#the tainted knight will have him in the end

[ja3hwa]

♡ 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊✞𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 ♡

Welcome to this years Kinktober festivities!! I've been working hard on all of these, so I hope you can all enjoy each and every one of them. (I'll also be pinning this post for the duration of October, so if you miss a day, you can check my blog for updates ♡)

There are also some specials in amongst the days for the lovely event my dearest friend @whatudowhennooneseesyou is hosting. So please go check her out and the event ♡♡. I hope you all are ready to sin.

♡ Every day, a new day will be revealed. So sit back, relax, and don't forget to enjoy the ride ♡

Masterlist | Navigation | Buy me a Kofi ♡

Day 1: Tit fucking [Winner Takes All]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : If you win, you get a prize...But if yeosang wins he gets to fuck your tits.

Day 2: Masturbation [My Kind Of Prize]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : You couldn’t wait any longer for your boyfriend to finish the match, so you decided to take matters into your own hands.

Day 3: Dry humping/Clothed sex [What Was Rule One Again]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : There were rules Mingi needed to follow, but had the tendency to break them.

Day 4: Biting/Bondage [No Bark But All Bite]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : It was just an innocent game of truth of dare. Nothing bad was going to happen... Right?

Day 5: Gentle sex [Special Treatment]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : Your loving husband just needed some extra care, and being an amazing wife, you were more than willing to provide.

Day 6: Cock warming [Focused, I'm Focused]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : Mingi finds his little mouse trying to do her exams. Too bad he needs her right now.

Day 7: Rough sex [Our Girl]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : Yunho and Mingi couldn't stop thinking about you since they first tainted your beautiful body. They were craving more and lucky for them, exams just finished.

Day 8: Voyeurism [Eye's On Him]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : There was no denying that Seonghwa had always loved to watch his leaders' angel being pampered. It was his favourite past time afterall.

Day 9: Bike sex - [His His His]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : You were his girl, and he can take you wherever and whenever he wants.

Day 10: Thigh riding - [Sit]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : You couldn't sit still the moment you started drinking. Jongho ended up dragging you home to punish you by the end of the night.

Day 11: Double penetration - [Lonely Together]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : A creature cursed to wander the earth alone, finds himself falling for a sweet little human that finds peace in the lonely forestry.

DAY 11 SPECIAL: ALIEN AU - [One With The Cosmos]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : Travelling in deep space, you and your crew must deliver and pick up cargo to a jump station. Woosan is to accompany you on this mission. San being the muscle and Woo as the navigator and scientists...problem? You got lost.

Day 12:  Pussy slapping/squirting - [Just One]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : You had one rule. One little rule, and you decided it was a good idea to break it.

Day 13: Getting caught - [Show Time]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : You didn't expect the night to go the way it did, but who are you to complain...

Day 14: Cum play - [So Soaked]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : Your roommates decided to play a little game, and you were the prize.

Day 15: Oral/Fingering - [Vocal Training]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : Yeosang was struggling withi is vocal range. Stressing over it, he decided he needed a snack break. Good thing he knew just the treat to eat.

Day 16: Fae/Orc - [Knight In Bloodied Armour]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : Yunho was a myth amongst men. Yet here he stood, ready to protect you and take you away from the cruel life you lead... The only catch is you have to give him something in return... your hand in marriage.

DAY 16 SPECIAL: COLLARING - [Pretty Boy]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : Who knew Mingi would be into collars.

Day 17: Drunk sex - [Pour Up]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : Shot after shot, the night became lively by the minute. Mingi and Seonghwa were finding it increasingly hard to keep their hands off you as more alcohol ran through their system. Let's just hope they dont get caught being too handys with you by your brother...

Day 18:  Monster Under The Bed - [Guilty Confessions]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : A creature that feeds off lust and fear finds himself falling for the very prey he was supposed to consume. What a cruel twist of fate.

DAY 18 SPECIAL: BITING -[Sign On The Dotted Line]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : He had signed the dotted line for his revenge, but now, he was starting to think there could be more lying beneath his contract.

Day 19: Bath sex - [La Douleur Exquise]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : You searched far and wide for the perfect spell to bring Yeosang back to the earthly plain, and now that he's here, you're gonna use your time wisely of course.

Day 20: Priest/Demon - [Sinfully Blinded]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : There was a demon on the loose. Wreaking havoc in the small village that San was a priest in. And little did Father San know is that the creature was a lot closer than he would think.

Day 21: Sex pollen - [A Blooming Mess]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : It's just one quick to your home planet. It's just one dangerous plant for collection. Nothing can go wrong, right... right?

Day 22: A/B/O - [Subtle Scents]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : He was your best friend. The only person would could trust. But yet you had kept a secret from you that would change your relationship in an instant. How would he react once he finds out?

Day 23: Masked man - [Mr. Rough And Rowdy]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : You haven't seen your friends in years given you had been overseas studying. Now that you're back, you've noticed how much they've all grown. And what better to celebrate your return than an innocent party.

Day 24: Haunted Maze - [Cravings And Desires]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : Wooyoung found a note about you being taken away from him. And now he'll have to play the maze in order to get his prize back.

Day 25: Angel/Worship - [Heavens Gate]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : His job was to be an observer. Do not under any circumstances interact or intervene with human lives. Oh, how he royally fucked that up.

Day 26: Vampire/bloodplay - [Exquisite]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : You were saved by them. Taken cared for by them. Everything you could ever ask they provided to the best of their abilities... but why?

Day 27: Pirates/Sirens - [Alluring Whispers]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : Through life at sea, it's proven that anyone deserves to be loved. Even a pretty pirate and a thieving siren.

Day 28: Werewolf - [Don't You Dare]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : With Rogue's hot on the packs trail, Yunho had to make a tough decision. He needed to be able to know you could handle yourself even when you were away from him. So weekly training sessions became your new normal. But tonights training session went a little of course...

Day 29: Giants - [Dearest Husband, Darling Wife]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : Being betrothed and shipped off to far away from your kingdom was the least of your worries when you saw exactly who you were marrying...

Day 30: Alien/Egg laying/breeding - [Try Me]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : You husband is in need of your "person assistance"... unlucky for you, San and Wooyoung want a taste of you also.

Day 31: DND Ft. Gang Bang [To Love Is To Be One]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : You want, needed to prove that you could achieve just as much greatness like the other guild members. So what better than a hunt that only you and your team can solve.

—

© 𝐉𝐚𝟑𝐡𝐰𝐚. Do not steal, plagiarise, translate, repost, or use my work in any way, shape, or form.

𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐑 : 𝑇𝐻𝐼𝑆 𝐼𝑆 𝐼𝑁 𝑁𝑂 𝑊𝐴𝑌 𝐴 𝑇𝑅𝑈𝐸 𝐷𝐸𝑃𝐼𝐶𝑇𝐼𝑂𝑁 𝑂𝐹 𝑇𝐻𝐸 𝐴𝑇𝐸𝐸𝑍 𝑀𝐸𝑀𝐵𝐸𝑅𝑆. 𝑇𝐻𝐼𝑆 𝐼𝑆 𝑃𝑈𝑅𝐸 𝐹𝐼𝐶𝑇𝐼𝑂𝑁 𝐴𝑁𝐷 𝐼𝑆 𝑁𝑂𝑇 𝑇𝑂 𝐵𝐸 𝑇𝐴𝐾𝐸𝑁 𝑆𝐸𝑅𝐼𝑂𝑈𝑆𝐿𝑌.

[technoturian]

Regardless of my feelings about the BoS as a whole in the Fallout series, Maximus as a character exceeded all my expectations.

Maximus, honestly, to me, was the most nuanced and best acted character in the series. His situations were fantastical and yet the way he reacted to it all was so grounded. He was like a prestige drama character in a series full of cartoons. Don't get me wrong, I like the cartoons. Fallout leans heavily into parody and it's totally on brand. But Maximus' entire emotional arc was so understated and I really appreciated it.

He isn't a very vocal OR excessively emotive character because he knows being vulnerable hurts him. He shapes himself to that idealized memory of the knight in the armor even as he doesn't seem to really understand or care for the beliefs behind the armor. He's failing his classes as an aspirant. When talking of the BoS beliefs, he throws in a "or whatever". That part of it doesn't matter to him. The armor IS his belief system.

His whole story is about the cycle of violence and toxicity. The bullies who beat him. The abuse he endures. He wants power so that he can escape it but once he gets that chance he's doomed to perpetuate it, because that power is coming from the system. It's tainted. Deep down he doesn't want revenge, he doesn't even want power for power's sake, he wants safety. And he wants to be the hero from his memory, he wants the strength to save himself from this cycle.

And yet, he just keeps making he wrong choices. Over and over and over. He can't get out of it.

And then Lucy throws him a lifeline. And it takes someone from outside of the cycle to break through. And then he makes the choice to do the right thing even though it means making himself weaker, making himself less safe. He chooses to do the right thing for the first time in the show. And it means finally letting go of his dream, the armor.

And he sees a light at the end of the tunnel. He thinks his reward is going to be Vault 33, he's going to be safe and happy with someone who cares about him and makes him feel like a real, good person.

And by the end of the series, he's trapped in the cycle again.

There is just something so delicious about someone getting everything they wanted at the start and being miserable about it. There's something so REAL about wanting to be something but every instinct makes you sabotage yourself every step of the way.

And the thing is, he had all of these little moments of genuineness, selfishness, pettiness, virtue, I genuinely didn't know what he was going to do for most of the show. I thought he might turn on Lucy at some point. I honestly, truly thought he had sabotaged Dane even though Dane was his only friend. He is so morally hard to pin down because he's so full of life's little hypocrisies. His ideals and his feelings are in conflict so much and he doesn't have to look anguished for you to understand that. You just see it in his resigned stares, in his hesitance and his ultimate actions.

I just... I really loved Maximus. Bravo to Aaron Moten.

[yandere-romanticaa]

A warm smile etched onto the pink haired foxian's face as he watched his beloved eat the meal he had prepared meticulously, his fingers still twitching lightly from the constant chopping and grinding of meat but his hard work had paid off in the end. Jiaoqiu was blessed to hear all the little noises that came out of your mouth, the satisfied hums and light little hiccups were like gospel to him, irreparable, satisfactory, necessary.

He reaches for his own utensils, still monitoring you carefully from the corner of his eye, never once letting the mask of a carefree gentleman slip off.

His beloved was the personification of every dark and sinful desire Jiaoqiu had ever had. The broken heart which he was still mending started to beat once more in the presence of his beloved, as if it finally found its long lost voice and sprung back to life.

The feeling, my, it was exhilarating. For ages now his one true desire was to cure anyone he ever could, to rid people of all of their pain and suffering, to hold their hand in their darkest hour of need and tell them in his sweet voice that all will be well and that he will heal them -

However, time was a cruel mistress. And Jiaoqiu, was all too familiar with its icy cruelty. It wasn't fair, just how much was he going to suffer? Even if he was not aware of it at times, Jiaoqiu was still just a person. One single person in this wast cosmos, a flickering flame of a soul which was threatening to give into the darkness like the weakling that he always was....

And then, he met someone. Someone who became precious to him, someone who allowed him to just... Breathe. To let loose, every once in a while. Someone who he just loved to be fussy about, a person so singlehandedly tailor made for him that it was practically too good to be true. He loved being by his beloved's side, watching over them, taking care of them. It felt good having someone all for yourself, someone who you didn't need to share with anyone -

Much like a house of cards, everything crashed down once he found out that he was getting ahead of himself. He had not made you his quite yet, even if in his mind there would be no other who could fill the empty black void in his heart.

A sharp thorn in Jiaoqiu's side was this absolute pest of a Cloud Knight, a person so singlehandedly determined to take you away from him, a knight so caught up in his own valor and glory that he had failed to notice all the subtle changes around him.

The devil was always in the details. No one ever paid attention to those little details. And Jiaoqiu, the cunning fox, could be a truly terrifying devil if he felt threatened.

Jiaoqiu watched you bite into the meat, the lightly pink centre catching his eye as his smile turned slightly wicked. His gaze lowered down towards the fresh juices which dripped from the meat and onto the pristine white plate, a happy smile on your face.

You inquired about the source of the divine meat for the entirety of the afternoon but Jiaoqiu would always give you non answers or simply dodge the question.

Jiaoqiu loved you. He loved you like no one before. He loved you so much that his heart would stop beating if you ever broke it. His love was deep, dark and wast like space itself.

And you had indeed formed a little crack on his bleeding heart. Not enough for him to do something truly drastic but... It was enough for him to be angry. Angry at the thought that you had allowed this knight into your personal space. You don't need that fool, you already have Jiaoqiu. There's absolutely no need for that frivolous little knight to even be breathing the same air as you, Jiaoqiu was more than capable of taking care of you all on his own.

He had made it his mission to steal back the air the knight had taken from you. At the back of his head, Jiaoqiu could still hear the sickeningly loud crunches of the endless pile of bones, the messy table which reeked of blood and putrid, his snow white hands tainted with the sticky crimson liquid as he hacked and chopped and cooked.

In the end, he was going to teach you a lesson, even if you were not aware of it. Please, be gentle with him. Do not break his heart anymore than it already is. Jiaoqiu is a sensitive and sweet man, he has no desire to be rough with the object of his affections. And yet, even he knows that a small dosage of tough love, as he likes to put it, was more than necessary from time to time.

[n0tamused]

HSR/Genshin Characters as Dragons

A/n: guys this series is getting out of hand I think I need to end it (jokes on you I will never stop talking about dragons). I really hope you are all enjoying this as much as I am <3

Contents: Argenti, Boothill, Dottore as dragons, x reader, gn reader, angst, fluff

Ko-fi

Argenti:

-Another pretty dragon to the list, and one amongst the kinder ones out there. A gentle giant by heart, he seeks to protect all beauty and innocence in the universe

-His kind is generally perceived as greedy and hostile, but for all negative traits his species has, he makes up for them tenfold.

-He tiptoes around young ones and anyone too small or too slow, he carries them if need be without being prompted to. Elderly and the kids have grown to love his presence and assistance, however scarce it may be since he comes and goes like the wind, chasing whatever enemy he spotted. Sometimes he can be overbearing with how eager he is to help, be it in human or dragon form

-He doesn’t shy away from his dragon form whatsoever, and since it is made for battle he uses its advantages against his enemies. His scales are quite tough and not many things can pierce him, and the horn in the middle of his forehead acts like a spear. One swing of his head is usually all it takes to take down his opponent

-Even covered in blood and grime after a battle or trial, he still holds a certain air of regality and elegance as he walks down the path to civilization where he goes to get cleaned (idk but I keep imagining a specific image. It's Argenti with blood on his center horn and looking sort of unbothered or innocent. Like those images of unicorns with blood on their horns yk?)

-His spikes are reminiscent of rose thorns, and very sharp.

-While he appreciates all the praise, he doesn’t consider himself worthy of it, and while he does love all the kids running to him - he does prefer that they don’t touch him for the same reason. He is not worthy of it, he is a knight of beauty but he is tainted, and he doesn’t want to taint the little young souls.

-It took some time until he let you come close to his form, and for a little he did feel overwhelmingly guilty. He always carries a sense of guilt and incompetence, he got used to that taste in his mouth

-He would jump into any battle honestly, and especially if it involves you. He grew to care about you a bit too much

-He spends much more time in human form around you, when battle is done and over with he would go to you after getting cleaned and tidied up, wishing to know and hear again that you are alright. And while you talk he always wonders if you were blessed by Idrila themselves, or perhaps you were set on his path by the Goddess of Beauty for him to meet? If this was another trial, he felt like he was failing - and failure never tasted better.

-He prays he doesn’t lose you. He does love to sing you praises whenever he can, and if he is passing by in his dragon form he lets out a little purr/soft chirp.

-Argenti often visits later at night, a rose in hand yet to bloom fully. And by morning, the petals unroll to reveal the deep red bloom, but by then he is long gone, and the conversation is but a memory to you both

Boothill:

-Boothill is a feral dragon, a hostile one and is to be avoided at all costs - many posters around towns say so, and if there is a rumble through the ground you can be sure there are people herding others into the closest building.

-He is nothing to scoff at. If he was a fierce dragon before, the metal, indestructible body didn’t make him any less soft. The IPC certainly had their ‘fun’ with creating him as he is now. They had attempted to put wings on him but the new body was already too heavy, so that idea was scrapped. Boothill did have wings in his previous body, his own wings that took him high above the ground and over lakes and sandy dunes, but now he will never fly again. 

-Nor will he be human anymore. He had died in his dragon form, and the power which allowed him to go between human and beast had died along with his past life. He’s not sure what’s worse - being half machine, marked by anguish and anger, or not being able to see the world from the lenses of a human, from a 6ft height and not 20 or so feet higher than that. 

-He was confined to the ground. But as soon as he had made his escape from the IPC’s clutches, he was gone for good.

-He had done it himself and removed the chips that marked his location and destroyed pieces of him that would have revealed him, and he made use of the ground he knew too well, better than them anyway.

-Somewhere along the lines, he joined the Galaxy Rangers and they patched him up, gave him whatever missing pieces he needed and he found his place among them.

-It took a long, long time for him to somewhat settle in his new body, the phantom pains and limbs never went away though.

-Now, though, whenever he arrives at a new planet he doesn’t take up too much space or makes himself known, he prefers the life of solitude and his own solo missions

-Sometimes someone may bump into him, but they’re never harmed unless they’re a part of the IPC. He has developed quite the keen senses for them.

-However you wormed your way into his, now, mechanical heart, I congratulate you. Seeing how physically impossible it can be to reach him

-But Boothill is quite chill once you get into a talk with him, and although sometimes he can get lost in the talk he does try to keep his voice down to a lower volume so he doesn’t hurt your ears. He’d lay down after lighting a small fire for you, his eye closer to where he can see you “normally” - and not from somewhere in the clouds. And from there on you two would talk and exchange stories. If you happen to be another dragon he’d be more at ease, and more at home too since he doesn’t have to tip toe as much around you or around certain subjects

-If you happen to be another dragon he does love to lock horns from time to time and wrestle a little like that, it gives his real skin some stimulation and something to feel. It may not be a fair battle as he is mechanical, but he tries to make it fair by letting a few screws loose- he doesn’t tell you that though.

-Speaking of that, he did once have his wrist nearly fall off due to this, he was trying to get some more ground to push himself off and the screw just popped out and he slipped, crashing into the ground as if he forgot how to walk

-Regardless if you are just a human or if you can take a form of  dragon, you have earned yourself the scary dog privilege (a dog that is secretly real nice and soft when you are around)

-also side note but in the art I did forget to draw the "thumb" on his hind right leg, apologies but yeah he'd have 5 fingers on all his limbs

Dottore:

-DOTTTORRRRREEEEEEEEEEEE

-Anyway.

-He wasn’t well loved by his surroundings in the place he originally hails from and he was exiled by his own kin, being chased to the edges of his region to be left to the elements - wherever that may be at this point because all records give different answers, and no one who has gone after him has returned alive.

-The hunger for knowledge grew from day to day, he had grown quite obsessive with getting the results he wanted. At this time he wasn’t exactly small, so he’d use the size of his dragon to his advantage as well, be it to frighten someone or to amaze another. It didn’t matter, as long as he got what he wanted. He doesn’t know anything else but the acts of setting a hypothesis and proving it true, or wrong, or finding another result equally as good. Nothing pleased him more than to succeed.

-His original body was paler than the one he has now, and while that could be blamed on growing up, it can also easily be said that it was a result of his experiments, and perhaps this form is just one of his many clones. Who’s to say he doesn’t have a pale blue dragon spying somewhere else while this black beast stalks around the Akademiya?

-His wings have three appendages on them which allow for easy manipulation of items or opponents, so he doesn’t often see the need to revert back and forth between forms unless something is delicate and requires that human touch.

-He is calculating and a mastermind behind many inventions, both mechanical and medicinal based. He can easily cure many ailments or fix up complex pieces of machinery that have long since been lost to histories. He has invented his own too, the clones are the biggest proof and only a small glimpse of what he is capable of. 

-The Omega Build can be said to be the closest to what he looks like in truth, but in terms of personality they can differ a bit. Omega is much more selfish and prone to using charm that the Prime wouldn’t really strive to use.

-Dottore does have the size and strength and all the power he could need to take down anyone, and while he may not be the biggest dragon you should be smarter than to think he can fall easily in battle. He has the power that can match that of an Archon - you really think he would be defeated to someone lesser than that?

-Underneath that mask you may find either his red eyes and scarred face, or an open part of his body that reveals the metal underneath and the red star that act as his eyes.

-He can walk bipedally and quadrupedally. 

-Another thing he is quite proficient at is mimicking sounds, and with that he lured people in. Some papers, implied to be him and some other Akademiya student, talk about how the young female student was lured away by sounds into a cavern, where she was promptly ripped apart. This death was blamed on the starving tigers found in the area, but Dottore knows the real story behind that attack.

-He is quite a good looking dragon, but can easily make your blood run cold with a simple flash of his sharp teeth. 

-You want one of his feathers, you say? Sure, you may have one, he’ll pluck it out himself and hand it to you. But don’t think it will come free.

Size chart:

- Argenti is actually a smaller dragon for his kind

-Had a bit of a difficult time sizing these boys up, but shh

-Dottore was smaller before, but after he began to make clones and also modify himself he grew more as a result of all those experiments (but is this the 'original'? Hmmm)

-Boothill once looked a bit disproportionate in the first mechanical body he had, since the IPC got wrong measurements, or perhaps it was on purpose as an act of some humiliation to break his spirits, along with making him crawl around without limbs as "punishment" (ah yes, I love Boothill lore)

Ⓒ n0tamused. Do not repost, translate, edit, and/or copy any of my works. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

Tags: @moonlitreveri3 @lexidraws2 @drowning-in-cabbages @creationsabyss @grimulf-of-the-wilderness @st4rrl1ghtwastaken @the-inquisitive-constellation @voiddance @the-bilkush @fictionally-attached

[blasphemousclaw]

OK so a million years ago I made a post analyzing all the placements of the abductor virgin enemies throughout the game, and I came to the conclusion that they’re very deliberately placed as a gesture of protection from Rykard to his family members: there are two at Raya Lucaria, where his mother resides, one on the ramparts of Caria Manor, where his sister lays low, and one at Redmane Castle, where his brother commanded his army. But there isn’t just one abductor virgin in Caelid, there is also an entire cave filled with broken pieces of them — the Abandoned Cave.

The cave lies on the north cliff edge of the Swamp of Aeonia, where Malenia fought Radahn and unleashed the Scarlet Rot upon Caelid. There’s a lone abductor virgin patrolling the cliff opposite the cave entrance that looks to have killed several of the giant dogs:

The cave has some poisony mushroom guy enemies, those annoying flowers, and the boss of the cave is the Cleanrot Knight duo... all enemies that thrive in the rot. The cave itself is a bubbling swamp of scarlet rot, and there are broken abductor virgins absolutely everywhere.

The conclusion I came to about this cave in my post was that this army of abductor virgins was being stored inside, when the Scarlet Aeonia bloomed and flooded the cave with rot so violently that it destroyed all of the abductors. Why were they there in the first place? Since the abductors are specifically found at the residences of Rykard’s mother, sister, and brother (and not at the residences of any of his half/step-siblings), and since there is already one abductor at Redmane Castle, and since Rykard seems to have been fond of Radahn, hanging a portrait of him above his fireplace, the most sensible conclusion is that these abductor virgins were also meant for Radahn.

BUT, what was always mysterious to me was why Rykard would feel the need to give Radahn an entire army of abductor virgins. Rennala only gets two, and Ranni only gets one. What about Radahn’s situation would necessitate a whole army? My answer to this question had been kind of a handwavey “well, he’s fighting an offensive war so he’d need more weapons,” and that still could be true but I always felt like there might be a better explanation. WELL, with the revelations about Radahn from the DLC, I think I have one!

From the DLC, we learn that Radahn made a vow with Miquella, and his half of the vow was that he’d agree to be Miquella’s consort. But during the Shattering, it seems to me that things went awry: Malenia traveled across the entire continent just to kill Radahn at Miquella’s behest, so that he might be revived as Miquella’s consort... but Radahn didn’t die, and his great rune “burns, to resist the encroachment of the scarlet rot” to this day. The armies of both demigods can be found endlessly fighting each other as spirits in the War-Dead catacombs. This leads me to believe that Radahn was not prepared to die for Miquella’s sake here, he and his Redmanes fought Malenia and her Cleanrots to win. I think this conflict might’ve happened because during the Shattering, Radahn decided to pursue his own ends — perhaps influenced by his great rune’s “mad taint” — and became either unfaithful or simply a disappointment to Miquella. So Miquella sends Malenia to kill Radahn, and he later revives his soul, but specifically as the youthful version of Radahn whom he admired, not the mature Radahn of the Shattering.

Miquella’s version of Radahn (Radahn in his youth) vs. Rykard’s version of Radahn (a mature Radahn: face is more deeply lined, no braids, he’s wearing the armor style we see Starscourge Radahn wearing in-game and not the “Young Lion” armor)

While on her way to Caelid, Malenia would have had to march through Altus, past Mt. Gelmir. What if Rykard somehow discovered Malenia’s intentions before she reached Caelid? And he panicked, sending his brother a whole army of his war machines in order to keep him safe when he himself could not abandon his Manor? But Radahn refused to use them to protect himself, because above all he values honor on the battlefield and depends on his own strength to see himself through, and hiding behind machines in battle would be dishonorable and cowardly? So the army of abductor virgins sits unused in an abandoned Caelid cave, until Radahn and Malenia fight to a standstill, and the scarlet rot blooms, flooding the cave and destroying the army within? I think the DLC revelations slot into my previous speculations pretty nicely… and if Rykard had not yet fed himself to the serpent by the time Malenia fought Radahn, well, this would certainly give him another good reason to want to destroy the very system of the gods, wouldn’t it?

[espace--positif]

Avowal // a Sylus x f!Reader medieval AU fic

Summary: King Sylus never tires of watching his most loyal knight fight. That is, until he tires of just watching and decides to test himself against your blade. WC: ~2.4k Content tags: Medieval AU, King!Sylus, F!Knight!Reader, swordfighting/sparring, sexual tension, praise, mild sub/dom themes

Read on AO3 // Masterlist

King Sylus never tires of watching you fight.

The sounds of metal clashing against metal stir the audience that fills the tournament grounds to the brim, cheers and roars traveling through the stands as heated battle unfolds before them. From the vantage point granted to him by the shaded royal box, Sylus calmly watches as you avoid your enemy’s relentless blows, sometimes redirecting and sometimes dodging, all the while being slowly but surely pushed to the edge of the arena. His guest of honor, the rambunctious monarch of one of the few remaining independent kingdoms in the Grasslands, sits besides him and punctuates the exchange of blows with unprompted commentary. Praises of the hulking knight who relentlessly advances on you fall on Sylus’s deaf ears, your distant form the only target of his attention.

It is the third day of tournaments held to inaugurate negotiations with said monarch, negotiations which Sylus has no doubt will end in his favor. And so the tournaments and festivities are nothing more than a formality. That, and a wondrous excuse to send you forth to joust in his name, to joyously watch you obliterate would-be champions.

The loudmouthed monarch applauds and cheers as his chosen knight applies more pressure on you. Your opponent is large, almost twice your size, and the greatsword he brandishes with heavy arms would certainly be cause for concern for any knight lesser than you. But Sylus does not worry, for he’s seen you dance this dance countless times before. Before long, your back is nearly touching the edge of the railing that delineates the arena. The rambunctious monarch whoops, and Sylus watches in silent anticipation. The presence of his not-so-honored guest is easily forgotten as he tunes out the monarch’s raucous cheers, focused only on you.

This is his favorite part.

In a swift motion, you pivot on one foot and duck under your opponent, swiftly avoiding what would have been a decisive strike. Off-balance and off-guard, the man fails to compensate for your movement in time, and you’re behind him before he can react. Your swift arms carry your sword into your opponent’s ribs in a powerful strike, and you follow through with a fervor that draws a contented hum from Sylus’s lips. The man comes crashing down in a heap of plate and mail, breaking through the fencing, and the crowd gasps, some letting out pained hisses at the sight of the dent you’ve left in his thick armor.

As expected, the giant’s raw power was no match for your calculated dominance of the field, each movement of your beautiful dance a deliberate choice made to move your opponent exactly where you wanted him, when you wanted him. All the while leading him to believe he had the upper hand.

Sylus doesn’t just love to watch you fight, he’s exhilarated by it.

“I don’t believe it!” bellows his guest, wine spilling on silk robes as he thrashes about in disbelief.

“I warned you not to underestimate her,” Sylus replies with a smirk that’s equal parts smugness and pride.

You sheathe your sword as you effortlessly stride to face the royal box while your large opponent clambers up and unceremoniously waddles behind you, struggling to catch up. You both offer deep bows at the box — your opponent’s gesture tainted with shame as he nurses his likely bruised rib, and yours brimming with tension.

Yet another part of you he never tires of glimpsing.

As captain of his personal guard, you are his most trusted knight. You’ve fought for him for as long as he cares to remember, representing his kingdom, defending his life, slaying dozens and injuring hundreds in his name. Each time, after the deed is done, you inevitably look to him, your tender eyes measuring his reaction, awaiting his approval. And each time, he gives it to you. How can he not, when you look so beautiful, draped in the scarlet colors of his kingdom, in his colors? When the lamellar feathers that line your gauntlets and greaves strike fear in all who would oppose you, for they know you would cut them down at the snap of his finger? When the crest of the crow on your breast, golds and reds and blacks shining brightly under warm sunlight, serves as a daily reminder of how deeply beholden you are to him?

Today, a playfulness in him, no doubt engendered by the swelling pride he feels at your victory, tempts him to delay this little ritual of yours. He simply settles deeper into his seat, long legs sprawled out, and rests his chin onto his palm as you raise your head. Even from beneath the visor of your helm, he can sense your nervous impatience. The crowd roars for you, but you pay them no mind. You remove your helm with urgency, beaded braids falling freely down your shoulders, sunkissed skin glistening under the warm daylight, and he finally meets your gaze. It’s filled with anticipation and loyalty and eagerness and adoration, and that’s all it takes to draw an inevitable smile from his lips. He nods, offering slow, tender claps that are just for you. Relief fills your eyes, and you return a subdued smile, beaming with a light that only he can see.

—

The ceremonies have come to a close, and you’ve finally been relieved of your post after diligently standing guard beside the king well into the late evening, never leaving his side throughout the festivities and beginnings of negotiations — just as he personally requested of you. Even when your relief arrived in the form of the night garrison, you looked at Sylus for quiet confirmation, and he gave you the slightest nod as he continued his conversation.

You now busy yourself with your favored method of decompression after tournament days such as these. Tucked within the confines of the makeshift armory — a spacious tent where your settlement’s arms are laid out — you inspect weapons, sharpen blades, and polish pommels, surrounded by nothing but quietude, steel, and dim torchlight.

The sound of the tent’s flap shuffling pulls you from the task of buffing out a chip in the blade of a longsword, and you’re greeted by none other than King Sylus himself, the last person you expected to walk into your little patch of solitude.

“There you are,” he says in that low voice of his that always settles pleasantly in your chest.

You immediately straighten, planting the tip of the sword you’ve been working on into the ground with both hands.

“Your Majesty,” you say, offering a small but courteous bow.

“You fought beautifully today,” he says with a warm smile as you raise your head. A flush creeps up your cheeks, and you hope that it is too dark for him to see it.

“Thank you, Sire.”

Sylus absently toys with one of the swords you’ve just finished maintenance on, running the edge of his thumb across the sharp blade.

“I would spar with you myself,” he says suddenly.

“I’m certain you would make a formidable opponent.”

“Then let us find out.”

You freeze. “Now?”

“Now.”

“I’m afraid I don’t have suitable armor for you to wear here,” you reply, looking around. You know your armory well, and you’re certain that none of the standard armor will fit his tall, muscular form. “Perhaps—”

“I’ve no need for armor.”

“Sire, I couldn’t possibly fight you without adequate protection. It’s too dangerous.” You stare incredulously at his bare chest — he wears nothing but what is perhaps the least protective belted leather sash you’ve ever seen and fine leather trousers, leaving him less than battle-ready. For a king, he’s never been one for gaudy robes nor ostentatious armor, leaving very little to the imagination as he flaunts a chiseled chest and firm arms that could’ve been sculpted by the gods themselves.

“And if I ordered you to?” He cocks an eyebrow, and you realize your eyes are still lingering on his chest, torchlight dancing on the soft curves and hard edges of his muscles. You make no effort to look away.

“If you ordered me to, then I would of course oblige,” you smirk, emboldened by the intimacy of the setting and by the smile that already adorns Sylus’s face. “I suppose it’s a good thing you haven’t done that yet.”

It’s hardly the first time he’s loosened up when alone in your presence, and you like to think that he can be more than the indomitable king, more than the unyielding conqueror, more… himself, whenever he's away from the prying eyes of the kingdom. So you indulge and let him indulge in the playful informality that has become commonplace between you on such occasions.

He hums in mock contemplation. “Then I’m ordering you to.”

You study his face, trying to discern how serious he is. When his curved lips settle into a line and his eyes narrow at your lack of response, you breathe out a small sigh that you hope he doesn’t notice and acquiesce. “At once, then.”

You toss the polishing cloth aside and Sylus assumes a relaxed position a few feet away from you, sword still in hand.

He motions towards your helm, which sits forgotten on a stool at the back of the tent. “Aren’t you missing something?”

“It’s only fair that I match the stakes you’ve put down, Sire,” you answer in a low voice, trying to quell the all-so-familiar embers of anticipation that ignite within you. It isn’t an unfamiliar feeling, especially when you find yourself before battle, but this time is remarkably different. This time, Sylus won’t simply be watching — he’ll be at the receiving end of your sword. The thought causes smoldering butterflies to flutter in your stomach.

“En garde.” You point your sword at him, and he mirrors your motion, lips cocked in a half-smile

Without another word, you initiate the dance.

Your movements are careful and measured, each of your strikes relenting when you feel the tension between your blades threaten to falter in your favor, a tension that would normally spur your muscles to exert more pressure and vie for that final blow.

But you aren’t the only one holding back. Sylus remains defensive, his every strike nothing but a careful response to your own aggression. Even when you misstep, the tip of your sabaton catching on an uneven patch of dirt, your thrust falling short and leaving a gaping opening at your side, he does not move to take the opportunity.

A mixture of the tension building within you – tension you’re unable to channel into your sword lest you injure the king himself – and drumming anger at the fact that he might be toying with you pushes you to a limit you didn’t know you had. Your expression darkens, and you gradually stop easing up at the tail end of your strikes. Sylus’s amused grin does nothing but fan the flames that rouse you. Here you are, teetering on the edge of insubordination by daring to strike so harshly at the king, and here he is, letting you have your way with him. How far will he truly let you go before he earnestly fights back?

He wants you to find out, and you won’t disappoint.

A sudden charge of your plated shoulder knocks Sylus off balance, and you follow up with a deft upward cut. His move to block is a bit too slow, and he catches the full force of your ascending swing. For a moment, your eyes interlock just long enough for you to catch his own widening with surprise. With a resonating clang, your blades clash, and this time you follow through, only stopping when the king is sprawled on the ground, his sword thudding in the soft dirt. You tower over him, your cold steel tickling at the bare skin of his chest as you glide the tip of your sword downwards ever so softly. The sight of him under your grasp, pristine silver locks all disheveled, eyes narrowing at your audacity while his lips curl with approval, stirs something unholy within your depths.

“Yield,” you breathe, the words escaping your lips before you can stop them.

His voice is soft and breathy, gravelly tones traveling through your ears and sending tingles dancing on the surface of your skin. “I yield.”

“Louder,” you push, and his grin widens, revealing sharp canines. Your fingers tighten around your sword’s grip, an involuntary response. The sharp blade draws a single, glistening droplet of blood from his bare chest.

A glint of something unrecognizable, primal and predatory, flashes across the deep reds of his eyes, and you immediately know to pull away. But halfway through the movement, Sylus’s large hand curls around your sword arm, and before you can even register what happens, your back is hitting the ground, armor clashing harshly against the supple dirt. The impact draws a sharp gasp from your lips. You try to shift, but your movements are restricted by a heavy knee on your core, and your sword arm is rendered immobile by the firm grip of his hand on your wrist.

And now, it is his turn to tower over you, to hold you under his grasp. There’s a fiery intensity in his eyes, and you threaten to melt under the adulating grin he now bears.

“You did well.” The words burn all the way through you, leaving nothing but ashen desire in their wake. You shift fruitlessly under the weight of his body.

 “I lost,” you reply between uneven breaths. You lost, but you don’t seem to care right now.

“On the contrary. I yielded,” he says in a low whisper. “The fight is over, knight mine.”

He’s close enough that your breaths, erratic and laced with exertion, mingle together in the quiet of the tent. The world outside stills as you lose yourself in his presence, in the warm closeness of his body, silent devotion drawing you into the vermilion pools of his eyes.

Then, Sylus suddenly stands, finally freeing you. A strange emptiness replaces the pressure that his body was exerting on your own, and you can’t help but think of the look he gave you, right as you pushed him to the limit. A light shiver runs down your spine, an enticing mix of trepidation and anticipation. You wonder what it will take to see that look again.

He’s already at the tent’s entrance when you shuffle back to your feet, and you realize how deeply you’ve forgotten yourself throughout this… duel, if you can call it that. Quickly, you offer a small bow at his back, and blurt out, “It was an honor, Sire.”

“Come by my quarters later,” Sylus smiles over his shoulder. “You’ve a lot to teach me yet.”

My knight hyperfixation and my LADS hyperfixation have coalesced into this fic, and I really really really enjoyed writing it. It's inspired by a melting pot of the Grassland Romance card, the NDZ card, and some ASOIAF (which has been on my feed recently). In my head, this is a whole cinematic universe, so I might revisit with some more snippets if I have more ideas. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed ❣

[sunshine-zenith]

A thought — Ballister and Ambrosius’s relationship probably wasn’t public in the movie until the end. They probably weren’t secretive about it, given how Todd (someone neither of them like or would confide in) was clearly antagonistic to Ambrosius after Ballister’s jailbreak, but even then that just might be because their connection was well known — they liked each other more than any of the knights liked them, most being neutral overall to Ambrosius and outright bullies to Ballister. No one in the public seems to know about them

Media perception is a reoccurring factor in the movie, with the opening scene giving exposition in the form of a news cast. During it, Ballister is shown to be controversial, with a there being a few comments questioning the Queen’s choices related to him. Ambrosius is also brought up as someone everyone’s looking forward to seeing officially knighted, with no one questioning his relationship with Ballister or even bringing it up

While everyone is fearing and hating Ballister after the Queen dies, Ambrosius is still popular among the masses — people stop him in the streets to get his autograph. Nimona, who admittedly probably didn’t do much digging into Ballister beyond the initial news reports on the Queen’s deaths, seemed surprised that Ballister and Ambrosius had a connection. She even had an “ohhhhhh” moment after picking up on their vibe the first time they saw each other post-arm chop (and yeah she initially calls Ambrosius Ballister’s nemesis, but she clearly clocks that something romantic was going on given the “arm chopping is not a love language!” comment). She also asks if he wants to die in a (literal) closet, which like. Y’all.

Before the Queen’s death, all their PDA is in private (on the catwalk) or subtly around other knights (helping each other put on their armor with lots of heart eyes and lingering hands). Otherwise, their interactions are those of Two People Who Are Close but aren’t necessarily explicitly romantic (Ambrosius wanting to throw hands on Ballister’s behalf, teasing each other, Ambrosius cheering with the crowd). Granted, there wasn’t a lot of screen time for them to just be happy before Everything Went Wrong.

We can’t really judge whether they were private from their interactions after the Queen’s death, since most are focused on a “so this traumatic thing happened and I don’t know where we stands right now” vibe or have them just fighting. The three times Ambrosius says he loves Ballister, one was just the two of them on the catwalk, one was in a mental rant and not actually out loud, and one was while they were trying to hide their identities. Ballister continues to defend Ambrosius, saying he’d believe them if they could just talk and that the arm thing is just “complicated,” “part of their training, up until Ambrosius outright tries to arrest them (which might as well be a breakup without saying “we’re breaking up”).

In the comic, the Director says she knew about their relationship and that she disapproved. Given how much she manipulates things, it wouldn’t surprise me if she knew in the movie, and encouraged them to downplay things at least — “you should keep your private lives private so you don’t taint your public images/yes we support you, obviously, but you’re here to protect the people, not show off to them/you don’t want to overshadow things with more controversy, wait a few years until after you’re knighted/what if this is just a phase, it would be a mess to clean up if you go public now/people will talk if they hear Gloreth’s only current descendant, a promising young man, is being courted by someone they aren’t certain about who comes from nothing and can’t pass your genes on/you have each other, shouldn’t that be enough?/etc.”

We don’t see them be in a relationship publicly until after the wall — the symbol of fear of the unknown, systematic abuse and oppression, refusal to learn and grow, and let’s be real homophobia/transphobia — comes down and the Director — the one going to murderous extremes out of fear of change — is dead

I dunno. This movie is a large celebration of being queer, but it’s also about how queer people are demonized by society to the point of everyone suffering. Ambrosius is the model minority everyone loves but no one knows because all eyes are on him; Ballister is both tokenized and targeted from the moment the public meets him, having to prove himself over and over until the public unquestionably turns on him entirely; and Nimona is called a monster for just being herself. All three already had to hide who they really were. I’m not 100% sure if Ballister and Ambrosius were out or not about being together, but it’s not a stretch to see, and it fits in with the themes/arcs of this movie

[quotidian-oblivion]

I've been thinking about Jason's memorial case in the Batcave recently and came up with a few thoughts.

Obviously, there are a few things wrong with it, mainly the title of a "Good Soldier" being attached to a child. And I've been thinking aboit that mostly.

There's no questions of how intensely focused and obsessed Batman is over the war against crime in Gotham, we see him quoting it multiple times in the comics and even the movies, animated and live-action. And so he thinks everyone in the war is a soldier, including Robins. I hate that and loathe it.

Not because I'm a Batman apologist, I'm not. It's because I like to see and believe in the better parts of Batman. The reason why he doesn't kill in the first place--because it comes from a place of compassion and a place of strong belief set by an 8-year-old boy who grew up too fast. Because he believes anyone can be redeemable because ultimately everyone is human, as proven in the older Batman comics and Batman TAS when he helps Harvey, Harley, Baby Doll, etc.

And the biggest reason of all--because Batman, whether anyone likes it or not, represents a strong symbol in Gotham. A burning torch in murky darkness. A hope--one shrouded by shadows--but a hope nonetheless. It's in the psychology of Gothamites, it needs a Batman because of that symbol which is lethal to criminals and a relief to citizens. I'm heavily referencing The Dark Knight Returns I and II (animated movies) here. Watch it if you haven't yet, you'll see what I mean. This is why he can't kill the Joker. It will be completely tainting that hope and we can see its effects in The Dark Knight Returns II.

In any case, Tim was right about Batman needing a Robin. Because in the end, Batman is just that--a man. And Robin is a child.

Lego Batman is really good for this reason. The concept of found family in that movie is just amazing. I love how Bruce fears having a family again after he lost his old one.

Batman needs a Robin because Batman was originally born out of a vengeance scheme of an 8-year-old newly orphaned boy who lost everyone. Trauma lasts. Batman needs a Robin because Robin is a family. And that little boy who lost his parents needs it. And so does Robin.

I love in Young Jusitce when Batman says "So that he doesn't" in response to Wonder Woman asking him if he pulled Robin into this life "So that he turns out like you?". Because Dick was also a little boy bent on revenge. Bruce gave that to him in the only way he knew how, but a better version because he himself has matured and understands how dark he has gotten. He doesn't want that for Dick, or Jason, or Tim, or Damian, or Cass--or any of his kids. He gave them early on what he didn't have--a family. And he received a family back. And having that family keeps Batman from tipping oved the edge into insanity. Because revenge is a poison, even if it's an 8-year-old boy imagining it.

But that still doesn't change that he sees it as a war. And he sees Robin and himself as soldiers.

So I came to a conclusion.

He doesn't.

Bruce doesn't.

Batman does.

Here's how I'm piecing it out:

"A Good Soldier" carved on the memorial case because only soldiers can fight so openly and outwardly. Even if they're dubbed as vigilantes, they are soldiers. And I think Bruce thinks it this way.

So when he sees a Robin or a Batkid out there, kicking rapists in the face and whatnot, he sees how someone so young can bear so much weight. He sees how a child can hold so much bravery--like the soldiers in the frontlines--doing this because of the morals they believe in. He sees how Robin is a good fighter, a good helper, a brave one, a confident person, a soft hero.

He sees how Robin is all that and he thinks "A good soldier." Because Robin is one. With the thing they're doing, he is one.

But yes, it's wrong. Children cannot and should not be soldiers. But a) this is the worst type of fiction, comic fiction 😂 and b) Batman is fucked up himself and considering he started training to be Batman from a young age too, he himself was a child soldier.

In the world of DC comics, the people there need someone like Batman while the people in the Earth we live in need someone like Martin Luther King Jr., Rosa Parks, Malala Yousufzai, etc.

So yeah, Robin is a good soldier--a great soldier, because he holds the bravery, determination and strength of a soldier. It could mean a literal thing, but it could also mean a metaphorical thing. Bruce could have engraved those words to Jason's memorial case because the only thing he can think of to sum up how Jason was as a Robin was a soldier. Because soldiers are brave, and Jason was the bravest.

And I think comic writers after that took the whole "war against crime" psyche of Batman too literally and too much creating the abusive ass prick in some of the continuities.

But you can't tell me that Bruce--not Batman--Bruce has a case of his own for Jason. Maybe a physical one, maybe an imaginitive one. A case which holds Jason's annotated copy of Pride and Prejudice, his first aced test paper, and his favorite hoodie, all kept tidily in the case with the words "a good son, be well loved, Jay lad" written under it. A case which he holds private because it was his son who he lost. Jason.

A little boy who survived so much until he couldn't. A little boy who he tried to protect until he couldn't. His son. Jason.

[bucknastysbabe]

Ser Criston is OC Princess (Rhaenyra’s younger sister) sworn protector & is in love with her but he knows he shouldn’t but he can’t help being obsessed and Rhaenyra hates it because it’s her little sister & so one night she asks Ser Criston to sneak out for a walk and they kiss & get caught by Rhaenyra idk

Hi yes I totally got carried away bc Criston has me in a chokehold rn. I hope you enjoy, I love the obsessed aspects. I also got to explore the other indications in F&B that insinuated Cole rejected Rhaenyra. Thanks for the ask🥰🥰 I don’t usually do OC’s but since it’s a Targ I mean I can only leave so much up to interpretation! But it was fun and diff

Rating: Mature

Tags: Forbidden love, unreliable narrator, Criston’s POV, oc-ish Princess reader, Sorry I made Rhae a bitch ugh, Criston’s snappy ass, Alicent is his bestie, masturbation, fantasies, dark Criston, virgin reader, clit orgasm, open ending, angst and pining galore, Religious Guilt, Harwin doing his best okay?, character study-ish, obsessive/possessive Criston

Word count: About 6k

@aemonds-holy-milk @aemonddtargaryen

Lucerra Targaryen, called Cerra, was oft said to be the spitting image of the late Queen Aemma. She retained more of her father’s demeanor, none of the resolute strength of Aemma and the fiery nature of young Rhaenyra. The fire that had entranced Criston once. He was told all of Cerra’s quirks when they made him her sworn shield.

He so much did not glance Rhaenyra’s way now, the burly Ser Harwin towering over the heir. They shared a kiss once, Criston ran, their close bond was severed. He knew down deep she coveted her uncle. It burned him, but he did his duty. The duty hanging around his shoulders like a lead weight— just cloaked in white wool. Criston found himself bewitched again.

The sweet Cerra, her gentle innocence and piousness. Something unmarred, not yet tainted by the world. The knight wondered if she was the maiden reborn, sent to test him. He prayed and prayed and confessed repeatedly to get rid of the wicked sin in his heart. Usually after touching himself.

Criston had always been weak when it came to the fairer sex. He’d fall madly in love like a boy and his first fuck. Just no fucking, more of the merest scrap of appreciation and touch had him by the vulnerable throat.

He coveted the young princess badly. Sometimes she would grab his palm when frightened, or on a walk to the Sept. Criston felt disgusting wondering how that soft hand would feel around his cock, the pale flesh clashing against ruddy. Cerra didn’t know, couldn’t know how weak he was.

Rhaenyra obviously knew of the metaphorical chink in the armor. She was becoming increasingly nosy of her sister’s doings as of late. He sourly thought to himself, ‘spoiled cunt couldn’t have me, of course she’ll make sure I part from her sweet sister.’ He frowned in annoyance at the elder’s recent interruption.

He’d merely helped her up to reach a flower in a tall bush. Certainly didn’t expect chaste Cerra to be so…close. She had wrapped her arms around his neck, startling him as she sighed, “You’re too kind Ser Criston, my white knight. What would I do without you?” She didn’t mean anything licentious, the Princess never did. Once a lordling flirted and she blushed to her ears and called for Criston to escort her away.

He preened about that for days. He’d heard the idiot boy scoff, “Stupid Dornish mutt.” Criston grinned and leaned toward the shorter lad, keeping his voice low. The princess shouldn’t hear such filth. He hissed, “This mutt would be glad to cave your fucking skull in with a Morningstar. Don’t come near the Princess ever again.” That was that. Back to his original thought.

At the moment Criston couldn’t help but sink into her soft gesture, pale white waves and lavender eyes gazing up as she laid her head on his chest. The brunette laid a chaste hand on her waist, but the moony look on his face was likely brighter than the Hightower’s beacon.

“My lady is kinder, no need to praise your sworn shield, merely doing my duty Princess.”

His cock was full to bursting at her sweet scent and wide eyes, framed by pretty lashes. Cerra closed those lavender orbs and inhaled gently, relaxing in the center of the Godswood. Criston’s hand thumbed little circles into her waist, feeling the princess relax more, leaning into his stronger frame, lips subtly parting.

“Cole! This is an unseemly position to be seen in with my sister if Larys’ spies are about,” Rhaenyra called with a smile and cocked head. Lucerra stepped back with a gasp, flush flooding her cheeks. She stammered, “R-Rhaenyra, no no, I w-was simply.”

“Simply what?”

Criston cooled his expression to state, “The princess was expressing her gratitude for me. Nothing more.”

Lucerra nodded, gesturing to the knight, cheeks still flaming and eyes downcast. She certainly wasn’t acting as if this was innocent. Rhaenyra narrowed her eyes and stepped forward to grab her sister’s hand. Casting a glare toward him she hissed, “I need her for the afternoon, you can wait outside the door.”

He stiffly nodded, anger flaring up in his chest so violently Criston feared he would yell at the heir. Instead he murmured, “Yes princess.” From a distance he trailed the two blondes, aggravated as all Seven Hells. Rhaenyra never paid attention to Cerra, especially since having her first babe. Damned bitch. Where was her loyal whore Harwin?

Waiting outside Rhaenyra’s chambers, Criston thought over her precious sister’s actions. He wondered what it would be like to touch her more. Graze over her sensitive neck, breasts, lower belly. She’d probably squeal if he suckled on a pretty tit. He inhaled sharply, catching himself on a low moan. Repentance would be in order soon.

Maybe he was being punished now— waiting outside like a mangy dog.

For hours.

Cerra came back out with a strange look, apologizing, “Sorry Ser Criston, that went longer than expected, I didn’t think my sister would want that much of the day. Shall we head to supper?”

He nodded, extending an arm forward. The princess was quiet, eyes flicking toward him a couple of times. Criston asked, “Yes princess?” Lucerra stopped on a dime and faced him, face close to tears. She warbled, “You’re not mad are you? I- I can’t deny family. Rhaenyra actually uh- helped. I was acting imprudent in the Godswood, I apologize for being wanton and brazen Ser.”

Oh. Criston blinked a couple of times. She was expressing more than mere affection? He wiped away her tear with a gloved hand, sighing, “No princess, I could never be mad at you, what’s in the past is in the past. You are anything but wanton, the picture of the maiden to me. Don’t let her scare you.”

She smiled, tipping forward on her feet some, eyes entrapping Cole easily. Then he was engulfed into a hug again. What had brought in this madness? He couldn’t complain, yet.

She breathed, “Oh, oh I was so worried you’d be mad. We should go to the sept tomorrow, yes?” The knight’s lips quirked up as he replied, “That sounds splendid my Princess, we shall go in the morn. Now let’s get you to dinner?”

She grabbed his hand again, practically skipping, chattering now about her time with ‘big sister’. Criston listened, he always did, but he needed to go jack his cock before going mad. Then wallow in guilt about it all night at the edge of Cerra’s room. She preferred him taking watch from inside her quarters. Such a frightened little lamb.

Wallow in guilt did he. While the princess slept in her grand bed, Criston couldn’t help but replay the shame in his head. As soon as he’d escorted her to dinner, he went to his quarters and stripped down heavy armor and pants. The man shuddered at the sensation of cool air hitting his achingly flushed cock.

He pictured the pristine Targaryen underneath his tanned body, writhing with pleasure. Criston spat on his hand and worked his prick, panting softly. Cerra’s doe eyes would be teary, overwhelmed with the pleasures of the flesh. She’d whine while he’d pump into her virgin cunt, “Oh, Criston, oh gods! Don’t stop!” The knight gasped and shuddered at the thought, groaning as he spilled all over his hand.

He blinked again, running a hand through his hair. Lucerra was awake, hair shining like silver under the moonlight. She spoke in a soft rasp, “Ser Cole, are you still here?” He laughed at her silly question, replying, “As always, can’t trade me out like the Cargylls.”

“Oh, good,” she pulled the covers off the bed and stretched, white nightgown pulling in the right wrong places, “I had a horrid dream. I can’t possibly go back to sleep yet.”

Criston frowned at her admission— it pained his heart to have her upset. He questioned, “A bad dream? What was it about?” She stepped onto the cold marble floor, shivering, shrugging on a thicker robe hung nearby. His eyes followed her smaller form come closer, curling up in a plush chair adjacent to his position. She wiped a hand across her face, still groggy.

“I can hardly remember now. I was alone, so alone, not even my dragon was around. I k-kept calling out for someone, probably you,” she pulled the robe tighter, “I don’t know. Maybe it was the wine.”

Cerra’s lips were drawn tight, brows pulled together. Criston wanted to pull the pretty girl onto his lap, she was still shivery. He thought of a decent response, something comforting. The knight settled on, “It was obviously a dream, I’d never desert you my Princess. That big white beast wouldn’t either.”

Her lips curled up to let out a tinkling laugh— making Criston’s sick heart skip a beat. Cerra replied, “Cloudwing is not a beast! She’s a good girl.” The brunette chuckled along with the Targaryen, smiling helplessly, such a lovesick dumb dog was he.

A beat of silence grew over them, heavy with something. The earlier revelation of Lucerra behaving with romantic intentions still lay undiscussed. Criston suggested gently, “You will catch a cold if you do not get back under the covers, princess. You won’t be alone, I swore an oath.”

One he would break if she just asked. He couldn’t decide whether he wanted that truly or not. He’d gotten quite far being the son of a common born steward.

She bit her lower lip and shrugged, “I’d much rather sit with you Ser Criston. I’ll be okay as long as I keep my feet off the dreadful stone.”

“Lucerra, please, shall I pick you up then? You need sleep, the Sept remember?”

Her gaze locked onto the white knight’s intensely. Lucerra fidgeted with her robe, the damn air growing heavier. Criston found it hard to think when she was being so confusing. She finally spoke, a meek whisper, “Yes, that would be nice, thank you.”

Lifting the blonde was easy, her squeak and grasp onto his shoulders adorable. Criston had to bat away more thoughts about how simple she was to handle. He laid her down gently, taking the coat she shrugged off. Lucerra grabbed onto his hand with a fervent tightness as he turned back to his chair.

“Please, don’t leave me so alone, I don’t care what Rhaenyra says. Just keep me warm?”

Her pretty face was achingly raw, open, eyes tinged with fear. Criston swallowed heavily. He was weak. He couldn’t run away this time. Didn’t want to run away, bask in the sweet sin. Maybe it was meant to be. Maybe it was a test from the seven.

“Criston?”

“Yes, just, just- give me a second to get my armor off.”

Now he was shivery with want, warring with trepidation. Ridding his body of armor was horribly slow. The awkward clank of each piece coming off. Each heavy noise reminded him what he was potentially giving up. Soon Criston remained in simple breeches and a linen shirt. Lucerra pulled back the covers and smiled nervously.

He climbed onto the soft bed, pulling the blankets back over their frames. Unsure of what came next, Criston simply laid on his back and gazed at her. Lucerra murmured, “Must you be the pious one now?” He raised an amused brow at the bold comment.

“What’s that supposed to mean princess?”

She frowned and nestled into his side, wrapping an arm around him and tucking soft hair into the crook of shoulder and jaw. Criston exhaled sharply, unused to such intimate touch after donning the white cloak. He reached over to grab her leg, pulling it snug across his lower belly, thankfully out of the way of his swelling prick.

Cerra gasped against his neck, giggling, “Good, now I don’t feel like a concubine.”

“Concubine? Pfft. You’re white as snow compared to my cloak,” he replied.

“It’ll be our secret, I’d fear I would perish without my white knight. I swear it upon my heart.”

He couldn’t respond, lest it be something out of control. Instead he rubbed her back and knee, squeezing once in agreement with Cerra’s statement. Soon she fell asleep, softly puffing against his neck. Criston joined soon after, utterly content and warm.

The simple action of cuddling up couldn’t slake the thirst that grew within him for the lovely princess. They had remained chaste and he arose early every morn to get dressed and step back outside the wooden door. Lucerra would seek out touches in secret, holding pinkies with him, laying her head on an armored shoulder in the Godswood.

She would share smiles with the knight across the throne room, Rhaenyra’s calculating look upon the utterly obvious pair. Criston knew one could see into his bleeding heart if they looked into his eyes. The way Princess Lucerra grew tighter and tighter into his side around the keep, lavender eyes sparkling aroused many curious onlookers.

Rumors began to swirl. Criston reluctantly stood outside her chambers a couple nights a week. One night he encountered a poorly prying Harwin Strong. The fellow knight had made one too many passes and he called out, “Get your big ass over here!” He didn’t mind Harwin, but did mind being spied on.

The hand’s son looked sullen as he walked up to Criston, flicking down a dark hood. He gave a sheepish smile, apologizing, “Uh, you know, the girls want what they want.” Criston crossed his arms and deadpanned, “Your girl wants me expelled from King’s Landing on account of rumors”

Harwin gave him a look, disgusting pity lacing his features. Criston reiterated, “The girl remains pure, she looks to me as a protector, you know how easily frightened the princess has always been.” Somehow he felt like a liar. Still her pretty lips and cunt remained untouched.

“Sure Cole. Just be careful, you know what the punishment is of breaking your oath.”

Criston’s temper flared to life, taunting Harwin with a fake smile, “You be careful too now, two Valyrians making some beautiful brown haired babes is a bit strange no?”

Harwin shoved him into the door with a snarl. Breakbones’ power at full force knocked the wind out of Criston, but he wheezed a laugh. He was no better than him— just another lovesick fool. Strong rumbled, “Keep your damn mouth shut and I’ll stay on my side, but I know you got the princess primed for your dirty lowborn cock.”

Criston didn’t want to get his face pummeled in. The raucous already probably woke his sweetling. He gave another smarmy look and hummed, “Noted, Strong.” That earned the knight another shove and the burly man stomped off to lick the bitch’s teats.

The door opened behind Criston, a bewildered Lucerra in her robe. She questioned, “W-what was that? Are you alright Ser Criston? Come in, please.”

His dark eyes scanned down the hallway once more before stepping inside, sighing as she enveloped him into a warm embrace. Criston spoke lowly, “Big sister had sent her own shield to spy on me. We should be more careful.”

Lucerra frowned, lips setting into a pout. She murmured, “We’ve done nothing horrid. Yes, unseemly, but I’m intact. Turn around, let me get off this dreaded armor.” Criston appreciated her desire to learn how to discard his Kingsguard armor— although he averted guilty eyes from the way the Targaryen would carefully hang his cloak, like it still meant something.

As they laid together, she complained into his neck, lithe fingers playing with his inky hair, “You’re right, we should be more courtly, take more precaution. Of all of my sister’s misgivings, why does she care?”

Criston played dumb, it’s what he was anyway. Lied again and said he had no clue why Rhaenyra took such a deep distaste to the pair’s relationship. He sighed, “It will work out, more careful, yes. C’mon, to sleep, sorry about the noise.”

Another night in her arms was a blessing to Criston. He would be reluctantly busy the next day. The king needed a whole retainer for his appearance in public at the Dragonpit. It was the anniversary of Aegon’s landing. Luckily the princess would be in his peripheral. Along with the conniving heir and her other eyes.

It was a banal affair, King Viserys smiling and waving to the crowds. Queen Alicent held her youngest child, Daeron. Rhaenyra and Laenor were surrounded by her bastard brood, holding her own babe Joffrey. Named after that flimsy knight who Laenor was fucking. Poor sap died in the city under strange circumstances, likely Daemon’s doings.

Criston met eyes with Harwin, vaguely disguising a sneer. He ignored the brute and turned his vision back to the crowds, the smallfolk staying relatively easy. Lucerra stood next to her elder sister, holding Lucerys, her namesake. Her smile was gorgeous, a couple of boys cheered for her, throwing a flower.

After the public spectacle, the princess gave a shy smile to Criston on his horse, cheeks rosy pink before the door was slammed shut by the cunt Daemon. He raised a brow and hopped onto the front of the wheelhouse, offhandedly commenting, “Cunt struck and you haven’t even defiled my niece, Ser Crispin.”

The Dornishman clenched his jaw so hard he feared it may crack a tooth. He rode ahead, staying silent, Daemon didn’t forget a slight and surely hadn’t forgot when Criston embarrassed the rogue prince in tournament. Pompous ass.

More annoying feast and merriment kept the knight from his pretty girl. Lords and ladies filled the grand dining hall, dancing to and fro. He stayed put against a column, watching her. Lucerra wasn’t much of a dancer, but she let the old Sea Snake guide her around some turns.

A body sidled next to him, a familiar face and scent. The Queen herself, Alicent smiled softly up at him. She stated, “You’re distracted Ser Criston.” He sighed in return, “I’m sure you’re quite aware of the rumors. Seven cursed my weak heart.”

“Lucerra’s harmless,” Alicent glared toward the non-green side of the table, “It’s her lying sister, you remained truthful. I’ve been trying to stifle the rumors. Have you stayed chaste? I hope you have on account of your neck, my dear Knight.”

Criston leaned down to murmur, “Agonizingly so. I fear I’ve been bewitched yet again. Harwin Strong was sniffing around the other night.”

Her lips turned to a foul grimace at the mention. Alicent hissed, “The realm’s delight is carting around her bastards like trueborns and she’s deadset on potentially ruining her sister’s reputation to get at you.”

“Always been selfish, hasn’t she,” Criston laughed.

Alicent smirked, placing both of her hands over the knight’s. The green queen spoke plainly, “Please be careful dear heart. You’re a valuable asset to our proud dynasty.” The long-suffering redhead disappeared into the throng of people, ever an ally for him.

Back to scanning the surroundings. Daemon was spinning with Rhaenyra, likely talking horseshit in High Valyrian. He scanned for Lucerra, finding her cornered by the tables with a noble clad in the colors of House Darklyn, known bootlickers.

His chest tightened with jealousy. Criston seethed to himself, chanting internally, ‘I will not make a scene, I will not make a scene.’ The Darklyn lad was too close for his liking. It suddenly felt too hot under his heavy armor. He was close to the brink, gripping the pommel of his sword until his knuckles whitened.

Lucerra seemed uncomfortable, face uneasy and body stiffening. The Darklyn fuck was leaning into her space, lips undoubtedly spewing disgusting things a lady shouldn’t hear. The princess gasped at something he said and turned away, getting yanked back towards the man.

That was enough.

Criston stormed forward, shoving through the nobility, snarling in anger. He yanked the uncouth prick by the collar and dragged him far away from his princess. Parts of the crowd stopped to stare, Rhaenyra perking up to look. The princess blushed and excused herself, quickly finding another dance partner in the more palatable form of Tyland Lannister.

“What are you doing? I have done nothing to the King!,” the black haired teen spat. Criston continued to haul the boy past the columns to a quieter place, anger clouding any sort of judgement. He shoved the noble bitch against an alcove, gauntlet pressed against twitching neck.

Darklyn gasped and writhed for air, eyes wide with fear. Criston hissed, “The Kingsguard protects the family and the king. You should know better than to touch the princess like that. I ought to gut you, throw you onto the spikes of Maegor’s Holdfast and watch you rot.”

The stinking reek of piss filled Criston’s nostrils. He looked down in disgust, muttering, “Weakling piss-ant. Don’t dare come near her-,” his threat was unfinished as he was whirled to face Lord Commander Westerling. His face was hard and eyes flinty— obviously disappointed.

“Come Cole, we need to have a word.”

The walk was quiet and unsettling, only the clank of their gear and footsteps sounding off as they reached the quieter area of Maegor’s Holdfast. Criston apologized immediately, “My temper Ser, I apologize, he was manhandling the Princess.”

Harrold Westerling shook his head with a resigned sigh. He rumbled, “You’ve already toed the line Ser Cole. I don’t want to have a capable fighter like you dismissed or facing the black, gelded at that.”

Criston’s roiling emotions died down into a despairing state— his chest fluttering with fear. He nodded and held his head down in obeisance. Westerling continued, “You must take a step back. You’re of the most elite of elite men, a big step from your beginnings. Princess Lucerra is an enchanting girl, I know this is hard, but as soon as you took the oath— this is your life. You must cease all feelings for the girl or request to be transferred to another.”

Criston fought back the warble in his voice. He wanted to rip his cloak off and shout his love, make someone understand. He swore, “I know Lord Commander, I know. I have never defiled the girl, I would never. This is my calling and I’m shirking it. I’ll think about requesting an exchange.”

Harrold clapped him on the shoulder and regarded him with kinder eyes, “Good. I was struck too once. I had many princesses to tend to with Jaehaerys and Alysanne’s litter of dragons. Just, please, pray on it and keep it in line Ser Cole.”

“Yes sir.”

He sulked about, Harrold ordering him to his chambers until the was called to his usual watch over his Lucerra. Criston hoped she was alright. He guiltily turned dark eyes onto his shrine of the seven. The small flail and beaded necklace awaited. He had been ignoring the faith, so entrenched in sin Criston could hardly bare to look at the Mother’s cold face.

He prayed and prayed to the mother for relief of his twisted desire, depraved lust, uncontrollable need to consume a sparkling untainted virgin. Then to the warrior to ease his temper, make Criston a calm knight, not blinded by rage so he may protect accordingly. Down the list he went until the dead skull relief of the Stranger awaited.

“If I fail, take me into your arms and punish me accordingly,” he whispered, a couple tears leaking onto his armor, shining by the candles. He would confess another time and receive his penance. Bloodletting seemed fit. Flagellation made him think clear, the pain taking away sickness in mind and body.

A sharp knocking snapped Criston out of his religious wallowing. He called out, “I’m coming.” The door opened to the queen and Ser Rickard Thorne. They both were cloaked and Alicent’s doe eyes looked worried. The younger knight questioned, “What? What is it?”

Alicent shushed him and murmured, “Our dear Lucerra and…the heir,” she spat the word like it was bile on her tongue, “Had some intense words after the feast. Ser Thorne escorted Cerra to her chambers.”

Thorne’s gravelly voice was low, “It was quiet and I checked in as she was in quite the state. She’s not in her chambers and the servant’s passage was left slightly ajar.”

Alicent frowned, “I know she’s upset and frightened. I would rather you find her. No one knows of this. I doubt she would leave the keep but gods forbid. We checked underneath the keep and Thorne most of the passageways. I will keep this at utmost secrecy, dear Criston.”

He nodded, quickly gathering his gear and a dark cloak to cover the white of his garb. While fastening his belt he quickly thanked the pair, “I will find her now. Thank you my queen, Ser Thorne. You may rest now. She will be returned.”

He chastely kissed the queens ring, patting his fellow knight on the shoulder and strode forward, urgency at his tail. Criston was fearful, dreadfully so. What did Rhaenyra do? He bit his lip, worked his jaw, making his rounds around the shadows of the outer courtyard. The goldcloaks were obviously not doing their job, playing cards up in a tower.

He worried she finally broke the princess, told Lucerra of the past. She would be heartbroken. He sped his pace, deciding to check the Godswood. Somewhere she would still feel safe. He knew Cerra wouldn’t run anywhere outside the walls, she’d have a fainting spell.

Speeding up he decided to take a turn and clamber up the wall into the Godswood. He must not be seen. Especially after tonight’s mishap. Swinging a leg over the thick red stone, Criston shimmied down and landed with a dull thud. The clouds covered the moon— making it dreadfully dark. Lucerra must truly be upset. He swallowed down a tightening throat. He needed to be the protector, not a weeping craven.

He scanned around the dark trees and arches to the left. It seemed empty. He moved forward, keeping to the brush, listening. Closer towards the heart tree he heard the familiar little hitching of breath. His Cerra. The fear of what came next shivered his spine.

Criston called gently, “Princess, Princess, is that you?”

He slowly approached, holding out a hand like he was soothing a skittish foal. He could barely see her, just the white of hair and a shadow of a figure. He took another step, stopping when she wept, “No Ser Cole, go away, I wish to be alone.”

All of his fears had come true. She’d turned against him. He shook his head. No. This wouldn’t do. The knight would change her mind. Lucerra Targaryen needed him, not Ser Cole, not the loyal dog, just Criston Cole of Blackhaven’s marches.

“Ser, please, I cannot bear this,” Cerra warbled.

He came to her side, kneeling, swallowing another agonized noise when she turned from him. Criston begged, “Sweetling, what’s the matter, why are you distraught? It pains me.” She sobbed, hands wrenching into a now-dirtied dress.

The brunette engulfed her tinier frame into a tight grip, her back plastered to his. Much like they slept many a night. She fought and tried to wrench free, crying, “No! Let go! I’m just a replacement for her! I always come second! Ser Cole!”

He held tighter, exploding, “I love you!”

Her writhing stopped, eyes turning to him, confusion on fine features. Criston swore, “Bythe Seven and my oath, I love you more than anything Lucerra.” She shook her head, confused, “No, no you don’t, Rhaenyra told me why y-you became my shield.”

He hissed, “No, she lied, she lied lied lied! I kissed her yes, but I ran, I knew it was bad. I was an idiot— she merely wanted a fill in for Daemon. I swear it to be true,” he continued in a softer voice, “I never thought I would love so strongly and deeply as I do with you, it’s more than lust. I would worship you until my last breath, chaste forever.”

Lucerra bawled again, curling into him, soft thighs straddling his own as she wept. He held her and shushed and coddled, praising the perfect maiden’s presence. He dumbly reiterated, “Never, never has anyone taken my heart like you have.” Her bejeweled hands gripped into his cloak.

Her face was dangerously close to his, sweet scent filling the knight’s nose. She whispered in a rasp, “Do you mean it? You love me? I love you, it nearly broke me to hear Rhaenyra tell me.” Criston frowned, pressing his forehead to her own. He murmured, “I was dumb, I bolted after it was initiated. I didn’t tell you, b-because, I didn’t want to lose you princess.”

She placed a hand over his rapidly beating heart and said, “I believe you. I forgive you.”

Criston was so relieved he didn’t realize the tear leaking down his cheek, kissed away by impossibly soft lips. She whispered fervently, “Kiss me Criston. Kiss me like you love me, like you said.” He carefully caressed her jaw, peering into those adoring orbs.

He closed the gap, lips finally meeting, the Princess sighing into him. She clung to his chest still, passively letting Criston take the reins. He chastely shared tender pecks, letting Cerra get into a rhythm.

Her lips opened as the kisses got more desperate, boiling tension rising. She whimpered when Criston lapped into her mouth, moaning himself. She tasted like sweet wine and cinnamon, opening for him beautifully. Cerra wrapped her arms around his neck, thin fingers gripping his long locks. He moaned again, lashes fluttering. All guilt was out the window when in the embrace of this goddess.

He tilted her head to intertwine their tongues, Lucerra shivering helplessly, whining his name. She was shy, better for Criston to take her warm mouth. The princess plastered herself tight to his body, breasts pushed up from the movement.

He’d be good. He will not stain her maidenhead, as much as the dark part of him sought to claim every inch of her. The brunette slid his hands down her waist, squeezing soft hips. She mewled again, feverishly smacking her lips against him. Criston felt her overwhelmed trembling, eyes teary just like he fantasized.

She pulled away with a string of drool, panting, “I- Criston- it aches.” His cock jumped at what the implication of that was. He pressed little kisses down her jaw and neck, basking in her cute noises. He purred, “What aches Princess? I shan’t dare to hurt your heart again.”

She blushed so heavily he could see it even in the pitch of the night. Criston smiled gently, breathing hotly against her ear, “You can tell me, sweet love.” The princess shivered again, hips bucking fruitlessly against his garb.

“Y-you know. M-my,” she looked away, “My flower.”

The dog in Criston grinned at that, the innocent little thing. He hummed, “Have you soaked your linens Lucerra? I don’t have to breach your maidenhead to pleasure my sweet girl. Would you like that?”

She practically sobbed, “Please, my knight, Criston. Our little secret.”

“Always,” he said, taking off his gloves and Cerra’s trembling hands undoing the heavy gauntlets. He slid warm palms up her plush thighs, so soft yet strong from dragon riding. She desperately sought his lips to cover an indecent sound.

One greedy hand spread open a thigh, the other swiping thick fingers through her slick cunt, dragging upward to graze her swollen bud. The princess shrieked into his swollen lips, Criston doing his best to cover the noise.

He offered his free hand up, half-groaning, “Suckle on my fingers sweet girl, can’t have you waking half the keep up.” Lucerra shyly opened her swollen lips to let Criston’s calloused fingers in. He pressed slightly on her tongue, earning a cute little garbled whine.

“Now be good my love, I’ll make you feel better, always will,” he promised. Gathering more wetness seeping from her cunt, Criston circled his fingers around that bud, teasingly thumbing too, dragging the roughened digit against her tender untouched flesh.

She seized and cried around his fingers, drooling and sniffling. Criston cooed, “Mm, feels good Cerra? Made for me, swear it, keep singing for me.” He picked up the speed of his fingers, circling and pinching to make her squeal and writhe on his lap.

Soon the princess was covered in a fine sheen of sweat, unable to stop crying and shaking, thighs trembling. Criston suddenly realized his cock was throbbing and twitching, ready to fill his garments like a green boy.

He desperately rambled, “C’mon my love, let it go, let the pleasure take you, I’m so close, together yes? Kiss me, yes, yes!” They gnashed teeth and noses against each other, no finesse in these last moments, the little death.

She gushed over his fingers first, Criston swallowing her suprisingly quiet keen. His belly tightened, balls drawing up, whining out of his nose at the ecstasy. Cumming absolutely untouched, so intense and powerful. They continued to sloppily kiss, stop to pant, kiss some more until the climax passed.

Criston withdrew his hands from her cunt, wiping them on his cloak. The princess was sapped of energy, head tucked under his scruffy jaw. She murmured, “I think I saw the stars.” He smiled, the giddiness of cumming warping his senses, “Mhm, me too sweetheart. But we need to get you back to your quarters.”

He carried her, sharing more intimate pecks and nuzzling in the darkness, all the way back to her quarters. Ser Thorne seemed to sigh in relief before taking in their debauched state and quickly leaving the scene. Criston placed her down and looked around once more before pressing her into the door, taking her bee-stung lips.

“I love you, I love you,” she sighed.

“I love you more, my princess,” Criston praised.

“Do you listen sister? What will they think when they find your maidenhead shredded?,” Rhaenyra stepped out of the gloom. The bitch took a servant’s route. Lucerra’s face reddened in anger, “Like yours was? Good thing Laenor prefers the company of his pretty squires.”

Criston balked at the brazen comment, lips curling up. The elder sister’s hands balled up, pale skin blotching up in anger. She hissed, “Enjoy your night Lucerra,” pointing at Criston she added, “I’ll see you gelded and sent to the wall.”

The future queen whipped around and left with a furious curse. Lucerra looked to Criston for comfort, getting picked up and led into her bedroom. He grumbled, “The Queen won’t allow for that. Rhaenyra has her own secrets to deal with. Relax, relax, let me get you ready for bed.” His lovely girl did so, quiet but still affectionate. Criston ignored the feeling that this would be the close to the last night.

His gut was right. Within a fortnight he stood next to the Queen, tears in his dark orbs. Rhaenyra was absconding to Dragonstone, as she was the heir. Viserys obliged her request to take her sister, indicating she would begin the processes to marry her off. Lucerra gave her goodbyes, hugging the queen, her father, and then him.

“My heart lies with you always, I love you my white knight,” she whispered gently before stepping away to climb upon her white dragon. He remained stony, utter hate in his heart for Rhaenyra Targaryen. He would make sure she never saw happiness, just as she took his.

Alicent grabbed his hand and promised, “Criston, you will have her again. I may not be her, but I will be good to you as my sworn shield.”

He would tear through bone and marrow to get that chance. For now, he would wait, wait as long as needed. Criston Cole always got what he wanted, just had to work for it. There was a war brewing and she would be on the right side. His side.

[hyperactively-me]

king!ghost x reader -- duties

warnings: none

Five months.

Five months, two weeks, three days, and seven hours since he’s been gone.

More weeks pass, and you’ve fallen into your role quite comfortably. You have no more troubles juggling daily tasks, council meetings, and managing the kingdom’s affairs. The weight of your responsibility has become a familiar companion, and you navigate the challenges with a grace born from necessity. Yet, Simon’s absence has gnawed you to your bones. 

You were barred from stepping even a single toe outside of the castle gates, confined to the castle walls. It had frustrated you to no end, but you understood where the concern stemmed from. Obviously. 

The war continues, and each day brings its own set of difficulties. The reports from the front lines aren’t as optimistic as they once were, but there’s still a glimmer of hope. The Southern Kingdom persists in its aggressive pursuit, but Kastron’s forces stand resilient. Simon’s letters start to arrive at irregular intervals, long stretches of time going by without hearing from him. 

It makes you nervous, only receiving letters every three to four weeks instead of the usual once a week. 

Your worry etches lines on your face as you pore over the maps and reports. The uncertainty of Simon’s safety hangs heavy in the air, and the constant dread becomes a silent companion in your daily life. Your familiar routine is resolutely tainted with the anxiety of the unknown.

Soap remains a steadfast friend, standing by your side throughout the days. Some days, you don’t really see him, other days he’s practically glued to your side. He’s become not just a protector, knight, and guard, but someone you can be vulnerable with. A true friend.

One evening, as you sit in the dining room with Soap, a familiar voice interrupts your thoughts.

“Your Majesty, a messenger has arrived with urgent news,” announces a royal guard, stepping into the room.

You look up, setting down your fork. You have to take a breath, wanting to groan about how you haven’t had a moment of peace in months. 

You know Soap is already running through strategies in his mind, wanting to take some of the burden off of you. 

“What news do they bring?” you ask wearily. 

The guard hesitates before delivering the message. “The Southern Kingdom has launched a major offensive. Our forces are engaged in battle, and we need reinforcements.”

Your heart pounds in your chest. The war has escalated, and the threat to Kastron has never been more imminent. Soap’s expression darkens as he stands by your side, exchanging a glance that conveys the gravity of the situation.

“We need to act quickly,” Soap says, his voice steady. “I’ll gather our forces here and organize them to be sent to the front lines immediately.”

He stands from his seat, his armor clinking as he moves. The urgency in his demeanor is quite apparent, and you nod in agreement. Soap’s efficiency and decisiveness makes you feel slightly better, knowing that he’s capable. As Soap departs to mobilize the forces, you rise from your seat. The familiar routine of your ruling takes over, and you find yourself issuing orders to prepare for the impending conflict. 

. . . 

Later in the week, you’re faced with more harrowing news of villages spread throughout Kastron who were unfortunately caught in the crossfire of the war. 

The reports of the collateral damage weigh heavily on your heart. Villages once filled with life and laughter are now marred by the scars of war. The people, innocent bystanders caught in the turmoil, look to you for guidance and aid.

Now, more than ever, you’re spending all of your effort in your waking hours to provide them with relief. The castle’s war room became a somber gathering place as you, Soap, and key advisors discuss what supplies and support is to be sent to the villagers. 

“I will not let my own people suffer,” you declare, determination burning in your eyes. “We must send help to these villages immediately. Food, medical supplies—whatever they need. I want it done, now.”

Many advisors nod in agreement. “We’ll organize relief efforts. Ensuring the safety of our citizens is of utmost importance, your majesty.” 

As they begin coordinating the relief missions, you allocate resources and personnel to help the affected villages. You go through countless lists and inventories of important supplies, deeming which ones are needed and necessary to be distributed to the afflicted villages. You also spend time gathering doctors, knights, and other important personnel to send them out to tend to the villages. The castle’s front courtyards transform into bustling hubs as supplies are gathered and medical teams prepare to depart.

In the midst of the chaos, a messenger arrives with a letter. The familiar wax seal of the royal family signifies that it’s a letter from Simon. A surge of anticipation courses through your veins as you break the seal quickly, hands slightly shaky from the adrenaline.

Your eyes scan the familiar writing, clutching the paper tightly. The letter carries both relief and worry. Simon recounts the intensity of recent battles and expresses concern for the well-being of Kastron. He reassures you of his safety multiple times, yet it does little to ease your heart. He emphasizes the importance of your resilience, saying that your efforts from the castle have not gone unnoticed from the battlefield. 

As you absorb his scratchy handwriting, Soap approaches, his gaze curious. “News from the front lines?” he asks quietly.

You nod, a mixture of emotions bubbling within. “Yes. Simon is well, but he doesn’t seem as optimistic as they once were. I mean, the letter was dated about two weeks ago, so there’s no way of telling what’s currently going on.” 

Soap’s brow furrows in concern. “Well, we just sent the reinforcements a few days ago, I’m confident they'll do more than help.” 

You appreciate Soap's attempt to offer reassurance. “I hope so. It’s just, the war hasn’t let up at all, and it’s really starting to concern me… And everyone keeps saying that we’re doing well despite some setbacks, but I can’t help but feel as though something bad is going to happen…”

Soap places a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “I ken that feeling. It’s a heavy burden, but remember, Kastron has weathered storms, and we’ll weather this one. Yer doing more than you realize. And, nothing bad will happen, not with me around and his majesty out there alongside Price and Gaz. We’ve got this.” 

You swallow thickly, nodding. You take a few breaths, trying to calm your frayed nerves. 

He’s right, after all. You have Soap here looking after you, and a castle packed to the brim with guards and knights. You sent out reinforcements to struggling villages, you sent out hundreds of more soldiers to the front lines. You’ve been taking the reins in every single Kastronian affair, from advising noble people to organizing relief efforts. Your determination and resilience have been the beacon for your people, a symbol of hope in these trying times.

You’ve got this. 

. . . 

Days turn into nights, and nights into more weeks. The war room remains a constant hub of activity, but there’s a sense of progress. Reports start to arrive detailing the impact of the reinforcements and the relief missions. Villages that were once on the brink of collapse are now showing signs of recovery. The people, though scarred, hold on to the hope you've instilled in them.

As the days go by, the momentum continues to shift. The Southern Kingdom, faced with the new Kastronian reinforcements, begins to slowly lose its steam. Not to say the threat is receding, but you now have more hope than you’ve had since the war started. 

One evening, after a particularly long day, you and Soap find yourselves on the balcony overlooking the courtyard. The sounds of the night echo a strange sense of serenity and ominous undertones despite the ongoing turmoil.

Soap leans against the balcony railing, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon. “Ye’ve done well, yer majesty. The people look up to ye, and I think we’ve gotten past the worst of it. We’re on the path to recovery.”

You turn to him, grateful for his presence. “And I couldn't have done it without you, Soap.”

He gives you a half-smile, “Nah, you give me way too much credit. I’ve done nothing. It’s all you, yer majesty. All you.”

You smile, shaking your head. You can see where he’s coming from. 

Soap’s eyes meet yours, a glint of sincerity reflecting in them. “But I appreciate the sentiment. It's been a tough road. Yer strong, resilient, and caring. The people see that, and they believe in you.”

You lean against the balcony, the night air carrying some unexplained tension. “It’s not over yet, Soap. The war has really affected everyone, and even if we’re turning the tide, there’s still a long way to go.”

Soap nods, understanding your hesitancy. “Aye, there is. But ye’ve already set the wheels in motion for a better future. The relief efforts, everything you’ve been doing, it’s all making a difference, ‘specially in the long run.”

As you both stand in silence, a gentle breeze rustles the leaves, and the distant sounds of the horses in the stables break through to you. Soap breaks the silence, his voice low but determined. “I just also wanted to say, yer doing Simon proud. I can see it in everything ye do. And when he comes back, he’ll find you in your prime, and Kastron stronger than ever.”

A bittersweet smile tugs at the corners of your lips. “Thank you, Soap. I just wish he were here to see it for himself.”

Soap places a comforting hand on your shoulder. “He’ll be back. And when he does, Kastron will be upright. Ye’ve kept the flame burning, y’know.”

The war is not over, but the worst seems to have passed.

Or so you thought. 

- - - - -

(masterlist)

[angellesword]

BAGGAGE | JJK (16)

Summary: Drowning in debt and blood, Jeon Jungkook knows he's better off alone, lest he brings people down with him.

But one drunken night changes everything.

In a blink of an eye, Jungkook found himself drowning not only in debt and blood, but also in dirty diapers and judgmental stares from you, a.k.a his long-lost love and the guardian of the son he didn't even know existed.

Genre and warnings (varies per chapter): best friends to lovers, co-parenting, idiots in love, slow burn—really slow burn, mutual pining, angst, fluff, mention of past rape, drugs, non-com: drug use, child abuse, torture.

Pairing: dad! Jungkook x adoptive mom!Reader

Word Count: 3k

← Previous Chapter (15) | Next Chapter (17) →

*****

Jungkook’s life in prison after Jimin’s death changed. Whether it was for the best or worst was up for debate. For a long time, Jungkook seemed to lose his perception of reality—no one could talk to him as he was rotting in his cell while staring into nothingness.

Fukuchi and his underdogs tried to get a rise out of Jungkook, bent on bringing him back to their little chess game. Unfortunately, Jungkook’s expression remained blank. He didn’t even blink when the prisoners poured hot water on him, leaving his skin swelling as it turned a brutal shade of red. No one could trace Jungkook’s pain despite the searing throb through his veins and blisters pricking his sensitive skin.

It didn’t end there, though. They once again stripped Jungkook off his clothing; men violated him, hoping to assert their dominance. Jungkook took it all in, impassively wiping the blood cascading down his thighs.

He was Jeon Jungkook, once the brilliant strategist of the Bighit, now reduced to being a pawn in someone else’s cruel game. But he just didn’t care anymore. Frankly, his behavior was starting to worry Fukuchi.

“We shouldn’t have killed Park Jimin.” Fukuchi voiced. His jaw ticked as he disapprovingly furrowed his brow at Jang Min.

It was the middle of the night. Visiting hours had long passed, but Jang Min bribed the prison guards to let him in. Jang Min rarely visited Fukuchi, as he was in France or Russia most of the time. However, Fukuchi requested his company, as he didn’t know what to do now that streamlining drugs in Incheon came to a halt. Jungkook, a chess piece (the King), was having a tantrum over his dead pal.

What a baby.

“Park Jimin is a knight,” Jang Min replied, dragging the words out of his mouth; it was painfully slow—as if this matter was not of the essence. Jang Min even refused to say more, acting as if Fukuchi were perceptive enough to know what he meant.

True enough, Fukuchi was a scheming bastard, too. He looked deep into Jang Min’s eyes, able to pick up the words behind the slight quirk of his upper lip.

Knight aimed to protect. Jimin could drag the King back to light, and Jang Min couldn’t have someone as genius as Jungkook escape his grip when the kingdom had yet to be stabilized. Besides, Jimin had a loud mouth. Fukuchi and the others were lucky Jimin had reported the drug scheme to the wrong officer. Otherwise, they probably had to act more discreetly, or worse, stop their operation for quite some time.

“Well, I’m running out of ideas to make Jungkook move, so what’s your plan?” Fukuchi rubbed his chin thoughtfully. He knew Jang Min was always one—perhaps two—steps ahead of everyone. He wouldn’t dare kill Jungkook’s friend if he knew Jimin was their only ace.

This was proven correct when Jang Min smirked as he picked up his teacup and slowly sipped from it. Chamomile tea soothed his body. “We still have the queen.”

The Queen—also known as the most powerful chess piece. Thinking about it lit a light bulb inside Fukuchi’s head, the image of Jungkook frantically writing letters flashed in his mind.

“You really believe that person is more important to Jungkook than Park Jimin?”

Jang Min didn’t answer right away, but a thoughtful smirk taint his lips. He sipped his tea once again, and then:

“It’s not a matter of who’s more important.” Jang Min toyed with a Polaroid picture in his hand, causing Fukuchi’s eyes to flicker there. “They both are. But the knight is held in a higher regard,” knights protected the kingdom from being breached. “Because if you think about the Queen—”

Jang Min pressed the photo against the table, slowly pushing it against Fukuchi’s side. “—you think about your equal. You think about partnership.”

Jungkook will destroy himself for Jimin’s sake, but he’d be willing to fix himself to be on par with you.

You had kept yourself grounded—something Jungkook couldn’t do at the moment. Jang Min was going to use this to manipulate Jungkook. This was clear when he showed Fukuchi the Polaroid picture.

“This is Jungkook’s queen?” Fukuchi couldn’t keep his eyes off your photo. “Huh. She’s pretty.”

Jang Min indulged in your beauty, too. He licked his lips. “Indeed, she is.”

The plan was to use you as bait, but Jang Min thought he would lose nothing if he played with Jungkook’s queen, too. And perhaps, along the way, he could gather more information from you that he could use against Jungkook. It was not a poor plan at all.

“Show Jeon Jungkook the photo and you will watch him crawl right back to our chessboard.”

“We’ll see about that.”

After his conversation with Jang Min, Fukuchi did what he was told to. He went back to his cell and saw Jungkook still rotting in the corner. No words left Jungkook’s mouth no matter how many times Fukuchi had provoked him. Jungkook only looked up when Fukuchi threw the Polaroid photo on his face.

“You know this woman, don’t you?”

Jungkook was looking intently at your picture. His heart skipped a beat. Fukuchi tested the waters.

“She’s receiving your letters. That’s what you want, right?”

Jungkook engraved the photo in his mind: you were standing outside an unfamiliar mansion while holding the envelope that looked familiar—it was like the one where he heartily inserted the carefully crafted mail for you.

“She’s living the best of her life, Jungkook-ssi. I suggest you pull your shit together and see her soon.”

Jungkook’s head snapped up to meet Fukuchi’s gaze. His lips parted, but no words came out. Fukuchi did not mind getting no verbal response, for he knew Jang Min’s plan had worked. It was clear by the shine in Jungkook’s eyes.

He was back in the game.

****

Few years later, Jungkook realized he was still in the chess game, even though he'd been out of jail for a while. He looked at you sitting uncomfortably beside him; you couldn’t stop shifting and fidgeting, worry was clouding your head. 

You demanded for Jungkook to explain what he meant by Soobin being in danger. A hint of threat tinged your tone when you said Jungkook better not be joking.

Jungkook liked to keep things light, even when everything around him was spiraling into chaos. But this was different; he would never joke about Soobin’s safety. He loved that boy to death, and so he promised you that he would explain everything he knew about Jang Min after you both got Soobin back.

As your drove to pick up your son, tension coiled in your chest. You had no clue what the fuss was all about, but your time with Jang Min had been wonderful, despite the recent strain in your relationship. Trust had been the foundation of your bond, a rarity in your life. You felt comfortable around Jang Min; the man had a way of making you feel seen and understood.

But now? You shook your head, confusion swirling in your mind. You picked up Soobin without a hiccup, and Jang Min acted as he always did—warm. He smiled sweetly as he carefully placed the sleeping Soobin in your arms. The boy’s soft weight calmed your nerves.

Jang Min even kissed the boy’s cheek and said he wouldn’t mind babysitting again.

You felt a moment of relief, but beneath that, your heart ached for Jang Min, and the resentment toward Jungkook simmered just below the surface, intensifying with each passing moment. Jungkook had betrayed you before; Jang Min had not. What basis did Jungkook have for accusing Jang Min of harming Soobin?

But the weight of Jungkook’s words lingered in the back of your mind, heavy and unyielding. Jungkook knew it was going to hurt you, but he couldn’t hold back any longer. He told you everything he knew about Jang Min’s schemes, and with each revelation, you felt a sickening churn in your stomach. 

The sensation was sharp, as if you were being physically pricked by a cold, cruel truth. Jang Min had used you to manipulate Jungkook back into a life of drugs. Your heart shattered when you realized that you weren't truly loved, and that was only part of the pain.

The most painful of all was the betrayal.

How could you have been so naïve? How could you have trusted the wrong person again? Were you a fucking imbecile? Were you truly that easy to fool!?

You gasped, the air growing thick around you.

Jungkook called your name and extended his hand, wanting to reach out to you, but his gesture faltered. He retracted his hand, clenching it into a fist instead.

He knew you needed space. The information was too much to bear. People you had trusted deeply had betrayed you.

And you weren’t the only one suffering. Soobin could be in danger, too. Jungkook’s fear for his son gripped him tightly, pushing him to convince you to have Soobin’s overall health checked. You two brought your son to Dr. Yosano’s clinic, your old college friend who had become a prominent toxicologist.

An hour felt like an eternity as you two anxiously waited in the clinic, the ticking clock echoing your growing dread. You couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling that something had gone wrong.

“Hey.” 

The gentle tap on your shoulder pulled you back to reality. Dr. Yosano stood there, her expression solemn. Startled, you felt Jungkook rub reassuring circles on your back, grounding you at the moment. Jungkook couldn’t hold back anymore. He didn’t want you to think you were alone.

“The results are out.” Yosano’s voice was low, heavy with unspoken emotions. She held the paper results, her hands shaking slightly as she fought to maintain her composure. 

“It came out positive,” Yosano whispered, her voice barely above a whisper. “Soobin’s body was pumped with drugs.”

“No.” You shook your head. A forced chuckle escaped your lips.

It was fascinating, really. Your initial reaction was to deny the truth served on a cold plate, yet your mind had already played scenarios that best justified the doctor’s diagnosis.

Soobin liked sleeping a lot. People called him a good boy—you also thought your son was well-behaved as he never threw a tantrum, and would obediently follow you.

But as it turned out, Soobin’s behavior was just the effect of the dead apple drug. That was the reason why he liked staying with Jang Min, and why he seemed to always sleep every time he was with that Russian monster.

You even got mad when Soobin cried in your office before. You unconsciously screamed at your son for acting difficult. Little did you know, that was the real Soobin. Your son wasn’t given drugs when Jungkook was taking care of him, so he wasn’t all groggy. And Jang Min, that fucker, dared to blame Jungkook for indulging Soobin with his brattiness, when in reality, Jang Min was the one who stripped Soobin of being a happy, healthy child.

Your blood boiled. Your fury burned when Yosano added that Soobin had been pumped with drugs for some time now, causing his lungs to turn weak.

“I’m going to kill him—!!” Hot tears fell down your hand. They were flowing rapidly, an indication of your blinding and scalding rage. You picked up the sharpest medical tool Dr. Yosano had, ready to stab Jang Min to death.

The doctor backed off but didn’t dare stop you. However, Jungkook couldn’t let you charge to a suicide mission.

Jang Min was a dangerous man.

“Wait!” Jungkook seized your wrist, but you struggled as you tightened your hold on Yosano’s scalpel.

“I’m going to kill that son of a fucking bitch!” Unfiltered profanities left your lips, though you couldn’t bring yourself to care. The scalpel cut through your skin because of how hard you were gripping it. It was enough to draw your blood.

You didn’t feel the pain. Your heart only bled for your drugged son. You felt helpless and sick. This was on you. You were the reason why your precious son was suffering.

Fuck.

“Please.” Jungkook was hurting as much as you were. He pulled you into his embrace, hoping to draw even a fraction of your warmth. He felt cold, not that different from a corpse, because really, how could he not be a dead man when his child had been harmed?

“Don’t come near Jang Min. You can’t.”

You let out a strangled noise. You sounded like a trap animal, and in essence, you were caged. Jungkook was holding you tightly, and you couldn’t do anything to slay your enemy, not when your resolve melted as the love of your life grabbed your hand, forcing it hand open.

No matter how hard you struggled, Jungkook struggled even harder until you were forced to let go of the scalpel. The tool fell on the floor, exposing your bare, bleeding hand.

“I’m going to kill him,” you repeated over and over.

But Jungkook shook his head. He pulled your hand closer to his face, gently rubbing his cheek there until the blood stained his cheek.

“Shh,” Jungkook kissed your hand. He stared deep into your eyes, his brown eyes caressing your soul. “Let me do it for you.”

Jungkook licked your hand, freeing it from the metallic smell of blood. “Please. Let me kill him for you. You can’t go. Soobin needs you.”

You sobbed, still feeling tears cascading down your cheeks.

“Please. Do you trust me?”

No. You wanted to say. You betrayed me before. You hurt me. But you shook your head, refusing to give in to your vile thoughts.

Jungkook had changed. Even if he didn’t, you were not Soobin. Jungkook might not be a good best friend or lover, but he was a good father.

“Yes.” So you set aside your personal feelings, opting to trust Jungkook this time.

“Okay,” Jungkook swallowed thickly. He kissed your hand again before cupping your cheeks and kissing your lips.

You stared at each other.

I love you.

I hate you.

I trust you.

I don’t.

Kill him.

I will.

Take care of Soobin.

See you.

Goodbye.

I love you.

Goodbye.

The unspoken words remained at the tip of your tongues until all that was left was your lingering stare on the path where you saw Jungkook retreating.

****

Jungkook drove your car. He didn’t think. He just drove. The blood colored his cheek, not bothering to wipe it off: he was going to war with your burning rage and love.

“Checkmate, huh?” A memory from Jungkook’s past suddenly flickered in his mind while driving. Perhaps it was because right now, he looked exactly like his past self, bloodied and hopeless. The difference was that before, he had just survived the great war. 

“Checkmate, indeed,” Jungkook remembered replying to the stranger—a man who was inside his car. His thick Russian accent was evident. Jungkook couldn’t see the upper part of his face as it was covered with ushanka.

“You built an empire in Incheon. What’s stopping you from going into Alexander the Great mode?”

This memory was from the time Jungkook was just released from prison. He wasn’t given transportation money by the prison officers as someone had signed his papers, saying they will give Jungkook a ride back to the community.

Jungkook went out of prison to see who this generous man proposing to be his driver could be. Now that he knew, he was sure not to ride with him.

“Fukuchi said you call us rats,” Jungkook raised his brow. “How can a rat be a king?”

The strange man smiled lazily at Jungkook. He removed his ushanka and handed it to Jungkook.

“Well, if you changed your mind, you know my name.” He started the car’s engine. “I have a feeling we’ll see each other eventually.”

Jungkook clutched the ushanka. Stitched on the inside of the hat was the stranger’s name:

Jang Min // Fyodor Dostoevsky.

It was a grand gesture, as not everyone had the privilege of knowing who the real king was. Dostoevsky was letting Jungkook know he was welcome to join the game any time.

Jang Min wasn’t even pushy about it. The first time Jungkook saw him was also the last. He didn’t pressure Jungkook after his release from prison. After all, Jang Min’s goal was to stabilize the streamline of drugs in Incheon prison. The business was now prospering despite Jungkook’s release. Fukuchi was there to keep it together.

Jungkook was a free man—aside from the surprise visits from Lee Sung. It was a different issue altogether. The drugs were supplied, but debts weren’t paid.

Jungkook worked hard to pay his loans, and he thought he could start over again now that he was getting his life back together.

But he thought wrong. Jang Min didn’t pressure him all this time because he knew, sooner or later, he would see Jungkook again.

His statement back then wasn’t a conjecture. It was a promise, and boy was Jang Min right.

Jungkook hopped off your car and went straight to Jang Min’s house. He didn’t even have to knock. The door opened for him.

“Hello, Jungkook-ssi.” There was a new ushanka on top of Jang Min’s head. He opened the door wider. “Long time no see. I never thought I’d see you again.”

Jungkook stepped inside. He smiled at Jang Min. The dried blood on his cheek made him appear creepy.

“Aw. You wound me,” a pout. “Didn’t you tell me before you had a feeling you would see me, eventually? Guess what? I’m here now.”

Jang Min hummed thoughtfully, liking where their conversation was going. “Why? You tired of the sewage, rat?”

Instead of a direct reply, Jungkook raised his hand and made a gesture akin to a cat raising its paw. And then he said, “Meow.”

With that, soft laughter escaped Jang Min’s lips, clearly entertained by Jungkook’s blatant display of challenge. He took a step closer to Jungkook, hovering over him as if to show where he truly belonged.

“Well then, let’s have the kitty cat neutered first.” Before Jungkook could move, Jang Min had already stabbed him with a syringe, injecting his body with drugs enough to turn his body weak.

“Welcome back home, Jungkook-ssi. I’m sure the cell in Seoul would love to have you around.”

****

A/N: I updated now because I will be crazy busy again next week.

So!!! Let's talk about this chapter. I was rereading the first few chapters of Baggage earlier, and I was like...why does Soobin keep on sleeping? My answer is because I didn't really know how to keep OC's conversations with the adults with Soobin around (you know how parents are. They can't really focus when their babies are around!) I thought it's boring, though, so I thought...why not let the small detail of Soobin sleeping turn into something big? Hence this chapter! Thanks also to that one moot who was curious on how OC handles Soobin when throwing a tantrum--I guess that's when I had the idea of Jang Min drugging our poor baby :((

Anyway, what do we think about this update? comments are highly appreciated! 🥰

[ja3hwa]

𝐀𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐳 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 : 𝐏𝐭.𝟐

Status: Completed | Fic Counter: 99

Started: 19th February 2023 | Finished: 13th October 2024

Smut/Suggestive: [M] Fluff: [F] Comedy: [C] Romance: [R] Thiller/Horror: [TH] Gore: [G] Supernatural [S] Angst: [A]

Main Masterlist -> [Click Here]

𝐎𝐭𝟖

Three Is Better | YunGi Poly Au [M/F]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : Mingi and Yunho were the talk of the school, the boys that were untouchable. But who would have known they were yours to touch.

In The Night | SeongJoong Vampire Au [M/G/A/S]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : Hongjoong was your protector. The king of the land, but even the king has his dark side, and now Sir Knight Seonghwa must help you love him.

Morning | SeongSan Poly Au [M/F]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : While your other lovers are out. You are left with a cuddly Seonghwa and a horny San. What could go wrong? Oh, did I mention they are both very high.

Just Sleep, Just Rest | Reaction Au [M/F/A]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : Requester asks, "How would the boys react to the reader having no energy to get out of bed"

Fucked Up | WooJoong Rockstar Au [M/A]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : Hongjoong notices you couldn't stop staring at Wooyoung during practice. So Hongjoong did what any amazing boyfriend would do. Let you fuck his friend.

Hybrid!Ateez wants a family | Reaction [M/F/A]

↳ 【Synopsis 】 : Hybrid!Ateez wants to breed their mate in order to start a family.

Look What We Have Here | SeongJoong Poly Au [M/A]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : Your two roommates love to make it hard for you to find a partner... but what happens when they stop you at the door of your apartment and "convince" you that you deserve better.

Why So Tense | Yungi College Au [M]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : Your two professors want nothing more than to help you with your studies. Personally gifting you some private lessons...

Prove It | College Poly Au [M/F]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : Late night conversations aren't supposed to end in sex... right?

New Member | 2ho Rockstar Au [M]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : You're the newest member to join one of the most famous rock bands. And luckily for you they are all hot...and fuckable.

Black Card | Matz Mafia Au [M/R]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : You were hiding a big secret from your two loving boyfriends. What happens when they finally find out?

Eternally Yours | Vampire Au [M/S/A/F/G/R]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : The dead of night, creatures hide. In the light of a fire, those same creatures can become more.

Lesson One Be A Good Girl | Yungi College Au [M]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : Your professors just want to help you learn and gain knowledge. Your first lesson happened to be very educational...

Sharing Is Caring | SeongSanJoong Idol Au [M]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : Your boyfriend just wanted to give you an early Christmas present.

Hurts Like Hell | Ot8 Mob Boss Au [A/F/G]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : It's been so long since you've seen your boys. And when the youngest comes knocking on your door, the new life you had only just managed to build comes crashing down.

Cute But Deadly | Mafia x Hybrid Au [M/F/G]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : What if a Mob Boss decides to adopt/date a hybrid?

No Bark But All Bite | SanYeoGi ft.ot8 [M/C]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : It was just an innocent game of truth of dare. Nothing bad was going to happen... Right?

Our Girl | College au [M/R]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : Yunho and Mingi couldn't stop thinking about you since they first tainted your beautiful body. They were craving more and lucky for them, exams just finished.

Eye's On Him | Biker Au [M]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : There was no denying that Seonghwa had always loved to watch his leaders' angel being pampered. It was his favourite past time afterall.

One With The Cosmos | Alien Woosan au [M]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : Travelling in deep space, you and your crew must deliver and pick up cargo to a jump station. Woosan is to accompany you on this mission. San being the muscle and Woo as the navigator and scientists...problem? You got lost.

Just One | Matz Mafia Au [M]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : You had one rule. One little rule, and you decided it was a good idea to break it.

𝐇𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐣𝐨𝐨𝐧𝐠

Made For Me | Boyfriend Au [M]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : Hongjoong wants to train you to fit all of him down your pretty little throat.

Eyes On Me | Biker Gang Au [M]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : Biker Gang Leader doesn't like sharing unless it's to do with his best friend.

God Isn't Here | Toxic Family Au [M/A]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : Bad Boy Hongjoong wanted to change for you. Be the better man you deserved, but what if you ended up changing more than him?

The Perfect Gift | Idol Au [M]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : Hongjoong couldn't decide what gift to buy you while he was travelling. So he bought them all and now wants you to try them out. Every. Single. One.

Not Just A Dream Pt.1 | Dilf!Au [M]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : He couldn't help but think such filth when you were innocently fast asleep only merely a couple of feet away from him.

Definitely Not A Dream Pt.2 | Dilf!Au [M/F]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : The more he tasted you. The more he was becoming obsessed. And he was treading in dangerous waters, no longer caring about the consequences.

Don't Drive And Day Dream Pt. 3 | Dilf!Au [M/F]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : Hongjoong offers to drive you home, not realising it was a one was ticket to having his way with you.

Late Night Dreams Pt.4 | Dilf!Au [R/F/S]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : Hongjoong needed to show you how much he liked you. But he couldn't help but wonder how long he could dance around the fact you were his best friend's sweet, innocent daughter.

Was It All Just A Dream? Pt.5 | Dilf Au [M/A/F]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : Fear was clouding both you and Hongjoong's judgement, leading you to question whether Hongjoong actually likes you the way you do him or not. Would a confession fix everything? Or would it cause a rift between the two of you?

Love Me Like Your Favourite Dream Pt.6 | Dilf Au [M/R/F]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : Hongjoong wanted your first time to be special and romantic. Soft.....this is not what he had in mind. Whoops.

A Cup of Morning Dreams Pt.7 | Dilf au [M]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : Waking up to a soft bed, a sweet aroma, and your love cooking with only an apron on. What more could you ask for?

Special Treatment | Husband Au [F/R/M]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : Your loving husband just needed some extra care, and being an amazing wife, you were more than willing to provide.

𝐒𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐡𝐰𝐚

Just The Way You Are | Body Positive Au [F/A]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : Seonghwa comes home to the love of his life and wants to do nothing else but love her. But how come she keeps pushing him away?

Pretty Pirate | Pirate Au [A/F/M/S]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : Pretty Pirate goes messing with things she shouldn't.

Capable Of Anything | Mafia Au [M/A]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : What was one way to prove to your father you weren't a little innocent girl anymore? Sleep with the enemy...

A Beautiful Creature | Fantasy Au [M/F/A]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : War is the only thing filling your world. And yet, with such darkness, grows a light.

The Sweetness of You | BF Au [M/F]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : It all started with a simple dinner and a movie. But when Seonghwa asked if you wanted dessert, you knew your sugar was about to spike from more than just the sweetness of the fruits and chocolate.

Love, Lust Has No Bounds | Pirate Au [M]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : You were in love with the enemy, and oh, how it was it exciting.

Move | Boyfriend Au [M]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : You needed him, any part of him. But Seonghwa wanted to see you squirm. To see you cry and beg for him to satisfy you.

His His His | Frat Boy Au [M/C]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : You were his girl, and he can take you wherever and whenever he wants.

𝐘𝐮𝐧𝐡𝐨

Figure You Out | Mafia Au [A/F/M]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : After the night at the gala. You can't help but wonder what Yunho's true intentions are with you. But your worry soon turns to pleasure as he is more than welcome to erase as negative thoughts from your mind.

Pull The Trigger | Mafia Au [A/G/M]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : After the gala incident, you finally speak with your father face to face. But little did you know your life was about to change entirely that night.

Gloomy Days | Slice Of Life [M/F]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : A trip turned sour due to a storm. But luckily, Yunho knows just the thing in turning this gloomy day into a more steamy one.

Planet 3564AB | Alien Au [M]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : You were a mercenary, searching for your next job in the galaxy. Little did you know, being stuck on a wateland planet was about to gift you more than just galactic credits.

Let Me Help | Wolf Au [M/S/F]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : You didn't know what it meant to be on heat, let alone know you could have one since you weren't a wolf... but here you were, and Yunho was going to help you through it.

Bookshops and Bourbon || Mafia Au [M/F/A]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : a new book shop had opened on the block, and a certain marfia leader was interested in the sweet little owner.

Early Bird Gets The Worm | Bf Au [M/F]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : You need to start your day, but your cute, sleepy boyfriend can't seem to keep his hands to himself.

My Kind Of Prize | Gamer Au [M]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : You couldn’t wait any longer for your boyfriend to finish the match, so you decided to take matters into your own hands.

𝐘𝐞𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐠

My Heart Is With The Sea | Pirate/Hybrid Au [M/A/C/F/S]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : Yeosang gifts you with the best parting gift before he takes a voyage on a new adventure.

Play Fair | Bestfriend Au [M/F]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : You were best friends. You loved one another so much to the point that you hated each other. Well, at least video games and help you let off steam... among other things.

He Has Control | Boyfriend Au [M]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : You were his work of art, and he loved to watch you squirm under him.

Pretty Boy | BF Au [M/R/F]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : It's Yeosangs turn to know what it feels like to have rope pull and tug on his beautiful skin, and he can't help my whimper at the sheer idea of it.

Cold To The Touch | Vampire Au [M/F/S]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : Your undead lover had finally come back from a late night hunt, finding you shivering from the winter weather. But do not fret, as he was...skilled in keeping others warm-ish.

A Ride To Last A Lifetime | Biker Au [M/F]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : Yeosang had begged for weeks for you to go for a ride with him... Cavinging in, you finally realize how pleasurable it is to ride his bike.

Ghostly Interest | Spirit Au [S/G/T]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : You make a friend... A very... Spiritual one.

Wash It All Away | Idol au [A/F/M]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : Angry surged through your lover, and you were the only one who could calm him.

Winner Takes All | Best friend Au [M]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : If you win, you get a prize...But if yeosang wins he gets to fuck your tits.

𝐒𝐚𝐧

Not So Harmless | Wolf Au [A/F/M/S]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : The plant that has spat out a sex toxin takes a toll on your well being. Great thing San is around yo help you out.

Hot, Red And Wet | Bf Au [M]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : San can't get over how soft and plump your tits are. He craves them like air, and he'll do anything to have them in his grasp. Even beg.

Perfect | Bf Au [M]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : After the couple of nights teasing and testing the waters. San finally makes a plan to corrupt your sweet mind once and for all.

Make Me Yours | College Au [M/F]

↳ 【Synopsis 】 : Mr Choi wants to speak to you about your grades and how you have been sich a good girl for him.

Can't Get Enough | Anniversary Au [M/F]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : After your little picnic date, San can't seem to keep his hands off you. And he is going to do everything in his power to touch every part of you until you're screaming.

What Happens In Fight Club | Boxer Au [M/C/F]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : Longing stares and teasing words make a lustful mix when brought into the boxing ring.

Whoops | Mafia Au [M/G/A]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : You wanted to show your hot-headed lover that you could protect yourself. And what better way than to go looking for his number on rival....

Make You Mine | CEO Au [M/R]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : San can't help but send death glares to any man who tried to have your attention for too long. Too bad you dont belong to him... yet.

You Make Me, Make Sense | Demon Au [R/F/S/A]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : Halloween is filled with spooky ghost stories and haunted places. But what if you end up walking right into a nightmare that was hiding a dream?

My Everything | Demon Au [M/A]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : Rain was pouring, and your heart was aching. You didn't care what the villagers nor that priest thought about him. You loved him, and you were going to prove it.

Shut Up and Drive | Mob Boss Au [F/G/M]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : You had one job and three rules. And you broke every single one.

Filthy Mouth, Loving Touch | Chubby Girl Au [M/F/R]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : You finally gain the courage to tell your sweet boyfriend you're a virgin... Now, all you gotta worry about is how he'll react.

Keep Running And Don't Look Back | Dystopian Au [R/F]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : All you've ever known is to run. And now you have someone worth standing still for.

𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐢

Role's Reversed | Sub Boyfriend Au [M/F]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : The idea of being pegged had always crossed over Mingi's mind, and when you actually agreed to do it kinda made him fearful. Curiosity killed the cat, right?

Pretty Boy | Sub Mob Boss Au [M/F/A]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : The ruthless mob boss and King of the city. A man that is feared by all. But when your fingers graze over his rough, scared skin, he is nothing more than your whimpering little toy.

Mission Accomplished | Dystopian Au [M/F/G]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : Mission after mission Mingi grows impatient with your teasing and tonight he wanted nothing more than you see you fucked out and begging for him in the bar you just fought in.

Mark Me As Yours | Vampire Au [M/F/A/S]

↳ 【sʏɴᴏᴘsɪs】 : You forgot to tell your vampire lover your heat started. Now, he gets to experience that you taste like in the midst of it.

Dedicated To You | Producer Au [M]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : Your sweet producer boyfriend wanted to share something with you. But your neediness had other plans.

Intoxicated | Wolf Au [M/S]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : Your friend needed your help with trying out one of her experiments and let's just say Mingi was about to never let you leave the bedroom ever again because of it.

Join Or Leave | Idol Au [M]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : You wanted to help your boyfriend relax. It just so happened that some poor soul decided to interrupt.

What Was Rule One Again? | Frat Au [M/C]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : There were rules Mingi needed to follow, but had the tendency to break them.

Focused, I'm Focused. | Frat Boy Au [M]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : Mingi finds his little mouse trying to do her exams. Too bad he needs her right now.

𝐖𝐨𝐨𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠

Desperate | Frat Boy Au [F/C/M]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : When weed is taken at 3am. Anything goes. Even masterbation on the shower floor.

Shhh | College Au [M]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : Wooyoung was desperate and needed you badly. So that's how you ended up in a small, locked bathroom with his hands around your throat.

Company | DBF Au [A/F]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : Your father being injured has sent you into spiralling sadness. You couldn't think... So why are you begging your fathers best friend for comfort?

Dimly Lit Bathroom | Idol Au [M]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : Wooyoung couldn't keep his hands off you on a regular basis. But when he sees you in such a sexy outfit, he has no choice but to drag you to the nearest bathroom.

What Happened To Slow Down? | Bf Au [F/M/C]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : Coming back from a house party, you and Woo couldn't seem to keep your hands off one another. Everything was happening so fast. You two didn't even make it to the bedroom.

Pantie Theif | Roommate Au [M/F/C]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : You started to think you were losing your mind. Where on earth is your underwear disappearing to? Your roommate wouldn't happen to know, right?

Perfection | Stalker Au [C/T/A/M]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : The thought of Wooyoung being a photographer at your college campus, but he is completely obsessed with you to the point he starts stalking you...

Lonely together | Snake Hybrid Au [A/M/R]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : A creature cursed to wander the earth alone, finds himself falling for a sweet little human that finds peace in the lonely forestry.

𝐉𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐡𝐨

Maybe | Dilf Boyfriend Au [M]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : A camping trip with your brother and his friends was supposed to be calm and relaxed. Too bad a very hot, dad bodied male can't seem to keep his hand to himself.

Blue Lagoon | Pirate Au [A/F/M]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : You head out to sea in hopes the storm hadn't hurt your lovers. But what you are met with was more than expected.

I'm sorry | Bf Au [M/A]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : Can Jongho find a way to make it up to you? Or will you end up not forgiving him?

Familiar Stranger | Criminal Au [M/F/A]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : Running for most of the night you seek save haven from a sweet stranger. The only thing is, he wasn't such a stranger by the end of the night.

Cum, Sweat and Tears | Intoxicated Au [M]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : Getting intoxicated with your very dominant boyfriend is proven to be a blessing in disguise.

Just One Moment | Idol Au [M/F]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : When Jongho comes from a long and stressful day, he only wants one thing. You bent over

Pure Relaxation | Gamer Au [M]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : Jongho kept losing over and over again. Becoming increasingly more frustrated as time passes, it's a good thing you are here to help him cool off.

Out Of This World | Alien Au [M/F/A]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : You were gifted an alien plant from one of your friends that lived off the planet since you loved greenery. Little did anyone know the pollen had some weird side effects when inhaled.

Godess Amongst Commoners | Mafia Au [M/F/A]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : Overhearing for so-called friends make fun of your "failures" in life made your loving mobboss boyfriend very unhappy. No one makes his Honey cry.

1:34am | Bf Au [M]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : Don't piss off your jealous boyfriend.

Sit | Idol au/Bf Au [M]

↳ 【Synopsis】 : You couldn't sit still the moment you started drinking. Jongho ended up dragging you home to punish you by the end of the night.

—

[If any links do not work. Please let me know]

© Ja3hwa. Do not steal, plagiarise, translate, repost, or use my work in any way, shape, or form.

𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐑 : 𝑇𝐻𝐼𝑆 𝐼𝑆 𝐼𝑁 𝑁𝑂 𝑊𝐴𝑌 𝐴 𝑇𝑅𝑈𝐸 𝐷𝐸𝑃𝐼𝐶𝑇𝐼𝑂𝑁 𝑂𝐹 𝑇𝐻𝐸 𝐴𝑇𝐸𝐸𝑍 𝑀𝐸𝑀𝐵𝐸𝑅𝑆. 𝑇𝐻𝐼𝑆 𝐼𝑆 𝑃𝑈𝑅𝐸 𝐹𝐼𝐶𝑇𝐼𝑂𝑁 𝐴𝑁𝐷 𝐼𝑆 𝑁𝑂𝑇 𝑇𝑂 𝐵𝐸 𝑇𝐴𝐾𝐸𝑁 𝑆𝐸𝑅𝐼𝑂𝑈𝑆𝐿𝑌.

[sleepy-writes-stuff]

DP X DC WRITING PROMPT #20

(#) = Notes at the end of post

(*) = Other ideas relating to the prompt

✦

To Let Sleeping Dogs Lie

Jason stayed dead for about six months before he was resurrected. That left his spirit plenty of time to fully manifest in the ghost zone, but time flows a little weird in the Infinite Realms so it feels like he's been dead a lot longer.

Regardless, six months is enough time for him to make plenty of friends and enemies alike. Enough to fall head over heals for the white-haired boy named Danny who just so happens to also be his king. Enough time for Jason and Danny to finally confess their feelings for each other and form a relationship. Enough time for them to grow to adore each other down to their very cores. Enough time for Jason to become the King's consort and earn the title of Prince of the Infinite Realms.

Not enough time, however, when Jason's spirit is unwillingly dragged back to the broken husk of his body buried in a coffin six feet under. Not enough time when the sheer amount of trauma his body and mind suffered causes his memories of the afterlife to sift out like grains of sand through a colander, mindless in his continued existence and search for a man named Bruce that he only half recalls.

Not enough time for when his body is stolen and dunked into the foulist pools of ectoplasm to ever surface in the living world and he comes back with unbridled rage he only half understands. Where is he? Where was he? Why does green flood his vision? Something is missing but why can't he remember? He shouldn't be here. Why was he here?? (1)

Jason tries to navigate his way through the world he'd previously left behind and discovers what happened after his death. The Joker was still alive. Another child was running around in a traffic light costume in the dead of night. Bruce had replaced him, seeming to forget he ever existed and the consequences of training a child to be a vigilante. That just won't do. He cries. He rages. He plans.

Meanwhile, the King of the Infinite Realms is apocalyptic over the fact that his lover was ripped from his arms, their kingdom, their home. He can sense Jason's torment like echoes in a cave. Can sense when his body enters the fringes of his territory when dunked into the toxic Lazarus waters created by the previous king. How dare they taint his lover's spirit with such filth?! Danny's core rears its head, chanting, growling to protect his soulmate.

Danny is beyond unhappy and he's about to make it everyone's problem.

✦

Notes:

(1) Jason forgets everything he experienced in the afterlife with Danny and is even more confused than he previously would have been when resurrected. Memories only come back to him in bits and pieces when he comes into contact with beings of the supernatural and Danny himself or possibly when he sleeps.

(*) I believe an interesting way to show the events and progression for this prompt would be to switch back and forth between the current events of Under the Red Hood/Phantom's anger and the days they spent together in the Infinite Realms before they were literally torn away from each other. Either as standalone info or through the dreams Jason has as he sleeps but doesn't remember when he wakes.

The events of Under the Red Hood still happen, there's just the question of where he even was for the six months that he was dead added into the equation. Dead on Main tossed in there for flair, because why not? Been seeing a lot of "Jason becomes Danny's Fright Knight" fics, but I wanna see one where they're literally just a royal couple who rule the Infinite Realms with a just and fair hand.

[sp00kworm]

One Word

Pairing: Enchanted Armour/Knight (Sir Jurdanus Dawling) x Reader

Warnings: Fighting, Fantasy Violence

Summary: An Enchanted Knight finds you amidst a mushroom circle and your life is never the same after.

Rain dripped down the back of your neck as you flopped onto the mossy floor. There was no way out of a mushroom circle. They were carefully laid traps, hidden behind roots and dotted in intricate patterns which made them hard to predict. Whatever Fae had hidden this one was powerful indeed. The mushrooms were like iron and the small pebbles between skipped upwards at your face when you attempted to break the circle. Your fingers were numb from trying to force them between the littler mushrooms. It was impenetrable, and eventually you would be food for the Fae who wanted to steal you away. There was some Fae that didn’t eat mortals, but those were far and few between. The only thing you could do was try and think of deals you could try to trick the creature which came to collect you. If it took them longer than a few more days, you would be dead anyway. There was an odd comfort in that. You wouldn’t be subjected to the whims of whatever the Fae decided to do with you. The other hope was someone stumbling along your path, but few would be able to taint the Fae circle enough to let you free, and you didn’t have much you could offer them anyway.

How many more hours would you last, you wondered? Defeated, you cradled your hand and sat inside the circle, massaging the tender joints as you watched the sun move overhead. It was nearly evening time, the sun was beginning to set along the horizon, threatening the sky with orange and pink. The trees rustled and birds sang their evening tunes as you picked at the pebbles around you and flicked them against the ward. The pebbles pinged back at you like a game, and for a time it was entertaining. Sodden moss wet your bottom and you tried to ignore the wetness on your backside, sitting on the moss in favour of the agony of sitting on several rocks. The old trees creaked in the wind, and you removed your satchel to look at the mushrooms and herbs you had managed to collect before getting stuck.

Suddenly, the whole woodland went quiet. No animal made a murmur as the wind continued to blow gently through the leaves. The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end, waving with the wind as there was a great ‘thunk’ in the distance. The heavy clunk of armour thudded along the winding path between the old, twisted trees. The blood in your limbs went cold and your heart leaped into your throat. You stood up again and watched down the old dirt path as a great, heavy suit of armour rounded the corner. The armour was maybe six and a half feet tall, and the heavy cloak fastened about the shoulders made it all the more imposing. The steel was stained with black carbon, and the details were once orange copper. The details were green in most places but the emblem in the centre of the chassis, once bright, was a Swan, swooping upwards towards the sky, its neck bowed gracefully. There was a crown around its neck, resting on the top of where its wings were spread. The Knight rounded the trees closest to you, his armour clanking before he stood, the visor fixed on you trapped in the circle of mushrooms.

“Sir!” You shouted, “Please could you help me out of this faery circle?”

The Knight tilted his head, watching you carefully as his other hand not rested on the trunk of the oak, reach for his sword. He had two on his back, strapped underneath the great fur cloak which lined his shoulders. Watching him reach for the sword you panicked and reached for your bag, attempting to find something which would prove you were not Fae.

“Please, Sir...” You rummaged, throwing the pouches of weeds and herbs you had collected before you dragged out a small iron link you had found. You clenched it between your hands and showed him your skin, “Please... I’m no Fae. I got trapped here while foraging. I promise!”

The Knight looked at the link before he thundered over, the dark metal of his armour glimmering in the setting sun. The copper detailing was sickly green, almost falling off, and his neck piece squeaked with rust as he drew the long sword from his back. He turned his stance and looked at the mushrooms before there was a rattle through the armour and his hand reached forwards to where the magical barrier lay. The barrier rippled under his hand, the magic caving like a bubble, but still resisting. With another shuddering rattle the Knight grasped his sword by the hilt and stabbed it forwards. The warding screamed as the blade burst through the magic, sending sparks flying as he heaved the iron through it, to the floor. When he reached the floor, the Knight turned the blade swiftly and severed several of the mushroom caps. The barrier faded with a hiss and just like that, you were free.

You tried not to gawp as the Knight sheathed his weapon and stood back, resting his hands on his hips. You quickly hopped out of the circle and sighed with relief as you collected your items. When you finished you looked back at the Knight.

“Thank you, Sir...” You asked, wondering what the Knight’s name was. He probably had a House Name.

The Knight shuddered inside his armour again before the joints clicked and a voice echoed inside, “Sir... Sir, S-Sir...” He couldn’t seem to say his name.

“I’m sorry?” You asked, “Sir?”

Again the voice echoed from inside, “Sir...Sir...”

You frowned softly at him before daring to reach for the visor which covered his eyes. He let you grasp the metal, subdued and quiet.

“Here let me open this so you can...” You said before tugging the visor. It remained firmly shut. With a grunt you tugged it hard. It stayed down, as though it was glued.

The pieces fell into place then, and you let your hands fall to his broad shoulders. You fisted the fur. It was well cared for but old and holes had opened in the bottom of the soft leather upper. The crest wad old, battered and stained.

“You’re cursed aren’t your?” You asked as you stood flat footed again on the woodland floor.

The Knight nodded his head and tapped the crest in the centre of his chest. There was the house crest and a small moto painted intricately underneath.

“Alte Volant”

“I’m no specialist but this is definitely noble house armour... but, well I guess I could help you, as thanks for helping me?” You offered with a shaky sigh.

The Enchanted Knight nodded, his neck squeaking a little, and offered a hand to you. You looked down and then realised he was offering to carry your bags. Carefully you gave him the larger of the two and kept your satchel.

As your bag landed in his gauntlet, the air fizzed and a blue skinned Fae stepped out from a tree, their eight eyes twitching at the sight of the broken circle. Quickly, you whipped around, but the Knight was faster. The Fae span with another hiss of fury, her hands raised, crackling with blue magic as the tree roots curled violently under the woodland floor. As she clenched her teeth, magic shot from her, and the Knight grabbed his shield from his back, the great steel plated with old iron. He dragged you behind him in a flash as the bolt clanged against the shield and dissipated like water, falling as mist f. The Fae hissed again her body morphing into the trees as she skittered around and observed you both through one great black eye.

“A suit of armour playing Knight.” She gloated, “You died a long time ago, Knight!” She hung from the tree and reached her scales fingers for his helmet, “Iron is unbecoming. Iron is cheating.”

Instead of an answer, he sliced her fingers off with a strike of his blade and pushed forwards. The Fae screamed, and you covered your ears, watching as the Knight slammed her head against his shield then again, with a downwards arch, sending the Fae flying against the floor. There was a great screech before the iron blade sliced through her neck. You jumped as blue blood spurted up the trees and shook behind a trunk as the Knight wiped his blade with a clump or moss. He looked up and reclined his head at you. Without him, you would be dead.

You took a deep breath, “Come on, let’s get out of the woods.” You beckoned him to follow you as you grabbed your bags and made your way down the path. The thump of heavy armour behind you was the only indication you had of the Knight following you.

Luckily, your home was on the outskirts of town, tucked against the woods you had just been trapped in. The stone cottage had smoke billowing out of the chimney still, so that was a good sign that the cottage would be warm still. You opened the gates and looked back at the Knight following you. He paused by the gate and stared for a moment at the small, cobbled path to your home before he stepped inside the garden and waited again. You looked at the blue blood which had stained his armour before closing the gate and leading him inside to your home. The door creaked a little as you let the hunk of armour inside and you closed it firmly before turning the key in the lock and heading to the hearth. As you stirred the hearth the Knight stood by the table looking up at the dried plants and flowers.

“Come and sit down, I don’t know of you can still feel the cold, but it’ll at least be better than standing by the door.” You waved him over before getting a damp cloth from the kitchen area for him to clean the blood off himself. Graciously he reclined his head and placed a gauntlet over his chest. He began carefully cleaning the blood from the grooves of the paint.

While he cleaned himself you placed a couple of logs onto the stirred flames and looked into the ashes. Sat at the back of the hearth was the charcoal coloured egg you had found so long ago. It was a dragon egg. Abandoned or stolen, you didn’t know, but there was life in it as it wiggled gently and soaked in the heat of the new fire. The Knight caught your gaze and peered at the wobbling egg in fascination. A disapproving grunt was his only comment.

“Yes, I know. But I couldn’t leave it to die with the Fae.” You reasoned softly as you emptied your bag onto your work surface. The Knight shook his head but continued his work.

“How about we look for your crest? I have an old history book somewhere, and it has most of the noble houses in it.” You offered.

His visor turned slightly but he made no effort to tell you he wanted to have a look. Ignoring his silence, you went to get the book.

The book was very old. Your great, great grandmother had taken it before the great collapse. Many of the old houses no longer existed, after the revolution, but a few still remained in the far reaches of the country. You wondered just how long this Knight had been wandering. With a thud you placed the book on the table and leafed through to the catalogue of old house emblems. There were around a hundred, and you took a breath before beginning to scan for the old, battered coat of arms which was printed onto his chest plate. A swan in flight. It was a regal link. The Knight had maybe been close to the Queen before the collapse and that was many years ago. He could have been cursed a long time.

“Edelwyn… nope that’s a tree. Oakenfast… no that’s an acorn. Unicorn… a hare. That’s a peacock…” You turned the pages as the Knight creaked next to the fire, warming the leathers of his skirts before he began to brush the dirt from his cape with a hard brush. His weapons were next and you watched him for a moment as he pulled out carefully stored oils and cloths and began to meticulously clean the Fae blood from the iron. A few more pages revealed nothing until a crown appeared.

“Well, we might be down the right track, Sir!” You cheered as you reached for the kettle and filled it from a pail of water. Once it was over the fire you fetched the book and sat in the other chair on the large, overstuffed pillows.  You looked at the crest on his chest again and hummed, flicking between three pages before you found it.

“Dawling!” You cried out as you hopped out of the chair and showed the Knight the book. The crest on his chest was penned beautifully with inks of good quality. You beamed at his helmet as you pointed at the crowned swan.

With a faint creak of metal, the knight reached up to take the book from your outstretched hands. There was the faint sound of wheezing breathing through the visor of his helmet as he touched the page with the crest and then carefully, like he was caressing a baby bird, traced the letters of his family name.

“Dawling was the closest family to the Queen.” You told him quietly, “Before the revolution the Dawling family were the last near her and all of them were said to have perished when they burned the castle in the North.”

With a soft nod he looked over the small descriptive notes, his armour flexing gently with tension.

“I’m sorry, for what it’s worth…” You offered a gentle hand to him.

He said nothing but you watched him reach up, his fingers twitching. The metal of his gauntlets was cold against your skin but smooth and well looked after. Warmth enveloped his fingers from your skin and the Knight peered up at you. His visor was shined and as he put the book down you saw a faint glow behind the slats. Behind the metal there were two haunting eyes. The blue eyes glimmered before disappearing again into the darkness of the armour. Wisps of light trailed out of his neck.

“Would you like anything?” You asked as you patted his hand.

The knight shook his head as he looked back at the dancing flames.

“I suppose now I have to call you Sir Dawling!” You joked as you let go of his hand, “I wonder who put this curse on you though…I suppose we will never know now, but you can stay here a while if you like?” You offered.

Sir Dawling turned to look at you and nodded his confirmation, the flames reflecting patterns over his armour.

“I’ll make you the spare room up then.” With a smile you went to collect some linens but you were stopped by Dawling standing by the fire shaking his head, pointing to the sunset in the sky. With a confused stare you followed him towards the door and watched as he stood by the door, collecting his weapons.

“Can you not sleep?” You asked as he packed his weapons. He shook his head again and then made the shape of a butterfly which his armoured hands. When that didn’t work, he pointed to the blue blood which remained on his shield.

“The Fae? I doubt they would come this far out of the woods and beside they can’t get in here without invitation.” You soothed, but Sir Dawling shook his head and insisted, opening the door. He closed it behind him, his leathers squeaking a little as he sat outside the door on a small log. You looked through the glass of the window as he took his whetstone out and continued to work his blades. It seemed as though he was to stand guard. Maybe he didn’t need to sleep? He was after all, cursed. With a sigh you went to the fire and decided to make dinner, pondering on the curses which could have been cast over him before the revolution truly took root in the country. You stoked the fire gently around the dragon egg still nested in the coals. There was an answer to the riddle that you could not see.

A few hours later, after reading numerous books on the subject of magics, you hadn’t found many answers. The key to the Knight’s curse probably laid in the type of magic used to curse him. With more questions than answers you stood from the fire, wrapped tight in a blanket, and took the spare to the door. Quietly you listened behind the wood. Sir Dawling’s armour creaked with the phantom movements of his breathing and quietly the thud of his metal finger against his thigh. Quietly, you opened the door. His helmet turned to face you immediately. Dawling made a shooing motion with his fingers, beckoning you to head back inside. You stepped out onto the stone step and smiled at him before offering him the heavy woollen blanket. You could see he was eyeing the red dyed wool, but instead of giving him a choice you thrust it over his lap and smiled. Carefully, he unfolded the fabric and laid it over his thighs.

“You don’t have to stay out here you know… I feel bad with you out here protecting me and helping me again.” You sighed and rubbed at your shoulders against the cold.

Sir Dawling held his hand up and shook his head, as though it was no trouble at all for him.

“But still… there has to be something I can do?” You asked, “Or maybe give you? I don’t want you out here all night bored…”

Again, Sir Dawling shook his head and you sighed at his protest.

“Fine but please, come back inside if you’re cold or anything. I’ll keep the fire on for the little one anyway.” You joked.

He shook his head at the idea of the dragon egg again and fixed his gaze on the moon and the stars above. You left him there, gazing up at the night sky, and went to bed.

For fourteen nights, Sir Dawling sat outside your cottage. Reluctantly, throughout the day you let him follow you too and from your jobs in town. You didn’t have a particular profession, but you had a lot of room for foraging and several of the plants on your property were useful to the locals. Alongside a bountiful variety of mushrooms there were several herbs like mint and rosemary which were used in salves. Sir Dawling watched the exchanges carefully, wary of the townsfolk who were wary of him. The people asked after him curiously, but most of the people in the town were far too familiar with the workings of the Fae in the woodlands. Once you explained a few of them were even sympathetic towards the poor Knight, though the others knew that a crest meant he was once someone of an important station. Not many looked on the Queen or her Court favourably out in the woods. Still, no one had said anything, yet. Sir Dawling followed behind you, his tattered cloak billowing, and his swords an obvious statement of prowess. He didn’t need to draw them for people to know he was a killer.  

“Are you going to sit out here again?” You asked on the fifteenth night as you gave him a clean blanket.

Sir Dawling shrugged his shoulders, and as always, he didn’t reply.

“Well would you like a fire? I don’t know if you can feel cold but I got a little cast iron fire pit while I was out in town today!” You pointed to the edge of the small vegetable patch where the iron pit was located.

With a creak, Sir Dawling stood up, his armour clanking as he reached the fire pit and then bent over in order to drag it closer to the door. He reached for a log from the stack you had down the side of the house, but you had already beaten the Knight to it.

“Here.” You smiled and watched him take the log before you went inside to fetch some kindling and a small scoop of hot coals from the fire inside, “You know, the egg is really close to hatching I think.”

Sir Dawling shook his head at the mention of the egg you had pilfered inside of your home.

“I know you think I’m silly for keeping it…” You said as you handed the Dawling the kindling, “But I couldn’t stand the idea of a poacher getting it! That or the Fae. I just wanted to see if I could save it.”

A long wheezing sigh echoed from the chamber of Sir Dawling’s armour as he took the hot coals from your hands and carefully poured the scoop under the kindling. The twigs quickly caught fire with a few fans of his hands. Gently, he handed you the fire scoop back to take back inside and you did so before returning, running with your oven gloves on, with the dragon egg in hand. The egg gave another shake and a creak as you ran for the fire pit outside.

“SIR DAWLING! FAN THE FLAMES QUICK!” You screeched.

Sir Dawling took the fan from your pocket and fanned the flames as high as he could get them as you rolled the egg gently into the fire. The charcoaled shell cracked with the smoking wood, and you gazed at it in amazement as fiery lines erupted over the surface. The red patterns intertwined with one another, weaving an intricate image over the shell before a small, horned nose butted a chip in the shell. Sir Dawling leaned close enough to watch the egg shake and a small nose batter at the shell again. The flames licked the surface, like a caressing mother, and you dropped the oven gloves in favour of squatting by the pit.

The iron base glowed with the heat as another great creak sounded and a spiked tail flopped into the wood. The wood spat at you as claws raked at the thick calcium, gouging freedom from the egg. Horns prickled the egg and soon a small, growl sounded from the flames. A small, jade green dragon curled in the fire, grumbling in the fire, its tail poised high, and its neck flared defensively. It hissed and spat a small flame. With a firm hand, Sir Dawling removed the fire poker and watched as the dragonling growled, its sharp, ravenous teeth flashing. You looked at the jewelled creature in awe before sitting by the side of the fire and replacing your oven mittens. The dragon spat, its horned prickled in your direction, but you reached gently to move the eggshell out of the fire. Dawling’s helmet shifted to you, watching as you reached into the coals again and then placed the meat you were going to cook into the embers. The dragon grumbled, lowly, like a cat, but quickly turned its slitted pupils on the meat. Its eyes were a glorious orange, like amber. Carefully, its claws hooked the food, and you delighted quietly as it took the food and began chewing at the chicken leg.

“I know…” You whispered at Dawling as he looked to reach for the poker again, “Its stupid to try, but I think I can do this. Its such a beautiful creature.”

With another echoing sigh, Dawling nodded and watched you feed the dragon.   

Another leg of a chicken had the small dragon clawing at the edge of the fire pit, its head raised, looking up at you with a gentle rumble. The scales down its neck glittered in the fire light like gems. The dragon was beautiful. Carefully you dared to let the hatchling sniff your hand. The dragon rumbled, sniffed and then carefully pushed its head up into your hand. Underneath its chin, as it raise its head, there was the glittering of a bright, pearl coloured scale, round and fat like a heavy gemstone. It glittered before the hatchling ducked its head again and growled, hopping out of the fire to curl around your legs. The dragon peered up at Sir Dawling from between your legs, and cocked its head, wondering about the suit of armour which clunked in its seat.

“He’s cursed.” You offered down at the dragon, “He did something in his previous life which upset a great sorceress, so she made him like this.” You smiled at Sir Dawling, offering him your hand and a comforting squeeze. His gauntlets creaked with the squeeze, but you smiled at him and then offered the dragon your hand as well.

“Wait… how do I tell if it’s a male or female…” You whispered as you turned back towards the house. The dragon followed dutifully, swinging its tail like a happy kitten as you both slipped through the door.

“How do you like Frasadu?” You asked the dragon. It chirped in response, “So maybe you are a boy…”

Sir Dawling shifted on the log outside, touching the crest on his chest as he watched you go inside, feeling an odd ache where once his chest was. The Knight shook his head, moaning inside the armour as he reached for the poker by the fire.

There was a disgusting sound, like two pieces of metal grinding metal together, which woke you up. With a scream, you shot out of bed, just as there was a great slam against the heavy stone wall of your home. You heard the sing of iron outside, indicating Sir Dawling had drawn his sword. The dragon by the fire stirred, and opened his mouth, his teeth lighting with fire. You rushed to the door, grabbing a dagger before you opened it. Frasadu howled at outside, and you froze by the door as Dawling’s sword sliced through the first fae who dared to get too close. With a rush of odd light, his gauntlet slammed through the chest of another, and you stood, clutching at the iron dagger as the bottom wall of the garden exploded into rubble. A great insect like beast crawled over the stones, its mouth parts slicing against one another again to make the awful noise.

“DAWLING!” You screamed as the insect beast slammed a great, needle like leg down towards him. The Knight rolled and sliced upwards, severing one of the monster’s legs before he made a quick roll back towards you. He held his hand up and you watched as Frasadu roared, flaring his wings before he shot a great ball of explosive fire at the insect. The beast screeched and reared before its abdomen set ablaze, and it sprinted for the trees, howling.

The fae watched their monster run and hissed, their black eyes glinting like oil slick in the fire. A few of them slunk behind the logs and rubbles of your walls, watching as you reached to touch the top of Frasadu’s head. There was a brief moment of silence amidst the crackling rubble, both parties staring at one another. Dawling flicked the blood from his great sword and turned the flat of the blade upwards at the slinking faeries.

“You have dragon lord blood.” A great tall Fae slunk from the rubble, her white hair was braided intricately around her head, holding poisonous thorns and dried hawthorn leaves. Gossamer wings fluttered behind her, placing her before you gracefully.  Her face was narrow, impossibly thin in all dimensions, and her skin glittered green with a shine of iridescence. Black eyes bore holes in Sir Dawling as he stepped between the two of you.

“Silence Knight.” She scoffed. Her clawed fingers gripped into a fist and you felt the metallic scream of Sir Dawling as he was thrown in the air, writhing, his armour denting and groaning in on itself, “The incessant smell of your shame bores me.” The Fae spat, “You were cursed for it, and so you will end with it, curled in a ball of molten rotting metal.”

“Wait!” You begged, holding your hands out as you rushed in front of Dawling. He howled above you as his gauntlets were peeled open, each joint pulling outwards from his body. His arms buckled as you stared down the Fae.

“He is protecting me. He saved me…and I have looked after him. He does not deserve this…” You asked of her, “Please, leave him be.”

“I, Ushura, Lady of Glowing Stars, will not let the Fae Slayer live.” Ushura screamed, her fingers gripping the metal, tearing at it with the familiar glow of blue magic. It was the same colour that glowed inside of Sir Dawling’s armour from time to time.

“Please, my lady.” You begged, “What can be done to repay this sin?” You asked.

Ushura spat her disdain at your feet, “Your Queen has long since died. She was the one who asked it of him, but he was the one who carried it out, burning our burrows, slaughtering our children in their nests!” Fury burned in her veins, the weight of a thousand lives, her people, heavy on her shoulders.

“He suffers still for his slight, my lady, but please, let him live.” You asked, “I do not know what I am or who I am to you, yet, but I can only try and make things right.”

Ushura held Sir Dawling aloft, but the crushing of his armour halted, as did his howling. You watched her black eyes soften a little at the edges as she looked at the small hatchling at your side.

“Misee wi. Forni talmas, ui porteh alme.” She spoke gently, watching as the dragon at your side listened, his ear turned to her. The hatchling dipped his head and turned, his head stretched upwards, revealing the pearl beneath his neck. It was strangely, like you knew what to do, and you reached out carefully to touch the pearl. Frasadu hummed against you, and there was a great spark of white, brilliant light. You heard the Fae recoil and hide behind the rubble. There was an unending ringing in your ears before the light dimmed enough to reveal a great shape before you. All the sights and sounds of your ruined home disappeared behind the great shadow. Two wings spread out, shadowing beyond you, far into the corners of your field of vision, and you gasped at the silhouette of the dragon before you.

“Long have I awaited the return of a Dragon Lord. You are the last. The last of the line of glory, of brotherhood and blood ties beyond that of this continent. Frasadu was not a name you came up with, but it has rather always been my name, little one. Together, we are to restore what is broken, to mend the broken reaches of the world. We are destined to be, as your Knight is destined to follow you. Tell them, in the old tongue. As one we once were, and as one we are once again.”

The light receded as quickly as it had appeared and when you could see again you looked at your fingertips touching Frasadu’s chin. The dragon’s orange eyes reflected wisdom of thousands of years, and you smiled as you cradled his chin. With a resolute breath, you turned back to Ushura.

“Ret yue fristra, ret yue gugartha ne.” You told the fae.

“Then as one you must all remain.” She hissed. Her claws unravelled, dropping Sir Dawling from her grasp. The knight landed with a great crash, armour clattering against stone. You tried not to turn, holding the gaze of the Fae as Frasadu puffed his chest out before you, spreading his wings out in a threatening display.

“You must not return here.” You told the Fae, “Sir Dawling is to remain with me.”

Slowly, the Fae disappeared back into the trees, their eyes merging with the shadows as the firelight flickered far from view. You watched them for a moment before rushing to Dawling’s side. The armour laid motionless, laid in dented chunks.

“Please don’t be gone.” You begged quietly as you turned his helmet and desperately tried to place him back together.

There was a groan from somewhere within all the scattered metal and you found a twitching gauntlet in time to hold Sir Dawling’s hand. The metal armour groaned as you took his hand and tears burned in your eyes. You felt the wet drops on your cheeks as Frasadu growled and dragged a crushed greave over by your side.

“I don’t know how to fix this!” You told the hatchling, and the knight who’s head was laid in your lap.

The helmet visor clicked open with a sudden screech of metal. Your tears dripped inside the shell only to see the faint wisps of soul slowly swirling inside. The gauntlet by your feet twitched before it began to float, the dent groaning as the leather gloves stretched. You sobbed as you watched it float, the fingers reaching for you. The tips caressed the apples of your cheeks, slowly shifting downwards before they gave a gentle twitch. The chest plates expanded with a groan.

“Dragon… Lord.” Sir Dawling wheezed, his armour shaking, grinding along the floor as it attempted to fuse back together. You clawed at the pieces, pulling them together as your tears dripped down the once beautifully intricate metal work.

“Can we fix him?” Frasadu rumbled innocently. He sat next to you, his scales against your leg, “His soul is still here.”

“I don’t know how to fix this Dawling…” You wept on the armour with a thundering sob.

“Jurdanus…” Dawling wheezed, “Jurdanus… Dawling.”

“Jurdanus, please, Sir Dawling, I can’t…” You stuttered as you finally placed the rest of the armour together.

The knight gave one final, heaving breath, before the light dimmed behind his visor and the metal went slack against the stone. The fire continued to crackle behind you, dulling the sensation of reality for a moment before you placed your hands on Frasadu wept onto his scales. Sir Jurdanus Dawling didn’t move. The fires crackled as you held Frasadu close, and you looked to the stars in the night sky above. All was quiet, for a moment, before there was a gentle whoosh, like gas being lit. Frasadu grumbled, shifting in your grasp, stretching to look at the armour as a soft blue wisp drifted down towards you both. Amidst the fire you watched the light swift before it formed the shape of a large man. The silhouette drifted closer, and a hand reached to touch your cheek, tracing the same pattern Sir Dawling had drawn.

“Jurdanus?” You asked, hopefully.

The silhouette nodded before spreading its arms and laying backwards. The light disappeared back into the armour. A great whoosh sounded again before the ruined armour before you clanged, shifted, and banged, rumbling violently as it once again took on the perfect shape of a suited knight.

The light behind the visor glowed once more and with a delighted shriek you jumped over Sir Dawling’s hips, delightedly shaking his shoulders as he reached up to steady you by the waist.

“I’m so glad you’re okay!” You wiped the tears from your face, sniffling.

Jurdanus nodded his head and reached to wipe the tears from your cheeks. Tenderly, he cupped your face, and there was a whisper of thanks on the wind, although no voice echoed from within the armour. You smiled and howled with laughter as Jurdanus sat up and dragged you with him, holding you close to his chest as he span through the garden, with Frasadu hot on his heels.

[sketchyartthings]

While I was drawing/looking at reference images, I realized that the king doesn’t look like he was killed by anything void related at all. His eyes don’t drip with void like every other character killed by overexposure to void in game, so what happened? What if he sealed himself away not to save himself, but to preserve the kingsoul? I mean, if I wanted to preserve an important object within me, I would think the dream realm would be a very suitable place to go. Evidently, the king hasn’t survived this, but it doesn’t look like there was a struggle. There was no evidence of the formation of a void creature in the room to have killed him the old fashion way, and no injury on the body itself. Nothing but a force of nature like the knight was ever going to get in or out of that room past all of those saw blades, and based on that, I don’t think the king planned on leaving that room. It looks to me that the king simply let himself wither away on his throne, and that he did it on purpose. The king was by no means a fool. He did not assume that locking himself in a room forever would be safe, and even if he did, he would’ve done more to solve his problems. The king had no workshop for him to toil in, no library to research from, and there was no effort made to stop the infection after he resigned himself to that room. The king was not there to save his kingdom in safety, and he was most certainly not there because he wanted to outlast the infection. The king wanted to die somewhere that was near impossible to reach. Somewhere in a near impregnable dream behind a nigh unwalkable path. But I don’t think that’s because he didn’t want to be found. After all, the king has tried tasking his children with a near impossible task in the hopes one will rise to meet the challenge before, and it worked. If we trust The White Lady’s perspective, The Hollow Knight was the perfect vessel before it was “tainted by an idea instilled,” so the idea that the king trusted the strength of his children enough to predict, or at the very least hope that one of them would reach the king would despite these measures, is not out of the question. In fact, the increased security of a task like this would make sense as a more intense test of the purity of a vessel. If the parkour skills needed to define THK as hollow were as simple as escaping the abyss, then the saw blades could certainly be explained as either a revised test of a vessel’s purity, or its will. Maybe the king predicted the creation of the void heart? If the vessel’s will is being tested, it would support the idea that the king knew about the possibility of the void heart, as it unites the void behind the bearer’s will. If this is true, then it may explain why The White Lady gives you the white fragment with the following quote. “I have a gift, held long for one of your kind. When united, great power is granted, and on the path ahead, great power it shall need.” This is most definitely referring to the unification of the king soul, but what if it were also a thematic parallel to the great power granted with the unification of the void? If this is the case, I don’t believe that the white lady was informed about all of the details, but likely just that a vessel was needed to end the infection, and that she must give the white fragment to a vessel she deems worthy. To ask the last question about this theory I could think of, why is the corpse of the king in a room dark with what is likely void if void is not what killed him? It could be deduced that the king’s regrets’ darkening of the room was meant to be a more subtle nod to his disposition at the time of his death than a hint as to what killed him, as the void tears found on those killed by void serve that purpose well and wouldn’t have impeded his design, but a darker room alone would be an interesting thematic note as evidence of a nagging question in the king’s head: “Have we payed a cost this great for nothing?” Anyways. Call me a deranged lunatic in the notes.

[florisbaratheons]

Thinking about how we could get a role reversal where Alicent is so stuck in her guilt over not being there when Helaena needed her and she's darn near suicidal because she feels like she failed in her job. She feels like she failed as a mother, as a grandmother, as a dowager queen, because she allowed herself one little bit of happiness.

And she nearly ends it all, only for Criston to stop her in time. And when she sees him, he's framed in light, his armor practically shining. He's that knight always there to save her from the tower. Another lifetime ago, she was the valiant knight, saving his damsel in distress. He tugs her down off of the balcony or stops her from drinking the tainted wine, and pulls her into his arms and as she's being held, she finally breaks down and weeps, sobbing for their grandson, for their daughter. She can feel Criston's tears falling into her hair, the shake of his shoulders as he mourns along with her.

When it's over, he helps her stand up, passes her her handkerchief so she can wipe her face and they look at each other with a newfound determination. They have work to do.