#suitable for my liege

[worth-this-and-more]

my speculations on how bree's purple power would be like: which majorly stems from when i was wondering how bree's power smells like and half the post is just that

[spoilers for legendborn and bloodmarked, read at your own caution ;)]

so there are a few...things related to magic in the legendborn series; it's abilities, specialties, weaknesses, aftereffects, smells, color, common form etc etc so i wanted to make some headcanons which may or may not be true but yeah these are my thoughts;

so now that we are here, let us begin;

her power is purple as everybody and their mamas know but just let's get into this?? purple has been like a symbol of yk rarity and royalty in literature since ages before, which goes perfectly with the fact that bree is our king. now since it is so rare her powers will have the usual and added benefits, which i have headcanoned before but i just wanted to put them in one place.

firstly, aether was usually used to cast hard constructs, harder than diamond if needed, but selwyn has proved that aether could be forged into practically anything you wish to as long as you're capable and willing. so bree's power can surely be used like an all-encompassing building block to forge everything from weapons to mundane things like i said here. so this is aspect one.

secondly, rootcrafting is mainly for healing and perseverance. so bree could now possibly have the ability to heal herself, and because she is seen to have at least some knowledge of medical field or can like basically guess which part is hurting and which one is not, i mean isn't it possible now she has her own unlimited (debatable since she collapsed after jessie healed alice but i have a point for that too??) healing powers?? surely she will be able to heal herself pretty fine, yk like a quick break between things because rootcraftng doesn't allow use of much power because it is borrowed but like now she has her own furnace so yeah.

about the collapsing part, it is possible that because in legendborn she hadn't completely unlocked and accepted her powers yet, she was running on a limited-time root that was supposed to be an "emergency" supply. and also that it was used by someone else through her, she did not willingly give it like she did in bloodmarked (she wouldn't have refused to, just that she didn't realize quick enough what jessie meant when she said you'll have todo from your side so like kind of different from when she gave her root to selwyn) and in bloodmarked she also had like yk 70% set unlocked ig.

thirdly, because these powers are now merged, it would be so badass if she is able to actively defend herself and heal herself at the same time, after mastering her control over powers now that arthur is no longer manipulating her with his "too much aether, too fast" strategy.

along with this, we saw that bree's healing gave alice like permanent immunity from mesmer, either triggered by pain or just not able to stick properly in the head, but either ways mesmers don't work now. so after they all reunite, one task in her to-do list could be to have sel or anyone mesmer everyone and then to reverse the mesmer so that everybody now has immunity from mesmer. yk for future reference or relevance to the plot perhaps. and ofc you can't forget anna (nick's mom) i strongly believe her mesmer is gonna be broken by bree.

also, THE DAGONNN. so the question is about her fuel and sustenance, so like if she's in her dragon form can she eat what dragons eat (obviously meat i don't think vegetarian dragons exist?? and also does bree eat meat is this ever mentioned?? if not then i hope she eats meat she gonna need that protein to fly) will it affect her?? like in her human form ofc she wouldn't want to eat uncooked meat but like become a dragon breathe fire and you have your medium rare steak ready. is this possible. same question for selwyn btw, can he eat worms in his owl form or does he like throw up after turning human or have food poisoning like is this a thing guys.

anyways, back to topic, so these are like her abilities, but what about the physical descriptions?? now her rootcraft was mage flames, and aether was the solid armor construct. so her new powers could either be something in between or a combination that she can wield in whichever way she needs. technically it should be a combination, harder constructs for weapons and armor, flames for large defense and flowy to make her own wards (i mean she would need them sometime?? ig?? after they reunite and shit so yeah)

and the smell, her new power should have different smells and purple is the rare royal color and hella nostalgic vibes there don't ask me why so here are my guesses;

petrichor; the smell of earth after the first rain. not exactly rare, but it is kind of a nostalgic smell that has been on earth hundreds of years even before humanity. like it ties with the fact that bree's power was more from the shadow king so the smell is also like yk ancient af.

i don't know the name but the smell of salt on the beach, waves rolling in and the sprayed misty scent. correspondence to, again, it has been here since ages and is one of the smells that has a different type of nostalgia. anybody who has ever been to a beach or water body will know but it just smells different.

now this one a kind of hard to explain but yk when you go to your grandparent's house, maternal grandparents, and it has like this distinct smell that is different for every family?? the smell of generations of mothers growing up in the same house, like their childhood, puberty, old age everything in one place. (yes i thought of this while i was at my own grandma's house and i wondered what it would be like if bree also had the chance to be in a house which had all the memories and elements of her line of mothers lives). it will be a difficult smell to explain because i do not have the proper vocabulary to say it but it is a guess of mine and probably possible.

yk that very powdery smell of silk?? the one that doesn't go away even after washing the cloth many many times, its very hard to explain but silk has been a major symbol of royalty in history (yk the silk road?? yeahhh) so it could also be one of the scents, depending on which type of royalty you mean.

i ran out of scents but you get the point now.

now, weaknesses. i am hoping she doesnt have to like yk collapse after every fight, at least not until the adrenaline wears off. i hope her powerhouse can heal her and replenish her energy levels. at least for short term, like yk coffee makes you forget you're tired. not exactly good but will be good while she's on the run. may or may not happen but hey I'm just making theories.

this is all ig?? could make a pt.2 or add something here but yeah this is all i guess.

[lustlovehart]

Dang over 700, that’s impressive congrats!

If you still have requests open, maybe we can see/hear more about Sebek? I love the idea of him as a swamp monster tsundere dumping flowers on MH! Reader and find him fun~

Summary: Humans are pests. They’re the reason Malleus has fallen from grace, and why Lilia is no longer in his prime. He hates you, and everything your job stands for. He hates the way you’re not like them. He hates how you’re too kind. He wants to hate you, yet he can’t at all.

Warnings: Tiny bit of Tsundere Sebek, He thinks about 💀 you (he changes his mind dw guys!!), Mentions of his monster crimes, Little tiny hint of obsession, Implied human eating, Sebek sketch at end!

Your feet are dipped into the water, ripples cascading off where the limbs land, tranquil and cold, the shadows of the trees just further enriching the experience.

The one thing that isn’t relaxing about the water however, may as well be the guardian of the swamp, who’s practically breathing down your neck.

“Well human? Have you had your fill of this sacred marsh? I will not have you linger here longer than necessary! I only allowed you in to show the true essence of beings like us.”

Despite what leaves his mouth, you have a striking feeling that he won’t throw you out.

Because, that’s the fourth time he’s said that, and he’s yet to drag you out.

Through the close proximity, you place your palm on his face, softly pushing him away in your annoyance, yet like a magnet, he attracts himself right back to you, finding his place in the area to be right by your side.

“I’ve drowned many of your kind, don’t push me away so carelessly…!”

“Have you drowned me yet?” He stutters for a moment, racking his brain to find a suitable excuse as to why that is. He stops when you lean back on the grass, looking up at the sky as you lay down.

But to your dismay, he finds one.

“My liege wants you alive, so we must do what he wants.”

“You want the best for him right? What if the best for him is getting rid of me?” You’ve once again stopped any retort on his tongue, your eyes fluttering shut. Your feet continues to dangle in his waters, breath steadying as you let the sound of dew drops falling into the marsh invade your ears.

In your slumber, you don’t notice the way Sebeks scaley face is centimeters away from yours, trembling inhales. You’re right. Getting rid of humans is the best for his liege, for… all monsters really.

His clawed hand reaches up towards your throat, his nails scratching a line in your skin. Webbed fingers tremble, he could, he really could…

He could help everyone.

…

His hand falls, his forehead falling onto yours. His skin is rough, but he takes care in placing his head softly on yours to not wake you up. His palm follows in suit, laying itself on your throat, cold blood feeling the warmth of your mortal body.

And your heart. He remembers reading about human hearts, how they’re important to they’re bodily functions. Without it, you’d die. It’d be easier than killing you himself. He doesn't know which is better, for himself. He could take pride knowing he rid the world of one more wretched monster hunter, or he could rest in comfort knowing you passed in peace.

Sebek doesn’t notice the way the plants have emerged from the water, taking hold of your legs. There’s a particular branch that caresses your face in a certain manner, one completely inappropriate for a human. His mouth hangs up, immediately ripping the wood from your flesh. He throws the twig away, his head turning when your visibly stir at the motion.

He’s not well versed in human care. He's read about it, but obviously he’s never acted upon it! His hands fumble, if he’s correct, one of the quickest ways to knock a human out is to hit them really hard…! But… He doesn’t wanna do that—

Ah, you’re asleep again.

Sebek carefully lifts himself from your body, water dripping onto the grass from his hair. He slowly backs himself into the water, the only part visible being his head, before entirely disappearing into the murky water.

He realizes something in the comfort of his pond.

He… He wouldn’t need to kill you if you just… never left. Neither would you ever disturb the peace of any other beasts.

Under that water, he ties a knot, petals floating above the marsh at his bouquet. As well as a hand, that drops deep down. A coworker of yours. He’s unsure why you’re the only one he’s not too keen on consuming, yet he can so easily do it to those you know.

It doesn’t matter. They’re the same. Taste the same too.

…

You awake to a lonely sight, Sebek gone from the scene. Though, your chest feels heavier than usual. You look down, and an array of different plants and greenery fill your vision. It’s wrapped in flimsy wood bark, moss tying the piece together.

There’s a note hastily inscribed.

Human, leave soon.

Even without reading the message you know it’s Sebek. You assume it’s from his human hatred he writes such mean words.

In truth, that’s part of it. You’ll never know the other is him not wanting to see the corpses at the bottom of his home. Or maybe you will. Especially when you notice a shiny pendant gifted inside the flowers. Assuming it to be a sweet gesture from Sebek you smile at it. Such a happiness slowly fades when you feel a certain familiarity with the necklace.

… You feel like you’ve seen this before.

[manhandlememando]

loving you is a bloodsport. | cregan stark

cregan stark x f!Mormont!reader

format: one-shot

tw: (buckle up y’all, we’re in for a ride) MDNI warning: attempted SA, heavy gore, violence and resulting injury descriptions, BLOOD, descriptions of injury to an animal, ptsd symptoms, anxiety attacks, language, blatant sexism, female rage, enraged/feral Cregan (the warning is very necessary he almost bites off someone's finger)

NSFW warning: this work has sexual elements not suitable for those under 18 years old. please MDNI. (piv sex, oral (both receiving), face fucking, praise kink, sickly sweet Cregan, semi-rough sex, the Stark breeding kink, THEY BREAK THE HEADBOARD), no physical description of reader other than female anatomy and hair that is somewhat long.

word count: 12.3k

song inspirations: talk by Hozier, moments silence (common tongue) by Hozier, me and the devil by Soap&Skin, girl with one eye by Florence and the Machine, brutus by The Buttress, seven devils by Florence and the Machine, devil’s backbone by The Civil Wars, shallows by Daughter, foreigners god by Hozier, it will come back by Hozier, to be alone by Hozier

excerpt: The growl that escaped the beast reverberated throughout the small pit, being felt within the chests of all the men spectating. However, fear eluded her as she looked into the animals eyes, accepting her fate with a fury. The cry that left her as she charged the creature could have caused even the most barbarous of warriors to quell in fear. Dodging the swipe of its large paws, she lunges forward with the small blade that was provided to her. If she is to die here, it will be a death of integrity knowing she was more like the beast in front of her than anything as meek as the men watching from above. They will not take my strength, she thought as the claws of the grizzly descended upon her.

- or -

Lady Stark is abducted in the night from the walls of Winterfell by a vassal house of the Starks. Thinking that by placing his wife into the jaws of a grizzly, the Warden of the North would bend to their will. They do not know how mistaken they are.

this story is dedicated to all those who have felt the heavy hand of the patriarchy upon their shoulders, or have fallen victim to it. i see you, i hear you, our rage is valid. keep fighting.

It was a commanding sort of presence that she held, not forceful, but one of reserved strength that cultivated respect amongst the people of Winterfell. Their Warden of the North and Liege Lord had chosen wisely in his marriage pact with House Mormont.

It was this same conserved ferocity that drew him to her, he could feel the magnetic pull of her tenacious spirit the second he was in her acute vicinity. Her eyes held a look that was as firm as stone, and her mind was as sharp as a blade. It was known that the women of House Mormont held a certain standing on their island that couldn’t be found in much of Westeros; women could be rulers, and warriors. Having been raised by her father, Lord Mormont, after the passing of her mother in childbirth. The young girl grew into a fearsome woman, having been trained as the successor to the Mormont line, she was raised as any heir would be; as a son. Given her families ancestral sword, Long Claw, at the age of just six and ten she was a formidable fighter in just two years time. With the full understanding of how she would be viewed as the “weaker sex” by the men on her fathers council, she made sure to mold herself into one of the most indisputable warriors on the small island. No man dared to raise a sword against her unless they wanted to be met with the what most referred to as the ���she-beast”.

Cregan knew from the moment they met that he would wed her. They were young when they first made each others acquaintance, not more than 10 years of age. She had traveled with her father to attend the annual feast which House Stark held in the Great Keep of Winterfell. He still remembers seeing her for the first time as she descended from the wheelhouse that she had ridden in. Feeling his heart clench and his throat go dry, Cregan was not normally at a loss for words, but her whole presence consumed him. She was like sunlight embodied, a miracle born within a person. Her beauty touched everything in her vicinity with its warm glow. It was hard for him to look anywhere else when she was near. It was an instinctual feeling, one that arose within him being something involuntary and foreign to him. As if it had been whispered to him long ago by the Old Gods themselves; she will be your wife, someday.

————————————————————————

The flesh of his back had been clawed raw. Teeth marks and deep bruises left behind by her violent kisses had begun to blossom on Cregan’s neck and shoulders. She is a bear, indeed, Cregan thought to himself as an amused expression crossed his face. Gazing at his reflection in the looking glass in the corner of their marital chambers.

The bedchamber was a haven for both of them, the privacy lending itself to their most animalistic acts. The two had been wed only a day previously, not being able to leave the sanctity of their post-coital bliss much before falling back into one another. Ripped clothing strewn across furniture, fur pelts and pillows lined the floor, the carved wooden headboard now on the verge of cracking due to the fissures created in the wood as they tore into each other.

The bedding ceremony never seemed to end, although it never truly began as Cregan refused to allow anyone to view such an intimate act. Feeling incredibly protective over his newlywed, he would hear no argument on the matter because her body was for his indulgence, and his only.

Although, for those living within the walls of the castle it was very apparent that the consummation had taken place, many times. The sounds which echoed throughout the castle that night could be heard by all as Cregan led her to her highest peaks over and over again. But the symphony of pleasure didn’t stop once the sun graced the horizon, or even when it was touching the highest point in the sky.

However they had grown increasingly hungry as the night grew closer and dusk layered its deep blues around the fading light on the horizon. The stars beginning to seep through the darkening navy sky, as if surfacing from the black ocean where they swim to look upon the Earth as the eyes of world did the same to them. Standing upon the balcony which sat just off of their bedchamber, she took a long breath as a small smile rose to her lips, turning her eyes to the shining specks in the sky.

How lucky am I? She thought to herself, knowing that she no longer had to prove herself worthy of a station, or a role in a council. Having been raised as the heir to Bear Island she had always felt a sense of pressure to encapsulate the image of the "perfect daughter". However, her father thought she did not see his disapproving glares or glances of doubt or disappointment as the time passed. He wanted a son, not her. But now she finally knew what it felt like to be wanted, having not known the feeling from her father in her lifetime, it was an emotion she couldn’t even put into words. Her father cared for her, to an extent, but mainly treated her as a thing to be trained and disciplined, rather than a daughter to be loved.

“Darling?” She heard Cregan call from somewhere inside, pulling her from her thoughts. Moments later the large wooden door creaked open as he finally appeared, the softest smile gracing his face as he laid eyes upon her.

“What’re you doing out here? You’ll catch a chill, my love,” his voice laced with concern as he pulled the wool housecoat from his shoulders and placed it around hers.

“I just wanted to get a breath of fresh air before we go dine for the night,” she responds, smiling as he pulls her into him.

“We have worked up quite an appetite, have we not?” Cregan teases, leaning down to brush his nose with hers. “Shall we go?” He asks softly, his lips brushing hers as he speaks. She nods and giggles as he swallows her answer in a kiss. It would be a miracle if they made it to the dining room at all.

————————————————————————

The food prepared for the Lord and Lady of Winterfell was decedent and rich, warming her stomach and easing the hunger that began to naw away at her gut.

“Does the foodstuffs suffice, my love?” Cregan asks, looking at her with an amused expression on his face. She was almost inhaling her meal, the answer to his question being quite obvious. She nodded as she took another bite, humming in contentment at the burst of flavor in her mouth.

They sat in silence as they each devoured what was left on their plates, sharing kind glances and small laughs of amusement. After they had finished dining, he beckoned one of the servants to bring forth their dessert. However, his breath seemed to escape him as he felt a hand begin to creep up his inner thigh.

She had reached under the tablecloth and begun to slowly move her hand to the rapidly growing bulge in her husbands trousers.

“My mischievous wife, what do you think you’re doing?” Cregan whispered, giving her a warning glance as the dessert was placed in front of each of them. She didn’t respond, only sliding her hand further up his thigh. He had to suppress a groan as her palm grazed his hard length, giving the serving butler a curt nod and dismissing the rest of the staff from the dining room. As he hears the rumble of large hinges moving and wood connecting, he knows they are finally alone.

“I think you know exactly what I’m doing, dear husband,” she said as she sank herself onto the soft pelt on the floor beneath the table. Crawling beneath the expansive wooden slab to appear between Cregan’s knees, a smirk dancing on her lips as she licked them in anticipation.

“You will be my dessert, my love. I desire nothing more than what you have to offer me,” she said in a low seductive voice, beginning to undo the thin strings of his breaches. Cregan stared at her with eyes the size of the serving platters resting on the table. His mouth hung slightly agape and a soft moan escaped his plush lips as she finally released him from the confines of his breaches and smallclothes.

“I do not deserve this, let us continue in our -,” Cregan begins to reason, not seeing the point in allowing her to indulge him when he’d done nothing to deserve it. But before he could finish his nonsensical statement, he was cut off in a loud moan as she took him fully in her mouth. The tip of his cock hit the back of her throat immediately, causing her to gag slightly but she was not discouraged from her actions. Only opening her throat more to accommodate her well-endowed husband.

“Fuck… oh dear Gods,” he groaned, his breath staggered as his hands tightly gripped the arms of the dining chair, his self control beginning to lack as she continued her heavenly ministrations. As she rose to the tip of his cock, she revealed the sensitive head to her lips, kissing his leaking tip and circling her tongue around it. Cregan could barely think, the sweet whimpers and moans falling from his lips caused a burning coal of desire to ignite in her womb. She adored the way he could hardly say her name without it transforming into a delicious groan of ecstasy.

“My love - Seven hells… oh fuck,” Cregan couldn’t form a sentence before another moan would swallow his words and leave him breathless. Looking towards the ceiling with brows furrowed and his jaw slack with pleasure, Cregan was a sinful sight to the Gods.

She slowly ascended off of him, bringing her lips to the base of his length and laying a kiss to the sensitive spot that laid just above his heavy balls. She relished in the choked groan that the action elicited from him, Cregan's hand grasping her hair so tightly it stung but she only hummed at the sensation. The vibration of her moan as she took him back into her mouth sent Cregan into a heady space, suddenly feeling himself lose any sense of restraint. The hand that was laced into her hair moved to the back of her neck as he sat up somewhat, gasping and panting as they shifted position. The hand that wasn’t anchored to her was tightly gripping the top corner of the chair as his hips shifted to change the angle; he wants leverage.

Just as the thought ran through her head she felt his hips buck upward, beginning to slowly move in rhythm with her mouth. She let him take control of the pace after several more thrusts had hit the back of her throat. She knew Cregan loved it when she allowed him to fuck her mouth. He tried to be gentle, he really did. But within a minute of such actions he was gripping the hair at the back of her neck with a force as he arched his back and drove more power into his thrusts. He often got lost in the oasis that was her form, his love and lust mixing and becoming so intense even he became blinded to his strength. Although he would never intentionally bring harm to her.

As she took a fleeting look up towards his face, she wasn’t able to find her breath at the sight before her. His head was thrown back, mouth open in an illicit moan, neck strained and flushed red. His Adam's Apple protruding and bobbing along with his moans. The scarlet hue disappeared down past the collar of the thick tunic he wore, his chiseled chest out of view. However, she knew full well how far down that sea of hot, flushed skin really went. She could see how his body was arching off the back of the chair, muscles in his arms flexing with the strain of each thrust. The only thing keeping him from falling off his perch on the edge being his other arm finding purchase on the back of the chair. In that moment he looked down to her and seeing those beautiful hues in her irises staring back at him, he felt himself tip over the edge into the Seven heavens themselves.

She felt the slight stutter of his hips and with a final deep thrust into her throat he came with a howl of a groan.

"OH - ngghh - fuck... yes, fuck like that," he gasped, a low whine rupturing from deep within his chest, trying to ground himself as his wife continued to slowly drag him through the aftershocks of his orgasm. He slumped against the steep back of the dining chair, his legs trembling as he spread them wider and his hands found purchase on the arms of the chair once again. She finally lifted her mouth from his cock, her lips glistening with a mixture of spit and his arousal. He chuckled lightly at the sight.

She is a gift bestowed upon this Earth by the Old Gods themselves, he thought to himself.

"I do not deserve you," he said as he smiled softly, reaching a hand down to cradle her jaw as she hummed in contentment at his words. "You are more angel than human, I am astounded by you with every passing moment we share with one another. I love you, I do hope you know that," Cregan spoke, the sentiment behind his statement clear within his words as well as his tone. His eyes searching hers, looking for an answer.

"I do know, my dear husband. I know very well, and I love you just the same," she said, a smile gracing her features as she rose from the floor beneath the table. Grabbing Cregan's breaches from the furs and handing them to him with a smirk, she moved back to her seat to his left at the large table.

"Shall we finish our dessert?" She asked cheekily, and his only response was a hearty laugh that filled the room with his joy.

————————————————————————

Several weeks following their wedding, the Lord and Lady of Winterfell were torn from their bed in the night. It is still unclear to Cregan how his men had been so easily overwhelmed, how he hadn't heard anything, or seen anything. No one had.

It was as if he had woken from a slumber into a nightmare itself. Cregan felt himself be ripped from the sheets and dragged to the floor before he had a moment to comprehend exactly what was happening.

He reached for his beloved but was met with empty air and soon opened his eyes to find her being held up by her hair, whimpering in pure terror as Lord Bolton loomed over her. Feeling the strong arms of some of Bolton's guards beginning to constrict themselves around Cregan, he fought against them as hard as he could.

"You bastard! What in the Seven Hell's is going on? Let her go, don't you dare touch her!" Cregan yelled, beginning to thrash against the men trying to contain him. Lord Bolton only chuckled darkly as he then took her by the neck and hauled her towards him.

She let out a choked cough as his palm pressed her airway. Pinning her back to his chest with his hand still snaked around her neck, she began struggling against him and clawing at his wrists.

“You foolish… foolish girl!” Lord Bolton exclaimed, wrestling against her as she continued to thrash against him. Holding her still with him other arm, Lord Bolton finally subdued her.

“The ties between House Mormont and House Stark will be forever broken tonight. The Stark household has had control of the North for far too long, and with this new union it is made clear to all other vassal houses that they are less important. It is whispered we will have less say in certain matters, and that this bitch and her feeble House Mormont has more standing than mine own,” Lord Bolton seethed, releasing her neck and yanking at Lady Starks hair once more. She let out a small huff to shroud her discomfort, she would never show weakness to this man as long as she could help it. Although, as she looked at Cregan who was now being held to the floor of their bedchambers, she felt the small trickle of terror slip down her neck and root itself into her spine.

“I will not let that stand,” Lord Bolton snarled and nodded to one of his men to step forward. With much difficulty he was able to get a black hood over the woman’s head, his fingers narrowly dodging her nashing teeth. Cregan bellowed as he fought against the hands holding him down, barely allowing a hood to be placed over his head as well. Spewing profanities and declarations of violence, Cregan tried to make his voice sound as poisonous as possible. But through his verbal assault he could hear her slight gasps and whimpers of pain, and not being able to see what was befalling his wife, his panic grew tenfold.

“Bolton I’ll have your fucking head for this!” Cregan barked, yanking at the hands on his limbs as they hauled him from the ground and to his feet. He could still hear her growling at Lord Bolton, hearing a shuffled noise and a clear sound of struggle, Cregan’s breath hitched as his throat closed. He was powerless, his vision stripped from him and his strength subdued.

“Get off of me you sinister man!” She shrieked as she felt Lord Bolton grab at her waist and snake his arms around her from the back, holding her tightly to him. He had since been able to tie her hands behind her, with much difficulty. Therefore she was powerless to the blade she could feel against her neck. As she tried to pull away from his taunting grip the blade cut into the skin of her throat causing her to shout in pain, the abrupt sound ending in a rumble of fury.

“I will slit this beautiful throat like that of a lamb for slaughter,” Lord Bolton sneered to her.

“You’re fucking dead, Bolton! You’re dead! I’ll kill you myself, get the FUCK OFF MY WI-!” She heard Cregan roar from what sounded like only ten feet in front of her, only to be cut off by the sound of a crack of metal meeting skull. The slump of his body could be heard faintly as he fell limp into the men’s arms. She was then dragged from the bedchamber and into the halls of Winterfell, the bitter cold of the stone floor scraping against her bare feet.

"The Stark family has had too much say in the matters of the North over these many years, they are not the only house capable of holding The Wall. Have you ever wondered what it could be like if your father ruled as the Warden of the North? Or... possibly myself?" Lord Bolton ventured in his treasonous explanation of how he would take control of the castle, as he had already done with some of the Stark's guardsmen. She was struck then with the notion that Lord Bolton and the men he brought with him must have had help to enter and now exit the Keep without being noticed.

"Who have you been conspiring with in these treacherous plans? How did you gain access to the Kee- ," she begins to question sharply, not giving him any recognition on his comments. Only until she is struck again, this time blood sprouting from a small cut on her lip. The taste of iron and musk on her tongue only angered her more.

"Shut up, you stupid woman. You dare interrupt me when I am speaking to you? Such behavior will not be tolerated when you are my wife," Lord Bolton sneered, she could feel his hot breath through the dark cloth of the hood, recoiling from him at his statement. Beginning to pull against Lord Bolton once more, she spoke her rejections to the union loudly, trying desperately to get free of this torment. In her effort to evade her captor, she received the same end as her lord husband as she was knocked unconscious.

————————————————————————

She did not know how long she had been unconscious or where it was she had been taken, but by the biting feeling against her wrists and the throb in her head she knew the attack wasn’t a nightmare. The Lord and Lady of Winterfell had been kidnapped and many of their guards slaughtered. Feared gripped at her chest as she felt rough hands on her arms holding her still, and the cold bite of the wind against the exposed skin of her hands and upper chest only furthered her anxiety. Was she outside? She thought so, but even with the hood over her head she could barely tell if it was night or day.

“Has she awoken?” She hears Lord Bolton ask somewhere in the distance and the soft padding of feet on muddy ground neared towards her. Suddenly she felt a strong grip on her arm, gasping at the brutality of it as her skin stung with the aggression of his hold on her. Feeling herself being let go by those who held her previously, she was then pulled forward, her feet betrayed her once more as she stumbled in the mud.

“Come here,” she heard Lord Bolton growl as he yanked her upright, her stumble having caused her to fall to her knees.

With a flash of blinding light the hood is then torn from her head, and she is not able to see her surroundings for a moment or two as her eyes adjusted to the light of day. However, she could hear Cregan’s protests from somewhere close, but they were muffled. Sounding as if he was trying to speak through wads of fabric.

They fucking gagged him, she thought as she felt anger boil in the pit of her stomach. The emotion making its way into her body as the flames of ferocity licked up her spine and finally nestled themselves in her chest cavity, making a home in her heart. As her eyes adjusted, they burned holes into the figure before her; Lord Bolton finally coming into focus.

She could see the smug expression wash over his sharp features, twisting them into something more sinister than that of what lied within. She despised this man, and all like him. The audacity of man knew no bounds, reaching far and wide, ever perpetuated by its own grueling ends; unable to breed love for one another, men would sooner tear each other apart then see vulnerability conquer over power. As for the women and innocent, the vulnerable and the weak, it is them who are forever afflicted with the agony of oppression, the pain seeping deep into their bones and finding a final resting place in the generations to come.

She knew this, she had known all her life what it felt like to want to be a son. Although her father granted her the liberty of becoming the heir to the Mormont household, it became quite clear what his true intentions for her were when the marriage proposal from Cregan was accepted. Her uncle was then named heir to the seat she had been promised since her first breath.

Men had already disappointed her more times than she could count, and although she did love Cregan dearly, her father had broken her heart as he had his promise to her. Therefore, she did not fear Lord Bolton or his threats towards her, even as he grabbed her by the chin and forced her to meet his eye. Her response was only to sneer and spit in his sullen face, his expression morphing into one of disgust as he brought his hand across her face with a quick slap. Watching his wife be struck, Cregan could be heard roaring against the fabric that had been shoved in his mouth, soft grunts of effort could also be heard escaping Lord Bolton's men as they tried to wrangle Cregan into standing still. The disgraced Northern Lord turned towards her lord husband with a rather nauseating smile. Yanking her forward he neared Cregan enough to reach out and take the dark fabric from her husbands mouth, barely moving his hand away before Cregan could catch it in his teeth.

"Tell me, Stark, is she an obedient wife? She seems fiery in nature, is she the same to bed?" Lord Bolton asked, turning to look back at her as his grip on her arms tightened.

"No! No, no please!" She shrieked as she felt him tear her robe from around her frame, leaving her in only a thin shift. Pulling away from him, digging her bare feet into the earth as she tried to escape his hold. Her hands and wrists ached as she tugged at the twine that had bound them behind her. Her breath beginning to come to her in short bursts as the true reality of the situation had sunk in. Cregan was making threats of terrifying violence towards all those present and participating in this coup. Hurling vile insults at Lord Bolton as he practically foamed at the mouth with fury. However, beneath the horrifying facade Cregan adorned, he was struck with fear to his core.

"Stop. Fighting." The vile brute of a man grunted as he tried to control the woman in his grip. She looked to Cregan then who could be heard howling in protest the entire time, continuing his struggles against the limbs of the men holding him. He held her gaze, the terror reflecting between them as his heart broke over and over again. Cregan couldn't protect her, and as much as he tried, he couldn't seem to free himself. Although, at the thought of being made to watch the horror before him as Lord Bolton took hold of the one thing in the world that could affect him, Cregan vowed he would die before allowing it to happen.

The woman was proving a worthy adversary to the Lord of the Dreadfort, continuing to evade his full control over her as she slipped from his grip once more. Her arms were welted and showing the signs of the struggle she was putting forth. The cold of the wind seemed to lash at her limbs that were now fully exposed to the elements. Her robe had been stripped from her and she stood before the men in just her cotton sleeping shift. The fabric was thin and pale and left little to be desired from the view of her frame, she saw the young knights of the Dreadfort and how their eyes wouldn’t move from her, even if they put in an effort too. Bile rose from deep within her throat at the thought of not only this disgraceful man taking advantage of her against her will, but also knowing it would be for all else to see.

Although the fear was prevalent in her mind, the adrenaline was finally beginning to kick in as she felt the hairs on her body stand at attention. With a final tug of her body from Lord Bolton’s grasp, she stumbled and fell into the muddy earth of the pit below.

With a sharp gasp and piercing shriek she hit the ground hard, causing the wind to evade her lungs and a struggling gasp to pass her lips. Having been standing so close to the edge of the circular, wood-paneled ring, it was not surprising that she had fallen over the edge in her attempt to finally get away from the Lord of the Dreadfort.

She could hear the menacing laughter emanating from above her, the vile sound bouncing between Lord Bolton's men and the Lord himself.

"It seems our entertainment will begin sooner than expected, boys!" Lord Bolton announced, walking towords Cregan, addressing him as he did. "See, I had planned on taking her as my own as the Gods bare witness, as well as yourself. Prolonging your pain would be more satisfying than flaying a man alive, which is my custom as you well know, but it seems the Gods have other plans. After consumating the union of my new marriage, I was going to leave you to the beast and watch as it mauled you for our wedding entertainment. But this seems to prove more interesting, does it not?" Lord Bolton smirks and Cregan only bellowed louder. "If she survives, she will be my prize, and I will have the pleasure of killing the Warden of the North myself," Lord Bolton sneered as Cregan spit at him. The fury behind Cregan's eyes was unhinged, dragon fire could not even compare.

Wiping the saliva from his face, Lord Bolton only grinned, "Hold him still. I want him to see all of this," he said to his men. Cregan couldn't think straight, the fire residing within him spreading across his entire body as he pushed and pulled against the men holding him in his place. Looking down into the muddy pit below, he could see a door being opened to reveal a large, formidable animal, and the fear that gripped his wife as she struggled to free her hands.

She looked up to be met with a mass of dark fur and the small dark eyes of the massive creature before her. A bear, the sigil of House Mormont, a beast that she was raised to respect and model her own spirit after. Something she found strength in, a force akin to religion, something to find faith in; and now she was being made to destroy that of which she had built her own strength upon. The notion of it all was revolting. Looking around her, she drew in shaky breaths, she searched for any form of weapon to defend herself with. In that instant Lord Bolton seemed to find a sliver of remorse in his heart and tossed a small blade down to her, smirking as he did so. The bear emitted a thunderous roar as it began to circle the circumference of the small pit. She brought the blade to the twine still binding her hands behind her back and was able to free herself after somewhat of a struggle, moving away from the carnal animal as she did so. Fear subsided to her more natural instincts and suddenly her head became clear. She looked up to meet the eyes of the bear before her, drawing in deep breaths and settling into a skin that was known to her; the skin of the "she-beast".

My old friend, how good it is to have you with me again, she thought to herself. She would not allow these men to diminish her power or to take it from her. Every woman is born with the rage of their mother nestled deep within their chest, the resulting anger of years of being made less than human. The sorrow of being made to sacrifice their bodies and their souls for a man's pleasure, weighed upon her shoulders. She could feel it, she always had. It seemed accustomed to every woman she had ever met, to share a deep-seeded understanding that this world was not made for us, but for us to attend to. She refused that notion, and in this moment when no other woman was there to share this fury and sorrow with her, she decided to embody it herself, for all those who didn't have a chance to fight. For all those who were made less than, or treated as only a body to be taken. They will not take this from me, she vowed to herself.

The growl that escaped the beast reverberated throughout the small pit, being felt within the chests of all the men spectating. However, fear eluded her as she looked into the animals eyes, accepting her fate with a fury. The cry that left her as she charged the creature could have caused even the most barbarous of warriors to quell in fear. Dodging the swipe of its large paws, she lunges forward with the small blade that was provided to her. If she is to die here, it will be a death of integrity knowing she was more like the beast in front of her than anything as meek as the men watching from above. They will not take my strength, she thought as the claws of the grizzly descended upon her. Her mind had been captivated by adrenaline, her muscles now following in the steps of combat that they had walked before. Although she had never faced such a formidable opponent as this beast, she knew her training would serve her well. She rolled to evade the claws of the bear, ducking beneath its giant form and bringing the blade to its underbelly as she did so. An agitated sound escaped the brute as she cut into its fur, resulting with a swipe of its large paw in her direction. However, this time she wasn't quick enough to side step the beast and its claws caught her collarbone and ripped the flesh open. A scream of agony left her and she stumbled to the outer part of the fighting pit. The bear's eyes met hers once more and she could see the bloodthirsty look reflected within them. The beast snarled and ran towards her, outstretching another paw to swipe at her again, but she managed to dodge it once more and bring the blade across the creature's arm this time. This only resulted in more fury from the beast, a deep grumble of rage came from its bared teeth.

I can do this, she thought to herself as the bear stalked her along the edge of the ring, contemplating its next move. There was a moment of stillness between them, as if they were both assessing the other and its next move. Although, she knew it wouldn't be long before another move was made, so she chose hers. With a terrifying yell she charged the beast, it rose on its hindquarters with its two front paws out to block the blow, but as she got near it, she ducked. Deceiving the beast and sliding in the mud towards its belly. The blade was firm in her hand as she drove it into the creatures heart, twisting it as deep as she could, so the hilt was half-way into its flesh. A pained cry came from the animal, and it slumped over her, still thrashing its paws at whatever it could reach. She only drove her own body deeper under the bear, trying to avoid the creatures talons as much as possible.

Cregan watched in horror as the whole ordeal played out, not knowing if his wife would survive or not. When she disappeared in the mound of fur his heart clenched at the notion that she would not emerge.

When she arose from beneath the creature, it was as if the bloodthirsty beast had become her. Drenched in deep maroon, her torn shift clung to her form as the blood created small streams down her limbs. It matted her hair and splattered her face in a nauseating way, creating an image that struck fear into the souls of all bearing witness. As she lifted her gaze, she was met with the sight of Lord Bolton descending from his perch at the edge of the pit.

“You don’t have a choice, anymore,” he spoke in a tone laced with malice and smugness, as if taking claim to her before even placing a hand on her.

“NO! Don’t you dare touch her, you cunt!” Cregan screamed, finding more strength in his limbs and beginning to fight back against those holding him still. The three men had to be assisted by two others as Cregan had broken one of his hands free and connected it to the nearest jaw he saw. Cregan was spouting profanities at Bolton’s men as he was once again pinned to the cold ground. Two of the men now holding each of his legs, two pinning both of his arms, and one having to climb on top of Cregan in order to prevent him from getting up. However, the man holding his left arm down was not paying enough attention to the positioning of his hand upon the Lord’s shoulder. Cregan lunged his head down and caught the man’s pinky between his teeth, and without a second thought he bit down, hard. The man shrieked in pain and recoiled from Cregan in seconds. His pinky still intact but bent at an angle and would sport a nasty scar at the base of it for the rest of the man’s life.

Cregan only smiled, a sickening sight as his mouth was stained crimson. With his hand now free he reaches behind him to unsheathe one of the other’s swords, and then in an instant he rolled to his right, causing the man perched atop him to fall to the ground. It took Cregan a moment to gather his mind, because before swinging the sword as he glanced over and saw how Lord Bolton was stalking towards her. He was beginning to undo his cloak and doublet, it only further spurned the fire that was burning hot in Cregan’s chest. However more men who had been spectating came to replace those of whom suffered the Wolf of the North’s wrath and had fallen to him. Although, this time they did not pin him. Instead choosing to hold him upright with a blade to his neck, grabbing him by the hair and forcing him to watch as the devil descended upon his wife. Cregan refused to show weakness, but in his chest arose panic and fear as he struggled against the men’s hold on him. Small cuts littering his neck as the blade was pushed harder against it.

“I’ll slit your fucking throat, don’t think I won’t,” the man holding the knife whispered into Cregan’s ear.

“And I’ll have your head for this,” Cregan spit back, yanking his body forward once more as the men stumbled with him. His strength a hard match for the four men it took to hold him in place. The blade dug into his skin but he didn’t care, the pain of the small knife was nothing compared to what he was being made to witness.

She let Lord Bolton approach, standing as if stone had solidified her muscles, but pulled taught as if ready to spring. The moment his hand outstretched towards her chest she reacted, swiftly ducking beneath his reach and taking hold of his exposed wrist and plunging her knife deep into the supple skin. Only releasing the blade when she felt the crunch of bone as it connected.

Lord Bolton screamed and crumpled around the fatal wound, holding his limp hand in his grasp. Towering over his quivering form she lifted a leg and connected her foot to the man’s shoulder, easily pushing him to the ground. As he continued to whimper and gasp in the depths of pain, she slowly descended upon his form. Kneeling beside him as she lowered her mouth to his ear.

“Any sane woman would choose a feral beast over the threat of a meager man and his cock, every time. Know this, Lord Bolton, fore if you leave the woman to the bear long enough she will learn its ways, and will return to rip your heart from your chest while adorning a smile," she whispered, her bloodstained lips twisting into a malicious smirk.

"Seven Hells," Lord Bolton cowered, wincing at her words.

"Yes... I do hope you experience every single one of them, and when you meet with each of the seven devils, tell them who sent you; they should learn my name," she growls, her face only inches from his, and he could see then that this unadulterated rage with which she embodied was going to be his demise. It was then that she arose to her feet, grasping the man's sword as she did so.

Too enthralled in her own fury, she was not perceptive of how the audience before her had gone quiet. The men of House Bolton becoming increasingly aware of their Lord's imminent death. With a final cry she drove Lord Bolton's own sword into his chest, spearing him through the heart. The blood curdled gasp he released was one of disbelief, not understanding that he had lost, indefinitely.

She couldn't feel her limbs as she ripped the sword from his chest and raised it above her head, but she heard her words clear as day.

"Anyone who wishes to challenge me for the Bolton line, step forward now!" She shouted, looking to each of the men that stood above her at the edge of the ring. Her husband took the opportunity to continue to physically lash out at each of the men, continuing to pull ferociously at each of his limbs at an attempt to break free. The audience of men was stunned, looking between each other with gaping mouths as they waited for someone to make the first move. It was one of the men trying to hold Cregan still that acted first, letting go of his Liege Lord and stepping back with his hands raised. The others followed suit, taking several steps away from the enraged man as they released their hold on him. Cregan let out a cry and began attacking anyone who was in reach. Landing multiple blows to the man's jaw and screaming obscenities as he did so.

She watched as her husband tore through two more Bolton men, the Wolf of the North making appearances through his blinding rampage. The sword felt heavy in her hands, and she could feel her legs begin to grow weak. The sword hit the ground before she did, exhaustion taking hold of her frame as she stared into the greying sky, rain drops began slowly falling and painting her blood-tainted skin with lines of pink and white as she let the darkness take her vision.

————————————————————————

The darkness of the night brought the greying memories hidden in the back of her mind that kept her recollection of that day, into full florescent light.

Cregan found himself waking at least once every night after that treacherous one, to the sound of her screams and pleas for mercy that weren’t warranted to anything outside of her own mind. It had become something of a routine they had subconsciously formed, a torturous nightly ritual that seemed never-ending. Cregan would wake with terror at the sound of a wail, instinctually he would turn in the direction of the sound and try to bring her into his arms as quickly as possible. Holding her tightly to his chest, brushing her sweat-matted hair from her forehead and placing soft kisses in the wake of his fingers.

“You are okay, my girl. You’re alright. We’re home in Winterfell, you’re with me, and you are safe,” he whispered into her hairline.

“You are safe,” he repeated the statement in reassurance as he began to rock her slowly. But a soft pang rang through his chest as she continued to tremble in his arms. He could hear her still weeping, burying her face in his broad shoulder and clutching him like he would disappear into thin air. He brought his hand to the back of her head and cradled her to him, continuing to mumble sweet nothings into her ear.

“I just want to stop seeing it, even in my sleep; seeing him lying there in front of me slowly approaching death from an injury I inflicted. It keeps happening over and over in my head, it’s torturing,” her voice shook as she explained the terrors that plagued her memory. All Cregan knew at this moment was pain, knowing he would not be the salve to heal this wound to her mind. But he would be here for her always, holding her as she fought a battle in her head that he couldn’t get to; it was torture for him too.

“I’m so sorry, my sunlight. Such a beautiful brain shouldn’t be polluted with this grotesque darkness. You did not deserve to have this happen to you and I am sorry I wasn’t able to protect you from it,” he said softly, emotion weighing his voice down as his sentence came to a close. He felt as she trembled in his arms, wanting nothing more than to bring her the comfort she so deserves. Yet, once again, he was left to fall on his metaphorical sword and watch as she suffered these horrors in her own mind; feeling forever helpless.

————————————————————————

The Lord of Winterfell had been summoned to a meeting in the council hall by his Bannerman of the North, regarding an urgent matter, or so it stated in the note he had received.

“Why have I been summoned here when it is I who should be summoning you?” Cregan snarled, his icy gaze spearing through all the men gathered before him as he stalked to the head of the long council table.

“Well… it is the business of your lady wife, my Lord… and the incident that has recently taken place,” Lord Cerwyn spoke timidly. Looking to the empty seat where Lord Bolton used to reside.

“What business? What opinion do you, of all people, have to offer?” Cregan snapped towards the lord.

“It is just that… we fear she is a risk to you, my Lord,” Lord Cerwyn continued to explain.

“Do you think she would harm me? Mine own lady wife? Do you truly believe she would attack me, or anyone else for that matter, unprovoked?” Cregan scoffed, taken aback by this ridiculous notion.

“It is a possibility, my Lord,” Lord Cerwyn muttered quietly in response.

“Do you know what it is like to feel helpless, Lord Cerwyn? How it feels to know you will never be able to give your wife what she needs. I have sworn to protect mine and even I could not do that. What if Lady Cerwyn had suffered the same situation as my lady wife? What would you do then? Lady Stark was assaulted, and if she hadn’t acted when she did, her and I would both be dead. You would do well to remember that,” Cregan growled at Lord Cerwyn.

“Apologies, my Lord. It is only that we worry for your safety, as I stated previously. As well as the safety of those on your court and in the public, my Lord. If the question of safety is at stake should we not consider other options?” The vassal Lord responded, surprised when the acceptance of his ideas came from the Warden of the North.

“And what would those be?” Cregan asked, his tone as sharp as the blade of his sword, poised to strike at any moment. He was completely opposed to any ideas this nuisance of a man gave him, however he would entertain any chance he could to defend his beloved. Wanting to eradicate any idea of doubt they had towards her and her sanity.

“Perhaps the Lady Stark may take some time away from Winterfell? Or rather… be solely kept within the walls of the castle? Just until she is well enough of course,” Lord Cerwyn suggested, hesitating with anxiety as he saw Cregan practically boil over in rage from across the table. The other lords grimaced, knowing the on-slot that was about to ensue.

“Are you out of your damn mind to even suggest such a thing? She is your Lady of Winterfell, and just because she has more courage than the whole lot of you, doesn’t mean she should be feared. She should be revered!” Cregan reviled the men before him as they all refused to look at their Liege Lord as he shouted about their lack of respect for his lady wife. Specifically looking at Lord Cerwyn while doing so.

“I am repulsed by you and the thought that you could ever come to me and suggest such a thing about my wife,” Cregan seethed, rounding the corner of the table to meet Lord Cerwyn at his seat. The vassal Lord stood up slowly as Cregan towered over him, staring daggers into the man’s soul.

“Get the fuck out of my castle,” Cregan sneered with venom laced into his words, looking to the rest of the men around the table.

“GET OUT! ALL OF YOU!” He roared, stepping away from the table and motioning for a guard to begin the escort of the Lord Bannerman from The Keep.

————————————————————————

When Cregan had gained his composure, he went around the Keep attending to his evening duties as he always did. As he made his way to his marital bedchamber he was struck with confusion at seeing his wife’s handmaiden standing outside the door.

“Ayla, what are you doing out here?” Cregan asked, concern painting his face, but nodding politely when she bowed slightly to him.

“I’m so sorry, m’lord. I have tried to get her to open the door, but she refuses. I did not know what to do with my Lady’s nightgown… so I’ve just been waitin’ for you to arrive, m’lord,” the young woman said as she kept her head down, taking a slight glance up at him but feeling intimidated she chose to look away once again.

“Thank you, Ayla. That was very kind of you to wait. But may I ask, how long have you been here exactly?” Cregan inquired, worried about the condition of his love and how long she’d been like this.

“I couldn’ say, m’lord. But if I had to venture a guess, possibly an hour, m’lord,” Ayla spoke again, still avoiding his now deeply concerned expression.

“I can take this on from here, Ayla. My thanks, again,” He spoke, trying to keep his tone more professional as he took the clothing from the handmaidens arms and watched as she walked out of sight before trying the door.

He called her name, announcing his presence, but heard nothing.

“My love, please come to the door, I do wish to sleep in our bed in the near future if you so permit it,” he said loudly, trying to keep a lighter tone and not give off the impression of any sort of anger. When met with silence again, Cregan feels a trickle of dread slip down his spine not knowing if she was okay or if something had happened. He began to rap on the door, his knock growing louder and more desperate, along with his pleas to her.

“My darling, I must see that you are alright, plea-,” Cregan begins to beg but is silenced by the sound of the lock coming undone from the other side of the large doors. Without hesitation he enters the room and looks around for a moment before his heart falls from his chest and onto the floor at the sight of his wife in such distress. She is already in a nightdress, but it is wrinkled and in disarray upon her frame. Clearly in a state of panic he could see she was covered in a thin veil of sweat that caused her hair to stick to her skin, as the rest stood at odd angles or was mussed in some way. When she looked up at him from her seat on the floor in front of their hearth, it was evident that fear had her in its midst and was racking through her mind, her eyes as wide as saucers. Her cheeks were wet with tears and her breath seemed to be lost on her. Cregan went to his wife in an instant and knelt on the furs next to her as he gathered her in his arms. Stroking her hair in comfort and placing soft kisses to her temple, Cregan tries to calm his wife, but in her anxiety-ridden state she was unable to resist the waves of terror washing over her. It was clear in the way she couldn’t catch her breath, and how her body would tense and relax repeatedly.

“Okay, okay. Shhh it’s okay - that’s it. Breathe, my darling, just breathe,” Cregan spoke softly into his beloveds hair, rocking her back and forth as she tried to gain control of her breathing once more.

“My darling girl, what has caused this pain?” Cregan questioned, his tone laden with concern. She had to take several more deep breaths before she was able to finally respond coherently.

“I am no longer worthy enough to uphold your family’s house values,” she whispered, not meeting his gaze as he had tried to get her to look at him.

“No, my girl. How did you ever reach that conclusion?” Cregan’s heart breaking at the thought that she believed herself not good enough for anything.

“The men on your court, they wish to see me kept away, I heard it with mine own ears. I have put a stain on your house with my actions. I hear what they whisper about in the corridors, and in your court, calling me the 'the Mad Lady Stark'. I am anything but honor or duty, I killed a man that was the lord of one of your vassal houses. I don't want to be feared, Cregan. I dislike it very much... I am starting to fear myself," she finally explained, “…they said I should be locked away,” she whispered again, her voice cracking and her chin trembling.

“They would have to slay me first before anyone else took you from me. Honor be damned if it means having you by my side, no matter what anyone may say,” Cregan responded, his palms cradling her jaw, softly pushing her head up so he could look her in the eye. The statement rolling off his tongue so easily he didn’t even realize what the implication of that sentence was; he would throw away honor and dignity for her every time.

“I seek no kind of absolution from anything other than that of what lies within your soul and the God who crafted it. In your absence, my life would be without purpose. Fore if I am not permitted to love you and keep you, my days would be spent living half a life,” he proclaimed, tears gathering on his lash line. She too was weeping, her eyes distant as if she were not seeing him in front of her.

“Do you hear me?” He asked, his gaze desperate as he searched her eyes for understanding.

“You are safe, no one will take you from me,” he concluded as she finally focused back onto him and slightly nodded her head.

“Okay,” she relented, not wanting to take his words for truth even though she knew they were, it was the distrust she had within herself that was stopping her from believing. It was hard to hold his gaze, knowing he could read the thoughts dancing through her eyes like seeing something through a clear window. She couldn’t hide from him if she tried.

He could feel the uneasiness still residing within her, so he brought her hands in his and pressed kisses to her knuckles. Slowly taking each fingertip to his soft lips and laying feather-light kisses along them as well, then moving to the inside of each of her palms to do the same. As he moved lower and pressed his lips tenderly to the inside of her wrists, he saw her resolve begin to dissipate. Her insecurity dissolving at the touch of his lips to her skin.

“These hands protect you, they know how to wield a sword better than most of my men. They comfort me when I am in need, they will hold and comfort our future children. I am so in love with these hands; do not fear what they can do, because if it wasn’t for you we would both be deep in the frozen ground by now,” Cregan explained in a soft but sincere tone, continuing to place soft kisses to her knuckles and wrists.

“Cregan…” she sniffled, a small smile coming to her lips as he continued to travel his lips further up her arm, and then slowly moving upwards he pulled her nightdress from her shoulder to reveal her collarbone. The three large scars that ran along the soft skin were close to being fully healed, as much as they could be. Cregan leaned down and placed the tenderest of kisses upon them. He cradled her waist as he pulled her into him, her thighs wrapped themselves around his middle as he stood slowly from the ground, bringing her with him. Moving to the bed, he set her down on the pelts gently, shifting her up the bed as he crawled over her, his eyes searching hers for something.

“It is never my intention to make you feel uncomfortable by my advances. But if you would permit me, may I show you how in love and committed to you I truly am?” Cregan asked in a whisper, still keeping himself propped up above her. A soft smile spread over her face, her cheeks heating up at the notion of such adoration.

“If you do not wish it then it shall not be done,” he reassured, his eyes still searching hers for any type of doubt or hesitation.

“Cregan… prove to me what I cannot prove to myself in this moment,” she responded softly. With the permission granted, he smiled as he laid a heavy kiss onto her lips. Then as he had done moments before, he pushed the sleeve of her nightdress down her shoulder to reveal her scars to him. He continued to kiss over the marred skin, trekking lightly up the slope of her neck until he reached just below the shell of her ear.

“These scars are proof of extraordinary resilience; proof of your undeniable courage, something I have always admired about your spirit,” Cregan spoke softly as he placed a kiss to her temple. “… and this… this stalwart, brilliant, stunningly cunning, and expertly charming brain of yours… you are a marvel to me… all of you,” Cregan continued to speak as he placed more kisses along her temple and under her jaw as she sighed and smiled. He began to move down further, kissing her unmarked collarbone and traveling south. However the hem of her neckline proved a worthy adversary to Cregan’s wishes to desire his wife. His hand travels from its place beside her body to slip under her nightdress and waltz up her thigh as the fabric went with it. He couldn’t help himself from running his fingers over the expanse of her thigh, leaving goosebumps in his wake. The light caresses of her husband would always make her weak. She felt his hands grip her hips and carefully move her small clothes down her legs, a shaky breath escaping her as he does so.

“These hips… these hips will cradle your womb as you carry our child, they are strong and will birth the bravest of warriors,” Cregan spoke against her skin as he exposed it to himself. Having removed the dress fully from her body his lips began to paint tapestries across the skin of her lower stomach. His hands wandered, feeling every inch of skin he could reach, whispering his praises to every piece of her he touched. The noises that emitted from her were the sweetest melody Cregan had ever heard, the soft sighs and gasps of built up anticipation.

He loved it all.

Placing both of his hands at the back of her thighs he slowly coaxed them to rise as he shifted lower and placed his head upon her inner thigh, turning to meet his lips to the supple skin. He became drunk on the whimpers that fell so gracefully upon his ears as he teased the inner most part of her thighs with hot breaths and light caresses of his fingertips. Until finally he met his lips with what he considered the gates of the only heaven that truly mattered. In his hazed state he let his tongue wander through the petals of her cunt, like sifting through the petals of a freshly picked rose. He fell more intoxicated at her scent and taste as it poured over his senses, his grip on her thighs becoming stronger as his fingertips dug in. With a gentle force he moved her legs farther apart to be fully flat on his stomach, making the perfect angle for him to -

“OH CREGAN!” She gasped and cried out as she felt his tongue part her center and delve into her like a craved man. Her fingers carded through his locks and roughly tugged at the base of them, causing a moan to escape Cregan’s throat. As he continued unraveling her from the inside out, he loosened his grip on her thighs and began running his hands along the expanse of her skin. He got lost in the feeling of how soft and warm she felt against his fingers tips. He wondered how a human could possess such a physical sense of grace, as his skin had been marred by combat and in training, it was foreign to him to feel such a thing. As one of his hands began caressing her breast, running the rough pad of his thumb over her peaked nipple he enjoyed the sounds the small motion elicited from her. Beginning to get engulfed in desire, Cregan could not resist as his hips drove themselves against the mattress as he tried to get friction on his aching cock. The motion and resulting friction caused a small whimper to escape him, his cheeks burning at such a sound coming from him, but he couldn’t help it. It was all just too damn good. Retracting from her slightly he looked up to her, and was met with her gaze in return, their eyes communicating what their lips didn't have to.

They couldn't wait anymore.

His fingers never left her as he sat up and began undoing his trousers with his other hand, holding her soft gaze the entire time. She looked like an angel splayed before him, having fallen from the heavens and landed directly in their bedchambers. Throwing the garment to the side, he slid his fingers from her and brought them to his lips with a groan.

"You are the sweetest thing in all of the Seven Kingdoms my love," Cregan whispered to her as he climbed atop her. Feeling as her own hands roamed his broad shoulders and a moan escaped her as he tucked his head into her neck and began leaving soft trails of kisses down to her collar bones.

"Are you ready, my lady," Cregan asked softly, not wanting to move forward any further without her specific consent.

"Yes, my love," She whispered into his ear, a small smile gracing her beautiful lips. Taking hold of the back of her thighs, he hoists them around his waist and lines himself up with her entrance before slowly beginning to push in. The groans and gasps shared between them left them both feeling breathless. Positioning himself on his elbows to support himself, he cradled her head in one large palm as the other twisted itself into her hair. He began to move slowly, falling into the velvety bliss that was his wife. Moans and gasps danced from her parted lips as her husband gently led her down the road of pleasure, softly touching and kissing her. She adored the softness with which he caressed her, the way he held the back of her head like it was fragile. But she hadn't felt this intimacy with him in weeks, and she needed it a little harder and faster than what he was providing currently.

"My love," she gasped, her breathing staggered as he hit a spot within her that brought her the utmost pleasure, "my darling, fuck me," she demanded through gritted teeth, and he did not need to be told a second time. Bringing himself off of her, he balanced on his outstretched arms as he moved upwards, bringing her hips with him. This new angle provided her with the intensity she was looking for. Allowing him to meet his hips with her own in a powerful way, without crushing her with his enormous form.

One of his hands was softly caressing her face, cradling her jaw in his large palm. The action so opposing of the passionate and intense motion of his hips against hers, driving forward with a force as he got lost in her ether. The bed creaked and shook with the physicality of it all. The sound of skin meeting skin accompanied that of the complaints from the wooden frame of the bed and the sounds of pleasure ricocheted off the stone walls of their chamber; it was a sinful symphony. Feeling the burning knot of pleasure beginning to slip from his control, whimpers and grunts of desperation began to fall from his lips.

“My love - my light, I need you to look at me,” Cregan begged, his voice strained and thick with desire. Her eyes had been sown shut with the pleasure he brought her and her jaw had fallen slack, so lost in Cregan and the feeling of him that was surrounding her. It was an effort to look into his eyes as his thrusts became more erratic and she felt him hit that spot with a strength that took the breath from her lungs. It was impossible for him to come undone without looking into her eyes. She was the sun, blinding in her beauty to see with a naked eye yet captivating nonetheless, and he couldn’t look away.

He saw her struggling to focus and keep her eyes from fluttering shut as strangled moans came from deep within her. She was the most stunning vision to behold with her head thrown back and her hair splayed around her like a halo. The sweat-slick skin of her neck and chest as beautiful as fresh dew shining in the sunlight in the early hours of the morn. But he had to see her, look into her eyes as they took each other over the edge. He called her name gently, pleas quietly spilling from his mouth until moments later she was able to make eye contact with him.

The groan that came from him was desperate and loud as she finally answered his prayers.

“There’s my pretty girl,” Cregan grunted, all he heard in return was the rough panting and delicate groans of his wife as she felt nothing else but him. So consumed by him and his body she felt as if she might burst. Moving one of his hands down her torso as he ventured towards the space between them, wanting so badly to hear those gorgeous moans that fall from her mouth every time he touches her there. They both hung on a precipice, each thrust threatening to push them over the edge into oblivion. As he thrust several more times, the creaking of the bed was echoing off the stone walls of their chamber, the sound joining that of her whimpers and gasps of his name. Starting to thrust with a more erratic nature and needing more leverage, he pulled his hand away from the haven between her thighs and took ahold of hers, placing it atop the headboard to join the other, having took hold of it for balance.

In this position Cregan had never looked more strikingly handsome, his head hung between his outstretched arms above her, the dark locks of his hair falling around his face. He looked as if he was sculpted from marble, a statue of his grandeur created just for her. She heard quiet whimpers begin to fall from his mouth and she knew he was holding back with everything he had, but he didn’t need to.

“Come with me, my love,” she whispered to him between pants, their breaths mingling within one another, eyes never breaking each others gaze. The most divine groan fell from his plush lips, his face contorting in pleasure and then going slack as she felt his hips driving harder. As she felt the knot of pleasure begin to unravel in her lower stomach, she cried out his name in ecstasy and arched into him. The hand that was entangled in his gripped the headboard hard as she pulled herself up into him. Dropping his other arm to the mattress, he reached around her waist and anchored himself to her. With a final broken moan he felt himself cum as his hips met hers and he buried himself as deep as he could within her. They were still for a moment as they both began to come down, but suddenly Cregan began to move again. Dragging out his strokes and angling his hips so he could hit the one spot within her that he knew would result in another orgasm for her.

It was an intense and angelic experience for them both. As she felt him move slightly, squeezing her hip and holding her to him as he continued to rock into her. Cregan could feel the flutter of her walls as her peak never seemed to fade away, he was pulling the utmost pleasure from her and she never wanted it to stop. She clung to him with her available arm, running her hand through his hair and gripping the roots.

“Fuck, darling. You feel so divine.” Cregan spoke into her ear, his tone strewn with gravel as he too began to feel his ascension into the heavens once more. He ducked his head into the valley of her neck as he placed hot, needy kisses along the column of her throat. Her response was nothing more than mumbling and moaning, the love and lust clouding her mind to anything other than what he was giving her.

“I know baby, I know,” Cregan whispered and although he too was beginning to get lost in overstimulation, one of the only things he knew in that moment was he needed to feel her release one more time.

Cregan pulled back in that moment and released his hold on her waist as he then gently led her back onto the mattress. Having also released her hand that had been intertwined in his own on the headboard, he could feel both of them now moving over his skin and her nails slowly digging trails down his back.

He groaned at the sensation and as he went to shift his weight off the headboard, a sharp CRACK could be heard echoing off the walls, and suddenly Cregan’s weight dropped onto her. He caught himself, for the most part, but the sudden change had caused their lustful trance to be interrupted.

“My love, are you alright?” Cregan immediately turned his attention to his wife who was staring up at him in shock. With Cregan still sheathed inside her she was having a hard time comprehending what had just happened as she fought to focus herself.

“Yes, yes I’m okay,” she said to him as he brought a hand up to cradle her head, his thumb traces a dip from her cheek to her temple, a gesture of reassurance.

“Did we just break the headboard?” She inquired after a brief pause between them, an amused smile forming on her face and soon after an eruption of giggles poured out of her. Cregan looked surprised at the outburst at first but soon was chuckling at the circumstances right along side her. Slowly maneuvering off of her and to her side, they continue to share loving glances and can’t help the laughing that results.

“I think you know the answer to your question,” Cregan finally responded. Pulling her into his chest, their breathing slowing as they felt the exhaustion from the day wash over each of them.

“Do you know how in love with you I am? Do you understand now? Because I will spend every waking second I have left in this world trying to prove it to you,” Cregan whispered into her hair as he comforted her with soft touches and the warm embrace of his strong arms.

"I do know," she reassured him. She hummed in contentment as she felt his large palm move down to her lower stomach, encompassing the area above her womb.

"I do hope that took, I cannot wait any longer to see you round with my child," he says softly to her, adoration in his eyes as they looked down to where his hand is resting.

"Can you promise me something, Cregan?" she asked, looking to him intently but with a meaning behind her eyes.

"Anything, my sunlight," he responded.

"If we have a daughter, I want her to never feel as though she is not a son. She deserves to live in a world where she is not seen for her body but for her soul, and one where she isn't treated differently because of the gender she was born into. She should not have to feel like she needs to be anything other than herself, and we should provide that for her," she said, Cregan propped himself up on his arms and took his wife's face into his hands.

"We will provide that for her, I promise," he said, kissing her forehead and then gently placing a kiss to her lips.

"We will do better than our forefathers, and she shall know how special she is just for being who she wants to be," he reaffirmed, a smile gracing both of their lips as the promise of a better future was solidified between them.

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

taglist: @itsaslaminak @entitled-fangirl @ethereal-athalia @vastseamind @r-3dlips @hotdhoe @kaidaophelia @lv7867 @oni-jiri @mysticalhills @makaria-burton @ivorains @cregnstark @eldrith @bucksplum @swordgrace @earth4angels @princessvelaryon @dr3amfyr-e @username679273 @targtowerxstark @cregansdingdong @creganstarkswife @dipperscavern

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

sebek and the love of literature

HELLO, HI... PLEASE READ MY SEBEK ANALYSES, I BEG... HE IS A VERY GOOD BOY THAT IS DESERVING OF YOUR LOVE, I SWEAR HE IS... OTL

[ Sebek and internalized racism / Sebek and his place in the Diasomnia found family / Sebek and his capacity to love ]

YES... It is I, here with yet another Sebek-related ramble. Make yourself comfortable :)) *straps you into a seat and tapes your eyeballs open*

***SPOILERS for the book 7 part 12 (Heartslabyul - Deuce and Cater) update!!***

Okay, SO.

We already know that one of Sebek's hobbies is reading, as is stated in his official in-game profile:

... BUT I DON'T THINK YOU TRULY REALIZE HOW DEEP THIS READING HOBBY GOES. He has several voice lines declaring his love of books and reading. Several of Sebek's peers, including Yuu, Azul, and Jack, gift him books for his birthday. In his free time, Sebek chooses to read books on a variety of topics, including romantic tragedies and textbooks. He doesn't just read the book and then move onto the next thing either; other characters may joke that the only time he is quiet is when he is reading, but Sebek seriously absorbs the information he takes in and reflects on it. He thinks about what happened to the characters, what the lesson of the story is, what the author's intent might have been (in his Nightmare Suit vignettes). He wants to apply the techniques he reads about in books to real life, such as picking up new skills like badminton. This makes sense, as Sebek is the kind of person who is always striving to improve himself so that he may better serve his liege. Sebek is not a selfish reader. He loves books + picking up new knowledge and actively tries to share that with his loved ones. For example, Sebek has voice lines where he asks the player to share book recommendations so that he may read them tonight (aka basically as soon as possible). When we express confusion between dragons and longs, Sebek offers to visit the library with the player to show them "books suitable for beginners". (That of itself also indicates mindfulness towards people having different levels of proficiency at reading.) He is also shown being eager to fetch books for Silver from a higher shelf--though this is in part because Sebek loves to show off that he is taller--and directs Malleus to a book fair in Foothill Town so that his liege may find new interesting reads. According to Sebek, "It was [his] grandfather who taught [him] the joys of reading." Indeed, Baur has read to Sebek and told him (oral) stories since his grandson was a baby. He has continuously gifted Sebek book too, all of which Sebek has kept with him. It is implied that Baur thinks receiving a proper education is important, and even though he has complicated feelings about his one and only child marrying a mere human, he still wanted his grandchildren to be well-educated. Baur always made efforts to read and share stories with Sebek to that end. In book 7, this all comes full circle when Silver is wallowing in despair and Sebek talks some sense into him:

"If [Lilia] hated you, he didn't have to give or teach you anything. He could've just raised you into a dimwitted coward and made you a servant. But he didn't [...] Even trapped in the darkest despair, you kept on fighting! Who raised you to be so strong? LILIA DID! Why don't you see? Why do you doubt? You should have understood years ago! What can you call your strength, if not the direct result of Lilia's love?!"

From this dialogue, we can draw direct parallels with how Baur raised Sebek. In this analogy, Baur = Lilia and Sebek = Silver. Both Baur and Lilia initially have a disdain for humans, have served as soldiers in the royal guard, and have personally suffered due to humans invading their country and pillaging it for resources. Then they are also both forced into circumstances where they have a human child thrust upon them and they have to take some responsibility for said child. Despite that, Baur and Lilia were able to overcome their own prejudices and truly learn to love Sebek and Silver, respectively. Sebek is always in a rush to be better for others. Silver is always worried that he'll never be "enough" for the father that did so much for him. But the difference is that Sebek knows his grandfather loves him because Baur gifted him with knowledge--which is a strength and a power of its own. It's because Sebek is cognizant of Baur's love for him that he's the perfect candidate to call Silver out for being dense. Lilia DID teach Silver. Lilia DID value Silver getting an education. And because of that, Silver is strong. He is strong because of Lilia's love, just as Sebek is strong because of Baur's love and the knowledge that was granted to him. To Sebek, literature IS love. This is a core component of his character--and, additionally, it is a core component of how he understands, navigates, and communicates. (Please refer to the examples I gave in the earlier paragraphs!) Nowhere is this made clearer than at the end of Deuce's dream segment in book 7.

In the dream, Deuce gets into a brawl with some Octavinelle mob students in the NRC library. They chuck various books at each other during the fight, which deeply upsets Sebek. He falls to his knees (like, you can see his tall as fuck model lowering) to check on the books and laments at the damage they've taken.

What really sets Sebek off is when he happens to witness the contents of the thrown books. Simply put, a lot of information is missing. There are several blank pages, and what is there is riddled with errors or is written so crudely it's illegible. Literature, being desecrated in Sebek's presence? NOT ON HIS WATCH. He cannot hold himself back and lets it all out on Deuce, reprimanding his peer for wanting to be an honors student but not having the drive to properly absorb these materials (which, as you'll recall, is something Sebek takes very seriously himself).

Sebek has a very specific definition of what a "book" is. Simply having papers that are bound and have a cover is not a "book". Based on his anger, it seems he very much values the contents. He even alludes to the knowledge gained from reading as being a weapon Deuce can actually use in a fight (which, again, makes sense because of how Sebek often tries to apply what he learns from books to his own life) All of this shouting and scolding does lead to Deuce waking up, but I will be glossing over this part as this is an analysis focused on Sebek and not Deuce. However, there is something that I would like to discuss, and it happens after Deuce is fully awake. The two have a moment to bond over an anomaly of a book they found in the library—the only one that appears to have all its contents intact. It is “The Story of the Trump Soldier”, a famous children’s book from the Queendom. It has various short stories about the card soldiers (whom Deuce idolizes) that serve the Queen of Hearts.

Deuce tells us that, as a kid, he would beg his mom to read the book to him. When he got a little older and learned how to read himself, Deuce would read the book so many times that now it’s just stuck in his head. The fact that it was so perfectly reproduced in his dream is proof that the story holds great significance to him. SEBEK RECOGNIZES AND RESPECTS THAT. He doesn't insult Deuce or look down on him for reading what is "just a children's book". Instead, Sebek comments that something as simple as this can be what sparks one's love for reading. And do you know why Sebek says that... BECAUSE THIS IS PROBABLY TRUE OF HIMSELF 😭😭😭 It was Baur who got him books--probably including CHILDREN'S books--and read to him when he was small... so, as a result, Sebek understands how the mere exposure and finding that one book that hooks you can snowball into a real love for literature. It's not clear if Sebek himself is aware of this parallel since he kinda makes the remark off the cuff but BOY did I sure notice OTL

QEILRQEIYQEPPQEF AND THEN AND THEN AND THEN He suggests that Deuce try picking out a book sometime for his friends, something easy so that even Yuu and Grim can understand it. Sebek gives recommendations like this to Silver (one of the few humans he likes), who can never quite finish reading those books despite his best efforts... Sebek is advising that Deuce do this same thing 😭 THE THING HE DOES HIMSELF FOR A FRIEND, BECAUSE RECOMMENDING A BOOK IS ONE OF THE WAYS SEBEK SHOWS HE CARES.... . .. ..... . ..... . .... . . . . .. . .. .. At the end, Sebek even says that he will read "The Story of the Trump Soldier" when he's awake in the real world. THAT'S HIM ACKNOWLEDGING AND ACTING ON DEUCE'S BOOK RECOMMENDATION TO HIM... meaning that some small part of Sebek is coming to terms with Deuce as a companion... slowly opening up to the idea of having other friends... 🥺 The love for literature that Sebek got from Baur... is now being used as a means to bridge the great divide between Sebek and the peers he used to so brazenly snub and insult before...

If you look back at the voice lines for Deuce’s Birthday Jacket card, he says “Sebek gave me this reference book. He said he highly recommended it... Hey! This is CLEARLY for little kids! I can't believe that guy…” BUT DON’T YOU SEE???? With this context, you suddenly see it wasn’t meant as an insult. Sebek considered Deuce’s level of reading proficiency and purposefully picked out something that suited him. I have no doubt that Sebek actually puts a lot of thought into the books he recommends to others because—to him—to share literature is to tell someone “I love you, I care about you.” WEEEEEHEHHHHHHHH H HHHH H H H H H HH H H H H, IT ALL TIES TOGETHER SO WELL!!

[bonkbobl]

happy to please

ROOSE BOLTON X READER

a/n: this is set before anything bad happens in the show, maybe like early season 1 or even before. i know in the books there was domeric and i considered mentioning ramsays kinslaying but decided to just go with the show, which, my impression is that domeric just never existed and ramsay grew up at the dreadfort being cared for by roose. this fic comes from the book quote about him growing fond of walda bc she actually liked sex with him and buddy never experienced the loving touch of a woman with his past two wives

summary: roose bolton had two wives before you. so he thought he knew what to expect during the bedding but nothing could have prepared him for those sweet little noises and the way you writhed

warning: smut!!! roose bolton is very awkward and not very romantic, forced marriage but once you see roose irl you're like oh... wait guys hes kind of hot nvm im down

It was high time the Lord of the Dreadfort took another wife to try for more heirs. A bastard born to a Millers Wife was hardly a suitable option. The goal-driven Lord Bolton wanted a speedy affair and not too much fuss about it. When word was sent out that the “Dreadlord” was seeking a hand in marriage, the response was not sparse.

Several offers to meet Northern Lords’ “most beautiful” daughters landed on Roose Boltons desk. But Roose didnt want the fuss that came with that. There was no need to fret about which girl was the most desireable, only which prospect bred the most advantage.

You came from a semi prominent house, a large advantage was the fact that you had no siblings to succeed you and your uncles were all bordering on geriatric. Because of this, your father was eager to broker a marriage between you and any Lord to start producing more options for the succession of your house — you came with a heavy dowry.

All negotiations occurred on paper and before you’d learn anything about your husband, your father has your servants packing your belongings up into carriages. You were on your way to the Dreadfort

Dreadful name for a castle, you thought to yourself. Perhaps that set the tone for the marriage. You should expect nothing but that —dread.

The entire journey, you did not utter a word to your father, so upset that he’d gone behind your back to do this. You had been stubborn, growing up. You’d met several Lords from minor houses through the years and you turned all of them away.

They weren't handsome enough, weren't noble enough, weren't gentle enough, weren't firm enough. That one was too loud, too annoying, to full of himself, not sure enough of himself, too meek, too weak. There was always something. But you were never forced to. Not until now.

Perhaps it was the fact that your father finally listened to the whispers of those around him, telling him that if he doesnt marry you off soon, no lord would want an old bride. You think thats most likely. Theres also the fact that House Bolton was an extremely powerful house, your liege lord for centuries. They stood only beneath the Starks and the Crown.

When you stepped down from the carriage to greet your husband to be, you steeled yourself. You didn't know what to expect. You knew he was around your father’s age, which wasn't exactly a comfort.

But you met his cold eyes, your expression softened considerably. Your father had grown plump with unkempt hair on his chin. It was patchy and uneasy to look upon. His hair was also receding quickly as the years passed.

The years were kinder to Lord Bolton.

Giving a curtsy, you surrendered to his examination of you, suddenly feeling nervous. You found yourself hoping he liked what he saw because well… Lord Bolton, you think, immediately appears to be, well, lordly. He looks physically fit, cleanshaven, intimidating features. His stare was hard on you, and you almost shied away thinking he was, in fact, unhappy with you, but glancing back, you realized that he may be one of those men with a permanent hardness to their stare.

You mainly hope he isn’t cruel to you.

Lord Bolton nodded, then spoke, “My lady.” Taking your hand and pressing a courteous kiss to it, he continued, “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

You swallowed, trying your best to keep your gaze even. His voice was so smooth and deep… The kind of voice that you’d want reading to you in the darkness at night.

He’s everything you think a man should be, in appearances. The boys who wanted your hand in marriage would stumble about their words and it was endearing in their own right, but here, under his lordly gaze, you felt more willing to you resign yourself under his protection.

“Happy to please you, my lord,” You said softly, curtsying.

Roose’s eyes looked you up and down for what felt like the millionth time but he couldn’t really help it. He hadn't expected you to be the beauty you were — that wasn’t why he was marrying you — but he got lucky, it seems. You were a shy thing, barely able to meet his eyes.

Roose looked at your father, standing far away from you, awkwardly staring out into the wind and avoiding engagement. It wasn't difficult for him to make out that perhaps you might be unhappy to be here. If theres anything he can recognize, its a tense familial atmosphere.

But he watched you smile and speak your courtesies, sweet and polite. Yes, you would do just fine. You were perfect, he’d even dare to say, he was delighted by you.

You would make him rich, and it seemed like you had enough understanding and commitment to duty to not make a fuss about anything that may be unpleasant to you. He just hopes you’re fertile so that he doesn’t have to pain you unnecessarily with too many attempts.

“I’d like you to meet my son, Ramsay,” He brought his son forward.

You smiled politely at him and allowed him to kiss your hand, “My lord, it’s lovely to meet you.” You hoped it didn’t show that you were a little wary of Ramsay. It was hard to ignore the rumors of the Bastard at the Dreadfort. But you’re happy that you are not to be his or his fathers enemy.

“As it is for me to make your acquaintance, my lady.”

Roose allowed a smile and began directing you to your handmaidens, who would lead you to your temporary room.

As far as first meetings go, it might have been awkward but it wasn’t completely unbearable. You’re grateful for it.

—————

When it came time to wed him, Roose made it clear that there was to be no bedding ceremony, and you let yourself relax, smiling to yourself gratefully. It was a tradition spreading all the way from the Wall to Dorne, but you really didnt know why. The thought of being stripped and groped by all the men in the room rained dread upon you.

Instead of being carried to your room by many men, you were led there by your husband, who you were growing more fond of in each moment. Sure you barely knew him, but he was handsome enough.

Not just handsome enough, you’d say that if there was to be a ball with all the Northern men and women, you would have stared at him in the corner of your eye all night hoping he’d approach you. He reminded you of those scenarios that you’d read about only in books.

He also seemed to be respectable and a gentleman, which comforts you greatly. The fact that he chose to forego the bedding was something you hadn’t expected but it certainly made you more amenable to whats to come.

It started sort of mechanically and passive. Your husband poured you a cup of wine for your nerves, and you exchanged some words about the ceremony and he watched you drink it.

Then when he deemed you relaxed enough Roose asked, “Did your septa teach you about what happens during bedding?”

You nodded, “My septa, yes. And I had read a book once that contained some details that she had left out, so I actually know more than many would assume,” You rambled out.

Roose tilted his head questioningly but gave an amused sigh and a nod.

It was true, you did read a lot. And one of those books included a scandalous romp between the main character, a man, and a whore. Your father found you reading that and burned the book but he couldn’t burn it out of your memory.

It was part of why you might have had such a high standard for the men who had approached for your hand. The men in the books were confident but not arrogant. They could please their women properly because they knew what they were doing but also knew to listen. They were powerful. Possessing a subtle dominance that was too nuanced for younger men to understand.

Roose exuded dominance. This brand of dominance.

It excited you just as much as the memory of those pages.

“Good,” He said, “Then I have little explaining that I must do.”

You watched him stand and offer his hand to you again and you took it, letting him help you up and to the bed.

Roose couldn’t really understand it, but he identified nerves stirring inside him at the thought of bedding you. Its been a long time since he’s taken any wife to bed and he is aware that most of the time, its only really pleasurable for men.

His past two wives would lay there, passive and unmoving, waiting for him to have his fill before quickly getting up to clean themselves.

He really intended to make this as easy for you as possible and wait a week to try again. After that, perhaps he’d take you every few days until you came to be with child. Ever methodical about everything, of course he thought of how to go about this.

Roose helped you with your dress, coming up behind to aid in unlacing it. Meanwhile, you busied yourself with taking out the pins that had been keeping your hair up.

You wanted to be comfortable, Roose was pleased to note. He was glad to know you were thinking of your comfort. Making this as easy as possible. You were a girl who understood what needed to be done, a good quality to have in a wife.

His past wives understood to an extent, as well, but not without at least a little bit of whining and whinging.

With your hair undone and your dress unlaced, you took it upon yourself to shrug it off your shoulders, letting the fabric fall to the floor. Roose watched you, gracefully doing your duty, a small smile coming to him.

You surprised him quite a bit, actually. Especially when you turned to him, a little shy about your exposure, but confident enough to pull him in by his collar and kiss him for the first time.

Your lips moved shyly against his, and Roose returned your gentleness. Each thing you did made him ever more curious about you. The two of you continued to mold your lips to each others as he worked on disrobing himself. He could sense the hesitation and curiosity behind your lips movements.

All the better. He'll let you do as you needed to feel more comfortable.

Very quickly, Roose had taken off all his clothes and the moment you realized your husband was bare and ready to finally take you, you parted from him. His eyes opened slowly to see you staring up at him with those big eyes and he held your gaze as you edged backward onto the bed, situating yourself at the edge of it. Then you laid yourself down, splayed out for him.

Roose watched you get ready for him, wondering what he did to score so lucky with such a sweet, innocent, eager little wife.

He pressed the tip of his length to your slit. The edges of your pussy lips were dry but as he moved the head of his cock through your folds, some moisture coated him. Roose paused because you mewled and turned your face to the side, eyes closed, hands bunching into fists in your sheets.

His cock twitched against you as he watched, something that hasnt happened since Roose was a teenager with his first wife.

It moved him to push inside. He watched your lips part with heavy breaths, eyebrows coming together as your breaths turned into soft whimpers. He had to pull out after a certain point and push back in, further. You whimpered, grasping the sheets harder.

Roose found himself completely and utterly hypnotized by you, watching your face, turned to the side, eyes pinched shut, gently chewing your bottom lip.

“You’re very reactive,” He muttered, catching your attention.

You turned back to look at him over your rising and falling chest and giggled, running your hand over your forehead, “Yeah, I… Nothing has ever been inside like this so... I’m reacting.” A coil in your stomach twisted as he pushed even deeper and your lips puckered, letting out an "Ooh..."

Roose chuckled at the first sign of a little bit of sass in his wife, amused at your playfulness during what most would deem to be a serious moment. Roose typically disliked those who cracked unnecessary jokes in inappropriate moments, but somehow it seemed appropriate in this moment.

Your hand came down to grab his and you guided it to your thigh. You felt your husband bottom out inside you after not too much struggle or pain and you laid there happily. You were happy to take his gentle thrusts. Your cunt grew wetter and sloppier as he fucked you.

He filled you well, and it felt good to be full like this. You wanted him to touch you… You wanted him to move more. Faster, harder. You just wanted more of him.

You breathed a heavy sigh, squeezing around him, trying to coax him into moving in you.

“Roose,” You whined, squirming beneath him. Your legs came to wrap around him and guide his movements in you.

Your husband gasped at your shameless neediness, responding quickly to your coaxing movements. You felt like heaven, squeezing so tight around him. But it wasn’t just the pure sensation of a cunt enveloping him it was the fact that your heel remained pressed against his lower back, pulling him toward you. It was the fact that little whimpers kept tumbling out of you, meanwhile you hid your face as if you couldn’t keep them in. It was his name, falling from your lips, in between the whimpers.

And then you whimpered, “Harder.”

An appreciative hum rumbled in Roose's chest, his eyes focusing even harder on you. You shuddered to look at him. His smolder could easily be mistaken for a glare and you'd hate to be a man in any other situation, on the receiving end of such a look.

Here, it just made you more excited.

You cried a loud, unrestrained moan when he gave a sharp thrust, his cock angled upward and hitting a deep spot within you. When his cock touched that spot, it felt as if a little burst of pleasure had come from it and melted into the rest of your body, the coil in your tummy tightening deliciously.

His pace slowly increased, as did your pleasure. You writhed beneath him... At times it almost felt like pleasure was too much, like you were about to tip off some edge, and you had no idea what could be found once you made it over that edge other than just even more, blinding pleasure. You didn't even know if you could take it.

But you had nowhere to run. So if you had to find out what was waiting for you over that edge, so be it. You fought to hold your legs open as much as possible but your thighs would sometimes beg to close, unused to the intense stimulation. And most of the time, you kept your eyes closed and your face turned to the side.

Roose stared down at you, burying himself in you over. And over. Watching as each time you had to succumb and give yourself away to the sensations. It sparked something primal inside him, and truly for the first time he felt an animal-like instinct that often came to be the failing of many great, even-minded men.

He felt lust. Inspired by the image of your body tightening and twitching as he plunged himself deep into you.

Grabbing your waist, he fucked you faster, snapping his hips at a faster speed while he used his strength to pull your pliant body into his.

It wracked your body from head to toe, a long, loud whine, pulled from your throat, enunciated by each meeting of his balls against your ass. Your hands shot up to grasp to anything you could find on the bed but all it found were more sheets. You buried your face in the soft flesh of your arms.

Roose slowed and gave you some hard, defined thrusts, grunting as he did so. You cried out each time and then managed to blink your eyes open and look at him, eyebrows still knitted together, hair a tangled mess under you, and your lips red and wet from your chewing on them all the time.

And then your husband rediscovered the energy to plow into you again.

You held your tits this time, to keep them from bouncing uncomfortably.

He growled, adjusting so that your legs were put over his shoulder before continuing. That felt amazing. But even more amazing was that he decided it wasn't enough, climbing on the bed and pushing you further up on it. He maneuvered his leg, planting a foot next to your side.

That. That had you crying out, damn near sobbing. At least, you wouldn't be surprised if anyone passed your room and mistook it for that.

Soon your body was twitching uncontrollably under him and Roose was sighing loudly, shocked by just how tight your cunt was gripping onto him. Your moans grew weaker and breathier and your body tensed to a peak before you seemingly began to come down from it.

Your breaths remained heavy as you attempted to catch yourself, small aftershocks of convulsions and shaking taking you. He was still fucking you just as hard and your body was oversensitive to the stimulation.

But thankfully you didn't have to endure the pleasurable torture too much longer. Roose released you with a few hard thrusts and deep groans.

He stilled in you and dropped his head in exhaustion, staying buried deep inside, as he attempted to catch his breath and recover and you stared at him, also trying to catch up with yourself.

You lowered your legs to the side though and in the process, his penis slipped out of you, quickly softening. You don't know what possessed you to do so, because there was really no need to, but you brought a hand up to your husbands face and moved it so you could stare into his eyes.

His soft, exhausted eyes met you, the strong hardened exterior that you saw on him at your first meeting, melted off.

Cautiously, you closed the distance, molding your lips to his again.

Roose kissed back fervently this time, no longer hesitant and letting you take the lead. His domineering hand coming behind to cradle your face.

Your eagerness had surprised him in the beginning. But once he'd entered you, it was as if a switch had turned on for both of you. He'd expected you to bravely take on the duty that all women had to endure but he'd never expected you to take to it so well, craving more, wanting him.

Roose had never been the type of man to think about, much less want to be wanted. But his cock nearly twitched back to life, remembering. You pulled him in with your legs, asked him to fuck you harder, you came, and even afterwards, you wanted more.

When your lips finally parted, he stared, evaluating you with a new lense, a lense of true fondness. It was something that — Roose wouldn't ever dare say out loud but — it was something that could even develop into something deeper than a vague fondness or physical attraction. Something like love.

You pressed one last chaste kiss to him and smiled widely, asking, "Is that what every night will be like?" You asked, "If so I think you'll make me a very happy lady."

Roose couldn't think of a proper, clearly worded answer, so he just pressed his lips to yours again, hungrily. A very happy lady indeed. And he'll be happy to see you happy.

[lets-try-some-writing]

Hail to the King: Snippet

Megatron intends to use Smokescreen to torture Optimus. How does he plan to go about this? Simple. Make him the very thing Optimus fears most.

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━

“You bucket helmed piece of slag! I won’t give you anything!” He struggles against his bindings, his wrists and ankles burning with the effort. He fought with all his might, trying to thrash. All it earned him were a few scuffs that ached with every movement. 

“Good. Then you will have more to give to your new master.” No no no. He wouldn't serve the Decepticons. He wouldn't give them anything, not even the color scheme of Optimus's windshield. 

“What?” His voice shook and his door wings, pressed awkwardly as they were against the slab, twitched in response to his growing fear. This wasn't what he was trained to handle. How could he fight against someone tampering with his processor? That sort of thing only happened before the war with the old Council of Cybertron.

“Optimus Prime, my ancient nemesis. He claimed he had no interest in claiming the Matrix. I remember quite vividly how he denied any desire to take it.” Megatron met his terrified gaze with a smirk worthy of Liege Maximo himself. Smokescreen could only watch in horror as Shockwave, now visible at the far corner of the room, prepared a series of needles and cords.

“What does that have to do with anything?” Keep him talking. If he could just keep Megatron talking, maybe he could still get out of this.

“Optimus claims he does not want to be seen as a god. He preaches that he is a mere mech, despite the relic he carries. He despises the worship of the faithful. Truly a humble mech to the bitter end.” Megatron's gaze felt like a hot iron against his plating. Smokescreen wanted to run, he wanted to phase through the walls and into the ground where it was safe. And yet, he could do nothing except shake faintly as Megatron circled him, his clawed digits running along the slab that bound Smokescreen in a threatening manner.

“And yet, he took the Matrix anyway. He never even considered stepping aside so that real change could be enacted. We all would have been so much better off if he’d put down his arrogance and allowed those more suitable to step up.” The screech of Megatron's claws tearing through metal assaulted Smokescreen's audials along with the sheer venom in his captor's voice. For a moment, he couldn't vent. He expected white hot pain to overwhelm him, but when he worked up the courage to look, he saw that Megatron's claws were dug into his slab, not his plating.

“He took a role he was never meant to fill, and now he heralds himself as a leader, a commander and vessel for ancient wisdom. And yet, he refuses to take responsibility for all he’s brought upon himself. He won’t accept the praise of the faithful like a good puppet Prime. But he also refuses to silence the whispers about his supposed divinity.” One by one, those claws pulled out of the slab, leaving terrifying gashes in their wake. Smokescreen had to fight back the urge to cry out in terror as Megatron's voice edged into something even darker. He was practically seething as he ranted. Smokescreen could hardly understand all of it.

“He stole a station he was never meant to take. Maybe he did it to spite me and is now too devoted to back down. Perhaps he truly thought, in his naivety, that he was better suited for the role. Whatever the case, I will abuse his humility. I will make him pay for taking the place that was rightfully mine.” Megatron's arms raised to the skies, almost as though he were preaching to a crowd. His back was to Smokescreen, but his words were still just as cruel and wicked. He spoke Iaconian common for Smokescreen's sake, but it was so heavily layered with Kaoni sub glyphs that Smokescreen could sense every last iota of emotion.

Megatron was truly bitter. It had been generations since the start of the war, and still Megatron was clinging to an ancient conflict. Smokescreen wouldn't dare claim to understand it all, but he knew for a fact that Optimus was a better Prime than the crazed warlord ranting before him. It didn't matter if Optimus got the Matrix through underhanded means, he'd long proven himself worthy of the title in Smokescreen's mind. The fact that Optimus refused worship merely showed his humility and devotion to the cause. He expected nothing, save for the cooperation of those around him.

A true Prime did not enslave. A true Prime was kind and commanded respect through actions, not words. Optimus didn't need to be worshiped. He had long since become a mech worthy of respect far exceeding the bounds of religious bindings.

“He will become the thing he sought to escape, and you, guardsmech, will be the key to all of it.” Smokescreen gawked as Shockwave began to gather up the cords he was working with. Megatron grinned in a convoluted fashion, almost as if he'd already won. What were they planning? What could they possibly want if not information?

“I won’t do anything for you! Never!” He thrashed against his bonds again. It did nothing but prompt Megatron to laugh.

“Struggle as much as you want. It will yield you nothing. In the end, you will make Optimus squirm and drown in his guilt.” Megatron stood like royalty, but to Smokescreen, he looked like nothing more than a mad ghoul eager for its next hunt. Smokescreen would rather die than betray his team and Prime. Whatever Megatron had planned, it could not be allowed to succeed.

“The patch is prepared, Lord Megatron.” Shockwave approached the Lord of the Decepticons, a threatening series of cables in his servo. Smokescreen could see a needle on the end of one, likely meant to stab directly into his processor. 

“Excellent. Begin uploading the simulation schematics. I want him fully engrossed in it until Optimus agrees to a conference.” A simulation? Were they going to try and turn him into a Con or something?

“Optimus won’t ever surrender to you!” He flailed, fighting desperately enough to tear his armor around his wrists as he fought to be free. He wouldn't become a weapon. He refused to become a tool for Megatron to use.

Despite how hard he tried to get away, it wasn't long before part of his slab was removed, leaving his helm exposed from the back. He tried to move, but he could do nothing except bite back a scream as something sharp and painful jabbed directly into the back of his helm. Coolant threatened to gather in his optics as his systems were thrown into overdrive, trying to find the source of the problem to little avail. All the while, Megatron continued his mad monologue.

“The Primes of old were heralded as gods. The Primacy was devoted to their every wish and fancy.” The warlord paced, his sickening smile still ever present. Smokescreen could feel a faint buzz at the back of his mind, the beginnings of the patch's work, no doubt.

“It is ancient history now, but before the war began, every Prime was given devotees who were meant to serve them.” Smokescreen's optics trailed the leader of the Decepticons, observing with growing horror how much emphasis Megatron put on the word 'serve'. Just what was Megatron hoping to make him into?

“Mecha personally trained to meet their Prime’s fancies.” No. No, Megatron couldn't be trying to change him. Information fishing was one thing. But changing his mind? 

“Warriors brought low through humiliation and submission so that their will could become an extension of their Prime.” This couldn't be happening. He wouldn't succumb to Megatron's twisted will. He had to keep himself composed. 

“The most loyal and submissive servants. Just the kind of subordinate Optimus fears and despises in equal measure.” Megatron loomed over him, his gaze knowing and expectant. Smokescreen wanted to spit curses, but everything was starting to feel fuzzy, almost as though he were drifting into recharge.

“He fears becoming corrupt if given such devotion.” Twisted laughter bubbled in Megatron's vocalizer. His amusement rang out in the air as Smokescreen frantically tried to keep coolant from gathering in his optics. He couldn't show how scared he was, even though his shaking door wings betrayed him.

“Let’s see if his fears become reality.” Red optics glared down at him, demanding results. Smokescreen wanted to cry. Torture, interrogation, suffering of all kinds, he could endure those. But changing his very core? His mind and his beliefs? How was he to withstand that?

[blackguard-posting]

'TIS EXACTLY WHY WE HATH BEEN GRILLING SHIT OVER A SMOKING HEAP OF METAL. OVER THE LOGS AS WELL!

Eant yur grib. ack?

AH, THE GRILL... WE SHAN'T LET A LITTLE THING LIKE FIRE MAKE SUCH A FINE MACHINE GOETH TO WASTE!

[mysteryshoptls]

SR Sebek Zigvolt Masquerade Dress Personal Story: Part 1

"I shall thoroughly beat it into your head!"

Part 1 (Part 2)

[Noble Bell College – Lecture Hall]

Malleus: ♪～

Azul: ♪～

Idia: ♪～

Noble Bell College Student A: Night Raven College's singing earlier was spectacular, don't you think?

Noble Bell College Student B: Yes, their rhythm and pitch were perfect… They were also so expressive; it just drew me in!

Aide: They prepared such a spectacular performance for our little social exchange… How inspiring!

Ruggie: Shishishi! All them folks at Noble Bell College had their socks blown off, looks like.

Jamil: Seems as though our surprise was a big success.

Sebek: Malleus-sama… THAT WAS A GRAND PERFORMANCE WORTHY OF HISTORY BOOKS!!!!!

Sebek: What overwhelming singing talent, it enchanted all who heard it!

Sebek: The sheer strength and beauty of that resounding singing voice is impossible for me to begin to describe…

Sebek: My whole body is still shaking from the strong emotions welling up inside.

Sebek: I will forever remember being able to stand alongside you for the rest of my life!!

Jamil: Sebek's the same as always.

Jamil: He already heard Malleus-senpai's singing dozens of times during practice, and his reactions are still over the top.

Ruggie: Well, that's the hardcore Draconian for ya. I'm thinkin' he's gonna be this noisy for a little while longer, now.

Ruggie: Eh, as long as he doesn't cause us any headaches, we can just let him do whatever.

[Sebek rushes up]

Sebek: RUGGIE-SENPAI, JAMIL-SENPAI!

Ruggie: Ack! He's coming this way…!

Sebek: Surely you both must have felt so enthralled to witness Malleus-sama's performance earlier!

Sebek: There is no doubt, none at all, that you must feel the urge to vocalize those passionate feelings with someone else!

Sebek: Come, share with me your impressions of my liege's singing abilities!

Jamil/Ruggie: …

Ruggie: Yeah, it was good. Didn't expect anythin' less from Malleus-san! So, anyway… I'll leave you to it, Jamil-kun.

Sebek: Wait, human!

Ruggie: Hey, what gives! I told you what I thought already, didn't I? I'm busy tryin' to chow down on all the different foods they got here at the masquerade!

Sebek: Is that all you thought!? There is no feasible way that such empty words are suitable for a song sung by Malleus-sama!

Jamil: Yeah. Keep on going, Ruggie, until Sebek's satisfied.

Ruggie: Maybe you can show me how it's done, Jamil-kun! I think you have a bigger vocabulary than me, anyhow.

Sebek: Are the two of you listening to me? Hurry and praise Malleus-sama's spectacular singing voice.

Sebek: Or do you dare to tell me that you were so preoccupied with your own roles that you neglected to pay any attention to his magnificent singing?

Sebek: If so, I shall have to rake you over the coals!

Ruggie: Ugggh, this is gonna be a pain. We gotta do somethin' fast… Hm, what's goin' on over there?

Aide: Vice President, are you sure you do not wish to speak to Malleus-san? I remember you had been looking forward to it before the event began.

Vice President: I think I'll refrain. I felt it from his performance earlier, too, but he's got a really intense aura about him.

Vice President: So, it's kind of frightening to go up to him.

Ruggie: …Shishishi, I just thought of something good.

Ruggie: C'mon, Sebek-kun. Of course we were listening.

Ruggie: But honestly, we got a bigger issue on our hands… See that Noble Bell College Student Council Vice President over there?

Ruggie: That guy listened to our performance, and is sayin' something like, "I don't want to get closer to Malleus-san."!

Sebek: WH-WHAT!?!? IS THAT SO!?

Ruggie: I definitely heard it. Jamil-kun, you heard it too, right?

Jamil: Yeah. I definitely heard something like that.

Sebek: How utterly rude of them to speak ill of Malleus-sama as such! I cannot allow this to pass! I must thoroughly chastise him!

[Sebek rushes away]

Ruggie: Have fuuuuun～!

Part 1 (Part 2)

Requested by Anonymous.

[scoutshorror]

Is that a yes or no to any of those 3 ma’am?

Idk if you’re being sarcastic or decided to mention something off topic(risk assessments). I’m autistic, unless there’s direct yes or no, it’s hard to decipher what you someone means. Serious inquiry!

oh, a fellow acoustic. in that case. of doesn’t allow p, i don’t like butt stuff, i do swallow. i’m hot and cute and make pretty smut yes you should subscribe.

also please don’t call me ma’am i am nb :3 suitable substitutes would be “my liege”, the always gender neutral “dude/bro”, “mr. president”,

[nullcanary]

WIP Wednesday

Thank you @wraith-caller for the tag! 🗡️✨

Tagging @chocolatecatcupcakecheese, @minkriseu10, and @plethomacademia and anyone else who wants to join (feel free to tag me so I can cheer you on!)

I've got so many WIPs (holding them like too many limes). Here is an entry I've had sitting for a while, one of the first things I wrote.

Summary: Mormo tries to sacrifice someone who looks like Enver, but takes her time to think about it and finds she has a big problem.

Pairing: Dark Urge/Enver Gortash

Rating: M (cw: gore, violence)

Words: 1.3k

Working title: Mechanics of Affection

Gold points faintly traced against her neck as she exited the doorway into the cool night air. The touch was a future beckoning dressed in a goodbye. The light that spilled from the exit was accompanied with warm regards before the door shut, finally leaving Mormo alone with her thoughts. A deep inhale filled her lungs with the sharp chill of evening. The fog of breath swirling with a draw out sigh as she let herself come back into focus.

In these past few weeks, the distractions had grown too numerous to ignore. The Scion of Bhaal had found herself slipping in her duties, and it had not gone unnoticed. What was once a nightly observance had grown now to a full tenday of responsibilities disregarded. A return to form was necessary, a display of red allegiance to her Father.

Stalking back towards the temple, the Bhaalspawn had resolved upon the most suitable offering for her Lord. Something that would prove her standing dedication to the final covenant of her purpose. As she could not yet plunge the dagger directly into the source of her woes, she had instead decided to find one of similar likeness for Father's altar.

"Sceleritas", Mormo called out as she continued her trek back to the sewers. The dreadful butler appeared almost instantly, striding alongside their master.

"How might I finally be of service to you, my fearsome Liege?", the fiend wryly offered.

"I need you to find someone of very specific bearing for me tonight. I'll add that I can find rabbits ten a copper. Bring me back something that bites", she threatened, “and… administer a weaker paralytic.”

"Of course, my most wicked one. Nothing else need be mentioned. It shall be done." With a whip crack of the air, he was gone as instantly as he had appeared.

And so it was in the temple that she found him, a suitable stand-in. He writhed on the temple ground as she strode in, struggling against the rope bindings and burlap sack pulled over his head. The muffled shouts that rose up from the figure indicated that he had been gagged as well.

The urgent need curled in Mormo's stomach as she strode towards her prey. Ripping off the burlap sack from his head revealed just how uncanny of a match they had found. A mess of black hair, a strong Calimshan jaw, and a set of dark eyes filled with a wild, wicked hatred. 

He clawed at her skin as he was forced down onto the stone, violently twisting his body and kicking out against the force that was pushing him into the altar. Mormo relished the fact that he had refused to go down easily. Still, his strength was nothing compared to the Bhaalspawn. With him snarling and snapping like a trapped beast, she wasted no time, holding the man down and slicing him open. The ensuing loss of blood made the man even weaker to his fate, yet the palpable odium that exuded from his glare weaved the Urge's fantasy further. A more fearful creature would have struck her as tasteless, poisoning the illusion of the imitation. She set to work -- savoring and studying. Searching for some satisfaction in the labor.

There he lay, alive: skin peeled back, thoracic cage broken away, his own innards decorating the stone bed like garlands. Mormo thought briefly of a wedding night bed... The swell of his unveiled lungs grew shallower with blood loss and his quivering heart beating freely against the humid temple air. She stared down at the man, noting to herself that she was typically more efficient in her brutality, but this sacrifice lay here more like a work of their sister.

His overgrown black hair clung to his forehead, soaked with sweat and blood. His dark rimmed eyes were filled with venom and contempt. His lips curled back, displaying clenched teeth and a fighting spirit. Mormo had decided to forgo administering the usual paralytics for scrutiny. She had wanted to observe the limits of his struggle against a weaker potion, to indulge in his reactions and to see how long this one would fight before being claimed by the glut of their god.

There was a purpose to this method. She needed this one alive and awake. To witness and be witnessed. To resist and succumb without surrender. There was a need to revel in the organic machinery that makes one pulse and fight and flee. Something that makes the process of worship mean so much more than simply the gore, the desecration. To fully observe that which she extinguishes and rends from existence.

On top of showing devotion, a curiosity had struck with this one. Wanting to see the inner workings of him ticking and whirring like the Steel Watch of that Banite he held so much likeness towards. As she stared down at the pulsing vitals, she found herself drawn to the beauty of the facsimile and yet resisting against a repulsion towards its design. Placing a hand over her own chest, she noted the respiratory and cardiac coherence of her own mechanics with what lay in front of her.

"You're a sick bastard! You and your kind will all burn", the man manages to snarl out before spitting blood at her. That must have been the reserve of his strength, for he weakly sunk back onto the stone with a bitter expression. The red warmth had landed on her cheek, sliding down like a pious tear before the Chosen reached a hand towards the open cavity of his chest. She caressed the man's thrumming heart and watched as he angrily cringed, hissing and cursing through gritted teeth. 

Lifting the same fingers back up to her own lips, Mormo savored the taste of the man's blood. Would this be how Enver's hatred tasted, like salt and filigreed copper? Would he taste, too, of bitter beginnings? Those tainted by leather and brimstone? Would this be how his heart would feel in those final throes and thrashes? The first and last time anyone would ever truly caress the wicked thing. 

Her stomach twisted at that final thought, though the Bhaalspawn couldn't quite distinguish if she was reaching a point of satisfaction or revulsion.

"Oh, this truly is a test of my mettle", she breathed out.

Mormo then felt the eyes of her god descend and thus brought her hand back to the pulsing heart, gently squeezing until she felt the muscle struggle back against the pressure with each pump. The man growled violently with each breath, weakly struggling against the misfortune of his torture, yet it was only moments before the essence began to fade from his body. His furious eyes never drifted from Mormo's though. The look resonated with an unspoken curse, vile and pitch. If not for the divine protection of her Father, she might have felt concern.

She lingered a moment. With the imminant flick of the wrist, she would pen another name to Jergal's record -- an expert signature written in blood. She sought to behold the moment the ink stained the page. Yet for the first time she realized, she was also seeking something for herself in this votive offering: resolve.

Resolve to carry through with what must be done when their gods collective goal has been reached. For all the admiration felt towards the pattering apparatus in hand, Mormo had clashed against a foreign resistance when it came to thoughts of stilling the Black Hand's heart. A senseless notion that went against everything she had devoted herself towards, that she had been created for. A sense of…loss? At the thought of extinguishing such a brilliant mind. A constant companion. Dare she admit it but, a friend…

[toa-advicebox]

Any suggestions as to how I might go about setting up my liege on a date? Or multiple dates even. It is imperative he find a suitable match sooner rather than later, but he continues to prove averse to the idea.

Ideally, he wouldn't recognize these as 'dates' and would be free to be himself.

.

[dyannawynnedayne]

Which character parallel do you like the best?

Jon and Sam: art by @mummer (1, 2)

Davos and JonCon: art by @wodania (1, 2)

Propaganda is encouraged!

1. Both pulled strings to get the other into a higher position

"I know one thing Sam could do better than anyone." "Yes?" Maester Aemon prompted. Jon glanced warily at Chett, standing beside the door, his boils red and angry. "He could help you," he said quickly. "He can do sums, and he knows how to read and write. I know Chett can't read, and Clydas has weak eyes. Sam read every book in his father's library. He'd be good with the ravens too. Animals seem to like him. Ghost took to him straight off. There's a lot he could do, besides fighting. The Night's Watch needs every man. Why kill one, to no end? Make use of him instead."

AGOT, Jon V

"There's another man," Sam blurted out. "Lord Commander Mormont trusted him. So did Donal Noye and Qhorin Halfhand. Though he's not as highly born as you, he comes from old blood. He was castle-born and castle-raised, and he learned sword and lance from a knight and letters from a maester of the Citadel. His father was a lord, and his brother a king." Ser Denys stroked his long white beard. "Mayhaps," he said, after a long moment. "He is very young, but . . . mayhaps. He might serve, I grant you, though I would be more suitable. I have no doubt of that. I would be the wiser choice." Jon said there could be honor in a lie, if it were told for the right reason. Sam said, "If we do not choose a Lord Commander tonight, King Stannis means to name Cotter Pyke. He said as much to Maester Aemon this morning, after all of you had left." "I see." Ser Denys rose. "I must think on this. Thank you, Samwell. And give my thanks to Maester Aemon as well." [...] "I only need a moment more," Sam promised. "You won't withdraw for Ser Denys, you said, but you might for someone else." "Who is it this time, Slayer? You?" "No. A fighter. Donal Noye gave him the Wall when the wildlings came, and he was the Old Bear's squire. The only thing is, he's bastard-born." Cotter Pyke laughed. "Bloody hell. That would shove a spear up Mallister's arse, wouldn't it? Might be worth it just for that. How bad could the boy be?" He snorted. "I'd be better, though. I'm what's needed, any fool can see that." "Any fool," Sam agreed, "even me. But . . . well, I shouldn't be telling you, but . . . King Stannis means to force Ser Denys on us, if we do not choose a man tonight. I heard him tell Maester Aemon that, after the rest of you were sent away."

ASOS, Samwell V

Davos and JonCon

Both believe that they rose above themselves in their love of their liege

I rose too high, loved too hard, dared too much. I tried to grasp a star, overreached, and fell.

ADWD, The Griffin Reborn

A smuggler who rose above himself, thought Davos, a fool who loved his king too much.

ASOS, Davos I

[ask-lord-morgarath]

Dear Lord Morgarath,

Hypothetically, if Halt was in line for the throne at another kingdom, his brother tried to kill him for the throne forcing him to run away to Araluen, and could potentially have said kingdom’s soldiers sent after him, how would you use that to your advantage?

(Again, this is hypothetical, my dark liege. If you answer I will kiss your feet).

Sincerely,

Anon, a pathetic peasant wench with no alternative intentions

So that is your name? Anon. How suitably pathetic, as you say, for a wench like you. Your worshipful bleatings are quite diverting; they amuse me to no end.

I use everything to my advantage. Now, that unkempt meddler's familial scuffles are barely of interest to me, but should I come into contact with any of those involved, I could of course play the situation like a deck of cards. Was there something specific you were referring to?

Do take pains not to smear your plague-ridden saliva over my boots.

[grand-theft-carbohydrates]

first everyone was posting like disparaged victorian waifs on cat posts. now they’re vassalposting. shooting tearful missives over city walls “sire—this” “my liege—that”. lusting after hegemony and their sworn brothers. we appear to be going back in time. im going to get ahead of the curve and start using chemical signalling again.

SWARM, WE EVOKE QUORUM!

THIS SIDE OF THE ROOM IS MOST DARK AND MOIST. SUITABLE HABITAT.

ASSEMBLE.

ASSEMBLE.

ASSEMBLE.

[lunarxdaydream]

The list of the invitees seemed endless even if Norval was aware that it was not. But the number versus being sent as the deliverer made it feel long. Even if he had split it with some of the generals. It was true that Norval had said that for invitees that Balmoral held an interest in that he should send a strong impression. The invitations themselves should’ve served as such. However, he hadn’t expected the deliverer to also be of note, “If I should leave a strong impression, whom better than those of my council?”

Nevermind how much travel and folks to see in addition to their responsibilities. ‘Get it done’ likely would be the response given. So is the temperament of the Beautiful Tyrant. Unreasonable with a variability like there are aspects. But truly, his job was more front loaded unlike the rest of the generals that had to deal with security, guests during festivities and the Unseelie itself. So it was fair…but that didn’t mean Norval wanted this either.

But regardless of his feelings, Norval was the Herald. If his king desired for him to invite and entice honored guests, then who was he to argue? It was a knock on his titling otherwise. So Norval carried a languid grace as he followed the Marshall of Foreign Affairs. A grace not quite like a fae’s and not quite his vampiric lineage.

Upon catching visage of the ruler of the Novian Empire, he could see why his liege insisted on sending a messenger. He would not want to affront someone with such sharp eyes. And it seemed Balmoral’s interest continued to come in royals with a 'steeliness’ as Norval might put it. A look he couldn’t quite explain but certainly felt the Empress possessed. A resolve that was held within her. Resolve for what? Now, Norval couldn’t be sure. But if it were anything like how his king held it..it was a promise to keep all that was theirs.

Norval gave a deep bow in introduction to her, “Empress Violetta, I thank you for allowing me an audience. I bring tidings from the Unseelie Court. An invitation, actually.”

He gave small smile offering the letter, “My king wishes to extend the courtesy to open a channel through a more…enjoyable outing. He would like to explore a potential connection with a well-oiled expanse such as the Novian Empire. No doubt only so because of a well-versed overseer such as yourself.”

Ink flowed in elegant scribble across the paper to seal her command. A confirmation to what should prove to be quite the promising result for a thorn long left in her former’s side. Frankly it is a win to silence away the irritation over the attack amidst the festivities. Latest reporting indicated nearly all had recovered well to return to their tasks. Two, in particular, continued to suffer side effects but none need to know. Far as the Empire is concerned, all as reverted as it should.

New games have been scheduled to entertain the masses as they entered into the winter. Temples filled to the brim with gifts to appease the celestials whom have granted them a bountiful harvest. And surely with the coming year, a new shift in alliance shall benefit the people in ways to cement a new beginning for her rule.

Alas whatever task she had considered in accomplishing next is put on hold as Elias announced the arrival of a guest. With a wave of her hand, the eldest Ardell withdraws, tucking the approved order into the inner pocket of his coat. The echo of footfalls ring against marbled ceilings; hues of violet and black hang across with just a kiss of sunlight bleeding through open curtains to reveal a cloudless sky in midday.

Truly a suitable day to welcome the unexpected.

“The Unseelie court.”, she repeats as one leg crossed another beneath the gown. The faintest of smiles graced her lips before standing from the throne. Guards fall into attention in unison as she neared her guest, each motion elegant and fluid as one would expect of a ruler of her standing. After all, to be anything less than perfection itself is failure.

“How considerate of him.”

Bracelets dance upon her wrists as she accepted the invitation to examine its state. Scent of heather and honey rising to delicate senses the moment the seal is broken to reveal quite an elaborate sight. A Hunt, it says. All ready this is beginning to sound like a promising venture to explore. To celebrate peace and yet, one cannot help but find interest in the potential of witness what prowess the Unseelie possessed with such a display. An event to serve a dual purpose if she had ever seen one.

“And I suppose the flattery is his as well?” The letter is extended to Aravis whom offered only a nod in understanding to what his task for the day would become.

“Do inform your King the Novian Empire is honored and shall be in attendance, including the Hunt.”

|| @thewolfisawake​ ||

[voidselfshipp]

Wolven Prince and Arachnid Knights.

Cw:Alusions to dead animals. (Hunted for food). Mentions of spider elements.

Summary: a tiny Fantasy AU for Fenrir and me.

->Only mutuals allowed to reblog.

The snow fell heavily over the forest,coating everything in a silencing white. The skies above mixed in their grey coloration, late afternoon setting in but going unnoticed by the cloud cover.

Jerico extends her hand to Grab one of the falling snowdrops-- We must seek shelter,my liege--She said softly to the Man clad in black,his dark hair falling over his face,contrasting with his pale skin.

--You dont need to call me that anymore,im not part of the empire...--Fenrir said softly his voice almost lost in the silence,walking alongside his ever loyal knight.--Besides,thats not the way you talk normally.

--Ill uphold your title,what they did to you was not fair-- His eyes meet hers as she speaks,the edges of her face are fuzzy with golden hairs,and her green eyes look so deep. Her gothic,Sharp Edged armor of black iron clinks together as she turns to face him with her torso.

--Why...? Why do you Keep sticking to bygones...

Tarantula gave him a stern look--You know why,Emi.

Prince Fenrir of the Keres empire sighed,and kept walking with his companion. The snowfall would cover their tracks,and the rushing,whistling wind would hide their conversation. The sound of the air running feels almost like mournful souls wailing.

...fitting, the prince thinks.

Lowlit forest around them,they Keep walking to find a suitable camping spot. But the lack of light is no issue for creatures of the night like them.

With a sigh,the knight allows her other three eyes to Open,drinking in the darkness and making out shapes. Meanwhile,the prince sharpens his sight and his pupils turn cat-like as his fangs and nails sharpen. His ears come out from his black hair and they flicker as he shakes off the snow.

--This way,My lord--She commanded, Gently taking his hand and guiding him across the root-filled path.--Wont take long after we're out of the forest...

After being disgraced from the Keres Empire,it wouldnt take long for him to be hunted down by the Keres Legion. But he wasnt alone, his loyal knight-Previously an anti-empire conspirator- saved him. Both already had a close,almost too close relationshipp. And now,though unspoken,they were... together.

Jerico was taking him to the Platinum Burrows,the place she hails from- protected by the Iris Kingdom- Also known as rainbow. And his partner had family in the kingdom's army, which only solidified his safety.

But until then,they Walked. Theyve been doing that for months.

--You should change into your other form when we are settled,I know you get restless-- she cooed softly,popping out her three other arms from the holes in her armor.

She uses her New limbs to guide him up the trees to pass over the thicker sections of bramble. Emil was lithe so he could Keep up easily.

--Very well...--He whispered,afraid something would hear--You need to Stretch out your arms more often,they must be very sore..

Tarantula sighed and nodded-- they are,yes.

As they settle on the ground, they walk through the snowy clearing for a little before she spots a split in a big tree nearby.

--Bramble...snow...that tree..--She mused-- Lets settle here,we're protected.-- she shakes off her cloak,beautiful and made of her own silk. She sets it on the ground and begins snapping off twigs to make a Fire.

Fenrir helped by digging a hole for the campfire,lifting heavy rocks to put around it. And whilst his lover is distracted,he takes off his own cloak of heavy black fur and puts it over her shoulders,with his hands Gently gripping them..

She turns,eyes confused but oh so cute. Her face Is Pink from the biting chill.--Stryga arent supposed to be in the cold without protection,silly-- He cooed,giving her a gentle kiss as he fastens the cloak around her. She kissed back,and held his arms Gently.

Her own hands have sharp nails,black furr that turns gold at the elbow and then mixes with the skin in her biceps.

--Youre lucky lycans have so much fur--Jeri teased,giving Him a brief kiss.

--Hah,indeed. Quite thick hide too--he pulls back,allowing himself to turn into his wolf form. From an average sized Man,he turns into this black furred wolf with rows of sharp teeth and pale blue eyes that look at his arachnid beloved with his softness only for her.-- Ill hunt us some food.

His voice is deep,gravelly. It makes her blush

--Okay,be careful...--She patted his snout before he licked her face,knocking off her helmet.

--I Will...

With that,he kicks into a sprint and avoids getting snow on his partner. She laughs and it gets lost in the silencing snow,but not on his Keen ears. He smiles.

-♡-

Fenrir returned to the campfire not an hour later,holding a deer in his snout that his lover begins to prepare for dinner. He curls within the tree's hole as his girlfriend leans on his back and works away at their dinner.

He sighs,blowing out warm air of deep purple.

--Whats on your mind...? --She asked.

--Are you sure ill be welcomed in the burrows?

Jer rolled her eyes--Youre not the first lycan to step in.

--Thats not what I meant...

--And not the first refugee,either.

--Will I be seen as such?

---Yeah,you will--She promised,patting his head with her main set of arms then moving to scratch behind his ear. His tail sways lazily from side to side.--My brother knows we're coming.

He sighed--And he wont kill me? --She gave him a look, making His ears tuck against his head--...Fine.

After dinner,both lay down to snuggle. She had covered the entrance to their burrow with silk- Stryga silk was very tough.

Fenrir draped himself over his arachnid lover and he sleeps soundly with her. Between his body heat and his cloak,both are warm and protected from the elements.

When they wake,he is in his semi-human form. His tail wrapped around her legs,his furred and clawed hands holding her tight and his ears tucked against his head.

-♡-

When they reached the Platinum Burrows they were greeted warmly by this Giant beetle looking Man. This is Jerico's brother,Seamus.

Fenrir saw now that the Platinum Burrows were sets of cozy cabins built into a cave. He can see the heavy smokestacks above.

And his lover's abode is cozy,littered with mementos. Both snuggle up in her bed with the fireplace running to Keep them warm,hes all curled up like he had done every time they spent the night together.

Finally,safe. Finally a home.

And best of all..they were together.