#my sister had my hand in a death grip during fight little wolf

[everydayshalloween]

Just got done listening to the Wisdom Saga and I am so unwell. It's like 12:30 AM and the whole damn thing just keeps replaying in my head.

[boldlyvoid]

Melantha (Dark Flower)

Elain x Azriel

Summary: after 3 years of adoptions falling through, what are the chances of a baby needing a home the night they decide to take a new road on the journey to parenthood.

Warnings: discussions of surrogacy, adoption and Elains fears of conceiving a winged baby, slight smut mentions, made up lore about Emerie's family and Flowers that grow on Ramiel, mentions of maternal death, descriptions of blood, mostly fluff

word count: 5080

Elain was always welcome at the river house. She didn’t need to knock, she could simply just walk in and hope for the best. With how many people visited and how many important conversations just sprung up out of seemingly nowhere, Feyre and Rhysand were a lot less prone to be in a compromising position when Elain walked in. Even less likely when the sun is up, and thus, their son is too. 

She finds Feyre in the study with Nyx and a tutor, he’s sitting at his little table, going through his alphabet. He’s 6 now, he’s grown so much, he’s so adorable and smart. He has Feyre’s attitude, that 'don’t fuck with me' energy that comes along with the courage to always try something new, alongside Rhysand’s charm and undying need to do things for others.  

“Elain!” Feyre rushes to the door, “how are you?” 

“I’m good,” she smiles with a slight blush, “how are you? How’s my lovely nephew.” 

He smiles over at her and gives her a little wave before returning to his work. He was dedicated. As the heir, he had a lot to learn between school and training and he loved every second of it. He took it so seriously, loving his court as much as the rest of their family. 

“He’s doing great… Kasha, I’m going to step out to talk with my sister, are you okay alone?” 

The woman nods, “Of course, my lady.” 

They share a smile and then Feyre directs her out into the hall. “You look nervous?” 

Elain just nods, taking a deep breath. “I need to ask you a very serious question… it’s not going to be easy for me to say aloud.” 

“Oh?” Feyre’s face drops. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?” 

“I want to get pregnant,” she whispers. “But I don’t have the anatomy you and Nesta were blessed with…” 

Feyre’s face softens, and her shoulders drop. “Come with me, this conversation demands a strong tea.” 

They settle in the family room, completely alone. Even Nuala and Cerridwen are busy today. The house is so quiet, it’s so unusual. 

“You’re still cauldron-made,” Feyre reminds her. “So there is a chance you can survive having an Illyrian baby… however, Az is fully Illyrian, unlike Rhys. There is a very high chance that your babe will have wings… which scares me for you.” 

She nods, “I know, that’s why I wanted to ask a favour, which might be a little awkward for you.” 

“Okay…” 

“Tamlin was able to turn his sentinel into a wolf to send across the wall to be killed by you… You have part of his power, which you used when conceiving Nyx… Would you be able to turn Az into a wingless fae so that we can procreate without any winged genes passing through?” 

Feyre thinks it over for a moment, “I haven’t focused my powers on transforming someone else yet, I haven’t needed to, but we can try. That’s not awkward for me. I know my sisters are having sex, using my powers on your husband while you have sex isn’t going to be that strange.” 

“It’ll just be weird if it takes a while,” Elain says, her lips curling at the edges. “How long were you trying?” 

“From the solstice right after the war until we sent Nesta to the house of wind.” She explains. “I wanted her to get better by the time the babe arrived. She deserved to be better when she became an aunt…”

“And what a wonderful aunt she is,” Elain smiles, thinking about all the times she’s seen them play fighting out in the garden or the times she’s seen Nesta read him to sleep during the nights the sisters babysat so Feyre could have a night out. “I can’t wait to see her with my own children.” 

“They’re going to be so beautiful,” Feyre swoons, reaching out to grip her hand. “I’ll do anything to help you. Even if I have to carry the babe for you.” 

Elain looks at her like she grew a second head, “what? How would you do that?”

“I’ve talked to Madja about this before, she’s continued looking into safe ways to deliver half and quarter Illyrian babes for when this happened. She’s suggested that she could take Azriel’s… seed? Sorry, that’s so weird to say, and she could insert it in me. The babe would still have our family genes, I would stay inside the months I’d be showing so that there’s minimal gossip and then hand the babe to you when the day comes, if you don’t want people knowing… however, the child would be entirely yours, to keep and love forever. I would do that for you.” 

She gets up and pulls Feyre into a big hug. “Thank you,” she whispers, holding her close. Her baby sister has always been willing to do anything to keep her safe. Her heart was too big for her own good. “I think I want to try on my own first, though. I want to know what it’s like to feel them grow and move and kick. I want to go through the pain of having them, I want to experience it all if I can.” 

“I understand,” she smiles. “We can have dinner here in a few days, we can attempt the transformation and you two can go home and try.” 

“I am scheduled to take the contraceptive tea again in 3 days, so it’s wearing off. Can we try in a fortnight?” 

Feyre nods, “Just be careful until then.” 

“Of course,” Elain nods, “as sad as I am that he might not get to teach his own child how to fly, I know he’s going to be a wonderful father to any child that comes into our lives… did you know, we actually have some feelers out in Illyria, keeping an eye out for any babe that might be abandoned or orphaned? Nothing has worked out so far, there’s always someone inside the babes birth family to take them in. But for the last 2 years, we’ve thought about adopting a child in need.” 

“You can still do that,” Feyre assures. “Look at Rhys’s mom, she took in 2 more boys, well before she had her daughter. She would’ve kept taking in children who needed homes if she had the space.” 

Elain nods, “I’ve heard all the stories. She was a wonderful addition to Az’s life. I wish I could thank her every day.” 

Feyre takes in a deep breath, “Me too.” 

—

Two weeks go by at an achingly slow rate. 

Both because she’s so excited to start trying and because while she’s not on the contraceptive tea and while Az is still in his natural form, they can’t have sex. Real, deep, penetrative sex that they both love so much. 

It’s felt like 2 years, not 2 weeks. 

Sure, they’ve done things. They’ve fooled around and gotten off side by side, teased the other until they came undone and said the most disgustingly sexy things to each other in regards to what is going to happen the moment he can slip back inside of her. She’s been craving him so bad, it hasn’t felt like this since the first time they stumbled into her bed… Oh, she’s missed it so much, the mere passing thought of him fucking her was enough to drench her, leave her panting and needy enough to track him down in their house and rut against his thigh while she kisses the life out of him. 

Back in bed, cuddled into him after a couple rounds of ��who can make the other come faster’, they lay there naked in the summer heat. She runs her fingers over his chest while staring off into the distance, relaxed, exhausted, but overly excited for tomorrow. She can’t sleep. From the pattern of his breathing, he can’t either. 

“I hope this works,” she whispers. “I just feel awful.” 

“Why?” He asks, cupping her face and drawing her attention up to his eyes. “Do you not want to be—

“I do. Believe me, I’ve always thought about being a mom. It was the one good thing that would come out of being handed off to a man I barely knew… having a baby to raise and love and cherish that was half me yet entirely mine,” she recalled the days when her mom was actively trying to sell her off. “But, I feel bad for you. What I’m taking from you because I can’t birth a baby with wings.” 

“You’re not taking anything from me?” He looks at her with so much more concern now. “I would lose my wings forever if it meant that I could be with you that long.” 

Her heart swells, she smiles softly, “really?” 

“Absolutely,” he nods. 

“You, Rhys and Cass had so much fun teaching Nyx to fly, I hate the thought of you not getting that moment with your own children.” 

“Teaching them to walk, teaching them to speak, how to wield a weapon, protect themselves and others. Bestowing your kindness upon them, teaching them how to fight with words, to stand up for their beliefs… there are an endless number of things I get to teach them. Something I can’t stomach, however, is teaching them anything if you’re not beside me while I do it. I would much rather have you and no kids of my own. We can still wait, we can adopt… or we could take up Feyre’s offer.” 

They talked about it. They’ve talked about every single possibility. Including Az not being the father, he suggested they invite someone into their bed for the purpose of getting her pregnant, but she turned it down faster than he could get all the words out, stating, “I only want to be pregnant with your children. If I can’t, then I will never get pregnant. And I’ll be okay with that.”

“We could…” she agrees, however, she doesn’t want that. He knows that. “What if… okay,” she sits up, getting a bit more serious, covering her boobs with the sheets so he doesn’t get distracted, she takes a deep breath. “What if we take up Feyre’s offer for the first babe, let her perfect transforming you into a regular fae and then our second child can be wingless? I think if we have a wingless babe first and then take up Feyre’s offer, then the first child would be envious, they would feel left out or like we regret them? Like we replaced them with a perfect child… But if it’s the second child, like I was, then you admire your older sibling without being jealous of the person they are. You look up totem, you love them, and even if you envy how they’re able to do different things than you, you go out there and you learn your own skills so you can still be better at something than they are.”

He nods along, “I like that plan… you’d want two children?” 

“Or more,” she shrugs. “I would fill the world with your children if I could.” 

He pulls her in close, kissing her passionately with his arms wrapped around her tightly. She straddles him, sheets falling away, naked chest to naked chest as the kiss turns heated. She can feel how hard he is under her as if what they got up to earlier was just a warm-up. She moans into his mouth as his hands trail down to grip her ass, she knows this could go too far. This could end badly. So she pulls back, breath heaving, “we can’t. I need to go back on the tea first.” 

He sighs, she rests her forehead against his, breathing heavily together as they push the want away. “Tomorrow,” he whispers, “take the tea in the morning, I need you when we get home.” 

She smiles, “Take the next day off, keep me up all night.” 

“Parents should prepare for sleepless nights,” he teases.

She couldn’t wait for it. 

—

That morning, he’s supposed to train with the Valkyries. He slips out of bed as quietly as possible, he dresses and tries to leave when Elain whispers his name. 

“Come here?” She asks, tired and barely awake. 

He walks over to her side of the bed, brushes her hair back off her face and hums, “Yes, my love?” 

“Slipping out without kissing me goodbye?” She looks up at him, squinting in the early morning light that slips through the curtains. 

He leans down with a smile on his face and presses kisses to her lips, cheeks, eyelids and forehead. Making sure not a single spot feels left out, “I love you. I’ll be back later.” 

“Remember, I’m going to be at the river house all day.” 

He kisses her one last time, “I know, I’ll be there for lunch.”

With that, he heads off. Winnowing out of the city the second he’s outside their bedroom door, headed to Illyria to pick up Emerie for their training session. She’s normally waiting for him outside, gear on and a big smile, but today she isn’t. 

Today the door is ajar, and the lights are all on… she’s nowhere to be seen. “Em?” He calls through the door. The smell of blood hits him the moment he pushes it open another inch. He’s been here before. Panic sets in for just a moment while his shadows go inside first. 

It’s not her blood.

There’s a beating heart upstairs. 

Two, beating hearts. 3 bodies. 

He heads inside, hand on truth teller as he makes his way through the store and towards the back staircase that leads to her apartment. The stairs creek, no matter how quiet he tries to be. He knows Emerie is strong, knows she can handle anything thrown at her… but this is her house. Her safe place. She shouldn’t have to worry about being attacked here.

She’s okay.

“Tell the twins to send Rhys here immediately,” he orders the shadows, watching them scatter away.

“Em?” He calls up the stairs. “Emerie?” 

“Az?” Her voice calls back, her tone terrified and teary. 

He rushes up the stairs, bursting through her bedroom door, the first thing he notices is the body in her bed. The sheet pulled up and over it, blood between the legs, a big belly protruding under the sheets. Emerie is in the corner, sitting in a chair, crying. He looks down at her arms where she’s cradling a tiny, winged babe, lightly wrapped in a small blanket. 

“What happened?” He asks, shaking his head in disbelief. 

“My… my cousin,” he cries, hands shaking, startling the babe. 

Az reaches out, “Here, let me,” he takes the babe into his arms and checks it out. It’s a girl, a beautiful little girl with thick dark hair and big, brown eyes taking in the new world she’s been thrown into. She’s nice and pink, breathing well. With a finger to her pulse point, her heart is beating at a beautiful rhythm. Her umbilical cord was cut and clamped… from what he’s heard from Emerie, she studied how to deliver a baby after witnessing her mom lose so many as a result of being abused. Em wanted to be a midwife for a time before the shop became her life. As if she knew she’d need the knowledge for a moment like this. 

“She— Mel was raped. My uncle kicked her out because she wasn’t pure enough to marry off. She also has—had, clipped wings. She spent the last few months walking here for me to help… she… she had another few weeks, she thought, but she fell a few kilometres before she arrived, then her contractions started and she was bleeding and—and then—” 

He could put the rest together. “Okay. Okay.” 

“I don’t— I can’t,” she shakes her head, sobbing now. “I can’t keep her. I never wanted to be a mother.” 

“That’s okay, that’s fine,” Azriel assures, kneeling before her, still cradling the baby. “Elain and I will take her. we’ll raise her. We’ll love her and cherish her and when the time is right, we will tell her who her birth mother is. We can bury your cousin near Elain’s father so that one day she can go there and visit her, bring her flowers… Cassian said he always wished he knew where his mom was resting so he could visit her. So he could update her on his life.” 

She nods along, calming down slightly, “Thank you. Thank you.” 

“Rhys is coming, I sent the shadows out to get him. He’ll bring you to the House of Wind, I’m sure Nesta and Gwen will take good care of you. I’ll leave the baby with Elain, then I’ll clean this up, I’ll bring the wraiths to help. I’ll make sure you can return here… if you want to?” 

She nods, “This is my home.” 

“Okay,” he smiles at her. “It’ll be okay… did your cousin have a name for her?” 

She shakes her head, “she was so scared. She didn’t know how to do this alone, she had nothing for the baby, nothing planned, all she knew was that she needed to find me. She needed help.” 

He nods along, “Elain and I have been looking into everything in order to have a child without hurting her in the process.” 

“Nesta suspected,” she shares. 

“Feyre suggested that we get the healer to help us, she was going to carry a child fathered by me so that it would still have Elain's features… we also asked her to possibly use her shape-shifting abilities on me so I would be wingless when we conceived, all because we had been looking into adopting an Illyrian babe but there was always someone in the birth family who wanted to keep it. We made a decision, we were going to take up Feyre’s offer tonight… of all nights.” 

“The Mother knows what she’s doing,” Em finds it in herself to smile before looking over at her cousin. “It would’ve been so hard for her to do this alone. I don’t have the room for them to live here and who would take in an Illyrian woman with a bastard child? It’s… I hate to say it, but it’s almost better this way. I was her only family left. She had been through so much.” 

“What was her name?” He asks, looking down at the babe, thinking about how they could honour the loss within her name. 

“Melantha… it means Dark Flower. They used to grow all around Ramiel, they’ve been extinct for hundreds of years now. Turns out that bloodshed in spring isn’t a good environment to grow in.” 

“Melantha,” he whispers. “That’s her name.” 

Emerie manages to smile again, “it’s fitting for a shadow singer and the night courts gardener.” 

Before he can respond, Rhysand’s claw scrapes the barrier of his mind. Az lets him in, as always, to hear his panicked, yet sleepy voice. 

“Are you okay? What’s happening in Illyria?” 

Staring down at the beautiful babe, he explains everything to Rhys in his mind. Emerie, as if she could also read minds, knows he’s busy either talking to Rhys or deep in thought. She doesn’t say anything, she simply stands and starts to pack a bag, knowing she’s leaving here soon. Knowing the babe is safe with her father. 

“Feyre will get Madja and some supplies at meet you at your house,” Rhys replies. “Are you… are you okay?” 

“Absolutely perfect.”

“I’ll get her buried and the place cleaned, you focus on being a father. I’ll see you soon.”

He’s her father. 

She’s his daughter. 

Something snaps inside of him like his heart splits in half, and a portion is given to his daughter. He vows in that moment to love her for the rest of time, to care for her, protect her with his life. His baby girl. 

He clears his throat, trying not to cry in front of her. “Rhys is just waking up, he’ll be here soon. We should go wait downstairs… has she been quiet this whole time?” 

Emerie shakes her head, gathering her bags in her hands, “No, she screamed for the first 20 minutes, she only calmed just before you arrived. Like she knew you were coming.” 

“We need to get her clothed and fed,” Az all but whispers, his voice so quiet as he looks down at her again. “Feyre is going to gather some things from the shops and meet me at our house. Rhys is going to drop you at the river house and he said he’ll bring the Wraiths back with him to clean up… he said I should stay with the babe.” 

“You should, she likes you,” Em smiles at the baby in his arms. “It’ll be nice to get to watch her grow up…” 

“You can be Aunt Emerie if you want? I’m sure with how often I’m with you, Nesta and the other Valkyries, she’ll grow up around you… I’ll want her to train as a Valkyrie, if she so chooses,” he shares. It’s safer than the Illyrian camps are and honestly, from all the women he’s worked with, it seems more rewarding for mind, body and soul. She will be 3 times as powerful as any Illyrian male, raised with poise and compassion and love. 

Back downstairs, he realizes he left the door open, too, so the shop is freezing. He better wraps Melantha and keeps her close to his body for extra warmth. She fusses, and he simply starts to bounce the way he’s seen Rhys and Feyre do with Nyx in the past, shushing her lightly while he’s at it. She is calm, but her eyes flutter and she looks tired. She’s only been alive a short time and she’s going to sleep for the majority of the first year of her life, so he watches her close her eyes and leans forward to kiss her little forehead, wishing her a peaceful slumber. 

—

Elain is sitting at her vanity, hair wet against her silky robe as she looks at herself in the mirror. She catches him in the reflection, turning in shock, hand to her chest, “Az you scared— what is that?” She notices the baby and her eyes wide and her jaw drops as she stands up. 

“This… is Melantha,” he smiles, meeting her halfway. 

“Oh?” 

“Our daughter,” he adds, eyes tearing up. 

She covers her mouth in shock as her eyes well with tears, staring down at the beautiful being in her husband's arms. “What?”

“Her mother… her birth mother, she— she was Emerie’s cousin, she passed early this morning,” he explains. 

Elain’s heart breaks for her, hand over her chest again, her shoulders slump as she looks up at him for a moment, conveying the sadness in her eyes. They always knew it would come to this. The most beautiful day of their lives, the day they were handed a babe, would be the end of someone else’s. 

Elain looks back down at the baby then, mesmerized, she whispers, “She’s so tiny?” 

He nods, “She’s possibly a few weeks premature, I didn’t ask many questions but Emerie said her cousin was… she was attacked. The exact due date was unknown to her, Emerie just helped her deliver the babe.” 

Elain shakes her head, “that’s awful.” 

He nods in agreement, “Feyre is bringing supplies, and Madja, she needs to do an assessment. Cassian is digging the grave beside your father, Rhys will bring the body soon. Nuala and Cerridwen are cleaning Emerie's store and apartment while she is staying at the House of Wind. All plans for today have been rewritten.” 

“Can I?” She puts out her arms, dying to hold their daughter.

Azriel carefully transfers her over, thinking about that day nearly 7 years ago when she handed Nyx to him. They were the last two to hold the boy, but only the second and third to hold their own daughter. Even Rhys wasn’t the first to hold his son, nor Feyre. First was Madja, then Mor… he felt blessed to be second but even more blessed to watch his wife, his beautiful and amazing wife, hold their daughter. 

To watch as she became a mother. 

Her face fills with absolute Awe, her eyes well with tears as she shakes her head in disbelief. Cradling her like the small, breakable gift she is, Elain leans in and kisses her forehead, breathing in her scent, she didn’t have one when Azriel first held her… as if she didn’t know who she belonged to yet. 

“Cedar and jasmine,” she looks up with a smile. “But how?” 

He shrugs, “It happens. It’s not like a bond, but her soul knows she is where she’s meant to be.” 

“And you said her name is… Melantha?” 

He nods again, “It’s a flower that—

“It used to grow around Ramiel,” she finishes for him, staring down at Melantha again. “Around 750 years ago they stopped growing. They were known for being beautiful purple-ish-black flowers, almost as if a rose and an iris were merged, and it only bloomed at night, when the moon was out.” 

“Emerie joked that the bloodshed in early spring made Ramiel uninhabitable,” he smirks. 

She manages to laugh, “That would do it… your mom told me she was a little girl when they disappeared.” 

“I forgot all about that.” 

“She saw some of the last Melantha’s, now her first grandchild is the return of such beauty,” Elain muses. “My beautiful little dark flower.” 

Feyre knocks on the bedroom door mere moments later, standing in the hall with a few bags of things, Madja right behind her. “Are you ready for company?” 

They beam at her, nodding before Elain speaks. “She’s out cold but ready.” 

They lay her on the bed, and she gets dressed in a cloth diaper and a onesie made for an Illyrian with special slots in the back for her wings. Which according to Madja, are measuring slightly smaller for a newborn, even a premature baby. Other than her wings, she’s very healthy. Weighing 6 pounds even, 19 inches long, she is their’s for the rest of time now. 

Feyre gets to hold her for a moment, smiling down at her niece, “Oh this is glorious… this love, this feeling is so different yet so similar.” 

Elain nods, “Loving the child of your sibling is a feeling unlike any other.” 

“Is there anything you need me to do for you today?” Feyre asks, “I can go order some baby furniture, and buy more formula? Maybe search for a milkmaid?”  

“We don’t need a bassinet,” Azriel shares, clearly shocking them both as they turn to him with confused looks. He simply waves his hand, bringing a large (well, big enough for Illyrian Wings) hand-woven bassinet from that little pocket in the middle of nowhere where he keeps his secrets. 

“She didn’t?” Elain gasps, moving over to take a look at it. 

“Who?” Feyre asks, even more confused as she brings the babe over to lay her down inside it. 

“My mother,” Azriel explains. “She is a maker, a carpenter of sorts. She’s very creative… she made this the day I told her I wanted to ask Elain to marry me. I’ve been keeping it safe in the pocket for years… I need to tell her.” 

Elain meets his eyes, softer than ever before. “Go, I’ll feed her and by the time you return she’ll be awake and ready for Grandma snuggles.” 

“And can you get Nest—

Before she can say the rest of the sentence, their front door bursts open so hard they hear it echo through the house. Azriel’s Shadows are up and out of the room faster than Elain has ever seen them move while she throws herself in front of Feyre, blocking her and the baby. 

Feet run up the stairs, towards their bedroom, “I’m here!! It’s just me!” Nesta calls, bracing herself against the doorframe, chest heaving, sweat covering her body, “I really— holy fuck— really need to learn how to winnow.” 

They all stand down, laughing at how dishevelled she is. “Did you run down the stairs?” 

“Mhm,” she nods, still catching her breath. 

“Why didn’t Rhys—

Nesta just stares her down, “he dropped Em off on the training mat, gripped Cass by the arm and was gone in seconds, you really think he would offer to bring me here out of the goodness of his own heart?” 

Feyre just smirks, “I think he does this to get yelled at, I think he likes it when I’m mad at him.” 

“He does,” Azriel smirks. “I would’ve come and got you in a minute, I’m going to get my mother in a moment.” 

“It’s okay,” she waves him off, walking into the room more. “It’s been a few months since I did all the steps again. I needed that… now let me see my niece.” 

Feyre presents the baby while Elain steps out of the way. Barely asleep still, she’s starting to fuss from all the noise. Feyre bounces her slightly, “Isn’t she beautiful?” 

“Oh my,” Nesta covers her mouth with awe, leaning over her to get a better look. “Look at those eyelashes! She could take flight with them alone.” 

Elain can’t stop smiling, so overjoyed with her sisters there, meeting her baby. Her Baby. She turns to look at Az, to see his eyes still glossy and his face still full of awe, “Go tell your mother that she’s a grandmother. we’re good here, honey.” 

He simply walks forward, kisses her on the cheek and reaches out for Melantha, he brushes his index finger over her cheek, “I’ll be back shortly, my loves.” 

He pulls away, takes a step back and then he’s gone.  

“Can you believe this?” Elain asks, shaking her head. “We decided, literally last night, that we would take up your offer… we have waited 3 long years to adopt an Illyrian baby and the day we decided to make our own, she shows up?” 

Nesta takes the baby into her arms, “you were always meant to have her.” 

Elain can’t stop shaking her head, in such disbelief. “This is the best day of my life.” 

Feyre wraps an arm around her and pulls her in closer, resting her head against Elain’s, “oh honey, it’s just going to get better and better.” 

She couldn’t wait. 

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[heartsofbeskar]

the red wolf

chapter two: a stolen gift

oberyn martell x fem!reader

warnings: mentions of death, a smooch™

words: 3.6K

excerpt: A few tears slipped down your cheeks, despite your best efforts. Oberyn gently swiped them away, bringing his forehead to rest against yours. You could feel his warm breath against your face, and it was pleasant, and smelled of the fruit filled Dornish wine he loved. His lips were tinted from it as well.

“Is there anything I can do, little wolf? I hate to see you this way,” he whispered to you, even though you were alone and shielded by so much greenery.

“Let me give you something,” your voice shook as you matched his whispered tone. “Before he can take it from me.”

a/n: the second chapter is here!! im having such a good time writing this tbh; this chapter is based on the first half of the season 4 episode the lion and the rose; im tackling it in two chapters since its a doozy

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The fresh air gently blew across your face as it cascaded over the top of the walls of Winterfell. You leaned on the wooden railing, smiling as you watched your brothers play below. They held wooden swords, clashing them against each other clumsily. Ser Rodrik would surely chastise them for the sloppy footwork, but you enjoyed their dramatics.

Creaking of the boards alerted you to a new presence approaching. Robb smiled gently as he came to stand beside you. He wore a fur robe draped across his shoulders, and you marvelled at just how broad it made him appear. You turned to face him, smoothing the stray furs into line.

“When did you turn into a man?” You teased. He brought a hand up and lightly pinched the skin of your cheek.

“Around the same time my twin sister became a woman.”

You swatted his hand away, but laughed. His eyes held a softness as he turned them away to watch Bran and Rickon, who now wrestled amongst the haybed. You reached for his hand, squeezing it.

“Something’s troubling you.” He didn’t bother to deny it; you had studied your twin’s face from the day you had both been born, after all. “Are you not excited to see the King?”

“I am, but …” He shook his head. “I cannot say I am thrilled with the prospect of my sisters departing at once for King’s Landing. Or my twin sister marrying a man there.”

“Robb,” you sighed. “We can’t stay children forever. Someday, this—” you gestured at large to the courtyard, “—will be yours to lead, along with the entire North. I will be your ears wherever I land — King’s Landing, or otherwise.”

He nodded, but still didn’t meet your eyes again, You pulled him forward by his hand, wrapping your arms around the soft fur on his shoulders. You rested your head on the plush surface, as he wrapped his arms around you in response, both of you leaning into the familiar embrace.

“I will come to see you often, this I promise. My heart will always be with you, in the North.”

—

Your hand was sweating as you laid it on the ornate handle of the large door of Lord Tywin’s office. It was silent inside and you prayed to the Old Gods he was out, having forgotten your appointment entirely. But he had requested it of you specifically via a handwritten parchment, so you knew that you would not be so lucky.

With a large breath in, you pushed the handle down. The door seemed to scream at you as it swung open; stay out, don’t come in here, run for your life from this wretched place all together.

As you suspected, Tywin was inside, head hung low over a parchment he was rapidly writing on, spread over his desk. He didn’t look up as you entered, though he must have heard you.

You slowly closed the door behind you, fighting the urge to flinch as it slammed back into place.

“Come here, girl.” Still, Tywin didn’t look up as he called out to you. Your hand clenched at your side at the name, but you quickly forced it to relax, taking short steps towards his desk. When you reached it, you stood in front of it awkwardly, waiting.

With a large flourish of the quill, he finally set down the writing implement, casting his eyes up towards you. He leaned back in his chair, assessing you. For what, you weren’t sure.

“Lady Stark,” he mused. “With the untimely death of all three of your brothers…you are now the true heir to Winterfell and the North.”

You swallowed thickly, pushing the unbidden images of Bran and Rickon from your mind, their young, innocent faces threatening to fester there. “My lord, I was of the understanding that the Boltons had been granted control of Winterfell and the North.” In exchange for the betrayal and murder of my twin brother, his unborn child, and my mother. You let the ending hang in the air between you.

Tywin tapped the side of his face, his eyes calculating. “Yes, it is true as Hand of the King, I have named Roose Bolton as Warden of the North. But we both know who the people of the North will rally to, if they are called. And that will always be a Stark, as long as one lives.”

You clasped your hands in front you, pushing them into the fabric of your dress, trying to dampen the sweat that collected on them. “My lord … I apologize, but I’m afraid I do not understand.”

He rose now, smoothing down the front of his tunic. Stepping around the desk, he approached you. Slowly, he took your chin in his hand, turning your head to varying angles.

“You are a virgin, yes?”

A chill ran its way up your spine. You nodded.

“Good.” He released your face, turning his back to you as he faced the windows overlooking the city, hands clasped behind his back. “Were you my daughter, I would’ve had you married long ago, but I suppose Ned Stark’s inadequacies are my opportunities. You will be wed to my eldest son, Jaime, once I convince him to quit this Kingsguard business. You will bear him sons, and they will be the heirs to both Winterfell and Casterly Rock.”

Your hands shook in front of you and you clasped them tighter together. When you didn’t say anything in response, Tywin turned his head to look back at you.

“You would do well to interact with him during these upcoming festivities for the King’s wedding. Now go.”

As if you’d be sprung free from a trap, you hurried to the door, eager to be free of this room, which felt like it had hardly enough air in it to breathe. You grasped the handle again when Tywin spoke one last time.

“And girl—” You froze, gripping the handle, breath caught in your throat, and the sudden anxiety gripped you that he would tell you to stay away from Oberyn Martell. But all he said was, “—shut the door behind you.”

—

You didn’t think you could stay away from Oberyn, even if Tywin had asked. It had quickly become a routine, him waiting across the path from the building which held your chambers. You clung ferociously onto the small shred of something predictable in the sea of chaos that this city had washed upon you.

As you tied your bodice behind you hastily, you craned your neck to look over at Sansa, where she was still nestled in the blankets behind you. Her side rose and fell softly in the rhythm of sleep. Padding over, you knelt down, pressing a light kiss against the crown of her head. She rustled momentarily among the sheets, but didn’t wake.

Oberyn was standing in the usual area, arm extended overhead to pry some fruit off a nearby tree. With a small grunt, he freed one that was round and reddish in colour — you were still so unfamiliar with the fruits that grew this far south.

Flashing you his enticing smile, he extended it out to you. You took it with gratitude, allowing him to loop your opposite arm through his. He was warm, the warmth of his skin radiating out as if he’d trapped the air of Dorne within his very body and brought it with him to King’s Landing.

He paraded you superficially through the garden paths lined with Lannister and Baratheon guards, their eyes smoothly looking over the pair of you, some giving small nods in greeting, used to the timely walks you took.

You took a turn down a hedge lined path, the green walls rising high above your heads, and the guard stationed near the next turn leaning back, his view obscured. Oberyn placed his hand gently at your back, pulling the branches back around the gap in the hedge you had found some days prior. You both slipped underneath.

The other side contained an obviously neglected portion of the gardens, some weeds overgrown and flowing out of their beds. Wildflowers had begun to bloom as well, their colours mismatched and vibrant, contrasting to those in the rest of the gardens that were tended to regularly. You much preferred these ones.

You sat on the nearby bench, tucking your skirts in around your legs, allowing the weight of the pretense of happiness to slip off, your shoulders relaxing. Oberyn sat beside you, his knee touching yours, heat radiating from the spot. You turned the still uneaten fruit over in your hands.

“You look far away today, little wolf,” he murmured. “Is it the King’s wedding?” He lightly brushed a lock of hair over your shoulder, fingers remaining to play with it.

“No,” you sighed. “Well, yes and no, I—” You paused, meeting his dark eyes. He stared back into you, waiting patiently. You wanted to lose yourself in his eyes, to dive in so deeply you could not see anything beyond them. “I spoke with Tywin Lannister.”

Something flashed in those eyes, briefly, but unmistakably. Still, he didn’t push you for any detail. He brought his hand down from your hair, settling it on your shoulder, thumb rubbing back and forth. It sat on the edge of your gown, and occasionally his skin came into contact with the skin near your neck. You suppressed a shudder at the feeling.

You finally broke eye contact with Oberyn, unable to look at him for the next words. “He intends for me to wed Jaime Lannister. As soon as he can convince him to leave the Kingsguard. Perhaps he will even overturn their oaths, so that Jaime can marry regardless …” You trailed off, shaking your head.

“What would you want? If you had the choice?” His eyes were warm when you looked back up, his brow furrowed. His free hand clenched where it sat in his lap.

“I don’t know, honestly, I … I thought I would be able to make these choices with my Father, but now—” You bit down on your lip harshly as a sob threatened to work its way up and out of your throat. Oberyn’s hands quickly came to cup your face, holding it steadily as you took deep breaths. “The Lannisters … have taken my home, my family. I don’t want to give them my future as well … there are so many things I don’t want Jaime Lannister to have.”

A few tears slipped down your cheeks, despite your best efforts. Oberyn gently swiped them away, bringing his forehead to rest against yours. You could feel his warm breath against your face, and it was pleasant, and smelled of the fruit filled Dornish wine he loved. His lips were tinted from it as well.

“Is there anything I can do, little wolf? I hate to see you this way,” he whispered to you, even though you were alone and shielded by so much greenery.

“Let me give you something,” your voice shook as you matched his whispered tone. “Before he can take it from me.” When your hands slid up to the back of his neck, you knew the implication was clear.

He swallowed thickly. “I do not want to take advantage of you when you are upset, little wolf.”

“Please.”

It was both a second and an eternity before he brought his lips to yours. Your heart pounded in your chest as his hands tightened on your face, guiding your head as your lips slid against one another.

After the first few presses, he stopped, though he didn’t pull back, your breath intermingling in the miniscule space between you. Your eyes were screwed shut, but you raked your hands up, into his hair. He gave a breathless laugh before crashing back into you, lips pressing insistently now, the taste of his sweet wine permeating into your mouth.

Firmly but gently, his lips pried yours open, hot breath pouring into your mouth, filling your lungs. You felt yourself begin to shake with the intimacy of it. It felt as if he were providing you a new sense of life itself, with every touch, every breath, every sound he made. You had no idea how long it had been.

He swiped his tongue, wet and hot, over your lower lip, before taking it between his teeth, pulling it with him as he finally retreated from you.

With a heavy sigh, he reached an arm around your waist, resting his cheek against yours, and you lamented that you couldn’t see his eyes. You couldn’t even imagine the storms within them now.

You breathed heavily against his cheek, winded as though you’d been practicing your riding. You pressed him tighter against you, turning to plant a kiss onto the edge of his beard. His free hand twisted up into your hair.

“Thank you.”

—

Your hands drifted through the copper strands of Sansa’s hair, twisting the locks delicately around each other, as your mother had taught you. You smiled as you recalled how Sansa used to sit for hours, just letting you practice braiding in her hair, happy to receive attention and affections.

By the Gods, she had changed.

You pushed the thought aside as your hands left her, and you leaned over to peck her cheek, which had been dusted with rouge. “You look beautiful.”

Sansa wouldn’t meet your eyes in the mirror, staring at her own hands curled in her lap. You laid your hands on her shoulders, squeezing lightly.

“Sansa … this is a day to celebrate. Because you are not the one marrying him.” She looked up to meet your gaze, her eyes brimming with conflicted emotions.

“But they made me marry his uncle. A man decades my senior, an imp, I …” She shook her head. “He hasn’t hurt me, but that doesn’t mean he won’t. Joffrey had to have gotten his sense of cruelty from somewhere.”

Your hands tightened where they held her. “I will never let him touch you. Or anyone, Sansa. I mean that.”

She stood, shaking off your grip. She was taller than you now, all long lines and elegant neck and the deep, irreconcilable sadness of her eyes.

You wondered if she saw that in yours, too.

“And what if you’re not there?”

You wanted to tell her that you always would be, that no force of man or the Gods could take you from her. But the words caught in your throat. The words your mother and father had told you, as well. Words that had proven not to be true, in the end.

A knock on the door from Shae saved you from the moment. She escorted you out into the bright southern morning. Everyone you passed seemed to have an extra bounce in their step, an extra swing to their arms, extra wide smiles on their faces. Apparently it didn’t matter how awful the King was, if there was still a wedding to throw.

You had to admit the attitude was infectious. And a well needed relief, after the months you had spent waking in terror, your dreams filled with your sister being married to King Joffrey, irreversibly tied to him by the laws of Gods and men.

The King’s breakfast was being held in the gardens, in full bloom now and having been prepared for weeks for this event. A long table sat as the clear focal piece of the area; Tywin, Cersei, and Cersei’s young son Tommen sat there already. Cersei and her father were discussing something in a low voice, despite the loud levels of ambient noise.

A chill shot down your spine as Tywin’s sharp eyes fell upon you, and you looked away quickly.

“This way, my lady,” Shae urged Sansa towards the direction of the King’s table, and you gave her hand a reassuring squeeze as she left your side.

It was clear the breakfast would not be starting until the King arrived, so you wandered the elaborately decorated area.

Everything seemed to drip in gold, the sheer grandeur of it all overwhelming to your eyes. Tables were laden with every type of fruit and cheese you’d seen since arriving in King’s Landing, and some you hadn’t seen. You spotted one of the red, sweet fruits that Oberyn had picked for you the other day.

“Lady Stark.” Jaime Lannister approached where you stood, hands awkwardly clasping behind his back. You’d heard the rumours from the maids that he’d returned from captivity with one less hand. You hoped Robb had been the one to take it.

“My lord,” you greeted, giving a shallow curtsy. You weren’t exactly sure what the appropriate address was for a man who was not your betrothed but likely would be once he bent to his father’s will.

“Are you enjoying the … uh …” He swallowed. He gestured with one hand — a flesh one — to the surroundings. “... festivities?”

You nodded. “Yes, it’s all very beautiful. You must be very happy to be here to see the King marry.” You knew the words came out somewhat clipped, tense, but you could do little to smooth them.

“I— well yes, it’s been…” He trailed off, clearing his throat. His eyes shifted around the area, seeming like they didn’t want to settle on you where you stood. “I … I know this is no consolation, but I admired your mother. She was a strong woman. A strong mother.”

Swallowing thickly, you cast your eyes down to the table, hand clenching at your side, eyes burning suddenly with the weight of his words.

He started to flounder, obviously putting together that this was not the right thing to say, but before he could sputter himself into a frenzy, a warm hand slid over the small of your back.

“Lady Stark, I was in search of your company.” Oberyn was there, his hand a steady weight against you, reassuring. “If you will excuse me, Ser Jaime.” He flashed a dashing smile at Jaime, who nodded eagerly for relief.

“Thank you,” you sighed, as he led you away from the buffet table. He stopped you once you’d reached a round dining table, which you assumed he’d been seated at. Turning you slightly, he placed a hand to your cheek, looking at you intently. Heat rose to your face as you wondered who was watching.

“Was he bothering you?” he asked, his voice impossibly low.

You shook your head, eyes unable to tear away from his. “No, no, he was just … no.”

For a moment you both stood there, unable to move, until a serving aide passed close by, snapping the tension like a matchstick. Oberyn’s hand left you, pulling out a chair for you. He sat beside you, posture relaxed as he poured goblets of wine, the sweet aroma wafting from the cups. He placed one in front of you, noticing your brief hesitation.

“Do you drink wine?” He smirked, watching as you held it beneath your nose.

“I have tried it, but …” You eyed the contents. It was dark in colour, so rich you couldn’t see through the liquid to the bottom of the cup. “At feasts in Winterfell. I always thought it tasted vile.”

He laughed at that, his head thrown back, and you admired the column of his neck, the golden skin, the muscles you could see move beneath the skin, the smattering of stubble that came down from his beard. You wanted to run your lips up it.

“Try it,” he insisted, bringing his own goblet to his lips. “They do not know how to make wine in the North. A Dornish wine will change your life.”

You smiled at him over your cup, raising it to taste the drink. Sweetness bloomed on your tongue, filling your mouth with tastes of fruits you’d had and fruits you never could have imagined. Heat seemed to follow its trail down your throat.

“Do you like it?” He smiled at you. His hand casually reached up, trailing up and down your arm.

“Oberyn …” You eyed his hand wearily. You couldn’t bring yourself to push it away, but you knew it was too bold of him to touch you so knowingly in the open. At the King’s wedding breakfast, no less.

He was interrupted in whatever he was going to say by the arrival of the King, who settled at the head table, where Tyrion had joined Sansa. A line of lords, ladies, and nobles brought forth gifts of all kinds. Oberyn rested his arm on the back of your chair. A goblet from Mace Tyrell, graciously accepted. A book from Tyrion, which Joffrey scoffed at.

You could feel the tension roll off of Oberyn in waves as the Mountain approached the table. You placed a hand on his thigh underneath the table, where no one could see, squeezing there. He carried a sword, which he placed on the head table. Tywin stood.

“One of only two Valyrian steel swords in the capital, your Grace, freshly forged in your honour.”

Valyrian steel. Freshly forged.

The words were ringing in your head as Joffrey excitedly unsheathed the sword, swinging it wildly.

“Such a great sword should have a name. What should I call her?”

Calls came out from the crowd around you.

“Stormbringer!”

“Terminus!”

“Widow’s Wail!”

“Wolfsbane!”

Your breathing was heavy.

Joffrey smirked. “Widow’s Wail. I like that. Every time I use it, it’ll be cutting off Ned Stark’s head all over again.”

You shut your eyes, hand unintentionally grasping tighter onto Oberyn’s leg. He gently pried your fingers off, and you turned to apologize, but he just flipped your hand over, intertwining your fingers, hidden under the table covering.

And as you looked at him, you thought you could see that same irreconcilable sadness in his eyes, too.

—

taglist: @asta-lily @pedrostories @rpcvliz @xsadderdazeforeverx @elinedjarin @qhbr2013 @punkerthanpascal

[hysterialevi]

Hjarta | Final Chapter

Fanfic summary: In an AU where Eivor was adopted by Randvi’s family instead, he ends up falling in love with the man his sister has been promised to despite the arranged marriage between their clans.

Point of view: third-person

Pairing: Sigurd Styrbjornson x Male Eivor

Author’s note: Holy shit I can’t believe it’s already the last chapter. Thank you guys so much for sticking with this story from the start, and for sending me wonderful comments/messages of support. I really had fun writing this fanfic and interacting with you all, so I hope you’ll enjoy this last part of Hjarta. This story seriously means a lot to me, and it makes my day to know how many of you liked it. Stay awesome :)

This story is also on AO3 | Previous chapter

THRYMR’S TOMB

A WHILE LATER

“Eivor!” Sigurd called out through the storm, forcing his way across the snow. “Are you there?”

The prince shielded his face from the frost with a protective arm and squinted, desperately searching for his lover as he wandered blindly through the fog. The young man had disappeared from the battle not too long ago, and seemingly taken Kjotve’s fate into his own hands. What became of either of them still remained a mystery to Sigurd, and as more time passed by, he found himself feeling increasingly worried for Eivor’s life.

“Eivor!” He repeated a tad louder this time. “Say something! Can you hear me?”

Much to his relief, a faint voice answered from a distance.

“...I’m here, Sigurd...!”

Inching closer towards the voice, the older man ventured deeper into the mist and peered forward, only to spot the outline of a familiar shadow trudging in his direction.

Eivor was sauntering underneath the sun’s blurred rays with a slight hiccup in his step, and fresh blood clinging to his axe. His face seemed to be wiped clean of all the energy that once burned in his eyes, and yet, he appeared to be... at peace.

A calming aura could be seen blossoming from his heart like a single flower in a barren field, and in a strange way, it almost looked as if he had completely forgotten about the war. Not a single hint of dread or terror weathered his blissful expression, and the ribbons of sunlight dancing above him only added to his soothing demeanor.

Sigurd picked up his pace and began jogging, eagerly rushing to rejoin his lover.

“Eivor...!” He said with a sigh of relief, immediately pulling the man into a hug. “There you are.”

Eivor allowed his head to sit on Sigurd’s chest, giving himself some time to breathe.

“...Sigurd,” he whispered out of exhaustion, “...I did it. I actually did it.”

The prince continued cradling the younger man in his embrace, providing him with a sense of warmth amidst all the snow.

“What happened to you, Eivor? Where’s Kjotve? I saw you run off with him earlier. Is he dead? Did you... did you kill him?”

Eivor nodded and closed his eyes, not even bothering to say a word.

“Truly...?” Sigurd asked, staring at the other man in disbelief. 

Could it really be possible that the battle was already finished? It hadn’t been too long ago that the prince was barely evading death’s grasp, and now, the storm had suddenly passed. Part of him found the news too good to be true considering the path they used to get here, and yet, something in Eivor’s tone rang with sincerity.

Sigurd tightened his grip on the smaller warrior and chuckled out of elation, nearly breaking into tears. “Then it’s over. The war... is finally over.”

He brought a hand to Eivor’s chin, lifting it gently so that he could see his face.

“What about you, my love? Are you well?”

The Wolf-Kissed displayed a subtle smile, radiating as if he were the moon itself.

“...I am. For the first time since that night... I’m okay.”

Sigurd returned the smile and cupped the back of Eivor’s head, pulling him close so that he could plant a kiss on his forehead. 

“Good.”

Staying snuggled in each other’s arms, the couple took some time to enjoy the peace as the storm steadily died down around them, allowing more and more of the sun to break through. The crippling mist that had built up during the battle was slowly beginning to fade, and soon enough, nothing but a vast blue sky remained hovering above them.

Unbeknownst to Sigurd however, a third party had already found them and walked in on their brief reunion, but had not yet announced their presence.

In the distance, Arngeir quietly watched the scene in front of him unfold with a sense of shock clouding his mind, causing him to gawk incredulously. Even though he suspected that the prince would be somewhere in the vicinity with his son, he did not expect the two of them to be enwrapped in such a loving embrace.

...How long had they felt like this, he wondered? Was their bond something that had been ignited due to the recent string of battles, or had this been carrying on ever since Styrbjorn first arrived?

The jarl was honestly at a loss. He held no disgust in his heart for the peculiar couple before him, but he couldn’t deny that he was taken aback. Despite his knowledge of Sigurd and Eivor’s friendship in the past, he never would’ve guessed that there was something deeper between them. 

Though, the more Arngeir thought about it, he supposed there really was nothing peculiar about their relationship. The knot that intertwined their fates was made of pure, genuine love delivered straight from the hands of Freya, and to his surprise, he just couldn’t bring himself to interfere.

It was something he hadn’t seen in ages thanks to the horrors of this war, but now that it was over, Arngeir figured he may as well let his doubts die with it.

He had had enough of tragedy. 

Turning on his heel, the jarl decided to leave the couple alone and returned to the other half of the island, ready to inform his clan of their miraculous victory. He still didn’t know whether he’d tell Styrbjorn about his unanticipated discovery or not, but one thing was for certain.

Kjotve’s kingdom had finally fallen. 

In spite of all the obstacles Styrbjorn’s people faced, his entire bloodline had been struck down, and his throne had been left unattended. No one in Norway would ever hear of his clan again, and his fortress would be left to crumble under the weight of the absence that consumed it.

The barbarian king was vanquished. Just like his legacy.

~~~~~~~~~~

THE NEXT DAY

BJORNHEIMR, THE LONGHOUSE

Sigurd placed the last of his belongings in the crate sitting before him, reminiscing as he stood in the middle of his chambers. It felt like a lifetime ago that he was first packing his things in preparation for the journey to Bjornheimr, and now, he was getting ready to leave.

After ages of enduring this war and accepting it as his reality, the prince had suddenly found himself in a world where Kjotve was no longer a problem, and his clan had been reduced to ashes in the wind. 

A new era had been brought about thanks to their victory at Thrymr’s Tomb, and the kingdom now celebrated in harmony to honor the peace that had finally been restored.

Despite the jovial mood of his people however, Sigurd admittedly didn’t know how to process the whole situation himself. Part of him rejoiced due to the fact that he’d never have to deal with Kjotve’s cruelty again, but he would’ve been lying if he said he didn’t have his regrets.

He didn’t come out of this unscathed, after all. The Raven Clan may have emerged victorious from their fight against the barbarian king, but there were still many wounds that needed mending... including Dag’s loss.

Sigurd still remembered his last conversation with the man as if it happened yesterday. Even though Dag proved to be a traitor in his final moments, the prince just couldn’t bring himself to discard the memories they once shared, or the fondness that followed. In his eyes, the fallen warrior would always be that same little boy who kept him company as a child, and pulled him away from the darkness when his mother passed on.

As for the Dag he executed, Sigurd would remember him as no more than a fragment of his childhood friend, and the result of a man who had been crippled by his own jealousy. He would be a reminder for the prince to never fall prey to his demons, lest he lose the soul he had fought so long to preserve. It was what he owed his parents after all these years, and to himself.

Letting out a remorseful sigh, Sigurd shook his head and silenced the thoughts that threatened to encompass his mind, not willing to entertain his grief any further. He would never forget the loved ones he had lost during the events of this war, but for his own sake -- he had to move on.

Lifting up the crate with a soft grunt, Sigurd secured the box in his arms and began striding towards the archway, only to stop in his tracks when he noticed someone waiting for him. 

At the moment, Eivor was standing on the other side of the door with his hands linked together and his head hanging low, clearly disheartened by Sigurd’s upcoming departure. His gaze swept in the floor in an attempt to avoid confronting the absence he would soon have to accept, and even the sight of the prince himself wasn’t able to lift his mood.

“Eivor...!” Sigurd greeted. “You came.”

The Wolf-Kissed stepped tentatively into the room, staring at his lover as if this was the last time they’d ever meet.

“Of course I did. I wanted to see you again before...” his expression sank slightly, “...before you left.”

Sigurd took note of the shift in his lover’s mood and placed the crate down for a moment, gently gripping Eivor’s wrist in a comforting manner.

“Eivor,” he said in a gentler tone, “...you know I have to go.”

“I do. I just wish you could stay longer. We spent so much of our time worrying about the people we lost that... we forgot we still had each other. But now that you’re leaving, it’s all I can think about.”

Sigurd lifted a hand to Eivor’s cheek and brushed away a lock of hair, tucking it neatly behind his ear.

“You can still come with me. You know that, right? I realize we’ve had this conversation before, but if you truly want us to stay together, I can arrange that.”

In spite of his sorrow, the younger man remained staunch in his decision. “I’m sorry, Sigurd, but I must remain here. As much as I wish I could go with you, Bjornheimr needs me. My father needs me. I’m the only family he has left apart from Randvi, and she’ll be gone too.”

Sigurd nodded sympathetically. “Very well. If that’s what you wish.”

Eivor paused briefly, switching to a different concern on his mind. “...You will visit me, right? This won’t be the last time I’ll see you?”

“Of course not,” the prince reassured. “I can’t say when I’ll have the chance to return to Bjornheimr, but -- I promise you -- as soon as the opportunity reveals itself, I’ll be here again.”

The other man didn’t appear any less forlorn, but accepted the promise nonetheless.

“I’ll be waiting. But until then...” Eivor leaned forward, pecking a goodbye kiss on Sigurd’s lips, “...stay safe, my love. I wish nothing but happiness for you.”

The prince pressed his forehead against Eivor’s, cherishing their last few minutes together.

“The same goes for you. My duties may require me to start a new life in preparation for the throne, but I’ll never forget everything you’ve done. Thank you. I mean it.”

Taking a few more moments to bask in each other’s company, the two of them simply cuddled in silence before separating the embrace, and retreating to the shells they so often wore around the rest of the village.

The sun had managed to climb to the top of the sky’s apex by now, and most of the Raven Clan were already gathered at the docks. The longships were fit to set sail after an entire morning’s worth of preparations, and their people were eager to return home. The only thing they needed now... was the presence of their prince himself.

“I suppose it’s time for me to leave.” Sigurd noted somberly, reluctantly taking hold of the crate once again. “Care to join me for the walk to the ship?”

Eivor concealed his pain with a friendly veil and stepped to the side, allowing Sigurd some room to walk through the doorway.

“After you, my friend.”

~~~~~~~~~~

A LITTLE LATER

THE DOCKS

Walking alongside one another as they headed towards the shore, Eivor and Sigurd strolled silently through the village with a bittersweet relief resting in their spirits, clouding their minds like the smoke of a cold pyre.

It brought them both great joy to see Kjotve’s reign finally come to an end, but they couldn’t stop themselves from wondering what waited beyond the horizon now that the war was over.

Was this the start of Sigurd’s life as a future king? Would he and Randvi truly be the rulers of Norway one day? How was he even going to raise a family? The prince had never planned to be a father, and a part of him wanted to scream at the thought of being forced to hide his true emotions once again.

He didn’t want to forget Eivor, or the things they experienced together. These past few weeks had been some of the best and worst moments of his life, and he dreaded the idea of allowing their bond to fade into a distant memory. But for the sake of his kingdom, Sigurd knew he had to leave the man behind if he wanted any chance of becoming a decent leader.

It was his duty, after all. Styrbjorn had managed to keep his end of the promise in regards to battling his addiction, so the prince figured it would only be fair if he upheld his own. Personal thoughts and desires no longer mattered within the realm of royalty. From this day on, Sigurd would be living to serve his people -- not himself. 

“There they are.” He remarked, gesturing towards the end of the pier. Eivor followed Sigurd’s line of sight, only to spot Styrbjorn, Arngeir, and Randvi all waiting by the longship.

“So this is it then,” he said, already missing the prince’s company. “This is where we part ways.”

Sigurd shared his partner’s disappointment, but tried to keep a strong face nonetheless. “For now. You and I will be separated for some time, but I’ll visit you as much as I can. And you’re always welcome in Fornburg too, should you ever wish to come to me instead.”

“Thank you. I’ll consider it.”

Eivor placed a hand on the side of the prince’s arm, saying one last thing while he still had the chance.

“...Wait, Sigurd. Before you go.”

The older man came to a pause, giving Eivor a curious glance. “Yes? What is it?”

The Wolf-Kissed stuttered, admittedly unsure of where he was taking this. He didn’t have anything in particular he wanted Sigurd to hear -- he just hoped to keep him around for a little longer.

“Erm, n-nothing. I just wanted to say I love you.”

Sigurd smiled warmly at the comment despite Eivor’s awkwardness and chuckled lightly, attempting to comfort him.

“I love you too, Eivor. Never forget it.”

Leaving the younger man with those words, Sigurd carried on with the task at hand and sauntered towards the ship, placing the crate down by the boarding plank as one of the oarsmen came to assist him. Meanwhile, Styrbjorn greeted the two men with a cheery temperament, happy to get things going.

“Sigurd, Eivor!” The king exclaimed jovially. “It’s good to see you both in one piece after the battle yesterday. We lost many warriors during the assault at Thrymr’s Tomb, but now, we at least have the luxury of saying that their deaths weren’t in vain...” he turned to the Wolf-Kissed, “...and it’s all thanks to you, my boy.”

Eivor bowed his head in a humble manner. “I only did what was required of me.”

Styrbjorn let out a soft laugh. “Nonsense. Sigurd has told me of the tenacity you displayed on the battlefield. You showed great courage, and you fought with honor. It is thanks to your efforts that Kjotve now lies in a frigid tomb.”

Arngeir joined in. “Indeed. Had it not been for your valor, we would all still be bound by Kjotve’s chains. Varin would be proud of you, Eivor. And Ulfar too.”

“Thank you, father.”

Eivor brought his attention to Styrbjorn, trying his best to hide the sorrow lurking within him. “...So, I imagine you’ll be departing soon?”

To his surprise, the king appeared to have other things in mind. “Actually, there is something else your father and I would like to discuss first. Something that concerns you and my son.”

Sigurd froze at that, already suspicious of where this was leading. “...W-What do you mean?”

Arngeir stepped forward, hesitant to speak any further. “Forgive my being candid, but we are aware of the relationship between you two.”

Eivor instantly felt the color drain from his face, and he could’ve sworn he saw his own soul fleeing from his body.

“You-- what?”

“Do not be alarmed, my son. I am not here to pass judgement. Only to offer a proposal.”

“But... how? How did you find out?”

Arngeir crossed his arms in thought. “Yesterday, during the battle. Sigurd and I left the fort in order to search for you. We noticed you had disappeared at some point, and feared you may be in danger. Though, by the time I stumbled upon you, you had already found your way to the prince.”

“That means... you saw us...”

“...Embracing one another, yes. I apologize, Eivor. I did not mean to intrude.”

The young man exchanged glances with Sigurd, terrified to see the outcome of this discovery. “So, what does this mean for us? Are we to face punishment?”

Arngeir shook his head. “No. Quite the contrary, actually. I realize it isn’t my place to speak about this -- and for that I am sorry -- but I admit I shared this news with Styrbjorn once we returned, for I had an idea in mind that I wished to broach.”

That caught Sigurd’s attention. “An idea? About what?”

Styrbjorn provided the answer. “About this alliance, of course. You see, when we first arranged this marriage between you and Randvi, we did so with the intention of forming an ironclad bond. A bond born out of love. We believed it would be a way to ensure that our clans never fell apart, since our families would be intertwined from that day on. Clearly however, we were mistaken.”

The jarl nodded in agreement. “Indeed. It seems that the bond we were looking for... had been between you two all along.”

Arngeir trailed off into silence for a moment, considering his next words.

“Listen, both of you. Styrbjorn and I had a long conversation yesterday once I revealed my discovery. We discussed many things pertaining to this alliance, and after our talk, we came to the conclusion that... this marriage is no longer necessary.”

Sigurd’s eyes widened in shock. “Wait, are you saying that it’s over?”

“Ultimately, the choice lies with you. If you wish to end this marriage, and if Eivor decides to go in Randvi’s stead, then I have already told Styrbjorn that I have no qualms with it.”

The prince immediately looked at his lover, radiating with a newfound hope.

“Eivor...! Think about it. You could join me, just like we wanted.”

The Wolf-Kissed glanced at Arngeir, double-checking with him first.

“But what about you, father? Are you certain about this? I don’t want to abandon you.”

The jarl gave him a reassuring pat on the arm. “Do not fret, Eivor. You’re not abandoning anybody. If you choose to stay with Sigurd, then Randvi will remain here in your place. Neither of us will be alone.”

Randvi suddenly jumped into the conversation, encouraging her brother to follow his desires.

“Go on, Eivor. It’s okay. Father and I will have each other. We’ll rebuild Bjornheimr, and return this village to what it once was. By the time you come back, this place will be thriving more than it ever did. In the meantime, go with Sigurd. A new life awaits you in Fornburg. Don’t let this opportunity pass.”

“She’s right, Eivor,” Arngeir said. “All I’ve ever wanted for any of you is to be happy. If you believe that being with Sigurd is best for you, then go.”

The young man stumbled over his words, rendered completely speechless by how this scenario had turned out. When he awoke this morning, he never imagined that he’d be given the option to freely roam the kingdom at Sigurd’s side, living with him as if they were family. 

If anything, Eivor fully expected that he would be bidding the prince farewell, and left to wallow in the melancholy that had formed in his heart during this past month. So much anger and regret had taken control of his spirit’s reins ever since the news of Sigurd’s departure, and now... it was all gone. Just like that.

“I... I don’t know what to say,” he replied. “...Thank you, father. You can’t imagine how much this means to me.”

A gleeful expression spread across the jarl’s face. “I’m glad, Eivor.”

Randvi wrapped her arms around her younger brother, pulling the man into one last hug before saying goodbye.

“We’ll miss you, little cub. Take care of yourself, and each other. Alright?”

“We will. I promise.”

The woman gave him a playful shove. “Then get out of here. And make sure to knock plenty of skulls. Let the world know who we are.”

Eivor chuckled at the response, grinning from ear-to-ear. “The Bear Clan’s name will be fluttering from the lips of every bard in Norway when I’m done. I assure you. Until then, farewell, and thank you for all you’ve given me.”

The Wolf-Kissed walked over to Sigurd’s side, openly taking hold of his hand for the first time since they met. The prince’s eyes were twinkling with a vibrant ray of hope at this point, and a familiar sense of contentment had finally returned to his soul.

“Come, my love,” Eivor ushered. “Fornburg awaits.”

~~~~~~~~~~

LATER THAT DAY

Steadily gliding across the ocean’s hills, the longship broke free from the harbor and began heading out towards the vastness of the open sea, prepared to deliver its occupants back home after a long and arduous battle.

Petals of snow could be seen dancing along the surface of the vessel’s billowing sails, and in the distance, the sun’s light shone through the mountains, causing the water below to shimmer with a glittering streak.

Birds soared in harmony with the wind that guided the longship’s course and left a trail of feathers in their wake, accompanying the warriors who sailed beneath their wings.

All the creatures of Midgard seemed to band together in celebration now that the age of war had perished, and the earth cried out in relief due to the lack of blood littering its soil.

As for Eivor, the man simply rested against the longship’s walls and marveled at the view in front of him, listening intently while Sigurd entertained him with tales of Fornburg’s wonders. The prince spoke of his home with a great fondness and constructed vivid images using only the movement of his hands, painting a clear picture for his companion.

Meanwhile, the oarsmen behind them burst into song and began reciting a number of sea shanties, singing heartily as if they were performing for the gods themselves. Their voices rang merrily into the sky like a horn of victory, and the world around them seemed to bloom with revival.

It was the start of a new dawn. After countless years of pointless death and suffering, the clans in Norway had become united under one crown, and Kjotve had paid the ultimate price. His name had been blotted out with the stain of a mad tyrant, and his victims had been released from their ethereal chains in the afterlife.

Most importantly though, Eivor no longer felt the need to hide who he was. The fantasy that once haunted him in his dreams had become a reality, and now, he was free to love Sigurd as any man would love his wife. The times of fear and judgement were over at last, and the alliance between their peoples had been reignited with a different bond.

Their relationship would be the foundation of many things to come, and just like Ingrida once said, they had finally found their way home after decades of straying from their fate.

It was what the Nornir planned all along, and the one thing Varin always wished for his son -- the one thing he could never achieve.

Freedom.

[horrorslashergirl]

Hunter meeting Hunter

A Xaviera Lah-Mo and Andrei Kulokova Story Chapter 4

Authors Note: God, I love writing for these two so so much. It’s like writing the scrpt of a woman for the big screen. So many things going on in this chapter; pasts are reavealed little by little, feelings get stronger and things get angstier as we read the journey of a wolf and snow leopard.

Xaviera Lah-Mo belongs to me

Andrei Kulokova belongs to @the-slasher-files​

Warning: 18+ because there is murder, death and gore, plus some teasing between our animals. Just a heads up. 

Words: 5.2k (Seriously, it was supposed to be shorter, but oh well....Time sure flies when you write)

Chapter 1 HERE

Chapter 2 HERE

Chapter 3 HERE

Xaviera was hugging the pillow to her chest, her usual ice-cold eyes always calculating everything, now a calm warm blue, gazing at the Russian, millions of thoughts crossing her mind after what happened between them; the strong smell of sweat and sex still persisting in the room.

She nibbled on her bottom lip nervously, feeling so small next to the behemoth of a man next to her in bed; that surge of protection overcoming her from his part. A soft sigh left her lips as one of Andrei's hands ran down her soft naked shoulder, his other hand lightening a cigarette. His gaze was forward, blowing a cloud of smoke, then his eyes drifted back over to her.

"So...How was your first time?" he asked, taking another drag of his cigarette.

"Everything you wanted it to be?" he pressed on, a drop of smug masculinity evident in his rough voice.

Xaviera didn't fantasize about what her first time would be like; she was always so erupted into her researches, hunting, and studies that the prospect of sharing such a deep and intimate act never crossed her mind, and if she did try to picture her first time, there was always a blank spot, just a shadow, because she had never met someone to reach her standards.

Call her vain, because she was a picky individual, but that's how it goes into the animal mating process too. Females don't just mate with any desperate male in a rut; some have to prove themselves worthy in brutal fights that lead to one male dying.

She remembers one time while in Himalaya how the yaks were fighting for the right to mate. It was like two tanks were smashing against each other, one which ended up with an almost fatal wound, and when he tried to get close to the female she turned her back to him. Not worthy.

Getting back to where she was, she hummed at the Russian's question, enjoying his touch on her sweat-covered skin.

"Mhmmm....Always pictured that my first time would be with a wolf. I guess I am more fond of feral beasts." she replied with a cheeky glint in her eyes.

Andrei gave a little huff of laughter at the cheeky side of her personality.

"Well, aren't you lucky." he commented with a smirk.

Her eyes drifted from his eyes to his cigarette. It's been so long since she smoked. The white-haired woman remembers how she used to smoke one pack of them during her time in college when she had tons of exams and finals.

After the small pause of silence between them, she noticed that he noticed that she was gazing at his cigarette. He took a drag and blow the smoke close to her face, the strong smell of tobacco filling her lungs, reminding her of the years in college, days and nights studying the creatures that she now lived close by, not close enough to kill her, but close enough to shot the poachers and for the predators to finish the job.

"Would you like one?" he asked with a raised eyebrow, making her ears perk up at his question and she nodded, taking one and lighting it up, taking a deep drag, her eyes closing as she exhaled smoke, her muscles relaxing more.

She sighed contently.

"Haven't smoked since college. Sleepless nights full of studying." she spoke, her eyes looking up at him, licking her lips nervously, feeling like a little school girl who got in bed with one of the last year's ones.

It was like a fresh breath of air like she was in the highest place of the mountains.

"Y'know you look hot with a cigarette hanging out of those soft lips..." he whispered, leaning in close to her face, blowing smoke directly at her and capturing it in a kiss, moaning into her mouth. She blushed at his comment and closed her eyes, savoring the foreign feeling, but it didn't last long for he pulled away, taking the cigarette from her hand and putting his down in the ashtray, only to finish hers.

"You shouldn't smoke...it's bad for you." he told her with a smile.

Her heart fluttered at his concern for her health. He was getting under her skin. She smiled in return and rubbed her nose on his own as animals do in affection.

"I know...That's why I gave up smoking after college." she told Andrei, looking up at him from under her eyelashes.

"You must have a good strong will then myshka." he spoke, putting down the cigarette in the ashtray.

One of his large hands rubbed her side while the other interlocked with her small hand, watching her with intensity. He pressed his lips to her forehead and closing his eyes.

Xaviera's lips twitched into a smile at his gentle side, something that really surprised her in such a good way, considering how much he had infuriated her.

"When you lived most of your life among creatures that could kill you in a matter of seconds, you have to be always careful. Never underestimate someone by appearance. That's what my father used to tell me..." she found herself telling him.

A vulnerable side was peaking from under the long hair locks, one of a little girl that was as vulnerable as thin ice; a little girl that the death of her parents was forever imprinted in the darkest corners of her mind; one of them which was devoured by hyenas.

Xaviera felt the Russian's grip on her tighten, holding her close and telling her it was alright. He was tense too.

He hummed, listening to her.

"A wise man." he whispered into her hair, and she felt the need to continue, the ice slowly cracking and she was afraid she would sink into the freezing water underneath.

Xaviera bite her lower lip, a bitter feeling forming in the back of her throat, but nodded at his words.

"Yes, he was. He always knew what to say and how to solve any problem...If it wasn't for him...I wouldn't have been here today." she tells Andrei, curling her body against his much bigger one, seeking protection and comfort in a silent way.

"My.....uh, my dad was killed when I was young boy, just leaving me, my uncle, sister and..." he begins to tell her, his breath hitching slightly.

"My mother.....but um...she was murdered when I was 12." he finishes, shifting a little, probably uncomfortable with being so open to her, but she couldn't blame him, she knew how hard it was to speak of the deceased loved ones.

He pulled her closer and she guessed he needed comfort as much as she needed it too.

The small woman had listened to each of his words and she noticed the anxiety dripping from his voice; no wonder he was like this, the things he must have gone through. Her hand rested on his chest, where his heart was. She felt something inside her crawl; maybe the feminine empathy?

She always had a soft spot for scarred beasts.

"She must have been a wonderful and beautiful woman......My mother....S-She was killed too....A-Along with my father." she began to tell him, voice cracking little by little along with the ice; she swallowed down and continued.

"My father was killed by poachers in a trip to Africa....Me and my mother run...B-But....She saved me....Giving her life. T-They killed her too.....She hid me into the hallow of a tree....A-And after they left her body.....T-The hyneas....T-They devoured her....They ripped her face apart." at this point she couldn't hold back the tears, the bitter taste too strong and the ice shattered underneath her, the cold water enveloping her body.

She clung to Andrei's form, letting the tears fall.

"I had to watch until she was a mess of flesh and bones." she choked on a sob, her face buried into his chest.

"I-I was so weak." she breathed out.

She felt his strong arms wrap around her, holding her in an instinctive form of protection.

"Sssssshh....little one...." he cooed, pulling back a little to look into her red eyes from crying, cupping her jaw, and wiping the tears away.

"It was never your fault...Beasts take and take from this world with greed, no mercy...and it is no one's fault." he tried to assure her and slowly she relaxed her, little by little she could feel her sobbing stop, all thanks to Andrei's soothing voice, something she would have never guessed she would love to hear, considering how the first day with him was.

Her gaze moved up to his face.

"That's why I hate most humans so much....Humans call animals beasts but they are the ones." she whispered, letting the last tears fall down her cheeks.

"Animals aren't greedy, vain... They do it to survive.... Humans are conducted by their avarice." she spoke, taking one of his big hands in both her tiny ones, bringing his hand to her lips, kissing his knuckles, then her eyes drifted to the big scars on her thigh.

"I got this one from a mother Grizzly. Me and my dad encountered the cubs first and because I was young and foolish... She attacked me..... My dad saved me, but the Grizzly left a souvenir." she spoke, looking from the claw marks to Andrei.

"I learned not to be afraid of the wild animals... But also respect them. Respect what can kill you." she whispered, nuzzling his hand as a cat would do to its owner.

She noticed his eyes widen at her story; probably a little shocked that a Grizzly got so close to her, but she guessed anyone would have the same reaction. The shocked look quickly disappeared from the Russian, taking his free large hand and bringing it to the scars, tracing the claw patterns like it was a canvas, a picture worth a thousand words, a story that could have had a tragic and brutal end.

She shivered at his touch, the gesture going to such a spiritual intimacy. He really was getting under her skin. His lips pressed again on her forehead.

"Well, thank you for respecting me." he laughed lightly, all the tension in the room vanished at his attempt at making a joke.

She snorted and rolled her blue eyes at his smug joke; again all high and mighty.

"Yes, yes. I respect you, all high and mighty Alpha Wolf." she cheekily told him, one of her fingers scratching under his chin playfully, as one would do to a dog. He was amused by her playful demenour.

"Just don't step on my tail, or I am gonna bite your precious jewels off." she whispered against his lips, her blue eyes glinting in a feline-like amusement.

His eyes went sharp again at this, smashing his lips on hers in a deep kiss, grinning at her surprised self.

"Go ahead and try it, precious kitten." he challenged her, rolling her small body on top of his, making Xaviera squeak, her legs tensing when she felt his hands on her hips until he brought them to her neck, her most sensitive part. She let out a soft mewl, the skin still sensitive from all the bite marks he left.

He took a deep breath and pulled her into another kiss. She felt herself blush at his actions and words, despite the fact that they fucked just a few minutes ago. He just managed to bring out the fire in her.

She kissed him back as he did, her small hands moving to touch his bigger ones that were rested on her neck.

"I love it when you touch my neck." she whispered into the kiss, her thumbs stroking his knuckles.

She saw his jaw tense and internally she smirked, knowing that he was affected by her as much as she was by him. His grip on her neck tightened, not enough to choke her, but enough for her pulse to pick up in anticipation and her breath to hitch.

"Be careful with those sweet words baby girl." he whispered back.

This was a reminder that this wasn't a company dog.... He was a feral wolf. An apex predator, who could easily crush her tiny neck under rough, large hands.

"You know... You are the only one who has ever touched my neck and survived." she warned, looking down at him, cheeks dusted by a furious blush from their position.

He raised an eyebrow at her word, his signature smirk coming back on his face, canines on display.

"There is still time, darling." he laughed, appreciating her wild side and also amused by it.

Before she knew it, she was underneath the beast of a man, kissing her again only to leave her a breathless mess as he pulled away.

"Well, thank you for letting me live.... for now." he gave her a smug smirk, getting up from the bed and marching downstairs.

After he left, she didn't realized she was holding her breath, touching her neck and feeling the bitemarks, something inside her purring.... Like a Snow Leopard who just got mated.

Xaviera groaned at that thought. The Russian was going to be her weakness, although sometimes she really wanted to kick his ass in the snow for being such a knucklehead..... A very handsome and wild and passionate and big....

She huffed, burring her face into the pillow.

God, she was turning into a sappy mess.

She was pulled from her lovestruck thoughts by the rough voice, a tint of softness there.

"Everything alright?" Andrei asked, coming back to the bedroom with two mugs of hot tea, putting her mug down, and getting into bed with his own mug, his free hand running down her shoulder.

The Snow Leopard tensed at his touch and the feline felt an uncontrollable blush creeping up her neck and cheeks, looking at him. She felt like a little girl with a crush.

"Y-Yes.... E-Everything is alright... Just....Thinking." she replied, trying to avoid his gaze at the end, bitting on her lower lip.

The Russian just sipped on his tea, watching the snowfall out the windows, then he smirked.

Xaviera took the cup of tea, sipping on the delicious aroma and the warmness, then she almost choked on his following words.

"Thinking.... about me?" he asked, looking at her amused.

"Don't be shy...I'm beginning to know that beautiful blush well, baby girl."

He was reading her like an open book. Coughing, she looked at him, not able to control her blush.

"I-It's not like that! I mean... You were amazing and I loved every second of it... it's just.... I never shared.... a moment like this." she spoke, looking down at the cup of tea in her lap.

She saw from the corner of her eyes, him smiling.

"I'm just teasing, myshka, it was a joke..." he spoke, hooking two large fingers under her chin, her eyes on his.

"But I was right." he huffed, only for her to glare at him, the blush still present.

"Still a knucklehead... Don't make me throw your ass in the snow." she told him, taking a sip of her own tea to hide her smile.

Andrei put his tea down on the nightstand, his fingers moving along her jaw sweetly.

"And still a fierce kitten." his fingers moved up her jaw, only to lace within her white hair and kiss her again.

She closed her eyes as he kissed her, her tongue running along his bottom lip only to shyly start sucking on it. Her eyes opened, looking into his own, challenging him slightly. His sharp eyes looked into her.

"Well, you learn fast." he grinned, licking his canines, the hand in her hair tightening into a fist, making her gasp, only for the wolf to take the opportunity and show his tongue inside in a sloppy kiss, making her moan. Her heart fluttered at his words. She felt his hand take the cup of tea from her hand, setting in on the nightstand on her side and she found her back flush against the mattress with him on top of her.

She jumped a little when he bites her lip, hard enough to draw a little blood, then he pulled away, moving down to kiss her jaw and neck.  She moved her head back, exposing more of her neck in submission.

"T-That's not fair.... Y-You know my sensitive spots... A-And I don't know yours." she breathed out in a shuttering voice.

She felt him grin against her neck, his k9's brushing against her bruises that he created.

"A predator never just tells you their weak spot..." with that he pulled away and she felt herself sink in the mattress at the way he was gazing down at her.

"You of all people should know that, darling."

Xaviera's breath hitched and she blushed at the Russian's words, feeling embarrassed. She let her guard down in front of the big bad wolf and now he had her in his jaws.

"I-I...." she was at a loss of words, something that very rarely happened to the white-haired female.

He moved his large hand through her long white hair, resting his forehead against her, just like animals show affection, something she was used from the furry feral beasts, but not from humans.

"Sssshh...little mouse... I will not hurt you." he softly spoke.

God, she felt herself melt at his touch and the way he spoke, her eyes looking up at him like a deer caught in by the big bad wolf. One of her hands moved to stroke his knuckles gently.

"I-It's alright... You know... When I was in Africa I watched as Leopards mate. The males always bite the nape of the females. Not to kill her, but to assert dominance. I suppose that goes for humans too?" she told him in a quiet voice, biting on her lower lip.

He grinned down at her, humming at her words.

"You are mine." placing his hand on the side of her neck, he kissed her deeply, a gasp leaving her when he started grinding against her, but only for a short time, because he rolled off, pulling her closer to him.

"All yours, Wolfy. All yours.... Considering half my neck is blue and purple." she said with a smile, blue eyes shining in pride as her hand touched the bitemarks.

"What a cute little thing." he kissed her forehead.

Xaviera's eyes moved along his chest, where the big scar was and she wondered how he got it, but she knew, he was just like her, not wanting to be pressured in telling.

"Little with enough venom to kill 100 men." she replied with a devilish glint in her eyes, her lips pressing against his big scar, feeling him tense.

"It's time for sleep myshka...." he leaned down, brushing his lips against hers.

"Unless you want to go again?" he grinned, licking his canines.

Xaviera chuckled quietly at his impressive stamina, her lips brushing his canines.

"As much as I would love to get frisky with the big bad wolf.... I have to rest. The blizzard will stop tomorrow morning and I will have to go...hunting." she whispered, her hand brushing against his chest up and down, only for him to roughly grab her wrist.

"You might want to stop doing that then... or else I'm not taking your excuses." he warned her, his other hand moving to her scar on her thigh, just resting it there.

Xaviera knew he was like a bomb ready to combust any moment so she let him win this time.

"Got it, knucklehead." she huffed, rolling her eyes, and she couldn't stop smiling.

She pressed a kiss under his chin.

"Good night, Wolfy." she whispered, leaning her head against his chest, her eyes closing as he continued to brush his hand across her scar.

"Good night, kitten." he whispered, sleep enveloping her.

========================================

It was like she had an internal clock, because as soon as it was early morning and the snowing stopped, her eyes slowly opened looking out the window. Her eyes drifted from the outside scenario to the man in bed with her. It was the first time she saw him sleep and he looked so peaceful.

Slowly, with feline-like stealth, she moved from the bed and out of the bedroom, her eyes on him the entire time, until she was out of the room and downstairs, starting to dress up, putting on her white and cream winter coat, the white fur on the hood so soft, it always kept her warm.

Getting all her weapons; the venomous small arrows, the sniper rifle and her mountain backpack on she moved towards the exit. She knew it was probably bad to leave, but she preferred to go on huntings solo.

Exiting the cottage, she stalked towards the path, her gaze moving to her map in hand, already starting to calculate distance, route. It took her two hours to reach the destination. The poachers were going to arrive in half an hour if she calculated everything right, which she always did. Setting her backpack down, she opened it, getting out a wire of spikes, similar to the ones cops use to stop vehicles.

She planted it right in front of the path that the poachers will drive by, masking it in snow, then moving into an isolated spot, basking herself in the whiteness of nature, sniper rifle in hand, and just waiting, exactly like a predator.

Her ears instantly perked up as she heard the sound of the engine in the distance, muscles tightening in anticipation as she was the truck get closer, knowing what was inside. She licked her lips as they approached.

20 seconds....

Her finger hovered over the trigger of her sniper rifle, waiting.

10 seconds....

She knew that she had to be quick in her moves; no hesitation.

5 seconds....

Her pupils dilated like that of a snow leopard, ready for the kill.

The sounds of tires exploding meet her ears, looking through the lens of the sniper; eyes on the passager door as it opened, one man exiting the vehicle, only to fall down as the bullet hit him right in the neck, blood starting to coat the white snow underneath him.

First one dead. Two more to go. Another man exited the vehicle with a shotgun in hand, looking for her. She smirked, knowing he will never be able to spot her; it was like searching for a crystal sugar in the snow. She pressed the trigger, aiming for his heart, his body falling next to the other dead poacher.

Now the driver. She was itching to kill the last one, but he was hesitant to get out.

'Come on, little shit. Come to mama.'

He did peek his head out the window. Big mistake; it was enough for Xaviera to shot him straight in the middle of his forehead. She grinned, then moved from her hiding spot, marching towards the back of the vehicle, a big door with a locker. Setting her backpack down, she got the bolt cutter, getting the lock on the metal door off.

Her hands tugged on the handle, the sound of metal against metal echoing in the forest as the small woman opened the door; a set of four white paws meeting the snow.

It was a snow leopard, shaking his white and grey thick fur, happy to be free. Xaviera smiled as the animal runoff, disappearing into the covered snow forest like a ghost.

The moment of calmness and pride was quickly taken away when Xaviera felt immense pain shooting through her scalp as someone yanked her head back, her eyes widening as the person behind her smashed her head against the side of the truck, only to throw her on the ground.

"So, you are the Mountain Ghost I've been hearing about. I thought it was going to be someone...bigger." the voice was unfamiliar and her vision was blurry.

She tried to get up, only to feel a kick at her ribs, making her stumble, choking on her breath. How could there be another one? She had stalked and observed them for such a long time, calculating everything by numbers and seconds.

"You think you can just go around and steal our prizes?" the man spat, his foot coming to press harshly against her ankle, making her scream.

She was ready to get her venomous darts from her small bag inside her winter jacket, only to have her face pressed in the snow.

"Keep your venom to yourself." the man spoke in her ear, then turned her around, snatching the darts and throwing them so she couldn't reach the weapons.

This was bad, so bad. She wasn't built for close contact combat, especially when it came to life or death. Like a cheetah, she was fast but sadly lacked the strength.

Xaviera could feel blood dripping down from her temple, her hands trying to scratch him, pierce his eyes, anything so she could get away from under him and run. A fist to her eye was all that the man needed to make the fierce feline, drop her hands.

"Keep your claws to yourself, bitch!" the man yelled, looking over her, then smirked.

"You made me lose that Snow Leopard. Someone paid huge cash for its fur." he spoke, making Xaviera glare at him despite the position she was in.

"But....I know what you might be useful for." the way he said that made Xaviera's stomach twist in such an unpleasant way that she wanted to throw up and when she felt his hands on her thighs, she felt tears form at the corner of her eyes.

She was ready to scream, but the weight on top of her disappeared, the sound of fighting meeting her ears. Her blue eyes opened, looking up at the sky. Her gaze moved to the ground and she felt her breath hitch at the scenario before her.

It was Andrei. He saved her. That made the horrible feeling she had before disappear, relieved that he was here. It was obvious that the Russian had the upper hand, much bigger than the poacher and certainly more experienced by the combat skills he put on a demonstration on the other male.

A sickening crunch meets the woman's ears as Andrei delivered a straight punch on the man's nose, blood coating half of his face. It was like watching two male animals fighting for territory, and Xaviera saw plenty of brutal fights between males for territory, food, and the right to mate. She knew that these types of fights ended up with someone dead.

In one swift movement, the Russian grabbing the handle of his knife, taking the blade out of its holster, and stabbing the poacher right in his tight, twisting the blade inside. The scream echoed through the forest and all Xaviera could do was to watch as Andrei took the knife out, blood splashing on the snow as the man dropped down, not dead yet.

Big large hands wrapped around the wounded man's neck, as tight as possible, and the woman watched as the Russian strangled the poacher, his arms trying to inflict pain on Andrei, but it was all useless, the winner already decided the moment the knife impaled in his thigh.

The poachers' arms dropped down, breathing stopped and he was dead. Xaviera sighed relieved, only for her to freeze as his gaze slowly moved to her form.

His eyes, the usual icy blue were almost black, pupils blown wide and lips pulled into a snarl, canines on display, exactly like a very dangerous wolf. Xaviera had encountered this look many times in her life on animals, but never on humans. She swallowed down, knowing not to make harsh or fast moves, it might trigger him and God knows what will happen.

Running would be the most foolish thing to do, so she just sat there in the snow, making herself as invisible as possible.

After what seemed like forever, he turned his predatory gaze from her to the dead poacher and Xaviera watched as he dragged the corpse into the forest, disappearing.

She couldn't believe what she just saw. Slowly, she got up, groaning a little as she stumbled, catching herself on the side of the truck. Her ankle wasn't broken, but it stung a bit. With a sigh, she began to walk towards her cottage, getting her sniper rifle, arrows and backpack first.

At the time she reached the cottage, it was close darkening. She left her weapons down, then quickly started the fire; it was freezing inside. She watched as the flames took form, rubbing her cold hands in front of the fireplace.

Getting her jacket off after it was warm inside, the rest of her clothes followed to get clean and warm ones. She pulled on a big black shirt and she groaned as she felt blood drip down the side of her face.

She got her first aid-kit, starting to treat her wounds. They were nothing serious, but it sure wasn't good to leave them like this. She hissed as she cleaned the wound on her temple, glad that she wouldn't need to be stitched. Looking in the mirror, she noticed how under her felt eye blue and purple color started to form.

She was glad that the poacher hadn't broken her ribs, that's the last thing she needed in times like this.

She cursed under her breath, feeling so stupid that she was so reckless. It almost costed her life, but she was glad that the snow leopard was free; at last, she achieved the goal of the mission. She wondered where Andrei was. He still hadn't come and it was almost midnight.

Xaviera knew he was a hard knucklehead and could take care of himself, but not with wild animals with 5 inches of canines and jaws that can crush bones.

The white-haired woman closed her eyes as she felt the heat of the flames lick her naked legs, wrapping her arms around herself only to smell a faint tint of tobacco. Blue eyes looked down at herself and she blushed.

She must have gotten one of the Russian's shirts in her dizzy haste to change clothes. Getting up from the couch, she was ready to pull it off, only for the loud bang on the front entrance door to meet her ears.

The woman looked in said direction, feeling a gust of very cold wind brush her bare legs, making her shiver slightly.

"Andrei?" Xaviera asked, ready to take a step forward, only to freeze like a deer in the headlights at the man in the doorway.

Scarlet blood dripped down his arms and hands, eyes looking like that of a primal beast ready to tear flesh and muscles with his canines. A deep and scary growl meet her ears and she swallowed down, feeling her heartbeat in her throat.

She had seen something like this before, only......It was an animal, a big black wolf. It was during a trip in the forest at night and she saw the scene. The black animals' jaws around the deer's neck, ripping the artery and throat off.

Xaviera couldn't help, but the first time she truly felt like prey; the one that is being hunted down.

CLIFFHANGER.......

[ashtonq247]

SOKKA CENTRIC FICS

Here are some Sokka centric fics! Most of these works are not labeled as Sokka centric and so it’s very hard to find! There’s only 64 fics out of 15019 fics 

Keep in mind I did not do any Zukka or Tokka fics bc I did not want to wade through that esp bc Zukka fics are 80% Zuko centric. It’s also possible that I missed some fics as, again, they are kinda hard to get a hold of. I literally had to block the Zuko tag at one point bc if Zuko was a character in the fic, it was going to be about Zuko, and it was just a lot to wade through to find that one fic where Zuko was a character but wasn’t the main character. I think my chrome shut down at some point which could have caused me to not include some fics. Basically I’m saying I didn’t get everything but I got MOST of it. Like 80% of it, even if I didn't include things I personally don't really like to read-sorry. Show this to anyone who says Sokka isn’t underrated! my man got 64 out of 15019 fics! 

Also, PLEASE KUDOS THESE STORIES 👏👏👏👏 so many of them have far too little kudos and deserve more love! I think bc ppl are kinda bad with tagging, some of these stories hardly get any hits! Give them some love. And reblog this so other Sokka stans don’t have to wade through so much fics like I had to (seriously I’ve seen some crazy fics you would not believe *shivers*) bc it’s hard to find a needle in a haystack

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

 Aang

https://archiveofourown.org/works/14326722 - cute tickle fight (pure fluff :DD)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/14984378 - Aang and nightmares, and Sokka and his big brother instincts

https://archiveofourown.org/works/488040 - Sokka and Tenzin, Sokka gets the news that Aang died (set in LOK)

-there is very little Aang and Sokka fanfic, let alone Sokka centric Aang and Sokka fanfic :(

Toph

https://archiveofourown.org/works/1885884 - Sokka makes smth for Toph 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/15472509 - Toph dreams abt the airships

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24720889 - “In the bad dreams, he loses his grip. In the worst ones he lets go”

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25229905 - Sokka teaches Toph to write her name

https://archiveofourown.org/works/14718887 - Toph and hands, Sokka being her favorite hand to hold

https://archiveofourown.org/works/53498 -Sokka stuck in a cave

-there’s quite a lot of Toph and Sokka stories, not necessarily abt Sokka tho. They kinda go hand in hand, so it’s not really about one or the other.

Katara

https://archiveofourown.org/works/15288189 - before they leave to fight Azula/airships 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/19946611 -Sokka sick fic :)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22005709 -katara apologises for what she said to Sokka

https://archiveofourown.org/works/2277381 - Sokka wants to teach katara how to fight (also this is the first atla fanfic on AO3 that isn’t fucking weird lol)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/2523782 - the gaang is too young and too starving :(

https://archiveofourown.org/works/18452795 - the only bender!Sokka story that has interested me bc it doesn’t take away from his character. It’s also vry satisfying to read

https://archiveofourown.org/works/404527 - Sokka’s feelings after his mom’s death- childhood

https://archiveofourown.org/works/404522 - “After the war Sokka says goodbye to his sister and the Southern Watertribe

-I wish there were more Sokka and Katara stories of before they met Aang.It’d be cute and angsty.

Zuko

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25243948 - The gaang plays hide and seek/train, Zuko and Sokka team up to make a prtty good team- Sokka is rlly bad ass in this ;D it’s one of my favorites ngl

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24809161/chapters/60002182 - fire nation sokka- oof this one hurts :,)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22305031 - like the only modern au that I rlly like, featuring Sokka on cactus juice and… McDonalds employee Zuko lol

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24462145 - Sokka gets kidnapped. Sokka is… very Sokka ish in this

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21475717/chapters/51180856#workskin -Zuko is a fire nation spirit, featuring Jet

-Zuko and Sokka stories tend to be well written, but it’s rlly hard trying to find a story with both of them that isn’t Zuko centric, and even some of the stories I have here are borderline Zuko centric 

Suki 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/12270624 - what Sokka feels every full moon

https://archiveofourown.org/works/1338157 - stars, and both suki and Sokka contemplate being away from home

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24423484 - “Sokka and learning to let himself be loved”

https://archiveofourown.org/works/648200 - “she should be jealous, she knows, of this ghost that clings to sokka”- it’s short but I love this one 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25290874 - set right after boiling rock before they go back to the air temple. 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/334919 - Sokka and suki dig up the secret library and try to strike a deal with its caretaker

The gaang

https://archiveofourown.org/works/14348382 -basically a re telling of the Sokka’s master ep, but in Sokka’s POV 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/16303286 - the meaning of tattoos, and non bender tattoos 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24426670 - “the gaang has a sleepover and Sokka manages to reforge bonds between the four nations while he’s unconscious”

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22252 -Sokka thinks of his place in the gaang (set after season 2) 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24439972 - the gaang needs a potty brake and Sokka is annoyed (pure fluff :DD)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24559357/chapters/59308846#workskin - spirit sensitive Sokka! Very interesting I’m invested and there’s only 2 chapters so far TvT (featuring Sokka w/ white hair 😩👌✨)

Hakoda 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25004614 - Sokka being a child soldier, and Hakoda’s regret

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22964113 - “how all the members of team avatar discover their bending abilities”

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25003291 - “Sokka gives himself his first warrior’s wolf tail” (pure fluff :DD)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24580543 -Sokka throws his first boomerang https://archiveofourown.org/works/24720004 - why Sokka never grew his hair out- child soldier/ insecurity stuff

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24384172 - Sokka tells his dad about Yue 

Piandao 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/686093 - Sokka asks piandao to continue training him

https://archiveofourown.org/works/582971 - Sokka visits piandao to make a new sword and ask a question

https://archiveofourown.org/works/570663 - kinda piandao centric, but also Sokka centric? Piandao’s backstory and father figure feels :)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/566995 - Sokka believes he’s simply ordinary, nothing special about him

https://archiveofourown.org/works/11580402 - “we do not induct children into the Order, Piandao!”

-there needs to be more Sokka and Piandao fics and I’m pissed because there’s more Zuko and piandao fics then there is Sokka and piando what kinda bs is this??

Yue

https://archiveofourown.org/works/2676488 - kinda Yue centric but like Sokka centric too? It’s about her sacrifice and why, and the love she feels for him

https://archiveofourown.org/works/3443258 - it’s a full moon the night before Sokka and the other councilman judge a blood bender (set during that one ep in lok with that blood blender dude)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24872200 - Sokka and Bumi (katara’s kid) have a sleepover. Sokka and old wounds

-I’m surprised there’s not more of them. Yue is always mentioned in Sokka centric fics, but not really the center of it

Other

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24059851/chapters/57900052 - Sokka and Momo. I think this is spirit sensitive Sokka story abt Sokka being able to process his grief (also friendship with Momo yes)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/567004 - Sokka and boomerang, right after the war

https://archiveofourown.org/works/13064682 - an au of sorts, dealing with a spirit in the southern water tribe that steals ppl. And like it’s sorta the only Kya and Sokka fanfic out there?? As far as I’m aware anyway

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25209895 - a Sokka character study: he has more to him than meets the eye

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24636988 - Sokka before Aang, this is explaining why he’s the way he is

https://archiveofourown.org/works/12611212 - Sokka meets a wolf spirit in the spirit world who questions his worth

https://archiveofourown.org/works/17201468/chapters/40447214 - haven’t actually read this srry all I know is that it’s time travel au, Sokka centric, and is one of the only stories with a lot of chapters (11 as of now)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/331690/chapters/535433 - “a series of unrelated drabbles centered around Sokka and his awesomeness” -29 chapters as of now (I haven’t read this one either)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/155711 -finally a story where Sokka is a strategic genius using his brains to help his friends and politics- set after the war

https://archiveofourown.org/works/15992618 - Sokka and Space Sword, an interesting take for what happened after the war, where there isn’t rlly any good guys in war, and Sokka tries to find his sword

https://archiveofourown.org/works/2960030 - set after the war, Sokka returns to the South Pole and finds himself again as just the regular guy

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24722083 - Sokka’s thoughts on himself

https://archiveofourown.org/works/259980 - an au ofsorts, Katara dies by Azula and Aang is missing, and wars don’t just end- Sokka is vry cool in this

https://archiveofourown.org/works/7547833 - Sokka and Kya II-  Sokka has to sit through kya’s singing of secret tunnel (pure fluff :D)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/887394 - Sokka and Kaatang’s and One of Toph’s kids (Sokka babysits, also HE INVENTS DND WHAT MORE COULD U WANT!!!) pure fluff :DD

https://archiveofourown.org/works/4949257 - Uncle Sokka and Bumi’s relationship oof

-Uncle Sokka is highly underrated and so is Sokka’s relationship with his mom. I will also never get enough of character study fics

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- What have I learned?? People who are writing a story about Sokka should tag that story as SOKKA CENTRIC. It’ll give ur fic more love, and make it easier for ppl who love Sokka to find a fic about him. Also, on tumblr you see all these great analyses on Sokka, with theories like Spirit sensitive!Sokka, or Sokka working for the white lotus, and yet there are hardly any fics on it??? The untapped potential?!?! We also have no idea what Sokka does in the future (still salty LOK) so this gives us a lot of room to imagine and create stories! Like I need a fanfic on how Sokka does wtf??? You’d have thought that with this atla renaissance and people gaining a new found respect and admiration for Sokka’s character, that there’d be more Sokka focused fics, but nope :( 

I’ve noticed that those who like Sokka don’t contribute to the fandom fic wise and guys we gotta step up (like I’m one to talk lol I’m gonna try and write some fics I swear!) 

Also if you still want more Sokka fics I suggest searching in the tags bender Sokka, water bender Sokka, and fire bender Sokka. I also suggest that you go to fanfiction.net. I know it’s old, but so is this fandom, which means a lot of fics are there too. It’s easier to wade through the fics on fan fiction.net than AO3 simply bc of how little tags you can put there, so if Sokka is tagged, you know he actually plays a part in the story (no shade on AO3 I love it but sometimes it’s hard to find stuff bc the tagging system relies on the people knowing how to use tags, and the avatar fandom does not, but that’s bc it’s old)

Anyway, LOVE SOKKA MORE and don’t forget to reblog and let other ppl get access to these fics bc I know I would have loved it if someone made an entire list! (And organized it lol I never thought I was capable of organizing)

And now I'm gonna tag the ppl who commented on that one post who wanted me to make it @talonsandsuch @ships-and-shitty-decisions @dearestpartnerofgreatness 

[tomeandflickcorner]

Falcon And Winter Soldier Episode 5- My Thoughts

Oh boy,  this one might be a bit longer than usual.  There’s a lot to go through in this episode. As always, spoilers under the cut.

It immediately picks up after Walker brutally murdered Nico in that crowded square. We see he’s taken off running, and ends up in some deserted warehouse of some kind.  For a moment, you almost think he’s starting to grasp the gravity of what he’s done, but he’s then plagued by memories of his time with Hoskins, which only leads to him further slipping into insanity and convincing himself that he did what was necessary. That’s when Bucky and Sam enter the scene.  They quickly figure out that Walker’s off his rocker.  Particularly when Walker tries to justify his actions by claiming that Nico was the one who killed Hoskins, even though it was clear that Karli was the one who killed him. They do their best to try and help him realize that revenge is not the same as justice, but Walker isn’t willing to listen.  Sam, slipping into councilor mode, attempts to calm him down. Unfortunately, if his words were having any affect on Walker, it all went downhill fast when Sam told Walker to hand the Shield over to them. Because Walker firmly believed the Shield was his rightful property, so he was not about to willingly give it up.  So Bucky and Sam have no choice but to take the Shield back by force.  At one point during this fight, Bucky gets momentarily dazed upon getting thrown into some sort of circuit breaker box, which also seems to briefly cause his vibranium arm to short-circuit.  Of course, Sam can’t really hold his own against a crazed Super Soldier one-on-one for long, and Walker eventually has him pinned to the ground.  He even destroys Sam’s Falcon wings.  But just before Walker could actually kill Sam- yeah, he was actually about to kill Sam there!- Bucky recovers and rejoins the fight.  Together, Sam and Bucky manage to pry the Shield away from Walker’s tight grip.  Though they have to break his arm in the process. But even then, Walker isn’t backing down.  Because he still firmly believes HE is Captain America.  It takes a pretty awesome combo move from Bucky and Sam to take Walker down. Because not even a Super Soldier can withstand getting swung into a jet-packed fueled blow from the Shield.  With Walker defeated, Bucky pretty much places the Shield at Sam’s feet, effectivly giving it to him once again, before walking off without a word.

So, after that pretty epic battle, the episode allows the characters, and the viewing audience, a chance to catch their breaths. Karli and the Flag Smashers have pretty much gone underground, making it impossible for anyone to locate them. Not that the government doesn’t try, as they conduct raids to all the GRC facilities that housed them, and even arrest the people that offered them shelter.  But still, no sign of Karli anywhere.  So Bucky and Sam decide there’s not much more they can do, particularly since they’ve been benched by the government officials.  Even so, Sam still wants to do what he can in seeing this whole thing to the end. So he asks his friend and associate, Joaquín Torres (who we haven’t seen since Episode 2), to keep him posted. Although, Sam also leaves his broken wingsuit with Joaquín. Which is probably a reference to the fact that Joaquín took up the mantle of Falcon after Sam in the comics.

Of course, there’s still the loose end of Zemo.  Bucky manages to track him down in Sokovia, at the memorial that was put up in honor of everyone who died there during the events of Age of Ultron.  Which does make sense, since Zemo’s wife and children were among the casualties.

Now, I gotta pause for a moment to talk about something here.  During the Previously On segment for this episode, we got reminded of a scene from a previous episode, in which Zemo seemed to be trying to shame Sam and Bucky for not ever visiting the memorial themselves.  Maybe it’s me, but that seems kinda unfair.  For starters, Bucky and Sam weren’t even involved during the events of Age Of Ultron.  With Sam, I don’t think he was officially an Avenger at that point.  He was part of the reserve team, if anything.  And Bucky was in Romania, trying to reacquaint himself with his true identity while hiding from both the CIA and what was left of Hydra. Even if that wasn’t the case, when exactly were they supposed to visit the memorial?  As of the events of Civil War, Sam was on the run as a fugitive alongside Steve and Natasha.  And Bucky was in Wakanda, either in cryofreeze or going through mental rehabilitation.  And then they both got dusted at the end of Infinity War, meaning they were erased from existence for the next five years.  So when exactly could they have visited the Sokovia Memorial to pay their respects? Of course, I do get what the episode was trying to say, since the Avengers didn’t really do much in offering Sokovia any sort of relief efforts.  (Though you could also argue that Tony should have been the one to handle that, considering the whole situation with Ultron was his own fault.  And goodness knows he had the monetary means to do something, with him being the billionaire and all. But I guess that’s all semantics.)

Anyway, Zemo tells Bucky that the only way they can hope to stop Karli now is by killing her, but Bucky tells him they’re going to try to do things their own way.  At this point, Bucky aims a gun at Zemo’s head.  But it’s soon revealed that Bucky had previously made sure the gun was already empty when he shows that he’d removed the bullets beforehand. Which I guess was his way of showing Zemo that he was wrong about him.  And that Bucky, despite being an enhanced individual (something that Zemo clearly hates), still chose to spare his life.  At this point, the Dora Milaje show up, with the intention of bringing Zemo to the Raft, that prison we last saw in Civil War.  Before Zemo is escorted off, he tells Bucky he took the liberty of crossing his name out of Bucky’s book, and that he doesn’t blame Bucky for doing what he thought was right.  Wow, how magnanimous of him, right?  Shame he couldn’t have extended this same level of courtesy towards the rest of the Avengers.

Still, I guess this means we’ve seen the last of Zemo.  At least for now.  Eh, good riddance, I say.  I personally hope we never see him again,  While I do sympathize that he lost his family, I still don’t like him in the slightest.  On the other hand, I did like that Ayo indicated that Bucky is at least partially forgiven for helping break Zemo out of jail.  Sure, she does tell him that he should still stay away from Wakanda for the time being, but she is calling him White Wolf again. Which indicates that their friendship wasn’t broken beyond repair.  Before they part ways, however, Bucky tells Ayo that he has one more favor to ask of her.

Here, the episode begins to focus on Sam as he begins to head back home to Louisiana.  But first, he makes a detour back to Baltimore, in order to sit down and really talk with Isaiah. Which enables us to really learn exactly what happened with him in the 1950s.  Turns out, he didn’t get injected with the Super Serum knowingly  He and a few other Black men were essentially used as guinea pigs, in which they were told they were being given tuberculosis shots or something when it was actually an experimental recreation of the Super Serum.  But it seems that, for some reason, the other Black test subjects begin displaying some manner of unfortunate side effects to the Serum, which suggested it wasn’t stabilizing with them.  Only Isaiah was able to successfully transition into a true Super Soldier like Steve Rogers.  So when the other Black test subjects were captured behind enemy lines (because this was the time of the Korean War), the US government were simply planning to drop bombs on the POW camps, in order to prevent word of their little experiment from getting out.  When Isaiah found out what they were planning, he took it upon himself to get those men out of there, in a similar manner to what Steve did in the first Captain America movie.  Except he was rewarded for his bravery by being locked up like a criminal, with the US government conducting experiments on him to try and figure out why the Super Serum worked with him and not the other test subjects.  They even told Isaiah’s wife that he was dead while making sure he never received any of the letters she’s sent him.  In the end, Isaiah only escaped because this nameless nurse took pity on him and helped him escape by essentially faking his death.  This backstory really is sad and tragic, especially when you realize it’s partially based on an actual historical event.  Just try looking up the Tuskegee Experiment sometime.  It’s really messed up.  Anyway, Isaiah finishes his sad story by telling Sam that, regardless of what he might believe, the world hasn’t changed that much.  And that not only will the world never accept a Black man as Captain America, no self-respecting Black man would even attempt to take up the mantle because of how America has always treated men like them.

With that advice still weighing on his mind, Sam returns home to rejoin his sister, Sarah, and his two nephews, AJ and Cass.  So now we’re getting back to the subplot from the first episode, involving the failing family-run fishing business.  It seems Sarah is still thinking it’s time to throw in the towel and simply sell their family’s fishing boat.  The main issue with that is, because it’s all run down and in need of serious repair, nobody would even consider buying it.  Fortunately, Sam has an idea.  Remembering how their parents, who apparently died some time ago, had been long-standing pillars in the community and had often offered aid to their neighbors, Sam makes a few phone calls and gets the whole community to come pitch in and help repair the old fishing boat, thereby repaying the previous kindness of Sam and Sarah’s late parents.  One of the neighbors even comes by with a brand new engine for the fishing boat. But then, just as Sam is wondering how they’re going to manage getting the heavy-looking boat engine off the back of the truck, Bucky appears out of nowhere, using his Super Soldier strength to effortlessly lift the motor up over his shoulders.

Bucky explains his presence away, stating he’s only there to drop off a crate for Sam, which clearly came from the Wakandans.  It’s implied the contents of the crate have something to do with the favor he asked of Ayo.  But then, Bucky ends up sticking around to help Sam fix up the fishing boat.  Cue a boat repairing montage, complete with a song playing over the whole sequence.  Bit bizarre we’re getting something like this in the penultimate episode, but it’s still pretty enjoyable.  Particularly since we get to see Bucky and Sam actually bonding as themselves.  And yes, there does seem to be vague implications that there might eventually be something between Bucky and Sarah.  Although, I don’t know if I necessarily ship it.  At least not yet.  I’d need to see more of them interacting with each other besides just seeing Bucky saying ‘hi’ to her a few times before I make up my mind.  Granted it would be an interesting thing to explore of course.  Particularly since, to my knowledge, it would be the first biracial couple featured in the MCU.  Unless you count Peter Quill and Gamora, of course.  (And that brief thing that was going on between Peggy and Jason Wilkes in the woefully short-lived Agent Carter series.)  At present, though, I think Bucky’s obvious affection towards Sam’s family seems more tied to his own memories of his life before WW2.  When he wakes up the next morning on the couch (because Sam invited him to crash at the house instead of finding a hotel room somewhere), a genuine smile appears on his face when he catches AJ and Cass playing around with the Shield in the living room.  Those of you who have read Bucky’s bio in the MCU wiki might remember that Bucky was the oldest child of four, so seeing AJ and Cass might be reminding him of how he used to play with his younger sisters.  And interestingly enough, Sam’s sister’s name is Sarah.  Which was also the name of Steve Roger’s mother, which is probably making Bucky feel even more nostalgia.  (Side note- Bucky was actually sleeping on the couch.  Which is a step up from where we first saw him in the first episode, where he was sleeping on the cold, hard floor.  This is probably an indication that Bucky is starting to heal.)

Anyway, we then see Bucky helping train Sam in throwing the Shield around.  They even set up an obstacle course of sorts, with mats being tied to a few of the surrounding trees.  They briefly discuss the lingering issue of the Flag Smashers.  There’s still no sign of Karli, but Sam promises to give Bucky a call when he gets a new lead, and Bucky promises that he’ll come back to assist Sam at that time.  However, the main focus of the scene involves Bucky finally apologizing to Sam for giving him a hard time over the Shield in the first place, with him acknowledging how he and Steve didn’t really grasp what it might feel like to a Black man to be given the Shield.  We also get an indication that Steve and Bucky did discuss Steve’s plans of retiring by staying in the past to live a life with Peggy after returning the Infinity Stones ahead of time. It was vaguely suggested in a read-between-the-lines sort of way at the end of Endgame, but it’s nice they confirmed that Steve didn’t just up and decide to do that on the fly.  Bucky then starts opening up to Sam, admitting to him that the reason why he was so angry about the Shield in the first place was that, to him, the Shield felt like his last connection he had to Steve, who was the closest thing he had to a family.  And that feeling has intensified now that Steve is gone.  (Can we please get some clarification on what they mean by ‘gone,’ by the way?  Did Steve actually pass away from old age offscreen?  Up until now, it’s something they’ve only vaguely inferred to.  Like maybe, maybe, maybe.  But if that’s what happened, I wish they’d quit tiptoeing around the issue and just tell us straight out.)  Anyway, it’s really cool that Bucky is talking to Sam about all of this.  It does show that he truly does trust Sam.  Especially more than he does that crappy therapist they forced on him. Just saying, Bucky was still denying to her that he was having nightmares, despite apparently having sessions with her for six months.  But he freely admits to Sam that he is still having nightmares after only a week or so of them working together.  If that doesn’t illustrate how poorly Bucky’s relationship with his government issued therapist was going, I don’t know what does.  

As if getting how big a deal this is, for Bucky to open up to him like this, Sam once again slips into counselor mode.  He tells Bucky that he shouldn’t put so much concern onto what Steve thought of him, because Bucky can’t let what others think of him determine his own self-value. Or something to that effect.  He also advises Bucky to stop taking the easy way out in regards of alleviating his guilt over what he did as the Winter Soldier. Up until now, Bucky was only going after past Hydra agents to bring them to justice in an effort to make himself feel better.  But if Bucky really wants to gain peace of mind, he should instead focus on helping the victims feel better.  Which probably means that Bucky is going to go back and see that old man, Yori, from Episode 1 again and help him find closure by telling him the truth about what happened to his dead son. I admit, I’m really nervous about watching that scene unfold.  Yeah, Yori does deserve the truth, but I’m scared about how he might take it.  It would be understandable if he ends up blaming Bucky, sure.  But at the same time, it’s kinda been rubbing me the wrong way how this show seems to be acting like Bucky is a reformed assassin who has to atone for what he’s done.  No, that was what Natasha was.  Bucky, on the other hand, was the world’s longest serving POW. Someone who was tortured and brainwashed by evil Nazi scientists who stripped him of his free will and autonomy.  (And, if we consider the implications that Episode 3 gave us, we can also add sexual abuse to the list of things Hydra did to him.)  Yeah, it’s only natural Bucky feels bad for what Hydra made him do.  But that just indicates he’s naturally a good man with a good heart.  I’m not exactly a fan of the idea that he should be made to feel like he should atone for anything he did.  Because he was as much of a victim in all of that as the people Hydra sent him after.  Still, if trying to make up for what Hydra forced him to do is what Bucky needs to do in order to forgive himself, then I guess I can support that.  Do what you have to do to find closure for yourself, buddy.

Anyway, after Bucky leaves, Sam and Sarah continue to finish repairs on the fishing boat in preparation for selling it.  But just before Sam is going to paint over the names of their parents, which is printed on the side of the boat, Sarah stops him. It seems she’s changed her mind about selling the boat, considering the boat is part of their family legacy. Which is something that Sam is relieved to hear, as he didn’t want to see the boat getting sold off, either.  The siblings begin having a heart-to-heart, with Sarah telling Sam that, even though she’s always given him a hard time about the matter, she’d never thought he was running away from things whenever he went off to save the world and whatnot.  She also tells him that she knows he’s been dwelling on what Isaiah said to him, but helps Sam make a decision involving the Shield.  While Isaiah had good reasons for believing the way he did, Sam ultimately decides that the pain Isaiah went through would be in vain if nobody continued to fight for the future.  And so, Sam decides that he’s now willing to accept the mantle of Captain America.  Which leads to another montage.  This time of Sam going through a self-training session with the Shied, with his nephews, AJ and Cass, helping out.  The training montage ends with us seeing that Sam has become a pro at throwing and catching the Shield.

Of course, just when you start to think this episode is feeling like the series finale, with everything wrapping up and setting the stage for a future adventure, we get the reminder that there is still one more episode to go.  It seems that Karli has been pushed over the edge after the death of Nico, as well as seeing all the GRC facilities raided and cleared out of refugees.  And she is now out for revenge.  Specifically, she plans to rally up what remains of her followers and attack the GRC headquarters, as they plan to vote on the Patch Act, which would force millions of people to relocate to their home states. To achieve this goal, Karli manage to join forces with Batroc, who had previously appeared at the beginning of Episode 1.  Strangely enough, an earlier scene does suggest Batroc was actually hired to team up with Karli and the Flag Smashers by Sharon Carter, which only further indicates that Sharon is a bit shady.  What exactly is Sharon up to?  Is she a bad guy now?  That would kinda stink, since she is Peggy Carter’s great niece or something.  Talk about besmirching your family name.  

Anyway, right when the Flag Smasher’s attack on GRC headquarters is about to begin, Sam gets a tip off from Joaquín, who had been keeping his ear to the grapevine in terms of the Flag Smasher’s movements. Apparently, the Flag Smashers coordinate their attacks via this coded cellphone signal, which  Joaquín had figured out how to hack into.  And he notifies Sam that the coded cellphone signal is now showing up in New York City.  Sam seems to figure out what the Flag Smashers are about to do when he sees a news report on the TV about the GRC voting on the Patch Act that evening.  Deciding to go and do something about it, he opens up that Wakandan crate Bucky had dropped off.  The episode ends before we can see what exactly was inside the crate, though.  They’re clearly saving that reveal for the final episode.  Although, my boyfriend, who is also my viewing partner for this show, is a bit of an expert on what went on in the Marvel comics.  (He even worked in a comic book/gaming store before we met.)  It seems that, in the comics, Sam Wilson did end up getting a pair of Falcon wings that utilized hologram technology of some kind.  So he’s theorizing that’s what it is.  Still, we have to wait until next Friday to know for sure.  Either way, it looks like this next episode will decide what happens with Karli and the Flag Smashers.  I honestly don’t see how it’s possible to resolve things with Karli peacefully, though.  She seems too far gone at this point.  But I’m sure Sam will still try to talk her down, which only deepens my respect for him.  And who knows?  Maybe Sam will succeed, with Karli going the Coalhouse Walker route- agreeing to stand down in exchange for the promise of a fair trial, which would allow her to state her case.  (Of course, I hope they don’t do things exactly how it went down in Ragtime.  Because in that story, they pretty much promise Coalhouse that he’ll receive a fair trial, but the moment he surrenders himself, the police immediately open fire and shoot him dead.  Which is not even remotely cool.)

Oh, and then there’s still the matter of Walker.  Unfortunately, I don’t think we’ve seen the last of him.  Because even though Sam and Bucky effectivly took him down AND he received a dishonorable discharge by the US government, he still refuses to believe he did anything wrong.  He’s convinced that he still deserves to be Captain America.  While a small part of me does pity him, he really is displaying what appears to be a fragile White male ego.  He even goes up to Hoskin’s grieving parents and sister and lies to them about how Nico was the one who killed their son, and that they should take comfort in the fact that justice was served.  There’s also a mid-credits scene where we see he’s trying to make his own version of the Shield.  Doubt its made of vibranium, of course.  I Gotta say, I’m seeing a lot of parallels between Walker and Karli right now.  Both of them have convinced themselves that they are 100% in the right, and everything they do is completely justified.  Which naturally makes them both very dangerous. However, I’m mostly concerned by this mysterious woman.  Contessa, or whatever it was she called herself.  She approached Walker after his trial to tell him that he didn’t do anything wrong before giving him what appears to be a blank business card.  (I’m guessing there’s some sort of secret decoded message on this business card that Walker will decipher later on.)  I have no idea who this woman is supposed to be or what her goal is.  I’m guessing she’s someone comic book experts would recognize, but my boyfriend/viewing partner, who is familiar with the comics, didn’t seem to recognize her name, either.  So it’s a big mystery at this point.

Before I wrap up my thoughts for this week’s episode, there is something partially unrelated I should mention.  For those of you who haven’t heard, Sebastian Stan’s latest movie, Monday, recently came out.  And it seems that this movie includes Sebastian and his female co-star in a full-frontal nudity scene.  From what I’ve heard, there have been some select individuals who have seen fit to criticize Sebastian’s appearance in this scene, because he wasn’t in perfect shape or something like that.  If you were one of those select individuals who decided to body shame Sebastian after watching this movie?  Grow up!  Bodies come in all shapes and sizes.  And to expect a male actor to have a completely chiseled physique at all times is extremely unrealistic, particularly when they’re portraying an ordinary person.  The fact that people were acting like this is even more disgusting when you consider the fact that Sebastian Stan apparently already has some body issues.  The fact that he was still willing to film this full-frontal scene despite those issues just illustrates his passion and dedication to his skill as an actor and the message this movie was meant to convey.  He did not deserve to have his body objectified the way it was. Nobody does.  So once again, this is me condemning the behavior of those select ‘fans.’ 

[two-unbeatable-beaters]

Scars Chapter 1: A Good Day

Summary: It had been over 10 years since you had last laid eyes on the Witcher known as Geralt of Rivia, and if you had it your way, you never would again. Too bad you never seem to get your way.

Words: 1395

Warnings: None

A/N: Okay, so this is my first attempt at writing fanfiction because I’m pretty sure what I did in Middle School wouldn’t be classified as ‘writing’. So, if you guys could bear with me, it would be greatly appreciated. That being said, on to the story!

You had been having such a good day.

You had slept well the night before, waking up feeling refreshed. You had sold all of your wares on the market, and had earned enough money to buy supplies for the next couple of weeks, as well as a treat for yourself; a bar of your favorite orange scented soap. Upon returning to your home at the edge of the forest, you had set to organizing your supplies and preparing your evening meal before having a relaxing bath and heading to bed.

Your life was simple. You hunted in the forest, killing animals and monsters alike. You would then use what you could and sell what you couldn’t or didn’t need. Living alone, you didn’t need much and rarely splurged coin on luxurious items. Having fended for yourself for the last decade, you learned what you truly needed and what you could live without.

The last rays of light were just leaving the sky when you sat down on the stool in front of the fire to eat your dinner; a simple stew with a hunk of bread. When you first came to the village, your cooking, while passable, still left much to be desired. You had been extremely thankful to the woman who had not only taken you in for your first year in town, but had taught you the basics of keeping a home. Things like cooking, mending clothes, and even how to perform some minor repairs around the house. Growing up as the daughter of a well-off merchant had meant such things were deemed unnecessary for you to learn due to you always having maids and other servants to perform tasks for you. If only you had known where life would take you.

Your mind drifted back to the man who had caused your life to change so drastically all those years ago.

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

14 years earlier

His white hair and amber eyes would have made him stand out, even if he hadn’t been half a head taller than almost every other man in town. He had been summoned by the mayor to help rid the village of the beast that had been terrorizing the people of this town for nearly half a year. Every full moon, people would hide in their homes, lock their doors, and seal their windows in hopes of avoiding the wolf-man that would inevitably appear, leaving bloodshed in its wake.

Twelve people had been killed by the beast so far. The mayor, a portly, middle-aged man named Gaius Garber, had ignored the deaths for as long as he could, dismissing them as drunks who had wandered into the forest and gotten lost or as hunters killed by bears. Finally, when the son of one of the most well-off families in town had been found with his throat slashed and his bowels splayed out in front of him, Garber had no choice but to call for help from the only person who would be able to kill the beast; a Witcher.

Of course, this was not just any Witcher who arrived. This was Geralt of Rivia, the Butcher of Blaviken, the White Wolf, the most feared Witcher in existence. You doubted there was a person alive on the continent that hadn’t heard the song retelling his battle against the elf-king. A song, whose writer appeared to still be traveling with the man. The lute and lively attitude made it easy to recognize the bard, Jaskier, who worked hard to spread the tales of his imposing companion.

“Quite the brute, isn’t he?”

You turned to see the hazel eyes of Matias Baxter, son of the mayor’s sister, cunt extraordinaire, and your betrothed.

“Yes, I suppose he does look rather intimidating. Though I’m sure killing monsters for a living tends to do that to a person,” you responded, fighting the urge to roll your eyes at him. You turned back to try and catch another glimpse of the mysterious monster hunter before he disappeared into the mayor’s house, but find that you are too late. The only thing you saw was the back of the bard’s head just before the door shut.

You sighed, moving to return home, only to be stopped by Matias’ hand on your shoulder. “Wait a moment,” he pulled you back to him, “I figured we could take a stroll together. I assumed you would want to spend as much time together as we could before our wedding.” He had that stupid, smug look on his face, the one he always had when he knew he was going to get his way. It was hard to deny Matias anything, as he had never been told ‘no’ a day in his life by either his parents or his uncle.

You put on your best smile and told him “Of course, I’d love to spend more time with you Matias, but as it’s already the evening, and tonight is the full moon, I know that my parents will want me home early. Perhaps tomorrow, my dearest heart?” You silently begged whatever higher power there was in the world that he would believe you, sparing you the torture of listening to him brag about his various ‘accomplishments’ and how lucky you were to have been chosen by him out of all the girls in town.

“Right, the full moon,” he gave you a tight-lipped smile. “I nearly forgot. Of course, my darling. You should head home. Perhaps tomorrow then?” He released your shoulder only to grab your hand in a firm grip and placed a kiss on your knuckles. “Who knows, maybe by this time tomorrow, the Butcher will have already disposed of the creature and we will finally be able to set a date for our wedding?”

You batted your eyelashes at him, “Nothing would please me more, my love.” This seemed to appease him, for his smile loosened, as did his grip. “I will count the moments until we see each other again,” you pulled away from him and blew him a kiss before you turned and hurried toward your family’s home.

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

You sighed and stood up to return the rest of your stew to the pot, having lost your appetite reminiscing about your old life.

You had just reached the counter of your small kitchen when, out of the corner of your eye, you caught movement between the trees through your little kitchen window. The sun had fully set by now, meaning most people would stay far away from the forest due to its reputation of being ‘haunted’. Only a few brave souls, such as yourself, who had experience hunting monsters would dare venture into the woods during the night. This had made it an ideal spot for you to live, as you preferred to be alone. However, it also meant that when someone was sneaking around the forests’ edge at night, they usually meant trouble.  Squinting, you moved closer to the window to try and make out what was out there when a frantic knock sounded at your door.

Bracing yourself for danger, you grabbed one of your daggers from the table you had set it on, and approached the door.

You held the dagger behind your back as you reached for the handle, calling out “Who’s there?”

“Please!” a young voice called back. “My father and I are looking for shelter for the night. This is the first house we’ve come upon in days. All we want is a roof over our heads for the night before continuing on our journey tomorrow.”

Still suspicious, you slowly opened the door.

On the doorstep stood a young girl, maybe 14, with long ash-blonde hair and large green eyes that pleaded with you to help her. Her clothes were soiled and torn in places and she obviously hadn’t had a proper bath in quite some time. The only bag she carried with her was a tattered satchel that looked to be one harsh tug away from completely falling apart.

You quickly glanced around, not sensing any danger from the girl, but stayed on your guard. You looked back to her with a furrowed brow and asked “Where is your father, girl?”

As she opened her mouth to speak, a harsh voice called out from the forest’s edge “Ciri!”

Both of your heads whipped around to the source of the call, as the hulking form of Geralt of Rivia emerged from the woods.

The moment your eyes met for the first time in nearly ten years, you both let out an exasperated “Fuck”.

So much for your good day.

-----

There it is! The first chapter in my first story! I hope at least some people will enjoy it and I plan to have the second chapter out in a couple days. Let me know if you see any grammar problems or anything else that needs to be fixed.

- Two

[wistfulwisteriawitch]

Arthur Morgan x Lilith Vallent OC: Vas Ura (My One)/ Vas Soluna (My Bonded) Part 01 Chapter 02: Colter

The night falls, but everyone is warm, everyone has a bed, everyone is safe. I smile to myself and find Dutch who is puffing a pipe and some of Bel’s favorite tobacco, he and Belial are chatting with Hosea and Arthur when Dutch thanks him, “you really saved us there.”

“Not I.” Belial shakes his head and I smirk. Arthur is scribbling in a journal, it is something else entirely to see him do so in person, and I stay in the shadows to watch as he listens halfheartedly.

“Oh? Surely you’re the one who—“ Dutch begins laughing.

“You mistake the hierarchy Mister Van der Linde.” Bel smiles and shakes his head.

“The red head?”

“My One. But niet. No.”

Hosea chuckles, “the small one? I believe you said your little sister.”

“Hm.” He nods at the men who look floor struck except Hosea.

“You’re telling me that tiny woman.” Dutch begins.

“Though she be little, she is fierce.”

“Shakespeare.” Hosea mutters.

Arthur’s attention seems to have paused on his writing and his eyes snap up to where I am. For a moment we both regard one another before I step forward into the light.

“Bel?”

“Ah here she is, Sool Iña.” Good evening. Bel is on cloud nine, he has been able to speak with his favorite characters, Hosea especially. “I was just explaining the hierarchy.”

“You mean about how I clobbered you for rank?”

He snorts and shoves at me with his foot making my chair scoot a bit when I sat down.

“You’re really in charge?” Dutch asks.

I sigh, and drop the gentle approach, harden myself and straighten fully in my seat, leaning back and tilting my chin up, allowing my gaze to ease into a hard edge. “Yes Mister Van der Linde. Do you have issue with it?” I allowed a rumble to echo through my chest for a moment.

“Not at all, just surprising.” Dutch smiles glancing me up and down. “Not every day you meet a tiny woman capable of such things.”

“And that’s just the beginning.” Bel muttered and I kicked a foot out smacking his ankle, “ouch!”

“Siblings.” Arthur grunted as he continued to write.

“So tell me Mister Van der Linde, what brings three men worth a bond in collection of several thousand dollars this far?” I ask sipping some whiskey from a flask.

Dutch tenses as does Arthur and Hosea merely laughs.

“Relax. You are in good company.” Bel snaps.

“Oh?”

“Belial is wanted for at least five thousand.” I explained.

“And you?”

Bel chuckles, “where are you at now?”

“Not much but that’s because I don’t get caught.” I huffed taking another swig. “Last I checked for My name it was three thousand, but last I checked for The Red Wolf it was at ten thousand.”

“The Red Wolf?” Hosea tilts his head.

“A nom de guerre.” Bel explained. “We all have one.”

“We?” Dutch asks glancing at them both.

“Yes. My family is Vallent. I am of a people called Volkier, think of us as a ah….specialized family…we…handle things. Bad people.”

Dutch grips the glass of whiskey in his hand, “and what are we?”

“Good people who survive doing bad things.” I shrug, “like anyone else in the world Mister Van der Linde. You choose who to rob, you don’t destroy everything in your path.”

I knew using the words he had used with Cornwall would resonate and he nods, relaxing substantially.

“We would like to join you.” I said and all three men pause.

“Why?” Hosea asks tilting his head.

“Do I need a reason? You need more people who are skilled, I have skilled family. And I’ve taken a shine to you. We Wolves do not consider such trivial things. We do as we please.”

“Wolves.” Arthur smirks, “is that what you’re called.”

“It is Mister Morgan.” I softly reply. “Volkier have been around for ages, thousands of years we have passed down our knowledge to our kin, we have survived this far, in the wilds of the world— but the world is changing. And so we must change with it or perish. However, we survive best in numbers.”

Dutch laughed and nodded, leaning over and patting my knee, “indeed. I do believe I like you Miss Vallent.”

“Thank you.”

Belladonna entered the cabin and draped herself over Belial’s shoulder. “I am tired love.”

“Hm.” Bel grinned and excused himself, finding it hard to walk with Bella entwined around his arm.

“Puppies.” I snorted into my drink. “How vulgar,” but no venom was in my voice as Bel gave me the finger behind his back. “Hurry up and make me an Auntie!”

All three men almost coughed into their drinks.

“I CANNA BARELY TAKE CARE A THIS FOOL OF A MAN!” Bella’s laughter could be heard as they shut the door to their quarters.

“Sorry, we’re a bit…ah…open with how we speak of such things.” I grinned a bit sheepish. “Please allow us to show our use to you gentlemen.”

“Hmph.” Arthur was still glaring over his sketchbook but it was different— was he drawing me? I felt a curious urge to lean over and look but he guarded the edge with a hand.

Awe, bummer.

“I hope your quarters are suited to you. Mister Morgan I’ll show you to your designated spot.”

He sighed and got up to follow where I led him to a smaller cabin to the left of the bunker cabin. He walked in and glanced around. “You’ll be sharing space with myself. I hope that’s alright.” He seemed to pause, but without a fight nodded. “It is still colder than hell, it’s better to bunk up where we can.”

“Hah, surely you ain’t wanting to bunk up with me.”

“Do you see any other ornery cowboys here?” I asked crossing my arms. No way in hell are you staying in a drafty cold place cinnamon roll. Get your ass into bed. “Don’t get shy on me we can only burn wood for so long and I don’t feel like freezing to death, I won’t bite you. And I dont trust anyone else near me, and I am in no way sharing space with my brother and his bonded.”

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

Arthur could understand that well enough, but as she went into another room and came out with her hair in a thick braid piling wood into the fire to bank it so it wouldn’t go out and at least keep it relatively warm, she turned to him. “You alright?”

She trusted him. Why, she hardly knew him, but she acted as if she’d known him for a long time— and damn it if it wasn’t rubbing off on him too. Through the evening she had quietly chatted with him about horses, guns, poker, anything that actually might peak his interest, California being one of the things he was want to talk about.

He even spoke of Bodicea, watching her eyes cloud with pain. “I’m so sorry. I know that doesn’t fix the pain…”

“No but…s’preciated.” He muttered.

Now here she was bundled in a bed piled high with furs and pelts and all manner of blankets like a bug in a rug.

“Look I can.”

Her warm gaze snapped open. “Don’t make me fling you into this bed Mister Morgan, I am tired.”

“Hmph.” As if she could. But he shrugs, “fine don’t say I didn’t warn ya that you’d be uncomfortable with a mean old bastard like me.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah grouchier than a bear in winter, get in here already.” She yawned big and rolled herself over.

He got himself down to his union suit and crawled in, almost groaning at how warm it was already and settled into the goose mattress— how long had it been since he’d slept in a god damn bed weeks…months?

His eyes slid shut for a moment, and drunk on exhaustion he glanced at her, half her face hidden by blankets her wide eyes blinking at him like a curious animal.

Why did she look so damn happy.

“Ya warm?” He mumbled.

She nodded. “You?”

“Considering yer like a god damn furnace shore.”

“Hehehe. I know. My family always sidle up to me during winter, my brothers and I tend to run hot like Mama.”

“So that a family trait.” He jolted when her hand found his and he realized she wasn’t joking, she was warm and he found himself dragging her closer.

She was pouting, “If you wanted to huggle-up just say so.”

“Hm?” He wasn’t sure what that meant.

“You know, huggle-up, like a puppy pile….you ever see wolves pile up on each other during winter?”

“I don’t make it a habit to wander into wolves dens.”

“Psh, sure you don’t.” He realized she was referring to the three of them.

“You all take this wolf thing seriously.”

“Yep.”

“Hm…”Arthur felt himself drifting off, unaware of how tight he was holding her warm hand. “Thank you.” He muttered.

“Of course Arthur…”

Sometime in the night he could hear the ever so soft whisper….

Amongst the leaves and twining branch.

The moonlight sways in winter’s dance.

Within the Company of Wolves, I keep.

That I may lie down in peaceful sleep.

He wasn’t sure what time it was as light filtered through the window frames. But it was burning up despite there still being a damn blizzard outside rattling the cabin.

“Hmph?” Arthur grunted a bit and tried to move but was weighed down as something….no…someone…was tangled with his legs.

He damn near panicked but opening one eye and looking down he flushed bright red.

She was half under him, tucked into his shoulder with a sleepy smile, hair undone as somehow in the middle of the fucking night he had buried a hand into her locks.

Fuck…move damn it… he said to himself.

“Arthur?” She opened one eye. “What’s wrong?”

“Um I’m sorry…” he blushed again.

“For what?” She muttered.

“uh..”

She glanced down at themselves and laughed, “oh please.” An arm wound about his waist and she bundled closer lightning her legs around his limbs. “Sleep it’s too early.”

He sputtered, disentangling himself and falling off the mattress to the floor with a low oof.

“Awe! You okay?” She popped up scratching her scalp, humming to herself, “ugh guess I’ll get up too if you’re so hell bent. Geez, getting up with the sun is a bitch.”

He grunted and stood up rubbing his bruised lower back.

“Arthur?” She called him, and he jolted a bit, “coffee?” She held a mug as he buttoned his shirt over his union suit.

“Thanks.” He took a long drink feeling the heat go straight to his gut.

“Welcome.” She drank her own cup, “I’m sure Belladonna has breakfast going.” She got herself bundled up after she went into the other room in a warm dress and boots, along with her wolf cloak that was dark black fur fluffed out all over making her look bigger than she was. “I’ll go check on it.”

He frowned to himself glancing at the unmade bed. Had he really spent the night bundled up to a total stranger….

A rather cute stranger.

No…no…a stranger nonetheless.

Yes he had. And he wasn’t too sure how he felt about it.

But upon entering the cabin with the bunk beds he could hear the men chattering rather amiably, warmed up with the small stove that kept the room comfortable, “ah it’s Morgan, where the hell did you sleep?” Micah asked. “Saw you heading off with that tiny woman, get lucky?”

“Shut it Micah.”

Javier chuckled, “she speaks Spanish you know. Her mother is from Mexico.”

“Really? I thought they were Russian.” Lenny said.

“Father is Russian.” Bill corrected sipping his coffee.

“Well whatever they are, sure am grateful.” Lenny smiled.

Arthur always liked Lenny, he was a good boy, did good work and was smart to boot. “We should be, be in a hell of worse set of circumstances without em.”

“I dont trust em.” Micah snapped. And everyone frowned at him.

“Just sad about Davey.” Bill muttered.

“When I go I don’t want no one to be sad just fucking move on.”

“Why when you go Micah there will be a party.” Lenny chuckled and Bill laughed.

But before Micah could land a blow Lilith stood before him.

“Gentlemen.” She chided. “Such behavior.” Arthur tensed, watching her body language as she sighed deeply as if disappointed. “What seems to be the issue.”

“Ain’t gonna be laughed at by the likes of these idiots.” Micah snapped.

Lilith chuckled, “Mister Bell, surely such a trivial thing could do you no harm, yet you’re willing to draw blood for such a thing from family?”

Everyone tried to move when Micah’s palm lashed out, “you Bitch!”

But a small hand gripped his wrist making the big man stop, he jerked but the grip was iron.

“Mister Bell. I don’t take kindly to violence intending to draw blood amongst friends and family.”

Lilith’s gaze was sharp, her lip curled in a sneer and she clenched her hand tighter around Micah’s wrist making the man grunt. “Right now I am grinding your radius and your lunate bones in your hand together…hurts doesn’t it?”

Arthur watched with a deep frown, Javier was laughing, and Lenny just stepped back a bit Bill kept drinking his coffee seemingly glad she saved him from getting his jaw punched.

She stepped forward, pushing Micah back by bending his wrist at an unnatural angel towards him. Her voice was gentle, scolding. “If I wanted to… I could easily snap it back and dislocate your wrist. I would of course set it…but it would hurt…quite badly. Bear that in mind when you decide to bare those dull fangs of yours at me for such an idiotic reason. You shall not get any leeway from me again. Do I make myself clear?” She didn’t even wait for him to respond, jerking his wrist and forcing his legs to buckle from the pain. ”Be a good boy and DOWN.”

No one moved.

Everyone was too shocked to move.

Belial was leaning in the doorway with a lopsided grin, “Lioshka?”

“It is fine.” She flung Micah’s arm back with a rumble in her chest and kept her head high, staring down her nose at the blond man, before slowly glancing over everyone. “Gentlemen,” she brushed snow off herself and adjusted her hair which was piled up in a half Gibson girl style, “breakfast is ready, come eat.”

With that the siblings left.

“God damn.” Micah hissed rubbing his wrist glaring at the door, “something is wrong with that fucking bitch.”

Charles was trying not to laugh as was Lenny, “seems fine to me.” Lenny said.

“Don’t worry Micah, you’ll get her next time.” Javier chuckled as he walked out.

Arthur merely glared at the man. “Don’t let me ever catch you acting to hit her again.” He growled.

“What protective of your little she-bitch?” Micah spat.

“Watch it.” Arthur snapped. “She’s helped us be grateful.”

Breakfast was a strange affair, everyone was piled into the cabin, and that meant everyone, the Volkier family stated it was good to eat together. A potato hash, baked greens and melted cheese on toast and a type of strange meat chop dish that was riddled with wild onions and herbs.

Pearson was in heaven. He didn’t even complain and he had apparently been helping.

Lilith had informed everyone over the meal that afternoon meal would be a simple dish like breakfast, when was the last time they even had three meals a day…everyone was brighter, their morale boosted, and Dutch and Hosea were chattering away together.

“So Dutch, tell me. There are O’Driscals nearby?” Lilith asked.

“You know of O’Driscalls?”

“We hate them.” Belial snapped from across the room.

“Oh good.” Dutch said laughing, “we’ll all get along fine then.”

“We can help.” Belladonna smiled wide, “may I?”

“You and I will go, Belial, stay with the group. Ensure no one comes if they do, slit their throats open.”

“Yes little sister.”

Hosea glanced at Arthur they seemed to be thinking the same, how could one so young speak of killing so easily.

“May we join you?” Lilith asked Dutch, “I promise we will make it easier.”

“Why not.”

With that, it was decided, and Lilith went to prepare, stating a dress was not clothing to fight in.

Arthur huffed and leaned in to Dutch, “we sure bout this letting women on a job?”

“Arthur have faith.”

Have faith…that was always the answer….Arthur seemed to be running out of faith as he followed Dutch, “Dutch we ain’t got the luxury of revenge… you’re always sayin that.”

“Best that we hit him before they hit us.”

[fracturedmotivationwriting]

The battle was won, but Dexter knew this wasn't the end of the war. Gio and Mimi would attack again. They weren't going to let one battle loss deter them.

They may have lost the battle, but they had still managed to kill twenty sentries and injure many others. Twenty dead. Twenty young sentries that Dexter had failed to protect.

She knew, logically, that this wasn't all on her. She couldn't have stopped Gio and Mimi from attacking. But she couldn't help but feel responsible for the deaths or the injured.

Luca had checked everyone's injuries after the battle ended, deciding who needed immediate medical attention and who could stitch themselves back up at the packhouse. He'd taken the severely injured to the hospital. He had wanted Dexter to come too, but he'd known it was a losing fight with her. She promised to let him check her for a concussion at home.

She'd already sent the others to the packhouse, opting to stay behind debrief the soldiers who would be taking over border patrol for the rest of the night. She didn't think Gio and Mimi would try again so soon, but she couldn't be certain. And with so many injured sentries, she didn't have enough to properly defend the borders anyway. They all needed a night to recuperate before she gave them new schedules, new routes, and new orders. She was going to have to change a lot of their defenses now, but that would come in the morning. She needed to meet with Frankie first. The soldiers could hold down the fort so to speak in the meantime.

Dexter was headed towards the packhouse, wanting to confirm that everyone else was okay and didn't need to go to the hospital. Along her way, however, she spotted one of the young sentries leaning heavily against a streetlight. Approaching slowly, Dexter could see the sentry gripping her side as if she was in pain.

"Angelina? Are you okay?" Dexter asked, concern filling her voice. She could see a bit of blood seeping through the girl's shirt, but it didn't appear to be gushing. Hopefully, it wasn't a deep wound.

"I- I thought I was fine," Angelina murmured, avoiding Dexter's worried eyes. "But my side started to hurt and then I noticed the blood."

Dexter stepped closer, gently reaching a hand out to the sentry's arm. As soon as she did, however, Angelina straightened up. If not for her concussion, Dexter probably would have reacted sooner to Angelina's change of demeanor. But her head was a bit fuzzy, so by the time she tried to step back Angelina was already shoving a needle into her neck. Dexter tried to fight her off, but her movements were slow and clumsy. Her limbs felt like they weight thirty pounds each, and her eyelids involuntarily started to close. Dexter felt her body slumping forward as she tried to swing a punch at Angelina, but the other girl easily used the momentum to toss Dexter over her shoulder.

"And they told me you would be hard to capture." Dexter overheard the girl snickering. Dexter was too far gone to respond. Sleep overcame her.

****

The dull ache in her head was the first thing she felt. Next was the soreness in her neck and the sharp pain in her shoulder.

Dexter blinked her eyes open, squinting for a moment to adjust to the harshly bright lights. In addition to the ache, her head felt fuzzy. She tried to lift her hand to rub her eyes but nearly screamed at the pain. Her hands were cuffed behind her, and apparently, someone had stabbed her shoulder. Meaning that when she tried to move and was immediately pulled back by the handcuffs, her shoulder screamed in agony.

Her muffled cry, however, drew the attention of someone upstairs. She heard the sound of footsteps above her, the panic settling in her chest and clearing her head a bit. She quickly took in her surroundings, trying to find a way out of these cuffs and out of here. She appeared to be in a basement, handcuffed to a pole running from the ground to the ceiling. There wasn't much down here, except for a wooden chair in front of her and a single lightbulb hanging. She felt like she was in a horror film.

She couldn't see the stairs, but she heard someone descending them behind her. Schooling her fear, Dexter leaned against the pole and tried to appear as the definition of calm.

Kind of hard to do sitting on a basement floor, handcuffed and concussed with seemingly no way out.

The woman stepped around her, coming into Dexter's line of sight. Dexter watched as she took a seat, crossing her legs and leaning back casually. As if she hadn't just kidnapped someone.

The woman just stared at Dexter, seemingly sizing her up. Dex to the opportunity to do the same.

It didn't take long for Dexter to figure out who she was. Between the dark hair similar to the one she'd practiced braiding the other evening during a girl's night, to the square jaw so reminiscent of the one she admired during meetings, to even the gray eyes that neither sibling fully had, Dexter knew that this was her mate and best friend's older sister. The infamous Milena

Staring into the cold, gray eyes, Dexter couldn't help but think she very much preferred the blue-gray of Frankie's eyes. Despite their very cool-colored nature, they always held an element of warmth in them. Mimi's held none. Dexter knew it wasn't just because Frankie was her mate and Mimi wasn't -- V's blue eyes had never looked this cold either. This was purely something the oldest sibling had.

"So you're little Francesco's mate," Mimi broke the silence after a few minutes of silently observing Dexter. Dex merely raised an eyebrow, challenging the woman to say anything more. Mimi looked her up and down with disdain.

"I'm... Disappointed," she sighed. "I expected someone with a little more finesse. You were easier to capture than a newborn pup."

"Sorry to disappoint," Dexter muttered, smirking up at Mimi. "I was a bit tired after killing your soldiers."

Mimi matched her smirk, leaning forward in her seat.

"Sacrifices I was willing to give," she informed the younger wolf, shrugging innocently. "Bloodshed is necessary for war."

"Kidnapping isn't though," Dexter countered, tugging at her handcuffs for emphasis. Mimi merely chuckled.

"It is when you need information."

"You think I'm going to tell you anything?" Dexter snarled.

"Not at first," Mimi conceded. "But you'll crack eventually. They always do."

Milena stood, brushing the nonexistent dirt from her pants. She smiled down at Dexter.

"I'm sure you and Stefano are going to have fun together. I'll talk to you later, Dexter."

Dexter's senses must have really been dulled from the concussion. During her conversation with Mimi, she hadn't heard someone else descend into the basement. But there was a man standing before her with a steel baseball bat in hand. She assumed he was Stefano, and that he was here to convince her to talk.

"You're not going to break me, Milena," Dexter called out. She heard Mimi's steps falter.

"You keep thinking that, Dexter. But the longer you hold out, the more likely Francesco is going to come looking for you. If I can't get what I want from you, I'll just have to get it from him."

Dexter's heart sank to her stomach. This was a trap. Of course, it was a trap. Of course, Mimi was banking on Dexter talking or Frankie being dumb enough to try and save her.

Dexter prayed that Frankie wouldn't let his heart rule his actions. He'd been so good about letting other people fight their own battles, she prayed he'd let someone else fight this one.

She heard the door slam behind her. She raised her gaze to a grinning Stefano.

"Don't suppose you're gonna uncuff me so we can have batting practice?" Dexter asked, eying the bat warily.

Stefano shook his head, swinging the bat up before bringing it down on her leg. Dexter didn't even try to reign in her scream.

[negans-wifeyy]

Shake Hands with the Devil pt.1

Summary: Laila was hungry for revenge ever since the death of her sister. The only way to fight the monster who killed her is to confront him in his natural habitat: the Sanctuary. As she infiltrates the kingdom of the leader of the Saviors in the hopes to kill him, things will not go the way she thoroughly planned. What will she do now that Negan has gotten her in the palm of his hand?

Pairing: Negan X OFC

Warning: None for now but eventual smut

Tags: revenge, hate, possession

Word count: 2361

A/N: Hi everyone! This is the first fiction that I ever post anywhere, and I chose Negan as the male protagonist because I’m literally obsessed with his character. I also chose a black protagonist because I couldn’t find ANY good fics pairing Negan with even a person of color on Tumblr, fanfiction.net or even Ao3. Since there wasn’t anything I could identify myself with, I decided to write my own thing. Hope y’all enjoy. PS: English is neither my first or second language so please be patient and correct me if there are mistakes or it’s not coherent. Also, the text in italics is in the past and time-lapse are separated by asterisks.

A/N 2: This is a repost from the @thoughtsandthotsss​ blog. I wanted this fiction and other content to be on a blog focused solely on TWD. So there you have it again and make sure to like and follow again :) 

———–

For the past weeks, I’ve been doing everything possible that was asked of me to do in the Sanctuary. Attending to my duties, keeping my head down, staying away from trouble and most importantly, avoiding the leading man of the Saviors. But here I was now, sitting face to face with him in his “office” and waiting for my faith.

“Well, well, well” Negan started as he stood up from his seat. “Here we are again, Laila. Just you and me. Last time we were here together, you infiltrated my kingdom, killed a dozen of my best soldiers and then, came to this very room with a gun pointed at the back of my head to avenge your sister’s death.”

I avoided his gaze and stayed silenced. Just being in his presence made me sick to my stomach. Unlike everyone around here, I didn’t fear the man with the barbed-wire bat. Whatever reason he called me in here for, good or bad, he could just get to the point, so I didn’t have to converse with him any longer than I wanted to.

“So, you’re just gonna stay quiet? I remember you being pretty chatty the first time we spoke.” He snickered. “Don’t you wanna know why I called you in here?”

“Not really. Whatever sick, twisted mind game you feel like playing today, I don’t think it’s going to require me to respond back to you.” I finally broke my silence.

“Still quick-witted huh? With your track record, I wouldn’t be so mouthy with me. I mean, I did spare your life and let you become one of my hit women. My most reliable one too.” He responded as he got to the seat closer to me.

“I don’t know how grateful I can be after everything that you’ve done” I caught my breath remembering the terror he caused this past year to me and my entourage. “You kept Sasha captive, you used her life to blackmail the Alexandrians and you led her to kill herself. Oh, and let’s not forget you terrorizing and murdering the members of my community. “

“I thought that we buried the hatchet on your sister’s passing sweetheart. And also, on the deaths of your Alexandria buddies.”

“You mean like Glenn and Abraham? They are not my ‘Alexandrian buddies’ they were my family. And no, I still haven’t let that go since I can’t give anyone of them proper justice.” I said angrily to Negan who just stared at me grinning.

“Don’t really remember the two others but I do miss that strong-headed Sasha from time to time” He said which made my blood boil even more. “Could have used her warrior skills here. Good thing you’re here the replace her memory.”

“Leave her name out of her mouth.” I fired at him. His words were really getting to me.

Talking about my big sister again was making me so emotional but I didn’t want Negan to see me vulnerable, so I held back my tears and stare right back into his sneering eyes. I needed to be as fearless and strong as the day I was going to kill him. Even if it was weeks ago and I clearly failed my mission, I still remember that day like it was yesterday.

**

Negan was wandering by himself in his office where he holds up his meeting with some of the Saviors and probably torture some others. I peaked through the crack of the door and as soon as his back was turned, I sneaked in with my AK-47 directing at his head and locked the door shut.

“Don’t you move now motherfucker” I spat at him as he raised both his hands up to surrender. Even in that position, I could still sense the smirk from that bastard.

“Can I at least turn around to see the face of my perpetrator?” Negan eventually said. “I wanna match the face to the sweet voice I’m hearing”

“Empty your pocket first ” I ordered.

“Bossy. Just how I like em” He said as he threw on the floor all his weapons.

“Don’t be smart with me. I’m gonna search you now and I better find nothing” I patted him down to his ankles in all the usual hiding spots and found a pocket knife that I threw with the rest of his armoury.

"I usually don’t need to use this one. Forgot I had it on me. Sorry sweetheart”

“Don’t give a shit. Turn around and stop calling me sweetheart.”

As soon as he saw me, he immediately recognized who I was. And that infamous grin of his slowly faded away.

“Remember me?” I asked, my voice getting angrier from seeing his face so up-close. “The name’s Laila. Not sweetheart or whatever pet name you tryna call me”

“Ok. Laila, it is then. I do remember you; you’re Sasha’s sister. I think it’s pretty obvious now why you’re here.”

“Yes, I am. I’m going to fucking kill you. For Sasha and every single person that I cherished that you killed over your ego power trip. You fucking psychopath. “ I snapped at him. His smirky little face might have gone away but he still was unfazed about whatever I was saying to him.

"Darling, if you want to end me for some sort of revenge, you’re gonna have to take a number” He said back mischievously.

“Don’t call me darling either!” I barked at him as I charged my rifle at him.

“Wooah woah Laila!” Negan shouted finally shaking in his boots "Even though I know you’re very much capable of doing it, you don’t really wanna kill me”

“What makes you think that? I want your head on a stick more than anything”

“Well, with the massacre that you already caused downstairs, adding me to the list would make you an even more disgusting person that I am”

“You and I are not the fucking same. You knew about the damage I literally just did to your people inside the Sanctuary and chose to stay in your own little space, turning a blind eye. How can call yourself a leader after that?” I said to him even more furious than ever.

“Maybe it was all part of my plan” Negan confidently said with a malicious smile.

“What pla—” I didn’t have time to finish when a sharp object hit the back of my head.

As I fell on the floor, the two last things I saw in between two blinks were Dwight behind me with a gun in his hand and a walkie under the table that was open during this entire encounter. After that, everything was blank.

I woke up possibly hours later tied up to a chair in a small dark room. The daylight coming from the small window brightened the room which meant that I was unconscious all night. In the corner to my right, Simon was standing there waiting for me to wake up. I immediately started squirming and moaning in pain when I saw him calling Negan with a radio. I tried to scream for help but the clothe wrapped around my mouth prevented me from it. It wouldn’t have amounted to anything anyway since Negan’s tall figure entered the room as I was struggling to loosen my restraints.

“Morning sunshine!” Negan exclaimed as he approached me doing his signature “leaning back” jig with Lucille tightly gripped in his hand. “As much as I love the sound of your voice with your mouth gagged right now, I’m really curious to know what you’ve got to say for yourself after the shitstorm you caused yesterday.”

He gestured to Simon to leave us alone and took off the cloth to let me speak.

“Fuck you, you prick.” I said to him without even a flinch. He could bound me all he wants but he wasn’t going to take my dignity, and I could see that it was getting him mad. Negan took his precious bat to lift it up underneath my chin.

“It’s not a habit of mine to put my hands on a woman but if you keep disrespecting me like that, I’ll make an exception. Got it? “He threatened me with the most dominating expression I’ve ever seen. Knowing what he could do, I just nodded.

“Now here’s what’s gonna happen. I’ve seen some of your work on the guards that you executed on your way to kill me and I gotta say, I’m very impressed. I don’t usually do this type of thing with perpetrators who try to gun me down but for you sweetie, I’ll bend the rules. From now on, I want you to be a part of this community as one of my hitmen or should I say hit-woman.”

“So, you want me to kill other people for you, even though I tried to kill you? Thanks, but no thanks ”

“Well, I don’t think you really have a choice sweetheart. It’s either you work for me or I feed you to the walkers that we keep in a cage at the back of the Sanctuary”

As he said that, he pushed Lucille harder into my chin. I definitely felt more threatened and trapped. With my hands tied, both physically and figuratively, I had to accept his offer. 

“Fine. I’ll do it”. I finally said feeling like I fell right into the trap of the big bad wolf.

“Good. Here are the conditions: You’re going to work solely into protecting the Saviours which means no going behind my back to help the Alexandrians or to try to kill me again. If you don’t respect this, I won’t be afraid to use my Lucille here. Are we clear?”

“Yes..“ I surrounded. As soon as I did, he let go of Lucille off my chin.

“Oh, and one more thing,” Negan said a leaned closer to me and put his hands on the handles of my chair. “Whatever pet name I feel like calling you, you’re gonna have to accept it. It’s my kingdom after all and if you’re gonna be part of it, you’ll live by my own rules. Got it, sweetheart?”

I just nodded back and at that point, I didn’t know if I was more disgusted by his cruel behaviour or by myself for being a sellout.

**

And just like that, I became one of Negan’s executioner. Although, from my perspective, I became one of the killing monsters who did Negan’s dirty job for him. Any enemy, walker or human, who is a menace to the Sanctuary gets a bullet right in the skull from me whether I like it or not.

The first week was the hardest. I was so miserable being stuck in this place. It wasn’t because I failed my initial mission or even because I was away from my group with no news from them. It was just the daily apprehension of possibly having to gun down Alexandrians who could try to sneak into the Sanctuary like I did. With me going missing and Rick’s thirst for vengeance as strong as mine, it was very likely to happen. Fortunately, another Saviour told me that the day after my infiltration, Negan paid a visit to Rick and the members of Alexandria to tell them that I was now part of the Sanctuary. He also warned them that if any of them tried to come to my rescue, they would risk their life and mine.

It might not have come from the heart, but I still feel like that threat was a gesture from Negan to ease their minds and mine. So that I could accommodate myself better to the situation, I guess. And after that, I didn’t hear from Negan until today.

**

“Alright now, I won’t speak of her again, especially since she’s not the reason I wanted to meet you today.” Negan said after our back and forth about Sasha. I didn’t understand why he would talk about her knowing how it would make me feel. God, what an asshole he could be.

“What is it then?” I asked him indifferent about whatever he was going to respond.

“Usually, when I meet Saviours in this very room, it’s generally to punish them after they did something wrong, to betray me perhaps.” He said with a deadpan look in his face. At first, I didn’t care about the reason he wanted to meet me but, with those stern eyes staring right back at me, I couldn’t help but gulp. As soon as he saw me sweat a bit, Negan chuckled lightly to himself. “Don’t worry honey, it’s not your case, you can relax”

This motherfucker. He couldn’t help himself but to toy with me a little for his own sadistic pleasure I can only assume.

“You have nothing to worry about precious. Your situation is quite the opposite actually. All I’ve been hearing from everyone around here is how great you’ve been doing. And honestly, their opinions don’t really matter since I’ve been keeping an eye on you daily” Negan surprisingly said.

“Like spying on me?” I asked quite unsettled.

“Not spying on, just keeping an eye like I said.” He corrected. “It’s not like you’ve been doing anything shady babe. I observed you from afar and all I saw was a great warrior protecting her community.”

“You mean forced into protecting it? The Sanctuary is not my community.” I told him very truthfully.

“Whether it was intentional or not, I saw how well you fought and I wanted you to know how pleased I am to see that. Which brings me directly to the point of this meeting”

“I thought we were never gonna get there. Why did you call me here?”

"Hush sweetheart. I’ll tell you eventually, but I need you to keep an open mind”

“Ok..”

“I wanted to promote into a position that will give you the best accommodations you can get in the Sanctuary while still being my main hit-woman”

“What position is that?

“I want you to become one of my wives”

[isafalco]

Getting Back Into Nico’s Good Graces

Featuring: @silasbriar, @thomaswieland, @presleystone, @isafalco​

Location: The Barn

Summary: Silas convinces Thomas to force Blair to torture Isa and Presley to test his and her loyalty and possibly impress Nico with some sadistic tendencies. 

Warnings: Gratuitous violence, torture.

Silas:

It takes a little artistry to get it all set up, but nothing even remotely outside of his abilities. The chains in the barn are prepped and there are two vials of wolfsbane in Silas’ pocket as he stalks his first target. The manor is abuzz with one panic or another, a wolf recovering from her near-death encounter, or a human seriously injured for reasons unbeknownst to him. They’re distracted, and not looking to the shadows where Silas lurks. 

He spots the first one, the former Beta (the bonded one) and is grappling her from behind before she could make a sound. He plunges a syringe full of wolfsbane into her neck until he can feel her struggle losing its strength, then has them both out of the back door and into the barn in seconds. 

The second wolf he’s less graceful with. Isa gets a hand over her mouth, seemingly from nowhere, dragged backwards out of the manor, then tossed halfway across the lawn in a display of strength to set the tone of helplessness for the rest of her unfortunate evening. He’s at her side again before she can recover, and throws her, again and again, until she’s inside of the barn being chained up against the wall, directly opposite from where Presley droops in her own mess of chains– wrists and feet– and feeling the effects of the poison. 

 Silas rubs his hands together and sighs while he admires his work. “Thank you for joining us this evening. And now we wait for our guest of honor.”

Thomas:

Thomas does no explaining, already testing the limits of how obedient Blair plans to be tonight during their little show. The scene is already set by the time they enter, the two wolves chained and the smell of wolfsbane sharp and cloying. Blair must be able to smell it too. The role of tormentor is all too easy to fall into, and he finally turns to the wolf by his side. 

“Earn your place. These wolves practically attacked my dear brother and they need punishing. If you’re truly on our team, then there’s no going back to this wretched little pack anyway. Time to strike a match and burn the pieces of your old family to ash.” 

Thomas rummages around in his pocket, transferring a few items in slow movements into Blair’s hands. A dagger. A lighter. And another syringe of wolfsbane for good measure, destined for the wolf of her choice. “Restore the family name, pet. Get as creative as you’d like. I’ll stop you when I’m satisfied.”

Blair:

Blair doesn't know why exactly Thomas called her, though she has been enjoying the brief respite after her encounter with Nico. Not that it seemed to help, considering Riley almost got murdered because the head vampire wanted to throw a tantrum, but that is a problem for someone else that wasn't her. Thomas seems uncharacteristically silent as he leads her to the barn, and her steps falter briefly as the acrid bitterness of wolfsbane reaches her nose. She's had enough of the scent for the rest of her life. 

But none of that compares when she sees who is waiting for her. Silas, and Isa and Presley. She doesn't know what they did to anger Silas, whether they did anything at all. The lighter and dagger are pressed into her hands but Blair simply stares at the two wolves in front of her, a blank expression on her face.

Internally, she is scrambling. She has known this moment would come and yet she still feels entirely blindsided. Finally, she turns back to Thomas and Silas, hoping that her internal conflict is not written all over her face. 

"How is me torturing anyone fun for you? Okay, I get it, this is a loyalty test. So let me fight one of them. We've got dead leg Barbie over here and the dead Alpha's runaway sister, so it's hardly a fair fight to begin with, but at least it doesn't feel like kicking a puppy." 

She keeps her eyes trained on the vampires, back ramrod straight, knowing that if she turns around, she may lose her nerve. "If I win, then pretty sure that bridge gets burned anyways. If I lose, well then, better you know sooner rather than later."

Silas:

Silas rolls his eyes and with heavy, impatient steps in Blair’s direction, he gets a hand around the back of her neck and forcibly walks her towards Isa. “You were given an order, pet, and a purpose. We’re not interested in standing here and watching you negotiate your way around this like someone who may be a tad bit still on the fence about where her loyalties lie. Which brings us right back to–” He pushes, hard, when they reach the chained wolf, then takes a few steps backwards with his palms toward the ceiling like a showman. “–Get creative! Cut your old, beloved Alpha’s memory from your life and you’ll have won the beginnings of an official welcome to the family. This isn't fun, love, it's principal. It's symbolic. It's loyalty, earned." When he finds his way back to Thomas' side, he places a hand on his shoulder and flashes a toothy grin. "The fun is just a bonus."

Isa:

She's never felt so helpless in battle before. A trained assassin who traded her life of camaraderie and family for something she probably will never come back from, and she had never been bested like this. Her body flies across the lawn like she's nothing but a rock skidding across the surface of a still body of water; Isa rolls, and then she's tossed again, and again, until she's inside the barn and chained against the wall with the same ones they use for the full moon. To her left, there's Presley, and the rotten smell of Wolfsbane that has her struggling against the chains like a wolf possessed, a growl sitting in her throat furiously. 

There's a second, when Blair appears before her and she's given a dagger, that she pulls on her chains so hard the wood cracks under the pressure, but they're enchanted, and keeping Isa so tightly in place she knows she won't get out of them. But anger boils in her chest, and when she finally settles against the chains, she blows her hair out of her face, looking at Blair through her eyelashes. She knows what's coming; Isa grips the chains harder, grips her teeth. Its not the first time she's been doused in wolfsbane, it probably won't be the last. 

"Do your worst, bitch". She spouts, laughing under her breath. "Loyalty means nothing to you anyway".

Blair:

Of course Silas is the one to respond, his inability to stay out of anything probably causing a good chunk of this. She doesn't bother masking the annoyance or the trepidation that she felt. Hiding would only make it seem like she has something worth investigating, and that would be worse. So if he gets an extra wave of disgust, that is all sincere on her end too. Her jaw twitches slightly, wanting to point out that she could "get creative" by doing exactly what she had asked, but she doesn't know what else these two have planned. If this is only the first part, she couldn't pull out her ace at the start of the game. Isa and Presley would be fine. They are both soldiers, and beyond that, both are survivors. Even after telling herself that, Blair doesn't feel any better. 

A cold expression sweeps across her face as she turns toward Isa. Presley is still in and out of it seemingly, with wolfsbane already running through her so Blair turns her focus back on the brunette. She steps into Isa's space, face to hers, and holds out the syringe to her. "All right hero, since you want to talk a tough game, I'll make you a deal. Either, you put this entire syringe of wolfsbane in yourself or I'll put it in Presley and we can see what her pain tolerance really is."(edited)

Isa:

Up close and even through the syringe, the wolfsbane reeks, and it makes Isa's nose flare. She bares her teeth, hands tightening around her chains and sweat running down her forehead. Of course she would take the wolfsbane, better her than Presley. The decision is easy, as her eyes flicker to her unconscious beside her. But its not just about Presley, or her, or this -- its about betrayal, and thinking about Blair making a mockery of her brother's legacy and Victoria's pack like this. 

They're too close, too close and personal and Isa's pissed. So pissed that all she does is tighten her jaw, draw her head back, and head-butt Blair on the nose as hard she possibly could while dangling from those chains. It makes her forehead throb, bruise, but it leaves her with a sadistic sense of satisfaction. Like killing hunters again... "I already said do your worst. What are you waiting for? Instructions?"

Presley:

It happens fast. Presley hears footsteps, goes to turn and before she can clue in to the smell of wolfsbane, she feels it. It's a low dose but mixed the right way, like a sedative. She fights for only a second before it passes and when she finds realy consciousness again, she's in the bar, chains holding her arms and legs, her head hung. The sound of something like a scuffle besides her clues her in just as Blair knocks backward. She sees who did it, eyes suddenly wide and on high alert as she pulls against the chains holding her back. "Isa? What's --" There are two vampires in front of them, and Presley knows the feeling of the weakness in her bones all too well. The very thought of that, and Isa beside her makes her heart race. She looks from Blair, to the vampires, the woman chained beside her. "Let her go. Let us both go. Blair you don't have to do this."

Thomas:

An involuntary snarl leaves his lips as he watches Isa wind up and headbutt Blair with jarring force, some misplaced protective instinct for this wolf he was supposed to be protecting surfacing. He finds a place for his fury to go. Presley stirs, pipes up, and he draws more attention to it, forcing Blair to acknowledge it. If he wants to earn Nico’s forgiveness, it needs to be a good show. Both wolves will have to come back bruised and shaken. Drifting close behind Blair, he runs fingertips lightly over the curve of her shoulder, full of taunting advice. “No pressure, pet. But I’m bored already.  Nice half-hearted attempt. Choices are always a good start, it’s a real lose-lose situation. But you know from experience wolves are suffering, simpering, stoic little martyrs. She’ll always choose to hurt herself first. These two are lovers. The pain isn’t in hurting them both. It’s in them having to watch the other get hurt. Why do you think they’re face to face?” 

He raises his voice to address the two wolves. “This is Blair’s little show, and she can steer the ship, but one note from me. Lock eyes for that romantic ambience, you two. If either of you choose to look away from your beloved, to look down from the pain on her face, to shut your eyes for a momentary respite….I break one of your girlfriend’s fingers. I guess that gives you ten chances to look away.”

Blair:

The burst of pain that explodes behind nose makes her eyes water, and she can immediately taste the blood from where her teeth split her lip. The growl she lets out in response isn't forced, and she bares bloody teeth at Isa before her eyes snap towards Presley who is now awake, with her idiotically earnest eyes. She is barely able to meet her gaze for a second before Thomas commands attention once more, his hands ghosting along her skin. For a split second, she has the urge to shove the dagger into his throat, but she stamps that down. 

Blair knows that having two wolves out of commission, especially having these specific two wolves out of commission is dangerous to the pack. She has to make a decision, and it would be far easier to throw a punch at Isa than at Presley, not because the blonde was weak, but because knowing that the other wolf would spend the entire time trying to make everyone other than herself feel better. 

"If I'm supposed to be the creative one, you both are trying to take a whole lot of artistic license. And you suck at emotional torture. Sure, you can send them back all bruised and bloody, but they puff out their chests and tell each other how proud they are of each other for making it through. It doesn't last past tonight. Send one back pristine while the other ends up in a full-body cast? That's where you make the guilt roll in. Also, Presley's bonded. If you want to piss off Miss Aemilia, again I might add, go right ahead, but that probably would be the opposite of making your daddy happy. So I'll do whatever sick torture porn fantasy you have with Isa, make Presley watch, because that's going to hurt her way more than any bad leg ever would. Then when all this is over, she can torture herself for being perfectly unharmed while her girlfriend is nursing some broken ribs. Everyone happy with that?"

Isa:

In the most twisted of ways, Blair is right. This is a sure way to make them suffer. Making the other watch while one remains unharmed, but its relieving, all in the same, because she'll be the target of Blair's torture and Presley will come out unscathed. Its not the first time she's been tortured, something tells her it won't be the last. Whatever pain Blair puts her through she knows she'll be able to handle, regardless of how beaten, and bruised, and out of commission it will put her. 

She tilts her chin up, looks at Presley apologetically -- she doesn't know why, this isn't her fault, but she has the vague reminder that Presley had watched someone she loved be tortured before, in a way that was eerily similar to this one. Isa inhales sharply, lets the air fill her lungs like she's preparing herself for the inevitable. "What are you waiting for? You're wasting my time. If you're going to torture me get on with it. I'm bored".

Presley:

It takes only a second or her to get her bearings, to take in the situation, hear Thomas's voice again and understand fully what's going on. presley's heart hammers, her blood runs with wolfsbane -- no doubt so does Isa's now too. And as they continue, as she hears Blair's spiel and fights the hold on her chains, she's reminded of this moment -- of staring back into the eyes of someone that matters and not being able to do anything. Her stomach flips, the air leaves her lungs. And in that moment, exactly, it all makes sense. She and Blair had discussed Eden, discussed the torture Presley had faced while her girlfriend watched. Switching the target -- it's protective. It has to be. Which means that somewhere, somewhere in Blair there's a shred of who she really is underneath it. "Blair --" Presley tugs at the chains but her eyes stay on Isa, not at all willing to break the vampire's rules. "Blair you don't have to do this. We're a pack. We're your pack. I know you feel scared, and alone, and you don't want to lose things again but none of us -- we can help you. I'll do it with you. You don't have to hurt her, you don't have to prove anything to anyone."

Blair:

Blair is glad that for the twisted instruction that makes Isa and Presley look at each other instead of at her. Hearing them is hard enough, but to face either of their accusatory stares would make this near impossible. And Presley... listening to her plead with Blair is both exactly what she wants and the opposite of that. Hearing those worlds helps, knowing that maybe people haven't entirely given up on her yet, but at the same time, she needs everyone to give up on her for this plan to work. 

"Give it up, Superstar. We're not a pack. Even your girlfriend over there will tell you that. We're not going to kumbaya this away with your trusty guitar, so as Isa requested, let's get on with it." 

She tosses the dagger on the ground, not caring to give herself yet another edge during this farce of a test. If they won't let Isa out to create a fair fight, then she could do at least this much. Without warning, her fist strikes out and catches Isa on the bridge of her nose, and Blair takes advantage of the surprise to stab the syringe of wolfsbane into her neck. She steps away briefly as the poison works its way through Isa's body, and Blair takes a moment to steady herself. There is no more need to gloat or talk, just a singleminded focus on getting through this intact. And with that, she wastes no time on raining blows down on Isa.September 7, 2020

Isa:

It comes fast and it comes hard, a right hook to the nose that immediately makes her bleed, blood rushing down her mouth. She doesn't wince, she only takes it, but she knows its broken and she'll have to set it back in place by the time this was all over. But what comes next is even more painful: wolfsbane. She's always described the feeling as being shot up with embers, the type that sizzle and make her entire body burn like she's been set on fire. What comes out of her mouth is a whimper, like a dog defeated; her muscles go weak and she looses her grip on the chains keeping her steady until she can't hold her neck up any longer, and she falls limp against her chains. 

She's been beat up before, multiple times, with and without wolfsbane, but with the wolfsbane coursing through her veins, she can't tense her muscles to make the blows hurt less. There's blood on her neck from her cracked nose and bruises surely forming under her shirt, Blair's punches making her rock against the chains like a punching bag, all the while keeping her half open eyes on Presley as she watches Blair beat the crap out of her. 

Isa coughs, with a second to breathe, and spits blood on the floor that she wishes she could wipe with the back of her hand. She opens her mouth as if to say something, but air gets caught in her throat at the pain on her sides. All she can do is grit her bloody teeth together again.

Blair:

She channels all of her rage and hurt into her attack on Isa. Blair tries to forget the way she can feel bones cracking under her knuckles, hoping that maybe some of those crunches are her own hands giving way. A small price to pay in exchange for this. She doesn't bother to check whether they're still looking at each other and she figures that one of the vampires will have something to say if they don't. 

By the time she pauses, there is a thick scent of blood filling the barn, almost enough to mask the wolfsbane. Blair blinks, staring at a very battered and bruised wolf, and she almost loses her nerve in that moment. Loyalty means nothing to you anyway. Isa's words bounce and rattle around in her head, along with Presley's pleas for her to do the right thing. It's too much and enough is enough. Maybe if she can end this now, she would have enough time to pass a message to Ellery before even more damage was caused. 

She steps away from Isa and turns to look at Presley for a long moment, wondering if the wolf finally hates her now as she should. Then she glances at Silas and Thomas, a disinterested expression flitting across her face. "Okay, so we good here? Let them limp back, I'm sure the wolves will cry about it some more, and you get to have all the angry threats you can twist into something else that's fucked. Did I pass? Again?"

Presley:

She wants to look at Blair, wants to look her in the eyes and see what's there, figure out what's causing all of this. Because Presley can't fathom that it's betrayal. It doesn't make sense, as Blair calls Aemilia Miss Aemilia, and forgoes the tools for her fists. She can't fathom that the same Blair who sympathized with her brother and their pack and everything they'd gone through would turn and betray them all -- betray Derrick -- now. I must be something else. She repeats the broken sound of Blair's words when they fought in her head, and knows if nothing else, that there's a person under all of this pain that wants something. Like Elias, like Ronan, like the people who they'd all met who had done awful things for reasons people couldn't understand -- but reasons all the same. 

But her focus on what Blair might need goes out the door fast when she starts wailing on Isa anyway. At first, Presley flinches, a few times, jaw steeled as much as she can against the wolfsbane in her own system. BUt as she continues, panic hits. "Blair, stop!" She finally blurts out, abrupt and pained and pushing past all her better judgement about giving them the satisfaction they want. There are tears in her eyes she'd barely felt, and her head feels foggy with memories and her rapidly beating heart. Her voice cracks when the beating stops and she tries to use it again but she doesn't look away from Isa's bloodied face. Not once. "Please stop...."

Thomas:

The dagger hits the ground and Thomas sighs, a quiet sound. Fists and fighting don’t seem out of the usual for the wolves, just more of the same pain, but the wolfsbane will bring a sharper, less familiar edge to it all. The barn smells of iron and the cracking of bones bounce back from the barn walls, and he by the time Blair stops it looks like the chains are the only thing keeping Isa’s slender body from crumpling the the ground. His eyes stray to Presley, treated to the novel sight of the stoic wolf streaked with tears and panicked. He doesn’t answer Blair's question. Silas is the supposedly affronted party and the one who wanted to watch the wolves bleed, the one who didn’t trust Blair, the one who might whisper to Nico that Thomas was still worth trusting. 

“Up to my elder, pet. I always respect the hierarchy.” 

Supernaturally fast, he flits to pick up the dropped and forgotten dagger and  is back in front of Blair in an instant, dragging the blade across his palm. If she’s so determined to leave Presley unmarred physically, he refuses to let her escape the same fate. No, he wants the scrapes across her knuckles to disappear and the fragile bones of them to mend. Let the other wolves picture darker weapons than her fists when they looked at her torn apart packmate. He presses the bleeding gash to cover her mouth, blocking Blair’s air until she’s forced to swallow. It’s the first time he’s forced her to do anything, a conscious choice since she first told him she didn’t have a choice in her original bond. Turning to exit the barn, he squeezes Silas’ shoulder on the way past but doesn’t make eye contact, giving him little chance to stop him from leaving. He doesn’t believe his brother will bicker about family drama in front of the wolves, not when it would sour the mood of the performance.

Isa:

She's barely holding herself together, once Blair stops railing on her with her fists, but barely makes a sound. Something akin to a shaky breath leaves her lips, and she doesn't know if what falls down her cheekbones is sweat, blood, or tears. Her wrists are limp against the chains as her head lulls forward, unable to hold herself upright for much longer; she thinks she sees Thomas heal Blair, but its a blur, even Presley looks foggy through her eyes. 

Its hard not to focus on her pain, but its everywhere, on her chest, on her ribs, on her abdomen. In a fair fight she might have the upper hand, but with the wolfsbane weakening her body its so incapacitating she can barely move, and when she finally decides to speak up, her words tremble, her lips shake, they come through a bloodied mouth and a hoarse voice. "When... all of this is over..." She spats and even though her eyes are on Presley, the threat is for Blair, and only Blair. "... I'm going... to slit your throat... and I'm going... to enjoy it. Remember that... Falcos... Keep their word".

Silas:

Silas lingers with his lips pursed. He’s not completely satisfied, what with all of the excessive talking and negotiating, the dropping the knife and the lighter when they were the sole, implied parameters, the lack of the creativity he had expected… but then again, these are wolves, and he’s not completely disappointed either. Isa is in rough shape, and the threat to Blair is the cherry on the cake. It takes a second of mulling over his level of satisfaction before he turns sharply on his heels and begins to follow Thomas. "Come, pet," he commands over his shoulder with a sharp whistle like one might call a dog. "Leave them."

Blair:

She doesn't know what she was expecting, but the bitter taste of blood explodes on her tongue as Thomas shoves his bleeding hand against her lips. There is a slight albeit futile struggle, and there is a stark look of shocked betrayal on her face before she forces it away. She supposes this is a small price to pay for defying their demands, but as he walks away from her, she can feel the split skin on her knuckles beginning to knit back together. The ache remains, but as though this had happened days ago, not minutes. 

Isa's threat, as labored as her words are, hits home and Blair turns, caught between Silas and Thomas' retreating backs, and Presley and Isa still hanging by their chains. She wants to ask how long they'll be locked up, but she knows she's not supposed to. She's not supposed to care about them. But she also can't say nothing. So she walks back over to Isa, uncaring about the bloody mess that is spattered around her. She tilts her head up, gently but with purpose, and she blocks her view of Presley so that the wolf has to focus on her. 

"If you manage to get the jump on me, I'll let you do it." She forces a levity into her words, but she means them nonetheless. Not that either of them would understand. She doesn't bother to look at Presley as she turns and follows the vampires. 

Blair needs to find Ellery.

[space-blue]

The Witch’s Son

I have complicated emotions regarding this one... I feel like it was a good idea, and short 1k word to truly make sense. And yet it co-won. Fifth competition win.

In the small but cosmopolitan city of Avon, there is an apartment building whose top floor flat is so filled with greenery, its balconies and roof so lush with plant-life, it would have made a Babylonian king feel at home. In the middle of this potted jungle stands a young man, broad of shoulders but with the slender build of a scholar. He leans on the railing, watching the sky bleed through the hues of evening. His dark hair catches in the breeze and dances with the ferns, making him quite the brooding picture.

His name is Lionel Delavine, the only son of the famous French witch Ayla Delavine, and in his hands rests a little corpse. To untrained eyes it would look like the nightmare child of a dragonfly and a praying mantis. To knowing ones, it is an ephemeral construct, created by an elemental or a witch. This one was made by Lionel's younger sister, when last she passed through Avon, but powered by his own magic. It has come home to die, and tell its maker tales of this day: heroics and close calls with death, and the more mundane minutes of travels on the winds and the sights of the city. It was its entire life story: born in the morning, it returned animated by the last bursts of its fugacious life.

Lionel puts the little creature down in its usual pot, and seals it for the night. His phone buzzes in his pocket, but he lets it go to voicemail, his thoughts too deeply entrenched in the maze of theoretical magic to escape quite yet. The ephemeral reported something unexpected this evening: it had expressed a sense of loneliness during some hours of its day, and a feeling of familiarity with that emotion, like it was nothing new. Of course it wasn't. Lionel's magic ensured the Ephemeral was reborn each morning at dawn, and it had gone about its business unknowing it had been doing so for the past fortnight. That vague awareness breaking the boundaries of its natural death is not completely unexpected. The whole thing is, after all, an experiment. It has simply gone somewhere Lionel could probably not puzzle out on his own.

He is but a witch's son, gifted at birth with a single Talent, and unable to learn and acquire more, unlike his sisters. Learning the theory behind a magic one cannot practice is a lot like learning mountaineering whilst living on an atoll. Not entirely impossible, but close. Lionel's pocket buzzes again, and he whips it out to find a missed call and a text, from Sandra, saying 'They're here, meet me at the Corner'.

He sighs, pleased at the prospect of a simple night's work.

----

The Corner is the supernatural community's watering hole in Avon, and inn for those passing through. It is also where the humans in the know come to rub elbows and search for deals and contracts. It is always a busy place and tonight is no exception. When Lionel pushes the door and people turn to take the newcomer in, the din of conversation dies, breath is held, heads nodded, and signs of respect waved. Some tense, others relax. The one thing humans of our age get wrong in their stories is that the apex predators are not the mythical vampires or werewolves, but witches. Lionel may only be a witch's son, but the second rung on the ladder of power isn't a meagre birthright.

He makes his way through the room, scanning for strangers through the crowd. There is a biker in rotting denims at the bar, a large finger buried so far up his nose there must be a gold nugget in there. Three men are huddled over their beers on a table by the jukebox. A red-haired woman is wolfing down a super-sized fish and chips in a booth.

"Here!" A woman with green hair waves from the adjoining booth.

"Evening, Sandra."

"Glad you could make it," she says, looking all business.

Sandra is an elemental, owner of a shop where she applies her single power–to make living things grow faster–to great commercial success. Most of Lionel's plants come from her nurseries. She also grows people's hair and nails, and employs two rather sanguine humans, Chen and Charlie, to work their art on those customers.

"I always have time for policing. So, where are they?"

Sandra tips her head, her full, richly coloured mane cascading over her shoulders, but her golden eyes never leave his.

"The blokes at that table."

"I guessed as much."

"They came back into the shop today," she murmurs, "gave Chen a scare. Ranted about taking over, me owing them protection now."

"Don't they always?" Lionel sighs, leaning over the table, reaching for his friend's shoulder. "Thanks. I'm sorry they targeted you first. I'll take care of it."

"Tonight? 'Cause now that they've seen us together..."

"Oh yes," he says, getting up, "I'll deal with them right now."

Sandra makes to speak, but Lionel has already turned away. For a moment he faces the men glowering at him over empty glasses, then he leaves. Outside the air is crisp now that the evening has succumbed to the night. The Corner is out of the way, close to the canal that winds its lazy way through the town towards the factories. Lionel picks up the pace. There is laughter behind him, shouts and heckles. They're following alright. He veers back into the town, through an empty business district, between large towers whose minimalist entrance halls are left lit and vacant, forlorn like some corporate purgatory.

"Hey, you in a hurry?"

"Yeah man, come over here!"

The men are all bluster now that they've caught up with Lionel in a deserted area. They fan out around him, and he takes a closer look at them.

"What can I do for you chaps?"

"For us?" the tallest asks, rolling his biceps under his shirt.

"You can leave the city without a fight," the calmest of them says.

"I'm afraid that won't be possible. Avon's my home and under my protection."

The last, a lanky blond youth, explodes in a hysterical laugher.

"Your protection mate?" he barks, "what's that worth? You're just a stupid magus. We're gonna eat ya up."

"Chill. We can probably talk this out," the calm one says.

The leader, then. Lionel watches them pace around him. There is an order, a harmony to their work of intimidation.

"What kind of shifters are you?" He asks.

Blondie flinches at his guess but the leader answers obligingly.

"Dingoes."

Lionel smiles in disbelief. Do they really think that three dingoes could face him and win?

"You know, you'd be more than welcome in the community. We don't have to do this."

"But we do!" The leader says. "Why shouldn't we, when this city is ripe for the taking? We couldn't believe that no one's tried, even though it's only got you for protection."

"Don't you think that's what deters wannabe overtakers?"

"What? You may be the son of that Ayla witch, but word is you're always locked up in that tower of your, trimming your bushes. I reckon we'll take a shot at it, ay?"

"After all we've got good arguments," the tall one adds, pulling out a gun. The others follow suit.

That, Lionel decides, explains their reckless optimism.

"Alright then," he says, "let's do this." And he steps towards the twitchy blond youth.

The shot makes a bright flash with a ridiculously tiny noise. Silencing seals? Expensive guns, Lionel thinks as his body crashes to the floor.

"Wow, that easy?" Tall one asks, surprised.

"Not really," Lionel answers, lifting his head.

The man yelps, startled, and shoots him twice more. Blood pools around him, but Lionel laughs. The men's panicked eyes roll, flashing white like the muzzles of their guns. Bullets rip through him and splash in the ever widening flow of his blood, a garish red under the electric lights.

When it has sipped far under their feet, Lionel dies, and takes them all with him.

----

"You okay mate?"

Lionel accepts the dingoes' leader's proffered hand.

"What a headache," blondie moans.

"Sure is."

"What the hell happened?"

Lionel looks at the bewildered men nursing throbbing temples.

"Don't you remember?" He asks them. "You came to me to ask me for straight work and protection in Avon. I'm taking you to Vendict's construction site. He'll have bed and board for you there too."

"Really?" Blondie beams. The tall man laughs.

"Well, you paid with those guns after all, it'll help settle you down. As I said, he's a fox shifter, you'll get right along."

The leader's feature soften, anxiety lifting its heavy grip.

"After so long on the road, and nowhere to call home... Thank you."

"It's alright," Lionel says, smiling back at them. "Welcome to Avon. Now let's hurry, I've got to get home before dawn breaks."

~~ January 2018 – Theme : Rebirth/Renewal

[millysaurusrex]

I love your stories. Could you maybe write something about Gendrya naming their first born son Sandor? Thank you!

Father

Arya loved her father more than anything. Ned Stark was the greatest man who ever lived, if she had anything to say about it. She remembered gathering wild flowers from the fields in summer for him, and the smile that would crinkle his eyes as she presented him with her messy bouquets.

Her father never scolded her for playing with her brothers, and always laughed when she’d sneak away from her sewing lessons to best little Bran in archery, even when her mother would fix him with a stern look. He was the only person in the world who seemed to love her for who she truly was - well, except for perhaps Jon Snow - and Arya worshiped him for it.

He was kind and just and honorable. As a child, she had thought honor the most important trait a person could have, and Ned Stark was considered the most honorable man in the Seven Kingdoms. But the way that some men sneered the title, the honorable Ned Stark, made her think that not all were impressed by her lord father. She had never cared what they thought - what were the opinions of a few jealous lords compared to her beloved father?

But, in the blistering heat of the South, she learned that honor could very well get a man killed. It had killed her father. And with the swing of a massive sword, her faith in honor rolled down the steps of the Sept along with her father’s head.

—-

The journey up the King’s Road to the Wall was arduous and bloody. She often felt close to death each time a team of bandits decided to rob their little camp or a particularly daring prisoner took an interest in her. Yoren did he best to shield her.

“Until we reach the Wall, you’re no longer Arya Stark,” he hissed in that accent of his that reminded her so much of home. “You’d do best to remember that, lest you want to have every raper here seeing who could put their bastard in a high-born girl.”

He was not one of her father’s bannermen, instead a sworn brother of the Night’s Watch, and a close friend of her uncle Benjen. He’d been the one to smuggle her out of the city. He’d shielded her eyes as the Mountain took her father’s head before a cheering crowd. Yoren was certainly not her father, but he was as devoted to protecting her as a father might.

So when ser Amory Lorch drove a sword through the back of his neck, Arya mourned for him.

—-

Beric Dondarrion was once a bannerman of House Stark. It might be strange to think that the leader of the Brotherhood Without Banners was once a lord himself, but Arya had regarded him with the cold disinterest that befit a man who broke his vows to his liege lord.

He looked different, but Arya supposed that’s what happened when a man was killed and brought back to life over and over. She had known little about the lightning lord when she was a child. (She was always far more interested in the stories of knights and dragon riders to care what other lords got up to.) And anyway, any man who abandoned his honor to be an outlaw and had no qualms about abducting children was no true knight to her.

“You’re not our prisoner, little lady,” He repeated Thoros of Myr’s earlier declaration. “We will get you back to your lady mother.”

“For a price,” she sneered. Beric shrugged.

“We do what we must to survive, little lady. And we need gold to survive.”

Later, she’d been laying by the fire when she overheard Beric reminiscing over his numerous resurrections with Thoros.

“Can you revive a man with no head?” She’d asked softly.

“Each time I awaken by the flames, I’m a little less the man I was before. Lord Stark was a good, honorable man. I would never wish such a life on him.”

She’d wanted to ask what an outlaw could possibly know about honor, but she kept her mouth shut. She’d been right, of course, because a moon’s turn later, he sold off her only friend to a Red Witch.

His name was added to her list for that.

(But years later, in the darkest recesses of her ancestral home, she’d cry over his beaten, broken body.)

— -

The Hound was a miserable old shit. He stank of wine and piss half the time and never seemed to care that it bothered her, even as she struggled violently against his strong grip.

“You’re not going anywhere wolf-bitch. Not until I get my gold from that twat of a King you call a brother.”

He’d been on her list for a very long time. She often dreamed about running him through with Needle. He’d killed Mycah. It’d be poetic justice. Her father always said that the man who passes the sentence should swing the sword.

Robb would surely allow her the honor.

When they reached the Twins, she’d felt an almost ecstatic glee at the thought of seeing his head on a spike.

But, it wasn’t his head that would be lost that night. Robb had always looked so much like their mother…the sight of Grey Wind’s bloody head mounted onto her brother’s mutilated body would haunt her for the rest of her life.

She’d cried into the Hound’s armor that night.

He was there the first time she killed a man.

He was a Frey soldier. Some beady eyed fuck. She didn’t care what his name was or who he was, he’d been there with the others, had slaughtered her mother, brother and the good sister she’d never met. He’d declared war on House Stark by slaying Robb’s direwolf.

Had it not been for the Hound, she might have died at the hands of Frey’s, too. And when they sat eating the abandoned food surrounded by dead soldiers, he’d asked if that was her first kill. 

(She told him that it was her first man.)

She returned the favor in a tavern some time later. The Lannister soldier who stole her sword was there and he joined them at their little table, cheerfully insisting that the Hound join them to raid and pillage their way through the Seven Kingdoms. She still hated him, but she couldn’t help the smirk when he told the twat that king could go fuck himself. When the Hound flipped the table onto the Lannister soldier, he easily killed each of his men. He was fighting the last of the men when Poliver snuck up behind him ready to strike. Before he could deliver he killing blow, she incapacitated him, snatched back Needle, and drove it into his throat.

They shared a love for killing, or so Arya quipped much to the Hound’s chagrin. He snapped that he no one liked killing and laughed when she told him that she would have killed King Joffrey with a chicken bone, had she gotten to him first.

The last time she spoke to him, before he journeyed to the North to fight alongside her brother, he’d been dying. He’d demanded that she kill him and taunted her when she refused. Instead, she took his coins and made her way to the nearest shipyard.

(She’d taken his name off her list long ago.)

—-

Traveling with the Hound was not the cleverest of ideas, but Arya knew she’d prefer no other companion. He wasn’t the chatty type and neither was she, so they mostly journeyed to King’s Landing in comfortable silence.

Three days ride from the Red Keep, she found herself regretting her decision.

“Did he ever find you?”

“Who?” She asked, biting into the leg of rabbit she’d caught. 

“Who?  That bastard blacksmith of yours.”

She hadn’t expected him to bring up that. “Gendry?”

“Yes, the new Lord Baratheon. The twat nearly was nearly out of his trousers trying to find you.” His laugh sounds cold in his gravely voice.

She refused to look into his eyes. “He found me.” And that was that and neither of them bring up the new Lord of Storms End again.

—-

Losing her father had been the hardest thing she’d ever went through. Seeing the downtrodden look on his face had broken her heart because she knew he was dying the worst kind of death - the death of a traitor.

She never expected to feel the loss of another as boldly as she did her lord father. But, as they stood there in the crumbling shell of the Red Keep, she knew that her heart was breaking again. Saying goodbye was never easy, and Arya was alarmed at how difficult it was to part with the Hound. They had shared so much of their journey together, from the death of her brother to the battle against the dead. It was with a heavy heart that she realized that she could remember the Hound’s many lessons more clearly than those of her father.

He’d become somewhat of a father somewhere along the way, she supposed. And so when he demanded that she live, she knew she had no other choice but to obey. They would never see each other again, she knew. She’d gotten her revenge and now it was his turn to cross a name off his list, the only name on his list - Gregor Clegane.

“Sandor, thank you.”

It was the first time she’d ever called him by that name, the first time she ever said it out loud.

It made him smile.

—-

When she was little, she had loved her father more than anything. He was the only man who ever allowed her to be herself, and never blamed her for not being a lady.

That is, until she meets Gendry. Gendry loves that she rides horses and wears breeches. He never scolds her for sparing in the training yard - he makes the weapons she uses. He laughs when she makes unladylike quips at the lords who feel bold enough to remark on her behavior. When a man makes a vulgar pass at her he smirks and tells the little lordling, who is cowering in his boots before the burly Lord of Storm’s End, that it isn’t he that the lord should fear, it’s the lady herself.

Gendry is kind and brave and honorable. He stood by her side when they were children and he’d defended her even when he thought she was a little bastard boy named Arry. He’d gone beyond the wall with her brother and fought side by side with their allies when the dead came marching down onto Winterfell. He’d nearly lost his life during the battle of King’s Landing.

She once told her father that she’d never marry a lord, that it wasn’t her. And her father had smiled warmly and she’d felt loved. When she repeats the words again, it’s with a heavier heart, and the look on the newly legitimized Lord Baratheon’s face makes her feel like she’s run him through with her sword.

She tries not to think about that, though, because there is no use ruminating on the past anymore. Not when they’ve survived so much. Not when they have so much to live for.

(And so when she sees him again, standing in his new castle, with a new limp and a new name, she tells him she could be his lady.)

When they marry beneath the heart tree, she wants to weep, because it is Jon who takes her cloak from Gendry and not her father. She smiles happily at her beloved cousin anyway, and knows that he is watching down on her with pride.

House Stark has finally joined with House Baratheon.

—-

It takes a great deal of strength to be a good father. She’s met enough men and women to know what the loss of such a role model can do to a person. But, she also knows that a man does not have to be related by blood to be a good one.

However, Gendry will be a wonderful father. He dotes on her while she is heavy with child, and coos at her belly whenever their babe kicks. He never knew his father, Arya knows, but he is as loving and kind and honorable as her own. When she goes into labor, it is in the highest room of the single tower that is Storm’s End. Her dutiful husband refuses to leave her side, although his men insist that it is tradition for the man to go hunting during the birthing. He eagerly follows each and every one of her commands; even the most ridiculous, which makes him run up and down the stairs to and from the kitchens for fruits and honey.

He never complains, never argues, which makes her roll her eyes, because he’s never been afraid to tell her she can go shove it.

He will be a good father, she knows, because he stands there by her side and allows her to nearly crush his fingers in her deathly grip as they welcome their twin sons into the world.

(It is a surprise but a welcomed one, and Arya and Gendry clutch their babies to their chest.)

“We should name them after our fathers .” Arya says, staring into one of her son’s red screaming face. His eyes have not opened yet, but she hopes they’re Baratheon blue. “So, you’ll be little Ned.”

She smiles at her husband who is staring wide eyed at the screeching little bundle in his arms. “I never knew my father…it doesn’t feel right to name my son after him.”

She raises a brow and smiles. “Then what would you prefer his name be?”

Gendry looks at her then, those eyes she loves so much staring deeply into her own. “I think our sons deserve to be named after the brave men who taught their brilliant mother what honor is. He’ll be Sandor.”

“Sandor.” She whispers, and her heart feels like it’s going to explode.

[alayne-stonecoldfox]

Sansa and Songs

Sansa’s love of songs is shown early on in the books, and is a an important part of her character as well as her narrative.

Once, when she was just a little girl, a wandering singer had stayed with them at Winterfell for half a year. An old man he was, with white hair and windburnt cheeks, but he sang of knights and quests and ladies fair, and Sansa had cried bitter tears when he left them, and begged her father not to let him go. "The man has played us every song he knows thrice over," Lord Eddard told her gently. "I cannot keep him here against his will. You need not weep, though. I promise you, other singers will come."They hadn't, though, not for a year or more. Sansa had prayed to the Seven in their sept and old gods of the heart tree, asking them to bring the old man back, or better still to send another singer, young and handsome. But the gods never answered, and the halls of Winterfell stayed silent.

Many different characters comment on it

Lady Catelyn had said that Sansa was a gentle soul who loved lemon cakes, silken gowns, and songs of chivalry - Brienne

So the singer played for her, so soft and sad that Arya only heard snatches of the words, though the tune was half-familiar. Sansa would know it, I bet. Her sister had known all the songs, and she could even play a little, and sing so sweetly.- Arya

Sansa Stark, he mused. Soft-spoken sweet-smelling Sansa, who loved silks, songs, chivalry and tall gallant knights with handsome faces.- Tyrion

Her love of songs is at first tied to the way she wishes to see the world, her innocence, her dreams and her naivety. She has lived a happy and sheltered life, she is the beautiful daughter of a noble house, and has no reason to think her life would not be like the heroines of the songs she loves. This is her romanticised view of the world.

All she wanted was for things to be nice and pretty, the way they were in the songs.

Be brave, she told herself. Be brave, like a lady in a song.

"It is better than the songs," she whispered when they found the places that her father had promised her, among the high lords and ladies. Sansa was dressed beautifully that day, in a green gown that brought out the auburn of her hair, and she knew they were looking at her and smiling.

Sansa insisted. "I don't want someone brave and gentle, I want him. We'll be ever so happy, just like in the songs, you'll see. I'll give him a son with golden hair, and one day he'll be the king of all the realm, the greatest king that ever was, as brave as the wolf and as proud as the lion."

This quote below is one of the first times Sansa instead associates songs with a negative connotation, but in an interesting way.

The young knight in the blue cloak was nothing to her, some stranger from the Vale of Arryn whose name she had forgotten as soon as she heard it. And now the world would forget his name too, Sansa realized; there would be no songs sung for him. That was sad.

She has just witnessed a young Vale knight die in the joust. It is described as :

“the most terrifying moment of the day came during Ser Gregor's second joust, when his lance rode up and struck a young knight from the Vale under the gorget with such force that it drove through his throat, killing him instantly. The youth fell not ten feet from where Sansa was seated.”

Sansa’s reaction is recorded alongside her friend Jeyne’s

Jeyne Poole wept so hysterically that Septa Mordane finally took her off to regain her composure, but Sansa sat with her hands folded in her lap, watching with a strange fascination. She had never seen a man die before. She ought to be crying too, she thought, but the tears would not come.

I love this part of the book. It’s Sansa’s first, very blunt, encounter with death, though it takes place in such a wonderful colourful atmosphere, a court joust, where she’s been having the time of her life and has always dreamed of being part of. It is even quoted by her as being ‘a song come to life’. The way it’s written seems like she can’t quite process what she’s just seen. The reality of the death. The only thing that registers with her truly in that moment is that he won’t be the one the songs are sung for, and that’s what she finds most tragic. It is a shallow take on it. She is still a young girl caught up in songs and not reality.

This passage happens in Sansa’s third chapter, when Ned has decided Ser Gregor is to be brought before the Kings Justice, and Loras volunteers to bring him in but Ned refuses to send him. Sansa doesn’t understand why, and says this to her Septa, and Petyr Baelish overhears

Her father's decision still bewildered her. When the Knight of Flowers had spoken up, she'd been sure she was about to see one of Old Nan's stories come to life. Ser Gregor was the monster and Ser Loras the true hero who would slay him. He even looked a true hero, so slim and beautiful, with golden roses around his slender waist and his rich brown hair tumbling down into his eyes. 

Lord Baelish stroked his little pointed beard and said, "Nothing? Tell me, child, why would you have sent Ser Loras?"Sansa had no choice but to explain about heroes and monsters. The king's councillor smiled. "Well, those are not the reasons I'd have given, but …" He had touched her cheek, his thumb lightly tracing the line of a cheekbone. "Life is not a song, sweetling. You may learn that one day to your sorrow."

Again, a moment highlighted Sansa’s naivety and how she truly believes life would be like the songs, Ser Loras defeating Gregor because he is the handsome young knight and Gregor the monster. It is also the first introduction of the line “life is not a song sweetling” which will be echoed throughout Sansa’s chapters from this point on, as her innocent world view is shattered and her naivety chipped away. The line is impactful coming from Petyr Baelish of all people, as he was once also a young boy who’s world vision was crafted from songs. 

"There's a song," he remembered. "'Jenny of Oldstones, with the flowers in her hair.'""We're all just songs in the end. If we are lucky." She had played at being Jenny that day, had even wound flowers in her hair. And Petyr had pretended to be her Prince of Dragonflies. Catelyn could not have been more than twelve, Petyr just a boy.

Did you come with Lord Bracken and Lord Blackwood, the time they visited to lay their feud before my father? Lord Bracken’s singer played for us, and Catelyn danced six dances with Petyr that night, six, I counted.

He believed Catelyn Stark was being married against her will in an arranged marriage to Brandon Stark, falsely believing Cat loved him and he had taken her maiden head (he hadn’t, he was drunk and it was Lysa) and they were going to be together despite his lower birth, and he could fight for her hand, because that was how it happened in the songs where the gallant young hero’s always won. But that’s not what happened, and Petyr lost everything in that duel, his home at Riverrun, his ties with House Tully and what he thought was his true love, and from that point onwards he descended into bitterness, becoming a man of ruthless practicality. He recognises the same innocence in Sansa with a knowingness that it will not last.

Another key figure in Sansa’s narrative relating to songs is The Hound. From the beginning of her chapters he derisively refers to Sansa as a little bird who sings songs.

Some septa trained you well. You're like one of those birds from the Summer Isles, aren't you? A pretty little talking bird, repeating all the pretty little words they taught you to recite."

Tell me, little bird, what kind of god makes a monster like the Imp, or a halfwit like Lady Tanda's daughter? If there are gods, they made sheep so wolves could eat mutton, and they made the weak for the strong to play with."

A hound will die for you, but never lie to you. And he'll look you straight in the face." He cupped her under the jaw, raising her chin, his fingers pinching her painfully. "And that's more than little birds can do, isn't it? I never got my song.""I . . . I know a song about Florian and Jonquil.”"Florian and Jonquil? A fool and his cunt. Spare me. But one day I'll have a song from you, whether you will it or no."

The Hound seems to resent Sansa’s innocence. He is a character that certainly knows how harsh the world is, and he see’s Sansa’s world views as foolish, and every chance he gets he seems to want to wake her up to the real world, whilst also acting as a protector. She brings out a lot of conflicting feelings within him, as he does in Sansa, as he does not fit her idea at all of what a knight was meant to be. His harsh demeanour is very confronting to her throughout her early chapters, culminating in a scene in her room where he seemingly planned on raping her, but could bring himself to do it, because as much as he hated her innocence, it touches him as well. He settles on wanting a song.

"Think I'm so drunk that I'd believe that?" He let go his grip on her arm, swaying slightly as he stood, stripes of light and darkness falling across his terrible burnt face. "You look almost a woman . . . face, teats, and you're taller too, almost . . . ah, you're still a stupid little bird, aren't you? Singing all the songs they taught you . . . sing me a song, why don't you? Go on. Sing to me. Some song about knights and fair maids. You like knights, don't you?"He was scaring her. "T-true knights, my lord."

I could keep you safe," he rasped. "They're all afraid of me. No one would hurt you again, or I'd kill them." He yanked her closer, and for a moment she thought he meant to kiss her. He was too strong to fight. She closed her eyes, wanting it to be over, but nothing happened. "Still can't bear to look, can you?" she heard him say. He gave her arm a hard wrench, pulling her around and shoving her down onto the bed. "I'll have that song. Florian and Jonquil, you said." His dagger was out, poised at her throat. "Sing, little bird. Sing for your little life."Her throat was dry and tight with fear, and every song she had ever known had fled from her mind. Please don't kill me, she wanted to scream, please don't. She could feel him twisting the point, pushing it into her throat, and she almost closed her eyes again, but then she remembered. It was not the song of Florian and Jonquil, but it was a song. Her voice sounded small and thin and tremulous in her ears.

This scene, as well as the entirety of the chapters that come after Ned’s death and covering the battle of the blackwater, references songs in a new dark way in Sansa’s chapters.

Perhaps I will die too, she told herself, and the thought did not seem so terrible to her. If she flung herself from the window, she could put an end to her suffering, and in the years to come the singers would write songs of her grief.

She called for the heroes from the songs, for Florian and Ser Ryam Redwyne and Prince Aemon the Dragonknight, but no one heard. Women swarmed over her like weasels, pinching her legs and kicking her in the belly, and someone hit her in the face and she felt her teeth shatter. Then she saw the bright glimmer of steel. The knife plunged into her belly and tore and tore and tore, until there was nothing left of her down there but shiny wet ribbons.

She heard it as she had never heard it before, and there were other sounds as well, grunts of pain, angry curses, shouts for help, and the moans of wounded and dying men. In the songs, the knights never screamed nor begged for mercy.

The deep moan of warhorns, the creak and thud of catapults flinging stones, the splashes and splinterings, the crackle of burning pitch and thrum of scorpions loosing their yard-long iron-headed shafts . . . and beneath it all, the cries of dying men.It was another sort of song, a terrible song.

They are children, Sansa thought. They are silly little girls, even Elinor. They've never seen a battle, they've never seen a man die, they know nothing. Their dreams were full of songs and stories, the way hers had been before Joffrey cut her father's head off. Sansa pitied them. Sansa envied them.

Do you have any notion what happens when a city is sacked, Sansa? No, you wouldn't, would you? All you know of life you learned from singers, and there's such a dearth of good sacking songs.""True knights would never harm women and children." The words rang hollow in her ears even as she said them.

For those who remained, a singer was brought forth to fill the hall with the sweet music of the high harp. He sang of Jonquil and Florian, of Prince Aemon the Dragonknight and his love for his brother's queen, of Nymeria's ten thousand ships. They were beautiful songs, but terribly sad. Several of the women began to weep, and Sansa felt her own eyes growing moist."Very good, dear." The queen leaned close. "You want to practice those tears. You'll need them for King Stannis."

But a voice inside her whispered, There are no heroes, and she remembered what Lord Petyr had said to her, here in this very hall. "Life is not a song, sweetling," he'd told her. "You may learn that one day to your sorrow." 

Sansa’s world view has begun to change as she is no longer naive and has suffered tragedy, and nothing is happening as she thought it would. She still seems to love songs, but now there’s a lot of melancholy attached to them.

The third key figure in Sansa’s narrative associated with songs, after Petyr Baelish and the hound, is Marillion. Her Aunt Lysa’s favourite singer who she encounters first at the Fingers during Petyr and Lysa’s marriage, where he attempts to sing to her and rape her.

"Marillion?" she said, uncertain. "You are . . . kind to think of me, but . . . pray forgive me. I am very tired.""And very beautiful. All night I have been making songs for you in my head. A lay for your eyes, a ballad for your lips, a duet to your breasts. I will not sing them, though. They were poor things, unworthy of such beauty." He sat on her bed and put his hand on her leg. "Let me sing to you with my body instead." She caught a whiff of his breath. "You're drunk.""I never get drunk. Mead only makes me merry. I am on fire." His hand slipped up to her thigh. "And you as well."

Luckily, he is scared off by Lothor Brune, who is asked by Petyr Baelish to watch over her that night. But Marillion and his singing factor again into one of the biggest moments of Sansa and Baelish’s story so far, as he plays his harp and sings to cover the sounds of Lysa’s attempt at killing Sansa by throwing her through the moon door.

“No." Sansa planted her feet and tried to squirm backward, but her aunt did not budge. "Not this way. Please . . ." She put a hand up, her fingers scrabbling at the doorframe, but she could not get a grip, and her feet were sliding on the wet marble floor. Lady Lysa pressed her forward inexorably. Her aunt outweighed her by three stone. "The lady lay a-kissing, upon a mound of hay," Marillion was singing. Sansa twisted sideways, hysterical with fear, and one foot slipped out over the void. She screamed. "Hey-nonny, hey-nonny, hey-nonny-hey." The wind flapped her skirts up and bit at her bare legs with cold teeth. She could feel snowflakes melting on her cheeks. Sansa flailed, found Lysa's thick auburn braid, and clutched it tight. "My hair!" her aunt shrieked. "Let go of my hair!" She was shaking, sobbing. They teetered on the edge. Far off, she heard the guards pounding on the door with their spears, demanding to be let in. Marillion broke off his song."Lysa! What's the meaning of this?" The shout cut through the sobs and heavy breathing. Footsteps echoed down the High Hall. "Get back from there! Lysa, what are you doing?" The guards were still beating at the door; Littlefinger had come in the back way, through the lords' entrance behind the dais.

Petyr comes in time to stop it. Of course, we know this is when he kills Lysa himself. Marillion is witness to all of this. Petyr decides to keep him alive for his own ends, sending him to the dungeons to be tortured into now defending their innocence.

"We have come to an agreement, Marillion and I. Mord can be most persuasive. And if our singer disappoints us and sings a song we do not care to hear, why, you and I need only say he lies. Whom do you imagine Lord Nestor will believe?""Us?" Sansa wished she could be certain.

"Lord Petyr has been kind enough to let me keep my harp," the blind singer said. "My harp and . . . my tongue . . . so I may sing my songs. Lady Lysa dearly loved my singing . . ."

Sansa most traumatic moment, the moment she almost died, was serenaded with a song. Now she and Petyr use that singer to cover the crime of Lysa’s death with Sansa being able to hear him from down in the dungeons where he sings at night.

The singer's voice was strong and sweet. Sansa thought he sounded better than he ever had before, his voice richer somehow, full of pain and fear and longing. She did not understand why the gods would have given such a voice to such a wicked man.

He would have taken me by force on the Fingers if Petyr had not set Ser Lothor to watch over me, she had to remind herself. And he played to drown out my cries when Aunt Lysa tried to kill me.That did not make the songs any easier to hear.

 "Please," she begged Lord Petyr, "can't you make him stop?""I gave the man my word, sweetling." Petyr Baelish, Lord of Harrenhal, Lord Paramount of the Trident, and Lord Protector of the Eyrie and the Vale of Arryn, looked up from the letter he was writing. He had written a hundred letters since Lady Lysa's fall. Sansa had seen the ravens coming and going from the rookery. "I'd sooner suffer his singing than listen to his sobbing."

That night the dead man sang "The Day They Hanged Black Robin," "The Mother's Tears," and "The Rains of Castamere." Then he stopped for a while, but just as Sansa began to drift off he started to play again. He sang "Six Sorrows," "Fallen Leaves," and "Alysanne." Such sad songs, she thought. When she closed her eyes she could see him in his sky cell, huddled in a corner away from the cold black sky, crouched beneath a fur with his woodharp cradled against his chest. I must not pity him, she told herself. He was vain and cruel, and soon he will be dead. She could not save him. And why should she want to? Marillion tried to rape her, and Petyr had saved her life not once but twice. Some lies you have to tell. Lies had been all that kept her alive in King's Landing.

Marillion in his entirety really opens up a more troubling world view for Sansa to start to digest. He was beautiful and young and a singer, but he tried to rape her. He tried to aid in her murder. He was tortured into defending her and Baelish. She knows he will be killed. Sansa is conflicted by all of this, feeling haunted by his sad songs as she tried to sleep but can’t. He has given her a lot to think about regarding her survival but also her morality.

"My lady was too trusting for this world." Petyr spoke so tenderly that Sansa would have believed he'd loved his wife. "Lysa could not see the evil in men, only the good. Marillion sang sweet songs, and she mistook that for his nature."

Songs have been weaved throughout Sansa’s narrative consistently, alongside three men who enforce these links even more. The Hound who wanted a song, Lord Baelish who was once a lover of songs himself, and Marillion, the singer. I believe that songs will continue to play a thematic role in Sansa’s chapters, but i would say the dreams and innocence once associated with them in her mind is long gone.

The moment came back to her vividly. "You told me that life was not a song. That I would learn that one day, to my sorrow." She felt tears in her eyes, but whether she wept for Ser Dontos Hollard, for Joff, for Tyrion, or for herself, Sansa could not say. 

As the boy's lips touched her own she found herself thinking of another kiss. She could still remember how it felt, when his cruel mouth pressed down on her own. He had come to Sansa in the darkness as green fire filled the sky. He took a song and a kiss, and left me nothing but a bloody cloak.It made no matter. That day was done, and so was Sansa.

That day was done, and so was Sansa.

That day was done, and so was Sansa.

That day was done, and so was Sansa.

[bounty-of-apples]

Save Our Souls, They're All The Worth We Have Left

Relationships: Tomomi/Canach

Characters: Luna, Ashal, Tomomi, Canach

Tags: Minor Character Death (mentioned)

Ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23149831

Summery: At the afterparty of Tomomi and Canach renewing their vows to celebrate 5 years of marriage, Luna gets rather drunk and starts telling stories about her and her brother's adventures.

“He must have been… Well, not much past being a sapling and I remember,” Luna giggles into her drink, her attempts to take a sip disrupted by her laughing, “I found him scrambled up a tree chucking water down at a very unimpressed Stalker who was clawing at the bottom, like a human flicking water at their misbehaving house cat!” She tilts sideways to lean on Ashal as she cracks herself up again, missing and nearly falling off the seat she’s perched crosslegged on – only the quick reactions of her twin saving her from face-planting the floor.

“Alright Luna, that’s probably enough alcohol and embarrassing stories for now.” Tomomi takes her drink from her and steps back as she tries to grab it from him, once more only saved from falling by Ashal’s hug pulling her back. “You’ve drunk enough for three Norns and I think you’ve given my squad plenty material to use against me for one night.”

She slumps back into her seat and pulls a face so childish, one his squad did not expect from her. It looks out of place on their Commander, most of them have only met her a handful of times, and its always been before, during, or after battle when she is high authority.

“Fine…” She drags the word out and sounds as if she’s ready to sulk, until something in her posture changes and her voice drops softer. “What if I tell you about the time he saved my life.”

His squad had started to gather themselves to leave, but she had definitely caught their attention again. They settled back into their places, spread across the floor in-front of her seat like she was a carer getting children ready for bed.

“It must have been, what, six years ago?” She looks up at Tomomi for confirmation, but he says nothing. He’s sat down with his squad and his husband, who’s come to join them after curiosity got the better of him. Tomomi has pressed himself into Canach’s side, seeking comfort from him before the story has even been told. “It was before the Pact had been formed, I was rising in the ranks of Whisper while my brother did the same within the Vigil. I knew what I was going into I wouldn’t be able to manage with just Trahearne, Tybalt, and myself,” Luna’s voice catches on Trahearne’s name and most of the people listening bow their head for a moment in memory of their late Marshal. All except Aurora, who’s gaze snapped up again at the mention of Tybalt – he was an old friend of hers but it had been so long since she had contact from him. “So I contacted Warmaster Laranthir and requested Tomomi and a handful of other soldiers he could spare to accompany us to Claw Island.” Luna reaches out to Ashal sat beside her and grips her twins hand tightly before continuing.

“We made it there in good time. We knew an attack was coming enough of Zhaitan’s spies had been found loitering nearby that we were well aware it was only a matter of time. Watch Commander Talon had become regrettably complacent in his time on Claw Island and didn’t think it was necessary to listen to us. We tried to warn him. We tried to save everyone… There was only a few at first, few enough that the Lionguard didn’t need our help to take them down. We cleared the beach with them anyway, and maybe thats where we went wrong. That fight was over so quickly Talon was even more sure of his decision that Claw Island was incapable of falling. But then came the ships.” Tomomi stands and walks away from the group, choosing to talk to the other members of Dragon’s Watch rather than relive the battle within his sister’s story.

“Built from bone and rot, they rose from the water bringing the stench of death with them. Their catapults bombarded us with corpses. Most of them stood up to fight, but a few just hit the ground and coated the floor in a thin layer of flesh. We fought off as many as we could and managed to sink one or two of the ships but it made no difference. The walls were overrun, we had to fall back. Talon was a stubborn fool who wouldn’t call the retreat, said that Claw Island had stood for nearly a hundred years and how they couldn’t fall. Took a fatal blow before he realised his mistake. I’m not saying he deserved to die, but out of everyone we lost that day, he’s the one I miss the least. A lot of good people could have survived if he’d swallowed his pride.”

“The Lionguard rallied in the courtyard with the few Vigil I’d brought, drawing the attention of most of the undead while Trahearne, Tybalt, Tomomi, and I fought our way around the edges to reach the beacons. At least if we all fell that day, Lion’s Arch would be warned and ready to fight. We made it, and with all the beacons lit we made the foolish mistake of feeling hopeful. With all our remaining forces gathered in the courtyard, it felt like we could fight our way out without having to lose anyone else. There was already so many good soldiers laying dead by our feet. That was when it arrived. We weren’t ready to face one of the dragon’s champions, no one had any idea what it could do. It came from the skies, crushing one of the outer walls as it landed and letting in the undead that were trapped behind it still. But the worst part was its breath. It spewed corruption like it was Zhaitan itself, crippling and blinding our soldiers as we struggled to retreat. And those of us that had already fallen… The corruption wove its way around their corpses and dragged them into servitude. We found ourselves facing people that mere hours before had been our companions.” As she talked, Luna’s glow had faded to a dull, almost sickly colour, which was made all the more obvious by her twin at her side glowing as brightly as any sylvari in the low lighting of the night should be. On hand was still tightly holding onto Ashal, and with the other she had pulled an amulet off from where it hung at her neck and was gently rubbing at the back, a habit anyone who knows her will have seen her do before when she starts to reminisce.

“Those of us who were unaffected did our best to carry the wounded, but it was clear we weren’t going to get to the ships at the rate we were moving, and it did not seem like the winged beast would let us sail even if we did make it. And then… Tybalt stoped and at first I thought he was hurt. But he turned to me and said that he haven't always lived bravely, but he thought he’d like to die that way. He asked me to believe in him. I trusted that bastard so much, he’d been my partner since I joined Whisper and the chaos we’d gotten ourselves into and out of with the other at our back… Of course I believed in him. He turned and he ran back towards the fighting, closed the gates behind him. Last I heard from him was his shout that he wouldn’t let them have us, and the fiercest battle roar any charr would be proud of. I tried to go back for him. Tried to run in after and take him with us, but Tomomi held me tight. He wouldn’t let me go and dragged me back to the ships along with the rest of the survivors, we barely had enough people to fill one ship, let alone the eight moored there.” Luna stands, a little wobbly from the remaining alcohol in her system, but the stance she takes is one they recognise. It’s a far cry from their captain’s sister sat telling embarrassing stories that she had been earlier in the evening, this is now their Commander stood before them once more, ready to address the soldiers that fall under her lead.

“I would have died with Tybalt that day, if Tomomi hadn’t forced me to retreat with them. I’d never have been here to see the Pact be formed, let alone take command beside Marshal Trahearne. But I can’t help wonder what could have been if Watchmaster Talon had listened to us in the first place. If there’s one thing you take from this story, be it that hubris will not only get you killed, but will get everyone around you killed as well. Or perhaps a fate worse than death, should there be dragon’s corruption involved.”

With that final statement closed, she gives a half bow and leaves them, her wolf having moved from where he was resting on the outskirts of the party to take his place by her side once more as she returns to her own tent. The mood is sufficiently brought down and Tomomi’s squad find themselves unwilling to part ways, instead finding comfort in each other’s presences and choosing to move their bedrolls out under the stars so they can all rest together.

Ashal departs not long after they set themselves up, moving off after her sister to see how she’s faring, and leaving Canach alone to think on the story he’d just heard. His husband had never even shared the information that he’d been at that first fateful battle, and it occurs to him now why he goes so quiet and uncomfortable when Aurora mentions her charr friend, the mechanic. Still, these are thoughts for tomorrow, and he sets off to find his husband so they may enjoy the comfort of a long night in each other’s arms and let what tomorrow brings be the problem of the future.