#the war meeting scene was at night so it was dark. and fire was the only thing lighting up their faces | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

shinjisdone · 4 months ago

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𝑇𝜎 𝑆𝜎𝑓𝜏𝜀𝜋 𝛼 𝑊𝛼𝑟𝑟𝜄𝜎𝑟’𝑠 𝐻𝜀𝛼𝑟𝜏 (Vinland Saga; Thorfinn - 𝑺𝒍𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝑨𝒓𝒄, 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝟏)

In which you have joined Askeladd’s band…and grow closer to the Son of Thors - though as your future seemed promising, his thirst for revenge devastated all that you had left.

[Headcanons of how it would be like to meet Thorfinn again after he shattered your heart (based on season 2; both platonic and romantic)

Sᴇᴀsᴏɴ ₁ ﹙Wᴀʀ Aʀᴄ﹚ is here

Part 2: - (Thorfinn trying to accept your existence as a slave)

Tag list:

@luopenis , @jinsecho , @mitsureigen , @theknightssecrets , @lana-del-stan , @theghostofanficpresent

[Mentions of murder, death, war, slave trade, harrasment against women and whatever awful things happened in the viking era. Slavery will be a main subject throughout the entire arc. Mostly gender-neutral examples but female-leaning ones are there, too.]

[This part will specifically mention: Nightmares, detailed gore and killing, slavery, humiliation, hallucinations, slight romanticization of death/wishing someone to be dead, slight panic]

Time And Time Again, My Hopes Are Gone...

Far west, across the sea is a land. Rich of fertile ground and warm all year round. He can see the stillness of the meadow as the wind softly blows through the trees.

The wilderness is untouched. Far away from slave traders and the flames of war. The sun is benign with its rays that gently fall on his skin. It's warm and quiet. A gale so soft it embraces his throbbing pain.

Far to the west, across the rich and green hill, is a figure drawing closer. Colors clashing with the soft sky and land, washed out compared to the world around him. Nevertheless, he feels his heart picking up on speed and appraoches the figure with painstakingly slow steps.

The colors and the gear are still the same. Old and bented, abused and dull and so was the glare in their eyes. He should not feel a thing here, knowing this gaze all too well, but it still festered fear inside his heart when it is directed at him. The clear blue sky grows red and the sun fled.

Still, somehow he was able to crack a strained, faltering smile. "...What are you doing here?" He needed to take a deep breath, "You still look the same...like yesterd-"

"What the hell are you talking about, dog?"

The feigning smile was wiped off his face in an instant as his eyes widened. He could feel his muscles aching again, his stomach grumbling, his heart shattering.

You looked at him with such distain in your eyes.

It's Like A Never-Ending Marathon...

"How can you even act like this? Does all of this mean nothing to you?"

His breath hitched in his throat, burning hot and sickening as the quietness of the world was cut down by the incoming roars emerging from the scenery behind you. Pumping up their spears and axes, they tainted the meadow red as small figures galloped across the sky. The fires were following closely after them.

"You left...left me, and left this massacre behind you as you trailed over the sea."

Chants of victories rung in his ears as the flames consumed the both of you. The herd of men loud and clear but always seemed too far to touch and reach. There you still stood, your glare as dark as thunder and never-changing.

"Coward. Deranged mutt. Calling yourself a warrior."

Jaw agape, he watched with white, bulging eyes the scene behind you. It was all too familiar that it should have kick in an instinct - but all he could feel was terror.

With a swift pull to your back, you drew the blade out before plunging it with a sprint down to his abdomen. He barely could let out a scream. Instead, wide agape, he looked down with darting eyes to see his father's dagger.

A crooked grin decorated your visage as you twisted the dagger, cut further, deeper horizontally before yanking it out. Blood tainted your skin.

He could feel himself fall. Fall longer, deeper, faster, down, down, down, and down before a scream pulled him out.

I Hear Voices Every Night Of The Ones I Left Behind...

The same quietness he dreamed about surrounds him in the hut. No, a barn it was. It didn't have a door and he constantly reeked of hay and manure.

Right - this was the barn on the farm.

Sluggishly, he got up as pieces of hay fell off his worn out tunic. With a slow and steady gate his legs carried him to the well standing still and cold in the early morning, the sun having risen just a moment ago as well. He reached out with rough and calloused hands to the cold water and splashed it on his face. Always three times at least as the master told him. With each splash, his mind and vision got clearer and finally, he breathed freely.

What a strange nightmare. This hollow feeling expanding in his heart remained even in the waking world but he cannot recall from what.

As the sun rose higher, he made his way over the dirty, sandy road. Not a lot of the others were up and about as he was, though he only paid attention to the forest further away. The tired mutters of greetings flew over him, like a leaf in the cold wind. All he needed was the axe.

The axe cuts. It hits the sturdy trunk, chopping it away bit by bit, splinters of wood occasionally digging into his skin. Though it was as thick as the trees themselves, so no one ever heard a complaint from him.

The axe cuts. No tree shrieks in pain nor does anyone raise a brow at the lone man in the forest letting one tree fall after another. It keeps him awake and his muscles at work.

The axe cuts. The trees die and fall like flies, slowly - as it is with tree felling, he was told - down to every last twig and root it bears. Nothing can be left behind as the master wished it. All needs to be cleaned off the land so he can use it. So he cut and cut and cut.

"Thorfinn!"

Thorfinn halted. Stopped in his tracks as he was told and looked up through lidded, droopy, brown eyes. In the distance he saw a hand waving as the master galloped closer and with him, a younger slave.

Getting off the mount, he steadied his fall. Master Ketil was an older and seasoned farmer. His blonde hair growing thinner, broad but kind face decorated with wrinkles and his wealth showing in his round stomach. Once again, as he often does, he approached Thorfinn with a smile. "You will be getting a friend." Then he pointed behind him and the youngling followed hastily to bow. "This is Einar and he will be helping you starting tomorrow to fell the trees and turn it into fertile farm land. Einar, Thorfinn has been doing this for a bit longer than a year, he will show you around."

Brown eyes followed the man's gesture and fell on the younger one with kempt, auburn hair. Face young and with no stubbles, a small wart at the side of his nose - finished with an nervous and perplexed expression.

His own looked deep into the one of his new companion and found nothing but vapidness in them.

"Oh, uhm...it's nice to meet you." Einar tried to crack a smile. Thorfinn did not.

With a small chuckle of his own, Ketil pointed towards the small forest, talking of an subject Thorfinn had heard of time and time again.

Talks of fertile land, of wheat, of buying and selling, surpassing ones own price and freedom.

Freedom.

Did he have any of that ever in the first place? He doubted it.

But the new guy had a different opinion of it.

"Buying ourselves back?!" Einar stuttered, not believing what the farmer had just uttered, "We can get our freedom back if we just plant and sell the wheat to you?!"

Ketil jumped and blinked in surprise. "Why...yes. Does that not sound like a good deal to you?" "It's not that! N-Not at all! Thank you, thank you so much! I'll gratefully take the offer!"

Without another word, Einar sprinted deeper into the forest. Sighing heavily, Ketil settled back on his mount, ready to go back. "Do show him around for today Thorfinn and don't have him slack off after that. Both of you have a lot of work to do."

The blonde looked back at him with lidded eyes.

"Yes, master."

Dragging himself after the brunette, the young man watched him observe the area in awe. Trees loomed over the two and Einar swiftly turned back to the shorter man, his jaw agape.

"Thorfinn, was it?! Is that something you can do here in Denmark?! You - You can buy yourself out of slavery?!"

That I Love...

In the midmorning, Einar couldn't sit still.

Strenuously, he mimicked Thorfinn's day-to-day work. Inspecting each tree and root, yanking on them with his bare hands in hopes it might detach just a bit, and throwing questions.

Thorfinn found his keenness perplexing.

At noon, Einar awaited food.

Hearing about the service of the helpers, paid guests helping and guarding Ketil's farm, he grew ever so keen again. The helpers were not the kindest folk and seemingly the most hungry as well.

"What is there to complain?" One sneered as he appraoched Einar. The latter showed the crumbles and nibbled cheese in his rough hands instead. "This, this is our food? How is this supposed to be enough for two people? And it was obviously gnawed on!"

"So?" The second man of the trio sauntered closer with a wide grin. "Slaves like you should be grateful you can even eat a day. For someone so small and little, you sure talk big. We helpers wake up each and every day to bring food to lowly rats like you! And none of you even have the brains on how to thank someone for it!"

With a shaking gasp, Einar stepped back. The mere tone. The way the spit splashed on his face as he talks with that knowing glint in his dull eyes.

How could someone be like that? Just a year ago, he was surrounded by normal people, a village and family.

Once again, the helper spits as he scoffed. "Say it, dog," The grin grew ever so crooked as Einar's shock quickly transformed into rage. "Say 'thank you for the food'."

Breath hitched as the brunette took everything within him not to batter the man here and there. Balling a fist, he pulled back - before a smaller figure squeezed himself between the men and held out the crumbs of bread in his hands.

Thorfinn avoided the helper's gaze and looked down, as if giving a woeful prayer. "We thank you for the food."

Einar observed the tension dissolving, face that of an fish out of water, as Thorfinn returned to his work as if nothing happened.

In the afternoon, Einar hauled a sack of hay on his shoulder, heart feeling disarrayed.

Up ahead he followed Thorfinn who carried two sacks on his shoulders. He wondered how he does it despite his shorter and hunched form.

In fact, the blonde always seemed to hunch so far. He wondered how he does the entire labourous work in the first place.

"...How can you do all of this so easily? And with an empty stomach, too, day in and out. Chopping off the trees and then hauling them off the ground...like that old donkey was of any help." He pouted at the memory of the helpers bringing in an old, weak horse as 'aid' while they snoozed under the trees, "And you were so obedient to these jerks, too."

The walk continued to be quiet. The brunette continued to pout, making an even longer face at the one-sided conversation.

"You know, you can report that to the master! No, we should, have to do that! We are his property and these jerks treated us like were are lesser than that! He should know how his slaves are being treated and get rid of these pigs!"

The walk was silent after that as well. Thorfinn did not turn his back away neither show any sign of taking in his words. Einar only pouted even more and bit his tongue - momentarily.

"You're really strange."

As if struck by lightning, the blonde stopped. A force jolted through his muscles and bones that almost threatened to have him let go of the hay. The same force took a hold of his heart, like a fist squeezing it so tight with the intent to kill him. It won't let go.

Calming down from the start, Einar sped up in front of him with raised brows. The blonde's face was frozen in fear.

"...Thorfinn...?"

"What did you just say?"

"Uh," Quickly, he stepped back. Even the way Thorfinn managed to utter the question, jaw agape and frozen as well, perplexed him. "I said you're strange. Like, it's not like I dislike you it's just…just that I thought we could talk more. You're so quiet all the time but then get so obedient around these jerks but then act like you don't care-"

Agonizingly slow does he regain his body. With each word Einar spoke, Thorfinn nodded along, listened and had it ring in his head like a chant. Just as slow, he began walking again. "...I really am, aren't I?" He muttered after taking a deep breath.

"Eh, uhm, what?"

"Strange..."

I'm Trying To Find The Place Where I Belong...

Thorfinn was allowed to call it a day early for teaching Einar.

Today's chores were almost completed anyway with how tenacious his new companion had been. It was an insistence he could not comprehend.

The brunette did not expect much when Thorfinn showed him the way to the small barn, pointing to the heaps of hay and buckets at the corners. The master's house was across the road at least and the well free for him to use.

Einar also expected not much from his peer, as he had learned today when he quickly dozed off. He believed him to be anyway, when he stayed silent through all his questions.

Einar was strange...but the blonde reckoned he was, too.

That night, his visions turned into nightmares once again - but only to be left forgotten again in the morning.

A dark blue sea and an equally dark sky above. The wrath of the gods over the clouds and a hoard of monsters waging further away. He found himself lucky he wasn't so close.

But that relief was cut short by the freezing pain in his abdomen, as he looked down at you, teeth gritting like a beast. When did he grow taller than you?

He always thought you were the same height. Or were you the taller one?

With a growl, you swayed back with the dagger out of his flesh and thrusted it into it again. Labored breaths tried to escaped your gritted teeth, nosetrils flaring up as you only scolwed at him. With great effort and little strength, you drew the blade back and stabbed him again.

"Liar..." You croaked out, the smallest of hints of tears in your eyes, "This isn't where we're supposed to be. You liar..." Another sob and another attack. Blood oozed out of his open stomach like a broken spring and while the pain was unbearable, Thorfinn remained standing.

"You were supposed to take me somewhere that isn't here!"

He watched with terror as you drowned in his blood.

Einar shot up at the ear-splitting shriek. He wondered how none of the master's family had heard.

All he vividly remembered on his first night on the farm as a slave, was Thorfinn feeling up his abdomen in a mad frenzy, his eyes wide and jaw agape in a silent scream.

Until I Do, I Guess I'll Carry On...

The sun rises and the reek of manure still dwells in his nose. Einar was not dreaming of the farm.

But as he followed Thorfinn's demure figure, anxiously keeping up with his chores and strength, he cannot keep his eyes off of him. Of this strange guy and his hushed whispers in the night.

Again, he observed and stayed back this time as the blonde accepted the spit thrown on his face and food. The amount of labor he carries on his broken back with an lost look in his eyes.

So small and dry, brown so hazy and milky, he wonders if he can even see.

Einar stays back and listens as the master and his employers give him more work, more duties, more praises, more insults. He takes it all the same.

Then, at the setting of the sun, the young man still stays back and watches with the rest of the slaves nearby as Thorfinn dropped all he had carried diligently to the master, and sprinted to a small person further away.

His heart beat in his ears, ringing against his skull and Einar found himself surprised as he prayed that Thorfinn would not get in trouble for whatever he was doing there.

Not getting in trouble for the calloused hand that reached out for that person's shoulder, how they yelped out and whipped their head around at the contact with the man.

How they watched as Thorfinn's hopeful face slowly dimmed to shock - then reverted back to his nonchalant ignorance.

What a fool he was. No, it couldn't be. The words he heard, they weren't yours. This little slave, just a terrified child, may have talked like you - walked like you, had a stature like you, looked like you - but in their place, you wouldn't have frozen on the spot. You would have killed him, or he you, when you gazed upon him as you did time and time again.

Without another word, he let his hand fall to his side and dismissed Einar's concerns. The brunette apologized for Thorfinn's stead but the man was already on his way to the barn.

He didn't even know what he was thinking. How his mind could see a silhouette that could resemble you, mistake you, and start running after you. Thorfinn didn't know what he was doing.

The master was already used to his behaviour. Perhaps that's why he wanted to get rid of him while still gaining a bit of gold.

Trapped In Every Sacrifice, Feel Like I'm Gonna Lose My Mind...

Another night. Another new slave - a young, blonde woman - another curse from Einar about wars and beasts and another nightmare. It's what Thorfinn finally reckoned them as.

The demons that haunt him as he stabs them down for the earth to swallow. Your bloodied body holding a blade. The insults and spits thrown at him, his insides falling down into the sea. Your flailing arms as you cry for his help as the ground splits in two.

In the dead of the night, he checks for his companion, still seeing him to be asleep. Limply, Thorfinn forced himself to sit up.

The stars were as bright as ever. They were when you two were together but in the past year, the nightsky seemed different. Under it, all alone, he mumbled your name under his breath to remember you by.

That's right, he did not even have anything to remember you by, did he? Not a weapon, not a trinket, nothing. All that was left of you were the nightmares haunting his mind.

He hoped it was even less. In this cool, dark night, Thorfinn hoped you were dead. All would be easier for you to bear if just bones remained of you - and it would be easier to bear for him on his heart and mind.

You'd be free.

No Freedom, Without Love...

Scorching was the sun that morning as Ketil appraoched Thorfinn and Einar on his horse once again. Pater accompanied him with another in tow. Shackles of splinted wood around their swollen wrists. Their head hanging low.

"Thorfinn, Einar!" Ketil called out and began his usual prattling. His face bore that same, kind smile even when his words fell on some deaf ears. All Thorfinn could really focus on were lidded eyes slowly moving from the dirtied path up to him. Eyes that were drooped, limp, cold and familiar.

A shaky gasp. Air that got stuck in their lungs. Ketil halted in surprise as they stepped closer in hesitation, their bound hands rising and Pater yelling out about authority and respect of a property to follow.

All Thorfinn could hear were their breathless gasps, the darting eyes, hollow and in tears as their chafed hands gingerly cradled his face - as if unsure if he was really there.

Then, the shock turned into sorrow and anger.

"...You were supposed to be in Iceland..."

Pater yanked them away from him, the familiar warmth gone as they disorientate. Thorfinn could barely breath.

#vinland saga #vinland saga x reader #thorfinn #thorfinn karlsefni #thorfinn x reader #vinland saga headcanons #thorfinn headcanons #thorfinn karlsefni x reader #gender neutral imagine #vinland saga imagine #thorfinn imagine #thorfinn x you #vinland saga einar #vinland saga season 2 #TSAWH

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platinumshawnn · 3 months ago

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Bound by Blood and Fire | Benjicot Blackwood -- pt vi

Synopsis:

Two days to the wedding and the risk of more bloodshed looms at the boundaries between Brackens and Blackwoods as the council encounter a bump following Benjicot’s actions.

Serra begins to hear rumors around the castle of the impending battle and word from King’s Landing regarding an army of Aegon’s that is making its way along the western shore and targeting the houses on his behalf. Serra approaches her father again regarding the matter amidst finalizing wedding plans and finds comfort and friendship in another Blackwood.

masterlist | playlist | backwards | forward

A/N: hi!!! popping in from the queue, i threw in a slightly suggestive scene at the end plus some bi-icon alysanne/blackwood siblings serving cvnt <333 I also have chapter seven coming this Friday at 9:01am EST which will be the wedding finally. i want to preface that the next chapter will contain smut, for anyone who is not comfortable with that, anyways!!

Content Warning(s): MDNI — 18+, adult language, mentions of blood, violence, and war; era related sexism and gender based harassment/discrimination, sexually suggestive content, mild depictions of family based violence, implied suicide ideation.

Word count: 10.1k

He could still see his face when he slept.

Benjicot spent a better part of his youth in the woods beyond Raventree on hunting trips and generally just wandering; mapping out every corner of their land on the days he had off from duties, such as training or shadowing his father’s council meetings as a boy. It was a place of comfort for him, where he had never experienced trouble finding sleep whenever he found himself camped there, and yet for the past two nights, he had been lucky to even find an hour of sleep without being startled awake. Suddenly, it felt like every chirp of a cricket or snap of a twig from a deer that calmly strolled through the trees in the distance had him on edge and jumping awake and frozen in fear; worried that it was the Brackens coming for him or his father to drag him back to their home. It did not bring him any relief to know that Emrys had been suspended from patrolling the lands in the meantime, since returning and word reaching Raventree of Rodrik’s death, leaving the grounds nearly unguarded beyond a couple of young boys whom Benjicot knew could barely hold a sword.

Emrys could only sneak to him once a night, creeping out after dark once he knew that Samwell was asleep — even then, doing so involved bribes to sneak out with the boys.

Even when he had managed to find sleep, it was plagued by nightmares of Rodrik’s face -- his eyes, wide and dead as he laid face down in the mud after landing with a thud that echoed in his mind. Benjicot had been covered in Bracken blood as he, Emrys, and Davos dragged him back over the boundaries into their land, whilst Benjicot had nearly been swept away by the river, choking on mouthfuls of water that threatened to take him away in its angry grasp, his vision blurred. They had nearly lost Rodrik in the midst, slipping on mud and grunting with exertion as they dragged his body from the waters and back to dry land. He could still hear Emrys’ complaint as he was dragged through the grass, “This bloody boy weighs a ton.”

Benjicot had insisted that they at least provide him the decency of rolling him onto his back, rather than face down, earning a confused glare from Davos, who was beyond exhausted at that point. It was then that he had seen the damage he had done. Sliced from collarbone to pelvis, a large gash from his throat and down his belly, his house colours torn down the front. Benjicot had fumbled to undo his cloak and cover him, leaving his face exposed for once someone came in search of him — he knew it would only be a matter of time.

Davos had grabbed his House pin from his body as they had begun to leave and pressed it into Ben’s hand as he brushed past him to retreat to Blackwood land, muttering something about a ‘trophy’, as if he should be proud but Benjicot was anything but proud of himself. He hadn’t returned the pin to its owner, though. The pin had remained in his tent, finding himself staring at it every so often, whenever he woke up from his nightmares or whenever it caught the light in the corner of his eye which felt like every couple of hours. It was a reminder of what he had done.

Benjicot had jolted awake again after falling asleep after supper, nodding off only because he was so exhausted, it physically pained him. Again, Rodrik’s face was there behind his eyelids, that horrified expression on his face as he fell, choking on his blood— this time, he was haunted by the image of his sister behind him, screaming and sobbing as she watched on, unable to do anything, her hands at her belly as she cried into the grass. He had tripped out of his makeshift bed on the ground, bolting out of his tent and hardly making it outside before he had fallen to his knees, hunched over on all fours as he threw up the fish and water he had barely managed to stomach earlier; coughing as he choked up the contents. His fingers dug into the grass, red-faced and panting as he dry heaved for a few moments, his body convulsing with effort as he leaned into an elbow; caring little if he got any on him.

He had hardly noticed Emrys approaching, standing a few feet behind him, “You look like shit.”

He weakly turned to glance behind him, eyes slowly coming to look up at his cousin who stood near the edge of his tent, a hand on the bag that hung at his waist; head tilted and watching him. He spit into the grass, the taste lingering on his tongue, and coughing one last time as he pushed himself up to his knees, “How did you get out here so early?”

“I asked to go out for errands with Henry,” He said, opening the bag and pulling an extra shirt from it to toss at him. “I had to promise to cover for him tonight to sneak off with some…servant girl.” He explained, waving dismissively.

Benjicot used his sleeve to wipe his mouth, slowly moving to pull down the straps of his breeches and pull off the soiled shirt. He let out a breathless scoff, “That sounds nice.” He replied, delirious from exhaustion as he tossed the shirt beside him. He took the clean shirt and pulled it over his head, stumbling to his feet and nearly toppling forward, prompting Emrys to rush forward and catch him by his elbow in an attempt to steady him.

“Have you eaten anything?” Emrys asked.

Benjicot gestured to where he had thrown up with his chin, a hand raking through his hair. His cousin glanced to where he pointed, grimacing in disgust and releasing him, “Tried to.” He grumbled.

“Come. I was able to bring you something.” He sighed, his face still pinched up in disgust as Benjicot turned to follow him. The two men entered the tent, Emrys’ hand out and ready to catch Benjicot in case he tripped again; the eldest of the two sitting in his blankets.

The blonde sat across from him, sliding the bag from his shoulders and placing it down in front of his cousin, allowing him to open it and though Ben’s stomach was still churning, he couldn’t deny the grumble as he opened it and began to dig through it. With dirty hands, he pulled out a bun and let out a sigh, euphoric as he bit into it and paused to relish in the much-needed change of things— after two days of leaf, grain, and the odd thin fish he had been lucky to catch with his hands, bread seemed like a commodity that Ben had never thought to be grateful for.

As he chewed, tearing bites from the bun, his hand continued to rummage through the bag; holding the bun momentarily between his teeth as he pulled out a cloth, unwrapping it. He fought the urge to groan aloud at the sight of a small roast duck, the smell wafting through the tent as he set the bun aside and tore off a piece with his hands, ravenous and feral as he ate, “Gods be good, slow down-- you look disgusting, you know that?” Emrys said, though his tone was laced with a light sense of humour as he moved to unsheath something from his waist.

Ben let out a grunt, hardly containing himself as he bit into the duck, his eyes lifting briefly. He watched as his cousin presented a leather flask from his side, opening it and extending it to his cousin, whose hands practically trembled as he took it from him. He lifted the flask to his mouth, greeted by the sweet, bitter taste of wine from home that melted any remaining tension from his shoulders as he gulped down two mouthfuls before placing it down on the ground beside him.

The two men sat in silence, besides the sound of Benjicot eating, birds chirping with the day -- if not for the circumstances, Ben would have found it all peaceful and calming.

After a few moments, Benjicot spoke through a full mouth, “Has there been any news?” He asked, taking another swig from the flask and finishing what little remained.

Emrys hesitated, staring at him, “Nothing new, Amos sent ravens to Grover Tully and your father.” He said, shifting to pull his knees up to his chest and resting his elbows over them. “They know about Rodrik. They know of your hand in it. Our plan wasn’t successful.” He quietly added.

Benjicot raised his eyebrows, sniffling a bitter laugh, “As I suspected.” He said, returning the lid to the flask and tossing it back to his cousin who caught it and swiftly attached it to his belt.

“It was a good idea.”

“And you thought you would outsmart Samwell Blackwood, with your boyish plans, aye?” He asked, pausing his eating to look at him. “You thought he wouldn’t see through your stupid little—“ Benjicot snapped.

“Oi, I get you're angry, but don’t take it out on me.” Emrys bit back.

He settled, falling silent briefly, “Sorry.”

They fell into silence again, Benjicot’s stomach-churning once again at the thought of his father’s reaction when he received the raven. He resorted to picking at the duck, his eyes down, “He’s furious, right?”

Emrys snorted, but the sound did not possess any trace of humour, “He was ready to burn down everything in sight in search of you, he almost came out here and dragged you back himself.”

He looked up, “Why didn’t he?”

His cousin shifted uncomfortably, shrugging his shoulders.

“Kermit insisted he be the one to bring you back and pleaded on your behalf. He knows you will return eventually,” He explained. “Your father has given him until the end of the day to bring you back.” The younger man admitted.

“Did he now?” He rhetorically questioned.

Emrys let out a hum, quiet as he looked down at his shoes, “Elmo has suggested they break off the terms of your engagement, too.”

Benjicot stilled, looking at him for a moment before he set down the rest of the duck back into the cloth, wiping his hands off on his pants. His mouth opened, hardly able to hear over the sound of blood thundering in his ears as he spoke, “Why?” He asked, mouth dry. If his father wasn’t already furious over the unnecessary bloodshed, this would have tipped him over the edge, blinded by rage — Benjicot could picture his room a mess, tearing through it and shouting as he threw whatever his hands could find.

Emrys glanced out through the entrance into the tent, partially ajar as a breeze blew through the fields, “He doesn’t trust you.” He admitted, looking at him. “He feels you have broken your promise to keep Serra safe from harm, and rather, have placed her directly in its path. It has brought into question your loyalties.”

Benjicot averted his gaze, looking at the roof of his tent as his breathing quickened. He swallowed, trying to organise his thoughts, “I did not…” He stuttered, looking down again. He was reminded of the pin that hid in a pile of his belongings in the corner, suddenly regretting not leaving it in the fields with Rodrik where it should have been. His nausea had returned, fighting down the urge to retch as he let out a choked sound, “I did not mean for it to happen this way. I did not mean to kill him, you believe me, right?” He asked, his words coming quick with panic as he looked at him again.

Emrys' shoulders dropped, his expression softening, “I know.”

“Then you know I would never do anything to jeopardise our alliance with the Tullys and sabotage our agreement.” He stated.

Emrys hesitated, looking down at his hands, “Emrys, please…” Benjicot begged, his cousin still avoiding his eyes. “I…I lost my temper, I did not want any of this. I have made a lot of mistakes in my life, both in my name and in our houses, but I never meant for things to turn out like this. You have to believe me.” He pleaded, breathless.

“Did you do it?” He asked suddenly.

Benjicot looked at him, confused by his words. Of course, Emrys knew that he had been responsible for Rodrik’s death — he had been there to witness it and had helped move the body from their land, but the edge in his voice suggested more, “His sister— did you bed his sister?” He asked, tone harsher as though he was losing his patience.

He stammered, unsure how to answer, his thoughts going a thousand miles an hour. He had forgotten that he had been present for that too, bearing witness not just to his death, but the accusation as well, “Did you father a bastard with a Bracken?” He asked finally. It seemed to click into place why the accusation had even come up, or how Rodrik had come to know of their affair and his comment, sitting back on his knees in defeat. He felt his face drain of colour, his mouth snapping shut and swallowing, “Those mongrels have done nothing but steal from us and treat us like shit on their boots. They have killed our men for hundreds of years, and you would father a bastard with one?”

“I did not mean to.” He quietly answered, his voice cracking. “I cared for her at one time. It’s a mistake that I am forced to live with every day, one that I wish I could undo but I…I cannot deny that it is a possibility.”

“You cared for her?” He asked with a bitter laugh.

His face dropped, pausing before he replied, “Yes.”

Emrys, in his inexperience with love, could not quite make sense of the coupling but the look on Benjicot’s face caused him to hesitate. He looked at him, the frown on his face frozen there as he processed the confession, clenching his jaw and letting out a breath, “And what of Serra?”

Benjicot hesitated, “It is complicated…this was before her.”

“Do you care for her?” He asked, correcting himself, his voice stern. “Is she where your loyalties lie now?”

He hesitated again, pondering the question, “Yes.” He breathed out.

He could see his cousin’s expression soften, averting his eyes as he looked down briefly and sighed. Emrys moved, rolling forward and pushing to stand up in front of him, Benjicot’s eyes following his movements; hanging in a place of anxiety and worry that he had not said or done enough. Emrys bent to collect his bag, replacing it around his shoulders and beginning to exit the tent just as he quickly stumbled after him, clamouring to his knees and rushing out behind him, “Emrys, wait.”

The blonde paused, stopping abruptly in front of him and looking up towards the sky with a squint, “Do you forgive me?” He asked.

His cousin paused, shoulders dropping with another sigh, “Yes.” He said after a moment, “And I think the gods will too, in time. You’re a good man, Benjicot, I have never doubted that. I just wish…” He said, turning to him.

“I wish you would forgive yourself, too.” He said, reaching out to clasp his shoulder, “Come back. Let us face it together. We will figure it out.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Serra had always been taught as a girl to not concern herself with a man’s business— that men had their separate duties to that of a woman. Men prioritised the political matters of the house and women did the rest— bearing children, taking care of the house, supporting their husbands, and being loyal, dutiful wives and mothers, just as her mother had been. But it did not contain the curiosity that piqued in her every so often whenever she saw her father and brothers disappear to their meetings, followed by councilmen who were loyal to them only and hanging on to their every word like it was gospel. To be heard and valued, Serra had always wondered what that felt like to possess such power.

It didn’t stop her from listening from outside the hall whenever they gathered for the day, eavesdropping in the hallways, and listening carefully to the gossip of the staff of the house — in her ten-and-eight years, she found that listening to the staff served useful and provided her with intel on topics her father would otherwise dismiss her of whenever she tried to ask at dinner.

Today had been no different, as she sat on the bottom step, her hands in her lap and picking at her nails as she listened to the intense arguing happening from within the great hall, where she had watched her family disappear early that morning. Despite his gentle protests, Alistair stood opposite of her, perched in a corner as she listened.

“Amos’ letter claims that your son was at the borders that night,” Elmo’s voice echoed from within the room. “He claims that his men hold Benjicot responsible for Rodrik’s death— I had only assumed with your restraint, Benjicot might take after you in such ways, but I am starting to question whether you have any control over your son.”

“Benjicot is an impulsive boy,” Samwell replied, his irritation evident in his voice. “You have known this since he was young.”

“And yet I expected with your guidance, he would outgrow it. I was wrong, it appears.”

“I cannot be held responsible for every stupid thing he does,” Samwell argued.

“This is not a stupid thing, Samwell -- do you know how poorly this reflects on our house? I have never questioned your house’s loyalty, but I feel the need to begin.”

Her father sounded angry and disappointed -- from her place on the stairs, she could picture the furrow of his brow, angry as he leaned over the table, “Not only does your son insult our house by slaughtering Amos’ nephew, but to further add insult to the wound, he has also fathered a bastard according to Amos Bracken's letter!”

“My son would do no such thing.” Samwell barked, interrupting any further accusations. “My son may be impulsive and stupid, but to accuse him of fathering a child with a Bracken-- ”

“Amos says otherwise.”

The revelation caused Serra to snap her head upright, wide-eyed, and lean towards the door as she could faintly make out the sound of hushed mutters, angry and going back and forth. Her eyes darted to Alistair who purposely avoided her eyes, his gaze fixed on the wall and unwavering as she slowly stood, inching towards the door and crouching to press her ear to it, “I don’t ask for much, other than you declare your loyalty to House Tully-- have I not been generous these past months?”

There is a mutter, “You have.”

“And have I not only also asked that Benjicot care for and protect my only daughter?”

“Yes, my lord.”

It was an odd sound coming from Lord Blackwood, to be small and quiet to a voice of authority that was not his own; but it was not often that her father used that voice. She struggled to envision what it looked like to sit in and witness him, submissive to her father as he was stern and flipping the roles.

“You know, Lord Grover did not want this betrothal. He, even from his deathbed, fights and pleads that I do not go forward with it-- he cautioned me against it actually,” Her father ranted, exasperated. “But I pushed back. I defended you, I defended your son. I fought for him to see reason, that you have one of the largest armies within the Riverlands… that you are a fierce warrior and leader with experience and insight that could be beneficial to House Tully. All that despite your history of impulsivity and your temper-- which I see, Benjicot has taken after instead.” Elmo spat.

“My Lord…”

“I am starting to realise he may have been right! As senile as he might be,” Elmo spluttered a bitter laugh.

“We can still fix this.”

It was then, amidst the hushed mutters, that Serra could make out the soft voice of a woman -- her words were quiet, not quite reaching her ears as she shifted her stance.

“And how do you plan to do that? You cannot bring his nephew back from the dead, you cannot rid the child from his niece’s womb! I should have accepted the offer for Serra to wed Aeron Bracken, you know that?” Elmo shouted, a clatter of silverware echoing from the room. The room fell back into silence, as though the room had frozen in time, only broken by her father’s annoyed sigh as footsteps echoed, coming towards the door. Serra launched up to her feet and turned, ready to rush up the stairs and out of sight as she assumed her father had called an early end to the meeting and would come out any moment however she hardly made it three steps before the doors opened as she expected, her hand reaching out for the wall as she nearly tripped over the hem of her dress.

“Serra Tully.” The voice was surprisingly smooth and feminine, causing her to whip around towards the voice.

Her eyes found a thin woman who resembled the men of her house — striking in appearance, with dark hair and eyes that bore into her with such intensity, that it pinned her to her very spot. Her gaze absentmindedly scanned her frame, finding riding gear in place of the expected gowns of red and black; tall and slender, as she stood halfway in the doorway and watched her. Serra’s eyes darted back to her face, mouth once ajar now clenching shut. She could have recognised her anywhere, recalling the few memories she had of her in their youth, being that she was so close in age to them; she always seemed to be in the yard, engulfed in her training, but Serra had encountered her a handful of times — her voice, though lower and softer than it had been as children, still held its familiar edge that brought back memories of warning her nephew whenever he stepped out of line. She seemed to be the only force that could keep him grounded, regardless of how rowdy and wild he could become.

“Lady Alysanne.”

Her eyes cast to her left in the direction of the room of men that remained uncharacteristically quiet, before stepping further into the hallway and in the direction of the stairs -- Serra could faintly see the hint of a smile on her face, “You have grown much since I last saw you.”

“It has been many years.” Serra politely replied, her voice quiet as though she was worried her father would overhear her. She had already overstepped and been caught eavesdropping, she did not need to make things worse.

“Indeed it has,” Alysanne nodded, pausing. “Come, join us.”

Confusion arose in Serra at her invitation, her head tilting as she opened her mouth to protest, “Oh- I…I don’t know anything about the matters of council.”

Alysanne’s smile widened, “Now seems as good a time to learn then. You have thoughts and opinions, don’t you?” She asked.

“Of course, but none that possess any value at a table of men,” Serra replied.

“That is plenty enough. It is not a suggestion, Serra.” Alysanne quickly added, ceasing any further protests she could muster. She extended an expectant hand to her, the young girl’s gaze dropping to it. Serra was slow in descending the stairs, back towards the doors, and meeting the Blackwood at the bottom of the steps at which point she felt a hand come between her shoulders to guide her inside.

The room turned to watch as they entered, side by side, all eyes focused on her. The urge arose to turn and flee, uncomfortable under the eyes of the several men who sat around the table; her father stood at the head of it, with his face screwed up into a look of disapproval but she was forced forward by Alysanne— she wasn’t convinced that if she did try, she would allow her to get far, and would just drag her right back. Her hand led her towards a seat across from Samwell, two open chairs awaiting them, timidly finding herself to one. Alysanne soon sat beside her, a hand coming up to give her elbow a reassuring squeeze.

Her father finally sat down, his eyes never leaving her as a few moments passed; the tension in the room was palpable enough to slice through as she slowly lifted her gaze to scan the room. She soon met the familiar eyes of Oscar, who sat only a few seats down from her, his gaze possessing an evident uncertainty.

“Oh, this is just absurd!” A councilman, Robard Mooton, cried. “She is just a girl, what does she know that could serve this council? Let us not waste any more time and…”

“She knows more than she lets on.” Alysanne interrupted, her tone calm. “Doesn’t she?” She pointedly questioned.

Serra felt her eyes on her, hers lowering to the table.

“What do you know of recent events, Serra?” Her father asked, sighing and dropping a hand from his mouth onto the table. She turned to look at him, her hands balling in her lap as he nodded encouragingly.

She hesitated, “I know of Benjicot’s involvement in the death of Rodrik Bracken.” She replied, her voice small amidst the room. “Amos Bracken has made several accusations against House Blackwood and its heir.”

“She listened from outside the door, how does this help?” Robard continued, losing patience.

“Criston Cole has allegedly called for men to march west.” She admitted.

Her father inhaled, leaning back in his chair, “And you understand the position this puts us in.”

She slowly nodded, watching him carefully for any sign that she was wrong and overstepped, “You also know your grandfather means to break off your engagement to Lord Benjicot Blackwood for his hand in his death, too.” Aldric Vance spoke up, her eyes darting to find him -- an older man her father’s age, his eyes kind as he stared at her; awaiting a response. Serra nodded again.

“We would like your insight on the matters,” Her father said, leaning forward against the table and resting his elbows atop the wood, holding a hand out to her. Serra tensed, blinking a couple of times before she reluctantly offered him a hand that he took, his eyes searching her face.

“Why?” She asked, her voice small.

“Because it is your betrothal in question, my dove.” He softly replied. “I will not force your hand if it is not what you desire, I only mean to protect you from further ruin.”

Serra recognised the hypocrisy of the situation, considering that it had been him who had pressured her into this position, to begin with. She lowered her eyes again, staring at their hands, quiet as she pondered his offer to end things, “Should you say the word, we can return to Riverrun in the morrow.” He quietly stated.

She sucked in a breath, unsure how to answer. The silence stretched on as she weighed the option — she admittedly missed the comfort of her childhood rooms, Riverrun, and its familiar sounds and sights.

“She’s just a nosy girl,” Robard snapped. “I told you she was of no use to this table. Let us just end this engagement and be done with this grotesque misalliance-- we will extend an offer of peace to Amos Bracken, and if he is merciful enough, he will reconsider a marriage between his nephew and Serra.” He rambled.

“Give the girl a moment.” Alysanne snapped, her gaze fixated on the man who stood. “You are too invested in ending this engagement, I feel it necessary to remind you, that you are not the one who will be expected to bed him.” She spat, her eyes narrowing.

Serra looked between the two with wide eyes, “Though I am beginning to wonder if that is your preference for bedding young boys,” Alysanne continued, taunting the man who now seethed from his place down the table. “I suppose I am not one to judge, however, considering your earlier accusations, Lord Robard.”

“You wretched cunt!” He finally exploded, rushing to lunge across the table towards Alysanne, a mild level of pandemonium ensuing as men clattered to grab the Lord Mooton, pulling him back. Serra’s attention was drawn to a quiet snort across the table, finding Samwell with his head down and a small smile on his face, his gaze fixed down on his lap as he appeared to fidget with something there. His gaze lifted, looking around the table and watching as Lord Robard was yanked back towards his seat, briefly finding Serra and his younger sister who sat beside her.

“That is enough!” Elmo bellowed, his voice loud and thundering, “I demand a level of decorum be maintained while we try to figure out what is to happen! Lady Alysanne, Lord Robard, return to your seats!”

The room quieted, Serra’s eyes watching as the council slowly found themselves back to their spots around the table, a hum of mutters and grumbles filling the room, “Samwell, I would ask that you remind your bitch sister that she is a guest here at this council.” Lord Robard spat.

“Lord Robard, enough!” Elmo snapped, releasing Serra’s hand. “I will have no more insults at this table today.”

Alysanne dropped back into her seat, letting out a scoff as she leaned back in her chair. Serra watched the look exchanged between the two Blackwood siblings, Samwell’s expression a look of pride and amusement as he looked back down quickly, a lopsided grin on Alysanne’s face as she rolled her eyes.

Her father allowed for a moment of silence as the rest of the table settled back into their seats, whatever conversation that lingered soon ceasing, even Lord Robard finally quieting; despite the scowl on his face, his gaze still watching the raven-haired woman to her left. Elmo finally looked back to Serra, sighing, “Serra. Any thoughts?”

She hesitated, heart racing as she was yet again placed on the spot, “I…” She stuttered, swallowing. She scanned the table again, briefly meeting Samwell’s gaze as he continued his fidgeting -- she could now see what had previously held his attention underneath the table; his hands absentmindedly twirling a dagger as he watched her, its blade catching a glimmer of light as it moved between his right and left. She looked at her father, “House Tully has always been a house of their word…and I suppose Lord Benjicot has never given us any other reason to doubt his loyalties, otherwise. I do not see any reason to not see our agreement through.” She quietly explained, trying to feign some level of confidence as she sat up straight, squaring her shoulders.

Her father paused, mouth opening as if he wanted to say something. Instead, he nodded, “It is settled then,” He muttered. “House Blackwood and Benjicot will be expected to fix this mess. We will see to it our end of the prior agreement— that will be all for this afternoon.” He sighed, dismissively waving a hand.

Despite his dismissal, the table did not yet move. Instead, they stared at him for a moment longer, sharing looks before they slowly began to stand; Serra finding a hand wrapping again around her elbow and gently squeezing. Her eyes found Alysanne looking at her, who offered her a small smile that she reciprocated with a forced, tight smile that dropped quickly, eager to get out of there as she pushed up from her chair. She moved with her head down as she gathered her skirts in her hands with a tight grip and shoved by the men who were slow to leave, a hushed whisper over the room.

As she reemerged into the hallway, she was met by Alistair who waited for her; his head bowing as she approached. He was close on her heels as she hurried towards the stairs, wanting to put as much space between herself and the great hall as she could, and not look back -- she didn’t feel confident in her choice, but there would be no turning back now. She would be married in two days to Benjicot Blackwood.

She wasn’t sure if she was nauseous with regret, but her hands felt clammy as they wiped against her bodice, her eyes focused straight ahead as she walked. She had barely made it two steps before she tripped over one of the stairs, catching herself with her hands against another step, her ribs colliding with the marble stairs as she tumbled forward and felt the air knocked from her lungs as she clung to the step; cold against her palms that screamed in agony as the dirt and stone embed itself into her hands, her face hot and red as she choked for air, “My Lady.” Alistair gasped, rushing forward.

She felt his hands on her shoulders, hearing a rush of footsteps as Oscar appeared at her side, “Serra?”

She shook her head, waving their hands away as Alistair withdrew his hands quickly; Oscar resting one against her spine, “I’m fine-- I am okay.” She breathed out, still trying to catch her breath as she awkwardly hurried back onto her feet. Her brother’s hands remained close, despite her words, his eyebrows furrowed.

“Should I call for the maester?” Alistair asked.

Oscar held her elbow as she wiped her hands off on her dress, scraped and red, but otherwise unharmed; her hair falling into her face as she smoothed out her clothing. She quickly shook her head, “Are you all right?” Oscar asked.

“I am fine, I just…” She breathed. “It’s just been a long day, I am tired. It was a mistake.” She insisted.

“Do you want us to get Maester Edric?” He asked.

“No, I am fine. I just need rest.” Serra insisted. “Do not bother him, it was just a slip.”

Oscar’s eyebrow rose, “Are you sure?”

“I just want to go back to my room,” She pleaded. Her brother hesitantly nodded, waving Alistair back down as he laced her arm through his, beginning to lead her up the stairs; relief washing over her as she used her free hand to lift and brush back her hair when a shout echoed from the yard.

“Fight back, you fucking coward!” Kermit screamed.

Her wide-eyed gaze looked at her younger brother, his arm withdrawing from hers as he turned to look towards the front doors that sat open; the sound of shouting continued from the yard, “Alistair, take Serra to her rooms.”

“What is that?” She asked.

“Go to your room,” Her brother instructed.

“No, wait— let me come,” She begged, watching as he turned and bolted from the stairs. The men who had gathered in the foyer all appeared to hear the commotion too, turning to crane their heads towards the noise as they piled towards the yard, her father and Samwell shoving through them to rush outside along with Oscar. Her head was spinning, but she hurried down the stairs and past the men, using her elbows to shove through the mass; her cheeks burning as she felt Alistair reach for her to pull her away.

“My lady!”

She ran into her father’s back as he held out an arm to catch her, preventing her from going too far as she reached the front steps; her eyes over his shoulder, his hand grabbing her wrist and pinning her against his side. She had to lean around him, half stepping to the side and craning her head to watch as Kermit stood over Benjicot; several other men surrounding them on their horses and watching as Kermit struck the young Lord, whilst Benjicot knelt before him and visibly defeated as he took the hit. His head snapped to the side with such force it caused her to cringe, hair falling into his face and covering his eyes as he spit into the grass -- his nose was already pouring blood, staining the front of his shirt as her eldest brother circled him.

“I said fight me, dammit!”

Kermit’s foot rose, slamming into his shoulders from behind and knocking him forward into the grass. She let out a gasp, watching as Benjicot painfully writhed against the ground, struggling to push up onto his knees -- her brother panted, face screwed up in a rage, “Stop him!” Serra quietly cried out, desperately looking up at her father. He avoided her eyes, mouth ajar. Kermit stomped on Benjicot’s wrist, circling him again to stand before him.

“Get the fuck up!” Kermit screamed, bent over as he yelled.

“He’s going to kill him.” Serra pleaded, gripping her father’s shoulder as she tried to shove past him, being pulled back by his arm again.

“Wait.” Elmo insisted, his eyes still focused on the two boys.

Benjicot’s head hung low as he brought a hand over his chest, gasping for air as he avoided lifting his eyes as he let out a weak, “No.”

She could see Kermit’s eyes widen, staring at him, dumbfounded, “You dishonour my sister, my house-- and now you won’t even fight me?” He asked.

“I will not fight ... my friend,” He panted, looking up at him. “I am innocent, I have done nothing to dishonour your house.”

Her brother froze, shoulders tensing. His hand suddenly shot towards his hip, hand wrapping around the hilt of his sword and tearing it from its sheath to bring its sharp tip to his throat, forcing his chin upwards, “Liar!”

“Kermit, that is enough!” Elmo finally ordered, releasing Serra and stepping down the stairs.

Her brother stopped, his lunge cut short as he stared at Benjicot, holding each other’s gaze. Slowly, his eyes drifted towards the crowd that watched, his hand clenching so tight around the sword, his knuckles turned white as his hand shook, “Sheath your sword.” Their father instructed.

Kermit hesitated, but did not yet lower his weapon, "Put it away." Elmo repeated, firmer this time. His mouth twitched, looking back and forth between his father and the Blackwood in front of him. The blade dropped quickly, Benjicot flinching as the tip nicked him as it dropped, his shoulders slumping whilst Kermit returned the sword to his sheath. There was a hushed series of whispers from the council, "Where have you been, boy?"

Benjicot collected himself before responding, his eyes moving with Kermit as he stormed away from him and towards his father, “The woods, my lord.” He admitted.

“For the past two days?” Elmo asked.

Serra waited, her eyes on Kermit as he went to stand in front of her before she rushed forward, her feet dragging her toward Benjicot. She could feel the eyes on her back as she found herself at his side, kneeling beside him and immediately beginning to assess the small cut at his throat; the rich shade of blood oozing from the edges. Her head ducked, taking his chin into her hand, “Yes.” Benjicot breathlessly answered.

“What has brought you back?” Her father asked.

She glanced over her shoulder, meeting Kermit’s discontent stare as his hand remained at the sword on his hip. She looked back at Benjicot, finding his eyes as she quickly reached for the scarf that she had given him two days prior, tucked in his belt and hurrying to bring it to his throat against the wound.

“I have come to declare my innocence and clear my name.” He replied, his eyes tearing away from her.

Elmo paused, “Speak, boy.”

Benjicot pushed her hand away from his neck, visibly wincing as he shifted his weight to his left knee, "My lords, before you, I swear on the Old Gods and the New that I am innocent of these vile accusations that bind my name to Myrna Bracken. By the gods above and the earth below, I have not dishonoured my betrothed, Lady Serra, nor sullied my family’s honour with such treachery."

He paused, his breath laboured but his resolve unbroken. "Rodrik Bracken met his end by my hand, but it was no premeditated act of malice. It was in defence of the honour of House Blackwood and House Tully when he hurled false accusations and sought to drag Serra and I’s union. I struck him down in the heat of the moment, driven not by hatred, but by the duty to protect what is sacred—our families, our honour."

Benjicot's voice grew firmer as he continued, "But if there is doubt in your hearts, if my words are not enough, then let me prove my innocence by the blade. I stand here ready to offer my life, to face trial by combat, and to fight for the truth that lies within my soul. Should I fall, let it be known that I did so with loyalty to Serra and to House Tully, willing to sacrifice all to uphold the bonds that unite us."

His gaze swept over the assembly, his tone resolute. "I stand before you, not as a man seeking mercy, but as one committed to the truth. I will go to battle, and if need be, I will lay down my life to prove that my honour, my loyalty, and my dedication for Serra remain untainted and true."

Serra’s gaze had been fixed on him the entire time he spoke, hanging onto his every word; her heart pounding beneath her ribs and holding her breath. Once he was done speaking, her eyes shifted to look towards her father who watched him with narrowed eyes, his jaw clenching and scanning the boy in front of him from head to toe; weighing his words.

“That will not be necessary for now,” Elmo finally replied after what felt like hours. It did not fall on deaf ears as Kermit scoffed and shoved his way back inside, finding Lord Robard scowling too at her father as he watched him from the corner of his eye, “Heed my warning, though, should you misstep again; I will have your head.”

Benjicot nodded, a meek gesture as he slumped forward, visibly relieved as he fell into Serra’s side. Her hand came up to his chest, buried among the fabric of his clothing and becoming sticky with blood that dampened his shirts, holding him up as he let out a breath. She did not want to rush him to his feet as he wiped his nose which continued to bleed.

Her father found her eyes, but he quickly averted them and turned away from her to head back inside. With the last of the men trickling in behind him, Serra sought Alistair, finding him by the doorway and already coming towards her, “Alistair, please help me-- help me bring him inside.” She pleaded as her arm slid under his and wrapped around his ribs.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

“You do not have to mother me, Serra.” He sighed, wincing as she turned him by the cheek to dab a cloth against his cheekbone; swollen with a bruise that was already beginning to form.

Her eyes remained on his face, focused and frowning as she uttered a soft ‘sh’. His nose had ceased bleeding finally after pinching it by the bridge, tender under her touch when they had returned to her room; ushering Alistair to the door. She knew it was risky to bring him to her room, but she felt there were no other options right now -- the councilmen still lingered, and her family hovered, eager to tear her away from him. She needed space to work away from prying eyes, refusing any further help she deemed unnecessary.

She stood between his knees, with Benjicot planted on the edge of her bed and a cloth between his hands as his cloak had been tossed behind him. His eyes screwed shut, letting out a frustrated sigh as she wiped the blood from his face, a bowl of water nearby on a stool that she had pulled to her feet from in front of the fireplace that was lit. He had fared better than she worried besides a small cut to his face from where Kermit’s ring had made contact, bruised; a bloody nose, and the nick under his chin that she had since cleaned up to inspect. It, too, had already begun to clot and slow. However, she couldn’t help but wonder what lay underneath his clothing -- an idea that while not intended as sexual, still felt shameful and dirty to even cross her mind. She could only imagine the boot prints that littered his skin from where her brother kicked him similar to the one against his sword hand, not brave enough to even consider asking to check; but she knew he was tender and bruised beneath his clothing, having listened to him wince and cry out when she and Alistair dragged him up the stairs and down the halls to her room.

“Stay still,” She quietly ordered, bringing the edge of the cloth to the angry red imprint just shy of his eye.

Benjicot let out a hiss, flinching as his hand shot up to catch her by the wrist, “It’s fine.” He insisted.

She huffed, dropping her hand to her side. Her hand blindly extended to dip into the bowl, ringing and squeezing out any excess water, “It’s not fine.” She replied, her eyes scanning his face. “You could have at least fought back. If you had just stayed and not gone to the borders, none of this would have happened. I told you no good would come of this.”

“I couldn’t,” He said, looking up at her. “You know I couldn’t.”

“And you think you were better off letting my brother nearly beat you to death? Going to the borders and making a mess of things? Are things not worse than they were?” She asked, scoffing.

“He wouldn’t have killed me,” Benjicot replied, withdrawing when she attempted to bring the cloth back to his face -- she sighed and dropped her hand, shooting him a warning look. “He only did what I deserved. I had to go, you know that.” He said.

He barely had time to react as her hand came up behind him, grabbing him by the nape and forcing his head forward, the cloth coming up to his nose to dab at some dried blood at the edge of his nostril, “You think you deserve death?” She asked, her voice hardly above a mutter.

“Maybe,” He admitted.

“I doubt that.”

“You don’t know what I did.”

She hesitated, her eyes briefly meeting his, “I know enough.” She said, resuming her actions. They were both quiet for a moment, her touch delicate as she gently scrubbed him clean, “What did he even do to provoke such violence?” She finally asked.

The thought of violence always felt unnecessary to her -- it never seemed warranted, unless there was some threat that was life or death. It had been a thought that lingered in the back of her head since the news had reached Raventree, but she never quite dared to ask. But something about their isolated presence, away from the noise of councilmen and the watchful eye of her father, left her with just enough to finally ask now that they were alone.

“You know enough,” He replied, throwing her words back in her face. She pressed against his nose, deliberate and annoyed, earning a hiss. “Don’t be like that.” He warned, attempting to withdraw from her again.

“I am just trying to understand you, Benjicot.” She shot back, ceasing her actions. “Did it have anything to do with his sister?”

He looked up at her, hesitating, “He said something about how you were to be married to Aeron and some other stupid shit.” He said, dismissing the topic. Serra was not oblivious to how he avoided the question.

“What of it?” She asked.

“What?”

“Aeron and I.” She calmly asked, gesturing him forward again. He was reluctant, relenting with a sigh and letting her turn his face from one side to the next, moving his hair out of the way to scan for any other marks, “What of it?”

“I don’t know.” He answered. “Is it true?”

“Yes.”

He looked at her, his right eye twitching as he appeared visibly confused by her honesty, “It was long before the prospect of you and me when I was ten-and-five.” She explained, voice softening. “My father only meant to get me away from Riverrun after my mother had passed, he wanted to protect me from his grief. I spent weeks begging him not to, and to let me stay.”

“And he changed his mind?”

She smiled, a small half-smile that did not quite reach her eyes as she looked down at him, “No. Kermit convinced him to reconsider. I was not ready to leave Riverrun and he knew that better than anyone.”

Her hand dropped from his face, the hand at his nape finding rest on his shoulder, “Did you ever wish things turned out differently and that you had married him?” He asked.

Her smile faltered, “Yes, at one point.” She admitted, causing his eyebrows to shoot up. Her shoulders shook with a laugh as her smile returned, “You have not exactly been the…easiest man to warm up to.”

His mouth opened, tempted to challenge her but he knew she was right -- there was no denying that he had been difficult and terrible since she had arrived. How she overlooked it baffled him. He let out a short laugh, a choked sound as he rolled his eyes, “And now? Do you think you would have been happier with him?” He asked after a moment.

“Mm,” She hummed. “I’m not sure. If it had been by my choice, I would have been happy living in a small, modest home in the woods, away from the chaos of politics and men.” She said, her voice lilting with humour.

She brought her hand back up, touching the cloth to his eye one last time. He grabbed her wrist again, stopping her, “I’m serious.” He said, searching her eyes.

She blinked, gaze averting towards the writing table that had been shoved against the wall. She seemed to think about it, narrowing her eyes for half a second before her eyes returned to him, “I would not change anything.” Serra softly answered. “I think I have come to accept it and be happy with things as they are-- good and bad, I am content.”

Benjicot felt a sense of relief at her words, nodding slowly.

She set down the cloth back into its bowl of water, the liquid now pink with blood, as she eyed his face; observing the bruises and wounds of her brother. She had yet to step back from her place between his legs, but there seemed to be an invisible string that held her there, tethered to him and lifting a hand to touch just below the wound beneath his eye with a light thumb that still elicited a wince of pain as his eyebrows furrowed whilst his eyes shut briefly. He sucked in a breath through his nose, his face turning away from her, "Sorry." She softly said, withdrawing her hand quickly.

“No, it’s okay,” he said, voice quiet amidst the room. His eyes slowly opened, squinting as he looked up at her, finding her gaze still on his face, “thank you.”

“For?” She replied.

“For being so kind to me. I know I don’t deserve it.” He admitted, a hand coming up to rest on her hip. Her gaze lowered towards the small bit of space between them.

“I think you’ve been handed enough cruelty in your life, Benjicot.” She softly said, her left hand rising boldly to touch his forehead, brushing back the overgrown hair that hung there in his face as she found his eyes again. Her hand dropped, fingers tracing along the shape of his face and outlining his cheekbone; Benjicot’s gaze remained on her. A flush of colour spread across his cheeks, mouth parting as though he wanted to speak, but rendered silent as his eyes closed, inhaling deeply and embracing the warmth of her touch. There were very few things in the realm that could silence him, but something about the gentleness of her hand accomplished it as he leaned into it, face turning towards her palm and letting out a sigh. Her hand fully cupped his cheek, her other hand lifting to mirror it and holding his face between them as her thumbs skimmed over the skin beneath them.

Up close, she finally had an opportunity to observe him for all that he was — though it had only been two days since she had seen him, she felt he was changed; both in the way he carried himself and his appearance. The boyish, clean-shaven appearance having been abandoned in the woods, and returning a man-grown, the facial hair that peppered his chin and spread across his upper lip alluded to maturity. Her right thumb brushed his cheek, prickled by stubble as the pad of the digit glided across the skin. Up close, she admired the imperfections that made Benjicot the man he was. From the scar that stretched from his upper lip to nose, his crooked nose — and the eyes, striking and green in the light as they opened to look up at her, his shoulders rising and falling with a deep breath.

He stood suddenly, towering over her and nearly driving her back into the stool that held the bowl of bloodied water, his hands lifting to hold her waist — his hold was loose, and bordering cautious as though he was trying to be as delicate with her as possible. His gaze never left her face as he moved, her left hand moving to absentmindedly rest against his bicep as she stared up at him, her eyebrows furrowing and using her other hand to plant against his shoulder. She watched in silence as his gaze scanned her face, slow and taking in every feature with such intensity, that it felt almost too intimate a moment for an unwed couple to share — the whole situation could appear questionable should anyone have barged in at that moment, the pair of them clinging to one another, alone and heavy breathing. One hand rose to cup her face, drawing her closer to him until his breath fanned hot across her lips, her ribs pressed against his as she sucked in a deep breath.

His mouth pressed to hers with such force it caused her to stumble back a step, only steadied by his hands as his kiss practically sucked the air from her lungs, the hand at his shoulder finding the nape of his neck. Serra was half dragged onto the balls of her feet, falling into him as her fingers dug themselves into the root of his hair, desperate to ground herself somehow as she clutched onto him as if her life depended on it — the actions earned a carnal moan that reverberated from deep within his chest, his hands creeping up to the small of her back. She felt the way he pulled her into him, like he was trying to embed her in his skin, desperate for closeness whilst she melted in his hands as his mouth found her throat. The foreign sensation set her skin ablaze, her mouth falling agape as his lips trailed down her throat and claimed her like he had any right, his hands tugging at her skirts and manhandling her. She let out a soft sigh as the cool air that permeated her room tickled the back of her thighs, her dress being tugged upwards when Benjicot stepped forward with his knee pressing between her legs, his fingers rough against the soft skin of her thighs, calloused and desperate.

A knock echoed through the room, causing the two of them to jump, Serra breaking away from him first. She shoved his hands off her thighs, pushing her skirt back down and smoothing over the fabric as Alistair spoke up, “My lady?” He called from outside the door.

There was a pause as she stared at Benjicot, wide-eyed and red-faced, with heavy breathing and flushed cheeks as she stumbled back and away from him. Benjicot was visibly dishevelled as he withdrew, leaning into her bed and mouth agape, sucking in air as he caught his breath, “Yes, Alistair?” Serra asked, breathless as she smoothed out her clothing and reached for the cloth that had been abandoned in the bowl.

The door slowly opened, revealing the guard who had spent the past several days at her heel, his eyes immediately finding her and hesitating — he glanced at Benjicot who avoided his eyes by looking down at the floor, “I…have given you as much time as I can spare.” Ser Alistair said, looking back at her. “It is getting late. Lord Blackwood should be getting back to his chambers before anyone begins to question his absence.” He quietly explained, his gaze still fixed on the young Lord, who finally dared to look up; his mouth twitching, darting to glance up at Serra who let out a breath.

She nodded, “Of course.”

Benjicot stood, turning to collect his cloak that sat on her bed and taking it with him, “We were all done here, anyways,” He said, brushing past her and not giving her another glance as he made his way towards the door. “Thank you, Alistair.” He quietly said as he passed him and exited the room. The guard nodded, his eyes following him out the door as Serra dropped the rag back into the bowl of water and wiped her hands off on her dress.

Alistair blinked a couple of times, unmoving but silent as she gathered the bowl and took a deep breath, sighing aloud as she approached him, “Could you discard this for me? I must be getting ready for bed.” She said, struggling to find his eyes.

He took the bowl from her, his face creasing with a purse of his mouth and furrowing his brows, “My lady, if I may…speak plainly.” He quietly spoke.

She paused, eyeing his face, “Yes, of course.”

He avoided her eyes for a moment, clearing his throat, “I would advise you to be careful with…the time you spend alone with Lord Blackwood.” He slowly said. Serra felt the colour drain from her face as she frowned, “It could appear improper, is what I mean to say— should anyone question it.”

He knew. Serra felt stupid enough to think he wouldn’t know or figure it out somehow.

“Are you going to mention tonight to anyone?” She asked, her voice small with worry.

Alistair eyed her, his eyes finding hers. His features softened, “No. But it cannot happen again, I cannot guarantee I can protect you a second time should your father or brothers ask.”

Serra finally let out a sigh of relief, withdrawing and wiping her hands against her skirt again, though she radiated anxiety as she nodded, “Thank you.”

Alistair’s head bowed, “Of course, my lady.”

She watched as he turned and left, leaving her alone finally in her room and overcome with worry. Despite his words, she still felt a sense of unease as the door closed and turned to retreat towards her bed. She turned slowly, leaning back to sit down and flop into the bed, her arms at her side — though the action was disturbed by something pressing into her leg. She reached down, her hand blindly searching the blankets for a moment before her fingers met the cool metal; bringing it up into view and turning it in the light. Her eyes scanned the pin used to fasten a man’s cloak, recognizing the Bracken sigil as she turned it in between her fingers. She sat up from the bed, her feet planted against the ground as she pulled herself from the comfort of her blankets; her feet guiding her towards the fireplace.

Her eyes turned towards the door momentarily as she stopped in front of the fire, warming her skin; listening for any sign of life beyond her room. When she was confident in the silence that she found, she looked back, her eyes on the flames as her hand propelled forward to toss the pin in; allowing the fire to engulf it.

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#benjicot blackwood #davos blackwood #house of the dragon #house blackwood #kieran burton #hotd #benjicot blackwood masterlist #benjicot blackwood x reader #davos blackwood x reader #benjicot blackwood fic #benjicot blackwood imagine #davos blackwood imagine

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fastlikealambo · 1 year ago

Text

Connubium.|| Coriolanus Snow x Black Fem Reader

Chapter Five

table of contents.

Chapter One.

Chapter Two.

Chapter Three.

Chapter Four.

Summary: Stealing from The Capitol is a deadly offense, yet you’ve done it more times than you can count but when you do something you should not have done, Volumnia Gaul decides a fate for you that might just be worse than death.

Notes: This takes place post The Ballad of Songbirds And Snakes and Coryo is in his last year at The University, studying under Dr. Gaul. This will not follow canon, I’m not an expert on all the lore so I apologize if I get things wrong.

Disclaimer: You know Coriolanus is a POS, I know Coriolanus is a POS, please don’t yell at me because this is just a fun little story, something for thee hotties, and if you feel that strongly against President Snow, please let me know if you’d like me to sign you up for tessarae.

Warnings: violence against reader, gore, blood, injuries, bones being put back in place.

18+ only

Thanks for the love and messages on chapter four! If you want to see chapter six, comment or reblog, feedback makes me want to continue!

As you slept, Coriolanus studied you.

Tucking a stray curl underneath the silk on your hair, he studied your face. The stressed expression you had concerned him, he fought the urge to smooth the knitted space between your brows.

He could do this every night.

Courtships were quick affairs in The Capitol, arranged and wed within weeks, hours even, depending on the wealth of each party and what could be gained.

A wealthy orphan such as yourself worked in Coryo’s favor, no parents to impress, no dowries, just you and your ability to control a room.

Coriolanus had plans for Panem and he needed someone at his side who could stand with him, without fear.

President Ravinstill represented the victory of war, old and bloated, a reminder of the dark days.

You would be the face of his Panem, bright and beautiful.

Yes, you would do just fine.

The smell of smoke interrupted Coryo’s study and he untangled himself from you to go to the window, throwing open the curtains.

The sun had yet to come up but a fire in a visible quarter of The Capitol raged, illuminating the sky and from the Plinth’s window he could see multiple hovercrafts carrying water to douse the flames.

“Coryo?”

You stood next to him, watching the fiery scene and he took your hand in his, rubbing circles on the back of your hand.

A knock on the door brought you both from the window and you opened it to see Mrs. Plinth, a worried expression on her face.

“There’s been a bombing, it’s all over the news. Peacekeepers want everyone in their own homes within the hour. I’ll get you some food to take home, dears.” She said kindly.

Too quickly you were standing outside, Coryo’s suit jacket draped around your shoulders, waiting for your car.

“ I was going to ask you to lunch with Tigris and Grandma’am but I think we’ll have to reschedule.” Coryo said.

“You’ll just have to make it up to me, Coriolanus Snow. If waltzing and a bombing are typical society affairs, I’m eager to see what happens the next time we’re together.”

With a kiss upon your hand, Coriolanus helped you into the car, noticing it was driven by a peacekeeper.

Peacekeepers weren’t usually drivers.

“Excuse me, if I’m going to meet Dr. Gaul, I’d like to change first.” You said, wanting very much to get out of a dress you’d been in for far too long but the peacekeeper kept driving right past your residence.

“Where are we going?” You asked but as usual, you were ignored and the car continued past The Corso,eventually coming to a stop outside a familiar looking building.

Even in the dark, you knew where you were and a fear you hadn’t had in years greeted you like an old friend.

The Arena.

A peacekeeper opened the door and three more took hold of you, yanking you of the car. Your claims that you could walk just fine went unheard as they dragged you with purpose into the massive yet crumbling amphitheater.

Nothing could quite prepare you for the scope of it, having only seen it back home on a tv that turned off and on during the games if you didn’t kick it three times. You couldn’t remember the last time it was used but there you were, taking in the sights while they shoved you through the turnstile.

“Enjoy the show!” A broken down robotic voice said.

“My little thief, right on time! Don’t you look pretty?” Dr. Gaul said, pointing to a spot for the peacekeepers to throw you down.

“What is this, why am I here?” You asked, standing to your feet, looking around at the empty structure.

“As you well aware, there was an attack on The Capitol this morning, a poorly constructed bomb killed two Capitol citizens. Imagine my surprise when we caught the animal behind this, I found out he’s from your district!”

“Dr. Gaul, I’m not behind this, you have my parents, I’m already risking everything-

“Oh no young lady, we know you weren’t behind this, we just need you to clean up a mess for the glory of Panem.”

A familiar voice and the sound of marching feet echoed throughout the arena and out of the shadows strolled President Ravinstill and his guards.

Of course, they would be working together.

“I believe you’ve already met President Ravinstill so no need for introductions. Gentlemen, if you please!” Dr. Gaul called out and from another corner came muffled screaming.

Two peacekeepers dragged a badly beaten man in front of you, one eye swollen shut, the other widening in recognition.

District 6 was big, but you knew him, he worked on delivery trains.

You used to see his children chase after the hefty freighter, waving to him on his route.

“If you’d be so kind, dear girl.” President Ravinstill said, placing a handgun into your shaking hand.

No, please, no.

“I don’t want to do this, I don’t need to do this, you have guns, you do it.” You stuttered.

“Just pretend he’s a morphling, that worked the last time, didn’t it?” Dr. Gaul asked. President Ravinstill walked up behind you and wrenched your hands into position, the gun on the man’s forehead but you dropped the gun, a missed shot ringing in the air.

“I have a better idea. Let him up, gentlemen.” Dr. Gaul said and clapped her hands.

“Enjoy the show!”

Peacekeepers filed into the arena, blocking off the exits and breaks in the concrete where the floor and tunnels caved in, forming a circle around the perimeter.

A peacekeeper unlocked the cuffed man and heaved him to his feet in front of Dr. Gaul who pointed a gloved hand in your direction.

“You see her? We’ll pin all of your mess on her and you’ll get to see your family again. All you have to do is kill her and everything is forgiven. ” Dr. Gaul whispered into his ear.

Surely he couldn’t actually believe that?

He took a step in Gaul’s direction and for a moment you believed the rebel in him saw through the lies and he’d take out Dr. Gaul and President together.

Was this the moment a rebellion was born?

But then you saw it, a shine in his uninjured eye, that told you this was just a man who wanted to go home.

“Young lady, I suggest you run.” President Ravinstill instructed.

If he couldn’t catch, he couldn’t kill you.

So you ran.

Shoes off, you ran with him on your heels, climbing up a piece of debris towards what was left of the stands, dress and skin ripping as you climbed this way and that, trying to tire him out. He stumbled but kept up the pace and you brought your bleeding hands to a corner to get further up but a warning shot made you freeze, unable to climb any higher.

That split second of indecision worked in his favor and the man grabbed your still tender ankle and brought you back down to the same level as him.

His hands were around your throat, slamming you back on the concrete before you had a chance to get back up, kicking wildly and scratching deep into his arms, the world around you starting to blur.

You weren’t a fighter, that morphling was drugged out of his mind, you couldn’t steal your way out of this.

Would they let your parents go now?

What would they tell Coriolanus?

What was the point of any of this?

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw a broken arrow, probably left over from the games, and as he pressed harder, anguish grunting escaping his bloody mouth, you let yourself go limp beneath him.

He would go no further.

The moment he loosened his grip ever so slightly in victory, you drove your thumb through his bad eye and as he tried everything, slammed you into everything but you wouldn’t let go until the last minute, letting him shove you into a pile of rocks, something in your shoulder popped, causing you to scream.

When he came at you one last time, you drove that arrow into his throat, watching him sink to the ground, jerking and gasping until President Ravinstill took a gun from a peacekeeper, aimed it at the man from District 6, the husband and father, one shot to make him lie still.

It wasn’t fair.

“Well done little thief, you would have made a fantastic tribute! Allow me.” Dr. Gaul gave no warning before she popped your shoulder back into place.

“It’s quite remarkable, all that Capitol finery, and you still reverted back to your most natural form.” President Ravinstill marveled, looking your bloody and bruised body up and down.

You were going to be sick.

“Do you see why I chose you now? You will do anything to survive, the ugly brutal things Capitol citizens don’t like to think about except on that very special time every year, and that’s what Panem needs alongside Coriolanus. Beauty is one thing, but brutality is what keeps the mice at bay.” Dr. Gaul said and clapped her hands once more, the peacekeepers moved from the exit.

“Go to him, little thief. Go to him and remember the only standing between becoming Mrs. Snow or ending up like your district friend here is your cooperation.” Gaul said and without another word you turned and stumbled out of the arena.

“See you Monday, young lady!” President Ravinstill called out.

You wandered through the streets of the Capitol for hours till you found yourself in front of Coryo’s apartment and more or less crawled up the stairs.

Before you could lift your hand to knock, the door flew open and Coriolanus enveloped you in his arms, your unrehearsed sobs stifled into his chest.

“Who did this to you?” He asked voice colder than you've ever experienced, touching you all over, cataloging each and every bruise and blood stain. At the noise, Tigris peeked her head out of her room only to come racing out fully when she saw you.

As you collapsed into their embrace, you had one thought in your head.

Dr. Gaul and President Ravinstill were very much like mice.

To get rid of mice, you would need a snake.

That’s Chapter 5! As usual if you’d like to see Chapter 6, please comment or reblog! Thank you for reading :)

#coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus x you #Coriolanus snow x black!reader #coriolanus snow x you

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mudandmire · 1 month ago

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✨Azris time-loop AU✨

UPDATE - - -

16k folks! It's not polished in the slightest, also not done, but man am I having fun. I had no idea so many people love time-loop aus!! This is so exciting, I feel like a mouse who found a little mouse colony 🐁

...I think I've gotten to a point where I hate my writing because I want it to get better but also I know it's getting better by objective comparison but also the progress is so slow and I'm so wordy so all my scenes are like over 1k words and it's a pain in my ASS anyway 😎

moral of the story is to never trust what you think about your writing (by extension yourself) after 9pm.

I have SNIPPETS come and get y'all food

---

The archer is somewhere else this time. Eris takes too long trying to find him, and by then it's too late. Rhur goes down with the bodily thunk of an arrow meeting its mark. His form crumpling to the ground as it spears right into his chest, spurting blood as he falls onto his back, the bones of his wings crunching beneath his dead weight.

Rhav is lost soon after. Caught in the throes of devastation, he doesn't see the archer draw another arrow and aim again. Eris's shout of his name falls on ringing ears, and though he throws a lash of flame at the archer, he looses his arrow before the fire can scorch him.

The brother falls. His body splayed beside his kin.

Eris knows, then, this cycle he will not win. Not that there was much hope, but his mind is scattered with how quickly things went wrong. He doesn't even hear the draw of a bow—larger than the ones made for slinging across the back. Wildly, his eyes scan his surroundings taking nothing in. It's only Azriel's voice, rising loud and panicked above his own panting breath, that he's able to break through the wave of hopelessness that had overcome him.

Too late.

The heavy twang of a bow string. Eris's hair stands on end at the sound of a whistle, high and soft as air behind him—Azriel's war cry is lost to darkness.

Eris opens his eyes to the yawning, black mouth of the roof of his tent. His eyes are wide, he can feel his lids stretch in panic as he pats himself down from head to chest to abdomen. A quick death. He can't help the relieved swallow as he tips his head back, squeezing his eyes closed.

Stuck in the pitch black of his tent, the ground cold and hard beneath him, Eris curls up on his side. Dreading the light. Dreading the loud footsteps of Anton signaling the start of another cycle. His breath is entirely locked away in his chest—tightened and painful as he brings his knees up to his sternum. As close as he can get to being small enough to wink out of existence.

Something solid presses through the thin stuffing of his pillow and into the side of his face. Too hard to be the earth, it rises like a crest from beneath and Eris feels dread slide down his spine.

The dagger. Azriel's Cauldron-forsaken weapon Eris had foolishly taken from the ruins that first day. Looking back, he doesn't know if it was in some misguided sense of remorse or remembrance. Either way his lip curls up in a snarl at the thought of its ornate onyx hilt.

A thought dawns; sharp and bright as the dagger under his head. If he could destroy it, would it end the endless days? It sends a foolish spark of hope, burning as a carefully tended fire, into his chest.

Eris works quickly, knowing the sun is not so far away now. He cannot be there when Anton comes—he firmly shoves away the intrusive thought that if this works he'll be able to explain why he wasn't there. Steps at a time; the dagger, his armor, his sword, his pack. Night settles around the camp in a blanket, dawn just barely on the cusp of the horizon, that bleary, opaque blue lightening the sky beyond. The darkness is scattered around the torches, set every couple of feet down the row of tents. Even at such a quiet hour, the faint sound of talking between the guards on watch prick Eris's sensitive ears. He makes sure to walk on light feet—in the way his armor won't brush and clink and give him away.

The stables are too far, makeshift and holding supplies Eris knows will be heavily guarded against thieves. Instead, he aims for a group of stallions near a trough. There's packs of horses everywhere, not enough room in the camp to set up a stable for hundreds of them.

Eris's breaths fogs in front of his face, steaming against his night-chilled skin as he ducks behind the spread of a canvas tent as two guards pass in front of the torchlight.

Their chatter fades, Eris makes his quick dash across the field for the tied up horses. A sleek, black friesian had caught his eye.

Apart from light, it moves like an oil-slick shadow. Eris is careful, walking crouched and slow towards them. These aren't war horses, not like how the Spring and Autumn court bred them.

They snort at his presence, heads dipping and thick lashes fluttering as they stamp a hoof on the ground.

"Shh," Eris hushes them, no louder than an exhale. The night is waning, he can make out the edges of tents and the makeshift buildings now.

"Shh, easy," he says again, taking each step cautiously towards the friesian.

Eris knows from his time with his hounds and in the Forest House's stables, how to handle a spooked horse. Hopefully—he begs against the pounding of his heart—it doesn't come to that. The friesian blinks his big, lake-dark eyes at him when Eris approaches. He doesn't shift nor flinch when Eris runs careful, soothing palms up the side of his muzzle, a gentle caress against the smooth pelt.

"Good." He whispers, easily untying the knot of its reins on the fence post in front of him.

"I apologize for dragging you away," the reins come loose, and he slips them over the friesian's head, "I promise you will not come to harm, friend."

The friesian does not say anything back, his mild manner relaxing Eris's tense shoulders ever so slightly.

They cannot stay long, though, Eris knows. Keeping careful eye on the progress of dawn—sooner or later Anton will come to his tent and find him missing.

"Come." Eris leads the stallion away from the group, getting nothing but a snort in response as he jolts into a heavy-boned trot.

Eris hadn't thought very hard about which direction he would go, he only knew where he wouldn't. The mountains to the east morph to a stunning shade of violet this early in the morning. Gathered around its roots are the dark, tangled shadows of a forest.

Quickening his movements, Eris attaches his pack to the friesian's saddle, hefting himself up with one more comforting pat to the strong neck. One touch of his hand to his hip lets him know the dagger is still there. It's not a comfort, yet he breathes a sigh of relief and leans forward over the stallion's back.

Their escape is gentle—quiet. Though it's difficult to make a horse's hooves silent, if not impossible, so Eris keeps his body tucked as close to the saddle as possible.

The tents are beginning to thin out, dry, sun-worn land crunching under hooves as Eris begins to relax.

"Hey!" Eris's ears perk up at the same time his heart tumbles down from his chest into his stomach.

"Hey—someone help me get this horse!"

One of the guards walking the camp grounds calls out, most likely to his partner on duty. Eris takes a quick glance over his shoulder, revealing the soldier in all his fine, shining armor glinting in the light of a torch in his hand.

Eris's eyes narrow, and with a ripple of heat in his irises, the torch in the guards hand flares. A flame jumps out, tall and licking at the empty sky. The soldier yells in alarm, dropping it as stray sparks fly into his face.

A quick kick of his heels into the friesian's flank sends them off into the direction of the dark boundary of the forest. Eris leaves the clamor of the guards behind him, settling into his seat and trying to get a handle on his pulse as he does on the reins.

The friesian works up to a canter quickly. The dense, strong muscle of his body moving under Eris as he shifts in his seat. He had been riding since he was a boy, ponies no taller than his hounds, until his feet could comfortably fit into the stirrups. It is not new to him, so acclimating is easy enough as they bolt across the landscape, racing for the safety of the shadows.

---

the amount of times I've killed Azriel so far in this draft is insane. I'm trying to make it, like, respectful? It's not death for deaths sake, y'know, I don't wanna kill him just because, but I need to it's necessary. I'm playing the game "how many ways can I describe someone dying" and it's....something. that's for damn sure.

Also I made a map 👉👈 I can't plan battles for SHIT and though I love the artistic-ness of the Prythian map I can't envision anything being anywhere. so. enjoy my crappy little rendition of dawn and day court, not the whole of Prythian cause that would be ridiculous, but I needed something cause my brain just can't picture places I guess

✨ta daa✨ (thank you Inkarnate)

Tag-list: (lemme know if you want on or off)

@chunkypossum @c-starstuff-man0 @molcat07 @futurehunt

#wip thursday #yes its a thing #azris #azriel x eris #azris fanfiction #it will be azris at some point yall just gotta bear with me #midterms are coming up im dying

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carrlyn-stan · 10 months ago

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13 going on 13...

Pairing|| Luke x Hades!Daughter!OC

Summary|| Holly recalls the story of how she met Luke. Less than a week after Holly turned thirteen, she was sent to go and act as almost a satyr for a boy coming to Camp Half Blood.

Word Count|| 803

Warnings|| Kissing, heavy makeout scene

Tags|| Request to be tagged! @repostingmyfavs

A/N|| None of the stargazing pictures work

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

~Five Years ago~

"I don't want to go, D!" Holly groaned, leaning back in her chair. Holly crossed her arms.

"Come on Holls, you can do it, I know you can," Mr. D looked at the younger girl. She brought her bottom lip over her top, a slight quiver in her lip.

"What if I fail? I'm just thirteen," Holly asked. She knew better than to believe that she could fail.

"I believe in you, Holly," Mr. D told his favourite camper, "I know you can do it," he repeated.

~Present Day~

Holly walked around the cabin area. She held her hands behind her back, she had a grin plastered from ear to ear. She listened to the sound of her heels click. There were less than three weeks till her birthday.

"Why hello, Pretty Girl!" Luke grinned into Holly's ear. "What's got you smiling so wide?"

"Oh, nothing, I'm just happy," Holly giggled. She brought her hands in front of her.

"You, Holly, happy? You're the daughter of Hades, you're never happy!" Luke took his head off the girls shoulder.

"Fine, tonight's a full moon, and well, you know what the camp does on full moons."

"Perfect night for stargazing," Luke looked down at Holly.

"Yeah! So, I was wondering if you- maybe if you wanted- we could, you know," Holly blushed, her face turning into a walking tomato.

"Do what? I don't know what you want to do?" Luke laughed.

"Well, maybe, after the bonfire, when the older councillors stay out to stargaze, maybe you'd like to join me on the grassy hill by the beach?" Holly murmured, she rubbed her thumb nail with her other thumb.

"Meet you on the hill by the beach? Alone? Out of sight?" Luke questioned. "I'd think I'd love too."

~~~~~~~~~~~

Holly holds onto Mr. D's hand as they appear outside of a state park in Pennsylvania. She gripped onto his hand as tight as she could. This was the first ever 'quest' she was being sent on. For her, thirteen was the age that Chiron decided was best for Holly to begin training.

"I don't want to go, what if the kid's a dick?" Holly asked. Mr. D let out a stifled laugh.

"Then you'll come home, the gods are always watching you, making sure you don't die. If you were to die or get hurt, well than your dad will release all hell and start a war," Mr. D looked at the girl.

"We don't kill kids, that's a rule, unless the kid's a dick," Mr. D continued. "If he tries to hurt you, or be a dick, then you can kill him, okay?"

"I guess," Holly let go of her caretakers hand. Mr. D knelt down and hugged Holly.

"I love you, alright Holls? I'll make sure your safe, every step of the way," Holly hugged Mr. D back, she hugged him like she was going to lose him.

"I love you, too, Dee Dee," Holly let go of the god. Mr. D let go of the girl as well. He watched carefully as Holly walked down and into the forested area. He felt a pang in his heart, watching his little girl go on her first mission.

~~~~~~~~~~

Holly held a warmer sweater closer to her body. She was listening to the last few songs of campfire before the stargazing. Luke stared at Holly from across the fire. He smiled at the way her hair was illuminated by fire.

Luke thought about every little detail of her illuminated by the fire. Something slipped into his mind, he thought of every little detail of her, illuminated by the fire, but undressed. The soft hues of her body- no, he couldn't, not around the kids.

~~~~~~~~~~

Luke sat around a fire. The forest sounded empty, the sound of monsters possibly lurking in the dark only threatened his fears.

He held the hilt of his sword tightly in both hands. His head darted up toward the sound of crouching leaves. He stood and readied his stance. He drew his sword up toward the sound. Out of the thicket of bushes came a young girl.

Luke kept his sword drawn. The area Luke set the fire in was on a bit of a slope. As the girl tried to join him, she fell to her butt. A small sniffle joined the eerie silence of the night.

Luke lowered his sword, he hadn't heard a fury of a monster with the same small sniffle.

"I wanna go home," the girl muttered. She pulled her hand up to her eyes and rubbed a finger under her glasses. The girl stood and looked at the back of her pants. "Ughhh!" she cried a little.

This girl looked as though she was not having a day.

"Hey, you alright?" Luke asked the girl. She looked over toward the boy.

"No! I want to go back to my home, back to my dad, back to where there's heat and I'm not freezing!" the girl let out a strained sob.

"Hey, it's alright, come sit by the fire," Luke offered. The girl looked at him, her short black hair framed her face.

"Really?" The girl asked. Luke nodded, the girl walked over to the log Luke had set down. She wiped some of the leaves off the log, and then sat down next to Luke. "My names Holly," she offered.

"My name's Luke, are you?" he asked.

"A demigod?" Holly asked. "Yeah, something like that."

~~~~~~~~~~~

Once Luke had ushered his campers back to the cabin, and left Chris in charge. Holly had stopped by beach a little earlier. She held a sweater close. She watched as the water crashed onto the shore. The cold salty air of the Atlantic ocean soothed Holly.

At some point, she heard the sounds of sticks breaking behind her. She snapped her head to see Luke walking towards her. A smile drew onto her face.

"Why hello, Sunshine!" Luke smiled sitting next to Holly. The grass was dewy this night. Above the ocean, Holly could see the stars as clear as day. She leaned over and onto the Hermes boy's shoulder, she rested her hand on his thigh.

Luke looked over at the girl, she had a small smile on her face. Luke stretched his left arm around Holly's shoulder. He pulled her closer into his body, trying to keep her warmer. She shuddered a little as she lifted her hand to the sky.

"You know, I was always told stories about the stars and constellations," Holly smiled into the boys arms.

"You've told me once or twice," Luke pressed a kiss to the girl's hair.

~~~~~~~~~~~

"That one's called Cassiopeia, she was the mother to that one right there, Andromeda. She was imprisoned in the sky after telling Poesiden that she was prettier than the Nereids," Holly explained, pointing to the sky.

"How do you know that?" Luke asked.

"My dad prepared me for this world by telling me Greek myths, from the ones of the constellations to the ones about gods," Holly smiled.

As the fire died out, Holly fell into a rest. As soon as her eyes closed she was out. Luke looked at the sleeping girl. He only just met her, yet swore he'd do anything to keep her safe, even if it meant dying himself.

~~~~~~~~~~

Holly reached for Luke's hand. She took it, and locked her fingers with his. She stared at the stars.

"You know, that cluster of stars, I like to call it the Lukeus," Holly looked up at Luke.

"Why?" he quickly pecked Holly's lips.

"Because everyone I love deserves a spot in the sky to be viewed," Holly snuggled her head into Luke's shoulder.

"Really?" Luke stuffed his nose into Holly's hair.

"Yeah, I love you like all my other myths," Holly smiled. She moved so that she straddled her body over Luke's legs. She slowly leaned in for a kiss.

Luke pulled Holly closer by the nape of her neck. Carefully hit bit her bottom lip. He moved from lips to jawline down to her neck.

Holly let out a squeal when he sucked on a spot on her neck.

"Princess, you gotta keep it down. All the other councillors are outside," Luke whispered going back to Holly's neck.

"I love you, Luke!" Holly moaned as he on another portion of her neck, "Like really, really love you."

"Glad you do, sweetheart, that means I can do this," Luke flipped Holly over and began kissing her more passionately.

Luke, once more at that moment, swore that the girl he could take all the innocence from, would be the one he protected for his life.

#pjo series #the lightning thief #original character #pjo fanfic #pjo x reader #luke castellan #percy jackson tv show #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan oneshot #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan fluff

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darknessawaits28 · 5 days ago

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The Chronicles of The Mandalorian and Boba Fett~(love triangle) Chapter 1

Storyline: This is the story of a young warrior (y/n), that fought all across the galaxy, earning a name that brought fear to the ears of many. Life was as good as it can be, until the Empire took that away, giving her the heart of an ice spider. She had no choice but to go into hiding, after all, there was still a bounty to her head. So, she decided to do the simplest job that anyone could possibly do; bounty hunting. Though bounty hunting was a dangerous profession, something that she could obviously handle, but it could sometimes lead to unforsaken enemies and possible lovers. Well, who shall we meet on this journey?

Warnings: Well, it can be fluffy at times but there are going to be scenes that might offend or be inappropriate to many. With that being said, this story contains; Fluff, Choking, oral sex (F receiving), Fingering, Sex, Doggy style, Blood, Violence, Cursing, masturbating etc. There is also notions of injections and medical stuff. There is a lot more stuff but Enjoy lovies!

(Note: This is not following the exact story of the star wars trilogy, it will have a lot of pieces from Mandalorian, Boba Fett, and maybe include already known characters)

(Second Note: I haven't continued this story in a while, I will have to watch back the films to remember most of the scenes so it will take me some time to continue writing, but stay tuned for updates!)

(On another note: Thank you lovies for all your love and support, hope you enjoy the story) :3

Chapter 1: The Beginning of a long journey

It was a long cold night, sounds of the cackling fire pressed against your inner ear as you sat upon the grassy meadows of Tython. Tears began to overwhelm you as you remembered the tragedy that happened on Coruscant, your parents and masters that trained you, slaughtered before your very eyes by the so called Empire. If your master was here, he would probably say, 'This is not the time to cry and act childish, you are in a world were you have to take care of yourself, not matter the cost.' A bit heartless, but he was right, a warrior like yourself could not just sit here and cry because you lost loved ones. We all loose loved ones eventually. You were a warrior, built to take any blow by any man, woman, or machine. That strength earned you the title of 'The blood seeker', a dark name that everyone knew, especially the Empire. Having two red light sabers can attract a lot of attention (another reason why you were called the blood seeker), but you belonged to no creed, no caste, not anything. You were neither Jedi nor Sith, you were just you, a simple girl using the force to protect the innocent and seek revenge when necessary.

As you thought about this, you pulled out a small journal, opening it to see the pictures of your family, friends, masters, it struck a nerve inside you; your sadness turning into burning hatred.

"I will kill them all....if its the last thing I do..." you mumbled under your breathe, standing to your two feet.

Slowly but surely you walked over to a woody tree, tugging at both your light sabers from your leg pouches, unsheathing them with a hum that echoed against your ears.

"They will suffer" you yelled as you chopped the tree, slashing it into pieces as if it were the enemy. "You took everything from me!" A another slash could be heard echoing. "I will kill your children!" A slash again. And again. And again, until there was nothing left to cut. You panted heavily as you stood before the tree that was no more, sheathing your lightsaber back into your pouches, closing it of course so that you wouldn't cut your leg off.

"I can't keep living on this planet alone, I have to find a something to do, maybe a job that can possibly lead me to the people that hurt my family" You thought, pacing back and forth. Yet, it hit you, "Hmm, how about Nevarro or Tatooine?" "They could possibly have jobs for me to do, or I could possibly just sign up at the nearest bounty hunting guild?"

With that in mind, you snuffed out the fire, heading towards the coinvent ship that you stole a long time ago from a degenerate man that wanted to fuck you as payment for this hunk of junk. "I guess we can start at Nevarro, hopefully this piece of shit can survive a hyper jump again, it was a while since I used it" you huffed, closing the hatch door before heading to the cock pit. As you strapped yourself in, you turned towards the stuffed bantha that your father gave you when you were just a little foundling, a soft smile appearing across your face. "I love you papa, and mama" you chuckled, turning back towards the controls.

As you began to press the same buttons you used before, the ship began to whir and purr, the engines turning on quicker than usual, "Okay please for the love of yoda, work!" You begged, as you began to lift off the ground, heading up to the sky of Tython. Once you entered the atmosphere, the ship began to shake, your heart nearly beating out of your chest, worried that this might be your last time alive. But, thankfully, the ship survived the entry into space and you got ready to make the jump to Nevarro.

"Lets knock some heads in!" was the last thing that escaped your lips as you jumped to the planet of Nevarro.

#love story #smut #love #pedro pascal #mando x reader #boba fett x reader #short story #mandalorian x y/n #the mandalorian #boba fett smut #the book of boba fett #boba fett #book of boba fett #tumblr fyp #fyp

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darklyndivinely · 1 year ago

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Hope

Fandom - Star Wars

Pairing - Anakin Skywalker/Darth Vader x gn!Windu's former padawan!reader

Summary - Now that Darth Vader has finally found you, there are revelations to face and decisions to make.

Warnings - Angst, reader and Vader duel. Nothing much really.

Wordcount - 450+

A/N - Inspired by THE scene in Obi-Wan Kenobi. I'm enjoying writing these small imagines(?), it's helping me write while also fulfilling my current obsession with Anakin. If Vader or Windu are ooc, no they are not. Hope you all like it!

Masterlist • Leave a tip! • Taglist Form

"It's over." His voice echoes from behind you. In the dark of the night, he is nothing but an extension of the shadows, a billowing phantom lit in red. "The chase ends now."

"It doesn't have to be this way," you say, unclipping your lightsaber from your belt. Come home, Anakin, you want to say. But you're not sure you have a home anymore. You're not sure if there's anything left of Anakin in this suited ghost. You're not sure if there ever was an Anakin at all.

He moves forth, every bit of warrior, lightsaber flashing above his head, and then it's on. Your own purple lightsaber comes alive in your hands, rising to meet his strike. You use his momentum against him to bring your conjoined sabers down towards the ground, then twirl, aiming a hit at his torso. He deflects. Then goes for your exposed face. You block the hit and reach a stalemate, the muscles in your arm setting on fire as you hold against his strength. His mask is lit in red and purple. You peer into his reflective lenses. Anakin, please.

His other hand flicks up, thrusting towards you. You gasp, the Force propelling you backwards and into the base of a cliff. Jagged rocks slam against your shoulders and back. It's sheer luck that the cliff doesn't crumble on top of you. Breathe, you think. Get up.

"Anakin Skywalker burned on Mustafar." He nears you, his footsteps stirring the loose gravel scattered beneath his feet. "He is long dead."

You stare up at his visage, the red of his lightsaber so close to your skin. You were so tired; so unfathomably tired. How long had you been running now? From and towards this suited man? With hope that maybe the rumours were false, the whispers untrue? With hope that maybe all hope was not lost?

Give up, a voice whispers. Give in.

Give in to what? The dark side? To hopelessness?

"We fight for the greater good, for the people who can't protect themselves. We fight for hope." Master Windu had taught you. He seemed to be there then, in this dark cloudy night, a soft breeze on your skin, image of a soft reserved smile, a gentle hand that corrects your stance. "Jedi must always fight. For the galaxy depends on us."

You knew what Vader wanted. He would not have kept you alive for any reason other than to lure you to the dark side. Unfortunately, in a world so cruel and divided, getting what we want is next to impossible.

You raise your hands, pain throbbing through your shoulders, and call upon the Force. The cliff breaks above, raining down on your still figures in a shower of rocks and dust. If you don't get what you want, neither will he.

"Goodbye, Vader."

#anakin skywalker x reader #darth vader x reader #anakin skywalker #darth vader #star wars anakin #anakin angst #star wars x reader #star wars #darkly and divinely written #hayden christensen #hayden christensen x reader #star wars prequels

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wangxianficfinder · 1 year ago

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Fic finder

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1. Hi! I looked everywhere for this fic so I’m afraid it’s gone. It was on ao3. Omega Wei Wuxian is captured by Wen Chao during a battle where he sets fire to a stronghold and meets Alpha Lan Zhan while they are both prisoners. The fic is mostly Wei Ying’s war efforts using his extremely violent heats to his advantage. Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen feature prominently as do the Wen siblings. It was a long-ish multi-chapter completed work. Thank you! @sicklyscribe

FOUND! I Will Not Go Gentle into the Quiet Night by TriviasFolly (M, 89k, WangXian, A/B/O Dynamics, Omega WWX, Alpha LWJ, no cultivation au, Vaugely Historical AU?, royal au, War AU, Slow Burn, Attempted Rape, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Murder)

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2. Hey, I'm looking for a fic where lwj summons an incubus or succubus wei wuxian. It is a bottomji fic. @imstillthinkingaboutithmm

FOUND! Lan Wangji's Fullproof Guide on How (NOT) to Summon a Demon by Howtosolveit (E, 3k, WangXian, Porn With Plot, but not a lot of plot, Incubus WWX, Demons, wwx has a tail, Wings, Interspecies Sex, Bottom LWJ/Top WWX, Anal Sex, Crack, Filthy, size queen lwj, Canon Divergence)

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3. hi! im looking for a fic where lan wangji and wei wuxian date as teenagers before lqr finds out and sends lwj to london with lxc

FOUND? Tempo Rubato by Spodumene (E, 107k, WangXian, Modern AU, Angst with a Happy Ending, Romance, Persuasion au, Separations, Mutual Pining, Depression, Miscommunication, Emotional Roller Coaster, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Reconciliation, Eventual Smut, Jane Austen Fusion, Underage Kissing)

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4. Hello mods! Thank you so much for all of your hard work. I'm looking for a wangxian fic that is set in the modern Omegaverse where WY is an omega and LZ is an alpha, and they're already an established couple at the beginning of the fic. The fic starts when both of them wake up in the middle of the night to the sound of chaos, as an omega uprising against the alphas has started, and their is a coup going on against the government and they're assasinating alphas. Then Wangxian meet up with Sangcheng and XuanLi to a safe house where they plan to move to another country for safety. I remember a WY thinking or saying something along the lines of, "It's my turn to protect you" to LZ.

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5. hi, need help finding a fic title. it should be quite popular. modern setting, wwx has powers to open and close... rifts? he and lwj go through one and get stranded in canon setting during postcanon. thanks for the help

FOUND! a tide in two seas by occultings (microcomets) (E, 81k, wangxian, modern w/ magic, parallel universes, post-canon, getting together, pining, case fic)

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6. good day! for the fic finder, can u guys help me find this fics: A) idk if its a jiang bashing but during the competition, wwx broke jwy's sword then he asked his father to have another one but his father didnt gave him any. then i think there's also a scene where jyl is also included in the competition that somehow she managed to form a core to fight but its not that strong.

B) i cant remember this one clearly but wwx stays with the lans at some point and he doesnt give a fvck with jyl. jyl wants wwx to come back to them (jiangs) but wwx knows his worth this time.

6A)

FOUND! Hua Xianle by Tiffany_Guinne (Not rated, 170k, hualian, wangxian, TGCF, canon divergence, not Jiang friendly, madam lan lives, WWX adopted by hualian, WWX with different name, overprotective hualian, hurt WWX, WIP)

6B)

FOUND! Never Again by Hauntcats (T, 67k, WQ & WWX & WN, JC & WWX, wangxian, graphic depictions of violence, major character death, Canon Divergence, AngstGolden Core Transfer Fix-It, I love Wen Qing and Wei Ying working together, Time Travel Fix-It, Not JC Friendly, Dark, BAMF WWX, mentions of abuse, Canon JC traits, Not Everyone Dies au, XY doesn't have a happy ending)

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7. Hi mods!! Love this blog and thank you for all that you do! ❤️ I read a fic a long time ago where at the climax Wei Wuxian formed a core from purified resentful energy. Can't find it again to save my sanity, would you be able to help?

FOUND? Sunder by naqaashi (E, 32k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Soulmates, Golden Core Reveal, Golden Core Transfer Fix-It, WWX Has a New Golden Core, Heavy Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Denial of Feelings, Mutual Pining, Emotional Sex, Porn with Feelings, PWP, Light BDSM, Fix-It, POV LWJ, YLLZ WWX, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Top/Bottom Versatile | Switch WangXian, Light Dom/sub, Explicit Sexual Content, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Grief/Mourning, Five Stages of Grief, Suicidal Thoughts) the last chapter has a scene similar to the description

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8. hii!!! i’m in the need for a ficfinder!! the fic was basically wwx tries to call lwj because he thinks he got drugged at a party, but he doesn’t answer since lwj is having dinner with his brother and uncle and they aren’t allowed to have their phones, so he calls lxc instead and he answers.

lwj and lxc go into the bathroom where wwx is hiding and find someone trying to take advantage of him, so they beat him up. this is all i remember unfortunately!! :((

(modern setting), tsvm!! :D

FOUND! Please Let Me Take Care of You by kayceebabe (G, 9k, wangxian, LXC & LWJ, LXC & WWX, modern, Hurt/Comfort, Getting Together, Sexual Assaultish, kinda assault, drugged WWX, big brother LXC, Nightmares, the horrifying ordeal of being known, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Hurt WWX, crying WWX)

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9. Hi! Hope u'all having a good day! Is anyone of u know a fic where lwj got wwx pregnant and he didnt know about it. Wwx sent letters but lwj never got it because of lxz.

FOUND! Nothing but your heart by airinshaw (E, 21k, WangXian, Modern AU, A/B/O Dynamics, Implied Mpreg, First Time, Getting Together, Angst and Drama, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anal Sex, Whump, Breeding Kink)

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10. Hi! Can you help me find these 2 fics.

A) I remember this fic is a dark lwj. The lans ask Jyl’s hand in marriage for lwj however, since the jiang family know lwj as a bloodwar, they instead sent Wwx (disguised as female) instead of jyl. I remember when it was on their wedding night, lwj saw wwx’s robe covered in blood and discover wwx got a lot scars/wound on his back and learned that wwx is a boy.

B) Xicheng where Lxc and jwy are lovers but they got into fight to the point jwy thought it was better he was gone. Then, i remember jwy doing sacrifice soul summoning (like how MXY summons Wwx) to summon MY/JGY. It was successful.

10A)

FOUND? The Bloodthirsty Prince and his Bride by moss_enthusiast (M, 27k, WangXian, Angst with a Happy Ending Violence, Anxiety, Royalty, Strangers to Lovers, Arranged Marriage, Self-Worth Issues, Self-Esteem Issues, Whipping, Blood and Gore, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Past Abuse, Child Abuse, Physical Abuse, Blood and Violence, Dark LWJ, Fluff, Angst and Feels, Hurt/Comfort, Shock, Anxiety Attacks)

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11. hello! I'm looking for a wangxian fic where wei ying dies at qiongqi path and lan zhan hears about it went to burial mounds but he was too late. after that, song lan appeared at jin lintai with wen yuan and a-yuan went to lan zhan shouting rich gege. when a-yuan learns that wei ying is dead he keeps telling that his xian-gege is now asleep like his parents and sister. and then when a-yuan saw the golden robes of madam jin, jin guangshan he screamed and kept saying bad men. @zeanclr

FOUND? @lovelyiknow said: #11 from the most recent fic finder is When I’m Gone by qiankun_pouch, it’s mostly finished but was deleted at 29/30? 31? smth like that. I have the pdf if anon wants it!

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12. looking for a fic where lwj gets tortured, and is rescued. one thing I remember is that it was second person pov, and it was relatively short. also, lwj kinda had amnesia- as in the torture made him forget or something. thanks!

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13. hello ! i hope y’all are doing well. i wanted to see if anyone could find this one fic that i read ages ago, but i can’t remember the title. but basically, i think it’s where wwx gets his old body back after being cursed by a fox(?) spirit - like he transforms back. and i think somewhere in the story, the juniors are there and they ask sizhui what wwx originally looked like and when he draws them a picture, they think he’s lying bc wwx looks too good in the drawing !! it’s been sitting at the back of my brain, so any help would be much appreciated:)) thank youuu <;3 @slytherin-trash

FOUND? Transcend by covalentbonds (Not Rated, 7k, WIP, WangXian, Post-Canon, Fluff and Humor, Smut)

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14. hi!! I’m not sure if this is the right way to ask, if it isn’t, please correct me! Im pretty sure I had seen a fic on here where the description said that lwj just kind of showed up at wwx and a’yuans door and they were just kind of like ok sure why not. I’m sorry I don’t have more details my app crashed just after I saw it😭😭would you happen to have an idea of what it was?? Thank you so much😭

FOUND! Across the street to another life by danegen (M, 99k, WangXian, Modern AU, unleashed au, Family Fluff, Set in America, Hurt/Comfort, Past Child Abuse, Addiction, Crime, Amnesia, Ableist Language, another fridged mother, POV Alternating, past wwx/ofc, past wwx/omc, Medium parent YZY, A-Yuan is wwx's biological son, Musicians, Happy Ending)

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15. I’m sorry to ask this but I can’t find this fic and I searched it all day 🐇🐇🐇

A) I think, lwj and wwx are able to achieve immortality or are trying to achieve it and idk nor remember if it’s a omega verse or just magic bs but at some point in the story wwx asks how many children lwj would like to have and he answers 10 to which wwx thinks is joking but lwj is all serious about it XD

B) And also a fic where ylz ends up as a Jin and he’s usually in a garden surrounded by guards

Jiang Yanli is still alive and I think Jin zixuan too, but when wwx talks to JY he’s always formal and she can tell something is going on, there’s also wangxian and I think JGY is the one behind everything under his father’s commands

Thank you 🙇‍♀️

15A)

FOUND? Besieged by Ariaste (M, 11k, WangXian, WWX POV, wwx's avuncular powers, Teenage Drama, Humor, Feelings, Fluff) the second work of "A Civil Combpaign", the talk about lwj wanting more children surprised wwx, who had kinda jokingly suggested.

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16. Hi there, looking for a fic that had a 4/5 times wwx something 1 time lwj something format. Maybe based on jealousy or people hitting on them? One of the times was the head disciple of yunmeng jiang drugging and almost assaulting wwx but jiang cheng saves him. Please help, thank you!

FOUND! Cotton Wool by incendir (M, 34k, wangxian, LJY/OMC, JL/LSZ, JC & WWX)

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17. Hi! I’m looking for a fic when lwj is intersex and a river nymph I believe! wwx drinks water from lwj’s home and now he has to grant a wish. wwx at first thought that the price would be sxx but lwj actually asks him to build a rabbit hutch, a fence, and a house throughout the fic. This fic takes place over a course of a year or so and by the end they are married to live together! I remember this fic so clearly I just can’t seem to find it again. Thank you!

FOUND! Water Sweeter by deliciousblizzardshark (E, 8k, WangXian, Historical, Rogue Cultivator WWX, Some kind of fairy or spirit or something LWJ, Intersex LWJ, Intersex Character, Fluff and Humor, Crack Treated Seriously, Thirst Trap WWX, Topping from the Bottom, WWX's Canonical Cottage-core Fantasy, First Time, Domestic Fluff, Vaginal Sex)

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18. hi so I am looking for this one fic and all I remember is that some of the wen remnants were bloodline jiangs

Thank you @princess-nettle

~*~

19. Hi! 🤗 For the next Fic Finder, I wanted to ask about a fic I read some time ago, and now I can't find it. It's a fic where LWJ and WWX have sex in Xuanwu cave and WWX gets pregnant. After that they separated and WWX thinks he have lost the baby, but he didn't lost the baby and WWX goes into labor in a fight with the bad Wens.

I hope you can help me find it! Thank you! 😊💜 @wangxiansgirl

FOUND! Impermanence, Transience, Permanence by Best Bepsy (BepsyGray) (E, 39k, wangxian, canon divergence, unplanned pregnancy, mpreg, gore, sunshot campaign, assumed miscarriage, medical procedures, childbirth, golden core reveal)

~*~

20. I'm looking for a short fic, modern AU, mpreg, where Wei Ying doesn't know he's pregnant and gives birth on the bedroom floor. I only remember that and that he decided to walk home from work when he was feeling ill (still not realizing he was pregnant and in labor). Thanks, you are ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ @ilolatthis

FOUND! Surprise Baby! by trulywicked (M, 10k, WangXian, Modern with Magic, Modern Cultivation, Mpreg, Unplanned Pregnancy, Accidental Baby Acquisition, Didn't know he was pregnant, birthing scene, Little bit of blood, A/B/O Dynamics, Inspired by Twitter, Established Relationship, Fluff)

NOT FOUND! Blood, Google, and Love by Prairie_Grass (E, 4k, WangXian, Modern with Magic, they were roommates, A/B/O Dynamics, Getting Together, Mpreg, semi graphic giving birth, Alpha LWJ, Omega wwx, Intersex Omegas, (or you could head-canon WWX as trans if you wanted), Fluff and Angst, the run-on sentences are on-purpose because WWX and LWJ are both:, neurodiverse characters, slightly traumatic birth)

~*~

#wangxian #mdzs #wangxian fic finder #wangxian fic search #the untamed #wangxianficfinder #long post

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quillthrillswriting · 26 days ago

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my (quillthills) updated ao3 ATLA masterlist

kataang:

"the teenager in the iceberg"- multichap

i feel like a lot of people have wondered how different atla as a whole would be if aang had been older, so in this au, aang was frozen at age 16! naturally, i just had to flip aang being after katara from day one to katara now having a crush on aang from the very beginning. essentially, to recap. ATLA aang aged up AU fic. kataang. where she falls first, and he falls harder. also, cmon. i just had to write a new version of the scene where zuko and aang meet.

all at once, everything is different, now that i see you:

stuck in her tower for all eighteen years of her life, katara had come to peace with her own lonely, repetitive existence, her only company being her mother, hama. at least, she *was* at peace, until a certain airbending thief happened along her tower, caught her eye, and forever shifted the path of her destiny. OR: kataangled. and yes, i came up with that brilliant wordplay all on my own. for day two of kataang week 2024: protectiveness/ bodyguard

and i promise, that one day i'll feel fine:

after an upsetting council meeting in which aang is painfully reminded of how little the other nations understand of air nomad culture, katara is there to remind him that he isn't as alone as he thinks OR: aang & katara friends to lovers post-war 👀 for day two of kataang week 2024: cultural exchange/culture sharing/revival of traditions

if happiness were a tangible thing, it would be you:

Katara is tired of the iron grip that Emperor Ozai has over the kingdom of Rosas, tired of watching him spread his influence across the mainland. When Sokka comes home from the palace with the knowledge of an impending tragedy, Katara is left to wish on the stars in hope that they will offer salvation. They do, in the form of the Avatar, a boy transformed into a wishing star almost a century earlier. Her wish for hope is fulfilled, in the form of a boy known to be the embodiment of hope. Will that same hope be enough to stand against a man powered by the dreams and wishes of an entire kingdom?

you with the dark curls, you with the watercolour eyes:

Avatar Aang had been told time and time again that to venture across the surface of the sea when the moon had risen and claimed what rightfully belonged to it was to sign your own death certificate. And yet, he found himself here, at the water’s edge, skipping stones, lost in thought. To be the Avatar had once meant something, years before. Before the four tribes had separated, scattered to the ends of the earth. Those who formed fire itself chased the other tribes from the surface lands, those who could move rock and metal burrowed underground, those who flowed with the air sent ships with great sails across the sea until they reached towering mountain spires. Those who bent water, who bent blood… they retreated to the depths of the sea, and with time, they became a part of it. Legend told of the way in which the Water tribes had adapted, two legs smoothed into razor sharp scales and voices twisted into something dark and luring. Now, they were the monsters known as sirens.

you're in the wind, i'm in the water:

aang has only just been crowned as the avatar, the king of all four elements, and already, he struggles to find his footing in a society without any of his people. a dance with princess katara of the water tribe, and a subsequent escape to the palace gardens, helps him find that footing. OR: the first of many kataang regency-era works ♔

so i will go to secret gardens in my mind:

after he and katara's escape to the palace gardens the night prior, avatar aang, the king of all four elements, cannot stop thinking of the beautiful dark-haired water princess. misunderstandings and deliberate deception constructed by regent ozai makes the reconciliation of these star-crossed lovers more complicated than necessary. OR: the second of many kataang regency-era works ♔

well, my (not-yet) boyfriend's in a band:

in which the gaang are in a band, and when it comes time for them to write an original song to submit to the republic city music festival, aang is...suspiciously good at writing love song lyrics OR kataang, if they were in an indie band and aang didn't know how to communicate his feelings except through writing love songs

i'm no longer a kid, and everything has changed:

after aang falls to azula's lightning strike in the caves of the earth kingdom, toph, sokka, and katara are left to pick up the pieces. katara's healing abilities are put to the test in the weeks that follow, but she finds herself seeing aang in a different light as she realizes how much he's endured since emerging from the iceberg only months before. OR: the weeks-long gap between the end of season two and the beginning of season three of ATLA is finally at least partially expanded upon. ALSO OR: a bit of aangst, or kataangst, if you will

can you see me using everything to hold back?

Katara's life after saving the world was filled with a whirlwind romance with Fire Lord Zuko that became a loveless, controlling marriage she is no longer happy in. After finding out the extent to which her husband has betrayed her trust, she escapes to find home in the person she has missed most during her time in the Fire Nation. OR: The common Zutara trope of "Zuko helps Katara escape an unhealthy relationship with Aang" is flipped entirely and completely on its head.

my heart is yours, it's you that i hold on to:

The war has been ended, Ozai has been rendered helpless, and Zuko has reclaimed the Fire Nation with the promise of peace. Everything that Aang has been working towards since the moment Katara freed him from the iceberg has been done. He's saved the world. Now, all that's left is to confess to his forever girl. OR Aang wakes up the morning after him and his friends saved the entire world, and the first (and only) thing he can think about is Katara. When they get a chance to talk, the two take a walk down memory lane.

the avatar's adventures in parenting:

aang being a bad parent is CHARACTER ASSASSINATION and i won't stand for it. i just know that him and katara wouldn't be focused on just passing on bending, but the *teachings* and ideals of both of their tribes to all their children, regardless of bending status. OR, aang and katara become parents and aang finds out that parenting is his proudest achievement, more so than stopping a hundred year war or holding the position of avatar

i'm trying to tell you something, something that i already said:

katara speaks to each member of the gaang individually and finds out that aang has been head over heels with her for years and no one ever bothered telling her. this takes place after the fire lord is defeated, but in my version, they never kissed in the finale:oo katara is basically dumb in terms of love and so is aang and they are peak miscommunication trope and theres too much zutara content and not enough kataang OR katara interrogates each of her friends (toph, sokka, and zuko) and comes to the conclusion that she has lived for years without the kind of love most people wish for their entire lives

yukka:

there's a star-man, waiting in the sky:

a flash-fiction atla modern AU in which yue passes away from cancer early in life, and sokka becomes an astronaut so that he can go to space and be close to the moon she always loved so much ☾

shining down on me:

sokka can't stop thinking about yue. she comes to him in his dreams, and try as he might, he just can't move on. inspired by the song "my love, mine all mine" by mitski "moon, tell me if i could send up my heart to you? so, when i die, which i must do, could it shine down here, with you?"

if any of these speak to you, they can all be found on my ao3 account:)<3 happy reading!!!

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profoundbondfanfic · 21 days ago

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Hi! I want to find a fic that I read like ten years ago maybe and I don't remember much about it, let alone the title.

But it was like a high school au where Dean and Cas were friends. There was a scene where they were hanging out in Dean's room and Cas kisses Dean and Dean panics and then Cas panics and he leaves and I think they don't speak for a while after that.

I know it's not much, I wish I could remember more, but if you know something like this, or have similar recommendation, I would appreciate it!!

Hey! Most of us are so sure we already read this somewhere which is so frustrating because none of us could pinpoint an exact fic. However, we believe these are similar to what you described:

Suburban War by squeemonster

Moving to Lawrence with his family is the most significant event of Dean Winchester's life. It brings a stability he's never known, and the only thing to have more of a profound impact on him is Castiel Novak: the two boys become fast friends the day they meet. But as Dean grows older, he dreams for something beyond the monotony and constraints of suburbia, and he is haunted by the inexplicable feeling that he was born for something more than what this life offers. As he struggles to reconcile the person he yearns to be with what his family and friends expect of him, a fateful choice exposes just how fragile his life in the suburbs is, and possibly risks losing the best friend he's ever had.

The Ones We Choose by lightmyway

After telling his family he’s gay, Castiel winds up homeless. With the help of his best friend, Cas finds himself a home and a new family. He also finds himself in love with his best friend. A love that endures no matter the circumstances of their lives, even in the wake of Dean’s rejection. Despite knowing how Cas feels, Dean clings to his best friend through the years. In high school and college. As roommates. Through Cas becoming a firefighter and his own journey to become a business owner. With shared time and space, Dean begins to see Cas in a new light. His attraction grows, along with his feelings. Letting those feelings spill out one night, Dean changes the trajectory of their lives. As their relationship grows, they are confronted by Cas’s past and must relive a painful and damaging event in Dean’s life. But it is the life-changing fire, which is their greatest challenge, making them face their deepest fears and test the strength of their love.

To Build a Home by intothesilentland

Twenty-three years of head-over-heels, devastating devotion and love, love, love for the man with bright eyes and dark hair. Fourteen years of friends, best friends, of always together. One moment of rejection. Nine years of apart. Nine years of heartbreak, nine years of continents away, of not speaking, of no acknowledgement, no interaction, no closure, no peace. No happiness. Nine years of Dean’s life entering motions, going through them, constant, cold and mechanic, like clockwork. Nine years of alone. God. Nine years. A lot has changed. And yet Dean still loves Cas just the same. Even if his heart hurts all kinds of different. On the day of Jimmy Novak's funeral, Dean sees Cas for the first time in nine years. He adored Castiel the moment he met him, at only four years old. But after fourteen years of friendship destroyed by one moment of heartbreak, and after nine years of silence, Dean is convinced Cas will want nothing to do with him. And it's killing him.

#asks #lost fic #high school #reunion

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pinespittinink · 6 months ago

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🌿 pinespittinink reintro 🌿

hello and welcome to my blog 💌 i'm easing myself back into writeblr and hope to meet some new people and continue to vibe as i always have on here. this is not my main blog, so while i may follow you, it won't be from this account. i don't follow or engage with minors; all my work is adult and queernorm unless otherwise indicated.

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a little bit about me: catherine ~ she/her ~ capricorn ~ pan & poly ~ 28 ~ 18+ only ➡ about page ⬅

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i've been around here sporadically since 2018 and always tend to come home; i like prompts and ask games and tags and fun things. i write love stories in sci-fi and fantasy settings, and i'm working towards traditional publishing always. currently i'm querying my adult fantasy standalone, The Great Glavenisean Theater (The Night Circus x House of Leaves). i enjoy writing nsfw content, lush scene setting, and detailed emotional headspaces.

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🖋 my wips 🖋

the great glavenisean theater 🎭 {wip intro} {general tag} spec fic/fantasy standalone. a tailor goes to the big city and gets swept up by a phantasmagorical theater with an interdimensional portal in the stage, gets a crush on a cute guy working the rigging, and maybe starts to lose his mind as shit gets Weird™️

in the deep of the trees 🍃 {wip intro} {general tag} high fantasy, romantic subplot, standalone. (bi4bi otp). a social-climber uses subterfuge, blackmail, and murder to achieve his ambitions, and the court eccentric that he's in love with gets weirder and weirder when a new discovery is brought back by an exploration team.

star white 🌟 {wip intro} {general tag} romantic space fantasy, standalone. (gay otp) one man searches for the love of his life after he's been abducted by sentient dark matter, and spends millions of years travelling through space with a semi-organic AI ship.

solene's verse 🌊 epic fantasy, duology. (t4t otp) a young self-taught wizard makes a ton of bad decisions, as a group of ragtag youths from the cesspit of the world try to rescue the elder brother of one of their own from a tower of cultists.

the revenant (working title) dark fantasy, duology(???? who knows). a one-woman-war-machine who cannot die fights alongside her childhood best friend and lover and their loyal band of vagabonds to bring down the corrupt royalty desecrating their kingdom

the wasteland (working title) weird spec fic/dark fantasy, novella. a lousy hot-tempered fire elemental and a shitty light necromancer embark on the world's worst walking roadtrip to a castle on the wasteland falling away at their feet.

[odyssey solomon's wip - mad max fury road x the road x the locked tomb, post-apocalyptic fantasy. father and son against the world plus a weird shapeshifting bitch]

[gentle poly cathedral wip - romantic fantasy, novella. gargoyles and psalms and stained glass, my beloveds]

[soft poly space wip - romantic sci-fi, duology. androids and black holes and librarians, oh my!]

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🎐tag guide🎐

my writing 🌸 my edits 🌸 my poetry 🌸 sap spill 🌸 {original text posts, not always writing related} uwu romance 🌸 {umbrella tag for everything love and romance related} trope talk🌸 {umbrella tag. overlaps often with uwu romance} character work🌸 {what it says on the tin} compilations🌸 {tumblr web weaving posts} i live here🌸 {stuff i jive with on a molecular level}

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[ Romantic and indulgent prose full of filigree, worlds full of whimsy, mystery and a hint of danger, a core of tenderness rooted at the heart of every story. Your writing is always penned in the manner of a love letter not just to the craft or even as an ode to romance but to the subject of love in itself. ] – @aninkwellofnectar 🌹

“for whom / and to whom all this love, / all this light falling.”

–@ragewrites, Film Still, for pinespittinink.

#writeblr #writeblr intro #writeblr community #writers on tumblr #writeblr reintro #this is doubling as my new pinned post #*waves shyly*#sap spill

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dr-futbol-blog · 3 months ago

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The Siege II, Pt. 5

Next, there is an honest time-skip. Where we left off with Sheppard staring at the Colonel in the gate control platform, we now find Sheppard walking into the hologram room where the Colonel is already waiting for him. Sheppard tells him "You wanted to see me, Colonel?" which means that some time must have passed between the two scenes. This is also indicated by a shot of the outside view of Atlantis, letting us know that night has fallen. Sheppard is still wearing his full gear, P-90 and all, the same as he was wearing in the earlier scene where he was fresh off the jumper. What ever he might have done in the meantime, he seems to have been fully clothed.

The Colonel tells him that he wants to learn about the Ancients and how they lost the war which is what Sheppard then proceeds to show him via the holographic projection of the galaxy. The doors of the room start closing before Sheppard has even moved to the controls which seems to be indication of the city responding to his thoughts. The way Sheppard tells the story, he knows it by heart. And we know that many of the things he mentions are things he has explicitly heard or learned from McKay over the course of the season:

For several more years, the Atlanteans were able to hold off their attackers, relying on the city's shield and superior weaponry, including the weapons satellite system. No matter how many wraith ships they destroyed, more kept coming here. They could win almost every battle but they saw no way to win the war, so they submerged the city and left. That's it. That's the story.

It is similar to the holographic presentation they heard in Rising (S01E01), being one of the very first things they ever did together, and when we compare the two, his retelling of the tale is much more similar to what we heard McKay recap at the beginning of the previous episode, especially since the satellite systems he mentions had only been discovered by Brandan Gaul later in The Defiant One (S01E12). The original message said:

Then one day our people stepped foot upon a dark world where a terrible enemy slept. Never before had we encountered beings with powers that rivalled our own. In our over-confidence, we were unprepared and outnumbered. The enemy fed upon defenseless human worlds like a great scourge until finally only Atlantis remained. This city's great shield was powerful enough to withstand their terrible weapons but here we were besieged for many years. In an effort to save the last of our kind, we submerged our great city into the ocean. The Atlantis Stargate was the one and only link back to Earth from this galaxy, and those who remained used it to return to that world that was once home. There, the last survivors of Atlantis lived out the remainder of their lives. This city was left to slumber, in the hope that our kind would one day return.

The Colonel seems to observe Sheppard as much as he listens to his presentation. He is trying to get a read on both their tactical situation and the character of this man that has been in charge of the expedition. The view he gets from Sheppard does not seem to be very optimistic:

Sheppard: The picture is pretty clear. Everett: So you think this is a no-win situation? Sheppard: No, sir, What I mean is, even if we beat them this time, they're gonna come back.

He files off Sheppard's assessment of the situation to think about for later. The real reason he had asked Sheppard to meet him in private was because he wanted to talk about his friend, Colonell Sumner.

Everett: Major, I think I should tell you that Colonel Marshall Sumner was a very good friend of mine. We served together a lot of years. You know, I cannot for the life of me figure how it is that you could go as far as you did and not save him, how you could get that close... Sheppard: By the time I reached Colonel Sumner-- Everett: Worse, you admit to firing the shot that killed him. Sheppard: Because I believe that's what he wanted me to do.

Having to justify what he had to do to his superior officer to someone that had not only known him but had obviously cared about him is a living nightmare for Sheppard because the things that Col. Everett tells him are thoughts that he has had himself, repeatedly, ever since it happened. He wants to look anywhere else but at the Colonel but he thinks that he owes the man at least to look him in the eye, so he forces himself to do just that. He did what he felt he needed to do but he had no excuse for it. Even though he wishes he were anywhere else, he is trapped in this situation. The Colonel digs even deeper and Sheppard seems to feel as though he does at the very least owe this man an explanation.

Everett: You knew him that well, did you? Sheppard: You weren't there, sir. Everett: No, but I wish for his sake I was. Sheppard: There isn't a night that doesn't go by where that moment doesn't play in my head. And every time it does--

They are interrupted by an alarm and Sheppard automatically starts to contact the control room when he realizes that he's not the one in charge any more, and he allows the Colonel to take command of the situation.

It seems as though there is a wave of darts coming toward the city, their attack imminent. The Colonel orders Sheppard to get to the control chair while he joins the others in the control room. They do get to finish their conversation later but they never return to what Sheppard was about to say here. We are never told what he means.

Sheppard doesn't say that he dreams about the moment, only that it plays out in his head. If we assume that Sheppard and McKay have been sleeping together, sleeping in the sense of actually sleeping, and that he has had trouble sleeping lately (as by his own confession in The Gift S01E18) but he hasn't been having nightmares himself, these thoughts may well be the result of that. Of having grown close to McKay, of trying to fall asleep with that man in his arms, which would trigger all of his fears of losing him, of being unable to protect him, of failing to save him.

When he was forced to take the Colonel out he didn't just end his life, he unleashed the wraith, all of them, to wreak havoc on the entire galaxy. He did that. He failed so spectacularly in his mind that no one in the history of the human kind has failed as hard. And now, for the past weeks, the wraith had been inching ever closer to them and there seemed to be nothing he could do but to hold McKay tighter in his arms at night. So yes, he probably did play out that moment in his mind all the time, in the dead of night, generally needing much less sleep than McKay but still wanting to be there with him and for him when he went to bed because McKay had a hard enough time getting any sleep anyway.

And there, he would while away the time, watching his uneasy sleep, listening to his breathing, feeling his heart beating under his palm. Going over whether he could have done anything differently, and the ways in which the world, his world, might be different if he had. Would he still have McKay in his arms if he had succeeded in saving the Colonel? What would he do if he was ever forced to make the same choice over his own 'very good friend,' if the wraith ever got their hands on McKay? He hopes never to find out.

As Sheppard runs to the control chair platform where McKay is already waiting for him, trying to get the chair started, these are the thoughts running through his mind. It hadn't yet been 24 hours that he thought that he had lost McKay for good, that his own decision not to accompany him to the satellite had cost him his life. That he had lost the one thing he now knew beyond the shadow of a doubt he couldn't live without, did not want to live without. It is much more this inner turmoil of his than the urgency of their defensive situation that makes him come across as testy as he takes his seat:

Sheppard: McKay, fire it up! McKay: It'll take a minute! Sheppard: We don't have a minute!

He calls him McKay, and it is the first thing he says to him. They are alone in the chair platform, and even if technicians from McKay's team had been present, they surely would have heard Sheppard refer to him as Rodney before. Alone together, he would usually have called him Rodney. The fact that he doesn't now might be because of the arrival of the Colonel and the company of marines, forcing them to act even more carefully around one another, and just having decided to call him McKay across the board might be a result of this. But in this situation, given where Sheppard was coming from, it might also be a way of creating some distance between them.

It is not something he usually even tolerates between them but right now, having to focus most of all in keeping this man alive, he needs that distance. He needs to focus. In order to be able to protect the man he loves, he can't be distracted by his presence. The last time we saw him acting like this was at the beginning of Sanctuary (S01E14) when he was expecting McKay to come up with an immediate fix to the problem facing them, and he was calling him McKay then too. This was following and directly caused by the events of Hot Zone (S01E13), at the end of which Weir had accused him of allowing his feelings to compromise his decisions, having received a talking to from a superior just as he had now.

Even in in spite of all this, Sheppard turns to look back at McKay as he takes a seat on the command chair, clearly wanting to look at the man while addressing him, to see him. He is never too busy not to look at McKay. If he can't look at him when they are facing a life or death situation, what even is the point?

McKay, of course, has no idea where Sheppard is coming from or what is going on inside him, not even having had time to see the man's face to read his emotional state from his expression, from his eyes, the set of his jaw, the slant of his mouth. While Sheppard was able to look at him, he has to keep his eyes fixed on the generator to get it working for Sheppard, to make operating the chair safe for Sheppard, focusing on the most important thing he can think of doing.

McKay: Look, this generator can only power the chair because it operates in a state of barely-controlled overload. Sheppard: Just get the damned thing working. McKay: That's what I'm trying to do!

McKay tries to explain to Sheppard what he is doing because he knows that usually that is something Sheppard wants from him. With anyone else, he wouldn't bother and would just tell them to shut up while he's trying to work. But in spite of the both of them clearly again picking up a conversation that was on-going and had only ever been on pause, Sheppard isn't being his usual self, and it's not the urgency of the situation that is making him snap, it is his emotional state. McKay does not understand what is going on with him but his response indicates that he is affected by it, that he might expect this kind of behaviour from other people but not from Sheppard. He is doing his best, he is working as fast as he can, he is trying to make this as safe as possible for Sheppard, and surely he should understand that. Yes, they are under a time element but he had told Sheppard previously (The Defiant One) that snapping doesn't help. As soon as he can, he has the generator up and working, and he steps aside to let Sheppard do what only he can:

McKay: You've got power--go!

Sheppard is able to quiet his mind enough to be able to ejaculate release and control the drones, and it's likely the chair connects him to the city in more ways than just giving him control of the weapons. He seems to let out a breath as the chair leans him back. When he had done this previously, on the Antarctic base, when he had first met McKay, it hadn't just been one of the strangest experiences of his life, it was something that had entirely changed the course of his life. Because he had seated himself in the chair, he was here now, connected to the city of the Ancients. And it was McKay that had given him this gift both now and back then. Instead of telling him to get away from the chair, McKay had asked him to think about where they were in the solar system, which had been as easy as breathing. And so was controlling the drones now. Even if he hadn't come to love McKay with every fiber of his being, he owed him everything for this gift alone.

They manage to fight off the wraith for the time being, parts of the city still on fire as a new day dawns. They have all gathered in the control platform to discuss the events of the previous night. McKay seems to be nearing his breaking point:

McKay: Power's out in sections of the city. The long range scanners and the internal sensors are down but we're working on it. Everett: I wanna know the status of those hive ships ASAP. McKay: They're coming, that's their status! Tomorrow, the day after, the day after that. Eventually they'll get here. Whether we're here to greet them or not is another matter. Weir: Rodney...

McKay is wearing a belt, something that he was not wearing previously, presumably holding a hand weapon. They were arming all of the scientists earlier but whether Sheppard had something to do with him now wearing it, we do not know.

What we can see is that Sheppard seems to be there mainly to watch McKay work. He tracks him with his eyes when he's at another desk and has positioned him so that he has the best view of McKay's work station. Make note that Sheppard could well be standing on the other side of the table like everybody else, he has no need to be this close to McKay. Out of everyone standing in the control room, he is the closest to him.

McKay seems to be in a notably irascible mood. He is more like "always like this" McKay, as Zelenka had described him when he was chewing out his team during The Storm (S01E10), than he has been in a long time. Yes, he seems to be exhausted, as is explicitly pointed out by Col. Everett later. Yes, they had all just experienced a very tense situation. Yes, they have been living under the shadow of the impending attack for weeks now, and yes, his desperation over being unable to come up with anything at all that might save them or even be of any help at all is getting to him. But he also seems to be still feeling raw from what happened between himself and Sheppard earlier.

This is all but confirmed by the fact that he quickly glances over at Sheppard when he says "Whether we're here to greet them or not," Sheppard not having greeted him when he ran into the chair platform. They have had precious little time to reconnect since he got back, and the death of Peter Grodin is still very much on his conscience. He takes all of this out on the Colonel because he seems like the easiest target, he's the stranger whose opinion matters the least to him. Usually he wouldn't want Sheppard to see him this way, he tried to conceal his irritability from him during The Storm to little effect, but he is feeling so overwhelmed by everything that it is simply spilling over and he's unable to stop it coming out.

It is notable that Weir is the one that has to try to reign him in. Sheppard merely looks on without saying anything, probably feeling guilty about what had happened before. The fact that it is still playing out in McKay's mind as well is confirmed by his reference to the drones having been depleted:

McKay: Look, the chair is out of drones. How do you expect to handle the next wave? Everett: I'm open to suggestions. McKay: Really?

The Colonel is basically doing the same thing Weir did at the beginning of the episode, making McKay feel like the weight of all of their lives are on his shoulders and his alone. And like he did back then, McKay folds his arms in protest because he is so overwhelmed that he can't even begin to think. He feels so much weight on his shoulders that he can't focus on the problem. And for the second time in this episode, Sheppard tries to ease his burden, now by coming up with an idea. He can definitely see that McKay is spiraling. The fact that Sheppard is doing this for him is just emphasized by reaction shots of Zelenka and Weir not being able to contribute anything to help McKay.

Sheppard: We target the hive ships. Everett: With what? Sheppard: We fly the Puddle Jumper in stealth mode right down their throats. Everett: Are you volunteering for a suicide mission? Sheppard: It won't be a suicide mission if McKay and Zelenka can figure out a way to remote control the Jumpers.

Flying a suicide mission was never Sheppard's plan even though it later becomes "sort of a Sheppard thing" to do. He does not want to die, not now that he's found something to live for. What he wants is to ease McKay's load and at the same time, come up with a task for him to do that is achievable as he knows that occupying McKay's mind with something is the best way to keep his anxiety at bay. He gives McKay an achievable goal while taking a lot of the pressure of having to come up with an idea to save everyone. Note also that he is not pawning the task of trying to find a way to remote control the jumpers just on McKay but makes sure to include Zelenka in it.

While he probably has more faith in McKay's abilities than the rest of them combined he is trying very hard to make McKay feel like he's not alone in this, that it's not all on his shoulders. He is doing the opposite of what everyone else seems to be doing, all looking at him for a solution. He is not thinking about what's best for Atlantis or what is best for all of them, he is thinking about what's best for McKay. That is the difference. However, McKay doesn't seem to understand what Sheppard is doing, drawing his lips in a tight line as he listens to Sheppard's idea. To him, it just sounds like more tasks and more work is being piled on him.

Col. Everett is at least intrigued by this possibility, turning back to McKay to get confirmation on the feasibility of the plan. He asks McKay a question Sheppard would never even need to ask him:

Everett: Can you do it? McKay: I knew this was gonna happen. Everett: Is that a fact? McKay: Yes, it's a fact!

When the Colonel had said the same thing to Sheppard earlier, the man had been forced to stay quiet. He did not want to antagonize his superior officer any more than he had to. McKay does not have the same compulsion. He is free to give the Colonel a piece of his mind and he seems determined to do it for the both of them:

McKay: Look, you show up here with your guns and your brush cuts, but when it comes to actually saving the city, you turn to the scientists! And every time what you ask is impossible.

McKay's voice almost breaks at the end. He does not mean to let his anguish show so openly, he just means to air his frustration by taking it out on the people around him, but this is clearly affecting him much more than he lets on. While he makes sure to mention the brush cuts, something very characteristically not Sheppard in a 'present company not included' kind of way, Sheppard still very much feels included in this especially because back on the platform he had done something he had every intention of avoiding, of not ever doing. This is emphasized by the fact that we get a shot of McKay and Sheppard together as he says "And every time what you ask is the impossible".

Sheppard had shifted his position while McKay was going off on the Colonel. Earlier, he was leaning back against the table with one hand resting on his thigh and the other pressed against his lower abdomen. Now he's standing up with his hands on his hips, his whole body erect and his attention entirely on McKay, kind of looking like he's ready to step forward at a moment's notice. However, it's very unlikely his intention was ever to restrain McKay because he knows perfectly well McKay isn't prone to physical altercations never mind the situation. Much more likely is that Sheppard feels an overwhelming need to comfort McKay who is clearly distressed, and while he had already stood up, he's using his own hands to restrain himself from taking that step closer that he very much wants to take here. He knows that he's the cause of why McKay's voice was breaking just then.

And it is entirely possible that the way Sheppard had approached him on the chair platform was still playing in McKay's head as all of this spills out of him. He didn't know that Sheppard had come there directly from one of the most difficult conversations he's had in his life, still trying to shove down and bury all of the painful emotions that it had brought up for him, many of them related to his fear of losing McKay. In his agitation, Sheppard had taken it out on McKay when he had done nothing to deserve it, had done nothing but try to save all of their lives for as long as he had known the man, and even if he hadn't had a hundred other good reasons for it, that alone made McKay the last person he wanted to hurt. And that's precisely what he had done. What McKay feels Sheppard is doing is actually the opposite of what he is actually doing. He feels Sheppard putting pressure on him when he is trying to take it off him.

Even the Colonel, not knowing McKay particularly well, as able to see that the man is exhausted. McKay had been sleeping poorly for at least two weeks, and seems to have been entirely without sleep probably since before they left for the satellite platform over two days ago. While he is acting like Zelenka's "always like this" McKay, it's actually very uncharacteristic of him, which even a stranger can tell. But then, all of a sudden, Sheppard's attempt to engage his mind over his emotions bears fruit, because, even though we see McKay and Zelenka finishing each others' sentences here, Sheppard knows him best of all:

Everett: When was the last time you slept, Doctor? McKay: Shut up, I have an idea. Zelenka: The chair. McKay: Of course the chair! The problem is tying it into the Jumper systems... Zelenka: ...without overloading the generators... McKay: ...possibly using the drones in the Jumpers themselves as a means of propulsion... Zelenka: ...while increasing the inertial dampening to maximum. McKay: It wouldn't be very manoeuvrable but possibly. Zelenka: Possibly!

There seems to be a new fire in McKay, and he happily ignores all of them as he and Zelenka start working out the details. This is precisely what Sheppard was going for with his idea. This is what he wanted to see. McKay forgetting about the impeding doom as his mind is working on a problem that is possible to resolve. The rest of it was details, he had managed to take some of the load off of his shoulders. And again, while Sheppard knew exactly what had just happened, the Colonel needed verbal confirmation for it:

Everett: Is that a yes? McKay: No, it's a possibly. Everett: I'll take it!

As soon as McKay starts moving, Sheppard turns to watch him go once more looking like a child missing its toy already. While the other two turn away from the scientists as they take off, Sheppard watches him go all the way, neck craning to see the last of him. The Colonel turns to Sheppard, wanting to hear what his actual plan was:

Everett: How much damage can one Puddle Jumper do? Sheppard: I've got an idea about that too. I think I know where we can get another nuke.

Where McKay's mind was again working on how to save them all, Sheppard's mind was working on how to keep McKay safe, and he was willing to cross all kinds of lines to see that through.

Continued in Pt. 6

#sga #stargate atlantis #sga meta #john sheppard #sheppard is bi #rodney mckay #rodney is gay #ep. the siege #ep. rising #ep. the storm #ep. sanctuary #ep. hot zone

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