#north face base camp

[duffelbagreview]

The North Face Base Camp Duffel.

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[p-redux]

I say he is in Nepal, either at base camp, or less likely, scaling Everest. Your opinion on this theory?

Hi, Anon, as I said in a previous post, I have a slight obsession with all things Mount Everest, have read the books, watched the movies, the TV series, and every year when it's the push for the summit in May, I follow climbers on Instagram, and watch their treks up to the highest mountain on Earth. Soooo, I do have some knowledge on this subject. Here's my take...

I know Sam has said in interviews that one of his bucket list items is climbing Mount Everest. And he was supposed to star in that Everest movie. The thing is, climbing to the SUMMIT of Mount Everest is only done in May, usually mid May due to weather constraints. And the prep dictates you have to start 2 months before to acclimate to the high altitude. I'll talk more about that down below. IF you are able to spend the two months in either Nepal for climbing from the South side of Everest, or Tibet (controlled by China) for climbing from the North side of Everest, you will be climbing to almost 29,032 feet, 8,849 meters. This is literally the altitude that jet planes fly once they reach cruising altitude. Sam has this pesky thing called a contract to finish out the remaining seasons of Outlander. I highly doubt his Outlander contract, and the insurance company associated with it, would allow him to take such a risk. Every year, people DIE climbing up or on the way back down from the summit. And some people don't die, but they get severe frostbite and lose fingers, toes, tips of noses. It's not for the faint of heart, and it's not for handsome actors who need to keep their beautiful appendages intact for filming Outlander. Unless the writers can work on a storyline involving Jamie Fraser missing a few, um, things.

Having said that, it IS possible Sam could trek to Mount Everest BASE CAMP. This is the area at the base of the mountain that all climbers go to to prepare to climb higher up, and eventually to the summit. BUT, some people who aren't making summit bids, simply make Base Camp their one and only destination. And that may be a compromise Sam makes with Outlander producers. Base Camp is still REALLY, REALLY high. It's at 17,598 feet, 5,364 meters. Sam isn't putting himself in too much risk at Base Camp...unless there's an avalanche. Sadly, there have been avalanches there and many people have died, as a result, the last one being in 2015.

Everest Base Camp in Nepal is trekked either for the Summit bid season February to May, with all summit bids happening in May. OR, it is trekked JUST for the Base Camp in late September to November. We are now in November, so it IS possible. 👇

BUT, you don't simply hop on a plane and get plopped down at Base Camp's 17,000 feet altitude. You could quite literally die from High Altitude Cerebral Edema and or High Altitude Pulmonary Edema due to the low oxygen levels. Soooo, IF Sam wanted to trek to Mount Everest Base Camp in Nepal, he would have to start acclimating at least two weeks before. All travelers going from Nepal's capital, Kathmandu at an elevation of 4,344 feet stay there for a few days, and then they do a 14 day trek up the mountains, to allow their bodies to acclimate to the altitude and the lower oxygen levels. 👇

Sam would have to allow himself at LEAST 3 WEEKS to make the Everest Base Camp trek. 2 weeks to climb there and acclimate, and then you want to spend at least a week there camping and just being there. Then you have to allow time for the return climb back down. This isn't a weekend excursion.

As for whether Sam is actually trying to climb to Mount Everest SUMMIT. That would be a definite NO. Not only from an Outlander insurance and contract issue, but also because it's not summit climbing season. 👇

And for people who want to climb to the Summit, they have to make a 2 MONTH commitment. The summit climb entails the two weeks to climb to Base Camp. And then at least 6 weeks, climbing up and down from each of the higher camps. I think there are at least 4 camps that climbers stay at, higher and higher on the mountain, until they reach the Summit. 👇

So, if a climber wants to go for a Summit bid, which is always in mid-May, they would have to start in mid-March and literally be on Mount Everest at the various camps the whole two months. It's a huge commitment. Most companies charge around $40,000 for the whole expedition. The reputable ones assign each climber a Sherpa to guide you. The Sherpas are natives to the area and they are expert climbers who are born in the area, therefore their bodies are completely acclimated to the high altitude. The expedition companies hire them to help climbers up the mountain. They set all the safety ropes, set up the camps, make the meals, and deal with the inevitable emergencies along the way. No one should climb without a Sherpa. Also, most companies will only take on a climber for a Summit bid if they can show previous experience in climbing at high altitude and have summitted a few of the highest peaks on Earth. That's not Sam. So, if anything, Sam would probably only be allowed to climb to Base Camp.

As you can see, I'm really, really into all things Everest and could keep writing all day hahaha. But, I'll stop here. I hope that was helpful info, Anon.

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[thescenicbout]

[trulyhblue]

Could you possibly do a Grace Clinton x Reader please based on what Alessia mentioned on her podcast about Grace being a big hugger and like a sloth ! x also love your work ❤️

Just A Hugger

Grace Clinton x Lioness! Reader

Warnings: fluff, secret but established relationship, very short!

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You were sitting on one of the bean bags for the first time all camp, snuggled under an array of blankets, cuddling your phone as you stared up at the TV in front of you. The room was dark, holding refuge to more than a dozen tired athletes, all clad in their sponsored trackies and hoodies. You were among the handful that had been able to snag a bean bag before they were all full.

Alessia and Ella shared one beside you, and Niamh and Lotte planted theirs together in order to create one combined. On the lounges behind you, many of the girls lay across one another, sluggish in their endeavours to soak up some team bonding while also maintaining the silence. Beth had made you a hot chocolate, and Esme had picked the movie, which was of no complaint to anyone, considering the City girl always seemed to know best. You could hear Lauren muttering about her latest Lego creation to LJ, who was somewhat endorsed by the topic of conversation, yet scrolled aimlessly on her phone as she hummed along in agreement, since Hempo’s tangents often let on for prolonged periods.

Your feet peeked out from under the blankets, your fluffy pink socks matching with your girlfriend, who was nowhere to be seen. There was a quiet hum of chatter as the movie played, and everyone was content with the mixture as it was the first time anyone had really gotten to bond with another teammate outside of training.

The euro qualifiers were tough, and your fresh arrival to the team made it even more difficult to mould into a routine. In such high stake games, you certainly weren't looking for any significant game time, but you were a halftime sub during England’s campaign against Sweden, and you were hopeful of getting the same minutes this time against France.

You were younger than most of the girls but had been around professional football for long enough to have known them all for quite some time. You made your debut at United only a few years ago before playing for City in the Youth groups. There you met the likes of Mary, Katie and Ella, who were the first Lionesses that you had truly gotten to know. You had eventually met Grace when she came from Bristol to United, and from then, you were both sent on loan to Tottenham, where your friendship blossomed into a North London Treasure. Fans are no longer sure Grace is a United player, but their NLD golden girl. You were born and raised Manchester-bound, and you were not prepared to face the fact that you were slowly becoming among the faces of Tottenham’s affiliates. It took you a while to process the hurt that came with your loan, and at some points, you envied how quickly Grace fit in with your teammates and the game they played. But you soon moulded well as a striker, especially as your relationship with Grace consumed your everyday life.

You had moved in together as friends and slowly found your deep feelings for her embedded into your heart. The hugs during celebrations, and the post-match interviews matched with longing stares and soft compliments. Fans jumped to the joyride of how calm and collected the two of you held yourselves, especially as a duo in the games. Grace was always helping you up after badly set tackles, and you pushed her away from unnecessary quarrels with opponents. The media would pick up on the assists Grace would give you, and the spectacular goals that came as a result of your chemistry. There weren't any other two players that had this sort of combination together, and clubs were quick to realise that if they wanted one of you, the other was instantly included.

It was only half way through the season when the two of you got together. It was after your win against Arsenal, and the celebrations mixed with alcohol were quick to loosen your tongue. It was a well-kept secret between you two, except your two best friends Charli and Celine had caught on about your feelings long before you had even gotten together. The media were just enamoured by your friendship with Grace. The fans adored the affection you showed each other. There was inevitable shipping rumours, but they never held much significance.

While you liked the privacy of your relationship, Grace wanted to make it known that you were hers. It wasn't like you kept it discreet. You had shown each other the same amount of PDA before you made it official, so there was minimal change when it came to the way you interacted with each other, save for the heavy affection shown in the showers after a match, away from prying eyes. However, Grace had found herself falling more protective of you. If someone had made a false tackle on you, she’d be all over it before you had even hit the ground. It was an anger that had never presented itself beforehand, but it was sure to unleash the second you winced into the grass.

You were very reserved on the pitch. There wasn't much you got up to, and your card count was very low. Grace was much more vicious, but held accountability when it was due.

Everyone just thought that it was the end-of-season drama, where teams were making last-second challenges that would aim to help their position on the ladder.

Now, as both of your loans with Tottenham were soon to be over, Grace and you had not only made yourselves comfortable in the London atmosphere but had created special bonds with the likes of Celine with Grace and you with Charli, which made the return back a little difficult to face. You were both extremely valuable to each team, and there had been an inexplicable improvement that United wanted a piece of, though Tottenham wanted to keep. You were conflicted with the history of your home, and the alliance of your new life, which added to the stress of debuting with the England Senior Team.

You felt a familiar figure crouch beside you, placing another layer of soft blanket over your figure. With a soft kiss on your forehead, you snuggled up to Grace’s side, immediately cradling her waist with your arms, engulfing her chest with your head, and listening to her steady heartbeat.

“God, you're so warm.” She muttered, pulling your thigh over her leg, letting your weight lean against her. You let out a silent laugh as Grace wrapped her arms around your shoulders, running her hand through the nape of your hair, playing with the loose strands.

You peered down at her feet, feeling the familiar fabric of your matching socks. “Where have you been?”

Grace tucked you into her chest further, breathing in your scent as she sighed. “Talking to Sarina. She wanted to see what I was doing with Tottenham?”

You looked up, carefully calculating the mood on your girlfriend's face. “What about it?”

“Just whether we— whether I was staying.”

“What did you say?”

“I told her I’d have to ask you.” Grace glanced down at you, smiling at the crease between your eyebrows. She pecked your nose, tracing your features subtly. “She said that she could see that we were dating from a mile away.”

You scoffed at that. “Bet she did.”

None of your national teammates mentioned anything, though some of the senior girls had caught on quite quickly that something had changed since the last time they had seen you in Manchester. Ella, who was usually the slowest had walked in on you two that very morning, yelping and whining over breakfast, making your face go red with embarrassment and Grace shoving Tooney over to Lessi, who, inevitably, now knows.

You had told Beth and Leah that you two had gotten close while partnered together at training. Leah had told you it was obvious, and Beth had given you a big hug before listing things she and Viv did to keep their relationship a secret before it got out.

Grace had told Mary, who told Millie, who told Rach, and soon enough pretty much everyone who cared had found out over the course of a day. They were quick to subtly congratulate you, but the attention had died down by the time dinner had past and you all were watching the somewhat indulging film Esme had put on.

You weren't keeping your relationship a secret, but neither of you found a point in letting it known. If someone asked, you’d tell them. Both of you were waiting for the media to catch on, but until then, you were content with the quietness of it all.

“I’ll go wherever you go, you know that?” Grace muttered, placing soft kisses down the coloum of your neck. You pressed your figure closer to her, sighing when her hands ran against your sides.

You held out your hand to grab hers, tracing the ridges in her knuckles. “What do you think? Tottenham or United?”

“I don't care, baby.” She spoke, peeking up from where her face hovered above your collarbone. “I would warm the bench if it meant I was with you.”

You laughed into the blankets, nudging your face into her neck. “You're a sweet talker, Clinton.”

Grace didn't deny the statement, smirking down at your cosy position against her. She wouldn't trade you for any contract offer in the world. No amount of money or years of playing football could equate to holding you in her arms.

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yourusername

Liked by Graceclinton, Leahwilliamson, and 98,367 others

tagged — graceclinton, alessiarusso, ellatoone

yourusername — training and socks 🧦🎀

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Comments:

user78 — if they are not in love then idk what love is

lionesses — pretty in pink! 💕

graceclinton — I love the way you look at me

graceclinton — feet on feet 🤢

^ yourusername — you love it 😙

wosofan — THE WAY THEY LOOK AT EACH OTHER I CAN NOT DO THIS THEY R SO CUTE

alessia — 😍

* liked by creator

user17 — im dreading the time their loan at Tottenham ends.

^ user67 — what if one of them stays at Tottenham and the other stays at United?

^ user66 — I will become violent if this happens

^ user16 — both teams will want them both. I doubt this will happen

charlottegrant — my little koala 🐨

^ yourusername — miss you char char 😣

ellatoone — less and I third wheeling

^ alessia — you’ll live tooney

^ graceclinton — double date?

^ user62 — Y/N AND GRACE CONFIRMED???????

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[ohisms]

✱˚｡⋆ ↪ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍'𝐒 𝐇𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐄 . ( a collection of fantasy - based dialogue prompts . adjust phrasing as necessary . )

strangers don't last very long around here .

lay down your sword , and i'll lay down mine .

whatever you do , do not stray from the path .

try not to get yourself killed .

the magic here is old and wild .

quiet ... do not wake it .

i thought i'd find you here . get up .

the tavern in [ location ] is known for its ale and its rumors .

you are starting the path towards your destiny .

is there no end to this accursed forest ?

my sword is yours .

the path to redemption is paved with trials and tribulations .

this forest feels ... sick . as if a disease lies upon it .

you are nothing but damned bones , and a damned soul .

have you ever seen the world beyond [ location ] ?

in the face of overwhelming odds , we must stand united .

please don't let them know that i'm here .

i've heard tales of your exploits . impressive , if they're true .

there's a town three miles east from here .

we have such history , you and i .

go carefully ... there's a camp nearby .

you will not die here , i forbid it .

your reputation precedes you .

i would rather die on my feet than on my knees .

there is no destiny . no born heroes .

you've got a fire in your eyes . use it , but don't let it consume you .

the spirits of this forest are restless .

there's more that you aren't telling me .

you have something that belongs to me .

you shouldn't be here , it's not safe in these parts .

all we can trust are the blades in our hands .

do you believe in fate ? destiny , prophecies ...

i don't think i'll ever get used to having blood on my hands .

wait ! there's traps here . lots of them .

i would die before helping in such a task .

there's an inn just another mile north .

have your blade at the ready .

if you can't already tell , i don't require saving .

have you drank your fill already ?

this isn't just some lark to me .

i'm headed to [ location ] . i could use some company .

your bravery is admirable , but it will also be your undoing .

you're exhausted , [ name ] . we're stopping here .

i will hunt you until the day i die .

i wish you a safe journey home .

as long as i can be of no help , i'm going to hide .

raise your sword . this should be a fair fight .

you're brave to show your face here again .

in this world , you can trust two things ; your intuition and your sword .

i've seen the way you look at the horizon . you're searching for something .

[ administers a healing potion / spell ] is that any better ?

you have no idea of the catastrophe you've set in motion .

there's an ambush ahead , stay quiet .

i want to know your story ... beginning to end .

in the end , we're all just stories waiting to be told .

i've heard tales of a dragon living high up in the mountains . some say it's just a myth , others swear it's real .

the line between friend and foe is often blurred .

try to stay quiet . is the wound deep ?

do not provoke them .

monster ? who's the monster here ?

i forbid you from telling anyone what you've seen here .

are you scared of witches ?

that's a beautiful [ weapon ] . may i ?

you are a valuable ally and a fearsome adversary .

do not tell me you've grown soft over the years .

if our enemy has returned , we must know .

you're a tough one to read , but i can see the kindness in your eyes .

the key to survival is knowing when to fight and when to flee .

i never expected to run into you in [ location ] .

last we spoke , you owed me some coin .

do not fear me ... everybody else fears me .

there is no magic or medicine that can cure this .

you keep questionable company .

every choice has a consequence .

the fate of the world lies in your hands .

so you're the great [ name ] .

remorse will get you nowhere .

you must stay on the path . do not leave it . if you do , you'll never find it again .

i once dreamed of this place . it's real ?

some secrets are best left buried .

the bridge is heavily guarded . we need a plan .

i thought you were returning home .

i would not do this unless i had to .

i need my horse .

it's real . all of the stories , the legends ... and it's real .

don't lose your wit . i believe you'll have need for it yet .

[ilovetoxicfictionalmen]

SAVIOUR

Pairing - Emmett x fem!reader

Summary - When Emmett had the chance of seeing you in the forest, he couldn't resist but to steal you away for himself in his lonely home.

Warnings - dub con, p in v, oral both receiving, cruel treatment, rough.

Notes - accidentally deleted the original post, so here we go again.

The silver lining with this apocalypse is that Emmett would have no distress with you making a noise as he motions you to keep on moving. Your body is shivering, eyes swelling, bare feet aching from the long journey, but you don’t dare to make a sound. The fear of the death angels still being greater than a mere bearded man. 

Despite being kidnapped in broad daylight, it was a beautiful day. The beauty of this difficult situation was, Emmett could walk into your camp, holding a gun to the air with one hand, and his free hand pointing towards you without any worries. There were no negotiations in the matter, Emmett was the only one with a death wish. No followers or you all get to die an agonizing death. Because he has lost it all, but now he could have you. It was an easy guess with what the group had decided upon.

He first saw you through his scope, you and a few other group members were searching for supplies in the same area he was. Emmett became captivated by you the moment he saw you. He stalked you back to your base, there were only a dozen of you guys in an abandoned factory far north of his. He watched you for days, studied you, obsessed over you. 

There were little things Emmett knew of you, but you seemed kind, genuine, naive and you were bewitching to the human eye. Emmett just had to have you, he lived a lonely life, but you provided an opportunity for comfort, contentment, intimacy. 

Entering the factory, your eyes wander around the abandoned space. Emmett picked you up bridal style, and you slid down into his bunker, landing softly on a large pile of sandbags. 

You laid still on him for a moment, he was stroking your flustered cheek as you struggled to find steady breathing. Gently, Emmett slid out from underneath you and stood up to take off his jacket. Laying like a dead fish, you decided to stand up and hopefully bargain with the stranger. 

“Please, let me go home,” you pleaded in a whisper. You weren’t sure how safe it was to speak down here, but it had just become natural to speak at this sound. Emmett turned to you, slowly taking his bandana off, revealing his bearded, dirty face. 

Very naive of you, perhaps a bit too hopeful too, to think that he’d have a sudden change of heart now after that long walk. But you had no clue how obsessed he had become over you in such a short amount of time, and with such little knowledge of you.

“This is your home now” he replied, closing the distance between you two, he brushed your loose hair with the back of his hand. “What’s your name?” Emmett asked. With a whisper, you told him your name, it was smarter to cooperate with him, maybe gain a bit of trust? “Pretty name for a pretty girl, I’m Emmett” he whispered back, his arms wrapped around your lower back. 

You could feel his erection through the denim, his breathing was heavy yet quiet, quickly you found yourself shaking and whimpering against him. Emmett cooed you, rubbing your lower back in attempts to make yourself feel better, completely unaware that he’s the reason you feel so overwhelmed. 

“I’m going to take care of you, okay? I’ll protect you, all you have to do is please me, baby” Emmett had a small smile on his lips, he leant down and kissed your cheek, which trailed down to your neck. 

It was a good deal in his eyes, he’d protect you from the monstrosity once known as humanity and all you had to do was cheer, reassure and relieve him. It would be a romantic future in his eyes, you could read to one another, he’d search for rations and then you’d do the cooking, hold each other closely at night. 

Your sobs were silent, his facial hair brushing against your goosebumps. Emmett took off his cap and dropped it onto the sandbags. His lips hovered over yours, almost as if he was waiting for you to close the small distance. 

Grazing his lips onto yours, he slowly deepened the kiss, his hands moving onto your ass, squeezing tightly. Chest rising and falling, Emmett was groaning into your mouth through sloppy kisses. He was hungry like an animal, and you were to be an endless feast for him.  

“On your knees” Emmett ordered.

Unwillingly, you slowly dropped to your knees, his hands on his shoulders pushing you down, your arms covered your chest and you kept your eyesight away from the restrained bulge in your face. Emmett sighed, his rough hands took their time unbuckling the leather belt, he undid his fly and slid down his jeans enough to be able to see the outline of his cock through his briefs. 

Grabbing onto his bulge, Emmett stared you up and down, clicking his tongue. “Take off your top” he grumbled, combing his hand through his oily hair. Without thinking, you shook your head. Emmett grunted, quickly squatting down and wrapping his hand around your throat. Your nails dug into his hand, but he did not loosen his grip. “You’ll be a good girl, I did not go through all of this fucking effort to have you be a brat, got it?” Emmett snarled by your ear, you were trying to spit out words but failed. “Use your fucking words” his voice was dripping of irritation. 

“Y-yes” you managed to spit out. 

The hold on your throat loosened, Emmett gave a heavy sigh. “Good girl, such a good girl for me. You’re thankful for me, yeah? Saving you from them. If they really cared, they would have done something about it. They’d be willing to die for you, like I am” he spoke with dark eyes. 

It was terrifying, his look was painted with crazed feelings. Emmett stood back up and waited for you to follow his previous order. With shaking hands, you pulled your top from over your head. But that didn’t satisfy Emmett, he glared at you until you realized he wanted you to take your bra off as well. 

The cold air hardened your nipples, and Emmett studied your current appearance. There was this smug look on his face, this is exactly why he went these lengths for you. Slipping his size out of his briefs, his cock tapped your right cheek a couple of times, he was slowly masterbating right by your lips.

You didn’t expect him to be this, large. It was intimidating, being in such close range to his member. You’ve only known him for a few hours, and now he had his dick in your face. His cock was a tone darker than the rest of his skin, he had a lot of pubic hair around the base of his member, for obvious reasons. 

It was self explanatory what was expected of you, you raised your hands and stroked his big size. He let out a satisfied sigh, your hands going right down to the base and coming back up to the head. Reluctantly, your lips hovered over the tip. You could see the precum drip, you had to close your eyes to swirl your tongue around his tip, slowly going deeper down his length.      

“Ah, ah, yeah… Such a good girl” Emmett smiled, gently thrusting his member in and out of your mouth. “Nothing better for your mouth to do, then to please my cock” his eyes were lightly rolling back. 

After a couple of minutes of gentle sucking, Emmett started to force his cock into your mouth, his tip brushing against the back of your throat. You gagged against him, resisting the urge to bite down on him, he was lightly grunting, mumbling words under his breath with his jaw clenched, watching you below him as you struggled to breathe. 

Holding onto the back of his legs for support, he held the back of your head to keep you still. You could feel his cock twitching in your mouth, eyes stinging as you just tried to focus on your breathing. After what felt like an eternity of pain, he grumbled, his hips locked forward as he came in your mouth. 

Trying your hardest not to react to the salty taste, Emmett slowly pulled him out of your mouth, your jaw aching and tears running down your eyes. Gently stroking his cock, Emmett looked down to you and placed his hand softly on your heated cheek. 

“That was lovely” Emmett slowly praised you. He helped you up and picked you off the ground.“You deserve to feel special too” Emmett continued, walking down the bunker. 

Emmett laid you on the singular bed and tugged your pants and underwear off together, he pulled his soiled shirt off and crawled on top of you. He smelt lightly of body odor, his breath was hot by your ear and chest felt moist from the sweat. Elbows resting on either side of your head, he gave you a gentle kiss, you didn’t kiss him back. 

“Don’t be so stiff” Emmett grunted, quickly you kissed him back. 

His hand trailed over your inner thighs, reaching all the way up to your entrance, you hadn’t even realized how wet you had become. A wicked grin grew on him as he parted your slick lips with two fingers. 

“Ugh, is this because of me?” Emmett toyed, his finger circling around your clit, you took in a heavy breath, trying to remain content underneath your assaulter. “Don’t make me feel so special” Emmett clicked his tongue, feeling up your breast with his spare hand. 

Without letting you know, he pushed in two fingers at once, chuckling at the tight feeling against them. You bit back a cry of pain, his nails were poorly trimmed, they scraped against your soft walls as they curled inside of you, Emmett noticed your uncomfortable expression and pulled his fingers out. 

“What’s wrong baby?” Emmett asked, actually sounding concerned about you. 

“It hurts” you said honestly, a part of you wondered if you should have just lied instead. Emmett looked at his soaked nails and sighed. 

“Oh, I’m sorry sweetheart, I’ll have to trim them better. Here, I have an easy solution” he winked to you as if you wanted to be in this predicament. 

Emmett whispered sweet words as he slid down the bed. He was on his knees, bent over, his beard brushing against your entrance. You shrieked at the first lick, Emmett’s head shot up and he pressed his finger to his mouth. With a heavy gulp, you dug your face into the pillow. His tongue swirled all around your lips, you were moaning against the pillow, and it still wasn’t quiet enough for Emmett’s likings, even though Emmett wants nothing more than to hear your screams, he didn’t exactly what you two to die horrible deaths before he could make you come. 

Emmett sighed and got up, you looked up to him, your eyebrows furrowed as he crawled on top of you, his exposed cock inches away from your mouth. Twirling himself around, Emmett lowered his body closer to yours, he moved his sticky member away from your mouth, allowing his balls to easily slip into your mouth. He gripped onto your thighs and pressed his head into your cunt. 

Your moans vibrated around his balls, making his cock twitch, your head was locked in between his still covered legs, the denim rubbing against your ears. It wasn’t hard for him to get you already onto the edge. His tongue was deep inside of you, being pulsated by your walls. Emmett was groaning into your cunt, your eyes all swelled up by your orgasm desperately begging to break free. With one last deep push, your cunt clenched around his tongue for dear life as your loud moans of pleasure were blocked by his balls. 

With shaking legs, your orgasm wore off, slurring with your mouth still full. Pulling his head away, his beard was soaked in your juices. Emmett sighed as he softly climbed off of you, just to turn himself back around and pin you down, hands above your head. Your eyes were tired, breathing slow and heavy as he aligned his tip with your entrance. It took you a moment to even realize that this wasn’t over yet. 

He covered your mouth with his hand as he pushed himself inside of you, it only took a couple of thrusts until he was completely inside of you, he was mumbling by your ear as his pace slowly picked up. 

“Such a good little girl for me” he smiled, his beard brushing against your flustered cheeks. “See why I had to save you? I can take care of you baby, fulfill your needs, just like you can fulfill mine” he smiled like a cheshire cat. 

You were whining against his size, you’ve never been with someone so big before, his cock was twitching inside of you. Emmett wouldn’t be able to last as long as he’d want to, it’s been so long since he’s felt such an intimate touch. But he had to be able to make you come again before he’d allow himself to explode inside of you. 

Moaning your name by your ear over and over again, he started attacking your bundle of nerves by thrusting at a quick and strong speed. You were clenching against him, eyes rolling back as you struggled to breathe, the side of his index finger pressing up against your nostrils. 

“My sweet thing needs to come again?” Emmett moaned, his mouth wide open as he stared into your teary eyes. “Come around my cock, make me feel good aye?” Emmett ordered, his finger rubbing your clit perfectly. 

Shortly after that, you followed his demand and clenched tightly around his size. It sent vibrations down his length, right to his base. With a few more heavy thrusts, he exploded right down your womb. A heavy groan echoing through the room. His head was in the crook of your neck, planting wet kisses on your skin. 

Burying his cock all the way up to your cervix, his substance coated your walls, his base blocking anything to drip out of your entrance. Emmett was groaning quietly, slowly removing his moist hand from your mouth. 

You took a deep breath, the back of your head pressing into the mattress, Emmett raised his head and gave you gentle kisses among your face as you dozed off to sleep, with him still buried inside of you. 

[ceilidho]

do u perchance have any ghost/soap/reader thoughts to spare 🤲

oh my god you wouldn't even believe the amount of thoughts I have about them (nsfw below the read more)

I love thinking about what the dynamic might look like depending on who initiated the relationship.

I love love love the idea of Ghost dating you (a civilian who lives off base; maybe he even keeps you tucked away in a house somewhere up north to keep you safe) and realizing that Soap has a bit of a crush on you. He talks a bit too much whenever Ghost brings you around, postures a bit in front of you, and gets VERY sketchy and flighty when Ghost tries to talk to him about you later.

He won't admit it, but it's hard seeing pictures of you (or worse, meeting you in person and getting to see with his own eyes how teeny tiny you are next to his behemoth of a CO) because anytime Soap does, his thoughts immediately jump to something nasty like "wonder how he fits his cock in her mouth" "she probably gags on it a little"

He really can't help it; it's part being cocky and competitive by nature and wanting to measure up to the guy he holds in such high esteem (Soap's had a bit of a work crush on Ghost since basically day 1 of working together; his little heart eyes when he said "Save you a seat, sir" that first mission) and part genuine attraction. And then part being just a regular guy with filth on the brain 24/7 - like sue him, he sees a gorgeous girl and a guy twice her size with his arm around her waist, he's gonna think about that when he's alone in the showers.

Ghost obviously picks up on this almost instantly.

The next time Ghost brings you up, they're setting up camp somewhere in the desert, and Soap's already red face (he tans as well as he burns) grows even hotter. It's obvious that he's got it bad for you. It's also obvious that he thinks he's being slick and keeping his crush hidden from Ghost.

Weeks in the desert are a bitch to deal with. Especially weeks spent in near constant proximity to work colleagues/friends; usually the guys are used to sneaking off to crank one out every once in awhile, but something about this particular mission makes that impossible. They're stuck in the same quarters 24/7 and Soap can't even handle hearing your name because he's so pent up and jittery. Probably hasn't jerked off in at least a week and a half.

Maybe one night, when it's just Soap and Ghost retiring for the night while Price and Gaz take over watch, and Soap's been particularly acerbic all day, frustration etched into his face, Ghost drags him by the arm down with him onto the bed. Soap's caught off balance (they're both dead on their feet; he didn't expect Ghost to suddenly tug him down beside him onto the too small cot that barely has enough room for one of them) and tries to scramble away at first, but Ghost growls at him that if he doesn't tug one out and quit making stupid calls on their mission, he'll do it for him.

(Obviously, in this 'verse, Ghost wouldn't have any problem with that. He hasn't been suppressing his feelings for Soap so much as figuring out the best way to get Soap to come around to the idea)

The thing that finally stuns Soap into silence is when Ghost pulls out his phone (which has basically 3 contacts, a handful of photos and nothing else) and opens up a bunch of your nudes. Completely gobsmacked. Immediately bricked up, sweat beading on his upper lip, eyes flicking wildly over to Ghost at his side, who's already undoing his belt and Soap feels like his heart's about to pump straight out of his chest.

"Y'gonna lay there like a fucking idiot with your mouth open or deal with that?" Ghost finally growls, pulling his own cock out (Soap stops breathing for a second at the sight; it's as big as he would've guessed, proportional, girthier than it is long, and already hard, wet at the tip because Ghost's a pretty leaky man).

He's giving him tacit permission to jerk off to his girlfriend's nudes.....obviously Soap's not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. His brain is fried though - he won't even acknowledge the degrees to which this whole thing is absolutely fucked, jerking off with his lieutenant to his lieutenant's girlfriend's nudes.

All he can concentrate on are the photos of you in your lacy lingerie (maybe tugging your panties to the side, flipped over on your stomach with your hips canted in the air and ass on full display) and the sound of Ghost's hand slick over his dick. It's the hottest he's ever felt in his life and he's almost worried that he's going to pass out before he can even enjoy himself properly.

[Maybe right before he comes, Ghost reaches over and wraps a big hand around Soap's balls and gives them just the slightest little squeeze, grunting in his ear to "c'mon, get it over with", and Soap near blacks out from how hard he comes]

[lgbtiqrefugeesblog]

My names are Peter from

uganda, asylum-seekers living in Gorom Refugee Camp in Sudan but also once ever been in kakuma refugee camp in kenya but due to increased insecurities and also most was going to loose life hence my second flee to sudan.

In the East African community, Sudan's North that's where we find Gorom refugee camp with a population of almost 200,000 people, and it's with in that camp that we the queer people are living.

A refugee has the right to safe asylum and freedom of thought, of movement, and freedom from torture and degrading treatment according to united Nation.

And according to the universal declaration of human rights article 5, “No one shall be subjected to torture or to cruel, inhuman or degrading treatment or punishment.” We the LGBTQIA+ refugees in Sudan have for long been living out of the scope of these fundamental human rights.

On the donations that are made,by well wishers they' provide us with a food so that we don't sleep on empty stomachs. This is because we receive roughly 2 kilograms of sorghum to take each person for a month from World Food Programme.

When we go to camp hospitals, we are not treated. We are discriminated and have to end up going to private hospitals to get proper treatment as per their sexualities. The donations always support us to ensue that we get this.

Hence we have decided to speak in unison to address these and a number of other issues that have either been overlooked or misrepresented by NGO's giving a false picture of security and safety here in Gorom refugee camp. In so doing, we have been denied a safe environment resulting in avoidable injuries, loss of personal property and life. This false picture has been painted with the help of external organizations which have come bearing a tag of human rights defenders when indeed their interest has either been monitory or have simply been used to promote the absurd notion that a few material things can make death and injuries resulting from homophobia and transphobia bearable. Based on that notion promoted by these organizations, some of who have appeared alongside UNCHR while speaking to the press, they have created the narrative that, it’s is the fault of the LGBTQIA+ refugees because we are not able to hide who we are. This narrative also has implied that the LGBTQIA+ refugees are simply looking for resettlement in the fourth country. According to the UNHCR and its agents, it’s very unreasonable for the persecuted and dying refugees in Gorom refugee camp to want a safe environment outside of Sudan and kenya and that the horrors that we face on a daily basis are ok. This is a homophobic and transphobic attack on us by the very institution that purports to protect us from the same.

Therefore, we strongly refute the allegations that we are not peaceful people and that the attacks we have suffered have been provoked. We also strongly refute the claim that African refugee camps and other places are not homophobic and transphobic. We continue to struggle to understand why we find ourselves in the same homophobic camp where UNHCR and the African government had to evacuate the LGBTQIA+ refugees as recently as 2019 to protect them from homophobic attacks. We have been given a shocking impression that upholding the African encampment policy is more important than saving lives even though this policy can and has been waived in the recent past.

We are disappointed by the casual approach and the laxity which the UNHCR and its partners continue to display in the way they have responded to the attacks on LGBTQIA+ refugees in Gorom and kakuma refugee camps which have claimed lives and left many with grave physical and psychological injuries. We read with a lot of shock their inaccurate statements claiming that African camps are now hospitable to the LGBTQIA+ and that the majority of us are living in relative safety. We can confirm that this is not true and that as a whole the LGBTQIA+ group in Gorom, we continue to face attacks irrespective of which part of sudan we live in. Children, women and others in the LGBTQIA+ community continue to face unprovoked attacks, harassment and heavy discrimination based on sexual orientation and gender identity. UNHCR’s attempt to make it look like the problem lies within the queer community itself constitutes an attack on our vulnerable community and is out of line with their primary duty to recognize and protect those that are most vulnerable. This is highly regrettable and a strong deviation from their mandate.

We have turned to activists to get basics such as medical care and food, things which should be UNHCR’S obligations. Their attempts to undermine these humanitarian efforts shows that they are not bothered about our wellbeing. As the entire LGBTQIA+ family living in hostile and homophobic African refugee camps, we reiterate asking for your advocacy and support.

lgbtiq-refugees-blogs

Please 🙏🏿 consider my humble request for support.

Your's sincerely Peter from south Sudan refugee camp.

This is our fundraiser link, please read more here and donate for our survival.

https://www.gofundme.com/f/stand-with-queer-refugees-in-africa-peters-story?utm_medium=customer&utm_source=whatsapp&utm_campaign=fp_sharesheet&lang=en_US

[frost-queen]

Cursed to be alone // part 3 (Teen!Reader & Rick Grimes)

Requested by: Anon Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @merlin-dahlia, @alex--awesome--22, @elllie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers, @merlieve, @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly@denkisclown, @wildieflower, @meyocoko, @bubblybrianna, @justanothercoco@subjecta13-thefangirl, @m-rae23, @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr, @swampthing07, @melsunshine, @panhoeofmanyfandoms, @venomsvl, @the-uncoordinated-house-cat, @rosecentury,  @imagines-by-her,  @evilcr0ne, @vviolynn, @frogtits1

Summary: [based on Joel & Ellie's relationship] Taken in, you have a very important deciscion ahead of you. One where you could save the world. Rick finally comes to terms and goes to search for you. Determined he would find you, he comes face to face with some who might know where you are. Taken, he must survive to get you out in time. [ part 1 & part 2 & part 4 ]

A light flickered above your head. Giving you almost a headache as they have been flickering for the past hours. The room otherwise in complete darkness. You had been in this room long enough to not know if it was day or night. The clank of a handle being opened made you get up. The heavy door opening. At first a gaping dark hole till the first man appeared. Then the second. They each took on a side by the door.

Arms crossed. Then a third one entered. The woman. Her white coat reflecting against the darkened room. She entered more, gesturing for you to sit. Looking down behind you, you sat back down on the camping bed. She came kneeling before you, taking out a little flashlight. – “Can you tell me your name?” – she asked flashing the light in your eye.

It blinded you for a second as she swayed it to the side. – “Y/n Y/l/n.” – you answered as she shone in your other eye, repeating her gesture. – “Do you know where you are?” – she asked tapping your chin to open your mouth. So you did opening your mouth wide for her. She shone her flashlight in your mouth with a soft hum. Tugging her light away you closed your mouth once more.

“Somewhere South or North from Alexandria.” – you responded. – “Is that were you came from?” – she questioned. – “No.” – you let her know. She quirked her eyebrow up. – “Do you have any family?” – she said picking up your arm to observe. – “No.” – you replied. She turned and twisted your arm around for her to get a good look at it.

“How old is this one?” – she wanted to know. Furrowing your brows, you looked down at your own arm. – “Six months.” – you told her with a shrug. She hummed with a nod. She took your other arm taking a look at it. – “Do you know who I am?” – she asked curious. – “No, three months old.” – you told her seeing she was looking at another bitemark on your arm. She let go of your arm going lower. She lifted a bit of your pants up revealing your freshest wound. – “Recently.” – she spoke more to herself than asking a question. She lowered your pants again, getting slowly up.

“When you saved me, you told me you were looking for me… who are you?” – you asked when she was heading back for the door. She stopped turning back around with a smile. – “I am a scientist.” – she said. – “and you honey could save the world.” – she finished. By the entrance she faced one of the men you recognized from before they took you in. – “Keep her here for another day, just to be sure.” – she briefly glanced over her shoulder at you. You had pressed your hands between your legs, looking down.

They all left leaving you once more alone. You sighed deep looking up to the ceiling. Before you knew it your mind went to Rick and the others. Your absence all known to them by now. Slightly you wondered if they were looking for you. Perhaps Daryl was, but Rick surely not. He had made himself clear last time you saw him.

You were nothing to him and will remain nothing to him. Exhaling loud you laid down. Staring lost in front of you. Waiting the hours till you would get released from the isolation. All to be entirely save, the scientist had told you. As if your old bite marks weren’t enough to alert her you weren’t turning into a walker.

No she needed actual proof that you weren’t going to turn. Perhaps this was the best place for you to be. Away from the others so you couldn’t disappoint them more. Specially Rick as you had let him down numerous times. It wasn’t that you did it on purpose. It just appeared that doom followed you like a shadow. Always getting into trouble without even seeking it. Did the walkers perhaps liked how you smelled? Felt attracted to be near? Your head was spinning as you squeezed your eyes shut, wanting to block it all out.

Rick had geared up in silence. Sneaking out of his room and leaving the house. He still wasn’t sure what possessed him to go and search for you. Was it perhaps the guilt eating at him? Or perhaps the worriedness wanting to know where you were now. Were you save? Hurt? Dead? He felt himself go crazy without knowing the answer. Alexandria was still sleeping in when Rick left the house. He made his way over to the gate. He came to a stop sighing deep at the sight of Daryl. Daryl was holding his crossbow, leaning against the gate.

The moment he saw Rick he removed himself from against the gate. – “Finally let’s go.” – Daryl spoke opening the gate. Rick sighed loud with a shake of his head. – “I’m going alone.” – Rick insisted on walking up to him. – “No you aren’t.” – he heard from behind him. Rick exhaled deep turning around to Glenn and Michonne approaching. – “Guys listen I’m going alone.” – he pressed on. Glenn walked passed him, patting his hand on Rick’s shoulder. – “It has already been decided.” – he said. Michonne looked sternly at Rick not saying a word as she went after Glenn.

Daryl whistled loud. – “Rick! Come on!” – he called out. Rick touched his forehead brief before giving in and following the others. Daryl closed the gate behind Rick. – “Took you long enough.” – Daryl commented walking by Rick. He quickened his pace coming to a stop before Rick. – “For your sake she better not be dead.” – he poked Rick hard in the chest.

Rick took a deep breath, knowing this was all his fault. It sure as hell felt like it. The tense atmosphere hanging above their heads making it clear. Daryl to the lead with Glenn. It didn’t take them long to hear the gargling sounds of a walker. Daryl spotted it first. Laying on the ground, trying to crawl further.

Daryl took out an arrow closing in on it. The walker lifted their head up, snapping their mouth to Daryl. Squash. The swift strike of Daryl’s arrow point inside the walkers brain send it lifeless down. He took an interesting notice of the walker seeing a clear knife wound in it’s leg. – “This way.” – Daryl called out. Glenn came jogging over to his side. – “Was she here?” – he asked. Daryl hummed loud keeping a close eye on the ground.

The group went on following your trail. After a few hours walk they stumbled upon a deserted town. Glenn ran up to a walker laying down on the ground. – “Shot.” – he said. Michonne held her katana close looking carefully around. Daryl went towards the shop where the glass had been broken. The walker having clearly come from there. – “What do we do? She can be everywhere.” – Glenn pointed out, looking over at Rick. Rick’s expression was tense. – “We search every house.” – he replied. They decided to split up and search each compound for you. If you were still here.

The door opened once more as you slowly got up. A man entered lingering in the door opening. He gestured for you to come near. So you did with a bit of caution. Taking the first step out of the room felt strange. As if leaving a save place behind. Stepping into the unknown. The man guided you through a long corridor. Till you went into another room. A brightly lighted room. The lights hurt your eyes making you squeeze them till you had adjusted to the light. The scientist was also present in the room. – “How are you feeling Y/n?” – she asked looking briefly up from her clipboard.

She continued to scribble on it before handing it over to another woman. – “Okay.” – you answered taking a tentative notice of the room. The scientist approached you. She motioned for you to open your mouth. So you did as she looked inside. – “Good.” – she muttered. – “Let me show you around.” -she started moving an arm around you. You got led out of the room into another corridor. It was the first time you noticed how many people were actually here. You always thought it was just the three of them. It appeared they were numbered. Some men were moving food packages from one table to another. A girl holding a clipboard and counting with her pen.

She noticed you were staring, curling up half a smile. – “We are with quite a lot. Grew over the last year.” – she explained leading you into another room. More people in white coats walking around. – “Are… are we at a lab?” – you questioned. – “Sort of.” – she answered. The people in white coats looked at you and waved. You waved shyly back at their sudden kindness as if they had known you for ages. – “They are very pleased with your presence. We all are.” – she went on taking you by the shoulders and guiding you into another room.

It was a smaller room, simple but comforting. She sat you down. – “Y/n I have something to ask of you.” – she started off. You swallowed nervously. – “I’m sure you are well aware of the immunity in your body.” – she said making you nod. – “Well you see with you we could create a cure to save a lot of people.” – she approached gently. – “Do you want to save us from this nightmare?”

You thought back of Rick and the other. Despite the struggles you still wished a peaceful world for them. Thinking about Carl and Judy made your shudder out a breath. You pulled up your sleeve showing her your arm. – “Will my blood cure us?” – you asked her. She subtilty changed her expression lowering your arm. – “Do you consent?” – she said. The words felt dry in your mouth. If drawing your blood could make a cure, it was worth the shot.

Even now you were still thinking about Rick. Wanting him to find peace. Perhaps he would be proud of you, knowing you cured the world. It would be enough to see him smile proudly at you. You hadn’t predicted it but they became like a family to you. The only thing you had left in this dying world. If they had a chance of living peaceful you would happily grant them that. You swallowed the knot down. – “Yes.” – you answered. The scientist thanked you.

Rick sighed deep. Every empty house he had searched made his heart sink deeper. Daryl, Glenn and Michonne weren’t lucky either. They had re-grouped in the middle of the deserted town. – “She’s not here.” – Rick said moving his hands frustratingly on his head, looking around with a hint of panic. – “I told you to come sooner!” – Daryl called out. – “But no you had to mope and hold a bloody grudge!” – Daryl finished shouting his words in frustration. Rick lowered his hands. – “I know this is on me!” – he shouted back.

“Look I don’t need to feel like hell for failing her! For failing her like I have failed every other godforsaken thing I care about. I don’t need it!” – Rick yelled back in anger. Glenn glanced over to Michonne seeing Rick turn at the brink of losing his mind. Rick crouched down, rubbing his lip to prevent it from trembling. – “Rick…” – Glenn began. – “Just go home.” – Rick answered. – “I’ll find her alone.” – he got back up turning to his friends. – “I’ll bring her back, I promise.” – he said to Daryl.

Daryl scoffed loud. Michonne seemed to be the only one paying attention to her surroundings. – “Car!” – she suddenly called out making everyone snap out of it. On cue a car raced around the corner into town. Rick and the others went into hiding, watching them from a distance. They watched as three men got out. A fourth one staying in the car.

They entered a building. Rick ducked down hearing shots being fired. – “Maybe they know?” – Rick mumbled to himself. – “Rick!” – Glenn shout-whispered pulling him back down. Rick freed himself going out of hiding over to them. – “Rick!” – Glenn called out trying not to be too loud. Rick went up to the car, startling the person behind the wheels. – “The hell!” – the guy called out opening his door.

“Please have you seen a girl around here? Her name is Y/n.” – he asked practically begging him. His other friends heard the commotion walking out. Two of them holding supplies. – “On your knees!” – the first one said, pointing a gun at Rick. Rick went on his knees, keeping his hands up. – “Please… I am looking for a girl. Have you seen her?” – he asked desperately. – “I…I…I have a picture of her…” – he lowered one hand as the second guy pointed his gun at Rick too.

“It’s just a picture.” – Rick said reaching with trembling hands to his pocket. The picture got pulled out as the third guy snatched the photo from his hands. He showed to his friend. – “The girl on the left… have you seen her?” – he begged. The first one tilted his head. – “What is she to you?” – he asked with a cocky nod. – “Family…” – Rick answered finally admitting it to himself. The first one glanced over at the fourth one behind Rick. Smack. A heavy blow to the head let Rick fall down. Darkness consuming him as he was off this world.

Rick inhaled deep slowly waking up. The world around him a blur. Slowly lifting his head up, he felt the throbbing pain on his back. He blinked rapidly, rolling over yet it was too fast as it knocked another wave of headache on him. The moment he noticed another person in the room, he snapped back to reality. A woman standing in regular clothing. – “What is she to you?” – she asked. Rick blinked a few more times to get himself more awake. – “I’m looking for a girl.” – he breathed out seating himself better on the bed.

“What is she to you?” – the woman asked again. It was still fuzzy in his mind as he couldn’t follow her words yet. – “Who?” – Rick answered as the world slowly stopped spinning. – “The girl with immunity.” – the woman replied firmly. Rick was suddenly wide awake. – “You have her! Where is…” – he tried to get up but stumbled right back, sitting back down. – “She’s being prepped for surgery.” – she spoke. Rick looked confused around. – “What surgery?” – he wanted to know.

The woman took a deep breath. – “Our doctor. He thinks the cordyceps has been growing with her since her first bite.” – she told him yet Rick wouldn’t have ears for it. – “Why is she in surgery?” – Rick wondered worriedly. – “It makes normal cordyceps thinks she is cordyceps, that is why she is immune.” – she went on to explaining. – “He is going to remove it from her and multiply the cells in a lab, produce a cure… and then we can give it to everyone.” – she finished.

He furrowed his brows a bit. – “Cor… cordyceps grow inside the brain…” – he answered slowly realising what it means. The woman kept staring at him with no emotion. – “It does.” – she answered turning to take her leave. – “Find someone else.” – Rick said stopping her from fully leaving the room. – “There is no one else.” – she sighed out. – “Look we didn’t tell her, we didn’t cause her any fear.” – the woman began while Rick was shaking his head. – “There will be no pain.”

Rick started to get up anxiously worried. – “No, you take me to her immediately!” – he ordered reiving a blow to the stomach. Rick fell coughing in pain. The woman held the man who had hit Rick in place. – “Please.” – Rick begged pitiful. – “She’s just a girl…” – he added looking heartbroken at her. – “And we are just trying to survive.” – she answered. She spoke to one of her guards. – “See him out. If he does anything.” – she glanced briefly down at him. – “Shoot him.” – she finished. Rick got pulled up, escorted out of the room. He glared at her when being moved passed her.

They led Rick to the stairway going down. Rick obeyed in silence being pushed from time to time. Half down the steps he stopped. – “Hey move it!” – one of the guards said. Rick took a deep breath before spinning around and grabbing his gun. The guard was taken off guard, letting go of the gun. Rick shot at him as he stumbled back against the wall. Rick elbowed the other one sending him down. He kicked his gun away. Grabbing him by the shirt, he pulled him up. – “Where is she?” – he asked. The guy whimpered shaking his head. Rick fired twice as he stopped twitching. – “I don’t have time for this.” – he spoke stepping over the bodies.

He went back up the stairs trying to find his way to surgery. His expression went stern, gun in the ready. Going through a door he fired at some people who were packing. They never stood a chance. He went on keeping his guard up. He encountered two scientists unarmed. He shot one of them down. – “Where!” – he shouted at the second one. The second one begged him not to shoot. – “Where?” – Rick repeated louder.

He pointed in a direction, shaking on his knees. Rick fired not giving a damn about him. He saw everyone in here as a threat. Each and every one responsible for abducting you and forcing you into this. Rick continued carefully. A guy surprised him as he managed to shoot it from up close. Some blood splattering on his clothing. The guy was squirming on the floor as Rick shot at his head without looking.

Everywhere he went he left a trail of dead bodies. An alarm had gone off warning everyone of him being loose. Rick entered another room finding a wide glass window. He froze for a second seeing the operating table. There you laid. Lifeless on the table as they had put you to sleep. He watched as the doctor took a scalpel nearing it to your head. Rick came in motion entering the operating room. – “Unhook her.” – he said pointing his gun.

The doctor and two nurses got startled, holding their hands up. – “How did you get in here?” – the doctor asked. Rick’s gaze was fixated on you on the table. Something snapped inside of him, shooting the doctor in the chest. The two nurses jumped out of fright. – “Unhook her!” – he ordered pointing the gun at them. The nurses squeaked with fear unhooking you. There appeared blood where they had pulled out the needle. – “Cover that up!” – he shouted as one of the nurses quickly plastered it.

They moved back, keeping their hands up. He neared you placing his gun down. Seeing the peaceful state of you made him emotional. Thinking how they were going to operate your brain without you knowing you would never wake up. Rick carefully picked you up in his arms.

He looked at the nurses with a dead stare. They were afraid to do anything. Rick walked out, carrying you. Your arm swayed having fallen off your lap. The alarm kept ringing as he made his way further down. Having killed almost everyone gave him an advantage. – “I’m sorry.” – he whispered to you. – “I’m sorry I didn’t see it before…” – Rick went down to the front with you. – “Stop!” – a voice called out making Rick turn with you. It was the same woman from when he woke up.

“You are making a terrible mistake.” – she breathed out. – “She can cure the world. What is the life of one girl against countless others?” – she asked. Bang. She looked down as the red stain formed on her shirt. – “Everything.” – Rick replied. She looked back up at him in shock. Her eyes rolled back before she fell backwards on the ground. Rick looked briefly down at you. He then turned around stepping into the daylight.

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

Read more of my fics on my Masterlists!  

[wafflesrock16]

Shakarian Viking/Soulmate AU

Remember how I said this idea wouldn't leave me? I had to write it out. Who else wants Viking berserker Shepard and Anglo-Saxon prince Garrus? Below a the cut.

Shepard watched as Jarl Anderson lowered his torch, setting the brittle branches at the base of the pyre aflame. The scent of pitch and smoke filled her nostrils, the loud crack of timber breaking the stillness of the gathered group of watchers. They stood near enough to feel the heat of the fire on their faces as it consumed the wooden structure, red tongued flames licking at the platform and the shrouded form that lay atop it. 

“He’s in Valhalla, now,” she heard Kaidan murmur. “We should all be so lucky to die in glorious battle.”

Shepard frowned. Jenkins had only been raised to the berserkers the year prior. He had never voyaged to the havens. This was to be his first raid along the Widow Sea’s frontier. He had known the risks, as did all who ventured here. Still, his death sat like a heavy stone in the pit of Shepard’s stomach.

At least he didn’t have a soulmate tethered to his spirit. There’s no one feeling hollowed out with inconsolable grief back home. The reasoning did little to staunch her guilt; if anything it only made it worse since it caused her to feel grateful she didn’t have a soulmate, either. 

Shepard sighed. She was the berserker commander. Jenkins was her responsibility. She wasn’t a wet nurse, but she ought to have kept an eye on him; at least admonished him to stay out of the trees. The silver-barked forests in this region were deadly. Old enemies with eagle eyes and rapier-like claws favored the cover the thick woods offered. 

She turned away from the funerary pyre and the low, solemn chanting that had begun as fire swallowed Jenkins mortal body. Nobody stopped her as she strode away from the conflagration, back toward the longboats. She needed a moment alone with her thoughts without guilt crowding in on her.

 The turians know we’re here—they must have spied us well before we made landfall though bleed me if I know how. Shepard found herself walking past where the dragon-headed longships had been pulled up onto the beach, lost in consideration. We outnumber them, though they have the advantage of knowing the terrain. They also have at least one skilled archer among them, even though that’s not who sent Jenkins off to Odin. 

No, a turian swordsman had done Jenkins in, and Shepard had returned the favor with her axe. It was small comfort. Humans and turians had battled for the land and wealth along the Citadel’s coast for time immemorial. There was talk of an asari negotiated peace treaty, but so far that’s all it was. Talk. Shepard wagered that nothing would come from those talks in her lifetime. And who knows how long that’ll be if we stay here?

Gravel crunched under her boots in the lengthening shadows of twilight. Shepard rounded a gentle curve in the land and came to stand on a dead tree, facing the North. The wind that whipped her fiery red hair about her face was warmer than back home. Then again, they were a long way from home, now.

She watched the dying light upon the waves, the ocean glittering like crushed diamonds. It would be dark soon. They’d need to make camp and plot their next course. Did they take the river deeper inland, as was the original plan? Or did they double back, take their chances in krogan territory where turians didn’t dare venture.

Against the crash of the breakers, Shepard missed the sound of a bowstring drawing taut. It was something else, some inexplicable tug at her heart, a susurration of unheard whispers in her ear, that caused her to suddenly duck and roll, the hidden knives she kept about her person flying into her hands. 

There was a loud thawk, as a barbed arrow embedded itself into the driftwood where she’d been standing. 

She flung a knife, gratified to hear the sound of a large body diving to the sand. She charged before the archer could restring his bow, tackling him to the ground with a savage roar. 

Eyes bluer than the center of a flame stared up at her from within a silver plated face, painted with the bold cobalt markings of Clan Vakarian. The turian’s crest of horns was cushioned by a clump of dried seaweed, tiny insects furiously buzzing about his head at the invasion. 

He flared his mandibles, exposing long, sharp, silver teeth. His jaw dropped as he took in his soon-to-be killer. Shepard sat astride his narrow waist, holding her second knife above his ridged nose, poised to strike. 

Something in those burning eyes softened. “You’re beautiful.” The rumbling subharmoinics seemed to embrace her, a vocal hug to reinforce the sincerity of his words. 

Shepard sucked in a deep breath. For the first time in years, ridiculously, tears pricked the corners of her eyes. “Shut up!” She shook her head as if to dislodge his words. “I hate you!”

Her hand holding the knife quivered. In the crystalline depths of his alien eyes, she saw herself reflected back, lips pulled back in a vicious snarl, red hair framing her face. The embodiment of a valkyrie and harbinger of death. Except, I don’t want to kill him, she realized. 

“I wasn’t trying to hit you,” the turian murmured. “If I had been, you’d already be dead. I hadn’t realized you were . . . you.” He suffused the word with a mix of awe and wonder that left Shepard’s chest feeling tight. 

With a cry born as much from confusion as frustration, Shepard rolled off him. She leaped to her feet, kicking a clump of sand. “Leave,” she commanded, wiping at her treacherous eyes. 

The turian slowly rose to his degi-grade feet. Sharp claws extended from the open toes of his boots. “What if I want to stay?”

Shepard glared at him. “Why should you stay? After what your clan did to our landing party this morning and us to you, shouldn’t you be regrouping?”

Why in the frozen hells was she crying? What was it about this turian of all people that had her feeling vulnerable as a new babe? She should kill him—he’d be back tonight with more men and slit her throat in her sleep. A small voice she couldn’t name told her that he wouldn’t do that. Not him. Not ever. 

“My name is Garrus,” the turian replied instead. “There are those who call me Archangel, but . . . it’s just Garrus, for you.” 

Shepard forced herself to look at him. Really look at him. He was tall and lean, as most turians were, and covered in metallic looking plates. He wore a deep blue tabard with the Vakarian family crest stitched out in thread-of-gold across his chest. A brown leather belt with well-made leggings and fine boots completed his attire. Not some common foot soldier or hunter turned mercenary, Shepard mused. Her eyes settled on the longbow laying at Garrus’ feet. It was nearly as tall as he was and looked like it was made of black yew wood. An expensive weapon. One only someone with a high tier could afford. 

Shepard’s eyes went wide as she realized who Garrus must be. “You’re the Primarch’s son.”

He dipped his head in acknowledgement, a hand moving to rub the back of his neck. Shepard was no expert on turian expressions but she’d swear Garrus looked embarrassed. 

Bright blue eyes met hers. “You seem to know me and my lineage, yet I confess, I have yet to learn your name.”

Shepard hesitated a moment before discarding any notion of subterfuge. What was the point? He could have killed her and hadn’t. She could have killed him and didn’t. Besides all that, she wanted to know him. “Commander Jane Shepard,” she said. “You can call me Shepard.”

Garrus extended his hand in a human gesture of greeting. “A pleasure to meet you, Shepard.” 

Shepard slipped her smaller hand into his. It was like being struck by lightning. There was a jolt, a suffusion of warmth flooding her veins, an invisible push in his direction. They collided at the same time, Garrus likewise shoved by an unseen force. 

She grasped onto his cowl, feeling like she were trapped in an undertow, liable to be swept away in the exultant rush of emotions, apt to drown in the depths of a feeling humanity blithely called ‘soulmates.’ Her skin tingled and she was hyper aware of Garrus’ proximity; the rough calluses of his three-fingered hands and prick of talons through her tunic where he held her waist. His pupils dilating and eclipsing the blue of his irises while his subvocals stuttered and a deep, percussive purr sundered in his chest. 

Shepard exhaled. “Oh.” 

Garrus lifted a shaky hand to gently brush away an errant lock of hair. “It is you,” he whispered, reverent. “You feel it too?”

She gazed up at him, feeling more a maiden than seasoned berserker. Her mouth parted to answer—

“Commander!”

Shepard pulled herself free from the whirlpool of Garrus’ presence to peer into the murky distance. “The others are looking for me,” she muttered. How long had she been gone? Sudden fear squeezed her heart as she considered what would happen if Garrus were discovered. She gave him a forceful shove. “They mustn’t see you. Go! Hurry!”

Garrus moved as though in a daze, stooping to retrieve his bow and taking a few tentative steps backward. “I’ll find you,” he swore. “I’ll come back for you, my dea.” 

Before Shepard could respond he was sprinting; a glimmer of lancing starlight through the gloam, a shape half-seen on the edge of the forest. We’ll find each other, she promised herself, even as Kaidan and Ashley came into view, helmets donned and axes at hand. What joke of the gods is it that my other half should be an ancestral foe, on ground my kin intend to soak in blue blood?

She turned towards her comrades, trying to shake off the chill that had settled over her like heavy snow with Garrus’ departure. The others would want to know what she’d been doing out here, alone in the dark. “Searching for answers,” she’d tell them. “Considering what to do next.”

She’d omit her blue eyed archer. That whatever came next, Garrus would play a major role. For now, she kept her soulmate sheltered within the confines of her rib cage, a constant companion to her own beating heart.

[mariacallous]

Classical music lovers can debate for hours over which Mozart melody has made the biggest impact. Maybe the first movement of the “Jupiter” symphony, perhaps the Queen of the Night aria from The Magic Flute, or what about the “Eine kleine Nachtmusik” serenade? Those who know the great 18th-century Austrian composer only through the movies have an easier time of it—the sound they’ll remember best may not be music after all but the whinnying, immature, and disobedient laugh heard throughout Milos Forman’s masterpiece Amadeus.

Amadeus, commonly accepted to mean “beloved by God,” was not technically part of Mozart’s name. (He was baptized as Joannes Chrysostomus Wolfgangus Theophilus Mozart, with Theophilus having a similar translation.) After his death, however, the moniker stuck as a way to venerate him. It’s perfect for the title of this movie, in which rival composer Antonio Salieri allows his jealousy over Mozart’s genius to build into a personal war against God. But expanding on some fudged truth is also in keeping with the spirit of the entire project, as the movie’s central conflict is almost entirely made up. (Even better, then, that the original trailer featured the tagline “Everything you’ve heard is true.”)

Based on a Tony-winning play by Peter Shaffer (inspired by a short 1830 play written by Alexander Pushkin, itself inspired by gossip that Salieri was somehow to blame for Mozart’s early death), Amadeus is celebrating its 40th anniversary this year. As such, a new 4K restoration is screening in specialty theaters across North America in advance of a new Blu-ray release. This, plus an eventual availability on streaming, is the first time the version that people originally saw back in 1984 will be available in years. (More on that in a bit.) An upcoming British television miniseries based on Shaffer’s play is in production currently, but we’re skeptical it will have the same magic.

The film’s story is told in flashback, with an old, institutionalized Salieri (played by F. Murray Abraham) “confessing” how he murdered Mozart (Tom Hulce). We are then witness to how Salieri, court composer to Emperor Joseph II (Jeffrey Jones), has his world turned upside down when Mozart bursts onto the scene. His musical instincts are on a level no mortal can comprehend and clearly, Salieri feels, handed down directly from above. But while Mozart’s work is divine, his demeanor is coarse and bratty, which turns Salieri’s understandable envy into an existential rage.

As the winner of eight Academy Awards, including best picture, best director, and best actor for Abraham’s Salieri, Amadeus’s legacy is secure, but any excuse to get more people to see this perfect film is a good one. I can personally report that not one, not two, but three millennial friends of mine came to this movie kind of dragging their feet, watching it only out of an obligation to check every Oscar winner off their list. Each one of them was blown away with just how funny and poignant and entertaining it was.

“I thought this would be boring, not bitchy!” one pal beamed after a recent screening I hosted with Paul Zaentz at New York’s Paris Theater. That energetic spark is evident in the script but catches fire in the movie thanks to its director. Forman’s resumé is one of the best from the 20th century, but Amadeus is something special, not just because it is about a maverick artist who has to do things his way (a recurring theme in both Forman’s life and work) but because the expatriate who fled communist-era Czechoslovakia to follow his calling was able to shoot the movie in Prague and Kromeriz. As Mozart cackled in the face of propriety, so Forman was able to poke his thumb in the eyes of those who had previously censored him.

Forman was born in the town of Caslav in 1932. Both of his parents died in Nazi concentration camps. He attended a school for war orphans where he befriended future filmmaker Ivan Passer and playwright-turned-politician Vaclav Havel. He began working on documentary crews and eventually made short films of his own that blended fact and fiction, getting better material from non-actors than trained professionals. His first feature, Black Peter (1964), focused on a timid teenager, and its follow-up, Loves of a Blonde (1965), was a similarly naturalistic look at awkward romance. Its deadpan, somewhat bleak style ran counter to the splashy films coming out of Italy and France at the time. Both films are early entries to what became known as the Czech New Wave, leading to Forman’s first bona fide masterpiece, The Firemen’s Ball (1967).

While The Firemen’s Ball—Forman’s first film in color—was understood to be a grand metaphor for the inefficiency of the political system at the time, one doesn’t have to know a damn thing about Eastern Bloc history to respect it as an iconoclastic farce not dissimilar from something like South Park. It was immediately banned in Czechoslovakia, but it and Loves of a Blonde were both nominated for best foreign language film at the Oscars.

Forman was in France raising funds for his next project during the Soviet invasion of Prague in August 1968. He was fired from his Czech production company and ended up emigrating to the United States. His first Hollywood film was the 1971 counterculture farce Taking Off (in which square, bourgeois parents try to get groovy with their kids, to embarrassing effect), which led to one of the most influential movies of the 1970s, One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.

After the anti-authoritarian Cuckoo’s Nest—which won five Oscars, including best picture, best director, best actor for Jack Nicholson, and best actress for Louise Fletcher—came his adaptations of the musical Hair (1979) and E.L. Doctorow’s novel Ragtime (1981). With that all under his belt and his hands on the rights to Schaffer’s hot play Amadeus, Forman went back to Prague in triumph.

Amadeus is set mostly in Vienna; still, Prague, which was generally left intact after World War II, certainly looks good on camera. And Prague was also an important city for Mozart. He made two lengthy visits there and found a very welcoming audience. Indeed, he wrote Don Giovanni with the intention of premiering the opera in Prague, which he did at the Estates Theatre in 1787. And it was at the Estates Theatre where Forman filmed many of the movie’s best scenes—ones of Mozart conducting opera, filmed with the alacrity and exuberance normally reserved for an action-adventure sequence. (The use of pyrotechnics in the Don Giovanni scenes caused a lot of worry on set, what with the old theater’s interior being mostly wood.)

Shooting a Hollywood movie behind the Iron Curtain naturally had some hardships. (Fruit and fresh vegetables, rarities at the time, needed to be trucked in from West Germany.) Given Forman’s background, the eyes of the state were on them. During that recent New York screening, Zaentz, who worked as a production coordinator on the project and is also the nephew of film producer Saul Zaentz, said secret police were essentially hands-off, except for one time. During off-hours, some members of the crew would hang out and watch VHS tapes of Hollywood movies and were unaware that some of those titles had been banned. The company was soon requested to keep to only approved films.

Perhaps more poignant was when they were shooting on the Fourth of July during one of the opera scenes. The Czech crew surprised Forman and the actors during one take. Expecting to hear the music of Mozart play back from a PA system, some well-wishers instead cued up “The Star-Spangled Banner” while others unfurled an enormous American flag. Everyone stood up and sang along, except, according to Forman, the 30 or so secret police who had been dispersed among the extras.

One can easily read the moment as a victory for Forman. Alas, Mozart’s fate was a little different. Though no one knows for sure why he died at the young age of 35—other than the fact that every case of the sniffles had graver implications back in 1791—the movie shows how Mozart’s queasiness with authority shaped him as a hand-to-mouth freelancer and how his lack of a permanent position and persistent money woes were bad for his health. After Amadeus, Forman continued to make movies about troubled-yet-visionary mavericks: Andy Kaufman in Man on the Moon (1999), Francisco Goya in Goya’s Ghosts (2006), and, um, Larry Flynt in The People vs. Larry Flynt (1996).

As for the Salieri yarn? There’s no historical evidence to suggest that the two composers weren’t just colleagues. (It’s true that Mozart did have a paranoid streak and maybe did think that “the Italians” at court had it in for him.) Salieri certainly did not live in chastity out of some pledge to God in exchange for musical inspiration. Indeed, he had eight children. He was also plenty famous at the time of his death and, later in life, was a tutor to Mozart’s youngest son. Nevertheless, no one should let reality get in the way of watching this incredible movie.

This 40th anniversary rerelease is especially exciting for old-school Amadeus-heads as it restores the 160-minute theatrical cut. All one can find out there now is the “director’s cut,” which is 20 minutes longer. As Zaentz explained to me, that version came out in 2002 during the first DVD wave, when home-video distributors were loading up packages with deleted scenes. Rather than have isolated bonus chapters, Forman decided to just release the longer version instead, though never really considered it the definitive cut. However, over time it became the only version in circulation.

While the longer version has a few splendid moments (some backstage zings with Christine Ebersole as Caterina Cavalieri), it also contains one scene that I am happy to see once again excised. In it, Salieri goes a wee bit too far and humiliates Mozart’s wife, Constanze (Elizabeth Berridge). It’s important for Salieri to be a scheming twerp but also someone who still holds your sympathy. The controversial scene only found in the director’s cut pushes him too far into the role of villain.

So sometimes edits are important! It is said that Mozart never revised, that he took dictation from God. As with so much else about the man, the truth is a little different.

[of-solitude-past-and-present]

Hidden in the Sands (Yandere!Naga!Kunikuzushi)

Warnings: Character Death (not reader, not kuni), Some Gore (description of a corpse), Injury (of reader), Monster AU, implied semi-cannibalism (he isn't human but close enough), some blood (mostly not reader's, a little is kuni's), biting, venom, graphic description of venom effects (used on reader non-lethally), kuni-typical insults, venom effects are made up, kuni tries to kill you (at first but doesn't follow through), reader has a semi-near-death experience, threats, kidnapping, imprisonment, nonconsensual touching (SFW ofc), general yandere themes, kunibaby is Not Nice but it's okay because he's hot, reader goes through the wringer... if you prefer soft yandere, this is probably not for you. loosely based on a rp I did with a friend.

Sorry I lied about the rook and sebek HCs. I have Sebek's pretty much done I think, but Rook remains an enigma. Might post them separately, idk.

Kuni's appearance is inspired by the desert horned viper. If the formatting seems a little weird at any point, it's because tumblr messed it up when I copy/pasted it here. Might fix it later.

6.5k words or so.

The Desert of Hadramaveth.

You haven't been here before. You thought the rest of the desert was bad, between the heat which was "enough to melt a mist flower but not really" (paraphrased from a certain fox friend) and the unforgiving terrain.

This was worse, with its near-constant sandstorms. This was the second one today, and you had only just left the Tanit camp. In other areas of the desert, you were begging for a reprieve from the sun, but here, you were almost begging for it back if it meant you didn't have to worry about getting sand in your eyes and throat. It was almost, almost enough to make you consider turning around and dropping the commission.

"Do you want to hear a dry joke?"

If it weren't for your friend here, you probably would. Unfortunately, you can't turn back now that you've gotten his hopes up. The most you can do is slump your shoulders and sigh, suffocating under the endless heat, what little you could see of the sun, and what you knew was coming next.

"Sure, I'll bite."

A large, beaming grin spread across Sanad's face, and you braced yourself.

"A desert."

"That's terrible."

"Oh, come on! It's funny and you know it!"

"Does that even count as a proper j-"

You paused, looking up at the sky. In the distance, you could see a large, beige cloud. Again?

"We need to find shelter. There's a sandstorm coming."

"Well, looks like we're in luck. Where isn't shelter?" he responded.

It was true. You and Sanad were somewhere just north of the Tanit Camps, near Wadi Al-Majuj. Ahead of the both of you was the entrance to a deep canyon, lined with ancient ruins. According to the map, it was called Pairidaeza Canyon. Behind you, there was another entrance to a different canyon, and according to your map, if you went back a ways and to the right, there'd be a third one.

"Come on, let's go! I need to look through these for my thesis!" He rushed, running ahead of you.

"Careful!" you called out. "There might be bandits down there."

He immediately slowed to a stop, sheepishly turning around to move back to his place next to you.

"On second thought, take your time. Just make sure there's nobody else in there."

You chuckle, already starting a reasonable pace down the steep slope into the canyon. "Thought so. Just a reminder, we're leaving immediately once the sandstorm ends, unless we find who or what we're looking for."

Right. What you were looking for. Recently, small groups of travelers and even large caravans were being attacked. Most of the attacks occurred between the Tanit Camp and around the Passage of Ghouls. A few supplies were usually stolen, but that wasn't the worst part.

A few days later, the rotting corpse of one of the travelers or nomads would be found, half-eaten and with a twin set of puncture marks in their throat. Any useful supplies would be missing, but oddly enough, the mora was almost never taken.

Normally, you'd assume that maybe it was just a deranged serial killer, and either the bodies were eaten by wild animals or the culprit was worse than you thought. But it was strange. What serial killer had fangs like that? And if it was a wild animal, what use would they have for supplies like bedrolls and first aid kits?

The survivors usually all said the same thing; they were caught out in the middle of a sandstorm, and all they heard was a scream or shout before one of their friends disappeared. When the body was found, some key survival supplies would be missing as well. When a caravan was attacked, some supplies (and occasionally people) would even be snatched right off the backs of the desert sumpter beasts.

Hence why you and your friend Sanad were out here to crack this strange case. Mostly you, though, since Sanad only wanted to take a gander at the desert ruins for some Akademiya thing. You'd probably have gone alone (or at least tried to, before you decided the mora wasn't worth it) but when he heard that you were going to this section of the desert, he insisted on coming for his thesis or something like that. He helped pay for the trip, and he was paying you personally, so you had no reason to refuse. He was your friend, and good company to boot, even if he was a little bit skittish.

"Well, that might be possible... but you said you didn't even know if the culprit was a person, didn't you?" he inquired, as the both of you passed the first of the ruins in the canyon.

You sighed. "Yeah, I told you all about that already."

A glimmer of excitement appeared in his eyes. "Well, I've been thinking since then, and I remembered this old desert legend! Have you heard of nagas?"

"Nagas?" you parroted.

"Yes, nagas!" He nodded his head. "They're an ancient race of ferocious half-human half-snake people that supposedly existed during the reign of King Deshret. Apparently they were equal parts revered and feared, as wise and strong beings."

You raised a somewhat skeptical brow. "I thought you didn't believe in legends?"

He laughed. "The Akademiya has declared them to be just baseless nonsense, so of course I don't think they actually exist. I just think it's very interesting, and it technically matches what we know..." He trails off, looking around in awe.

"If you want to look around, you can. Tell me if you see or hear anything."

You didn't need to tell him twice. With a rushed "thanks!" and a wave, he was practically bouncing up what probably used to be a set of stairs to a higher level within the ruins, off to your left. In the meantime, you'll look around, see if you can find anything interesting.

You looked up and around, spinning on your heels. From what you've seen of the canyon so far, it's just a straight corridor with partially collapsed stone ruins on both sides, and a fallen wooden bridge that once connected them. You can see several ways to climb up higher and explore the ancient stone buildings, including the way up that Sanad went.

You and Sanad are pretty deep into the canyon at this point, and you have to crane your head just to see the top. As you do this, you notice just how many floors there are in the ruins. Some have crumbled so much they seem almost completely inaccessible. They're so high up, you can't see anything on them from your angle at the bottom.

There's just so many places to hide. The realization makes you tense up a little. Maybe you should have gone up with him.

It's so strange though. The complicated ruins, numerous hiding places, and the nearby water would make this place an ideal camping spot for bandits and thieves. But so far, you haven't seen hide or hair of anyone else. Not even an abandoned camp.

Until somewhere in the ruins, you hear an odd sound. It's hard to make out, and it sounds so much like the normal shifting sand that you almost brush it off as a natural sound in the canyon. But you hear stone crumbling and rocks falling, and you look up, seeing something move on the side of a ledge too far above you to check. It's close enough that some of the rocks hit the ground next to you. You squint, watching the ledge, waiting for whatever it was to move again, but the sound stops. The hair on your neck stands on end–from what, you aren't sure. Sanad is even closer to the source of the sound than you are, but not far away at all. Just out of sight. Was it from him? Or someone watching him?

Or are they watching you?

You're not sure, and you'll check just in case. Sanad doesn't have anything to defend himself with except for a dagger. Without another thought, you surge up the stone steps, hand subconsciously finding its place on the pommel of your sword. When you get up there, you see him standing with a hand on his chin, studying some old glowing contraption you've never seen before.

"Did you hear that?" you ask, breathing just a little heavier than normal.

He turns to you somewhat incredulously, just as fine as ever. "Hear what? I haven't heard anything. Are you alright?"

You calm down a little bit, letting your hand fall from your sword. "I'm fine. I was just worried about you. Didn't you hear that noise? I saw something move up there." You look up at the ledge the rocks came from. You don't see any way to get up there that's safe.

The sand is starting to pour in harder through the massive gap in the canyon ceiling, and the wind is beginning to howl. You and Sanad are slowly being dusted in sand.

"You're a little on edge. Relax! A sandstorm is starting and the wind and sand probably just knocked a few rocks into the canyon or something. It happens all the time." He flashed you a reassuring smile, turning back to... whatever those were on the wall. They're shaped somewhat like bowls, and as sand pours into them, sand also pours out a hole in the side into another one of them. You're not the researcher here, so you ignore it.

You let go of some of the tension in your shoulders, letting out a held breath. "Alright, sorry for bothering you then. Just so you know, if the sandstorm gets any worse, we'll be moving deeper into the canyon to get out of the sand."

He turns back to you, somewhat pleading. "But can't I stay? I'm not the one looking for the guy, so you don't need me to come with you, right?"

You expected this, just as you expect that he'll be the one choosing to come with you after what you say next. "Yeah, you could, but if something happens I probably won't be able to hear it if I'm down there."

He freezes, grimacing a bit. "Alright, alright. Let me know when you move on."

As expected.

You chuckle at him with a lopsided smile, turning back to go down the ramp. He was probably right. It seemed like such a silly thing to panic over. Of course sand and rocks would shift and fall in the desert during a sandstorm. That's probably all you saw. You're glad you brought Sanad along and not some other stuck-up researcher who would have made fun of you for it.

When you reach the bottom again, you turn your attention to the ground. Aside from the sounds of the howling wind and pouring sand, you can hear water dripping as it coalesces into the wide but shallow puddle in front of you. That's not what interests you, though.

There's a long indentation in the sand, about as wide as you are, as if something had been dragged through. It extends further into the cave, where the ground becomes rockier and the track disappears.

You crouch down to inspect them further. Chances are, it's probably a large haul of supplies that was too big to properly carry. This place is the perfect hideout for thieves and bandits, so it would be worthwhile to investigate. If you're lucky, it might be the bandit you're looking for.

The canyon starts to darken, so much so that you now have trouble making out the edges of the track. Most of the sunlight that filtered in through the top has disappeared behind a haze. The sound of howling wind grows louder, and the hiss of pouring sand all around you is almost deafening. You've had quite enough of the sand raining on and around you, so you call out for Sanad to come back. It doesn't take him long to come rushing back down the way he came.

"We're heading deeper in to wait out the rest of it," you explain.

He sends a longing look back at where he had come from. "Alright... I see," he concedes, with a dejected slump of his shoulders.

You'll humor him. "Did you find anything interesting?"

He instantly brightens up, excited to talk about whatever he found. "Yes! It's this interesting mechanism that fills with sand. I read about it in a textbook once! It can be opened and closed, but I couldn't figure out how to. I've heard if you can fill them as they were intended to be, you can get treasure from them!"

You two begin moving deeper into the canyon, and you send him a teasing smile. "With the way you're talking, I'd almost think you're the adventurer here."

He shudders. "I could never. At least, not as a full time job. You encounter monsters all the time, don't you?"

"They're not so difficult to deal with, once you're used to seeing them."

"That is not at all reassuring!" He stops to let out a breath. "No, I just want the free mora. Trips like these are expensive."

You sigh. "Well, if you want to, we can at least take a crack at it together on the way out of here."

His eyes light up again. "That's wonderful! We can even split the rewards if we manage to solve it!"

"No more than an hour, though," you warn. "With all the sandstorms, we don't have the time to waste."

"Aww, fair enough." A moment of silence passes, and he turns back to you. "Oh, I almost forgot to ask you! Did you find anything interesting?"

You think back, and the only thing that comes to mind are the tracks.

"Well, a little bit behind us, I found these drag marks. Like someone had dragged a big bag or something, I couldn't tell what."

"Drag marks? Oh, so maybe it really is a naga after all."

You turn to him in exasperation. "Didn't you just say you didn't believe in them? Besides, why'd you even tell me about them if you don't think they exist?"

He laughs. "I'm kidding! I only told you mostly because I wanted to. But I have a more realistic theory too!"

"Really now?" You raised a skeptical brow.

He turns to you, faking a gasp in faux offense. "Why are you looking at me like that? Of course I do! I don't study at the Akademiya for nothing!"

You chuckle. "Oh, go on then. Don't keep me waiting."

"What if the culprit keeps a snake around? Think about it, at the price of a little food, they'd get an unlimited supply of p–Hey! Don't laugh at me! It's not as ridiculous as it sounds!"

Apparently you weren't as good at hiding your snickers as you thought. "No, no, I'm not laughing at you. I was just imagining it in my head. From what I heard, it would have to be a pretty big one based on the size of the puncture wounds and the distance between the fangs."

He crossed his arms, looking away. Guess he didn't quite believe you. "It's not THAT unbelievable, especially in comparison to the naga theory... Haven't you seen the street performers with the snakes in Port Ormos?"

You hold your hands out in a placating gesture. "Okay, okay, you're right, I'm sorry. But your theory doesn't explain everything–what about the half-eaten bodies part? And they almost never take mora either... besides, the street performers use nonvenomous snakes."

"I guess it would be risky, but in theory, venomous snakes can be trained too! Desert dwellers tend to be... fearless. Though..." He puts a hand to his chin in contemplation, looking down. "I'm not quite sure about that other part either. Though it's not as if cannibalism was ever off the table, there's always the chance it was just wild animals that found the body after. As for mora... maybe it's someone who never gets the chance to spend it anyway?"

"Like, a recluse or something?" you pipe up.

"Yeah, exactly! Someone who's completely self-sufficient, who doesn't need to deal with other people to survive. Makes enough sense. They probably get everything they need from the people they're attacking."

At this point, the both of you are up to your ankles in water. The canyon is fairly wide at the bottom and grows so much narrower towards the top that very little sand makes it through, so you take the liberty of brushing as much of it off of you as possible. The both of you pass the last of the stone ruins. Up ahead is just bare, mostly untouched canyon. It's damp enough to support an amount of greenery that seemed a little out of place in the desert. You can still hear the wind howl, but it's a bit quieter here.

You and Sanad pass an opening in the wall to your right, leading to a dead end with a fairly deep pool and what looked to be a crumbled stone bridge.

"Your theory is a little... out there, but some of it definitely makes a good deal of sense."

"It's an early hypothesis! We'll revise it as we find more evidence."

You roll your eyes a bit. "It's alright, I'm not judging you."

You look around again. There's plenty of dry places to stop and rest without worrying about sand, so this should be an adequate place to wait it out.

"Why don't we stop here?"

"Not yet!" Sanad points further into the cave, where it opens up some more, with a rock jutting out of the center of the room, surrounded on one side by a shallow stream of water. "I can see more ruins in there! You can stop there and I can keep looking around."

You sigh, for what felt like the hundredth time. As much as you wanted to rest, it wasn't far away at all. "Alright. But we're still going back to that mechanism immediately once the sandstorm is over."

"I know, I kn–"

From an entrance to another path to your right came a blur, barreling right at Sanad. You have barely enough time to shove him behind you and out of its way before it stops in front of you both, dark claws bared.

Now that you can get a look at it, you realize it's a scarred, shirtless man with a dark head of hair, sharp indigo eyes, and... two pale, straight horns? Looking down, he doesn't have a pair of legs, but a sand-colored snakelike tail with rough scales. Even without the rest of his tail, which was hidden behind him, he's quite literally twice your size.

A naga?

He sneers at your sword as you pull it from your sheath, showing off a long pair of fangs. "A little short, isn't it?" He hisses. "Good luck with that."

"Sanad, get back!" You cry, holding your sword out in front of you threateningly. The naga seemed more amused than anything, simply starting to circle. Watching.

While you backed up to keep the naga from getting between you and Sanad, he hurriedly ran far back the way the both of you came, staying just close enough to watch the both of you.

Without warning, the naga lunged forward, one claw-tipped hand reaching out to swipe at you. You swung your sword at his arm, but missed, just barely grazing his side. Still, it was enough to force him back. He brushed over the superficial wound with one hand, smearing what little blood came from it, taking a look.

You stand there, adrenaline pumping through your veins, unsure of what to do. His reach was almost as long as yours, even though you were the one with the sword. This has to be who you're looking for, but you're beginning to think that you should've brought more people.

When he looks back at you, that cruel sneer is still set in his face, but a glint of annoyance is now present in his eyes.

"Lucky hit. Don't count on it happening again."

He doesn't hesitate, rushing forward immediately. You swing again, but it's too early, and he barely has to slow down before he's coming at you again. He's so close now that he grabs your shoulder, claws digging in hard enough to draw blood, shoving you down. In a blind panic, you're forced to adjust your grip on your sword so that you can bring your arm back and stab into his tail.

Before you even realize what's happened, you're on the ground, wind knocked out of your lungs. The arm that had held your sword is pinned to the ground by one of his hands, the other still holding onto your shoulder. You wheeze pathetically while he leans down and slides his fangs into your throat.

Your sword had bounced off of his scales, barely even leaving a mark.

The first thing you feel in your throat is pain, followed by an overwhelming numbing sensation, only interrupted by pins and needles. He chuckles as you thrash around in his hold, your free hand trying to push him off. The sensation is spreading, from your shoulder down even to your fingertips. The only thing you can do is let out a pained groan.

The pressure, from anything, from his hands on you to your own as you push and hit him, hurts. Like everything that touches you only pushes those pins and needles deeper into your skin. It's this feeling that finally makes you go limp in his hold, giving in. It gives you the chance to look up, focus on anything but him, and see that Sanad has long since abandoned you. Lucky bastard.

You hope that he gets away, at least. Even as the half-snake thing on you pulls away to hold your face in one hand, forcing you to look at him.

"Seems your little friend didn't care for you as much as you cared for him. Don't worry. I'll do you a favor and make sure he gets what's coming to him." You manage to focus on his face, smeared with your blood and that same, ever-present sneer, but with something else behind it. Something vindictive.

You grit your teeth. It stung, even though you knew it was the only reasonable thing for Sanad to do.

It's petty, and it won't do you any favors, but you lift your arm and slap him across the face as hard as you can. The impact alone sends shocks of pain down your arm, but he barely even moves.

Instead, he laughs in your face, dark amusement flitting across his hauntingly beautiful features. "What was that? A love tap? After everything, I'm surprised you can even try." He leans in closer still, your noses almost touching.

"I'm sure you feel proud of yourself, don't you? Good job! I might just leave you for last, then."

Without another word, he dashes off to find Sanad, and all you can do is pray the snake isn't successful. After all, what's a pampered Akademiya researcher to do against a man-eating monster?

You try to stand, but a bone-deep exhaustion pulls at your limbs. You can only get halfway up before your vision starts to go dark and you collapse onto the ground in a graceless heap. The pressure still hurts, a strange buzzing sensation rising alongside the needles and numbness. All you can do to help it is curl onto your side, minimizing your contact with the ground.

You lay there for a while, drifting in and out of consciousness for who knows how long. The pain is fading slightly, but you're not sure if it only feels that way because you're getting used to it.

Maybe you're dying.

A chill goes down your spine at the thought, and you do your best to dismiss it. It isn't hard, not when your thoughts are interrupted by a terrified, blood-curdling scream cut too short to be natural.

It brings you back to your senses. You keep listening, but you can't hear any more noises over the constant sounds of the canyon. Dripping water, falling sand, and the howling wind.

If that was Sanad, then since you're already deep within the snake's den, it must be only a matter of time before he gets back...

You're pushing yourself back on your feet before you know it, another rush of adrenaline supporting you. To do what, you're not sure. If you couldn't win before, you certainly can't now. But you're already running as best you can to where you saw Sanad go, though it's more of a relatively fast half-stumble than anything else. Everything still hurts, and beneath the venom you can start to feel your muscles ache too, but if you focus on moving it isn't unbearable.

You forgot your sword. You'd turn back to get it, but even with the adrenaline your limbs feel like lead, and your sword arm is so weak you don't think you could do more than carry it anyway.

You've just reached the ruins again, and looking around at all the nooks and crannies gives you the idea to hide. As sluggish and unarmed as you are, you can't fight anyway. Maybe if you hide long enough, he'll go away. Sanad might still be alive, if you can make it to him.

You don't know how long you were laying there, but if you could hear Sanad, they couldn't have gotten far. That fact is a double-edged sword, you realize. It's been a while since you heard his scream, and if the naga was coming back then it wouldn't be long until you saw him. You don't have much time.

You stagger your way as fast as you can manage to your right. You don't see anywhere to hide down at the bottom, but there are plenty of places above. It's so much harder than walking on flat ground, but you force yourself up a wooden ramp onto a stone platform. There aren't a variety of places to hide here, either, but you don't have the energy to go up any higher.

You hear the water below you being disturbed, in a way too constant to be footsteps, and you quickly duck forward to avoid being seen. You don't dare look, instead opting to slowly move towards a large stone statue to your right, as quietly as possible. With one look back to make sure he hadn't come up to check, you hide behind the stone dais that the statue rested on.

You take a breather, listening for any more sounds. You can't hear the water being disturbed anymore, but the thought of moving alone is both terrifying and exhausting. If you wait too long and he finds you gone, he'll probably come back to look for you. On the other hand, if you leave too early and he hears you...

With this in mind, you rest a few minutes more. The wind is slowing down, and there's less sand in the air than there was when you and Sanad first came through, so the sandstorm has likely stopped. At least the naga won't have that going for him too, once you and Sanad leave.

You'd stay longer, but the anxiety eats at you. It's only a matter of time until the naga comes back, and you don't know what condition Sanad is in.

You get up on shaking legs, your body begging you to sit back down and rest more. You know better, so you force yourself forward, looking over the ledge to make sure he isn't nearby.

You stumble back down the wooden ramp, turning to continue down the path to the exit. You have to stick to the sides of the path, where the sand is highest, just to make sure nobody can hear the sounds of splashing water.

Sanad can't be too far off now. Maybe he'll be in the same state you are, and you both can return to the Tanit camp and get help. You still have your pack on you, but the only thing that might be useful soon is the small first aid kit and the knife.

You really hope you won't need the knife.

Just in case, you pull it out of your pack and put in in your pocket. You're out of the water now, but you've come to a steep hill. The only way out is up. You hope you can make it.

You grit your teeth, sweat dripping down the side of your face as you force yourself up the incline. Onward and upward, you think bitterly. The overused phrase "ad astra abyssosque" parroted endlessly by everyone else at the Adventurer's Guild comes to mind. You never thought you'd make it to the stars or abyss to begin with, but you didn't think your journey would end so soon, either.

Your muscles burn with exhaustion, and you think you can feel the numbness slowly spreading further into your legs. Still, you continue upwards, at a much slower pace, even as you almost collapse a few times.

You come up to a point where the hill flattens out for a short distance. You're panting from the exertion, and you almost breathe a sigh of relief until you see what's in front of you.

"Sanad!"

Before you know it, you've staggered forward to collapse at his side. He's lying face-down on the ground in a small pool of his own blood.

You turn him over, tears pricking at your eyes, praying his condition wasn't as bad as it seemed. His head lolled to the side, face pale and eyes empty, unmoving. The blood, on the ground and splattered all over the front of his Akademiya robes, still dripped from the massive tear in his neck. It looked like a set of claws had dug into his skin and tore off the front of his throat.

Your breath hitches, and you fall backwards, dropping his body. Tears well up in your eyes. Why hadn't he done the same to you? Why did he do so much worse to-

"So, so loyal. Like a dog running to protect its master. You're adorable, really, even if you're a little late."

You freeze, only turning your head to look over your shoulder at him. He's slowly approaching, a condescending smirk on his lips. Half-dried blood covers one of his hands.

"There's no need to mourn. He was pathetic. Did you know that he only cared enough to fight when it was his life on the line?" He looked distant for a moment, before looking at you with something almost soft in his eyes. It disappeared so fast, you'd almost think you had imagined it, the condescending smirk and mock pity sliding to cover his face once more. "You poor thing. You're better off without him. No need to thank me."

You blink away the tears, an idea coming to mind. You couldn't overpower or outrun him, so there's only one possible option for you. "You're a... you're a lying bastard! What else was he going to do?" You yelled at him, pushing yourself up on unsteady legs to face him, backing over your friend's body.

"Humans are untrustworthy," he croons, following after you. His eyes don't leave you even once. He's sizing you up, and with nothing more than a moment of contemplation, his smirk widens and a victorious glint appears in his narrowed eyes. "He was using you. Once you were no longer useful to him, he discarded you. It's pretty naive to think he left you with any other thought in mind."

You don't dignify that with a response, continuing to back up. One of your hands almost moves down to your pocket, where your knife is hidden, but you stop it before he sees.

Your heel hits the sharp incline behind you, where the hill keeps going, and you fall backwards and hit the ground. A derisive snort comes from the snake.

"I've decided what I'm going to do with you. It's much better than what I did to your friend, here. You should thank me, really." He towers over you, leaning down to your level, setting a hand down on the ground next to you. Your hand twitches for your knife.

He watches you for a moment, a quiet, breathy laugh leaving his lips at your frozen state. All you do is stare at him, shaking from the adrenaline. Finally, his other hand comes up to rest on the nape of your neck, pushing you closer to him. You can feel the sticky blood on his fingers.

His eyes glimmer with excitement, and he continues while your hand slowly drifts to your pocket. "You're just helpless. I think I'm going to keep you with me, like a little p-"

You thrust your knife at him, landing a hit on his side while he lurches away. Your blood runs cold. It should have been buried hilt-deep, but instead all you've done is leave a bleeding gash. It's not quite superficial, but it won't stop him, and you know you won't be able to land another.

His lips curl in a snarl as you scramble backwards up the hill. You turn, and start running, but adrenaline can only carry you so far. You feel almost like you're in a nightmare, fully conscious and trying to run but unable to move at any pace that could possibly save you.

It only takes a moment for a large hand to wrap around your ankle, dragging you underneath him. Your face hits the ground and your hands scrabble for purchase, but the dirt and sand only give way beneath your fingers. His other hand finds the wrist with the knife, squeezing tightly enough that you can feel the pain, even underneath the lingering numb, buzzing sensation. You can't feel your hand well enough to keep holding onto the knife. The pins and needles return, and tears prick at your eyes.

He knocks the knife far away from you and flips you over to look at him, dark eyes still burning with anger. "You're alive only because I let you live. Did you really think trying that was smart? Did you finally get it all out of your system, or do you want to try again?"

You try to speak, but the words get caught on the lump in your throat. A hand slams on the ground next to you, and you shrink in on yourself.

"Well?" A glimmer of satisfaction appeared in his eyes, even as his lip curled in a mixture of amusement and contempt. "I'm waiting."

It's all you can do to croak out a few apologies and look away, unable to stand his stare.

A deep chuckle resonates from his chest, and his other face grips your jaw, forcing you to look at him again. "Good enough," he croons. "Looks like it won't be so bad for you, then."

"What? What won't?" you whimper. His hand lets go of your face, drifting down to encircle your neck. Your hands instinctively wrap around his wrist, silently begging him not to squeeze.

That little mocking smile on his face widens. His hand tightens a little, and you panic for a second, but it doesn't go any further. Instead, his eyes grow distant, thinking.

They brighten up again, an idea coming to mind. He laughs quietly to himself, pulling his other hand off the ground and trailing it down your leg. "You can call me... Kunikuzushi. I think I know what I'm going to do with you now."

"Please don't hurt me," you plead, vision blurring with tears. He doesn't even look at you, instead watching his hand as he grabs your calf and pulls it up. "It's a little late for that," he hums, adjusting his grip to hold onto your ankle instead. His fingers are long enough to wrap fully around it and then some.

"I can't watch you all the time, and I need to buy myself enough time to get something to restrain you with... besides, you deserve this anyhow."

You were about to ask him what he meant by that, but with a distressing amount of ease, he twisted your ankle to the side hard enough that you could hear the pop. The pins and needles returned to that area full-force, the buzzing and numbing sensations right behind it. It didn't hurt that much, though. You could feel an ache beneath it all, but it didn't hurt as much as it should have. You were sure you could still walk on it.

Until you looked down, where it was still in his hand, twisted so far to the side that you weren't sure it would ever be the same again. It doesn't hurt that much, but your shoulders still shake and you still start to cry.

"There, there," he murmurs, dropping your ankle to stroke your hair. He leans down lower, a smile a little too sharp to be soft on his lips. "You'll be okay. I wouldn't get a pet if I couldn't take care of it."

You try to push him away. You know you need to do something about your ankle, but he only presses closer, resting more of his weight on you so thay you can't see it anymore. "It's a bit too late for that now, don't you think?" he whispers, leaning in to press his lips against yours, too eager and with too much teeth. You flail a bit, trying to push him off, but he only chuckles into the kiss, biting your lip hard enough to draw blood. An arm wraps around your waist, pushing you closer.

It feels like an eternity, but soon he's sweeping you up and slinging you over his shoulder. He turns around to go back down into the canyon, and you watch Sanad's corpse disappear over the hill.

This time, you can feel him rumble with the force of his laugh.

"I'm going to have so much fun with you."

[old-school-butch]

following the tent massacre, my question is, what should Palestinians do to be safe? What should women and children do to ensure their own survival? If they're told somewhere is safe only to be bombed in their tents, what hope do they have of surviving this war?

Unfortunately, very little. This is why war is so terrible - if only the people who agreed to fight were hurt then I would happily let them go at it. But when you plan for war, you are inherently accepting the deaths of so many innocents. That does not seem to weigh on leaders as heavily as it should.

There have been multiple proposals from Israel about where Gazan civilians can be safeguarded during this war but Hamas doesn't play by any normal rules. Normally, when you set up civilian areas that means that soldiers don't set up combat operations in the middle because that automatically makes it not a safe zone. Israel had proposed creating civilian safe zones in the Sinai peninsula but Egypt rejected the proposal out of fear that a) what if Israel doesn't let them return and they become Egypt's problem and b) Hamas would just follow their civilians into Egypt and start a whole other war since they already cooperate AND fight with IS jihadists based there, so Egypt would end up in a 3 way fight with terrorists and they'd much rather all this be Israel's problem.

So instead camps were setup in Rafah since Hamas' base of operations was further north. However, rockets are being fired at Tel Aviv out of Rafah now, so it's now clear that Hamas has established operations right in the middle of their civilians, putting Israel in a dilemma of how to safeguard their own civilians while removing this threat.

The only thing civilians can do in a war is be as far away as possible from combat. International law regarding combat make this obligation really clear to all combatants involved, which is why Israel is getting blasted for pursuing Hamas into Gaza. But since Hamas isn't a real government, they aren't held to the same standard and that's a problem no one has a good solution to. In the big picture, if using civilians as human shields means you get to win a war, then the terrorists really do win and we will all face non-stop terrorism because they will keep winning with this exact strategy.

But as an individual, if you know Hamas is keeping hostages near you or setting up rocket launchers next to you, your life is in immediate danger. But Hamas is not above terrorizing its own population, and women in Gaza have almost no political power so they are stuck here. Ultimately, Hamas needs to be overthrown and that can happen through Israel but it can also happen when the civilian population has had enough of a leadership that is so thirsty for violence. I mean, ideally, people might also become more wary in the future of voting bloodthirsty leaders into power but those lessons seem a long way off.

Having said all that, I don't agree with Israel's assault on Rafah. Yes Tel Aviv is under missile attack but the Iron dome protects civilians there while some re-grouping can happen to also protect civilian life. While freeing hostages was a clear goal, the theory of victory (i.e. what does it mean to 'win' or meet your objectives) to engage in this war with the goal of regime change is really tenuous. It's really not clear to me how that would happen and even whether Hamas' replacement would be any better.

I think in the face of terrorist and non-state actors, states need to re-think how wars are going to work in the future. You can't have one side that will do ANYTHING to save its civilian hostages facing another actor who appears ruthlessly willing to let their civilians die and not see that concluding this conflict is going to be bloody and prolonged. Israel hasn't really faced this kind of war before and I don't believe they are well prepared for it. For that matter, I don't think the world has a clear, successful strategy to handle terrorists and so far attempts to battle ISIS or al Queda have been similarly bloody and inconclusive. This is, of course, why these groups are spreading so rapidly - because killing civilians (your own an your opponents) until your non-terrorist opponent feels sickened at the slaughter and stops fighting you... works. The fact that Israel gets blamed for it is just icing on the cake.

One of the biggest problems with wars is that once you start them, they are very hard to stop. This is because only one side has to want war to begin it, but both sides have to want to end it. In particular, the loser has to decide they've had enough or the threat they pose to their opponent is ended. I remember watching the celebrations happening in Gaza on October 7th and wondering why these doomed people were cheering the start of war. If Hamas is literally willing to fight to the last civilian, when will they say enough?

[muffinlance]

Fellow Prisoner Li, Part 3: Subtle Zuko is Subtle

Continued from the original post || Read all chapters on AO3

Li, Sokka was coming to realize, had the worst sense of direction. 

“Where you going, buddy?” Sokka inquired, as one does, when one’s former fellow prisoner and current traveling companion was dragging the Avatar off into the forest by his arm. Given the kid’s excited bouncing, the arm grabbing was probably to keep him on the ground. Or at least, ground-adjacent. 

“Firebending training,” Li said. 

“Firebending training!” Aang beamed.

“In that direction?” Sokka clarified.

“Yes,” Li growled, as the Avatar continued to echo him, but with a hundred more years of pent-up enthusiasm.

“The direction we saw that big Fire Nation base in as we flew in?” Sokka further clarified. 

“Y— No. Pohuai isn’t this way. It’s—” their resident directionally challenged firebender looked in many other directions, before picking the one exactly opposite of where he was leading Aang, and pointing with the complete certainty of a gambler who couldn’t take back his chips. “That way?”

If we ever need to know where the nearest Fire Nation presence is, we just need to spin you in a circle and tell you to walk, Sokka did not say, because Katara was already pointedly glaring at him from over by the fire, projecting her sibling telepathy so hard he could practically hear the lecture she was rehearsing in her head. Something something be nicer, something something traumatized prisoner. Also, and more importantly: Li had started helping with meals. Particularly in the delicious delicious pan-searing of meat and fish (and, if Aang was to be believed, various fungi, which Sokka did agree needed to be lit on fire). Sokka’s plate could get suspiciously crispy if he upset their broiler’s delicate Shout-o-Meter. 

“And even if it is,” Li was continuing, because being wrong was an art form that he practiced diligently, “it’s easier to predict military patrols than random civilians. So this is better. For not being seen?”

“You,” Sokka said, ignoring his sister’s increased attempts to shut him up from across the camp, “really don’t think things through, huh?”

Their broiler let go of the Avatar, with a certain sulky slumping.

“...No firebending practice?” Aang also slumped.

“Yeah, no,” Sokka said. “We need to talk flight paths. I am getting really sick of that Zhao guy.”

* * *

“So,” Sokka said. To summarize. “We can’t travel in the Earth Kingdom, because you’re a firebender, and they would kill you.”

Their firebender nodded.

“We can’t go deeper into the Fire Nation colonies, because you’re banished, and they would kill you.”

Additional nodding occurred.

“All right,” Sokka said, with a great deal of patience. “Then we’ll just have to find a way to travel from here to the North Pole. Instantaneously. Without crossing any intervening Earth or Fire territories because that is the entire map.”

“We could go to the Fire Nation,” Li said.

“Li,” Sokka said, “remember the ‘thinking things through’ thing?” 

Li crossed his arms. “No one would expect you to go there.”

“Because we will be in the Fire Nation,” Sokka said.

“There won’t be wanted posters for any of us.”

“Because,” Sokka said, “we will be in the Fire Nation.”

“I don’t know why you even want to go to the North Pole,” Li shouted, throwing up his hands, and also a few sparks. 

“Explain that,” Sokka said.

* * *

The North didn’t teach women to fight. 

The North had not seen the look on his sister’s face upon hearing this, or they would know that women did not require tutelage in the concept, only the techniques.

* * *

“So where can we find a waterbending teacher?” Aang asked.

“You’re from the South Pole,” Li said. “Why don’t you get a southern master?”

Sokka exchanged a look with his sister. Then Katara spoke. “Li. We… don’t have any left. That’s why we left.”

“You might not have any,” Li said, “but the Fire Nation does.”

Oh no.

“They’re alive?” Katara asked.

“I don’t know how many still are,” Li said. “But there’s a prison in the southern isles, it wouldn’t even be far to fly if we go straight across the ocean—”

Oh no no.

“Li, buddy,” Sokka said, even as his sister and Aang were leaning towards Li and, by extension, his terrible idea. “We are not breaking into a prison—”

“Didn’t you already break out those earthbenders? Why not your own people, too?”

“Yeah Sokka,” Katara said, with a scowl she’d learned since Sokka had made the mistake of exiting his own prison break with a friend, “why not?”

Oh no they were doing this.

Continued in Part 4: Zuko Goes to the Time-Out Thinking Corner || Read all chapters on AO3

[rise-my-angel]

Heart of the Great Wolf

32 - Peeking the Realms Woes

Pairing: Jon Snow x F!Baratheon!Reader, Robb Stark x F!Baratheon!Reader (Past)

Length: 15.4k

Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, body shaming, derogatory language, mild descriptions of blood and gore, references to past torture/rape, past character death, smut, public sex, p in v, slight exhibitionism

Notes: If you're hungry for extra content, at the top of the masterlist there are 4 oneshots which are side companion pieces. All canon to the plot but just did not fit into any main story chapter. There's 2 prequel esque chapters, one smut based chapter set in an ambiguous point in the story, and a nsfw alphabet. Just if anyone's curious! Previous Chapter Here, Series Masterlist Here

You had never walked and travelled lands as something called a Queen in any times but war. Not for a second in the Westlands did you nor Robb go anywhere without a number of guard, being in war torn enemy territory. But you also had an army camp anywhere between twenty to thirty thousand depending on where exactly your men were stationed at. You were always around a vast number of soldiers and guard.

In a similar fashion, you were somewhat used to it in Kings Landing. Either you had a flock of hens chattering about behind you at Cersei's insistence of giving you handmaidens. Or you had a guard with you most typically when travelling the streets beyond the Red Keep to the docks and waters but you also lived in a city with what now was likely close to a million people. It was normal to have a guard of at least one.

But here? In the North? It was odd. Trying to implore them to keep their distance most of the time as you appreciated the quiet. Jon had discussed it with Theon, where he felt he fit here now more and gave him his full trust to lead as the Queen's Captain of the Guard. Acting the one in charge knowing exactly when to force them to give you that quiet. It was not a long trip to get here, leaving early and not caring to stop until you reached it, but as soon as you did, they were allowed to stay guard and keep their eyes out but you were thankful Theon knew to force them to give space to what was unfolding.

The raven was simple, coming from Castle Black addressed to you specifically and the moment you had read it, a weight hit you once more. Looking at maps of the land to connect the paths of where exactly to go, knowing it would be a rather simple path to get there if they let you go at the speed you needed to get there quick. Jon was the one who insisted to send people with you, and Theon recognizing the protest about to come from you as he spoke up about gathering a few guards and himself. You had leaned somewhat against the table in a moment alone with a playful raise of one eyebrow, “I know it is a hard thing for you to imagine, but I think I can manage one teenage boy on my own.”

He had all but yanked you into his front at that one, a dark tease in his eyes with a tone that of an playful condescension. “How well did that go for you, when I was the teenage boy?”

Crossing your arms best you could in the space between you, your tone was flat and almost made the playfulness in his grow. “Most boys don't throw girls up against trees to ravage them.” Narrowing his own eyes he leaned down more into your face, feeling his breath dance along his skin as he questioned the word ravage. It was your turn to smirk as his face fell flat. “Oh, so if that wasn't my first kiss you're saying you would have had the restraint not to do anything more?”

His silence almost made you laugh, both of you knowing Jon had no rebuttal to such an accusation.

But it was now as you slowly walked through the snow looking at the remains of once was, and you once more could envision exactly what had taken place here. You knew too well what war looked like and it was easy to see how such a simple village was left in tatters and the remains frozen in time to remind of the pain. If any but him had been left alive, they ran and never returned to this place.

The homes were all small and quaint, much of the decaying remains of tools and lands told you much of their lives and work were outdoors together as a community instead of singular. It made it easy to target, and you knew that's why it would have been picked. It was a village of innocent people and such an atrocity was supposed to draw the Nights Watch out, as was the attack on Mole's Town.

Slaughter innocents to draw the good men out to avenge them, but they knew better and forced the wildling group to them instead. A fight which beyond North was stopped before it ever began with the help of the Baratheon army, but it was Jon's leadership that held off the entire fight from ending before it begun with the ones coming south.

But, that didn't mean the cost of getting them there wasn't devastating.

By the time you had seen Olly, you had such an imagine painted that you knew only agony would be across his heart once reaching where he stood. His back to you as there was one area he hadn't moved from since you arrived, and his eyes likely rarely blinked looking to it. Not easy to see through the snow and ice covering, but it was the remains of bodies. Winter had encroached on them early and what should have decayed to bones was left stuck frozen and the evidence of their use haunting.

No doubt he heard you approach, but it was his pain to address, not yours to guide. You dared not think about how long he had been here waiting, or the heaviness in your heart at how he knew you would come without question. Coming up to his side, you stood close and watched as he did. He had told you what the threat one of them made was, and the degree of mutilation you knew in some mercy was done after death. Easier to carve into a body to eat if they aren't alive to fight back.

You were both quiet for a long time, and when words finally spoke, it was with a shaking breathe stemming from such a heavy heart did Olly finally find the right words to form. “He wasn't the first person I killed.” Your face didn't shift at all, but he knew to elaborate anyways. “Jon. He was the first that meant anything to me...but I killed someone before. The woman who killed my father.”

His eyes were filled already with tears wanting to fall and no doubt the crack in his voice as he continued, threatened to extend to such watering. “None of us knew they were even there until she killed him. Fell to the ground right beside me, he was already dead before I even knew what had happened to him..and then I looked over and saw her..there was nothing. Nothing in her eyes, she shot him in the neck and didn't even care one bit about it. Just moved on to everyone else..”

Stepping forward, Olly knelt down to the frozen pile as you stepped with him, kneeling as well to stay right by his side with a dutifully quiet listening. “The last thing my mother ever said to me, she just looked at me yelled for me to hide, kept telling me to hide and the second I ran..I didn't see them do it but I heard her scream..”

His hand reached out to something, running over the snow before dropping down now as the tears let themselves fall loose along his cheek. “They attacked us at Castle Black and I shot arrows into her back. I was scared the whole fight..but then I saw her, holding an arrow up and she was going to kill Jon..but then he saw me, and he trusted me to do it. He trusted me to save his life that night, and that was how I repayed her. I wanted her to know what it felt like, the way my father died not seeing it coming..but it didn't hurt. It didn't feel bad not the way it felt when..” His cracked voice fading away, you both knew the words going unsaid.

You looked over to him, eyes flickering away narrowed in thought before looking back. You knew Olly could see you were looking at him, but you didn't beckon him to face you. “I didn't know anything about the first man I killed.” His brows narrowed but he wiped at his tears with the back of his hand but more came anyways in small, silent drops. “Didn't know his name, who he was, barley what he looked like.” Finally his head turned to yours, and there was a long passed distance in your eyes fading out. “I shoved a dagger into his neck and after he fell to the ground, I never thought about him again.” Asking why, you inhaled before looking back to the sight in front of you both.

It had been a long time since you thought about what happened that day. It felt like nothing compared to the ones which followed suit. “They attacked us first. Lord Stark, his men, we were all attacked in the streets of the capitol and the only people we killed attacked us first. They killed three of his own guard that day, men I knew for years. They attacked us, and after I killed one of them another shoved a spear through Lord Stark's leg and everything after that only ever got worse. I didn't think about the fact that I had killed someone until after we had won our first battle. I never thought about that man again after everything else I did. Until right now.”

The winds around you two blew quietly, brushing your exposed faces with dustings of snow picked up from the ground and flying through the air to a new destination. “You were defending yourself.”

“And you were defending Jon, and avenging your family.” Olly exhaled shakily, before nodding a bit. “We all do bad things, but those bad thing's aren't all equal in nature. You don't feel bad for killing her because you were righting the horrible wrong she did to you. But you feel bad for what you did to Jon, because you always knew that was wrong.” He didn't move away as you slowly let your hand sit comfortingly in the middle of his upper back, “We can't pick and choose what we feel guilty for, but the ones that we do is what defines us. You aren't a bad person because you don't feel guilty for killing her, and you aren't one for being forced to kill someone because Ser Alliser made you. People have done far worse in this world then you'll achieve in your lifetime.”

The winds sat between you once more until his voice was but a whisper, “You said that I didn't need to forgive them for what they did..but I would have to learn to live with them..” You nodded, waiting for the detached thoughts to assemble together in his mind. “I don't know if I'm ready for that..but if I stay at Castle Black I'll never know.”

“We can only try. I'm not asking you to make promises, only that you do your best and tell me when it's getting difficult.” Moving your arm across his shoulders, you pulled him more into your side, running that hand up and down what you could reach of his upper arm. “That and perhaps not to get too friendly with knives when alone with the King.”

Olly choked out a laugh as he leaned into you with an exhaustion. You both sat for a good while, as the boy found no energy in him to move anymore. “The snow is too heavy to bury them.”

Nodding, your voice was soft, “So we burn them. Do your mother and father one last thing, and not leave them here like this. We won't leave them to come back when the storm does.” Olly didn't move to get up, but he nodded his head. You wouldn't get up until he was ready. It was his parents he was looking for, and until he was ready to look away once he found them the two of you would sit there.

“Why do you want me around? After what I did..”

A smile easily sat gentle on your face, pulling him a bit closer. “I could ask you the same question.”

Olly's answer though, smacked right into your heart almost making you want to feel those tears sting behind your eyes. “My mother would have liked you.” You didn't need him to elaborate, you understood that with a tightening in your heart right away. Your eyes now watering without letting them drop.

Whispering in a strained silence only for him, “And she wouldn't want you to spend the rest of your life punishing yourself for a mistake. So I won't either.” Prompting him to stand as soon as he found the strength to sit back up properly, “Now we give them a proper funeral, and tomorrow you start fresh.”

No one helped you both, but you had given Theon a shake of your head when he moved to ask and he told the rest to leave you both be. He had told you that boy admires you, but Theon watched and came to the same conclusion you previously did. That maybe, you were just the closest thing to a mother Olly had left. Theon also didn't say it, but he certainly noticed how easily acting as one, fell upon your shoulders.

Certain things were undeniable sore spots for many of you now, and breaching such topics tended to mostly be spat between the two of you in jokes. It was easier to cope with what had happened to both of you if you joked about it, but certain ones he still didn't know how to bring up. It didn't pass your notice or Theon's that neither of you came anywhere near any kind of joke or insult coming close to a topic remotely sexual.

You two never had any actual attraction or interest. It was always from jokes in origin. You were pretty and innocent but short tempered and rigid. Theon was older, had a mighty appetite for women and knew you heard every time he snuck girls and whores into his chambers. He'd make a pass at you, you'd refute it with a clever comment and thus back and forth it became a game of wits to who could out sass the other.

Sex was just something you both were opposite about, and it made joking about it between you both far easier then Theon would ever get along with other girls. You never wanted him, he never wanted you and so flirting with you was safe, beacuse you both knew it meant not a thing. Jon had once joked, asking you if you shared that small corridor with Theon, how did you still know so little about sex. All three of them, Jon, Theon, and Robb all laughed at how flustered and offended you got. Saying you didn't actually listen you just heard it incidentally.

But, not once did anything close to subjects like that come up anymore. Not in jokes. Not towards you, and not about Theon's activities. Or lack thereof, now. You and Maester Wolkan were the only ones left who knew about it. Wolkan needed to know, he was the Maester of Winterfell now under Jon and when discussing his health, it had to be known. But you, not once did you ever bring it up. And he was grateful for it.

You weren't there for what happened to him, and he was glad of it. It was an indescribable memory that he some days couldn't piece together. He had meekly begged Ramsay to kill him after, and for a long time he still wished he would. But it got, not easier, but he had learned to cope with it as it would never change. Then Ramsay showed him you in the dungeons.

Theon knew why he was to be the one to serve you in Winterfell. Ramsay wanted him to get used to being around you, so that it would be a horrible shock the day he was dragged into what was being used as your chambers. And the sickening image he recalled, the extent of how violent it had gotten. Images that haunted Theon to the present. It was first night Ramsay made you and Theon watch each others eyes as he did what he did to you. And he only dragged Theon to watch the more Ramsay's appetite for cruelty towards you grew.

He purposely didn't tell Jon about a lot of the things done to you. Really, he had told Jon the truth of what happened to you, but he didn't tell him anywhere near the worst of it. He didn't know how to say it, and Theon knew that you still hadn't told Jon the worst of it, either.

If Theon were to be honest, it was clear that had Jon known the true extent of vile things Ramsay had done to you, he would've beaten him to death in the courtyard that very day they reclaimed Winterfell.

They weren't sights he liked looking back on, he knew it was to torture you as much as it was to torment Theon but it certainly stuck in his mind in the worst way possible. Ramsay had once mocked him about when men lose an arm or a leg and getting a phantom itch where it used to be. Asking if he would feel it now when seeing a naked girl, and he decided it seemed to test such a question out on you.

But he didn't feel that, he didn't look at you in that manner before, and now still he didn't see anything any mind could attain something good from, only horror. It wasn't until Winterfell too, did Theon for the first time find a reason to be thankful for being cut as such. Ramsay's voice so clear in his mind as he was forced to watch one night. You had been in a mood, and thrown a small mirror at Ramsay that smashed into pieces. So the Bolton stripped you down bare and let the broken shards cut into you as he did what he did, grinning at Theon the whole time.

“Maybe once upon a time, I would have made you do this part Reek, have you bond with my bride.”

He wouldn't be able to even look Jon in the eye had it come to that. He didn't know if he could even live with himself if he was to do something like that. He was Ironborn, rape and raid and all as such but that wasn't who Theon was in his blood, and that wasn't the man Eddard Stark raised him to be. So in that very home he once foolishly thought was the true prison, had to stand and watch it happen to you and be selfishly thankful that he was so mutilated that he wouldn't be able to be forced to help.

It was easy for you to joke about things before. What he did before Ramsay, it was so long passed that the transgressions were all but gone in your eyes. To you, if you both joked about it, people wouldn't look at him as if they should still hate him. He still wasn't sure how to thank you for that, nor if you would even want that. Very likely you would tell him to be quiet and go do something else if he tried to thank you.

You two used to hate each other too. Terribly hate one another. Your first week in Winterfell after Theon had been there, and as soon as he realized you were the daughter of Stannis Baratheon did he ever ramp up how rude he was. Didn't matter to him that you were younger and short and a girl, you were the daughter of the man who destroyed his uncle's fleet, and you had a smart ass mouth that he wanted to punch.

He could still see back one day he, Robb, and Jon were attending to something in the stables when you had thrown the door open and threw something at him hard. Jon had to grab him to stop him from instinctively going to hit you back, as you had yelled at Theon for something he now couldn't even recall. He yelled back and soon everyone came to see what was wrong, you got flustered at the attention, shoving passed everyone to leave when the amount of eyes grew. Robb left to go calm you down and shoved Theon into the wall in frustration as he passed.

Lord Stark had later, made you both sit down in his study side by side to force you both to grow up. He had told you that you could not come in and let your temper out on people and if you needed to have an outlet, “Pick up a practice sword in the training yard, and don't return until you're sure you aren't going to try to stab Theon with it.”

On his own, Lord Stark had told him to ease up on you. Robb and Jon had known you for six years at that point and were very close, they knew you well enough to tease. But also that while all three of them were verging on men, you had only recently had your fourteenth name day, that you were still little more then a child. Theon had grumbled, “Doesn't talk to me like one...”

But the man had only chuckled, he too had known you for those same six years and had watched you slowly grow out of your shell tremendously from that very first month. “I'm not asking you to be friends with her, I'm telling you that you both will need to find a way to tolerate the other's existence. You both will be working closely together from now on, and I'd rather not assign a guard to watch you both every moment of the day.”

He had gone back out to the yard, where you and Robb had started to spar. Trying to get your worked up energy out on something useful, and there you were laughing and smiling the more you and the eldest Stark would go. He would compliment how much better you had gotten, and he saw nothing of the bitter, dry and sarcastic little bitch he had initially thought you of.

Now however, watching you with the guard from afar, your eyes soft as your expression was the same harsh and still as ever, but you had your arm comfortingly around Olly, who was leaning into you with shaking shoulders Theon knew were tears. And not for a second did you try to make him feel better or even tell him it would be okay. You were exactly what the boy needed you to be in that moment. This was the village that was ruined in seconds and you stood with him in the cold snow as long as it took for the fire to take what was left of the frozen bodies of his parents and home.

Olly didn't talk to much of anyone as you all made your way to Winterfell. No one asked why an orphan boy from the Night's Watch was leaving there with you, and if the space given to you both as you came into the courtyard said anything, they were smart enough to not speculate either. It wasn't anything they would guess, you were certain of that. No one guessed it, and some days neither you nor the boy himself could believe what led him here.

But there was one thing to do, once you got him settled, notably getting him used to his quarters and around the castle as if a mother would, but if he was to be here, there was one person he needed to talk to. And he had avoided that conversation since the day he ascended the steps from the Ice Cells.

It was the Lord Commander he helped murder, but now it was the King in the North he was to answer too. But as you made your way to give them privacy, Olly had hesitated to speak up asking you to stay before realizing it was not his place. Jon however, caught it well and nodded for you to stay with not a shred of ire or blame in his eyes.

You'd seen the raging red and intense violence that could brew in Jon Snow's eyes but not for a second was such emotions and aggression directed at a child. That wasn't who he was, he in his blood without having to even try, was the man always on the front to protect the innocent.

Including the innocence of a child manipulated into doing something monstrous.

Samwell Tarly could recall a day when one of his brothers had asked him if he had ever dreamt of being back home since arriving at Castle Black, and his answer was blunt as he could have made it. “No, I hated it there.” And it wasn't anywhere near a lie, but it was so much more complicated then that.

No matter what good remained in his memories of home, it was still a place that he resented. He resented the torment, he resented being forced to leave, and he resented that he had to leave a second time all because once more his father refused to see anything worthwhile in him.

He had introduced himself that first day in Castle Black, as if it meant anything to those already looking at him with judging amusement in their eyes. Told to let them know what his name was, and he gave the proper greeting he was raised to introduce himself as only the shaking nerves made it sound pathetic as he spat it out, and rambled further.

“Samwell Tarly, of Horn Hill. I mean, I was of Horn Hill..I've come to take the black..”

Only to have the first thing he heard from any of their mouths, was the spitting Rast laughing to himself, “Come to take the black pudding,” Truly in those first few days Sam was sure his life had gone from one kind of bad to a new without anything to look forward too. Ser Alliser mocked him, encouraged others to mock him, and looked forward to making his recruits knock him into the dirt.

One had stood up in his defence, angry and shoving him away from them all once he grabbed him off the ground. Fighting against the rest of them when Ser Alliser demanded it, and turned around scolding him that it wasn't about to get easier. It was the first time someone had truly come to Sams defence without any expectation in return, and it was a bit off putting to Sam how rough and stern he was about it though. He was so sure, when he was assigned as the mans watch partner up on the Wall, that he hated him, and would rather have nothing to do with him.

Part of it was not being comfortable around such heights, but when he was told to come stand by the fire, Sam didn't want to. He was freezing, but standing by the fire meant having to come closer and annoy the one person who had done something nice for him, so he lied.

Only, it was never that easy trying to lie to someone like Jon Snow.

He said he was fine, and Jon without missing a beat turned to him, “You're not. You're freezing.” After that night, it got easier. A lot easier. He found people and purpose and confidence and a true bravery, he had begun to feel pride in who he had become at the Night's Watch.

But then Jon was Lord Commander, and had returned from Hardhome seeing horrors beyond anything Sam imagined once possible as a boy. Much happened at once, Jon with the intention of opening the gates to let the free folk through, but before that, had told Sam he was sending him to the Citadel.

Maester Aemon was very sick by then, and very old and Jon seemed to decide to utilize Sam's love for learning for the better. Despite the fact that Sam knew too well, Jon had next to no one left. Sure he had Ghost, he had Edd, and the large one Tormund seemed fond of him, but Jon had no family left, no home, most of his friends were dead, and half a year later, Jon still hadn't said more then a few words about you.

He wanted to stay, to not be another person forced to leave Jons life, but it wasn't Sams choice. It was Jons. And he sent him, Gilly and Little Sam to Eastwatch by the Sea anyways. After getting on a ship, it was a port stop in Bravvos with more adventures there then he ever wanted, and finally before settling into Oldtown, Sam knew he had one more stop.

He had to go back to Horn Hill.

Sam had hoped that perhaps the many years since he had left, may have softened his father's ire towards him. His mother Melessa at least, had taken one look at Sam and smiled so brightly he could have cried, a laugh at how good he looked, and how healthy he looked.

Then when introducing Little Sam, an easier explanation to hide where Gilly had come from they told his family he was his bastard son. It was less complicated if they thought he was his blood, even though at that point in Sam's life, he knew what people would think about a man of the Nights Watch with a newborn. But Melessa had adored Little Sam, not once cared for any of the implications one way or another, merely excited to have a grandchild and meet the girl who wooed her son.

Talla was so much older now, while adulthood hadn't changed much in Sam it had made his sister go from a girl to almost a woman, one of the first things from her mouth, “Father says I have to marry Symun Fossoway. He has yellow teeth-” Considering the life he and Gilly had just come from, it was almost sweet she complained it to Sam as if it were the worst to happen to her.

His father and brother were on a hunt, and for only a moment as his mother told him, it made Sam swallow in nerves. He doubted his father had ever told his wife what his plans for Sam were.

“You're almost a man now, but you are not worthy of my land and title. Tomorrow, you're going to take the black. Forsake all claim to your inheritance and start north. If you do not, then we'll have a hunt. And somewhere in these woods your horse will stumble, and you'll be thrown from your saddle to die...or so I'll tell your mother. Nothing would please me more.”

But he was doing this not for himself, he needed this to work. He needed his father to accept Gilly, accept Little Sam so they could have a life. Little Sam would have a better education then Gilly knew she could give him, still on her own reading journey she wasn't anywhere near a teaching level.

He needed his father to look past Sam's own shortcomings just this once. Let them stay, and Gilly wouldn't have to work in a brothel cleaning after women who all called her a “wildling bitch”. She wouldn't be working in Castle Black where at any time they could corner her alone, the worst of his brothers would attack her for being nothing but a woman. They would be safe.

Talla and Melessa had brought them both inside, the former sharing ideas of what guest room Gilly could have as if she had any concept of the luxury being offered. His mother warming his heart, telling him quietly that she couldn't be happier seeing her son with something so proud to look at. But then his father and brother came home.

Dickon wasn't as openly gleeful like his mother and sister, but Sam also knew that the two brothers were indeed happy about to see one another. Dickon had accepted the explanation, and begun going over things on his mind as if no time between all these years had passed. He was tall, strong, capable, and skilled just like his father but he had, like Sam, inherited their mother's kindness.

Sam also wondered, how much of why Sam left, did his father not tell his brother either?

Who knew but his father he had threatened to murder him for simply growing to be who he was? And sure, Sam all those years ago knew he wasn't proud of himself. He was a coward, he was shy, he had no idea what his purpose was, but now? Sure, he thought he was still some of those things to a degree, but now he at least knew when it came down to it, he would push forward for the people he loved. But it wasn't enough. It wasn't anywhere near enough, not for his father.

Sam preferred to read over learning to hunt, and his father hated that about him. Hated that his nose was always on a book rather then learning from whatever nightmare his father was putting him through that day. But it was the way one man at Castle Black had said those words to him, discussing how Sam wasn't a fighter like his father.

It was Stannis Baratheon who told him with a pride in his eyes and voice, as he realized Sams goal was to search the old manuscripts for answers of the threat far North.

“We have to know how to fight them. Keep reading, Samwell Tarly.”

The King who answered their call for aid, the King who still cared, had seen Sam's worth in his love of books and learning. Had not looked at him judgmentally for it, and instead seen him for something Sam could provide which others couldn't.

Yet, that night as he sat at the table with his father, mother, Talla, and Dickon, and at his own side Gilly and Little Sam, his father looked no more happy with him then the day he left. Dickon would ask what beyond the wall was like, and when Sam was honest that all of the food he had from the wild was hunted by Jon, his father found it pathetic. As if Jon being the fitter, stronger one who knew how to hunt was shameful against Sam who simply had no talent for it.

Gilly knew how to hunt, but she didn't shame him for it. Jon had hunted all of the animals the two of them ate beyond the wall and he didn't judge Sam for letting him do that work.

When Gilly had mentioned she knew how to hunt, especially rabbits, Melessa had not been phased, only knowing enough to say Gilly was from the North. “I imagine it’s common where you’re from. We once met a man, Lord Umber from Last Hearth, wasn’t it, Randyll, who said he taught all his daughters how to hunt.” Talla had been impressed on her own, looking at Gilly, “Your father taught you to hunt? Our father would never teach us. I think our father could learn a thing or two from your father.”

Agitated with the conversation, when Sam had politely went to accept bread from one of the servers, his father had dismissively scolded him, “Not fat enough already?” And it all had begun to spiral from there. “I thought the Night’s Watch might make a man of you. Something resembling a man at least. You managed to stay soft and fat. Your nose buried in books. Spending your life reading about the achievements of better men. I’ll wager you still can’t sit on a horse or wield a sword.”

Sam wanted to tell him he could ride a horse, he killed a Thenn, he killed one of the Others with nothing but a dagger made from dragonglass to protect Gilly and Little Sam. But he wasn't here to convince his father of that, and Sam could tell that Gilly wanted to bring it up in his defence, and had spoken of it before he could come up with a way to change the subject. Once the image of Gilly being North of the wall was out there, there was no hiding who she was.

Sam wasn't ashamed of it, nor did he care how people looked at him for it. But he certainly did not like how instantly, instead of making any notion of Sam breaking his vows, he had taken his ire out on him through Gilly. Randyll Tarly pointing to a shining, sharp blade. Sat on a wall mount made out of antlers, the hilt of it shaped as that of a bow and arrow with such images carved deeply into the wood surrounding it, whereas the rest of it looked little to stand out. “It’s called Heartsbane. It’s been in our family for five hundred years. It’s Valyrian steel. Only a handful of them left in the world. It’s supposed to go to my firstborn son after I die. To him.” Gesturing to Sam in the dead silence of the room, “But he will never wield that sword. If he were to become Lord Tarly of Horn Hill, it would be the end of this house. I took you for a Mole’s Town whore when I saw you and I made my peace with that. Who else would have him? But I overestimated him. No. It was a wildling whore that seduced my son.”

Turning back to his son, he was standing tall but no one else moved an inch, and everyone but him, was greatly uncomfortable as he grew more spiteful. “This you getting back at me, boy? Bring that to my table and making me dine with it. And you got what you were after, didn’t you? A bastard. A half-breed bastard.”

Melessa had stood, disgusted by his blatant hatred, guiding Gilly and Little Sam away with Talla following. Slowly leaving last was Dickon who stayed silent, wishing he had the bravery to stand up for his brother's side instead of saying nothing.

Sam was angry, however. Gilly being a wildling didn't make her any less of a person. And there certainly wasn't anything wrong with being a bastard. Jon was a bastard of the North, and was the most admirable man Sam's ever known, a far better man then the father before him.

Randyll had approached his son, now standing with a held back anger of his own looking up at the man. “Your mother’s a fine woman. You’re not worthy of her. To please her, I’ll take the wildling in. She can work in the kitchens. The bastard will be raised here. But this will be the last night you ever spend at Horn Hill.”

It was a risk, but he had left, and taken them with him. Gilly and Little Sam were his family, and they all belonged together, so they took what little they had and left in the middle of the night. Perhaps it had been childish or maybe it was the first brave act of rebellion against his father he found the courage to do, but he had taken Heartsbane with him, saying it was his families sword after all, not his fathers.

When Gilly had asked if his father would come for it, Sam said with the only pride he had.

“He can bloody well try.”

As you sat there in Maester Wolkan's study, you supposed you were lucky that no one saw what led up to it. Wrapping the underside of your forearm as you tried not to shake from the blood loss that took place as you made your way to see him in the first place. He no doubt had heard the whispers of you losing your mind by that point, but took no question that you simply said your hand had slipped. It became a problem however, when Jon had come into the room with tense eyes as he stared at you as if hiding a horrible secret.

“What happened?” His voice was tight and controlled likely a bit too much to not come off as trying to hide such intentions. Stepping closer to where Wolkan had you perched on a stool so your arm could lay flat as he previously had been stitching the worst of it.

He answered for you when you had paused with wide eyes, “Her hand slipped with a blade, she came to me before it could get out of hand.”

Jon watched how hesitant you were to speak and you both knew that he had realized why. Taking the moment he kept a more controlled volume, despite the twisting of angry worry in his face as he spoke to you instead. “Out of hand? The amount of blood I just saw-”

Wolkan kept his cool and you thanked him with a silent glance. “The wound is deep but it didn't cut a vein. It will heal easily and she got to me at the perfect time to clean and close the wound. Little things to be thankful for, sometimes.”

Inhaling deeply, Jon watched silently as your eyes nervously flickered between him and Wolkan, the later wrapping the rest of your forearm now that the worst of the bleeding had stopped. “You should come see me in the morning.” Putting away some of his tools as you pulled your arm gently into your lap. “I will want to check for any sign of infection, and regardless I will rewrap your dressings and clean it out.”

Nodding at him, you felt a strain in your chest as you raised an eyebrow at him, a silent unrelated question Jon could not see, but Wolkan only hummed quiet in an answer that spoke what none could gather but you two. Moving to politely held you stand from your perched position, but Jon had already stepped to your side, an arm wrapping around your waist to all but do the hard work for you, lifting you up and to the ground as he spoke. “I appreciate you helping her, Maester Wolkan. Thank you.”

“Always what I am here for, your grace.” It was a stroke of luck you felt that being sworn by oath to a family of monsters did not mean it made the maester for them the same. Getting to Winterfell at the captive of the Boltons and realizing they brought Wolkan with them, you knew it meant for whatever reason Luwin was gone and you dared not think what led to it or why.

There was getting used to Wolkan, but he did his best under the leadership he was put under and at the least was a little bit easier going in the time he had seen you in those months of a hell. The man was quiet but kind and very smart. On the relieving side, serving Jon seemed to bring him far more peace then years under the Boltons ever did.

You hoped that for just right now, it meant he could keep another secret just until you could ensure that secret's safety. A raven had come in for you, and after reading it's contents as you had finally settled back into Winterfell, you told him to keep the information to himself. With what you now knew, this one needed to be protected and that included ensuring it was somewhere not out of your reach and protection before revealing it safely.

Jon leading you through the quiet of the halls, you had glanced up to him from the side noting he had not moved his arm from your waist. “Do I even need to ask how it was you knew where to find me?”

Instead of what you expected, a deep chuckle vibrated through Jon's chest instead, pulling you a bit closer to his side playfully. “Next time don't choose a steward who used to be mine, and maybe he wouldn't tell me right away.” Only half a smile on your face, you almost could shake your head at the thought. You had told him to clean the blood up and not go get someone as it wasn't a big deal, but Olly had clearly not listened as soon as Jon came into the room with questions at the sight.

You didn't know what the two of them talked about, but they had been in the study for a while before coming to a conclusion, and that it was likely a little easier for Olly to serve Jon through you rather then jump back into his service as if it was just like before. A new trend in Jon's life it seemed. Getting used to someone who backstabbed him or his family though their forgiveness in you.

Continuing beside you, “He was worried about you, don't blame him.” Ensuring you didn't, Jon nodded before glancing around. Turning you with both hands at your upper arms, did he direct you to stop and face him, keeping his hold there as his grey eyes were bright but worried looking down at you. Your own hands, one wrapping around a wrist of his and the other toying along his waist distractedly. “He also said when he came into the room it had sounded like you had been screaming.”

You bit your lip but Jon didn't even blink, just a building concern swimming in his gaze that had you weak to it. Shrugging a little bit, you tried desperately to play it off. “It was nothing, he probably-” Jon more sternly murmured your name as his head tilted a bit with a sharper look as if warning you to not lie to his face about this. Quiet as you looked into his eyes before dropping them as your face fell a bit, “Last time I don't even recall getting out of bed, but I was wide awake and..I didn't even realize I had even dropped the blade across my arm until Olly came in the room..”

Olly wasn't sure to believe you when you said it wasn't a big deal, but you knew you couldn't get Jon to believe that in any capacity. Not now. His own expression falling almost a bit more upset, one of his hands came up to run along the hair at the side of your face before cupping your cheek. “Was it the same as last time?” Shaking your head no, Jon glanced down the corridor but still none were around at least. “What was it?”

There was only two you recognized this time, but it was two you had seen before in the last. One woman, a bit older then you, hair almost a silver white and a cold, yet smug look as she had cared not for the pleading. The one with her though, was the Westeros knight you had seen before but his face escaped you from knowing the name attached to it.

But the mind you found yourself in? The things which happened, and the lack of any emotion on her face but perhaps that of some enjoyment, it shocked you. Even coming out of it, it shocked you. The mind you looked through was not someone good, but there was a conflicted mess of emotions swirling in their mind.

The way he ended though, the way she let it happen? It didn't matter what occurred, there was not a thing even a man like that could've done which would have made him deserve that. Perhaps you felt so shaken, as you felt the screaming agonizing heat as he did in the seconds before your mind returned to you, blood across your arm as Olly called your name in a panic.

But trying to relay that properly to Jon? It was hard to explain. It was hard to word how terrifying it felt, the way she looked at him as he was pleading desperately for any mercy.

“Dany, please-”

Jon stared at you in a distant unnerved manner, this was the second time the same woman was at the centre of both. Looking up at him, you could feel your throat burning from the desperation and your heart racing as it recalled the fear of how uncaring she looked at him through your eyes. Murmuring your name fading into a tense quiet, Jon moved his other hand from your upper arm to wrap around your back and pull you into him.

He hadn't mentioned it, but he had seen the way you almost disappeared in the hall during the reception. The way you looked sick and terrified for only moments when he gently coaxed you back to earth before you were kept too deep into whatever it was you saw or heard. He knew trauma, and that was far more then just a memory. He didn't say it, but the way he held you close told enough, that whatever was pulling your mind here and there was beginning to scare him.

The worry that if he left you on your own too long again, what could this escalate too before you hurt yourself even more? How was he supposed to protect you from something he couldn't even slightly control? Jon knew his entire life at that point was strange, unexplained things happening to him, but they weren't supposed to happen to you. They weren't supposed to leave you looking this shaken and panicked at what you were seeing.

Muffled against him, you tried to reassure him, “We've been through a lot in a short amount of time, maybe it's only stress.” Jon shortly muttering back a question of is it, before you paused. Holding him around the back of his neck more, “No one has ever died and come back, this could be normal.”

“I saw visions of you before and they were nothing like this.” Inhaling deeply once more you could hear his voice was deep and tight trying to keep himself collected against you. “Something is doing this to you, but I don't know how to help.”

Pulling back, you found the need in your heart straining to quell the tone break in his voice. Cupping both sides of his cheeks, you hated the concern so blatantly across his eyes. “You can't protect me from everything, Jon.”

Shaking his head once, he grabbed one of your hands to twist. Pressing a kiss to your palm, “That won't stop me from trying.”

But for just a moment, the way in which his large hand gripped part of your hand and wrist did you not stand there anymore. Looking up brightly at not the man your present mind knew was in front of you, you were sitting. In a room glowing with gentle firelight as innocuous music played around you that set nothing in your mind off.

You had your hand rushing towards him in a much more playful manner when he snatched you just like this, holding it in the air just like this but a smirk across his lips and bright blue eyes tinged with a complete mischief as he pulled you a bit closer.

“Striking your King is an act of treason.”

But as soon as you could see Robb, you were back here. In the halls of Winterfell as Jon murmured your name with that same panic returning to his eyes. Instead you pulled your hands down to rest over where the carve in his heart was. You looked much more reassured then Jon did, despite the floating in your chest warning you that this was starting to happen at an alarming frequency.

Changing subjects swiftly was the safest route, which worked easily to bring him down to something simmering in his shoulders. “Come, we have a bit to do before we meet with everyone. At least have our affairs prepared before we get yelled at for it.”

Jon relaxed, chuckling again as he leaned in, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “This is my order, I'll be the one getting yelled at if anything.” As you both made your way down the corridor once more, you shook your head with a sigh. “I'd rather they be angry with me then you.”

“I think that ship has long since sailed, Snow.”

A smirk so much easier danced across Jon's lips as he tried his best to walk forward and not just shove you into the nearest wall. “You know that one doesn't work quite as well when it's your name too now, Snow.” His tone dropping with a playful prominence on the name as well as he glanced at you trying to hide your own smirk.

“What are you going to do, your grace?” Pushing it a little as you didn't even glance at him letting the words pass you by with a quick dryness. “Going to punish me for using our name against you?”

And with that you had snapped the restraint he held. One hand on your hip now as he shoved you into the wall roughly, his other trapping you in as his palm rested on the stone wall beside your head, leaning close enough so your world vision was hidden with his curls. Grey eyes dark, looking down you with not a shred of shame for it before following it back up. Not even with a smirk, almost just a raw, dark, frowning lust that he couldn't contain. Like he did these things without any thought behind it.

The hand on your hip tightening, “I should punish you for taking my name in the first place.” Stepping closer he could almost press his hips into yours should he take a step more, as you felt the hand on your hip fisting the skirt of your dress as it raised slightly. His breath stuck hot against your skin, taking another step, feeling a teasing press of his hardening cock that almost made your mind beg and plead to just open your legs for him now, regardless of how anyone could see. The hand beside your head drifting down to your hair and raking his way through to the back of your neck, he tilted your head up to meet his eyes gently.

Your voice but a high pitched whisper as the blood in your veins sparked you like a spreading fire. “Too bad my King has a meeting with his high lords to prepare for. Not nearly enough time for that.”

You didn't mean it as a challenge, but you should have known better. You were in the hall where any could pass by, but as Jon pressed you up against the wall anyways it didn't matter. His hands grabbing your wrists and yanking them up above your head, switching to hold you there with one larger hand as the other yanked your dress up for him, his lips attacking yours rough and deeply.

As soon as he felt your bare skin under his touch, his mouth moved to your jaw and neck with sloppy kisses but rough bites as he rasped in you ear. “My men also expect their King to fuck an heir into his beautiful wife. I'm doing my duty.”

Shivering in his touch your fingers flexed wanting to reach out to him, voice barley there as his mouth continued to bite into your neck, his fingers of his other hand drifting under the soft fabric hiding you from his touch. “Is that all this is?” Holding back a high gasp as his fingers drifted down to run lightly along your wetness, “Not a very appropriate way of doing such a duty, my King. Where anyone could find us.”

Pulling back, his eyes darkening to a black as he stared you down, finding your clit with the wetness on his fingers as you jumped. The hold on your wrists tightened as you did so. Jon rubbing tight, rough circles into it and breaking your resolve as you melted into his touch. “Maybe they should find us.” Your lungs tightened as you opened your mouth to cry out as the pleasure burned into the roughness of your clit as he was relentless of the pace. Mouth trailing up to your ear as he roughly snapped his teeth into it as he hissed, “Make sure I'm doing right by my new wife and watch me take you apart. I'd have showed off how good you are for me on our wedding night, if it didn't also mean any of them had to touch you as well.”

Letting the touch on your clit slide down, Jon sunk those same two fingers deep to the knuckle inside of you with no hesitation, the heel of his palm roughly rubbing into the sore nub sparking you to cry out loudly. Jon capturing you lips with his to muffle whatever echo was left in you.

Running firmly along the sensitive wall inside of you, you arched into his touch as much as you could. Letting his lips steal your whine of his name into his mouth, and returning such a gift by sliding his tongue into yours.

Thankful the thin material was still there, collecting the otherwise unseemly evidence of how wet Jon's fingers were being soaked as your hips tried desperately to grind into his touch. The hand keeping your wrists above your head slipping down finally, grasping the side of your face near your jaw as he kept your mouth firmly against his.

Licking along your tongue with greed as he increased how deep and fast he fucked his fingers into your soaked core. Your hands raking through his curls in an instant as Jon pressed his hips firmly into yours before moving to grasp over your dress at your breasts, groping tightly before finding the collar of your dress and slipping under the fabric.

His fingers inside of you moving fast and soaked as you felt the coil twisting and begs for mercy unheard in Jon's kiss but how roughly he grasped, twisted and almost tugged on your nipple under you dress had you gasping desperately. Jon's incessant touch pulling you right over that line and your orgasm flooded between your legs as he still kept himself tasting inside of your mouth. As soon as you arched up and seized, the feeling washing across your veins and limbs with a cry as it snapped inside of you, your own hands reached down.

Hands almost shaking and fumbling as you tried to work past his layers as you still clenched around his fingers with a bit of a jump at the aftershocks still hitting your core from your orgasm. Pulling from your mouth Jon looked down to your hands before leaning to nudge your nose with his, taking over for you with much more ease even with one hand. Only undoing enough that he could reach into his breeches and pull his cock out.

Jon pulling from your wetness and two fingers soaked, he reached up so they sat obscenely at your lips before pushing them just as deep to the knuckle despite your whine, moving to sloppily kiss back along to your ear as his other hand yanked your dress up enough to manoeuvre under it. Almost looking back at you for a moment as he let you suck, before he pulled them from you and once more kissed you. Your tongues sliding along the other as he much more freely groaned at the heavy taste on his own tongue.

But just as you grasped at his shoulders in need, Jon yanked up one of your legs to rest at his hip, pushing you more into the wall just as he slid his cock deep inside you. Your cries in his mouth almost painful as the thick stretch burned but you arched into his touch. His hand on your thigh as the material slid down your leg and almost exposed what Jon was doing, holding it up tight at his hip as he fucked up roughly inside of you with a grunt.

This wasn't a fuck made to last, his pace was fast and he was rough and pounding where you could hear how soaked you made is cock in an instant. His free hand cupping your jaw as he pulled back to look at you, teeth almost gritting as his eyes black watched you try desperately to hold back any sound.

His cock burned you, made you want to scream and run from the pain of how long and thick he slid inside you, but the pleasure taken from you left you unwilling to fight back and raking through his curls tightly. As if all you knew to do was take it. Jon's eyes were dark as he looked down at you, each pound of his cock jostling you as he wished he could strip you bare then and there to watch better.

On the contrary though, his deep tones washed over with something so bright and soft as he looked at you, “I love you so much..” The degree to which you clenched around him had Jon bury his head in your neck to hide his own groans. Your hands gentle now through his curls as his cock rutted deeply into you.

Nodding into him, your arms wrapped around his broad shoulders and up into his hair, your voice weak as your lungs held no air trying to keep any cries from your words and little able to come out as a result, “I- fuck, I'm yours..”

Another groan as he picked up the pace and slammed his cock inside of your soaked cunt at a rough and fast pace before biting deeply into your neck. Nodding into his biting, Jon yanked the leg at his hip up high and shoved you more against the wall at a better angle to fuck up inside you, but completely exposing how deeply he was fucking you should anyone walk by the side where your dress was slipped down.

You shook at how it almost felt as if Jon wanted someone to come by and see what he was doing to you. Yet unbeknownst to why, Jon desperately did. He never had this inclination before, but his new life with you, buried inside you, Jon was consumed with a few dark desires. One of them almost challenging his men to watch what they could never give you.

He hated how depraved of thoughts they could become. Jon pounded into you harder at the images in his mind taking over. What it would be like, having you pressed against the wall just like this, but making you face away, your back pressed against his chest and instead Jon would pull his head from your neck, rest his forehead against the back of your hair and watch his cock sink deeply into your ass, and how much the plush skin of your cheeks would bounce at the force.

Jon didn't think he knew how to ask you for that. You weren't some whore that men paid for, you were the woman he loved more then anything, his wife. But he couldn't stop himself as he fucked you fast against the wall. How filthy would it feel to spill deep inside your ass, or how much he wanted to lay you out, and shove his cock to fuck between your breasts after marking them up all for him with his lips and teeth.

He had no idea why he was consumed with thoughts like this, but the way you grasped at him, clenched around him and let him fuck you as if you were designed for his lips and cock alone, was doing something to his desires he never knew about before.

You hid in his shoulder, weakly crying his name as you suddenly came around him. The coil snapping after twisting so burning tight as you were pulled up to meet his lips. Jon biting and kissing you deeply as you came around him, before you felt his cum. Thick and hot as he spilled deeply inside of you, grinding deep until you clenched around him in too much shocking stimulation.

He shushed you with gentle kisses as you whined as he pulled out. Putting your leg back down gently, and cupping both of your cheeks tenderly with a kiss as he put both of your clothes back where they belonged. It was quiet between you both for a moment, gently tracing your noses along the other as you smoothed out the curls you had raked though until you felt your heart slow and world return to your vision outside of Jon.

Leaning up to give a tiny kiss, you looked back. His grey eyes bright with a smile charming off his face as you almost grinned back with a beam. “Now we are certainly going to be late.”

You honestly could have rolled your eyes, if he hadn't captured your lips in another kiss as Jon muttered, “Oh, I'll make sure of that.”

These Starks thought they were so terribly clever didn't they?

It was not an easy thing to do, making a Northern man cry. Reputation made people think that they never did because they couldn't. Unemotional and cold in heart as the winter around them, but in truth it simply was just held inside them securely.

It had been the first time in a long time that he cried, the day Howland Reed learned of Eddard Stark's death.

His son Jojen had seen it, he had the Sight. With no reason to doubt what his son had said, it hurt him greatly to realize he was the last of them. Everyone that had played a pivitol role in some capacity in Robert's Rebellion and all of them but him died before their time. But then again, they all had before their final days anyways.

Something in a lot of them died near the end of that war and no one had quite found a life beyond it, in a way they all were trapped in the rebellion twenty five years later until the last of them died too. Jon Arryn had been first. The brave man who had to make the hard choice of rallying his bannermen against the Mad King, died of a fever, but Howland knew better. He knew Ned would have known better as well.

Then it was Robert, the most obvious of them all. Robert had never lived passed learning that Prince Rhaegar Targaryean had kidnapped Lyanna Stark somewhere along the roads near Harrenhal. He became angry then and he stayed angry until his last day no doubt. He was a wild card, especially when contrasting him to the man Ned Stark used to be. Even looking past a man dedicated to the wife he loved, it was not in his nature to be like Robert.

Robert had bastards all over the country. The ones in Kings Landing were dead, but there were more out there. A man who drank and whored to that degree? Stones, Flowers, Waters, he likely had at least one in all of the Kingdoms. Most of them would just never know it. He could recall it was that nature which she hated.

Lyanna knew who Robert was at his worst, and the simple fact was she also knew that was a life many highborn girls would find themselves fated too. Rare for a highborn girl to have a husband like the way Catelyn Tully had eventually found love in Ned Stark. But in those days, Lyanna's prospects were looking at a lifetime of being insulted by her husbands infidelity.

Ironic, he thought.

But, it never got any better for Robert. He thought he loved Lyanna when he hardly knew a thing about her, and it was that thought which made him angry realizing what Rhaegar had done. And when Ned Stark came back from the war and she was dead? He stayed angry.

Howland only knew bits and parts of the story some from Ned, much from what Jojen could see but it wasn't pretty. Rhaegar Targaryean had been dead for twenty four years and Robert hated him as much then as he did that day they learned what he had done. He wished Baratheons were made a little more of what Northerners were. Just keep some things inside.

But, it was Ned Stark who Howland Reed cried for. Not many knew how deep their bond ran and none but the two of them knew why. They didn't often have the chance to see one another after the rebellion, and even less when Howland finally had his kids but they spoke in writing still. Just not willing to leave his home when he had them. Finally through the horror, Meera and Jojen were Howland's blessings and he missed them terribly.

He knew why they had to go, why they had to go to Bran Stark and now Howland could only hope that somewhere beyond the wall his children were still alive. But, Ned Stark still wasn't and it ate away at him since the years the Lannisters took his head. He hadn't come out since then. Ned died and Howland hid in his Keep in Greywater Watch, and he knew it was only a matter of time before he couldn't anymore. He didn't know what would do it, but he knew it was coming.

But then he'd remember he was the last one. Not just of the men of those days, but the last one who knew. What was he to do with that information, he knew much many didn't. Much that Ned knew, much that Lyanna didn't want people to know and a lifetime of keeping it all inside making him turn inward at how stonewalled he needed to be to contain them.

But there was only one secret that mattered, one that was why Ned Stark had spent the rest of his life trapped within the traumas of rebellion. The reminder of that truth was there for him every single day and when it wasn't he was in a place that served to haunt him with what would happen should the worst come out. Come be Hand of the King Robert said, come to the place your brother and father burned alive trying to demand safe rescue of your sister.

Come witness a place that terrified him to have such a secret be in. But he kept that secret as far North as he could get once those days came knocking. It was all he could do to keep that secret safe still.

It was late at night as Howland finally left. Travelling on his horse along the Kingsroad. Winter was everywhere now, and it didn't slow him one bit. His horse would have to freeze and die to slow this journey down and even then he would keep going. Someone had to keep that secret safe and Howland was all that remained so he had to show his face. But it was along the road that he relived it. He and Ned's reason for why they became the men they were and the complications of what it all meant.

Still now he could recall how in one moment a young girl off in the distance had spotted what was happening, and how as quick as he saw her did she come to his aid. The girl likely no older then fourteen or fifteen, came to the aid of Howland who was even then, already a man. He had been jumped by boys over six years his junior in the roads towards the Tourney of Harrenhal. But, Howland Reed was small and quick. Not large and strong. They were though.

Yet that young girl with black hair and grey eyes came jumping to his defence without a second thought, using only a dull tourney sword to try and chase the boys attacking him off. How she that day brought him to her lair, as she had jested calling it, to get her brothers to help treat his wounds. He met all four Starks that day.

Brandon was the eldest, tall and handsome and had a quick wit and hot temper just as he had seen on the she wolf who rescued him. Benjen was the youngest, only a few years beneath Lyanna in age but laughed easily and held a maturity Howland admired. Offering him armour and a horse, saying if he wanted to get back at the boys who beat him he'd be happy to provide them.

He could still recall the way he and Benjen teased how quickly from a feirce defender Lyanna went, to a watery eyed girl. Hearing a sad song from the beautiful singing voice of Prince Rhaegar, and how she poured her drink on her brother for making fun of her. It was funny then, beacuse it was such a childishly little girl reaction.

It wasn't funny now looking back on it.

Beacuse she was a child. Howland was close in age to the Prince, so it made what followed after all the more horrifying. A pretty, feirce, rebellious maiden did not come to his rescue. Lyanna was just a hot tempered but caring and loyal child. Only a child.

But, he met one more Stark that day. Eddard Stark was the second eldest brother, not quite as well liked and charmingly handsome as Brandon, but more quiet and serious. Howland liked him right away. He liked all four of them he met that day, but he and Ned remained friends with a true ease from that moment onward. A friendship, that all these years later, still felt difficult to accept the end of.

They hadn't known each other for a lifetime, but it was Howland Reed that was trusted with the one thing which would remain only between them for the rest of their lives. And Howland never once wavered in how seriously he took that secret to heart. He could see that secret as clear as he could see that day he met the family of wolves.

It was warm that day. So warm in Dorne that Howland hated it. The sun bore down on them as they travelled, the seven of them, and not a clue what they were walking in on. Not really. The Prince's Pass was their destination, a circular tower standing high in the sky against the backdrop of the Red Mountains. There was hardly anything around it. It was chosen on purpose of course.

One could get to it from Harrenhal without much difficulty and yet it was isolated. Where if they ran from it, where would one go were these sands not their home? It felt like an insult towards Elia Martell to keep a teenage girl in the tower she gifted to her husband, but it also felt like a way to force the girl into relying on who she was trapped with. Even if she escaped, where would she go on her own?

There were seven of them though, and he saw all clear as day. Eddard Stark was at his limit of what he could put up with. Robert Baratheon killed Rhaegar at the Trident, The Mad King was dead and yet all who died gruesomely were still gone. Everyone knew what happened no matter what Tywin Lannister later claimed. He had ordered his knights Ser Gregor Clegane and Ser Amory Lorch to find and kill Elia Martell and her children.

The mountain had ripped the still infant Aegon from his mothers breast and smashed his face against the wall so hard that only blood and bone remained to him. Then dripping in his blood, he had raped Elia before splitting her in half with his greatsword. In the same royal apartments, hiding under her fathers bed, little Rhaenys had been dragged from under it by Lorch and brutally stabbed over fifty times.

And all Robert could say were that they were “dragonspawn” and cared not for dead, innocent children soley because they were Rhaegar's. Ned had argued with him at how disgusting his lack of care was and left Kings Landing alone. Meaning thankfully, Robert was no where near the Tower of Joy that day.

Martyn Cassel, Theo Wull, Ethan Glover, Mark Ryswell, Willam Dustin and of course, Eddard Stark and Howland Reed. Seven good men, skilled men who were as serious as any Northerners and as determined as the brother who was there for the sister still kept away from him.

There were three in the distance. Their white cloaks blowing in the wind, they had not the threat of being out numbered and all knew why. They were there on orders and not once in the war left, it was insulting. Their vows as knights not more important then the thing they were there for, to keep a girl hostage. But, they were Kingsguard, and dangerous ones too.

On one side, Ser Oswell Whent was knelt down on one knee, sharpening his blade with a wetstone. On the other was Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, who stood with his greatsword, Dawn, hung over his right shoulder, a sad smile sat on his face.

Between them was Ser Gerold Hightower, The White Bull and commander of the Kingsguard who stood tall and stern between them. The men all stood at attention as Ned Stark stepped forward first, trying to find any peace when all knew there would be none. Were there going to be peace, they wouldn't be here in the first place.

Ned stood as tall as could be, and as calm as he managed. “I looked for you on the Trident.”

Ser Gerold was the one to respond, taking proper command of the situation for as long as it was leading to the inevitable. “We were not there.”

Beside him with all the confidence that felt both true yet unearned, Ser Oswell spat out “Be the end of the usurper if we had been.” Howland recalled thinking if they considered Robert a usurper, then perhaps they should have done their duty and worked to prevent such a thing from happening, but they either did not have such clarity or were blinded by their own hubris.

His face squinting harshly in the bright sun that was a mixture with the anger and impatience building within him, Ned continued past the offence. “When Kings Landing fell, Ser Jaime slew your King. Your Prince lays dead now at the Trident, and I could only wonder then where you were.”

But Ser Gerold defended their failures of duty as if it was an excuse which mattered to any here. “If we had been there, Aerys would still sit on the Iron Throne, and our false brother would burn in all seven hells.”

It was only after that day, did Howland recall that and he wondered to himself on the journey North, perhaps the Kingsguard were not noble knights to be remembered as brave and valiant, if the final legacy they left behind was this.

Ned had only one plea and all knew it wouldn't work, but he would give them that option no matter what. “The Lords and Knights of the Seven Kingdoms have bent the knee in their defeat. There is none left for your orders to follow.”

Ser Arthur had moved to take his helmet into his hand, a firm but sad look of a man sure of who he was and what he was doing. “Our knees do not bend easily.”

Beside him Ser Gerold only added to their fates. “Nor do we flee our duty. We are Kingsuard. We swore a vow.”

But all men there, the three standing in the way of the tower and the seven against them all knew what vow it was they were still defending. As each remaining six of them came to Ned's side, weapons in hand, Ser Arthur donned his helm finally, and spoke what was to be his last. “And now it begins.”

Eddard Stark however, spoke the truth for more then one of them that day. “No, now it ends.”

Just as the metal of their swords clashed, from the tower was heard Lyanna Stark desperately screaming, “Eddard-” as the fight ensued to get to her.

Three men against seven and all but two remained. Ned Stark and Howland Reed were the only ones who lived to see the end of that fight and it was a bloody horrid sight. But once they were dead, Ned spared not a single second as he ran up the steps of the tower to get to his sister.

Howland stayed behind for a moment, exhausted and nerves shot he looked to the men at his side fallen now and hoped and begged that they did not die in vain. It took him a moment to do so, but with heavy footsteps did he begin the climb of the tower himself.

It was dark inside, not many had been in here for a long time that could tend to much of anything. But it was what was in the air, that made Howland feel a lurch of sickness. The air was thick with the scent of blood and roses.

As he approached the door, he could hear the strained voice of Lyanna Stark in a quiet desperation, filled with a heavy love that radiated too with fear. He heard the faint pleas of her voice which was the last any would, though the door the words, “Promise me, Ned.”

Only even as Howland Reed stood outside of it, Lyanna and Eddard Stark were not alone in that room.

Winterfell was as sturdy as it had been in years. Work still being done to rebuild what was burned down and yet it was still impressive. But Howland Reed was here when he never came before. He didn't come for Robb Stark, and tried to ignore the raven from Castle Black from their once dead Queen.

He didn't answer that call of aid until he had received the news that Eddard Stark's final remaining child, his bastard son, had been crowned King in the North. Howland showed up then, and the very second he saw his face? He felt sick. As if he had never considered the truth of this secret until then and there.

Ned had watched him grow up every day of his life, but Howland had never met him until he walked quietly and unnoticed, into the meeting hall of Winterfell. Hidden amongst the other Lords. Finally understanding that he too, had not truly lived passed that day at the Tower of Joy.

But, upon the truth that Aegon Targaryean was not only living, but had landed in Westeros and had battle first on the island of Dragonstone? There was no words in Howland's mind to describe how it felt, realizing who his opponent in battle had been. Perhaps that was why he rode to Winterfell so quick.

If he had not been too cowardly to come face to face with the memory of a ghost, Howland Reed might have been there to prevent those two men from ever meeting in the first place.

From a tryst against the wall as you and Jon were making your way to the main hall of Winterfell to see to a meeting with the Northern Lords, you had not the concept in your mind of what your life days later would have become. But you also, couldn't have known how much it would make you spiral. How much it twisted your mind into something panicked that you did not recognize.

You suddenly felt without purpose that specific night, and left to go find another in case you lost all hope to keep going before finding it.

Attempts had been made for you to look as nondescript as you could manage, as the pair of you walked into the loud and bustling noise of the tavern. Evening had fallen upon the sky and those nearby in the city took refuge in some of the only entertainment they would get in these early months of winter. Men drinking, laughing and joking as they made jesting passes as the barmaid's serving them more as their nights went on.

The raven scroll had only been able to describe the building as having a wooden sign handing over the entrance of what looked like a horse reaching in the air. If what was said was accurate, they would be here if not tonight then at some point. Your hair was messy in it's looks as you had made sure not to let yourself appear as being used to much effort. The cloak around your shoulders was dark, shabby and only enough to have a hood and cover the equally as unimpressive dress as you fit mostly in with all the others.

Not a single weapon but one hidden dagger. A normal lowborn woman wouldn't be armed as such.

More than once you had to remind Olly not to call you by your title, or even name. Sat on the back of the horse he had asked you, “What am I supposed to call you then?” Thinking about it, your creativity was not quite as good as others and you told him to make one up. A few second passed as he then came up with, “Mya?” So you nodded, saying then Mya it was.

Barrowton was coming into the distance as you and Olly went over once more the covering. “I don't want any to realize who I am, we are here to be discreet. Understood?”

The sun shined low in the sky with a gold as evening fell upon you. Walking into the tavern, you both stood there looking no more out of place then any other. “What's the name of who we're here for?”

Looking around, it wasn't obvious right away if they were here. “For our purposes? They're going by the name Satin.” Olly asking you how would he know if they were here or not, you glanced over at him. “Do you know what I look like?”

Taken back, Olly's face twisted in a confusion. “Yes..”

Turning away, you nodded once. “Good. They look like that.” You knew the boy was struggling to tell if he were annoyed or amused by your dryness over the vague details you were barley offering up. But Olly had known something deeply was wrong from the moment this little journey begun.

He had come across you in a unusually uncomposed state, asking why were you looking as if you were ready to leave, despite the lateness of the hour. “Would you keep it a secret if I told you?” You had asked, and when he assured you yes, you narrowed your eyes.

“I won't tell the King this time I promise.” It wasn't his fault, but he could see a tear in your throat scratching down into your heart that left your eyes hazy as you shook yourself out of it in seconds. Clearing your throat you instructed him that he was not to tell anyone you were leaving for the next day at the least. Not knowing what to say when Olly had asked “Won't the King worry where you went?” You simply sent the boy on his way. Beacuse you didn't know how to tell him that he wouldn't just not worry.

Jon would be grateful you finally were gone.

What was it he wanted? What had he said to you? For you to leave and stop being a burden to him. Leave him alone as he wanted, even if he wanted it for good.

Sitting down, you had ordered water, bread and stew for Olly. Giving him a stern glance to the side as he almost went to speak out to attend to you in that same manner. He wasn't here as your steward, he was here because he hadn't wanted to be left behind and you didn't have the heart to say no to him.

You were leaving in the middle of the night in secret, and Olly had to promise he wouldn't say a word if he wanted to come. You didn't know when you would be returning, how long this would take, but after helping a grieving boy burn the remains of his mother and father, the least you could do was not leave him behind again.

Theon was going to be furious with you for this one.

What you didn't expect, was the sad whine in Ghost when you had finally taken off. Having been out hunting in the wolfswood, he had caught you in sight as he stood perched on a nearby cliff side looking down at you. Wishing he weren't so smart, you knew he could sense what you were doing out here and when you gently tried to call up to him, telling him to go back, that it was alright? Ghost whined, whined more when you gave him a sorrowful look, and you heard him still when you rode off.

Maybe when he got back to Jon, Ghost would pick up what happened and hate you too finally. You had done what was advised against, told Jon the truth and it seems like that truth came at the cost of whatever love was left in his heart for you. He deserved to know, not telling him was cruel, but telling him came at a great cost it felt.

You couldn't even recall the extent of how not normal your mind felt that night. The only thing screaming at you in a very specific voice that Jon didn't want you, and for whatever reason, that might have hurt you into a panic more then anything else. In Castle Black you had been scared you would ruin his life by being in it again, but now it finally came to fruition. You did ruin his life.

As you sat in the tavern, looking around for the one person left to you, you wondered if you should do Jon the courtesy, find a way to free him from his new vows, and leave him to find a better wife you always worried he would want instead. You were tired of being the one to bring him problems.

Only days ago, you had not the inkling of what a disaster one man's appearance in Winterfell would spin into. Days ago, you still thought what Jon felt for you would stay real. You still thought you made him happy, and you now felt that toxifying poison of self loathing at how wrong you were. You told Jon the truth, and your only conclusion, was that the truth made him hate you.

But as the barmaid passed your table, clucking a plate onto it it pulled you right out of the memory. Olly's eyes narrow and concerned on you, but you just grabbed whatever bread was closest on it, and pushed the plate more towards him.

Mumbling through your chewing with a lecturing look, “You're the one still growing. Eat.” But as you chewed, washing it down a bit your eyes found a figure in the distance, and it was exactly the strange reaction you wondered if it would feel. But you looked at them, as they saw you. Jon Arryn was still not wrong.

“The seed is strong.”

One drop of Baratheon blood and the two of you looked just the same here. You could only wonder as you both looked wide eyed at one another, how alone did they truly feel to have reached out to you of all people? It had been many years since that day on the Street of Steel, and you never had a good or safe reason to think you'd see them again. Pylos said they were all dead, all of Roberts bastards. And yet, this one wasn't. The one which lived, you shockingly already knew.

Gendry had travelled all the way North, to try and find you himself.