of your hips. you had tangled more of his hair into your grip, like a ponytail, and were punching the back of his throat. aizawa whined loudly.

"shit, you feel so good. 'm gonna cum."

you were rolling your hips now, instead of thrusting like before. aizawa thought that was worse. he was forced down to your hilt where he would stay for what felt like hours, gagging and swallowing around your cock while you humped impossibly deep into his skull.

you couldn't think of anything else except the feeling of his throat tightening around you. damn, he was addictive. you leaned over him further restricting his movements. there's a strangled noise from under you.

'it's almost over', he thought, but 'almost' didn't seem like 'almost' anymore as you began an onslaught more viscous than the last. aizawa found himself fading in and out of consciousness, his vision light and blurring. 

one last snap of your hips and you were buried deep into him. he felt your seed scorching his already-sore throat. you pulled away, absolutely relishing in the mess you made of shota aizawa.

a thick layer of fluids coated his face and dripped down the front of his longsleeve. while he coughed and spluttered for air, you felt oddly endeared to him. you gently massaged your hands through his hair.

"i'll see you later, teach.", you said sweetly.

again, the rustling of clothes followed by that metallic 'zzzip'. your sturdy hands left him and aizawa swallowed thickly. he was sure he looked terrible. he did his best to wipe away the worst of it with his sleeves. the fabric felt like knives dragging across his raw skin. he let out a deep sigh upon hearing your descending footsteps and the door slam shut.

he noted his next class starting in a few hours and grimaced. he'd have to hurry and clean up if he wanted to make it in time. beforehand, though— he looked down at the crotch of his pants that were dark and sticky with cum— he had a situation to deal with.

“shit.”

[ an; hey so let me know if you guys like this facefuck and aizawa mmm yum yum si or no ]

[missggullet]

babe you're so quiet what's on your mind?

[bumblesimagines]

War Between Kin

Request: Yes or No

Summary: When Rhaenyra Targaryen takes her throne back, she ensures to take care of the remaining Greens in the Keep. Jacaerys attempts to figure out the whereabouts of the Usurper King Aegon by questioning his younger sister.

Pronouns: She/Her/Hers, F!Reader

CW/TW: Typical GoT/HOTD warnings, AU where what happened in the Gullet does not occur, for plot purposes Jace and Baela are not engaged, potential spoilers for S3/events in the books, mentions of Targcest, brief mention of arranged marriage, bastardphobia,

I'm about to fill up the fucking tag because of this man. Super short but here you go for my fem readers!

~~~

"Where is Aegon Targaryen?"

"I've already told you, I do not know."

Jace had long grown tired of repeating himself, and he knew for certain his aunt had grown tired of the questioning the first time he asked. A rough near twenty minutes had passed since he'd first entered the bedchambers she'd been confined to when his mother returned to her rightful home, and he'd learned nothing new about the whereabouts of his missing uncle nor who could have had a hand in smuggling the usurper out of King's Landing.

Truthfully, Jace's patience always had a tendency to run out. He certainly felt it reaching the end of its line as he bounced his knee and laced his fingers over his stomach, eyes tracking his aunt as she paced the room back and forth clad in that godsforsaken shade of green Dowager Queen Alicent often wore. His legs ached just watching her continuously move, although he suspected if she stopped and sat across from him as he'd asked her to numerous times, she'd likely strike at him until someone tore her off him.

"He is your eldest brother, is he not?" Jace spoke through near-gritted teeth, the bouncing of his leg intensifying with each passing second.

The longer they went without locating Aegon Targaryen, the longer his mother went without rest. He remained a threat to them all, even in his battered and ruined state. Half his body burnt, they'd said, and hardly able to walk by himself without help. Jace hardly understood why anyone would desire someone in his state on the throne.

"I am not my brother's keeper." (Y/N) seethed lowly, voice laced with irritation and legs continuing to move back and forth across the room. Her hands tightly clutched the skirt of her dress, keeping it barely lifted to avoid tripping over it.

Despite the rather eyesore of a color reminding Jace of her traitorous family, he'd be a fool to deny it wasn't a beautiful dress that suited her well. She looked regal, if not incredibly furious with him and the rest of his family. It'd been expected after all the fighting and bloodshed between their families even before the war began.

"Do not lie to me, Aunt." Jace scoffed, bracing his arms against the table before him. "All my life, you've always been the watcher amongst your siblings. I doubt not a single thing happened in this castle, in this city, without you learning of it. You must tell me where your brother has fled before Daemon's patience with your stubbornness runs thin. He will not be as kind as I have been."

(Y/N) scowled at him and finally ceased her mindless pacing, her back turning to him and hands raising to her face. In all the years Jace had known the beautiful woman before him, he'd only ever seen her lose her icy demeanor once when Aemond's eye was taken and she'd bitten the skin around her nails until they were raw. He disliked it. He much preferred her snarky attitude over her anxious habits unbefitting of a lady such as her.

"What of Helaena?" She questioned abruptly, her dress swishing when she spun around to face him and her eyes squinting with an unspoken accusation. "You have kept your dogs at bay, have you not? She is not of sound mind." 

"Helaena is the most innocent out of the lot of you! Her Grace would never bring harm upon Helaena, of all possible people." Utterly absurd! Jace hardly believed his ears, hardly found it within himself not to snap at her and remind her it'd been her brother who'd killed Luke mercilessly. Still, (Y/N) released a dry laugh, her shoes smacking against the ground as she stormed up to the table.

"Do pray tell, Nephew," She spat the word venomously, as if it were full of filth. "What were Rhaenyra's intentions when she hired those animals who forced Helaena to choose between her sons? What were Rhaenyra's intentions when those animals killed my nephew before his siblings, mother, and grandmother? Helaena has lost her mind. She relives that night every waking moment. A son for a son, they claimed, justice on behalf of Rhaenyra the Cruel."

Jace shot up from his seat, nearly knocking the chair back from sheer force, and slammed his palms against the table with his lips pulled back into a snarl. "Her Grace did not order the death of any of Helaena's sons!" 

"Oh, even better, she cannot keep a leash on her own people, then?" (Y/N) laughed again, dry and bitter. "Let us pray Aemond and Daeron arrive quickly with their army, shall we? At least then we will be spared the reign of a queen who cannot control her own allies. It's pathetic, Jacaerys, utterly pathetic. Even if the Realm allows a queen to sit the throne, they will never accept a bastard."

"Mind your tongue, Princess, before I-" 

"Before you what?" (Y/N) rounded the table swiftly, gliding along the floor until she reached his side. He managed to turn sideways to face before their chests pressed together, their faces mere inches apart and noses threatening to brush against each other. Jace stiffened, his hands rolling into tightly clenched fists and eyes struggling to remain focused on the lilac of her irises. "Before you cut my tongue out as your grandfather once threatened? Do it, then. Cut my tongue out, here and now, and show your subjects you will not be a king of words alone."

Jace remained silent, his nostrils flaring with his deep inhale and jaw clenching. A challenge, a rather blatant one from his aunt of all people. His cheeks warmed against his will, the embarrassment trickling in because he'd never dare to lay a threatening finger on a lady, much less a beloved princess of the Realm. Jace stared into her eyes and swallowed, his mind searching for words he could shoot back at her. 

"A bastard and a coward, then? You will be the end of our dynasty with your tainted blood." She hissed lowly, her breath fanning against his face. "The Gullet did not make you a warrior, did it? Not when you had to be dragged out of the waters full of arrows by another bastard."

"You-" 

The sound of a sword unsheathing filled his ears and made his blood bubble with dread, unable to do anything else when she stepped back and pressed the tip of his sword against his throat. Jace's head instinctively tilted up, his heart beginning to drum against his ribcage when his adams apple dragged along the sharp blade threatening to cut his skin. Her lips curled up cruelly and she shook her head slowly, her earrings swaying with her movements.

"The Realm will never a bastard such as yourself to sit the Iron Throne. It'd be an insult to each of the Great Houses. I could end this pathetic display of a boy pretending to be man right here... but your inheritance would fall on the shoulders of young Joffery, and Gods know what Daemon would do to that boy with the line of succession so close to reaching his own sons. I would rather witness Daemon stew in his desperate desire to see his own blood on the throne than offer him up a child on a platter. Unlike your mother, I am not that cruel."

"Daemon knows his place." Nobody would ever believe those words, not even Jace himself. "He is King Consort. He's achieved what he's always desired."

"Has he?" (Y/N) slowly retracted the sword from his throat and tossed it onto the table with a clatter. "Or is he merely lying in wait as he's done time and time again? When he was refused the throne, he waited for the opportunity to arise to bring humiliation on your mother. When he was exiled, he waited for Ser Laenor to be no more so he could take the heir for himself. You are not his son, Jacaerys. You are an obstacle, and Daemon obviously despises obstacles. It will only be a matter of time before he realizes if something were to occur to your mother, he would rule as regent, and as regent, he'd do whatever he desired."

(Y/N) turned away from him once more, her skirt dragging along the stone floor as she walked toward her open window and stopped by it, staring out into the long expense of ocean. Jace took his sword and slid it into his sheath again, internally scolding himself for having grown distracted before he approached his aunt, his steps slow and cautious. 

"Rhaenyra should have never been named heir." (Y/N) murmured, and Jace's eyes fell down to her hands, watching her scrape her nails along the skin of her fingers. Her eyes danced, never focusing on one thing for longer than a second as her mind continued working with thoughts and ideas Jace surprisingly longed to hear. 

"And yet, she is the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms... and by late morrow she expects you to bend the knee publicly before the court." 

"Or what? She shall behead me as she did my grandsire? I hear the executions have become a daily occurrence. Rhaenyra the Cruel's bloody reign, they shall call it. You will see in due time that we would have all been better for it if she had accepted the terms for peace. Your brother may have yet lived, and you would not have nearly met the Stranger in the Gullet." 

"We are still at war, Princess, and we'd be fools to keep traitors in our midst," Jace spoke, but he could not stop the tremor in his voice. It'd been satisfying at first when they spilled the blood of Otto Hightower and his son, as well as the Small Council members who'd so openly opposed his mother. But then, blood continued to be spilled, and neither Rhaenyra nor Daemon would stop to hear of it. "It is... for the good of the Realm." 

(Y/N) shook her head but otherwise remained silent, the fury she'd contained in her body dissolving. She continued watching the distant waves in the water, her nails only digging harder and harder into her skin until they threatened to break through to her flesh and blood. Unable to help himself, Jace clasped his hand over hers to stop the constant scratching, his lips pressing together and a quiet sigh escaping him.

"I am here to question you about Aegon Targaryen's whereabouts... but I suppose I should also inform you that your mother has made a proposal in an attempt to stop the bloodshed and put an end to the war. She's offered up a betrothal between you and I so that both sides may come together in marriage. Her Grace agreed to some of the terms that came with the proposal, among them a promise to not bring harm upon Helaena, Jaehaera, or Ser Daeron if he bends the knee. She will have the heads of Aegon and Aemond regardless." 

His aunt stared at him for a good long while, her body eventually tilting to face him fully. Her arms dropped down to her sides, forcing Jace to drop his hand as well. She wet her lips and turned her gaze away, the news finally beginning to settle into her body. She opened her mouth, looking back at him: "I would rather fling myself from this window than marry a bastard and further tie myself to a hopeless cause." 

[the20thangel]

The Shocking Prize for the Raven Knight.

Summary: While attacking a Green camp, Benjicot finds the missing Targaryen!reader princess that the Greens managed to kidnap and frees her. As they return to Kingslanding, Rhaenyra surprises everyone with the choice of gratitude she wishes to bestow on the lord for saving her daughter.

Word Count: 2.1K

Masterlist

Benjicot led his men through the Lannister camp, going through the men like they were training dummies. Red and gold fell to his men, red and black proudly waving Queen Rhaenyra’s flag. Pathetic, he thought, these Lannister men were like their lord, a loin with no claws or bite. 

As his men continued fighting through the Lannister, Benjicot focused on the second part of his mission. He was finding the lost princess. He received a raven about how Rhaenyra’s daughter was taken during the Battle of Gullet after Prince Jacaerys was killed. The princess's dragon died during the battle is killed, similar to Vermx, Prince Jacaerys’ mount. This forced the princess to be held captive and was going to be essentially sold as a prize to Prince Aemond. Luckily, the prince perished Under God’s Eye from Daemon. So the captive princess was held now as a war prisoner, trying to see how much they could get away before returning her to her mother, who grew more and more desperate to have her daughter back at her side. 

As he weaved through the camp and tents, he got worried, not finding any Targaryen princess and trying to remember the appearance he described. Black hair with violet eyes. It should have been hard to find since Lannisters were known for their golden blond hair, not black, but no princess was still in sight. As he grew increasingly stressed about not finding a princess, he saw one more tent in a lone corner towards the end of the camp. 

Quickly scanning his surroundings for any knight, Benjicot ran to the tent flap to see someone kneeing at the ground, their head covered by a veil. He knew from the structure that it was a woman kneeling. Walking towards the figure, he tried to be silent, not wanting to alert any knight outside. As he slowly reached her, he placed his hand on her shoulder. 

“Excuse me, my lady-” 

Benjicot was interrupted when suddenly the mysterious woman turned, reaching for his dagger. She tripped him as he tried to block her, making him fall to the ground. He felt a weight on his chest as he looked up. Seeing a beautiful maiden with black hair and violet hardened eyes glaring at him as she held his dagger to his throat. His breath was physically and metaphorically taken away from him. Queen Rhaenyra’s daughter was a force to be reckoned with. 

Once the princess heard footsteps coming to her tent, she feared it was that awful Lannister lord or Aemond. She decided she would rather die trying to kill them and freeing herself than being taken by those dreadful men. As she attacked the knight and went to stab him, she was blocked, forcing herself to notice the red and black colors. Recognizing them as House Blackwood, the princess quickly stood up from his chest, allowing Benjicot to sit up as he stared at her with wonder. 

“My apologies, my lord. I have wrongly mistaken you for a Lannister or Aemond.” She apologized, moving a hand to him and helping him stand off the ground. 

Not releasing her hand, Benjicot assessed her for any damage to her body; seeing she looked healthy enough, he sighed. Queen Rhaenyra would be glad to hear her daughter was safe and sound. 

Benjicot smiled, bowing and kissing her hand, “No, my princess. It should be I apologizing. Knowing that enemies are around this camp, I should not have sneaked behind you.” 

The ebony-haired princess smiled at the lord, “Then, as long as we both accept our apologies, there should be no bad blood around us.” 

As Benji was about to speak, they both heard a shout from the entrance, seeing Lord Jason staring at them red-faced. Huffing in anger, the Lannister lord yelled as he charged towards the young duo. Benjicot braced for him, raising his sword as the two began to duel with the dragon princess stalking around them. Benjicot grinned widely; this lord was clumsy in his sword fighting, quickly finding the upper hand as he slashed Jason Lanninser on his legs, causing the golden loin to yell in pain and sink to the floor. As Jason glared at Benjioct, he spat, claiming how his brother in Kingslanding would make House Blackwood pay for treason—going further in saying how he will have two beauties, Aly Blackwood and the princess. Making Benjicot stiffen in anger, but before the Lord of Casterly Rock could continue in his word rampage, he was cut off by a dagger slashing his throat. This caused the lord to choke on his blood, flopping down on the ground with a thud. 

In shock and wonder, Benji raised his sight again as the princess sneered at the dead lord. 

“He disgustedly talks too much; I have grown tired of his moronic speaking. The realm will be relieved to be rid of him.” stated the princess, using her trousers to wipe off the blood from the dagger as she returned it to Benji. The Raven lord grinned, shaking his head. 

“Keep it, princess, you have a talent with the dagger; let it keep you safe on your journey home.” explained the lord, smiling at seeing the princess grin back at him. 

As the lord and princess sneaked out of the tent, they saw that the Blackwood men were joined by the Stark men, leading to victory over the greens. Smiling, the princess greeted Cregan Stark, who clapped Benjicot for finding the princess and exclaimed that he was glad the princess was safe and sound. Aly Blackwood introduced herself to the princess, asking her to join her in her tent to refresh before they made their way to Kingslanding. 

The princess furrowed her brows, “Kingslanding, why not Dragonstone?” 

The trio paused, forgetting that the princess could not know how the war was transpiring. 

Benjicot stared at the group before sighing as he turned to the princess, “Your mother, Queen Rhaenyra, has been able to take hold of Kingslanding from the greens. That is why Jason Lannister seemed desperate. He clings that his brother Tyland could lead a rebellion against your mother from the dark cells. He is wrong.” snorted Benjicot in the hilarious thought of the Lanniesters. 

The Princess nodded, relieved her mother was well and finally able to reclaim her throne from Aegon and his green harpies. Grinning, she expressed her desire to travel as fast as possible to Kingslanding; she wanted to reunite with her mother quickly. As they planned, it was decided that Benjicot and the princess would ride together, seeing how battles still needed to be fought closer to the storm lands and crownlands. Traveling with a vast army would only cause a larger target on the princess. 

The Princess changed her clothes to House Blackwood to try and become unrecognizable to any allies of Aegon. As she exited the tent, she greeted Benji, who once again had his breath taken away from her beauty, especially when she saw her in his house's colors. 

“How do I look, my Lord?” questioned the princess teasingly as she spun around for him. 

Gulping, Benji smiled at the princess, his cheeks heating up, “A true beauty, my princess, but may I ask for you to call me Ben.” 

Laughing at his cheeks, the princess replied, “Very well, Ben, please call me by my name rather than my princess.” 

The two leave in the cover of night, hoping to reach the red keep in a few days. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As Queen Rhaenyra walked with Aegon and Joffrey, a servant quickly came and handed her a raven. Pausing, she quickly opened it once she saw the House Blackwood sigil on it. Rhaenyra gasped in delight. Her daughter was found safely and was in due time to arrive in her arms. Her darling jewel, she raged for days after hearing that Jason Lannister had her captive. She would finally be back to her side, grinning. Rhaenyra shared the news with her boys, laughing as the two young princes rejoiced at being reunited with their beloved sister. 

The day after, Rhaenyra was waiting by the steps of the Iron Throne; the court was buzzing in, seeing the Queen glowing with joy as they eagerly awaited the princess's arrival. As the throne room doors opened, people gasped, seeing the dragon princess walk in proudly wearing House Blackwood clothes with the lord of Raventree Hall grasping her arms and leading her to the Queen. 

As the duo paused before the queen, Benjioct released his princess, moving back a step as he bowed to his queen. Rhaenyra grinned in gratitude at him as she embraced her daughter, whispering how much she missed her. The Princess nearly returned her mother’s embrace, finally letting herself relax. She was safe, and she was home, all thanks to Ben.  As they separated, Rhaenyra called for the court's dismissal. She invited Benjicot for a luncheon but did not allow him to decline, so she walked away, dragging her daughter out. The princess rolled her eyes as she turned back to him. 

“Come on, Ben, join us, please,” pleaded the princess, grinning as she saw him following. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I wanted to thank you again, Lord Blackwood, for bringing my daughter back to me safe and sound,” the queen praised, grinning as she saw him flush red.

Benjicot could feel his cheeks heat up again, not used to being praised by a queen and princess. 

“I would gladly do it again, my queen; it is my honor to serve you.” he shyly spoke, blushing more as both mother and daughter giggled at his shyness. 

“Isn’t he the sweetest mother? Instead of puffing his chest in pride, he is humble in his actions, becoming nervous from praises.” teased the princess, laughing when Ben turned to her with mock betrayal, playfully glaring at her. 

Rhaenyra smiled at the sight; it seemed her daughter and the raven lord had grown close to each other. As the Luncheon continued, she grew more intrigued seeing how easily they spoke, jested with each other, leaving to each other's company. Not only that, but she also saw how he treated her sons. Aegon and Joffrey took a liking to the lord, asking him questions about battles and his sword skills, which the lord happily indulged the young princes every time. 

As the luncheon finished, the Queen stated she needed to think about specific events and that she would see everyone later at court. Bowing, the princess saw her mother leaving with her brothers. Turning to Ben, she grinned, enjoying that she would spend more time with him alone. 

As the two walked around, joking and teasing each other, they did not notice a dragon queen staring. Seeing their ease in each other’s company, she grew confident in her decision, turning away from the window. Rhaneyra allowed herself to become excited about the news she would share later. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once again, the court was gathered in the throne room. Rhaenyra noticed her daughter finally switched from Blackwood clothes to her Targaryen gowns. She grinned, seeing how Benjioct stared at her daughter with a particular look in his eyes. Facing back to her people, she greeted them. 

“My good people, it is with great pleasure that we celebrate the return of my daughter, your crown princess, home safely.” 

The crowd cheered and clapped joyfully as the princess bowed to her mother. 

Rhaenyra raised her hand, asking for quietness as she continued to speak, “But if it were not for the hard works of Houses Stark and House Blackwood, our princess would have been still lost in the hands of the greens and their allies. Lord Blackwood, please step forward.” 

The crowd again cheered as the young lord stood infront of his queen, kneeling respectfully. 

“Lord Benjicot Blackwood, thank you for bringing my daughter home safely. House Targaryen will always be grateful to House Blackwood… to show my gratitude, I have decided to honor you in a great alliance.” 

The crowd quietly gasped, wondering what alliance and prize would the queen bestow the young lord. 

Smiling, she turned to her daughter for a second before returning her gaze to Benji, “I am proposing, my lord, to create a strong alliance between our two houses in the form of marriage. It is my greatest pleasure to propose my daughter’s hand in marriage to you and you to be her future prince consort.” 

Both princess and lord snapped their eyes to the queen, widening in shock as the crowd gasped—marriage…. a marriage between the raven lord and the beautiful dragon princess. 

Slowly, the princess smiled bashfully, turning her head to Ben, who turned to her, staring and smiling at each other… marriage, they wouldn’t mind marrying.

[frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe]

@steddie-spooktober day 9: werewolf | T | wc: 1,735

🐺����🐾🐺🌕🐾

“I need a werewolf to take one look at me and go “I’ll have that” then claim me as their mate and never let me go.” Eddie says out of the blue.

The soda Steve was drinking stings the back of his nose as it attempts to avoid ending up in his gullet, and Robin automatically starts to pat his back sympathetically as he continues to splutter

The older teens are all over, just a normal kickback type thing after the kids had all been ferried out of Steve’s pool and over to the Wheelers’ armpit of a basement for the night. He and Robin are replenishing their snacks in the kitchen and Steve had been attempting to polish off his current can before grabbing another when Eddie’d said that. Stupid enhanced hearing.

And Robin didn’t even hear it; To her, it must’ve just seemed like Steve’s soda went down the wrong pipe or something.

The conversation in the other room continues on while he struggles to breathe. “Okay…do I even want to know?” Nancy asks, her voice tinged with disgust.

“You never read fanfiction, Nance?”

“No, can’t say I have.”

“Well I have, and having a hairy werewolf hottie decide you’re the one he wants? Swoon.”

“Is that a thing?”

“Everything is someone’s thing, man.” Argyle drawls out.

“Why?” Nancy again.

“‘Cause humans are weird.”

“No, no, I mean why werewolf?”

Steve tunes out Eddie’s response when Robin speaks beside him; “You okay, Dingus?”

“Yeah, yeah, just—“ should he even tell her what he’d heard? …Nah. He’d rather preserve his dignity for a little while longer, thanks. “Just went down the wrong pipe is all.”

“Well if you’re done dying, I’m sure the others are wondering where their snacks are.”

She pats him again, twice in quick succession, and grabs up the freshly re-filled bowl of popcorn and two cans of beer beside her on the counter.

Steve does the same, a bowl of chips in one hand and another three cans in his other, following Robin back into the living room.

To his absolute horror, the first thing she asks when she steps across the threshold back into the room is, “What’d we miss?”

“Eddie was telling us about his kinks.” Nancy states, accepting the can Robin holds out to her; Robin plops down onto the carpet beside her and cracks open hers.

“It’s not a kink, it’s—-“ Eddie argues, cutting himself off, “Okay, maybe it is a kink, but it’s just fictional!”

Robin looks at him, confused. “What is?”

“He wants to be claimed by a wolf.” Jonathan explains, grabbing two of the cans from Steve and passing one to Argyle beside him on the couch.

“Not a wolf, a were-wolf!” Eddie protests loudly at the same time Robin starts cackling.

“Didn’t know you had a thing for biting, Munson.”

“Didn’t know you knew what claiming even entails, Buckley.”

“You think I haven’t been on AO3?” She shakes her head at him, “And I thought we were friends..”

None of the others seem to notice Steve’s lack of response or his bright red face, all of them wrapped up in Eddie’s denial.

“We’ve seen crazier shit..” Jonathan concedes, his response a little delayed and his tone thoughtful. “Who says werewolves aren’t real? Or mermaids? Or bigfoot?”

“Bigfoot is real.” Eddie and Argyle say in unison.

“That’s just fantasy! And no he’s not..” Nancy says, rolling her eyes at the boys.

“With all the insane shit that’s been happening apparently for years now, you’re telling me that vampires, werewolves, and all that crap aren’t a thing? What, are those too fictional for you?” Eddie argues.

Before Nancy can respond, and to Steve’s absolute horror, Robin looks right at him with a devious looking glint in her eye. “What do you think, Steve?”

Three more of the remaining four faces turn to him at once; Argyle remains gazing contentedly up at the ceiling where he’s lounged back on the couch, his feet propped up on one arm and his head in Jonathan’s lap.

“About what?”

“About werewolves.” Eddie and Robin respond at once, the two passing a suspicious glance between them before turning their eyes back to Steve.

“Wanting to be claimed or whatever, or whether or not they exist? ‘Cause I don’t quite have an answer for either.”

Eddie, Nancy, and Robin all start talking at once, Steve’s ears picking out each thing; “It’s not just that! Why won’t any of you listen to me?”, “Please don’t tell me you believe this crap too, Steve.", “Both, obviously!”

He sighs, “Stranger things have happened, Nance,” he says, answering her first, then turning his attention to Eddie, “So explain it then.”

Robin chuckles again, lower in volume this time, and he prepares himself for whatever shit he’s gonna get from her about this. Steve asking the subject of his relatively new gay bi panic turned full-blown crush why exactly he’d be into him right to his face has got to be like Christmas coming early to her.

“It’s the whole claiming thing too, alright, don’t get me wrong, but it's also the..” Eddie’s face shifts into embarrassment and his cheeks tinge pink, as if what he’s about to say is the more embarrassing part than the horny biting thing (Steve’s read a few fics in his time too, sue him.), “The Belonging thing. Like, they picked you to be a part of their family, their ‘pack’.” he emphasizes the word with his fingers. “I like the whole chosen family part….” he says, quietly, then his face switches out of embarrassment, going back into confidence in a blink, “But a full-hearted “Yes!” to the whole staking their claim thing. Also definitely that.”

The others groan, the sound morphing into laughter, and Steve thinks he’s off the hook about answering. Until.

“So? Steve?”

Damnit Robin.

“I mean..” Steve’s face burns hot again, the initial flush that had managed to die off coming back full force. “I don’t know about the whole claiming thing, I’m not into biting,”

‘Getting bitten,’ he corrects in his head, ‘Biting, however..’ leaving his mark on someone, the bright red imprints of his teeth standing out against the pale skin of their—-the hypothetically pale skin of their throat (and beside the hypothetical long dark-brown curls too maybe).

He shakes off the thought, “I can definitely understand the family part though, ‘d be nice to be chosen and be chosen forever.”

“See? Exactly! Steve gets what I’m talking about!” Eddie says, gesturing and grinning wildly at him.

Steve’s probably the only one who doesn’t miss the low shuffling sounds of Jonathan and Nancy squirming where they sit.

“The rest of you don’t get it,” Eddie continues on, standing up and turning to walk out of the room. “But believe me, when I find out werewolves are real,” He stops at the back of the armchair Steve’s settled himself in and puts both his hands on Steve’s shoulders, squeezing slightly, “You’ll be the first one I tell, big boy.” He pats the side of Steve’s face with one ringed hand, then turns out the open doorway and down the hall.

“When?” Steve manages to say.

“When!” Eddie calls back, and Steve hears the bathroom door click shut.

“What a goofball,” Nancy says, shaking her head and standing up herself, straightening her shirt and wandering over to Steve’s record player.

Steve can feel Robin vibrating from across the room, so he sighs, stands, and says, “I’m gonna go clean up the deck. Bobs, you wanna.?”

“Yeah, I’ll help.” she says, way too excitedly, and follows him past the dining table to the sunroom and out the back sliding door.

As soon as her foot hits the concrete patio, she starts.

“Holy shit!”

“Shhh! Shut up!”

She waves off his protests, “Oh come off it, you’d be the only one to hear me from inside anyway. Now come on, Dingus! Spill it! You gonna tell him? You gonna bite him? Are ya gonna mate h—”

“OHkay no, nope, not going there.” Steve cuts her off with a hand over her mouth, which she promptly licks.

Non-plussed, he wipes his palm off onto the shoulder of her shirt as he steps past her and bends to pick up a discarded soda can from earlier.

“C’mon, spill! Are you finally gonna go for it?”

“Go for what?” Maybe he can play dumb his way out of talking about it.

“Nuh uh, the play dumb move isn’t gonna work, Dingus. You gotta go for it! Tell him how you feel! You even know he’ll be totally into all of you when you tell him.”

“Another ‘When’? This is a ‘when’ now too??”

Robin nods, “It’s a ‘When’ now too.”.

Steve huffs a long sigh, picks up another can. “I’m not gonna tell him, Robs.”

“Why not?” Steve can hear the arm-cross from here.

“Because, Robin I…” him?, “Because he…because Eddie..” Because Eddie what?

Steve stops whatever it was he was doing; must’ve been something very unimportant because what he’d been doing is completely overrun by his brain’s attempts to come up with some reason why he shouldn’t tell Eddie about the wolfy side of him.

Really, what’s he going to do? Rat him out to some shady government body to do experiments on him? No, Eddie wouldn’t do that. Or, at least, it’s very unlikely that he’d do that.

Run screaming for the hills? No, apparently he’d love to find out there were such things as werewolves. Werewolf, actually, because as far as even Steve knew, he was the only one.

“Because…?”

Steve finally turns back to face Robin with a huff, yep. Arms crossed. “Hold on, I’m thinking.”

“Don’t hurt yourself.”

“Shut up.”

Only a handful of seconds pass before Robin repeats herself. “Because…?”

“...Okay, maybe I don’t have a great reason why not, but what am I supposed to say? ‘Hey Eddie, couldn’t help but be a part of the whole werewolf conversation earlier, but hey, just remembered something, I’m totally a werewolf. A werewolf that’d love nothing more than to throw you down and radish you—-’.”

Steve’s hypothetical conversation is cut off by a sudden bark of a laugh. Steve snaps his attention to the sound, and there he is. Eddie, covering his mouth with one hand and flushed beet red in the light just outside the back sliding door.

The door that was left open.

“Uh…..”

🐺🌕🐾🐺🌕🐾

this is based off some tags i added to a previous post but i cannot get tumblr to add the link 😭

edit: from my tags on this post!

[netscapenavigator-official]

“Ermm actually, we should not vote to send a message.”

Actually Betsy, take a look around the room. I’m a Tumblr Dot Com user just like you. I’m on this webbed site to make sure as many people as possible are forced to hear my unqualified and unasked-for opinions, whether they like it or not.

So you better believe that when the U.S. Government knocks on my door and says “it’s your civil duty to vote” I’m marching my ass straight down to my local elementary school gym and shoving my little opinionated vote into that ballot box with as much smugness as I possibly can.

Voting is the biggest, most official, most unqualified opinion I have, and the government is forced to bend over and just take it, so you better believe I’m not gonna miss the opportunity to shove my opinion so far down down Uncle Sam’s gullet that he won’t even have to shit it out.

Politics is the biggest opinion I get to have, and voting is the most people I’ll ever get to force to bear witness to it. It’s the epitome of all the bullshit I force my mutuals to suffer through on here.

[floatyflowers]

Hola como esta disculpe la molestia pero por favor podria crear una historia de Jacaerys X Reader "semilla de dragon"x Dareon algo asi como que Dareon lastimara a rader y ella se fuera de antigua y años despues conociera a Jacaerys y se enamorara de el luego en una vatalla se encontrara con Dareon y este intentara recuperar su amor y la ventaja de 1 dragon pero ella ama a jacaerys y no se deje manipular por dareon por favor le deseo lo mejor disculpe por molestar

Translation: Hello, how are you, sorry for the inconvenience, but could you please create a story about Jacaerys In a battle she will meet Dareon and he will try to regain her love and the advantage of 1 dragon but she loves Jacaerys and do not let herself be manipulated by Dareon. Please I wish her the best. Sorry for bothering you.

You have been married to your twin, Jace, right before the war for duty, but before marriage, you were in contact with Daeron through letters.

Both of you are best of friends since childhood, and this is a secret you both kept from your family.

After war, you didn't answer any of his letters in fear of your mother and husband finding out.

However, you answered one letter where he requests that you both meet up in secret and try to end this war and achieve peace.

You always wished for peace from the beginning, so you agreed to the meeting, taking the chance where Jace was off to the Battle of the Gullet

As the sun started to set for the day, the sky turned into a mix of soft pink and orange.

The sea breeze caressed the shores, bringing up the salty scent with it.

Daeron stood at the beach, in a spot that wasn't too far from Oldtown and hidden behind rocks, just as the letter requested you both to meet.

A smile appeared on Daeron's face as he saw you walking towards him, his violet eyes locked with yours and the wind blew his silvery hair.

"I half expected you to not show up, I'm delighted to see that you disappointed my expections."

He said while holding his hands behind his back, a few feet away from him stood his she-dragon, Tessarion.

"I have missed you dearly" you confess with a smile, as you stop right infront of him.

He stood there for a moment, just looking at you, taking in your beauty and the way your irises shined.

"I missed you too"

Daeron said, placing both of his hands on your cheeks, you hold into his hands in fear he might lean in further to place his lips against your.

"Daeron... The war"

You remind him about the real reason for the meeting, already starting to feel uneasy.

Daeron clenched his jaw, his eyes darkened as his voice became serious.

"I brought you here to open your eyes and bring you to the right side of the war"

Your eyes widens in shock, trying to pull away from him but his hold was too tight.

"Jacaerys doesn't deserve you nor your love" Daeron begins.

"I love him-" he cuts you off.

"You love him for duty as you have been always dutiful, but you know that the love between us is beyond duty or lust"

You shook your head in disagreement.

"Daeron, we are nothing but friends, I truely love Jace" You exclaim.

Your Targaryen uncle smirks, tilting his head.

"But does he love you?"

Hearing that, you frown in confusion.

"You know that there is some truth to rumors revolving around Jace having a relationship with Baela"

Knowing very well what Daeron is doing, he is using the information you revealed to him in letters about how Jace used to have a crush on Baela when you were children.

And you aren't stupid to fall for such manipulation.

"I still love Jace, and if you have brought me here to change my mind, then let me make it clear I will always support my mother as the rightful queen of the Seven Kingdoms"

Your declaration didn't faze him at all.

"You are naive to come here alone"

Realizing what he meant, you tried to rush to your dragon but it's too late when you see an army marching behind the beast, they hit your dragon with large arrows directed at the wings to stop it from flying.

"You have tricked me" you wail out in distress and betrayal.

Daeron places his lips against your before pulling away and placing his forehead against yours.

"I have done what is best for you, my heart"

[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

[missadacackle]

AGATHA WOULD 😭😭😭 BUT NOW IMAGINE:

Geraldine: *spawns out of nowhere* What about HeAlTh aNd SaFetY?

Hecate: ...

Hecate: I do so hate to agree with you

Dimity: You aren’t scared to fight now are you, HB?

Hecate: ... No??

Ada: Yes she is.

Hecate: ADA!

Agatha: Here’s a fun Christmas idea. We hang mistletoe, but instead of kissing, you have to FIGHT whoever else is under it. Hecate: Agatha. no. Ada: Mistlefoe. Hecate: Please stop encouraging her.