#the wolf has landed ay lmao

[hauntingmiser]

happy late zenkichi awakening day!

Here's him as a wolf

[angel-of-the-moons]

Running With The Wolves

Wolfwalker!Moon Knight (Marc/Steven/Jake) x Fem!Reader

Summary:

You're on the verge of being labeled a witch, but can one handsome stranger (and his two "brothers") save you from the same cruel fate as your mother, who was labeled as one and burned at the stake?

Can you handle the truth about your heroes identities, despite it all? Would you find out who your masked savior truly was beneath his cloak?

Only you could answer that.

TW/CW: Witch hunts, violence, graphic violence, graphic death, blood, public execution, parental death, persecution, grief, depression, Wolfwalkers AU, Moon Knight AU, incorrect lore

MINORS DNI I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME

A/N: I was watching Wolfwalkers and it gave me the idea for the boys. I did a little research into the lore, so some will be inaccurate (my pagan ancestors would frown upon me lmao) as well as historically inaccurate; so what is in this fic is largely based on the film. It will be especially inaccurate because y'know, Marc is American and Jake is Spanish and Steven is English etc, as well as Khonshu being around (but in the comics he's had a Viking Moon Knight so this isn't too far fetched he'd be in a place like Ireland) so please bear with me, my poor mind has been going through it lately and I wanted to write somethin' pointless, so enjoy this weird ass AU I came up with! (Header does not indicate the reader's race!)

Taglist: @enheduannasposts

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PT. 1

"I heard tha's the girl who lives on the outskirts." You heard a young woman whisper to her friend. Her accent was clearly not from Ireland. She sounded like one of the people from England. They'd been arriving slowly but surely, like a trickle from a leaky bucket, since you were a child.

Your skin prickled as you looked over the vegetables in the market stall, tended to by an old woman who was blind in one eye. Mary, her name was. Mary was probably one of the only around here who was kind to everyone, unless they gave her a reason not to. And those two English girls certainly gave her a reason...

"Aye, ye two hussies best be leav'n this girl be!" She spat, waving her old wooden stick around. "She 'ent done nothin' to ye!"

The two women jumped back with a yelp and scurried off, an armored guard eyeing you and Mary warily.

Your nose crinkled at him and you turned your nose up as you looked back at the crop Mary was selling.

"I'm sorry, lass. I don't like 'em either." Mary said, winking her blind eye at you.

You can't help but smile as you trade some herbs for the vegetables, placing the juicy morsels into your basket. "I just would like for things to go back to the way they were." You sighed.

"Like when I was a girl, before they came to our town. Things were fine, everything was in balance."

Mary leaned in, holding a finger to the sky as she spoke quietly to you.

"Aye, lass. But don't worry. The crimes these English folk are doin' to us? They'll be payin', mark my words! The land, the very sky itself is angry because we can't honor the promises we made so long ago." She grinned, half her teeth missing from old age. "Then, maybe we'll be forgiven."

"Aye, or maybe be consumed by the wolves and the forest while we're at it." You smile sadly. You remembered being safe in those woods as a girl, playing in the creeks, chasing birds and hares, the wolves singing on the breeze...

But the wolf attacks have become ever so common, now. None had been bitten, but their homes had been trashed, their livestock spirited away into the cover of night, wolf tracks everywhere. You were the only one whose homestead was spared. You often wondered why. The only thing different between your little plot and the rest of the homes that were driven empty was... wait.

They were all English.

You weren't. That house you lived in had belonged to your family for nearly half a century. The English farmsteads were placed on the grounds that were cleared by the King's woodcutters and soldiers, they were the ones being attacked. Not you.

But lately, you've heard other tales as well. A "devil in white" the King's men would ramble, their voices shrill with fear. A man in white armor who moved like a ghost, and fought like hell itself. You paid no mind, figuring it may be some hermetic hunter who called the forest home, who simply didn't want to have them invade his solitude.

Maybe--

"Lass, you should get home." Mary said, looking at you with worry as a small gaggle of women whispered and pointed at you. You were used to the stares, you'd been getting them as a child. But since the English arrived, those whispers became accusations.

"Witch."

Your mother had faced a similar accusation, given her odd habits and ways of whispering to the wind.

Some considered her addled, even moreso when she began raving of spirits and the voices she said came from the ground.

You remembered the night that she died, the horrible, evil way that she left this world.

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You were only twelve years old, gripped hard by the local men as the bishop to your village spoke from the Bible, quoting things about the crimes of witchcraft and how your mother could only be cleansed by fire.

You screamed, and kicked, and cried and cursed, but all that earned you was a punch to the gut as they lit the kindling beneath your mother's feet.

You'd heard tales of witch burnings, but you'd never ever thought such horrible deeds would come to your town; your safe, warm little home.

Your mother was strange, yes, but she taught you many things that had proven useful. The best herbs to cure the worst fever, the best tonics to drink to cure an ailing cough, how to track in the woods, how to trust the forest to show you the way home; but only if you respected it as a living being, and respected the souls who lived within.

She wasn't a "witch" to you.

She was your mother.

And she was right in front of you, burning.

"Mummy!" You screamed, your voice sounding as though you swallowed shards of pottery.

She looked at you, and smiled, crying and struggling against the ropes that bound her to the stake.

The fire crept up, up, until it reached her feet.

You could smell it--the acrid, disgusting stench of oil and burning flesh. You could see her skin blister, peel, and burn away as she screamed, begged for mercy. Mercy that the church was not willing to grant her.

You screamed and cried until your throat was raw and bloody, struggling until you broke free of the men's arms.

You didn't think twice on it--you leapt towards the pyre.

Your mother was dead. You knew this. But all you wanted was to hold her one last time, even if all that was left now was blackened, charred flesh.

Your soft, delicate hands burned, your dress beginning to catch aflame as you desperately tried to reach for what little remained of the woman you loved most in the world.

The pain was so blinding, so debilitating that your vision went white around the edges, and you saw the world begin to go dark.

"Damn it--put the girl out!" Was the last thing that you heard before you lost consciousness.

When you'd awoke, it had been two whole days since your mother's trial and burning. Two days since she plead to the "court" about how they were treating the land; that if they didn't change their ways they would all suffer for it.

The first face you saw was the bishop looking down at you with a solemn and sad expression, completely different from the way his eyes had gleamed maniacally as he cheered the death of your mother.

"I'm sorry, dear girl." He said kindly, resting a hand on your shoulder.

Your arms and hands were wrapped in clean linen--or, well, as clean as they could get it, anyway--your burns itching and painful.

You gritted your teeth, feeling hot tears burn as you glared at him, your throat still raw and aching.

"You killed her!" You meant to yell, but it only came out a hoarse croak.

"Aye, girl, I did. But I took no pleasure in it."

Liar. Filthy, disgusting liar! You wanted to shout, You smiled when she screamed!

"Your mother was bewitched by the devil, don't you see? The only way to ensure she could make it to heaven was if she was cleansed by fire." He told you, his wrinkled eyes looking at you with such gentleness you could almost scarcely believe this was your beloved mother's executioner.

"At least now, you know your mother made it to the gates of heaven. And hopefully God finds it in Him to grant your mother eternal peace." He continued, "After all, she loved you greatly, and there is nothing more pure than a mother's love. Even if it was the love of a witch."

You bite back bile that wanted to rise--partly from the pain, partly from disgust--and turned your head away, your tears heavy like chains that hung from your lashes and held your eyes closed.

"So hopefully, we can pray she found salvation and forgiveness in the fact she loved you so."

His hand brushed a lock of burnt hair from your face.

"Don't worry, girl... You can go home. But I must implore you not to give in to the teachings your mother no doubt gave you. None of that talking trees or animals nonsense, you hear?"

You wanted to kick him, to bite his disgusting fingers off and pluck out his eyes. But... all you did was nod, and say:

"I understand."

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Later that night, barring the English women's gossip, you'd had a fairly decent day. Your snare on the edge of the forest had gotten a nice hare; providing you with some nice soft fur and meat and bone.

You'd spent your days thereafter doing much of the same work you'd done since you returned to your empty home the week your mother died. You gardened, placed more snares, cleaned the house, worked the loom, began weaving a small tapestry.

One night, you were broken from your tedium by heavy hands on your door, making you yelp and prick yourself with a needle.

You stuck your bloody fingertip in your mouth and stuffed the tapestry into your heavy wooden chest, rushing to your front door to see what was the trouble.

When you opened it, there was the bishop, flanked by two men in heavy plate armor. You felt a shiver creep up your spine; the sight was eerily similar to the night your mother was taken away, only this time the bishop looked so ancient he looked like a piece of dried, brittle leather.

"Dear girl, thank God you're alright." The bishop breathed, reaching out to place a hand on your shoulder.

Your brow creased, and you opened your mouth to speak, only for him to cut you off.

"That... That man, that devil whom the townsfolk here and elsewhere have been seeing--he was here. Tonight! He killed four of the King's finest men!" He said, panicked, his touch cold and clammy.

"And earlier in the day... wolves. A pack of white wolves! I feared for you, girl. I know that you're alone and so far from town." He shuddered a breath. His lungs sounded awful, even to your ears. Honestly... If the man had allowed it, you could have fixed his long coughing illness. He's been suffering for years with it, sometimes to the point where his surmons had to be delivered by proxy.

He was suffering... but so had your mother, whom he murdered in the name of his god.

Your jaw was tight, and you nodded. "I... I see. I haven't been attacked yet, sir. B-but I will keep an eye out and alert you if I see anything strange."

You wouldn't.

"I don't want that devil to hurt anyone else."

You hoped he chased them all away.

He mistook your shaky voice for one of mutual fear for the man that haunted the nights, like the dreaded vampires back in England and the smaller towns and villages.

"Yes, dear girl." He put his hand to your cheek and smiled, his aged features twisting in agony. "A good girl. May God protect you."

"And He, you." You replied, the words tasting like rotten meat on your tongue.

"Such a good girl." He turned, coughing into his hand. "May God help civilise this land..."

Thunder boomed in the distance, almost as if the very sky itself was urging the cruel men on their way, to leave you be.

As soon as your door was closed, you grabbed a nearby cauldron and heaved it over to your hearth, hanging it from the iron hook and dumping the pail of water into it to boil.

You hastily stripped your clothes free and dumped them into the cauldron, rushing to find your small bottles of tonics.

When you'd found the ones you needed, you dumped them, alongside fresh herbs, into the pot with your soaking clothes.

You knew, based on your own observations, that those who coughed often spread it through touch or spit. And he had coughed into his hands and touched you; you simply don't want to take the risk.

You had to start selling your healing tonics "under the table" as Mary said, as cleaning agents for clothes and blankets just so you could pass it to the townsfolk with sick family. You hated doing that, but seeing a sickly child able to run around with her siblings again without fear of that wretched cough was worth the pain of lying.

You watched as the water bubbled, standing naked as you poked at the fabric with your long wooden spoon, swirling it around and around.

Once you deemed it hot enough, you carefully picked up the cauldron and set it on your stone slab at the mouth of your hearth, you scooped some of the herbal water into your wash bucket and began scrubbing at your clothes mercilessly to rid it of any possible sickness.

Once they were clean enough, you hung them near the fire to dry (but not close enough to catch fire while you were asleep).

You felt goosebumps chill your skin as the wind rattled your shutters, so you grabbed a heavy woolen blanket to wrap yourself up in while you dug around for a new linen dress to put on.

It was a small comfort, given how early in the year it was, and these certain storms always brought unseasonably cold weather in their shadow, but you accepted it nonetheless.

You walked over to your wooden chest and pulled out your half-finished tapestry. It was one your mother started when you were barely hip-height; your father, strong and large, next to your mother, petite and soft. Interconnecting between them was you, holding their larger hands in your tiny ones.

Much of it was unfinished, and only within the last year did your grief finally allow you to finish what she started, as this was the only thing left that you had of her. When the church took her away, your mother knew they were coming, so she hid certain things out in the woods for safekeeping, only telling you their whereabouts. Once the church lifted it's eye from you one autumn day, you finally ran out into the clearing your mother hid her things in.

Being able to have something to visually remember your parents by wrenched your heart in a bittersweet way, but it was all you had of them, other than their rings you wore, hidden and slung low beneath your bodice so nobody would see.

You knew if the bishop found out... He would have them all destroyed, burned like your mother; and he would likely have you thrown into the stocks and publicly lashed as punishment.

In a twisted way, the bishop cared for you. He saw you as an innocent, God-fearing girl who had been brainwashed by your witch mother, whom only acknowledged the paganistic "Old Ways".

You hated having to keep up the act, but you didn't want to die. You owed it to your mother and father, wherever their souls were together, to live on.

You blinked, and a heavy teardrop splashed down onto the tapestry.

Your body jolted with the clap of thunder. How long had you been crying? Had you been crying this whole time, but didn't realize it? Oh, you hated how often these crying fits would strike you.

All you wanted to do was think of the happy times with your family, but it always came back to the fact that they were dead and you were alone.

You dropped back onto your bed, the old, dried wood creaking beneath your weight, the smell of the straw mattress stuffed with dried flowers and clovers soothing to your senses.

Your eyes felt heavy, weighted down from your painful thoughts, and you turned your head to look at the wreath above your bed, shamrocks with dried berries carefully strung together; it was something your mother taught you. You couldn't remember the significance of the thing, but making them when you were bored became a mundane comfort.

You closed your eyes and sighed heavily.

You would need to check your snares in the morning.

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Your leather shoes squelched in the mud as you carefully made your way to the treeline early that next morning. You nervously chewed the inside of your cheek to check if the coast was clear before venturing into the bushes.

It was early enough none had arisen yet to start the day, the sun was barely peeking over the horizon as you set off into the forest.

Yes, setting your traps beyond the treeline was dangerous, as they would tell you, but you knew the game in the woods was fat and ripe, perfectly full of meat. If you could hunt at all, you would try your aim at shooting one of those slovenly bucks with a bow and arrow.

But a hunter you were not. Trap-maker, yes. But no hunter.

Your tiny iron dagger was slung low on your hip, your mostly-empty wooden sack carrying fresh bait for any snares that were sprung, or if the bait had been snatched.

The first two traps hadn't been sprung, but picked clean, most likely by birds and quick-witted squirrels. No luck in catching anything.

But as you neared your final trap, you heard an odd noise. A wheezing sound, almost, followed by heavy pants and a whimper.

Your footsteps stopped as you peered around the thick trunk of an ancient tree, your breath catching in your throat as you looked at the sight in front of you.

It was your last snare, set up with some bread and berries to lure in a rabbit or squirrel (as was your typical game) but it seems that this time, somehow... you snagged a wolf.

And this was not a normal wolf; it was one with fur as white as the coldest snow, now muddied and stained from the soggy ground it flailed around in; your snare secured firmly around its neck and front paw, cinching the two together in a painful manner.

Your heart broke as you saw the creature struggle and wheeze, choking out quiet howls that couldn't be heard through the underbrush.

With your jaw set tight, you stepped out of the clearing, and the wolf turned to you, trying to limp away.

"Shhh, hush, now." You soothe the animal, your hands out in front of you as you got lower, trying to seem less threatening.

Yes, the townsfolk feared wolves, but you wouldn't just leave this beautiful creature to slowly strangle to death on one of your own traps; your soul wouldn't be able to handle the weight of guilt.

"I won't hurt you, sweetie." You say, your voice calm and soft as you reached out.

The wolf snapped tentatively at you, whimpering as the pain of the cord dug further into its throat and paw, red stains now blotching the white fur.

"It's all right. I won't hurt you..." You urge the panicked animal. Your own eyes locked with its dark brown ones, and you could almost hear its thoughts plead:

Help me. Please. It hurts. Please!

You wait for the wolf to still, and sit its haunches on the ground, those big, pained eyes staring right through to your very soul.

Once the wolf is calm, you hook your fingers through the snare, reaching for the part of it that looped around, and try to loosen it enough for it to slip free.

But to no avail, the amount of flailing the wolf had done had twisted and cinched it to the point you couldn't. Your brow pinched and you nervously chewed the inside of your cheek before unsheathing your dagger.

Upon seeing the glint of the blade, the wolf whimpered and panicked again, beginning to flail once more as you reached for it.

"No!" You say, frantically trying to calm the beast. "Stop! You're making it worse! Please--I'm not going to hurt you."

You grunt as you leap forward, crushing the wolf against you in a bear hug, trying to calm its thrashing body as you swing your sharpened blade through the cord, severing it from the branch it was tethered to.

You sliced your thumb in an attempt to cut the cord around its throat, but you somehow managed it, your blood leaving fresh streaks of red and pink through the wolf's surprisingly soft fur.

You drop your dagger and release the animal, falling back on your bum as you carefully crawl away as the canine heaved for uninhibited air, its barreled chest shaking with effort.

Once it had collected itself, it limped up to you, it cut paw hanging an inch or two above the ground as its wet, charcoal black nose sniffed at your wounded thumb.

Its pink tongue laved out and lapped up your blood, as if to say "sorry" for causing you to injure yourself for trying to aid it.

Your eyes however, were drawn to the cuts into the wolf's throat and paw, oozing small rivulets of blood as it stared at you.

"Oh... You poor..." You breathed, rising to kneel on your knees, dirtying your skirt even more.

"I... Those can get infected. Please. I... I can help you..."

You don't know why you were trying to bargain with an animal, but somehow it paid off. The wolf nosed its way into your lap, ears flattened up and eyes pleading up at you.

"Okay..." You murmur, scratching behind one of its ears. "Let's get you home, boy. I have stuff there that can help ya."

The wolf whimpered.

"Er... Well, I assume you're male?" You chuckle awkwardly, trying to think of how to carry this large and hefty animal back home without being seen.

"I'm not gonna violate you by takin' a peek or anything." You clear your throat when one of the wolf's ears flop as "he" tilts his head at you.

"Er. Okay. Let's go..."

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It was easier than you thought, getting him back home. As the sun crept higher, the fog and mist were your ally as you smuggled the "dangerous" animal back to the safety of your home.

You had to haul him over your shoulders and beat feet through the underbrush. Once you were safely inside, you had to (with great difficulty) maneuver the wolf down onto your bed.

You chuckled when he rolled over--and he was most definitely a "he"--and began rolling this way and that into your blankets, making small huffs and growls.

"Ah-ah..." You murmur, reaching out to brush your hand through his muddy fur. "You might make your injuries worse, 'kay, m'love?"

That seems to get the wolf's attention. You weren't sure if he could understand you, which honestly had you thinking you were crazy, but the way he sat up and stared at you, one ear flopping down as he looked up into your eyes sent a strange feeling through your body.

"Hmm..." You murmur, brushing your fingers tentatively around his wounded throat. From his muddy thrashing he'd accumulated a fair amount of dirt, and that would lead to infection.

You hike your skirts up and tie them around your waist, and you could almost swear you saw a look of modesty cross the wolf's eyes as his ears slicked back against his head and he buried his muzzle into your warm blankets.

You scratch the back of your head, a little confused at his reaction as you adjust your knickers and rush to gather your herbs you'd need, plucking dried leaves and roots that hung above your hearth.

You set the herbs down into your mortar and pestle and begin to grind them down, mixing them evenly into a dissolvable mass that would melt in the water once you'd boiled it.

You crack your knuckles and grab a pail, untying your skirts and smoothing them out, frowning at the mud stains as you reach for your door, making a "shush" gesture to the wolf.

"Stay quiet and don't go near the windows! It's dangerous if you're seen." You gently urge him before slipping outside into the morning light once again.

The trek to the well was always annoying, but your neighbors never minded you coming to fetch water, knowing how dangerous it could possibly be for you to hike to the creek at the edge of the forest just to get yourself some of the life-giving liquid.

You inwardly cringed when the Kenny's daughter, Aisling, was already at the well; her belly already round with her unborn child. Barely 19 years of age and she was already with a babe; she was often sickly as a child, this you remembered, so her family (namely her husband) was very concerned about her well-being and that of her impending birth.

Upon seeing you approach, Aisling smiled widely and waved at you, saying your name chipperly, almost like an excited morning bird.

You were really hoping not to have a conversation so early, afraid someone would know you were harboring a wolf inside your home...

"Hello, Aisling. Feeling well this morning?" You hum innocently at her as you tie your pail up, before cranking the wench and lowering it down to the water below.

"Yes, surprisingly!" She giggled, patting her belly with a soft smile. "M' little one decided it was a good day to let mummy keep food down."

"That's good! I still recommend broths if you feel nauseous, however..."

"I know, I know. My mum is constantly making sure of that." She sighed with a roll of her eyes, hooking her own two pails of water onto her yoke.

Your hairs raised and you reached out, the wench slipping from your hands and your bucket dropping all the way back down into the water below the earth.

"No! You mustn't lift something that heavy." You caution. "It's not good for your baby."

"Ohhh! You sound like my father." She sighs, frowning deeply, her hands on her hips. "I'm not helpless, y'know!"

"Yes, I'm aware, but--"

"Aisling!" Her husband panted, trotting up to the both of you. He was at least a decade or so older than she was, but nonetheless it was a good match; he seemed to love her greatly. He was English, and one of the few kind ones you've known, in fact. A gentle giant.

This fact was emphasized when his large bulky hand reached down to touch her belly, sighing with relief. "No, no, you know that you can't be out here alone! The wolves!"

"I 'ent seen no wolves!" Aisling pouted up at him.

"That doesn't mean no wolves see you, m'love." He sighed dejectedly at her. He gives you a kind smile and a nod, hoisting the yoke over his own shoulders, "Aye, lass. Glad to see someone else talking some sense into my pretty little wife, here..."

"Bah!" Aisling scoffed, throwing her arms in the air as she waddled back down to their house.

He shook his head with a chuckle, "I swear, if we have a girl and she turns out like her..."

"You'll have your hands full, alright." You sigh, cranking the wench again.

"Aye." He says, giving you a cautious look. "But, I must warn you, the same way I did Aisling... with these wolves about, it's dangerous..."

"I know." You smile. "I'll be fine."

"Alright..." He replies, giving you one last look before going back home to his wife and family.

You on the other hand, rushed back home with your water to your waiting furry companion...

You almost dropped the pail of water when you saw what he was doing. Somehow he managed to nose open up the chest containing your mother's things, and was insistently sniffing the tapestry.

"Ah! No, no, no!" You frantically say, setting the water down to rush over, gently shoving his snout to the side to close the chest.

"Gah..." You sigh in relief, and smile softly at the wolf, reaching out to pinch and squish his cheek. And surprisingly, he took it well, making a little "whurf!" as you do.

"Don't go through my stuff, it's not very polite after I risked my arse you take care of you." You chuckle, setting yourself to task of boiling the water with the ground herbs. You kneel next to the remaining bit of water on the floor, dipping a rag into the pail and making a clicking noise with your teeth.

The wolf tipped his head to the side, ears pricking up at the noise as he slowly moseyed over to you shyly.

"Oh relax, I won't poison ya." You chuckle, dabbing the soaked cloth onto his fur, cleaning him of the muck.

He of course, did not like this. He whimpered and tucked his tail between his legs, his gorgeous brown eyes pleading with you.

"Ah! That won't work on me, Mister... You need to be clean before I can clean your wounds!" You cluck at him, not falling for his cute little attempt.

Thankfully, he sits there and lets you gently massage the mud away, carefully cleaning around his wound sites before hastily grabbing the pot of boiling water and pouring some into a wooden bowl.

You scratch behind one of his ears and say softly, "Now... I'm going to take care of you, okay? Now... just let me..."

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"No! Down! Bad wolf!" You groan, watching as his tail wagged happily, one of your kirdles firmly in his jaws, daring you to come get it.

"Ooooh! I should have left you in the woods!"

His ears flatten back and his eyes get big, giving you the sweetest, saddest look you've ever seen...

And it definitely broke you.

"Ah... You little... mouth off my clothes!" You grunt, tugging the garment from between his teeth, groaning at the sight of tears from his fangs.

He dropped down onto his front paws, wagging his tail happily as he makes a playful whine and yip.

"Oi! Ya seem just fine now!" You scold the animal, shaking the torn kirdle in front of him.

It was true. In just one day, your furry companion seemed to have healed miraculously faster than what was natural. It concerned you... but you didn't feel threatened by the creature's playful antics.

If anything, having him around made you feel less... lonely.

Dinner was almost ready, a simple stew with vegetables and salted meats tossed in. You weren't sure if wolves could eat such a meal, but you would feel awful if you were eating and your new friend merely had to sit and watch.

You sigh and toss your clothes aside, watching with a snort as the wolf playfully dove for it, rolling around and kicking it with his feet as you used your ladle to scoop two bowls.

You curled your feet beneath you as you plopped a spoon into your bowl before placing the spare on the floor. Your wolf's ears perked up and he sniffed the air, licking his chops as he abandoned your torn-up kirdle in favor of investigating the food you placed for him.

You smiled around your mouthful as he accidentally dipped his nose too deep into the broth, whipping his head around with a heavy snort.

"Ah, that's not how you eat, by the way..." You hum innocently, and again, your wolf gives you an almost human reaction, flattening his ears back as he seems to glare at you for a moment, before lapping at the food, curling his tongue around to eat the bits of veggies and meat.

"Oh, I'd love to keep you, but you don't belong here, fella." You say, scratching his ear softly in an affectionate way. Your skin crawls when you hear a mournful howl travel from the forest, across the fields, and into your house.

Your wolf whimpers and looks at you.

"As soon as you're ready, I'll sneak you back out to the woods." You promise him.

"I won't let anyone hurt you."

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He looked out from the treeline, his glowing white eyes staring out from the darkness.

A large, fluffy animal--a gorgeous white wolf, fur stained with mud--sidled up next to him, ears flattened back.

"Still no sign of him?" He sighed, frustrated.

The wolf whimpered, his tail tucking and nose dipping towards the ground in a response that seemed to say "no".

"Damn it!" The man roared, his fists balling tight as he began to pace angrily.

"Still no sign of your third?" A deep voice rumbled from the trees.

He lifted his gaze to spot him in all his imposing glory--Khonshu; god of the night sky, the moon, justice and many things in-between. His lithe frame ominously perched on the limb of an ancient, thick tree. One of his legs dangled down while the other supported his arm, his dominant hand clutching his staff in a tight-fisted grip as he stared down at him.

But mostly, he was his fist of vengeance. He was dispensing justice against those who imposed their will on the weak; like the other Englishmen who oppressed the local populace with their threats of jail, execution...

He also had to deal with bandits. Bandits, constantly seemed to prey upon travelers trying to find better places to live, to eke out a livelihood to support their families.

But right now, he was on edge.

He was incomplete. He was missing a vital part of himself. Someone he would not be able to fully function without.

Finally, his tongue unglued itself from the roof of his mouth and allowed him to speak.

"No."

"He is alive. I can feel it." Khonshu sighed, almost sounding bored. "You and your wolves... Sometimes they are a gift... other times it is a curse."

It was true... there weren't many of his kind left, and they were useful as a commodity, but also a vast hindrance if they were separated. Very few were born after being hunted to near extinction, and even fewer still were bitten and turned.

He tipped his head to the side, "He will come back. But until then, we have work to do. There is a group of soldiers that have taken women and children from their homes. I'm sure you can deduce what it is that they intend to do to them. I want you to stop them and set their captives free." Khonshu tapped his staff against the thick bark of the tree, and in a sharp breeze, he vanished.

"Right..." He said, his throat tight; his body thrumming with anxiety, his hand shaking immensely at the strain of lacking such a vital part of himself. He wondered still, if he would be able to control himself, to hold himself back without him.

His wolf companion moved forward, nudging his snout into the palm of his hand, whimpering softly.

Sparing one last glance over the countryside, he made a hefty sigh.

"Where the hell are you?"

🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺

Pt. 2: I will get to it eventually, I swear you guys

Extra super late author's note:

Yeah it's gonna be at least one or two more parts. I am gonna split it up to ease on the scrolling time for you guys! That and it feels neater than cramming so many lazy time skips into one post. I am going to get the rest of my drafts cleared (hopefully) and begin eating away some of those asks I have piled up in my inbox (that Tumblr didn't manage to delete by some miracle...)

My trip might be postponed, dealing with a lot at home, like me almost burning the house down today and almost passing out from the damn smoke because wooooo fire is bad

If I didn't have bad luck, I'd have none whatsoever!

[cavvaje]

Hearth and Rime | Ch. 1

Pairing: M!Eivor x Reader

Summary: Eivor has had a rough day and you make him feel better :)

Words: 1600~

Genre: Fluff, Comfort?

Warnings: Spoilers for end of Cent Arc! | Somewhat suggestive fade to black

Note: Still a bit new to writing fics, so sorry if its a bit rough around the edges!

I actually finished this in time for valentines but just kept editing it and being too nervous to actually post it? Then decided to retake all the photos lol... 

This is also a continuation of the first fic I put up, BUT you don’t need to read it to understand (it was like 200 words). Here’s a link!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The home is modest for its outwards appearance. According to Eivor, the last occupants were runaway Saxons, who fled the day after they saw him in the area. They didn’t leave much behind, but it’s serviceable.

“Smells good!” Eivor stands by a cooking pot in the corner, setting down the bright torch in his hand. He turns to you with a cheeky look.

“Here,” He says, untying his cloak. The Viking comes to you as you stand in front of the doorway. His cloak needs to go over, and so you squeeze your head through the hole. “This should help you warm up.” 

Gentle arms reach around your shoulders, and instinctually, your arms begin to trace his waist to his back. Adrenaline surges in cold shivers: from your arms through to your spine. Your face is practically buried in the nook between his neck and shoulder. You hold each other a moment, checking off an imaginary checklist of things that make him real. His warmth, his scent, his breath...

A tight tug wakes you up; the cloak has been set, albeit loosely. He lets go of the embrace. Even as he leaves, the cloak maintains his warmth.

“It smells like blood…”

He chuckles lightly, “Does it now?... Surprise?” he flips his axe in one hand, starts drying the rainwater off the metal, then sets it down. He motions towards the steaming pot. “Can I dig in?”

You stare at him as he pulls off the bracers and his hidden blade. He looks back a moment later, puzzled.

“I missed you, Eivor.” You say, plainly.

“Ah…” he pulls you in for a proper hug this time; his arms hold you tight. “I missed you too.” 

“Mmm… what’s bothering you Drengr?”

You feel the sigh heavily from the movement of his chest against yours. “Please, let me eat…”

“Of course! Sorry. Must’ve been a long trip...” 

“No no, don’t be.” He lets go, but locks his eyes on yours, and gives a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “I’ll explain, I won’t be like Sigurd.” 

“Like Sigurd?” 

His weight falls heavy on the stool, as he grabs a bowl. 

You pace towards him slowly, a hand gentle on his left shoulder. “...Did you find him?”

“Not exactly.” 

You feel his rage beginning to simmer on your hand, but it sizzles down quickly. You wait for a few minutes as he ravages his stew, and then places the empty bowl down calmly and precisely. 

“We found an arm.” 

“Shit…”

“Aye, shit.”

He turns to you suddenly, his eyes focused. “Don’t tell the ravens. Please.” He scans your expression. “Can I trust you to this?”

You nod.

“..Thank you.” He sighs and slumps down onto the table.

You stand idly, unsure of how to proceed. The silence fills the room like a cursed fog.

“Perhaps we should talk more in the morning? After you’ve rested from your journey?” you perk up, sitting down next to him. Your hand moves to the Viking’s back reassuringly, and he arches to greet it. “For tonight, let me take care of you, ok?”

He stifles a small chuckle and looks at you earnestly. “That sounds great.”

You smile and get up from your seat. He follows, holds your hands, and leans in close. “Thank Freyja I found you…” His eyes meet yours. You put your hand up to his scarred cheek and… after a moment of hesitation, kiss him. He tastes like a paradise gritted by blood and steel, or maybe it’s the venison... A kiss that feels like a surging tide effortlessly enveloping you. His hands move to wrap around your waist and the back of your neck, and as you break the kiss, it moves back to fall on your cheek. 

He lets out a satisfied breath and slowly removes his hands as well, instead moving them to hold yours. “I needed that.” His voice barely a whisper, yet still raspy and impassioned. 

You coyly move away, tracing your fingers over his own as you leave. “Come… get comfy. Let me help you away with the stresses of your life, Wolf-Kissed.” You begin to move towards the other end of the room.

“Are you just telling me to take off my clothes, lover?” he returns, just as coy, but begins to remove his top anyway. His now shirtless figure is darkened against the light of the fire.

“And you? It’s only fair…” His voice and eyes gleam with a newfound playfulness.

“Ah… but my cloak is so heavy…”

He quickly moves to uncloak you, then slower to unclothe. His lightly calloused hands ‘accidentally’ feel your stomach and arms as you two connect in this growing heat. Both of you a little more exposed, you sit on the bearskin by the bed, absorbing each other’s presence. 

“New scar?” A faded but deep red streak across the top of his wrist into the forearm. He smiles and shrugs. You feel it… still a bit fresh. “It looks good on you.” 

He traces it with his other hand in empty thought, while you grab a nearby satchel containing medicinal herbs. He tries his best not to wince as you apply your treatment... he doesn’t wince once. He’s simply watching you in admiration. 

“What’s that look for? Something wrong?” You ask, knowing the answer.

"You are stunning. Like a painting, framed in a lantern-lit gold. In comparison to you, even its fire seems dull and cold...” 

You shove his shoulder playfully and he laughs, but his eyes stay on you to look for your smile, and he finds it, blushing. He looks proud of himself. Bastard. 

You get behind him and slowly begin to unbraid his hair. It’s matted in parts, likely from blood and dirt. You move him to an empty spot in the room and begin to wash his hair with a nearby water basin, trying not to get him too wet...

“Mmph, you treat me too well…” He mumbles.

“Only what you deserve, and well, much more than just this,”

“...Why’d you say that?” his voice is sweet and innocent. You laugh in surprise.

“What? Eivor, you’re the leader of our clan! At least until Sigurd comes back...” You watch as his head swoops down in thought. You place your hand on his shoulder cautiously. “Hey… what’s this about?”

He doesn’t respond, and you continue to work through his hair. Eventually, though, you decide to break the silence. 

“Why exactly… did you want to meet away from Ravensthorpe?” 

You think back to the letter you got, Synin being a talented messenger bird. He never mentioned why you were to meet here, except that he wanted to meet first for a romantic getaway before he was whisked off elsewhere. At first, that was enough, but now...

“I just wanted to see you, is that too much to ask for?” he retorted.

“Eivor…”

“Fine. Why do you think I asked then?”

You pause. “Honestly, I thought you were gonna have a private issue that needed taking care of, one that needs my particular skill set…”

He looks at you with wild eyes and a smile about to be broken into laughter. “Well! I suppose that too!” he laughs. 

“What? No! I mean if you needed someone, you know...” You imitate a neck being sliced. He laughs again. You slap his shoulder.

His laugh slowly trickles out, and he returns to his thousand-yard stare after a moment, but his mouth moves. “I think… I just needed a break from it all. Just for a moment.” He looks back at you. “With you.”

…You resist the urge to defuse the moment and hug him tightly from behind. “Well if you need anything else, I’m all ears.” 

He shakes his head and gives a quick kiss on your cheek. “Let’s save that for tomorrow...” 

He pauses. 

"Because tonight..." He turns to you and puts his arms over your shoulders. His face slowly approaches yours— and you make eye contact, your face clearly anticipating the worst. He nearly laughs but quickly turns to whisper into your ear. "I have other plans..." he smiles, and lightly nibbles on your earlobe, pulling it ever so slightly. This is not what you meant by ‘all ears’. The actual sensation is nice enough, but the sudden waves of euphoria that washes through your headspace is what makes you a little dizzy. 

"H-hey, I'm nearly done with your hair..." You manage to say, barely. He smiles both warm yet seductive, then turns around to let you finish.

As you finish up with his hair, he gives you a sweet look followed by a grateful kiss. It was a... mostly calming activity. As you get up, he childishly hops on the fur bed with a thud. You turn away to tidy up. However, a shuffling sound catches your attention.

He’s striking a pose... one eyebrow raised. He extends forward his hand and winks at you. 

“Come… play with your Drengr, love…” he recites dramatically. 

You stare at him, incredulous, then laugh in protest when he grabs your arm. He yanks you in... you fall, barely lit by the low lantern light, into your love dance.

~

Sleeping next to him is a warmth you always regret not cherishing more. Just his presence makes this cold and dangerous land feel safe. His fingers trace your arm ever so slightly— not enough to wake you, but just enough to send tingles rushing through to your brain. You return the favor and he smiles surprised, but welcome in his half-sleep. 

…Time passes immeasurably through the night, as it always does. So when all you feel is a vacuum of cold air rushing in, you aren't sure what time it is. You try to open your eyes... you see him, barely.

But your eyelids hang heavy, and you fall back asleep.

Note: haha get it “barely” I hope this was ok and the warnings+genre were accurate! I didn’t wanna put earlobe nibbling as a warning so lmao. Also I hate small cottages and I’m never taking photos in them again.

If anyone has any advice/feedback I’d actually really love to hear it! Especially about how to make Eivor’s voice feel more accurate, or if the Reader character has too much personality. No pressure though!

[second-chance-stray]

RP Log: Cravs and Rising go on a disastrous hike.

Cravendy Hound has invited Rising to “relaxing hike through Sorrel Haven,” despite the area being infested by countless malboros and ziz. She leaves off that part - it’s not lying if you just don’t mention it. For now, she waits by the exit of the White Wolf gate for her companion.

Rising Lotus wasn't too far behind Cravendy, strolling through the gate a few minutes later and catching up to her. "Hey there!" as she was hurrying over her eyes gazed upwards toward the giant fallen tree. "Gods, it's crazy how huge they get out here, I guess by the company home too, but like," she outstretched her hands around her.

Rising Lotus: "Out in the forest forest the trees get so big here! "

Cravendy Hound: “Ye know, I’ve ‘eard that they’re just as tall below ground. What poor sod ‘ad to be the one to dig one up and find that out though, eh?” Cravs shrugs.

Rising Lotus rubbed her chin. "Maybe they dug out a littler one and jus' figured it was the same? Or not the same, but figured, bigger the tree bigger the roots." she returned the shrug, she was no botanist after all.

Cravendy Hound rubs her chin. “Mmh, that makes sense. But ‘ell if I know ‘ow trees work, specially out ‘ere in the Shroud.” She then absentmindedly fiddles with her gun as she turns to face the forest. “Anyway, let’s ‘ead out and ‘ope nothin’ interrupts our walk...though with my luck, we should expect the worst.”

Rising Lotus nodded, putting her hands behind her head afterwards. "I'm sure there ain't nothin' we can't handle. I /am/ back to full strength after all." she flashed a cocky grin. "Lead on!"

Cravendy Hound leads on, past stalking brood ziz and to the oddly named ‘Hopeseed Pond.’ She wrinkles her nose upon seeing the weird, planty...meaty? Plant-meat creatures wading around. “Ye know what, I don’t know what I was thinkin’ bringin’ us ‘ere. If one of those boros breath on ye, ye’ll be sick once again.”

Rising Lotus is calm despite the wildlife all around them. "Ugh..can smell their maws from here.." her eyes dropped to the bridge, then back to the pond full of ravenous giant plants. "Gonna go out on a limb an' say not many folk use this bridge no more." she pauses for a moment. "Hey! Why you so sure it's gonna get me sick!" she huffed a bit.

Rising Lotus: "I mean one ain't breathed on me yet and I wanna keep it that way, but it could jus' as easily hit you. Plus! Me being sick last week was jus'...a fluke."

Cravendy Hound playfully bumps Rising’s shoulder with her fist. “Aye, right right, a fluke. As for me, I never get sick. So if one of these boros come our way, ye can just stand behind me, heh.” She then takes a step on the rickety bridges and observes how...well. Gross it is? The whole area is pretty gross? Rotten wood and stagnant waters and looming monsters - but a little danger never hurt anyone.

Rising Lotus cracked a smirk. "Well to be honest I'm more worried about the smell then gettin' sick, but if you wanna take the brunt of it for me.." she was sure to follow behind Cravs as she started across the bridge, testing each plank with her foot before putting her weight on it.

Cravendy Hound is not nearly as careful as Rising, and strides forward with all the confidence in the world. She inadvertently steps onto a weakened plank of wood, which snaps under her weight. She falls, one leg stuck in the gap. “Goddamned shite piece of wood!”

Cravendy Hound: “I think ye were right about people not comin’ ‘ere often...” She grumbles under her breath.

Rising Lotus was caught off guard by Crav sinking down, more by her reaction than the actual board breaking. She carefully hurried behind her. "You didn't get cut up at all did ya?" She was right behind Cravs, looking over her shoulder and trying to peer down the hole. "Here lets get ya out of there.." kneeling down, she hooked her hands under Crav's shoulders.

Rising Lotus: "I'll pull ya slowly, you jus' make sure you don't get torn up or a nasty splinter on the way up."

Cravendy Hound: “I don’t need ye fussin’ over me like some freshfaced whelp, I got it,” Cravs stammers as she wiggles left and right in attempt to wiggle herself free from Rising’s help. “Don’t ye worry yer pretty lil’ face, it’ll take more than a splinter to down ol’ Cravs.”

Cravendy Hound - However, as she tries to pull herself up, she feels something keeping her ankle held down. That’s odd. And, more embarrassingly, she’s still stuck after being so confident earlier. The more she struggles, the deeper her leg sinks. By now, Cravs is sweating bullets.

Rising Lotus was still concerned, but she did get it, being incredibly stubborn herself at times. She released Cravs and stood back up. "Alright alright, I shouldn't of doubted ya." snickering a bit, she took a step back, giving her friend the space she might need to escape. "I'll make sure nothin' comes by to maybe take a bite of a delicious leg wigglin' under the bridge..an' I'll give ya a heads up if any travelers are comin' too."

Cravendy Hound - To this, Cravs only grunts in response. Coherent thoughts escape her under the immense embarrassment she’s currently dealing with. If Rising were to look under the bridge, she’d find a juvenile stroper idly tugging on Crav’s leg. Every time the Sea wolf tries to lunge out, it pulls her back down by the foot with greater force.

Rising Lotus was still waiting for her friend to free herself, keeping an eye on the bigger stroper's minding their own business thankfully. "Alright no need to make a big show out of it all, stop stallin' before you fall all the way through." she was biting her lower lip gently to stifle a bit of laughter. "You stuck on somethin'? Want me to peek under the bridge?" she started toward the edge, more so to try and catch a glimpse of Crav's leg comically wiggling under it.

Cravendy Hound: “‘Suppose the Navigator saw fit to destroy what little remains of me pride, right ‘ere and now.” Cravs crumples against the bridge and sighs against the wood. “Aye, yeah, it feels like somethin’s got my foot. Can ye see what it is?”

Rising Lotus quickly got to her knees and stuck her head over the side of the bridge, eager to see what manner of thing had snagged the Seawolf. "Oh! It's a baby one of these things!" she waved an arm out to the pond. "Luckily his teeths don't look too sharp yet, still has a good grip on ya though." Cravs would hear a bit of snorting and giggling coming from under the bridge. Rising grabbed her spear off her back, not bothering to start up aetherial blade, and started jabbing at the small stroper, not aiming to hurt it really, but just shoo it off. "Go on get ya lil bastard!"

(Cravendy Hound) you know what I'm feeling spicy )) (Cravendy Hound) Random! 19 (Cravendy Hound) aaahahha )) (Rising Lotus) Well then, bye leg!))

Cravendy Hound - The young Stroper turns to Rising and squirms in an attempt to dodge the jabs. It succeeds...that is, it succeeds in annoying it. It puffs up a bit and then charges at Rising in an attempt to knock her down. But as it does so, it fails to loosen its grip on Cravs, and the sudden motion tugs the Seawolf completely through the half-rotten boardwalk.

Cravendy Hound: “WHAT THE FU-” Cravs gets out before she falls face first into the slimy malboro.

(Cravendy Hound) I love a good bad roll )) (Rising Lotus) How big is it, like minion malboro sized or bigger?)) (Cravendy Hound) hmm I'm taking that Stroper nearby as adult, and the giant one as grandpa )) (Cravendy Hound) so teen = half of the adult size? )) (Rising Lotus) Okays! Also grandpa malboro x3))

Rising Lotus's eyes went wide as she saw Cravs fall through the bridge, all upside down from her perspective. "Ah shit!" pulling herself back up, she swung her legs over the side of the walkway and hopped down, shuddering as the mud she landed in seeped into her sandal boots. With Cravs so close to the beast, she didn't dare turn the blade to her lance on. Instead she reeled back then attempted to give it a good thwap across to the side of it's toothy mug

Random! Rising Lotus rolls a 224.

Cravendy Hound - Thwap! The beast is taken aback by Rising’s attack and, being young and inexperienced, decides to hightail it outta there. Cravs is taken along for the ride.

Cravendy Hound: “Overgrown, squid-looking plant bastard - argh!” As she’s dragged along the ground, she fumbles for her pistol and attempts to send a couple of rounds towards her captor.

Random! You roll a 55.

Cravendy Hound misses. Even worse, she drops her gun. Cravs goes limp, just...unable to take much more embarrassment.

(Cravendy Hound) lmao the RNG gods have something against me today xD ))

Rising Lotus grinned at the direct hit, quickly grimacing after it took off with Cravs in tow. "Oh gods damnit!" with a huff and a twist of her wrist the aetherial blade sparked alive. "Alright, uh, Cravs! Try to keep yourself high!" she was able to easily keep up with the stropper's wiggling legs, and when she got in range she aimed a mighty swipe across it's lower half, hoping to separate its top half from its bottom half.

(Rising Lotus) Random! 957 (Rising Lotus) That's causee the all the luck is mine \o/ )) (Cravendy Hound) all the luck!!! ))

Cravendy Hound - The swing separates the stroper into two. On both ends, its limbs continue to wiggle around like landlocked eels, but despite its continued movement, the monster is clearly dead. Or at least downed - who knows how malboros work.

Cravendy Hound gets up, completely covered in mud and malboro slime. She wipes her face clean with the side of her arm, revealing a very pissed off expression. For a moment, she simply stands there, dazed. She had said so herself earlier, that something bad was going to happen...but there was no preparing for something like this. Eventually, she glances over at Rising.

Cravendy Hound: “.............That happened.”

Rising Lotus quite pleased with her slice, she started to the the lifeless maw to help Cravs up, though didn't make much distance before she got up on her own. As she stowed her spear, she was doing her absolute best to not laugh as she saw the woman wearing a nice coat of ooze. It was when Cravs cleaned her face she lost her composure, snickering softly at first but quickly bursting into full out bellowing laughter.

Rising Lotus: " I-I-I'm sorry! I-I Am!" she started to snort a bit as she laughed, quickly cupping a hand to her mouth as her cheeks blushed a bit. "R-Really...aha... I'm glad you're alright!" she snorted once more before her laughter started to ease down.

Cravendy Hound is as still as a statue, save for the mud that slorgs down her body at a painfully slow speed. Cravs then lets her head go limp as a sort of mischievous intent grows within her. Once Rising is done laughing, she lifts her head back up with an evil grin on her face. “OH, oho...no need to apologize! After all, ye saved my ‘ide. Now let me give ye a proper thank ye.”

Cravendy Hound spreads her slime and mud covered arms, and then tries to hug (though it’s more of a tackle) Rising to the ground.

Rising Lotus "N-Now wai-" she had just put up her hands to try and halt Cravendy's assault when her muddy form smacked against Rising, both of them falling onto the ground with a splat. Rising laid there motionless for a few moments as Cravs pinned her down before. "You ass!" she finally blurted out, scrambling to push the sea wolf off of her now mud covered self.

Cravendy Hound is already one with the mud - she cannot be muddied any further. She cackles gleefully as she’s pushed over. “Thank ye kindly, oh noble adventurer!” It takes a good while for her to calm down enough to do anything but laugh from the ground. When she’s finally able to get up, she plods over to pick up her gun and flicks the mud off of it. “Ahh...haha. Hah.”

Rising Lotus quickly sat up after Cravs was pushed off, the entire back of her form coated in the sludge. The front was covered quite a bit too, front the tackle hug and the stuff the the ground that seeped over. As she tried to get up she shuddered, the openness of her outfit probably to blame. "Ugh...it's.. it's.." she shuddered once more. Needless to say she'd need a deep cleaning.

Cravendy Hound: “If we ‘ike to the end of the trail, all of this shits gonna ‘arden on us like a second skin. I’m ‘eadin’ back afore that ‘appens,” Cravs states as she gives her gun a good lookover. Poor thing had mud clogging up its every opening, and water was never good for metal. Better hurry. She turns to Rising. “A dip in the pools round the Lavender Beds should be enough.”

Rising Lotus nodded. "Aye.. probably don't want us trackin' this through the house either..." she started scraping off as much as she could. "Gods, it was bad enough the first time this happened.." she stomped through the muck to the shore, boots full of mud by now. "Though last time this happened it wasn't friendly fire." she shot a sneer toward Cravs, chuckling softly soon after.

Cravendy Hound - With every step, the two became less Roegadyn and more akin to mudmen. And on their way back to the FC, many civilians, just going on their day to day lives, would stop to stare. Thankfully, the walk wasn’t especially long, and the lake surrounding the Lavender Beds would do a fine job of washing them clean, though the stench lingered. A proper bath was certainly necessary after the fact.

[sailorshadzter]

lets pretend this isnt riddled with mistakes (i REALLY forgot that the mountain was raised back from the dead??? can he still talk??? idk. he does here lmao and then never comes back because yeah, zombie guy stuff came up) 

basically this is a oneshot full of things i think will happen in season 8. i think a kidnapping plot is very plausible and i think the best time it will happen would be when the north sets out to fight against the night king.  but, as you read, you’ll see how i think cersei’s fate will play out by the end of the series. 

im not convinced daenerys would stand by and let jon live, considering his birthright, but i didnt want this story to be even longer by including a fight between them for the iron throne.  i read a theory about her dying in the fight against the night king & honestly that sounds right to me- but id already written the first half of this and was not about to go back and rewrite lmao. eventually i AM going to write that out though so be on the look out for that!

anyways hi 

here it is

im sorry if it sucks lol

You have to stay here.

He'd said those words over and over to her as he nearly dragged her down to the crypts beneath Winterfell, Ghost trotting after them, you'll be safest down here, he'd gone on, his dark eyes never leaving hers. Promise me you'll come back, she'd gripped the front of his cloak, unable to stop herself from pleading with him. Promise me, Jon. He'd taken her into his arms then, crushing her against him and Sansa could do nothing but commit to memory the way it felt to have him hold her. He'd kissed her forehead and smiled, but he made no promises. How could he, after all?

And then she watched him go, a cold sense of dread settled into the pit of her stomach.

By now, hours had passed, or so she supposed they had; she'd lost track of the time down there, surrounded by ghosts. She had passed the time praying to the Old Gods and the New, though she'd once sworn off praying, for what God had listened to her before? She had asked for guidance from her mother, her father, and even from her Aunt Lyanna. Sansa could only hope someone out there heard her. Reaching out a hand, she ran it along Ghost's back, watching with curiosity as the wolf suddenly sat upright. "What is it?" She spoke, her voice soft, her eyes following the wolf's line of sight. He'd settled his red-eyed gaze upon the door down the hall, the one which Jon had disappeared through some hours ago.

That was when she noticed it, the movement of the door as someone began to push it open. Her heart lept into her throat, her stomach churning as she rose up from where she sat on the ground. At her feet, Ghost had risen up as well, a low growl escaping his jaws as he took a few steps forward. Had they won already? Was the battle with the Night King truly over? Was this Jon returning to her? Or worse... Was it someone else come to fetch her, to take her to Jon's mangled body brought back to Winterfell? The door swung open then and Sansa felt her breath catch in her throat as a mountain of a man appeared in the doorway. "No..." She whispered as the man stepped into the corridor, his face hidden by a helmet, his white cloak a sign of who had sent him. Ghost was openly growling now, snapping his jaws in a warning to the man coming towards them. "Down, Ghost." Sansa spoke quietly, reaching down to tenderly rub the wolf's head, calming him. She'd never forgive herself if the Mountain killed Ghost and so she stepped in front of the wolf, holding her head high as the man approached her, no ounce of fear in her piercing blue eyes. "She's sent you then?"

Gregor Clegane did not recognize this young woman, this Lady of Winterfell. She was quite unlike the little girl that had once lived in King's Landing so long ago. But those eyes of hers... Those he remembered. Those he would never forget. "Aye," he replied in his gruff voice, reaching for her, her arm so small beneath his grip surely he would break her. Little bird, was that not what his brother had called her? The wolf at her feet snapped his jaws but she hushed him and the wolf sat back, though it continued to growl. Surprisingly, she did not fight against him as he drug her back towards the door, perhaps because she felt the strength of his grip on her arm and knew she was no match. Perhaps she valued her life more than she had back in King's Landing. And so he took her back up into Winterfell, down the main corridor and out the double doors into the courtyard where a huge, black stallion waited for its master.

Things were beginning to make sense now. Sansa could see no trace of servants or the guards left behind by Jon for her own protection. Either they were dead or frightened into hiding. It was snowing like mad and she had no cloak, but the Mountain didn't seem to care if she froze to death before they reached King's Landing. "Up you go," he lifted her onto the horse, the tight grip of his hands on her waist surely bruising her soft skin beneath her layers of clothes. Climbing up onto the horse himself, he snapped the horse into a trot and then they were gone, out the open gates of Winterfell and down the long road towards King's Landing. Looking back over her shoulder, Sansa felt a chill race down her spine that wasn't from the cold. It was Jon she thought of then, of his deep set, dark brown eyes, wishing with all of her might that he was there then. Please Jon, she thought as she was swiftly taken from her home, please be safe.

If nothing else, even if she got to King's Landing and Cersei took her head, she just wanted him to be alive.

[ x x x ]

All he could think of was her.

He rushed from the battlefield back towards Winterfell, back to where she was. Jon still could barely believe they'd won- he hadn't anticipated it, truthfully- but they had and now he had to see her. He had to hold her. He had to tell her just how he felt. But as he and a few of the survivors approached the gates, he felt it... A cold sense of dread that filled him whole, nearly snatching the breath from his lungs. "Jon?" It was Arya coming up beside him, her dark eyes meeting his, her features taut with worry. Could she feel it too? "Where are the guards?" Jon snapped his gaze from her face to the guard towers on either side of the open gate, realizing only then that there was no one within them. Sansa! He broke off at a run then, leaving Arya and the others behind, uncaring of the pain his battered body felt with every step that he took.

Down to the crypts he rushed, his mind whirling with hundreds of thoughts, but every one of them had to do with her. "Sansa!" He shouted as he nearly broke down the door to get into the passage, stumbling over the crumbling rock that once were a solid set of stairs. To his horror, she did not reply, but rather he heard the soft whining of Ghost. His wolf was pacing back and forth before the statue of Ned Stark, as if this was where Sansa has once been standing. "Sansa..." He came to stand before Ghost, who as soon as he'd noticed him, rushed towards Jon's side, his whining increasing. "It's okay boy," he murmured as he knelt down to put a hand to his ears, rubbing the soft head. "Where is she, Ghost? Where's Sansa?"

"Jon?"

He turned to look over his shoulder at the sound of Arya's voice, noticing only then that her face was bruised and pale. "There's a note." He stood up, his head swimming, and he reached out a hand to touch the wall, steadying himself. Arya approached, her worry evident as she extended out a rolled up parchment, already unsealed. He didn't have to ask her who it was from, for something told Jon he already knew. Unrolling it, Jon felt his heart skip a beat, felt his stomach sink as the unfamiliar handwriting began to blur. Damn her, he thought as he began to fall, damn that Cersei Lannister.

And then... Everything went black.

[ x x x ]

As the peaks of King's Landing came into view, Sansa knew she was in trouble.

Though she knew Cersei would not kill her outright, how could she after all? But coming back to this place... Here in King's Landing she had suffered so very much. Cersei would not make it easy on her. It would not be as it had once been. And worse yet, for all she knew Cersei would still yet blame her for the death of Joffrey, that alone could be her undoing. Sansa felt a chill race down her spine and she shivered from it, though the Mountain must have thought it was from the cold for he reminded her that they were almost there. Sansa could not help but to laugh-the cold had not bothered her for a long time now. She wished she could still yet feel the biting cold sting against her flesh, but that feeling had disappeared a long time ago.

Riding down the main road towards the Red Keep, Sansa noticed the city was quiet. It was early morning, so very early the sun had not yet even begun to rise. "Cover yourself girl," the Mountain suddenly spoke, draping what must have been his cloak over her hair, hiding her identity from prying eyes. No one could know Ned Stark's daughter, the now Lady of Winterfell, no, the Queen in the North, had been brought back to King's Landing. Drawing the cloak closer to herself, Sansa kept her eyes ahead, knowing everything was about to change.

Again, Jon came to her thoughts and so fiercely did she miss him that it brought tears to her eyes. Was he alright? What of Arya, of Brienne? Even Ser Davos whom she'd begun to establish a close relationship with. Those left in this world that she loved... Were they safe? Had the battle yet been won? And even Daenerys, what of her and her precious dragons? Had they made it through the battle unscathed? Or had they all fallen beneath the Night King's sword... Would there be no one to come and save her? No, she reminded herself, she would have to get herself out of this mess. Somehow.

It was then that they rode through the main gate and as the Mountain came to a stop, it was then that Sansa saw her standing there. Her blonde hair was cropped short, but her gown was as fashionable as ever, with long sleeves and a overlay of silk that draped across her front. Sansa felt her breath catch, but she made no movement even as the man behind her dismounted from his horse. "Get moving girl," the tight grip of his hands on her waist brought her back to the present, and Sansa staggered as her feet hit the ground for the first time in hours. He pushed her towards where Cersei stood in the doorway, paying no mind to how she stumbled over her own feet, clearly exhausted from the hours upon hours of riding. "My queen," he greeted as they approached, tugging the cloak he'd given her away, revealing her face to the woman. "I've brought you Sansa Stark."

Cersei's rosy lips curled with a haunted smile before she tilted her head, inspecting the young, beautiful woman before her. Even after hours of riding, of no sleep and no food, she was lovely. She had grown from a frightened young girl into a beautiful woman. Cersei could not stop the twinge of jealousy, could not help but to recall the old woman's prophecy of the younger, more beautiful queen who would take her place. She had once thought it would be this Daernerys Targaryen who had sailed across the Narrow Sea to reach Westeros, but now... Could it be the girl standing before her? "Hello, little dove." The use of her old pet name did not offer Sansa any comfort, but rather a cold dread settled into the pit of her stomach. But she held her head high and returned the smile that was offered to her.

She had survived Cersei Lannister and King's Landing once before and so she would do it again.

[ x x x ]

When he woke, his first thought was of her.

Forcing himself up from the bed, Jon grimaced, his wounds from the battle painful as they began to heal. "Jon." It was Daenerys seated beside his bed, to his shock, and he could not help but to feel disappointed. It should have been her... It should have been Sansa. "You shouldn't move yet." She went on, reaching out with her soft, gentle hands to push him back onto his pillow. "You'll only do more harm to yourself." He shrugged off her hands then, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, rising up without a single word. Daenerys sat back in the chair, looking at him with those violet eyes of hers, not a single strand of silver hair out of place on her head. "Jon..." She watched him as he pulled on the nearest shirt, one that Sansa herself had sewn for him before his departure for Dragonstone. Seeing her precise little stitches nearly broke him and he sank back onto his bed, hands covering his face as he fought to regain himself.

"I have to go to King's Landing." He finally said without preamble, lowering his hands to look across at Daenerys. For a moment her typically passive face faltered, disappointment skirting across her features. But then she regained herself, simply nodding as she watched him get back onto his feet. "How long have I been out?" He asked as he reached for the rest of his clothing, the fur trimmed cloak Sansa had made for him now draped over his arm. Daenerys had stood up as well, her violet eyes dark as they met his. Two days, her words haunted him as he shook his head, tugging his cloak on and making to push past her. "Move, your grace," he spoke with a venom he'd not felt before, his only thoughts of the girl he'd let down. Once again, Sansa was in the hands of the enemy, once again he'd failed to protect her.

Daenerys could not stop the jealousy that lept into her thoughts, darkening her heart. She had thought Jon was her's... Had thought that after all they'd been through already, he would stand beside her no matter what. It was true, his father had been her own brother, but did that truly matter in the end? "You intend to go after her? Cersei Lannister will have you murdered before you can reach her. You would give your life for her so easily?" Jon's face twisted with anger and at once she regretted her words, but there was no taking them back now.  Jon stepped close to her then, his brown eyes never once straying from hers, a look in them she had never seen before.

"I would give my life for hers without hesitation." His hands curled into fists at his sides before he shook his head, the anger fleeing, knowing this woman could never understand how he felt about Sansa. No one could. "You want the Iron Throne, it is yours. I have no mind to take it." He finally said the words he'd been meaning to say since the day of his true heritage had been revealed. "I just want her." And then, without waiting for dismissal from the dragon queen, he was gone, nearly sprinting from the room in his haste to gather all he would need to get to King's Landing.

He would save Sansa if it was the last thing he did.

[ x x x ]

It was not the dungeons for her, as she'd expected.

In truth, the rooms Cersei had housed her in were rooms far beyond her station. Sansa noted the silk sheets and chiffon canopy, the gilded furnitature, and the spacious chambers. These had once been Myrcella's chambers. It was as if Cersei had refused to make a single change to the rooms her daughter had once occupied. Sansa had heard the news of her death, brought along to the North by word of mouth and she had felt remorse for the princess. Had they not once been something like friends? In truth, Sansa felt remorse for any innocent life claimed in this game, in this war for the Iron Throne. She wondered if Cersei thought it worth it... The life of her children for this clunky, ugly chair.

A knock on the door and then it opened, a handmaiden coming in with a fresh gown, another following after with water for her to wash. It was her second morning in King's Landing and she'd still yet to see Cersei and that... That was troublesome. But by the looks of the gown brought to her, the queen intended to take an audience with her this very day. And so Sansa allowed herself to be dressed by the maidens, though she did not wash with the water given to her- she would not risk it being tainted with poison.

It was a little later that the summons came- she was seated in the window, looking out across the courtyard of the Red Keep when there came another knock upon her chamber door. It was two of the queen's guard there at her door, their white cloaks a stark contrast to the dark looks upon their faces. "The queen wishes to speak to you, my lady." One guard spoke and Sansa could not help but to smirk; this was not a request, it was a command. But she rose to her feet all the same, allowing the two guards to lead her down the still familiar corridors, not to the Great Hall but to Cersei's own chambers.

She found her seated behind her desk as always, her eyes finding her own the moment she entered the room. "Sit, little dove," Cersei spoke, gesturing for Sansa to take the seat before the desk. "It has been a long time." Sansa did not reply as she took to the seat, her blue eyes narrowing ever so slightly as she took in the sight of the woman before her. Was that... The  curve of a belly she saw? Sansa knew it was true then, the rumors she had heard, that Cersei carried yet another child by her own twin. It won't live, the thought crossed her mind without warning, like a premonition of what was to come. Blinking, she forced a smile and held Cersei's gaze, though she still did not speak. Cersei leaned forward over the desk, hands spread across its surface, those green eyes of hers unwavering in their stare. "I should have had you murdered for what you did to my son." Her voice was dangerous and Sansa felt her stomach drop, her own hands clenching into fists on her lap. "But..." She trailed off then, leaning back in her chair, hands now pressed against the swell of her stomach. Within her she carried the solution to all of her problems- within her, she carried the heir that would follow her. There would be no Targaryen to rule after her. The child would be a girl, she was certain, the woman of prophecy that would take her place on the throne. It would not be Daenerys Targaryen nor would it be this Sansa Stark before her. "Perhaps an exchange of life can be arranged. Yours for the Targaryen queen's."

Sansa did not believe her, not for an instant. There would be no exchanging her life for the dragon queen's that much Sansa was certain of. If Cersei still yet blamed her for Joffrey's death, then she would die before anyone would come for her- if they even did. She still knew not the fate of the beloved family against the army of the dead. And she knew that if Jon and the others were dead... Then what was the use in life? Without Jon, without Arya... It just would never be the same. Jon... She thought of him as she always did, of his smile, of the gentle touch of his hand against hers... Just please be alright. "Perhaps, your grace," Sansa finally spoke, her smile slight as she tilted her head, red hair a waterfall. It made no sense to argue her case over Joffrey's death, she would never believe her. "Unless of course Daenerys Targaryen comes for you first." Without waiting for a response, without being bid to rise, Sansa got to her feet and turned her back to this queen, knowing she would never again pretend to serve her. Gone was the young girl this queen had commanded with fright and manipulation and in her place was this new woman, Sansa Stark of Winterfell. The likes of Cersei Lannister could not frighten her anymore.

[ x x x ]

He had been riding for hours.

Hours and hours and yet he felt as if he were no closer to Sansa than when he'd first set out. His body ached and his wounds were bleeding, but he could not yet stop. How could he stop when Sansa was within the enemy's hands? The others tried to get him to stop, Arya and Brienne, Davos and even Tormund, but stopping was not an option. Jon thought of nothing but her... It fueled him to keep on riding, to never stop pushing forward.

"Jon... Look." It was Arya's voice, pulling him from the depth of his own mind, and he glanced beside him to where she rode, hand extended out. Following her pointed finger, he swiveled his gaze and that was when he caught sight of it... The first glimpse of King's Landing. They were still yet far, but that single sight of the tallest peak was enough to give him the energy he needed to continue. "We'll get there in time, Jon." Arya spoke again, once again claiming his attention. Jon stiffened but then nodded, a small smile twitching on his lips. She was right, they would get there in plenty of time to save Sansa.

"It can't be more than a day of riding away," Brienne spoke up, her pale features marred by cuts and a deep set bruise to her left temple. She still yet could not forgive herself for straying from Sansa's side. Yet again, her lady was trapped with the enemy, perhaps suffering in ways she did not deserve. In Cersei's clutches... No, Brienne would not think of such a thing. They would get to her and save her without any harm coming to her. That was all she had to keep her going and so she would believe it until the very end.

"Aye." Jon spoke, glancing to his left at Tormund, who gave a single nod. "Let's make it less than that." He kicked his horse into a gallop and took off, the others taking off after him. Wait for me, Sansa... Jon thought of her smile then, the sweet way it tugged at her rosy lips when she probably didn't even realize it. He would never allow anyone to take that smile away from her, not when she only so recently gained it back. Jon had fought with everything in him to protect her and take back Winterfell, he had sold himself out to the dragon queen and lost the respect of nearly every Northern lord... But he would not lose Sansa.

[ x x x ]

Something was not right.

Sansa could feel it in her bones, that cold sense of dread that only came to her when something truly awful was about to happen. She recalled the first time she had felt it... When Lady had been sentenced to die. And then the next... When her father had so unjustly lost his head. The ripple of anxiety sent chills down her spine, goosebumps rising across the backs of her arms. It had been hours since she had walked free from Cersei's chamber and she was quite surprised that the queen had not sent for her once again. In fact, no one had come to her in quite some time.

Rising up from where she sat at the table, she tiptoed across the room to open her chamber door, even more surprised to find the guards once posted there were gone. Sticking her head out into the hall, she caught sight of a maid rushing by, looking worred. "What's happening?" Sansa spoke loudly, catching the girl's attention. The maid slowed to a stop, glancing left and then right as if she knew she wasn't supposed to be speaking to her. But Sansa stepped fully out of the room then, allowing the chamber door to close behind her. "Tell me what's happening!" If the guards had left their posts outside her door, then that meant something truly awful must have been going on somewhere else in the castle. "Are we under attack?"

The maid again glanced left and then right, swallowing against whatever fears were deep within her. And then... She spoke. "The queen is in labor, my lady." She spoke quietly, the words ones Sansa had not at all anticipated on hearing. "It is much before her time and she is struggling. Many of the guards and staff... They've abandoned their posts. Those who are loyal... They are doing what they can for her grace." And then the maid was gone, racing off towards where she had been heading all along: the main set of doors that would lead her out of the Red Keep and into the streets.

For a moment she could not breathe but then she steadied herself, knowing this could be her one and only chance at escaping. And yet... It was not towards those same doors that her feet carried her, but down the halls towards the queen's chambers. They were a buzz of activity, with maids going in and out, two unfamiliar men pacing outside the chamber door. Sansa went past them without effort, she supposed they had not even noticed her slip on by. Into the antechamber first, she became aware of how dire the situation had to be within the queen's bed chamber. Maids were on their knees, praying to the Old or New Gods, some to save their queen... Others... Perhaps not. For a moment, she thought she might back out, that she would leave without taking another step inside that room. No, she told herself, you must see this for yourself. She swept by them, pushing open the door to Cersei's chamber. No one noticed her entry, the two maester's at the foot of the bed conversed in soft, somber tones, their expressions dark. Maids gathered around the bed on either side, their clothing stained with blood, their faces tracked with tears. And then, there she was, the once golden queen laying there in her grand bed, face pale as death itself.

Sansa quietly approached the side of the bed, only then drawing notice from anyone in the room. Cersei's green eyes opened as her head swiveled to face her, lips moving in a silent plea, words that Sansa could not hear. The swollen bump of her abdomen was hidden beneath the draping silk, but even those were stained with blood. It was as she'd thought only a day earlier, the child would not live. And now it was clear to her, neither would the mother. Then she spotted it, a cot on the far side of the bed, where a small bundle was neatly wrapped. Surely within a child lay, a child that never even drew a single breath, a child born far too soon.  She made to step back from the bed but she felt a touch to her hand; looking down, it was Cersei grasping for her, lips again moving with words that she could not hear. Leaning down, Sansa placed her ear as close as she dared to the dying woman, to hear what very well could be her final words. Me? She's going to speak to me? Sansa thought, but pushed the thoughts away as she listened to what it was Cersei was trying to say. "A... Girl... Was it... A girl?" Cersei's words cut her like a knife and Sansa drew back, looking up towards the maester's that had heard their queen's whisper. One of them shook his head and then Sansa turned back to look into those fading green eyes. No, Sansa heard herself say, drawing back up to her full height as Cersei smiled, a laugh dying on her dry, chapped lips. And so I was wrong... So very wrong. Cersei closed her eyes then and drew a final breath, every ounce of fight leaving her body in that very moment.

And that was when Sansa left.

She backed away from the room as the maids began to cry in earnest, more than one falling to her knees at the queen's bloody bedside. The moment she was in the corridor, Sansa began to run, faster than she had ever run in all of her life. Down the halls and towards the main double doors, uncertain where she would go, but knowing anywhere would be better than here. Pushing past the doors, she stumbled out into the afternoon sunshine, the warmth of it unable to bring her any sense of comfort at all. She slowed to a walk and to a hault as she came upon the five men, all with their stark white cloaks, all with swords strapped to their hips. It was the men that remained of the queen's guard, men that would harm her without a second thought. Breath catching in her throat, Sansa took a step back, wondering if perhaps she'd been safer inside the Red Keep... But now it was too late.

The first man was approaching her, a hungry look in his eyes that Sansa had seen hundred's of times in a man. Fear clutched at her and she turned to make a run for it, but he grabbed hold of her arm before she could go, pulling her hard towards him. A fist connected with her abdomen seconds later and the very breath was knocked from her lungs as she collapsed upon the dirt. She had been here before, hadn't she? Too many times to count. Another hit came, this one in her side, sending her sprawling across the ground. "The queen bid us not to harm you, but now there's no queen." It was a second man that spoke, this one coming closer to reach out and take hold of a fistful of her hair, yanking her back up onto her feet. "But rumor is that you're as good as the Queen in the North... I ain't never been with a queen before, have you men?" The three other men laughed as they all crept closer, agreeing that no, they had never before. Sansa felt her heart skip a beat. This couldn't happen to her.. Not again... Not again! She fought back against the man holding her, his grip now on her arm, but no matter how hard she pulled she could not get free. A second man approached and his hand gripped the shoulder of her gown, tearing it away from her body. The third man was there too, closing in on her as Sansa began to shout, kicking and flailing with all of her might, blue eyes a frenzy as the last of the men circled her. A fist caught her in the mouth, another in the side, all the while the other two tore at her borrowed gown, making every attempt to tear it from her very body.

And then, they all heard it. The sound of galloping horses, the sound of someone come to save her.

Jon could see her up ahead, there in the courtyard of the Red Keep with five men around her. She was struggling against the one holding her and Jon could see her gown was torn, a sign that one of them had put his hands upon her in such a way that enraged him more than he thought possible. With the others thundering along beside him, they swept across the courtyard, breaking apart the five men that had suddenly abandoned Sansa, leaving her there to tumble into the dirt. Leaping from his horse, Jon unsheathed his sword and at once lunged at the nearest of men, the one that had been holding fast to her when they'd rode up.  And just like that, a battle had erupted in the courtyard, for even Davos had taken up his sword against a man in honor to fight for the girl that was hunched over on the ground, doing her best to catch her breath and calm her racing heart.

It took him only  three more slices before the man was cut down, slumping onto the ground as he gagged on his own blood, clutching at his wounded throat. Jon turned then, his eyes finding Sansa's as she looked out at him from where she sat, the gown she wore in pieces. "Sansa," he whispered her name before he began to run, racing towards her and throwing himself down before her. "Sansa!" He felt her a moment later, his arms winding around her as she threw herself into them, her body quivering as she buried her face into his shoulder. He held onto her as tightly as he dared, breathing in her sweet, familiar scent, the sounds of steel against steel the only other noise in the background as one by one, the queen's guards fell beneath his comrades blades. And then... It went silent.

Only then did he pull back from her, holding her at arm's length; he could already see the bruise upon her face, the blood on her lip. "I can't believe you're here," she whispered, her blue eyes shining as they filled with tears. Jon reached out a hand, thumb catching a tear as it slipped free, his lips curving with the smallest of smiles. How was it that he was always there when she needed him most? And not just Jon, she could see all of the others too, the ones that had come to save her from King's Landing. Arya stood just a short distance away, a strange look on her face, but Davos was smiling faintly, as if he'd always known the truth.

"I made you a promise, didn't I?" Jon's voice brought her back and Sansa looked back to him, only to see he was still yet smiling. "I will always protect you, Sansa." He had meant it back then, that vow of protection he'd offered her. Not just against Ramsay, but against anyone who might do her harm. At his words, Sansa was smiling too, before she plunged back into his arms, burying herself as close to him as she possibly could. It was only a few minutes later that he bid her to rise, drawing her up with him. Ser Davos was there then, draping her in his own cloak before offering her his arm, slowly taking her towards Jon's own horse that stood several yards away. Brienne and Arya met them there, Sansa embracing first her younger sister, holding onto the smaller girl for a long moment. And then she was forcing Brienne back onto her feet, for the tall swordswoman had knelt onto the ground at her feet, clearly shamed by Sansa's kidnapping.

Jon watched as she walked away from him, as she met with the others that she loved, knowing he had done as he'd promised. But it wasn't over yet. This was his life. She was his life. He followed the path he'd been born for- no, that he'd been reborn for, and it all led right back to her. And so he walked towards her again, to where Ser Davos was helping her up onto the horse's back and he climbed up behind her. "Lean on me," he whispered against the shell of her ear and he felt her body a moment later, her back against his chest as she settled into place against him. "Let's go home." He said to the others, all of whom had climbed back onto their own horses, all ready to make the journey back home.

Back to Winterfell.

[ x x x ]

It was days later and Jon found himself to finally feel like normal again. After fighting the army of the dead, traveling to and from King's Landing, as well as fighting again, he had found himself to be beyond exhausted. The only thing that had kept him going on the return to Winterfell was Sansa, who rode without complaint even as the bruises began to darken, even when she could not sleep from the nightmares that plagued her yet again.

The moment they had rode through the gates of Winterfell, it was to cheers and joy. The Northern lords and peasants alike had gathered within the gates, cheering the arrival of their Lady of Winterfell and all the others they owed their lives to. Jon had caught sight of Daenerys even, high in the tower that overlooked it all, her pale face peering down from a single window. But even that was days ago and he'd not yet even seen the Dragon queen, he could not even say if she still yet remained in Winterfell. It was as he had told her- he cared not who sat upon the Iron Throne.

Rising from his bed for the first time, Jon dressed in the clean clothes that had been laid out for him and left his chamber, his feet taking him the familiar path to Sansa's. But, it took only a quick glance inside to see that she was not there and at once his heart was fluttering fast. He made his way down the halls but still could not find her. At least... Not at first.

He found her on the upper walkway with Ghost, looking out over all of Winterfell. She was dressed warmly, her fur cloak draped across her shoulders, the gown beneath it a deep and somber shade of blue he'd never before seen her wear, but recalled it being a color Catelyn Stark had often worn. She looked so beautiful standing there he could not help but to stand and stare a moment longer than he meant to. "Sansa," finally he spoke her name as he approached, the sound of his voice catching her attention. Her smile was radiant as she reached out a gloved hand to touch Ghost's head a moment before the direwolf came towards him, rubbing his head against Jon's knees. He ran his own hand along the wolf's neck and spine, thankful he still yet had his companion, though he'd seen little of the direwolf since his return. Ghost had committed himself to Sansa in the same sort of way Jon had it seemed. "How are you?"

Sansa regarded him for a moment longer before she turned back to face the vast expanse of space that was Winterfell, her gloved hands falling into place upon the stone before her. "I'm home," she said simply, her lips curving with a smile. "We're home." She clarified then, turning back to face him, the wind catching her long red hair. Jon could not help himself from reaching out, tucking a strand behind her ear, his fingertips trailing the length of her jaw as he drew his hand back. She caught his hand then, giving it the softest of squeezes as she stepped a little closer, the gap between them minimal at best. She heard him say her name, so softly that she thought she might have imagined it, but he was smiling as she leaned in, almost hesitantly, catching his mouth with her own.

Jon took her into his arms the moment he felt her lips find his and suddenly there was no gap between them at all. He returned her kiss with every ounce of passion he could muster, wondering just how long he'd truly been waiting to do this. As he drew back a few moments later, it was to cup her cheek with his palm, her blue eyes finding his as her hand slid into place over his. And then he said the only words that seemed to make sense.

"We're home."

And now, all would be well.

[azulaahai]

A prompt for you! Jon and Sansa are in an arranged marriage and Sansa finds out that Jon has been leaving WF to visit the brothel in Wintertown a few times. What she doesn't know is that he's there because he's making sure that the Wildling women who now work there aren't being mistreated as he feels responsible for them.

Hey, thanks so much for the prompt, sorry it took a while - this became longer than planned, and pretty melodramatic lmao but anyway - hope you like it! :)

Also put this on AO3

* * *

I: SANSA

Those songs Sansa loved always ended when the war in them did, when the giant was slain and the castle retaken. She’d never heard a song that spoke of how the giant never stopped haunting your nightmares, or how the castle for evermore held ghosts. Her search for guidance in them was therefor fruitless, and more than in a  long while, Sansa missed her mother - her soothing words and clever advice.

Lady Catelyn had always known what measures to take, though Sansa was certain her mother would not be too glad at her eldest daughter’s situation had she lived to see it.

Sansa would like to think her marriage was not an unhappy one. She was fond of Jon and he of her, and there was a mutual respect, a quiet understanding that stopped the silence that filled most of their time together from becoming uncomfortable.

But there was silence, aye - too much of it. In addition, Sansa had been getting the feeling that her husband was hiding something from her lately - it was subtle, and had she confronted him about it, he’d surely have denied it. But he’d seemed so distant of late. Were they still so broken, had the scars not healed, was it still the war that haunted him?

Perhaps her husband was just burnt out to exhaustion by the workload. The wildling settlements in the Gift kept them all busy. Sansa knew Jon was preoccupied with his duties - by the gods, did she now know the weight of a crown - but he appeared even more burdened lately, stumbling into bed just an hour or two before dawn, and spending more and more of his waking time away from her.

So when the news came, Sansa wasn’t as surprised as she might have been, but the revelation still hit her like a punch.

“Are you certain?” she asked aloud. The lady before her curtsied and nodded, looking up at Sansa with glittering, intelligent eyes. She was newly married to a lesser lord sworn to house Stark, and likely eager to gain the queen’s trust by being the first one to bring her the news - no matter how disturbing those news were.

“Positive, your grace. My husband saw him, in broad daylight, stepping out of the establishment, as if he didn’t care who saw.” The lady blushed, and though Sansa knew her embarrassment was likely for show, she admired the girl’s acting abilities. She’d fit in King’s Landing. “I’m so very sorry to have to tell you this, your grace. But I thought you ought to know.” Sansa lowered her eyes, having to gather herself before responding with the proper regality.

“I appreciate you coming to me with this.” She wasn’t sure she truly did. Sometimes naïve innocence was to prefer over knowledge and a broken heart. “I shall handle this matter in private. I must ask for you to speak of it no more, not to anyone at all, do you understand me?” The girl once more curtsied gracefully.

“Of course, your grace. You can count on my discretion.” Sansa wouldn’t at all count on that, but there wasn’t much to be done since she wasn’t about to bribe or scare the girl to silence. Besides, if the things she spoke of were true and Jon continued with this behaviour … there would be no stopping the rumours, then.

She dismissed the girl, and when the chamber door closed and Sansa was alone at last, she closed her eyes, trying to keep the feelings of betrayal and grief that threatened to overwhelm her at bay by analysing the situation as rationally as she could manage.

So.

Her husband had - allegedly, Sansa reminded herself - been visiting a brothel in Wintertown.

Sansa could hear how naïve it sounded even as she thought it, but the only thing she could think was - not Jon. Jon would never. Jon, her sweet Jon, who’s first words to her after their wedding in the godswood had been that Ghost was her wolf now as much as his (which was so adorable and silly that Sansa never failed to smile when she thought about it), who knew exactly what it meant to grow up a bastard - would that man start visiting a brothel without explanation?

The thought calmed her. No, he would not. It could not be true. She would not believe it.

Not until she saw it with her own two eyes, Sansa thought, a plan beginning to form in her head.

* * *

To Sansa’s fright, an opportunity to put the plan to work presented itself the very next day. Jon was taking his mid-day meal with her and their friends, for once not eating alone in his solar whilst continuing to work. Though he was there in the flesh, his mind seemed to be far away somewhere, and it pinched Sansa’s heart to see him so distant.

“Jon?” she asked gently, placing a hand on his arm. Her husband blinked at her, startled.

“Forgive me, my love.” His love, now - was she? “I was thinking of something else.” Sansa managed a smile.

“I just asked if you’d like to take a ride this afternoon? It’s been a while since we rode out together.” She wasn’t a very fond rider, but she treasured the little explorations of the northern woods Jon took her out on. (Or used to take her out on.)

The moment she uttered the words, her certainty about Jon not being involved began to fade. His face became stern, closed - by the gods, he was hiding something from her.

“I can’t this afternoon. I have business in Wintertown.” Sansa’s heart sank.

“Perhaps I could accompany you there”, Sansa said smoothly, hating the pleading streak in her voice but unable to stop herself. She had to know. Had to find out.

“I’m afraid my business would only bore you”, Jon said, making Sam - who was seated at his other side - look up from his meal with a surprised look upon his face. Jon wasn’t usually so dismissive about Sansa’s role in the rule of the North, both of them careful to put up a united front even in matters where they disagreed. Sansa’s cheeks heated from embarrassment and anger. Anger was good, she thought - made it easier to push other feelings aside and focus on her goal.

To find out the truth.

* * *

“We should not be here, your grace”, Brienne said nervously, looking around with a hand on the hilt of her sword. “It is a bad part of town.”

“We’ll go back to the castle soon”, Sansa assured her, trying to hide the fact that she too felt a little nervous. “And don’t call me your grace”, she added in a whisper. “I’m Salys now, remember?” Brienne scowled, but nodded.

They walked down the street, Sansa keeping her head down and hoping the black hood she wore covered most of her features. A northerner recognising their queen now could quickly become awkward - and potentially dangerous.

Embarrassed, but lost, she had to stop and ask for directions, not looking into the eyes of the woman who with a grin pointed down the street. Brienne followed as Sansa hurried down the street, feeling like quite the spy as she spotted the sign marking the brothel - she stopped by a street-corner a few houses away, the allyway before her deserted.

As good a place as any, she thought, nodding to Brienne as she took a few steps forward before she stopped, attempting to draw as little attention to herself as possible.

Now, they could only wait.

* * *

They had been there for an hour or so, repeatedly been mistaken for women of the street (which was rather ironic, considering why they were here) and been soaked through by the gentle spring rain that had begun falling, and Sansa was just about to give up and ask Brienne to take her back home, when the street’s atmosphere suddenly shifted to one of delighted shock - the very air seemed to quake with the gossip that was to come.

For stepping out from the brothel - in broad daylight, just as the lady had claimed, walking towards his horse without even attempting to conceal his identity - was none other than the king in the North himself.

* * *

II: JON

Sansa hadn’t come down for supper that evening.

He’d been told his wife had a headache and was resting, but Gilly had refused to look him in the eyes as she said it, making Jon rather puzzled. His confusion only increased when he, after a rather awkward dinner during which no one seemed very talkative, found the door to his and Sansa’s shared bedchamber locked.

He knocked.

No reply.

“Uhm, Sansa?” he called out gently. Perhaps she was asleep. Had she locked the door by accident? “My love?” Still no reply, but now he heard movement on the other side of the door. He knocked again, irrational worry - never far from him since the war - making him tense. Silly visions of southern assassins or wild beasts having broken in flashed before his eyes.

“Sansa? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, Jon”, she answered him, at last. “Just … you can sleep in your old chambers tonight.” Something about her tone was off. What in all the seven hells was going on?

“Of course I can, if you need me to”, he replied. “Do you need me to send for Sam?”

“No. I am well. Just leave me be.” Still, he hesitated. Her voice was strangely muffled, sounding almost as if she’d been weeping. Something was wrong.

“Sansa”, he said, frustrated. “What’s the matter?”

No answer.

“Would you open the door, love?” he tried again.

To his surprise, she did so.

Jon wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but it wasn’t the sight that greeted him. Sansa was still dressed in her dark-blue gown, her hair hanging loosely, messily. Her eyes were reddened from crying, making Jon’s heart ache, but that wasn’t what took him by surprise - it was the rage in them.

Sansa was furious.

“What…” Jon began, but Sansa stopped him by abruptly stepping aside, a rather hostile invite for him to enter. He did, and she shut the door behind him a little harder than necessary.

“Sansa. What is going on?” He was getting desperate.

“You tell me”, Sansa replied in a low voice. Remembering her curtesies, even when she was so obviously enraged. “You tell me what in all the seven hells” - Jon was startled to hear her curse - Sansa never cursed - “you were doing at the Wintertown brothel.”

Stupified, Jon stared at her. There were several things he could not believe about the situation - the fact that Sansa had just used the word ‘brothel’, the fact she’d even found out, the fact she’d been crying over him - and most importanly, how big a fool he’d been.

* * *

III: SANSA

He looked absolutely mortified at her words, and for a second Sansa’s heart broke all over again. It was true, then, and he wasn’t even going to explain himself, it seemed.

But then he spoke, startled, rushing through the words so quickly Sansa could barely keep up.

”Sansa, love, no – that’s not at all what – I don’t think you realise -”

”Do you deny it?” she asked quietly, hating her voice for breaking. ”I saw you, with my own eyes, stepping out of that brothel. I dare you to look me in the eyes and deny it.”

”Sansa”, he said, again grasping for words. ”I don’t deny being at that brothel, no -”

”Then go. I don’t want you here.” She turned away from him in a vain attempt to save face and gather herself without his eyes drilling into hers.

”Sansa”, he said again. ”Sansa. That brothel – there are wildling women working there.”

“I don’t want to know”, she snarled.

“That’s – not like that! I just – I learned they’d been coming to Wintertown and that some of them had turned to the brothels …” Jon looked away, clearly embarrassed. “I – I don’t want to shock you, my love -” Sansa rolled her eyes. Once, a million years ago, she might have objected to him speaking of such matters to her, but she was a woman grown, wed and bed, war-torn and strong.  

She could hear of a brothel. Aspecially one it seemed her husband frequented.

“- but several wildling women has started working on that brothel,” Jon continued, still rambling, “and – I wanted to make sure that they were looked after, is all. That the brothel keep didn’t see it as an opportunity to take advantage of the wildlings being new to town.”

Finally, he stopped for a breath, looking up at her with sadness in his eyes.

“I didn’t – I’d never touch anyone, of course.” He lowered his voice, straightening his back. “No one but you.”

“Jon”, she said. “I’m not a fool, nor am I nearly as frail as you clearly think me. If you …” She looked down at the floor, the words stuck in her throat. “I – there’s no need to make up stories for me. If you’d … I mean, if you’ve ever …” She trailed off again. By the gods, they were hopeless at this, weren’t they? “I’d just want to know.” It came out nearly a whisper.

“Sansa”, he pleaded. “I swear to you. I … There’s only you.”

Then - in a voice so low Sansa barely heard, softly - he said the three words Sansa’d been waiting to hear. Three words they’d been tiptoeing around - ‘my love’, he called her, ‘lovely’ sometimes, but at no point during their marriage had he uttered those three words aloud -

- three words that changed everything.

* * *

IV: BRIENNE

“You’re going to Wintertown, your grace? Again?” Brienne asked, glancing down the table at Jon, who had looked particularly infatuated with his wife this morning, smiling sheepishly towards Sansa more than once as they broke their fast. Sansa, too, seemed more chipper than usual, returning Jon’s smiles with almost girlish giggles.

Brienne was glad of it, of course - they must have worked out the issues of yesterday - though she still found it hard to forgive so grave an insult to lady Sansa as the one Jon had inflicted upon her yesterday. There must be something I don’t know, otherwise they wouldn’t be so upbeat.

“Yes”, queen Sansa replied to her question, eyes glittering. Then, in a lower voice - “But you needn’t come with me, this time. I am accompanying Jon on a supervision of the working conditions of wildlings in Wintertown.”

[ladyninjaa]

The Legendary Warrior

I wanted to try my hand at GoT Imagines but I didn’t know what the fuck to write, lmao. This is shit, I know, but I’ll do another one later! 

Imagine: Being one of the fiercest warriors in the kingdoms and everyone vying to get your alliance. Rob’s men managed to find you and now you stand in front of the Young Wolf.

You had no interest in wars. Here, you stood in front of the King of the North. The Young Wolf as they call him also. You do not deny his rugged more Tully than Stark looks. His dark brown curls fall in his sharp face. His kindly eyes are gleaming at you with a look that irritates you. It is a look as if he has won the damn war. A war you care shit for.

You only came to humor him. You and your loyal men were making way from the South to the North…to the Wall where the real war would happen—the only war you cared about fighting in. You cared not for the petty squabbles over a damned iron throne.

The Young Wolf looked extremely pleased to see you. In his Royal tent stood before you other Lords you didn’t care for and the Young Wolf’s mother—Catelyn Stark was beside her Kingly son looking as hopeful as the Young wolf. It did bring you pain to know that you would crush their hopes with your next words. You will not deny that they have lost a great deal and have been put in a terrible situation but their problems were shit compared to what would come this winter.

“Well?” Robb persisted getting a bit annoyed at your prolonged silence.

You stared at this man with interest, “I care not for your war,” Your words were sharper then any sword in the tent and colder then any winter that has passed. Immediately there are men on their feet yelling at you for your disrespect but you fear them not. Robb is stunned by your words and utterly confused. You cared not for this war? You cared not for the people of this land?

“I give you my sincere condolences’, truly, but I am not here to fight your war or anyone’s war. There is a reason why I have no interest in an alliance with anyone. Stannis made the mistake of thinking he could force me into one and almost paid with his life. Renly was smart enough to respect my choice,” You say indifferently taking note of the hands resting on hilts of swords but you are not afraid, “There is a war that I will fight in and that is the war of the dead that comes when the first white winds blow, Young Wolf.”

Catelyn is bristling in anger and she is the one to speak, “How dare you speak such disgraceful words?” She spits and it is then that you understand why people are fearful of Catelyn Stark. Her eyes were hard enough to cut through Valyrian Steel.

“Your grace,” You respectfully say to the grieving widow, “I speak only the truth. While you all fret over a war that has been repeated before, there is a war that would make this one seem like child’s play. All your work will be for naught if the white walkers succeed in coming over that Wall.” You hold any remorse for your words and you show it well.

“You are not sane!” It is Robb who speaks angrily as he stands, his men get even more aggressive with their postures and words, “We fight for our freedom. We fight to bring home my sisters! We fight to get rid of those damn Southerners!” He is taller then you expected despite being younger then you and he is in your face seething in rage.

You remain cool and unaffected, “Like I previously stated, Young wolf, all this fighting for freedom is for naught if the white walkers succeed in their advance.” You looked at this young man clearly, “I am not some sword for hire. My answer is no.”

Robb growls making a movement to grab you but you remain calmly in your place and say with boredom, “By all means, make the same damn mistake that Stannis did. I went easy on that bastard but I won’t be so forgiving on you. Let me remind you that the title I have, I have earned for a reason. Although, I’m not sure you have earned your title, Little King.”

The murder on the Young Wolf’s face is clear. His direwolf—Grey Wind, was it? His wolf is snarling and snapping his teeth demanding to taste your flesh. The direwolf is no worry to you. As strong as the creatures were, an easy swipe at his neck and the mutt would bleed out in seconds.

“It was an honor,” You remark unaffected by the hostility in the tent, “But I have somewhere else to be. I give you my best in this war, Little King. If you somehow survive this war, you might live long enough to see how wrong you were and how right I was and then you will die from the foolishness this kingdom has made.”

You weren’t eager to travel through the night but thanks to these fools, you would have to, to make up time lost from entertaining the Stark army. You mockingly curtsy and leave the tent. “Leave her!” Robb growls knowing that you alone could take out every Lord in the tent without breaking a sweat.

You smirk as you walk outside in the fading sunlight. Your men lazily lounging about looking bored out of their minds. They immediately stand once they see you. The horses were at the edge of this camp. “Y/N?” Your best friend and right hand man asks with a knowing smirk.

You waste no time, “We have much land to cover and little time, let us make haste.” Your men follow your lead but the call of your name stops you.

It was the Young Wolf.

You turn to gaze at him curiously, “What is it you want, Little King?”

He looks visibly upset, “Have you no care for the family we have lost?”

Your answer is immediate, “Of course I do, Little King. I am not heartless woman. I have tasted loss—in fact I have no family but the men at my side. I have lost my entire family and I have been raped by many men but I am here fighting in a war that does matter. You are not the only man to have lost something due to another. Revenge will come to those who have wronged you but this war was never the answer.” You say with a quiet darkness that has Robb Stark looking at you in a new light.

“The White Walkers have been gone for thousands of years.” He states flatly.

“Aye, plenty of time to re-populate and plan out an invasion, don’t you think?” You countered before turning your back and resuming your true journey. “I’ll tell your bastard brother you said hello.” You add over your shoulder with a snicker.

“All we need is for the Lannisters to capture us.” Snickered one of your men.

“Please, don’t jinx it.” You sigh. You had your full on Kings.

[evnyoung-blog]

ay yo wassup chingu it’s ur girl kkumin ( 19, she/her ), all the way from gmt +8 ‘n here to introduce to u my Mess of a daughter seo eunyoug ok just a quick overview my piece of advice for ur muse is: good luck lmao anyway!! she’s a chief executive of arguably one of the more powerful companies in the area. nobody knows her, and nobody knows how she got there but everyone’s all equally scared ‘n wary :( if u want to plot, u can easily reach me via ims here on tmblr or,, u could d*scord me ( evrydices#6350 ) if that’s more of ur thing but pls tell me who ur playing!!  i get rly lost sometimes rip and !! ok legit im so excited to write with y’all let’s have fun together ayyok ok without further ado, my trash daughter:

BACKGROUND

ok not the richest of family backgrounds but they get by well enough

by ‘they’ i mean it’s just her and her father

mother bailed on them and eunyoung doesn’t remember, her father’s still bitter about it, isn’t looking to remarry bc he doesn’t want to get ruined again

dad works a pretty stable job, but isn’t around so eunyoung was often left to the care of her neighbors, aunts ‘n uncles, whoever was free enough tbh ( connection ideas?? )

and growing up eunyoung wasn’t the friendliest of people, so lit all she did was study ‘n study ‘n study and kept to herself baso the Good Girl nobody ever really knew about bc all she probably asked from her babysitters/whatever was where the bathroom was

but lowkey this girl wanted to become an idol so bad,, like u would not believe

then after she graduated college with two degrees ( that’s right!! get that education!! ) her father got sick ‘n his hospital bills were crazy expensive so what did eunyoung do? three words: rly shady shit

but she made sure her identity was hidden so it can’t be traced back to her in case something happens ‘n she went into the most ridiculously lucrative shit bc she thinks entry-level jobs’ salaries won’t be enough to pay for her father’s long-term sickness

like at some point she agreed to be a surrogate mother to this pair who were having trouble having a kid and it paid lavishly, and eunyoung made the excuse she had to work overseas for a year or something like that ( she never saw the baby, nor did she feel any remorse ) 

‘n she thought of actually becoming the idol she dreamed of but then trashed that memory because of all the what ifs: what if i never debut?? what if my group/solo flops?? what then?? smh i don’t have time to waste like that lmao sorry goodbye @ dream

had a number of sugar daddies but got bored of them real quick

then she married an old, family-less guy for the money can you believe. they never did anything tbh the guy just wanted hold someone’s hand before he died ‘n,, eunyoung was right there so she’s like why not lol 

then that guy died, and left everything to eunyoung, including his company, his land, literally everything bc “ her hand is the softest ” that’s verbatim y’all ‘n eunyoung could not believe her luck

so that’s the story of how she ended up on the throne of a billion-won company in seoul the end

PERSONALITY & MISC.

heckin’ sly ‘n cunning af

she’s probably neutral evil with the tiny exception for dad bc all of her intentions are self-serving

ok ok just imagine: if everything comes crumbling down, she’s damn well made sure she’s one of the pieces left standing 

a wolf in sheep’s clothing tbh

v calculating, destroys all puzzle games out there

has never known anything other than familial love

does not like pineapple on pizza

dogs > cats but she loves both

does not have any social media account except instagram

i think that’s it if you’ve read this far, ilysm!! <3