#warning for mild references to rape in this chapter

[werewolfsmile]

With You - Ch 5

The English, Whipplocke (Eli x Cornelia)

Mature Rathing, graphic violence, period-typical racism, post-canon, canon divergent, found family, angst, references to rape

5,126 words

Read it on AO3

There was blood on White Moon's face. Difficult to see in the dim light from the campfire and long since dried but it was there nonetheless. Anger seethed inside of Cornelia and she stared at White Moon, hoping to convey some of her intent through that passionate gaze alone.

He stared back, recognition clear on his face accompanied by concern. Still pacing by the campfire, Mickey kicked a rock and White Moon flinched.

This simply would not do. Cornelia finally tore her gaze away from White Moon and set about examining every inch of the shabby campsite she could lay her eyes on. Staying here and waiting for those men to come back with her money and rape her was entirely out of the question. No, no, she would simply have to escape before then.

The ground was covered in hard rocks, many of them directly beneath her. Cornelia shifted, groping blindly with her hands that were tied behind her back, hoping for one that was sharp enough.

"Oi! What you doin', woman?" snapped Mickey in his voice that was far too youthful for a real outlaw. Just an overgrown child. What unfortunate set of circumstances had led him down this path of wickedness and cruelty?

Focusing back on the task at hand, Cornelia thought quickly.

"Dear Mother and Father," she began. Mickey's face scrunched in confusion. "I apologise for the delay in writing but things in the west have been a tad more complicated than I could foresee."

"Hey! There ain't no one else here! Jus' shut up, you hear?"

"Excuse me, young man, but your manners are simply deplorable," she shot back. Mickey's mouth dropped open. "Now, if you don't mind, I am long overdue in composing a letter to my parents and since I have nothing better to do with my time, I might as well focus on that! Barring any other untimely interruptions, of course."

She cast an imperious and haughty glare at him. Micky could only blink in return, clearly baffled as to what to make of her. Cornelia arched an eyebrow then nodded to herself. Behind her back, her hands kept searching until a sting of pain indicated possible victory.

"Now, where was I? Ah, yes. It seems that I have fallen in with a rather motley group of unemployed travellers. A desperate sort, they seek work wherever they can find it through whatever means at their disposal. Now, I know you must be thinking that they sound a rather dangerous lot. But let me reassure you, they have promised only to violate my person after they have looted all my money. A most generous offer, I am sure you would agree!"

"You are barkin' mad, woman! Now shut up! No one wants to hear you yammerin' on all the time."

"For heaven's sake, young man! Were you raised by dogs? No? If only! Surely even mongrels have better manners than you!"

Mickey stalked up to her, anger on his young face. Cornelia leant back as he approached and tried to ignore the anxious expression from White Moon. This close, she could see the acne that marked Mickey's skin and the softness of his face that had yet to harden into that of a man.

"I think you're forgettin' who's in charge around here, woman. It's me! And I don't wanna hear no more of your stuck up voice. So shut it! Or I'll shut it permanently!" He brandished the rifle, as though it could offer any real threat. Cornelia regarded him coolly, unaffected.

"Forgive my saying so but I was under the impression that the other angry man was in charge. You remember, middle aged, violent? He shot that man dead where he stood."

She gestured to the body lying not three metres from her feet. The body that Mickey had been studiously avoiding in all his manic pacing. Mickey swore now and paced again, but this time his eyes went to the body over and over again.

Cornelia redoubled her efforts. Rock clutched tightly in one hand, she sawed fiercely at the rope binding her wrists.

"Wasn't meant to be like this," Mickey muttered. One hand rose to his mouth and he chewed frenetically on a fingernail till he realised what he was doing and jerked it away. "Just a quick job, in and out. Weren't nobody meant to get hurt! Least of all Benny."

There was vulnerability in Mickey's voice when he spoke of his murdered comrade. Cornelia hesitated, glancing up to see the anguish visible on Mickey's face for barely a moment before it was gone.

"You know, in all the excitement, I never did get the name of the man that killed your friend. Not that I care to be introduced to someone so violent, but it seems right that when someone wishes you harm, you should at least know their name."

She kept sawing and Mickey kept pacing, the rifle lowered towards the ground now.

"Jensen, that's his name." Mickey swore and spat. "Been nothin' but trouble, ever since he took over the group."

"An outlaw gang, is that it?"

"Naw, not at first. We was just runnin' things off the track. Y'know, away from pryin' eyes. But then Jensen … It's been nothin' but killin' and thievin' since him. Not what I signed up for."

The ropes were weakening. Cornelia forced herself to take a deep breath and let it out slowly. Rushing this and screwing it up was the last thing she wanted to do.

"I understand," she said and Mickey scoffed. "No, really, I do! I first came to America several months ago and, oh, I was terribly naive. Had no idea what I was getting myself into. Walked straight into a trap that was going to cost me my life with no visible way out. I thought, that's it! I'm done for! But you know what happened next?" Mickey stared at her and Cornelia smiled. "Magic."

The rope snapped. Adrenaline surged through her veins as she shook her wrists free.

"White Moon, now!"

Mickey's head swung towards White Moon, alarm on his face. White Moon let out a ululating battle cry and Cornelia surged to her feet. She lunged for the rifle, wrestling with Mickey as he cried out and tried to fend her off. They struggled against each other, each fighting for the upper hand until –

Bang! Mickey screamed and fell to the ground.

Cornelia stepped back, aiming the rifle at the young man as she panted in the wake of adrenaline. He writhed, blood staining his lower leg.

"You shot me, you bitch!"

"It is no less than you and the rest of your gang had planned for me," she retorted coldly. "Stop your fussing, it's not mortal. You'll live."

Bending down by Benny's dead corpse, Cornelia pulled his knife free from its sheath. Keeping a sharp eye on Mickey, she crossed the camp to White Moon and crouched behind him. It was a risk to take her eyes off Mickey but she did it all the same, quickly cutting through the bonds on White Moon's wrists. He sighed in relief and took the knife when she offered it.

"What're you gonna do to me?" Mickey asked, his voice trembling as the two of them returned to him. White Moon was a little slower and Cornelia cast her gaze over him again. No visible injuries, other than a swollen, bruised eye and blood on his face. He must be simply stiff from being trapped in that awful position.

"Keep you alive, for now. White Moon, bind his leg."

Cornelia gestured and White Moon nodded back. He had known barely any English when she first met him months ago, and she had no idea if that had changed since then. Still, he seemed to understand her well enough. He tore a strip of cloth from Benny's body and tied it tightly around Mickey's wounded leg.

Next, they tied Mickey to a stake in the ground. Cornelia ensured there were no weapons hidden on his person, nor sharp rocks around. Then she bound his ankles, for good measure. He moaned and whimpered, playing the pathetic victim until she could stand it no longer and gagged him.

Only then did she turn to White Moon, concern swarming through her.

"Oh, White Moon!" Cornelia ran gentle fingers over his bruised face but he smiled up at her.

"Is okay," he said in a halting, uncertain voice. Cornelia could not help it; she hugged him tightly and felt a surge of relief when he hugged her back.

"We need to be smart about this. It would be simple to cut our losses and run, but I don't fancy the idea of having these men at our back. Besides, I want my horse – and my money. So, it's decided then. We'll stay and ambush them in return."

White Moon stared at her blankly, clearly not comprehending her ramblings. Cornelia smiled and laid a gentle hand on his cheek before getting to work.

It did not take long to find all the weapons left in the camp. Less time again for White Moon to understand her intent and set to work. In a little over an hour, they had the entire campsite booby trapped. Mickey was still tightly trussed up and his wound had stopped bleeding. Satisfied, Cornelia settled on a ridge overlooking the campsite, while White Moon hid behind a cluster of rocks.

The nerves began to set in as they sat and waited. What if Jensen and his men suspected the trap? What if they took all night to return? What if Mickey died of the wound? Or even worse, what if White Moon got killed? He was just a boy, she should be protecting him from this violence, not directly involving him!

Can't let it infect. Up here neither.

Cornelia forced all those doubts from her mind. The memory of Eli's words fortified her and she clutched at the osprey skull in its pouch. He was right; thinking like that wouldn't change anything. She had to stay focused, keep her eyes on the task at hand. The magic had brought her this far. It would not abandon her now.

The hours dragged on. Cornelia watched the stars slowly turning overhead, her eyes drifting to the scorpion and the wolf. Soon, she promised herself. Soon she would lie beneath the sky with Eli and share stories of the stars.

Finally, she sensed a change in the landscape. A faint tremor through the ground – hoofbeats. She shifted position, glancing down to see White Moon looking up to her. They nodded to each other and readied themselves.

Jensen was the first to come into view, closely flanked by two others. Three more rode behind them, with the central man leading Cornelia's horse. Heart racing in her chest and palms sweating in her gloves, Cornelia gave the nod.

White Moon pulled the rip cord. A cacophony of gunshots rang out. Men shouted and screamed and fell, horses neighing in panic. Adrenaline spiked in Cornelia's veins. It had worked! She hadn't been sure, it had taken so much time to set up so many rifles. But this! This was glorious!

"Over there!" Jensen shouted as he picked himself off the ground and pointed towards White Moon's hiding place. Remembering herself, Cornelia whipped up her own rifle, sighted, and fired.

The bullet tore through Jensen's gut and he collapsed to his knees, clutching the wound desperately. White Moon seized the opportunity to run, tipping over a lantern as he went.

Flames whooshed towards the sky as they ignited the oil that had been carefully spilt upon the ground. The last men – only three of them now – shouted and pointed but could only fire blindly through the smoke. Cornelia took her time, remembering to breathe as she ratcheted another bullet and squeezed the trigger.

Another man fell. Only two left. The flames had reached behind the horses now, cutting off their escape. White Moon howled a battle cry and threw an axe. It sank deep into one man's throat and he clutched at it, hands tugging uselessly as he crumpled in the dust.

The last one was sharp. His eyes turned up towards Cornelia's high vantage point and he fired. She ducked, breathless as the bullet skimmed just over her head.

White Moon howled again. Cornelia's heart leapt to her throat. Heedless of her own safety, she surged back up to stare down at it all below. Her rifle aimed at the last man but she hesitated, mouth dry. White Moon had jumped the line of fire and he tackled the man, stabbing wildly with a dagger.

"No, no. Get out of there!" Cornelia gasped.

The man fought back. A harsh blow to the side of the head knocked White Moon to the ground, dazing him. The man kicked him then snatched the blade from his hands. He seized a fistful of White Moon's hair, dragging him up as he brandished the dagger.

Cornelia fired again. The man cried out and let go – winged. She swore and hurried to reload but White Moon was already moving. Tearing his dagger from the man's hands, White Moon lunged up. The blade sank deep and the man went slack, falling lifelessly to the ground.

Cornelia scrambled out of her hiding place. The descent was steep but she paid it little heed, half-running, half-skidding down the slope. The flames were already beginning to die down and White Moon stepped out from them, battered but alive.

Jensen groaned. Cornelia lifted her gun, all her rage and vengeance coming back to her in an instant. His hands were soaked in blood as he tried to hold himself together, a faint crimson tinge flecking his lips. She lowered her gun; it would be over soon.

"You … you bitch," Jensen wheezed, his lungs whistling.

"I told you. Should have simply held me at gun point." Cornelia tilted her head to the side. "I knew I would kill you from the moment you mocked me." ??

It was gruesome work, watching a man die. But Cornelia had endured far more gruesome things in her life. In comparison, this was vindication. When Jensen finally lay still on the blood-soaked ground and the light had gone out in his eyes, she let out a deep breath and turned away.

"Cornelia." She looked up to see White Moon standing over Mickey. "What do with him?"

Slinging the rifle onto her back, she strode over. Mickey stared up at them, eyes wide in terror. To leave him alive was a liability and possibly a slow death. Killing him here would be much cleaner. And yet …

Cornelia thought back to the Pawnee man that Eli had failed to shoot. What might have become of that man if Cornelia had not stepped into that space? If she never lifted the bow?

Perhaps Eli was right and that man had already been dead. But Mickey was young and Cornelia was tired of watching young men's stories get cut short.

"Leave him. Put a knife near him when we go. If he wants to live, he'll have to fight for it."

~*~

They moved on as soon as Eli was strong enough to stand. It wasn't safe to linger near so many bodies for the sake of wild animals alone, never mind the risk of other people coming upon them. So they scavenged everything of worth from the bodies, loaded up their horses, and left.

Red Feather had done an excellent job of tending to his wounds. The graze on his neck was deep and would certainly scar, but was already healing without the need of stitches. The bullet hole through his left shoulder was another matter entirely. Red Feather's poultices had thoroughly cleaned it but it needed stitches.

That first night after they moved camps, Eli helped talk Red Feather through crafting a needle out of bone. They had few options for thread but they had the horses. It was simple enough for Red Feather to cut some strands of tail hair and boil them before threading through the bone needle.

Eli gave no complaint as she stabbed deeper than she needed, or pulled a little too hard. She was just a child and she had never stitched a wound before. He suppressed all his reactions and spoke only encouragement.

They found shelter in a rocky grove off the beaten track. Water was scarce but there were thick, stubborn scrubby plants growing in the grove. They provided suitable shade, so Eli and Red Feather settled in for a few days. Eli needed time to recover before they pushed on harder. The risk of infection aside, he could barely lift his left arm. If they encountered anyone else wanting to kill them, Eli would hardly be able to fight.

Red Feather flicked twigs at the campfire that evening, her eyes lost deep in thought. Eli tried not to think about how far they still had to travel. Would Cornelia even be there by the time they reached Nebraska? What if she had gone somewhere else in search of him?

"Tell me about Cornelia."

Eli's head jerked up. Red Feather's serious gaze met his across the campfire, unwavering in her intensity.

"Why?" he asked and Red Feather rolled her eyes.

"I know you're thinkin' about her. And there's nothin' else to do here."

Fair enough. Eli let his eyes drift to the flames as he marshalled his thoughts. How could he sum up the magic and power of that woman in a way Red Feather would understand?

"Cornelia's unlike any person you ever met. She got no clue how the west works and almost got herself killed more times than you would believe. But she never let that stop her. She just keeps goin'. Somehow it works. She believes in magic. Was convinced that we were meant to meet, that all these dark things in our lives had a purpose. I didn't agree with that."

He wanted to, despite the stubborn, pragmatic part of him that had seen so much death and horror and destruction. Eli wanted to throw his sensibilities into the wind and race on magic, just like Cornelia had done.

She had to be right. How could it be anything but magic? After all she had survived and the distances she had travelled, how could Eli ever doubt her magic?

"How did you meet?" Red Feather shifted to lie on her belly, chin propped on her hands and feet kicked up behind her. Such an innocent, carefree position. Eli's heart warmed to see her so relaxed.

"Tried to save my life. Almost lost her own in the process but … Somehow we survived. From there, well." He shrugged. "Ain't no real reason for why I said yes. Maybe it was magic. Either way, I agreed to take her north. So we went."

"Eli, you tell the worst stories," Red Feather declared dramatically and flopped her head into the dirt. He stared at her, taken aback.

"What else do you want from me?" he asked and she groaned.

"You told me what happens without proper tellin' anything! Try again!"

He could not help the smile that curved one corner of his mouth. Cornelia had been similar, coaxing the finer details out of him in that endlessly curious way of hers. Red Feather was far more direct but it was enough for his heart to pang in longing.

So Eli spoke again. He filled in the details, even though it felt strange to reveal so much of himself after so many years guarding everything. And Red Feather listened, entranced by the stories of the white woman who had travelled without fear to avenge her son.

Sleep came easier to Eli that night. To speak of Cornelia in such a way left him feeling lighter than he had expected. He had not realised just how badly he had needed to speak of her, to share that part of himself with someone.

He drifted off under the light of the stars, chest full of a comfortable hope that he had not felt in a long time. He dreamt of Cornelia – dreamt of seeing her in the village of his birth, surrounded by family members that had long since walked the Path of the Dead. She smiled at him and held out her hand – but he could not see it clearly. The image was blurred and when he tried to focus, it slipped away into a kaleidoscope of grassy plains, bloodied bodies and howling wolves.

Eli woke abruptly with sweat on his brow. His gut twisted and all sense of easy hope was gone. What did such dreams mean? If only he could go to a kúrahus! He dragged a hand across his face – then realised it was not his dreams that had woken him.

Red Feather whimpered on the other side of the smouldering campfire. She twitched and thrashed, limbs flailing drunkenly. Eli propped himself up a little, wondering if it was wise to wake her. But then she screamed. Her spine arched and her cries wailed loudly, so pitiful and heartbroken that he could not have stopped himself if he tried.

Throwing back his blanket, Eli hurried to her. He caught her flailing arms with his hands, hushing her quietly.

"It's alright, Red Feather. It's alright. Wake up."

She struggled harder, brow pinching tightly against her nightmares. Eli stroked her hair back from her face, not even noticing when he slipped into his native language.

"Awi'uusik, čuú'at. Awi'uusik."

Red Feather jolted awake suddenly. Eyes wide and breaths heaving her chest, she screamed and yanked away from him, kicking madly.

"Red Feather!" Eli said loudly and her eyes snapped to him. He watched cognizance filter back in before she sagged, shaking from the terror of it all. Eli reached out, hands hovering over her in a gentle request as he spoke. "You're safe. Just a nightmare. It's over."

Her face crumpled as emotions took over. A wail escaped her, following by a shuddering sob. Eli opened his mouth to speak again – but she moved too fast. Red Feather threw herself into his arms, howling between her wrenching sobs. Small fists dug into his back and pulled at his clothes. Her head bumped his as she cried, voice so loud his ears rang.

He did not care. She was all that mattered. Eli curled his arms around her, whispering softly in Pawnee. He rocked her and soothed her, trailing fingers through her tangled hair. His neck ached and his shoulder throbbed in agony but it barely registered.

Red Feather was so strong and independent, it was easy to forget just how young and fragile she was. Eli was reminded now, as she curled into an anguished ball in his lap. So small and so light. Her scent still carrying that edge of childhood. Grief filled him and he held her tighter.

No child should have to suffer like this.

"I-I saw him. I saw him!" she wailed in between sobs and hiccups. She shook so viscerally that Eli felt it in his bones. "I saw the, the blood, the …"

Eli hushed her as words failed her. Red Feather screamed and cried, inconsolable for what felt like hours. He held her through it all, letting her small body purge the emotions that had been building like a storm for weeks. He rocked her, whispering Pawnee lullabies in her ears.

Red Feather cried herself out at length. Her sounds of anguish dwindled, her grip loosening until she was slack and limp, an exhausted bundle in his lap. Eli carried her back to his bedroll and lay down with her head on his chest.

He used to do this with his own children when they could not sleep. Lying by the fire with an ear pressed over his heart, the sound of his heartbeat and breathing would eventually lull them back to sleep. It worked the same way now – Red Feather's breathing evened out and her body finally calmed that little bit further. Eli kept stroking her hair, humming under his breath as he stared into the embers of the fire.

There was no point in trying to go back to sleep himself. He was too unsettled, mind still troubled from his own dreams and body wide awake. So he carefully tossed another branch on the fire and watched the stars slowly turning above him.

If wishes were where we would be, then we would be where we are not.

The cold months would be upon them soon. Eli could see it in the tilt of the sky and smell it on the air. His thoughts drifted back to Cornelia – as they always did – and worry gnawed at his gut.

She had not experienced winter on the plains. She would have no idea of the danger, the multitude of risks. If Eli could not find her before the first snowfall, what hope would she have? The thought of her lost in a blizzard, calling for him and slowly freezing to death, lodged in his mind and chilled his heart.

No. He could not think like that! Cornelia was smart, for all her recklessness. She would understand the dangers, surely. She would take up residence in some town for the winter. Yes, surely that was it. He need not worry, Cornelia had survived too much to foolishly throw what was left of her life away.

Thoughts of the posters she had commissioned flashed through his mind but he pushed them aside. No point in thinking about something that would only make him angry. There would be time enough for that later.

Eli glanced down at Red Feather. He had endured many cold winters as a soldier. He knew how to survive under the harsh elements. But with a young daughter in tow?

Perhaps it would be wise for them to find somewhere to stay for the winter, as well. Travel would only get harder when the snow came, not to mention the risk of sickness.

Eli jerked his head away; no, he couldn't bear to think of it! After losing so many children to fevers, the thought of Red Feather suffering the same terrified him.

He never should have taken her with him, he should have found somewhere else for her to go! Bearing the responsibility of her life in his hands was a fool's game. Her blood would taint him sooner or later, he knew that. He never should have claimed her as his daughter.

Ah, but such thoughts only sought to protect himself, did they not? Eli let out a heavy breath and glanced down at Red Feather. No. He did not regret claiming her, no matter what his doubts and fears said. He cared for her, and would carry her in his heart from now till the beyond.

No matter what became of her.

The sun rose slowly that morning. Eli watched its light creep across the land, until it bathed him and Red Feather. She stirred soon after, movements sluggish and eyes still puffy from the night before. Eli said nothing as she pulled away from him and wandered to the edge of the camp.

She went to the horses. They nosed at her hands and she stroked their muzzles then pulled out the grooming brush. She tended to her own horse, a dark bay gelding with a crooked stripe down his face.

Letting her have her space, Eli turned to his own morning rituals. He cleaned himself up as best he could without wasting too much water, then changed his clothes. The ones Red Feather had cried on would need to be washed. Best that they aim to find a creek or a spring today.

Red Feather came back as Eli pulled out some dried meat for a light breakfast. She sat on the edge of his bedroll – close, but not touching – and accepted when he offered her some food. They ate in silence and Eli let the silence stretch, knowing she would speak when she was ready.

"I dreamt about that man," Red Feather finally said, her voice scratchy. Eli took a moment to swallow his mouthful and studied her face.

"The one you killed."

She flinched but nodded. Eli hummed and chewed on another strip.

"I keep … seein' him. Over and over. No face, just … blood and bone." She shuddered, the dried meat in her hand forgotten. Eli turned a little and waited until Red Feather met his gaze.

"You did what you had to do," he said, voice heavy with the weight of how serious he was. She sniffed, lower lip wobbling.

"But it's like you said. I almost killed you. Didn't wanna do that. Didn't wanna kill him, either, but he was there and I was so scared …" She broke off, eyes turning out to the horizon as she fought against tears.

Eli dared to reach out a hand in offering. A beat passed between them, then Red Feather clutched his hand, her small fingers curling tightly around his palm.

"I don't blame you for that. Can't change it, it's done. And when I said those things …" He sighed. "Maybe I was too hard on you. Ain't no time but a moment to make those choices. You killed him. We both lived – thanks to you."

"But now he's hauntin' me. I can't sleep without seein' him." Her hand trembled in his grasp.

"You will. One day. Till then, just remember. You did what you had to do. Ain't no way of changin' the past. Gotta find a way to move forward."

"How?"

"Keep livin'. Dunno. Some days I'm still tryin' to do the same, myself."

Red Feather shuffled closer to him until she was pressed against his side. She kept his hand held tightly in her own, tracing over the callouses on his skin.

"D'you think Cornelia will want me?" Her voice was so soft and fragile, tentative. Yet the words resonated loud within him and Eli felt himself reeling at the unexpected mention of her.

"Cornelia's a woman with a lot of love to give. I never saw a limit to it. Almost cost her life, time and again. So I say yes, she'll want you. And if she doesn't? She'll learn to. You belong with me, čuú'at. Not even Cornelia gonna change that."

Red Feather sniffled and turned to bury her face in his chest. Eli wrapped an arm around her, and almost missed the muffled words she spoke into his jacket.

"Biixoo3é3en, neisonoo."

Eli did not need to understand the words; he felt their meaning in his soul. He held her tighter.

"Tâtačiksta, čuú'at."

[her-satanic-wiles]

Dawn Chorus - Masterlist

Dracopia x Fallen Angel!Reader

When you question the Almighty for a third time, you find yourself on the run and escaping a horde of wrathful angels ready to punish you for your insolence. Whose garden should you fall into than Cardinal Copia’s? And he has more nefarious plans for you.

Masterlist ⛧ Ao3

Commissioned by anonymous.

As this fic is quite dark, I'm choosing to rate it 21+. Please respect my decision. Thank you.

I ⛧ II ⛧ III ⛧ IV ⛧ V ⛧ VI ⛧ VII ⛧ VIII ⛧ IX ⛧ X

Commissions are closed.

Words: 67.7k.

Reading Time: 4 hours and 48 minutes.

Warnings: asshole!Copia,attempted execution, blood, blood drinking, blood extraction, blood syphoning/collecting,biting, body control, body horror,brief mentions of the past trauma the angel went through, including the harrassment and torture - but other than that chapter V is pretty chill, caging a living being,Catholic guilt, corruption kink,cum swap, cunnilingus, detailed aftermath of war, detailed deaths of children, detailed grief, detailed pain, divine voyeurism?, drunk!Copia,dry humping, face sitting, falling from heights, feelings of abandonment,fellatio, finger sucking, forced sexual activity,free use fantasy, frottage, gaslighting, graphic depictions of thanatophobia, graphic (yet brief) descent into madness, graphic injuries,irrelevant character death,masturbation, mentions of conversion therapy, mentions of death, mentions of death by sun exposure,mentions of experimentation on living things,mentions of fellatio, mentions of femicide, mentions of homophobia, mentions of sexual abuse within the church, mentions of stoning, mentions of rape, mild degradation, mild sexism, mild sexual harassment?? (there’s nothing inherently sexual about what he’s doing, but it is uncomfortable and I wanted to tag it just to be safe), near-death experiences, needles, nipple play, non-consensual rituals, non-consensual sexual activity, objectification, pillow humping, praise kink, protected sex, references to non-con, references to rape kink, references to somnophilia, religious disillusionment, religious trauma,restrained with ropes, rituals, self slut shaming, semi-public masturbation, sexual harassment,slut shaming, soul modification, spit as lube, suggestion of sexual assault (but nothing happens), taking advantage of innocence,this may be the horniest thing I’ve ever written, tied with ropes, torture, use of needles, use of the word “bitch” unkindly, vaginal sex, violence.

🔞 MDNI 🔞

Copyright © 2024 by her-satanic-wiles

No bound copies, translations, or other derivative works of this publication may be created or distributed without express permission from the author, for monetary gain or public use.

[rise-my-angel]

Heart of the Great Wolf

23 - Blazing Fire of Storming Ice

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

Length: 18.5k

Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, mentions of child death disease and miscarriage, references to rape, warfare and strategy talk, exploration of past trauma, mild sexual descriptions

Notes: The story on Dragonstone is based on a book only plot from A Dance with Dragons for any who aren't familiar with the characters. Previous Chapter Here, Series Masterlist Here

Come the end of morning, he was gone. By the tinting of nightfall as the sun set below the sea, was when you learned you were soon to be as well. It had been a long night, your mother had been spending all of her time in those hours with Maester Cressen, with a number of midwives running back and forth along with your father. It didn’t make sense to you at first, it was far too early for your brother to be born. She had only been showing for a few months and he was not to come into this world until the year turned over to the next. 

But then he was gone. It had happened a second time, and finally you understood that you were the problem. When your mother lost your first brother, she had stopped spending time with you and even now you both barley spoke. Father still did, but she couldn’t look at you and you knew she blamed you for it. There was none other to explain, and then father had brought you into the main hall of his living quarters. 

She still barley looked at you as they explained your new brother was lost, but that was not all. You were to be sent away. “I will be staying here to look after your mother while she recovers, the guard will accompany you on the journey there until you have reached Winterfell into Lord Stark’s care.” 

Silent and wide eyed, you looked to your mother who had but a dispondant and distant glint in her eye as she turned her gaze away when she caught yours. Your father stood tall before you and none bothered to tell you the truth of why, but you knew.

“How long will I be gone?” 

Your father was very matter of fact about it, “A number of months. At the least until the new year begins but likely longer. You will take any and every opportunity to learn at his side.” The room was painfully quiet from all three members of the family. Calling your name you hadn’t noticed your gaze wandered to the floor, snapping back up to meet your father’s eyes. “Do you understand?” 

Nodding, he seemed to accept it. Moving around to the table, taking a seat as he and your mother shared a look. At the time you thought it was dismissal, sending you off as if once walking out that room you would instantly step onto the ship away forever. Your mother didn’t like the North, neither did your father really. Speaking of it as if it were unruly and full of people that one should stay away from. 

That’s how you knew it was a punishment, that it was all your fault for your brothers. Sending you alone to a scary, cold place where you knew none and would be under a new families care following their every order. You were not welcome in your own home. Born first, it seemed as if you were what held back your brothers from joining his life. Sons were supposed to come first, then daughters and yet you were her very first and that must be ruining everything. 

It was so exciting when you learned mother was pregnant again, pregnant with a boy again. You had been only six when your first brother had gone and now at eight you had been over the moon to be given this second chance. Your gift was even better the first. You were far better at crafting now and it had sat on the flat surface of your dresser for months to ensure when he was here you could grab it to gift it to him right away. Spending time reading to make sure everything you made the toy with was safe and that he wouldn’t break it easily. 

The halls felt so empty, dark and grim as night took the rest of the sun away as did the mood of the island. Feet dragging as did the weight in your head sink lower and lower to your heart and filled with a metal that might just break through the sturdy build of the many floors below. Light peeking through the ends of a door, you managed to reach your bedroom with a heavy sorrow. 

Slipping inside, you moved to push the heavy door closed entirely before turning around with a sigh. The room was partially set up for you with cases to pack your things in on the floor waiting. The window still open blowing the translucent curtains over the air and washing onto your bed making it nice and cool you suspected, but the gentle breeze did not feel refreshing. 

Hands reaching up to wipe at the tears you were annoyed had fallen the entire walk to your room, more felt in their place. Eventually having to give up, knowing they would keep doing so. Only when you turned to your dresser to begun pulling out clothes, you saw the toy. Sitting ready to be brought to him, and it dawned on you. 

He was lost today, and it was not yet over. Until the moon passed over the middle of the sky above Dragonstone you had time. Rushing to grab the toy, you stopped to grab a sheet of paper and ink, putting them onto the carpet. There was a set of long drawers across one wall, and at only eight you winced as you stood next to the edge and pushed it along the floor until there was enough space to easily fit behind it. Pulling back the edge of carpet draped was a jagged stone that didn’t quite sit at settled as the rest. Your fingers dug into the sides, wiggling it just the right amount until it gave. 

Only the framework was left, the stone hollow inside as it surrounded a small box. Wooden and dyed a rich blue with deep orange foxes outlined over it, you shifted backwards with it. Kneeling down on the floor on your knees, you pulled open the lid and just like you remembered, the first toy you ever made still sat as peacefully as when placed there. You pulled down the new one, as well as the paper and ink, giving yourself enough room on the flat part of the floor to sit it in front of you. The toy and box sitting just to their side. 

Biting your tongue, you tried to recall the words and luckily there was still enough in your head to conjure them up as you recalled reading. Writing neatly, you wanted to make sure it was as clear as could be read and no mistakes made, not even in spelling. Your penmanship had become more skilled in two years at least. You paused for a moment, glancing up around your room but there was nothing close to that of a seal, you’d have to draw it again.

Instead you continued to write. Words which a septon would speak as they would name a newborn child under the Light of the Seven. Written just as you could hear them being spoke aloud, not that you ever did with your own family. You now knew that it was impossible you ever would, you had cursed your mother. Without a seal, you leaned down over the paper to focus even more. The Stag needing to be drawn with much more precision as the gods might not recognize it were you to be lazy. 

A large space at the bottom of the page was waiting now, brows narrowing in consideration just as last time it was up to you. Mother and father had never gotten as far as a name so you once more had to run through what sounded like the name of a boy matching the appearance you were seeing in your mind. One finally coming to you, you scrawled it out before pulling back to look it over. The words of faith written neat and clear, the sigil of a stag drawn much better then two years ago and right at the bottom you felt your heart both sink and swim at the name you chose for your second brother. 

“Edric Baratheon” 

Grabbing the box, you held it in your lap raising up the new toy as your hands traced over it. At least Petyr would have a brother to keep him safe now. Gently you sat the toy down inside and covered it back up. Hiding it in the hole in the floor, stone back covering it’s place and carpet draped to hide it’s presence. Putting the paper up onto the drawers for now as you strained your small muscles to push it back into place. 

None were around nor were there voices to be heard from a muffle, you had a perfect time if you rushed. Moving to the brazier by the corner of your room you gently lit the paper’s edge until a flame overcame. Putting it down into the middle as fire overtook and begun to ashen it’s contents, you moved around your room to gather the rest. A thicker cloak wrapped around your shoulders and hiding your front from the night sea breeze and a small bag you hung across your torso to sit at your side. 

Moving to the brazier again, a small pouch in hand, you blew out the remains and the embers dulled with it. Still hot but there was not much to grab, you scooped the remains up and let them all sit in a small pouch. Pulling the drawstrings together it closed it off as you slipped that into the bag. For the final, you rummaged under your bed until it was found, the little blade you kept safe from last time. It had been stolen from the kitchens but you hid it under your mattresses and sheets deep to hide where none could see it. 

Putting that too in the bag, you made your way to open the door. Hallways were empty and the rest of the journey was what you seemed to think was a breeze. 

The sounds of the sea crashing against the rocky shores was booming. A thunderous crash of water that echoed around you like thunder, making the journey that much more treacherous on your own. There was a sept closer then this, but something about the statues against the torches of fire around made here feel more meaningful. It was closer to the earth, the ground, the sea ahead of you making way for an easy path to the heavens and you suspected he would be blessed faster this way. 

You were small against seven statues, all tall and spread apart across the sand to give each offering their own space. The Seven all asked for the same things, but demanded different givings of nature and each passed their own curses down for breaking such vows. By the brazier near the entrance to the site, you used a small holder and carefully tipped it’s end into the flames. Letting it gently ignite, the wind asking to blow it out but you kept your other hand cupped around the back of it to shield. 

Each Statue given a blessing of light as candles were sat in pockets carved into the stone that would be replaced as they gave out. Luckily, they were mostly new and no rain had come to ruin it. But there was one god you must see in special, you came to her last. Each statue before it having seven, but you needing only to light one single candle in the middle to the ones you did not mean to pray to, before making your way over. Wanting to save your prayers for her mercy. 

The Mother was the god which overlooked those such as you, seeing the blessings of children new and old and it was her grace which allowed women to bear child. She also, could take it away just as fast. A thing you were here to once more ask to forgive. 

At only eight you were short enough to not need to kneel to the candles, only leaning down slightly you lit all Seven etched into the base of the Mother. Your mind was silent as with each lighting you spoke your prayers in your heart asking for her to listen and grant you just once with begs of mercy to the other six watching over. 

Letting it drop after shaking the remaining fire out, you stood in front of her. Looking up at the beauty the statue captured and could only ask her to forgive him. He was not at fault, and the pain of your own mother was too great to grant him a true name and life before passing. “Let me repay such a debt for my sins, allow my hands and my blood to grant my brother a name and pass him onto the heavens. If I am why Petyr was not allowed to be of this world, let me give my new brother a name and join them together.” 

Your voice was so small, a high breathy tone that spoke more now then you would for weeks coming to you. “My sins should not damn them for eternity, you can curse me with whatever you see fit but allow me to help my brother, help Edric, pass onto the worlds beyond.”

Pulling out the small pouch, you held it to your heart as you looked up to the Mother, and with only splashes against the waters and no booming thunders or crashes she gave you permission to pass him on. Pulling the bag over you off, you took out the only other item inside, the small ornate blade which had only use once more just as this. Looking to her eyes, you knew that without a body, she would need blood to give way for Edric along with the ashes of his namesake. 

Paper with his name was all he was, and your blood would have been his. Wincing, you let the blade drag across your palm, holding back tears as the sting burned in the salty air. But it was done and as the red oozed out, you looked up to her one last time. Your free hand dropping the blade into your bag and opened the small pouch, and let the ashes gently drop into your bloody palm.

Stepping to the middle of the clearing, you carefully moved until only a foot into the tides of the water. There was no body, just as with Petyr, but you would let him spread out to be washed away to wherever the gods let what remained of his existence on land. Gripping it tight in your palm, finally you closed your eyes, kneeling down to the ground with your palms braced in the watery sands under the tides.

Much of the Faith of the Seven was said in words and prayers, rituals and rules that must be followed but this was the best you could do. Give your brothers a name, bleed for them and wash them into the waters with the Mother to guide them and eternal hell would finally end for their suffering. 

It was your fault, your mother did not want to be around you for cursing her with only a first girl and now your father has decided you must be sent to a place that gave you worries and nightmares. You knew nothing of the Northerners, but being sent away to them was to get you away from your mother. Give her a chance to heal, and maybe find refuge in a son without you there to bare down on her. 

You had been there far too long. Now sat on the sand, your feet free and bare in the cool tides, and your knees tucked up to your chest, arms wrapped around them you finally stopped feeling the sting of ash and salt water that seeped into your hand. You had put your gloves on, at least you could hide it for the time being. The waves were loud enough that it masked the clink of chains until they came beside you. 

Looking to your left, Maester Cressen found his slow way to the ground to sit next to you. A bashful look overtaking your features as you knew you were expected to be up in your room packing. Unlike what your father might have been, he was gentle in his tone. “I thought I had seen a tiny doe sneaking around the castle.” Your shoulders shrunk in on themselves, your eyes watching the dark sea once more. Essos was said to be far away in this direction, but you could see nothing just as you would see nothing trying to find King’s Landing on the other side of the island. “This is the second time you’ve snuck out at night to come here, and if I’m not mistaken it was under the same circumstances. Is this about your brother?” 

Your throat closed, a heavy weight sat hard in it which was filled to the brim with unshed tears. Giving a nod, he let a hand run across your hair, the comforting sensation causing you to sink further into yourself and push out the tears from it’s temptation entirely with a shaky breathe. “The Mother cannot help him if my father and mother won’t name him. It’s my fault, so I need to help him pass into the heavens.” 

Maester Cressen leaned forward, looking to your side profile with a heavy heart of his own. “Now, tell me, why would you think this is your fault? None of us can control what the gods choose for us.” The only reaction you gave him, was to shrug one shoulder. You didn’t know what to say, you didn’t know how to explain to him why you could feel your heart as cursed. Your father would have found such notions foolish, and so would he. 

Baratheons do not act like children he would teach you, and they must stand on their own two feet no matter how difficult it is. It was the only way to grow up and be stronger willed then that of the fools around you, your father had many times said. It was silly to tell anyone such childish thoughts of curses and blessings. “I was born before Petyr and Edric, which means I would be their older sister. So I have to be responsible for them.” 

Maester Cressen smiled, none but him knew of what you had done for your unborn brother, and now you had shared your second one with him too. He suspected one day that thought would find itself as a comfort to Selyse, but the pain was too raw. Yet, her only child, their only daughter sat outside in the shores of the sea begging the gods to grant mercy for children you had never met. This was a sad place for any child to grow up, he thought. 

“They are lucky to have you. The gods grant mercy to those who pray to them with honourable intentions.” 

You had been quiet for a moment, and when you did it was in an even quieter tone. “Will they hear me all the way up North? The gods?” Turning to look at him, eyes wide and full of a far away nervousness all over. “They say Northerners pray to the old gods, will the Seven be angry with me if I pray there and the old gods hear it?” 

He had to not laugh, such a small little question but you were as deadly serious as your father on his roughest of days. Wondering one day, if he will be able to hear you grinding your teeth from the other side of the castle as he swore he could Lord Stannis. “They do have a sept in Winterfell, but even if you speak to the old gods, I’m sure ours will understand. I know going there seems scary, and leaving your parents and friends behind here-” 

You were quick to interrupt, a shortness in your voice but one also lonely. “I don’t have any friends.” 

To no fault of your own, there were not many children your age to make friends with. You didn’t know that part of why your father chose Winterfell was so for a while at least, you could be around children your own age. Maester Cressen felt sorrow in his heart, you were a lonely, isolated child with a family that did not find it in their own hearts to give such love and affection, as you wanted to show brothers that never came to be. Selyse found the stories of the Northerners to be unruly and unfitting of you, but he knew that at their best they were a lively bunch that would do good for you. 

“Well, when you finally come back in the new year, perhaps you will be already dreaming of going back and see your new Northern friends, then to stay here with no one but me to keep you company.” 

While he chuckled, you didn’t. You did dream of the North, but only in nightmares. Looking out to the sea, you could only remember the same dream you kept having. A dream of you wandering a Northern forest, dark and snow all around you and the black in your vision closing in. Closing in on you until there was only one small strip of forest you could walk through.

On one end were the growling snarls of wolves and a pair of blood red eyes that seemed to shine in the darkness. And the other? Only the sounds of ice as if loudly cracking along a lake, and crystal blue eyes glowing even taller in the darkness opposite of the red. 

Your face winced as you took another sip, trying not to let the bemused look in Jon’s eyes get to you anymore then it already had. “Where did he say he got this from?”

There was a small smirk on his face, taking a sip of his own hiding his displeasure better then you. “He said it came from a merchant near Pentos.” 

Wyman Manderly had so graciously shared an ale he had acquired from Essos, that and a few other things as a claimed penance for having been sided with the Boltons. Jon insisted nothing was needed, but the Lord was not to be debated with. The food was more then welcome, as you had sniffed out he had been holding off resources beforehand. Lord Wyman of course, denied ever purposely withholding resources and it was merely a coincidence he came into so much to share only upon Jon’s crowning. 

You hadn’t quite been in the right spirits to laugh, but he, Jon and the Lords in the main hall gathering certainty shared a good smirk over it.

Food that would keep, and had been building up for a little while along with a good fresh haul of meats that would feed many as the greater numbers were here for a time. The ale however, was truly not your taste. Or anyone’s you imagined. Thick and bitter with an aftertaste that almost was worse then the initial flavour itself. “I could name a hundred disgusting thing’s I’d rather drink before choosing this all on my own.” 

Shrugging, he put his own down with a heavier thud. “Now you’re starting to sound like a fancy girl who grew up near the capitol.” Rolling your eyes with a held back smirk, the only sounds left in the room was the fire blazing on the wall closest to you both. Night had long fallen by that point, and awake in one of the smaller studies you both had found excuses not to sleep quite yet. 

In the corner on a softer blanket was a large ball of slumbering white fur however. Ghost had taken well to being back in Winterfell, having now also the pleasure of being allowed to wander the castle halls as he liked. Well behaved, quiet, mostly keeping to himself if not out in the woods or sticking around Jon’s side. He had no trouble sleeping, and you were willing to bet with not much in the way of nightmares either. 

Something both you and Jon were not unfamiliar with by now. Putting your own down, slightly further away from you then needed, you huffed a laugh. “Wait until you see where I was raised, then I’ll ask you who between us grew up in luxury.”  

Grey eyes trained heavily on yours, Jon still seemed to be trying to figure something out. He had gotten far better though at hiding his intentions and thoughts much to your dismay. He could read you better then you could him now. Looking away to the fire, leaning his forearms against his knees he gave out a quiet sigh. “He doesn’t hate you, he has no reason to say no if we tell him exactly what what I told you.” 

Crossing your arms over your chest, you felt the starts of a ruminating headache. “He didn’t help us when he knew we would need it most, why would he suddenly decide to help now? You weren’t even King yet and he still refused.” 

Jon was more confident then you however, his voice unwavering. “He knows as well as I what’s out there, he knows why this is important. He’s stubborn, not unreasonable.” 

Difficult to remember that these days it felt. Your nails tapped at your lip, almost unconsciously tracing along where the faintest of scars still sat if one looked close enough. Jon murmured your name but you only watched the fire more. Still now, you saw no visions or scenes running before you. Whatever god your father answered to now, left you alone in the dark with no guidance. 

Your voice was low and somewhat far away. “He isn't unreasonable with you perhaps. The last time I sided with the King in the North instead of him, he spent three years calling me a traitor. And I spent three years thinking one day he’d send his armies for us instead of the Lannisters.” 

“It’s different now.” You glanced over to him, eyes bright as they looked at you. A fight in them to not reach out to you in that very instance, he was adamant however at keeping his distance when you were like this. He was not given that kind of space when he desperately needed it, so he would make sure you had it instead. “You’re not fighting the Lannisters anymore. You’re here, fighting for more then that, fighting for something your father also believes in. We won’t even be asking for help, just his ships. Just enough for men and mining. His men will need something to fight back with one day too.” 

Your nod was more absent minded then you intended. Gaze drifting away from him to the fire without any focus behind it. “It’s hard to believe, I dreamt about it that whole time and never knew. No one knows. Everything that’s coming and not a single one of us would’ve been ready for it. Except you.” 

Trying to brush it off, the denial in his eyes was clear. “Not just me-” 

Cutting him off you leaned forward now trying to meet his gaze a bit more. “Everyone’s here because of you. They are all listening to this and trust that you’re telling the truth, because it’s you saying it. Do you think if I alone was going around pleading them to fight against the dead beyond the wall a single one of them would have listened?” 

He had said it to you before but felt no hesitancy in reiterating that now once more. “You were never going to do this alone.” Trying to say his name in protest, Jon shook his head. “Your father offered to make me Lord of Winterfell, name me a Stark if I gave him my allegiance, but I said no. I didn’t think I deserved it, and I felt my vows were more important then to just give them up like that. Then I found out you were alive, and it all suddenly hit me. Leaving you that day on the Kingsroad, something was trying to tell me it was a mistake leaving you.” 

You bit your lip before dropping your head down slightly to the floor. Sighing out, “I’m not quite sure I would’ve fit in at the Night’s Watch.” Raising back up you found his eyes, a seriousness in them which lightened at the gentle playfulness in yours before you simmered down. “The first time it ever happened was after they arrested myself and your father. Seeing you, I mean.” 

His eyes narrowed in question as you elaborated. “We had confronted Cersei and Joffery in front of the court, trying to plead our case and it all went wrong. We had trusted Peter Baelish to secure the City Watch on our side, and at the last minute they turned on us. Killed what was left of your father’s men and tossed us both into the black cells. I don’t remember much of it now. At the time I wasn’t even sure if it was real, a dream or if I was just delirious at that point. I remember it felt freezing, and then fire, a small bit of it as if it flew right past me and feeling whatever point I was seeing, like you were shoving me out of the room.” It connected then to Jon, knowing exactly what you had seen. 

“Ghost found two rangers beyond the wall, they’d been dead for a while but they didn’t look it. Maester Aemon was keeping them to look them over, and one of them got up. Middle of the night Ghost brought me to the Lord Commander’s quarters, and we saw one of those dead rangers with blue eyes up walking around, nothing could hurt him.” You leaned forward a bit, following the trailing distance in his eyes fading to a memory. “He was coming right at us, so I threw a lantern at him and as soon as he caught fire I shoved the Lord Commander out of the room.”

Both of you looked at the other. You had no way of knowing it, no way of connecting those in your mind but it was there all the same. The cold, the bodies, the blue, the creatures something wanted to beckon you back to the North and at the same time it showed Jon you. As if telling him letting you be so far away was a bad idea. 

Something wanted you two together, but it was hard to know what your place was in it now that you were back and Jon was alive. “My point is, even back then, something was trying to find ways to bring you back North. You were never going to have to do this, any of this on your own. Maybe we were always supposed to fight this one together.” 

The room was quiet for a while, neither of you finding any reason to break the comfortable, warm silence wrapping around both of you. Your eyes were on the fire, his on you but the silence was welcome. It always was between you both. Jon was quieter, and in ways, softer then Robb was. Less direct and confident, but his dedication was clear as day in the small subtle ways he was with you. Neither of you needed to share any kind of physical contact to feel close to the other, it was simply in the air at all times.

Your voice was quiet as it whispered out, but loud enough in the emptiness of the room. “It means a lot to him, that you trust him.” Glancing to catch his eyes already watching, you flickered them quickly back to the fire. Leaning your arms more against your legs, clarifying, “Theon. He knows he as a long way to go, but after everything..I think it helps knowing he has more then just me now.” 

Voice low, he still could only watch you. The tremendous weight looming through the two of you over the things that he would never truly know had happened. “I spent over eleven years growing up with him, and not once did he ever act anything like he does now. And I’ve never seen you two stick to each others side like this before, either.”

For a moment, it was almost as if you could feel yourself back down in the cold, damp cells of the Dreadfort. “I was almost delirious when Ramsay first brought him down to me. I don’t even know how long I had been in there by that point, couldn’t keep anything down and I was fairly certain my fever was so high I was starting to hallucinate. For a brief second, I almost thought I had made it up, I’d never seen him like that before it had to be fake. Ironically, he thought the same looking at me.” 

A weight behind Jon’s eyes felt like it bore into you, the grey bright but tinted with a sorrow that you couldn’t look away from. It was as if he knew what was not being said in your mind, patient enough in his heart to wait for it to come from you all on your own and it was impossible to keep it back the longer he kept your gaze. You finally looked away with a shaky inhale, turning to look back at the fire as if it made it any easier. “It seems childish..very childish..but it’s..frustrating that it doesn’t feel any better. Ramsay being gone..I thought maybe I would feel relieved, or vindicated but it’s all exactly the same was before.” 

Voice low, almost a whisper, but leaned so close to the other it boomed loud in your own ears. “Part of me wondered if I should've felt guilty for not caring when Ygritte was killed.” Whereas some would look at him with a sympathy, you didn’t even notice you only watched Jon with a narrowed, sharp look in your eyes. As if you were simply feeling everything others should have felt for him. Almost the same anger that he held for your pain. 

“She loved me..or..a version of me and she died. And I felt nothing.” His eyes much like yours had, trailed off, finding the fire as you did earlier. “I could’ve held her, cried, brought her North to burn her properly but I just left her there. Let her get dragged onto the pile of the rest of them, and the only time I ever thought about her was when someone else would bring her up first. Grenn and Pyp died that night and that still hurts more then she ever even meant to me.” 

A pained rage almost sat below the surface, a rough strain in his voice as if scratched raw. His hands you could tell, were clenched enough into fists as they sat across his knees the knuckles were turning white from the tensity. Only leaning a slight forward, you tilted your head to better see his face, the slow action causing him to swallow harshly as you spoke with the same volume but all of the softness he hadn’t been. “That’s because they saw someone who didn’t have to hide who he was, and they cared about him all the same. The version of you they died fighting beside was one who never had to lie to get them to trust him.”

He was quiet, and neither of you felt the need to break it before he was ready. He wanted you to talk about Ramsay, to not let it fester, but what was he doing if not holding it all in, himself? 

When he finally found his voice again, it almost sounded angrier then before. “She would’ve hated you.” Your own brows narrowed in confusion, but Jon didn’t find your eyes. His jaw clenched as he sighed heavily and none of that anger left him with it. “Ygritte. Always would say she was my woman, then turn around in the same sentence and threaten me about ever leaving her like she thought it was cute. Not realizing I’d dream about you, see you in my head, couldn’t get you out of my mind no matter how hard I could have tried. Thinking of you was the only reason I could..”

He swallowed harshly, the side of his vision seeing you lean forward, giving him space but not for a moment letting him feel as if he was sitting or speaking to no one. You simply knew as long as he could see you, he could find the strength in his chest to continue, and it made his heart heavy at how easy it was for you to know exactly what he needed.

His voice was a little less rough this time around. “I almost called out your name once. Would try and tune her out when I would have to.. But one time I was so far into a memory, seeing you so clearly in my mind that for a moment I almost forgot who she was. And I know if I had, if she wouldn’t kill me for it, she’d have killed you if she ever met you. Knew if she ever found out about you, it didn’t matter what I said she’d have hated you enough to put an arrow through you. Hated the one person I’ve been in love with my whole life, and I think that made me hate her.”

He’d never said it before. Had to come to terms with lying about loving or even caring about her, but never had admitted to himself that he might have finally come around to hate. But glancing back up at the silent, patient warmth in your eyes, Jon knew he did. Knew that he hated her for even having a place in his mind still, because she stood against everything you were. 

“She sounds like someone Robb wouldn't have been happy seeing you with.” 

It took you by surprise, but Jon gave a laugh. A genuine burst of laughter that had him drop his head for a moment as his shoulders shook slightly. “I think so too.” Coming back up, he found your eyes again and neither looked away this time. “Think he also would also been unhappy at the man with you now?” 

A small smile found it’s way onto you, not a hint of the playfulness he was hinting towards. Just a genuine radiating brightness that heated his heart faster then if he stepped right into the fireplace before you both as you spoke. “There’s nothing you could do that would’ve made Robb hate you. Nothing. Not now, not ever. He loved you, with everything he had, he loved you.” 

You could have choked in that moment, but there was an adoration in his eyes as he didn’t blink, waver, and held nothing but an honesty he wanted you to hear as you had him. His hand finding a place gently on your jaw and cheek, thumb running across the skin he could reach. “And I love you, with everything I have.” 

Whatever response he saw forming in you, he chose instead to lean forward. Closing the gap with a gentle kiss to your lips. Using his other hand to wind it’s way over to your hip before prompting you to stand with him. Not once disconnected the tender kiss, his lips soft and gentle as they almost coaxed you to relax in his touch. The hand on your cheek sliding back to run down your hair, smoothing it out before gently cupping the back of your neck, as his hand on your hip wrapped around your back, pulling you into his chest. 

Your own palms placed flat on his collarbones, before moving to cup his cheeks. Not once did he let your lips break from his, the hand at the back of your neck almost to secure you against him. Let his lips gently kiss you, without greed or deeper desire, but not giving you the space to catch your breathe or kick off the dizziness of it. 

Jon would never force you to marry him, or even come anywhere near push you for it. But as he gently lost himself in the taste and touch of your lips, there was not a single future he could imagine were you not in it. She spoke as if she had any rights to what his life would become, but there was never a future with Ygritte that didn’t end in his or her death because of her own destructive hatred of the things he now stood for beside you. 

There was no image of her anywhere near here that existed. What would it even be? She would have found reason like Tormund? Even before it all blew up, Tormund had been more reasonable then she had. Would she have come with him and survive Hardhome? What kind of anger would have existed the second Jon wanted to leave to protect you? What would she have done when you arrived and he wasn’t there to stand between you? Would Tormund even still be at your side, would he still find room in his own strange heart to protect you from her, or would he side against you? 

Ygritte being in Winterfell was impossible. She never would have come, not on this fight, this journey, never would have let herself anywhere near you or let Jon anywhere near you. It would’ve turned into a fight between her keeping Jon from you, and Ghost keeping you safe from her. You let Jon stand here, be soft and gentle, be vulnerable and hurt and let him promise to be the one to take care of you. It was sappy, and it was a kind of romantic notion he had long since come to terms many men would mock him for if he were ever honest about it. But Jon loved that you always so willingly fit perfectly into this gentle dream of romance in his mind. 

Jon had taken care of you since that first day. Stepped forward the second Luwin had mentioned someone would need to be with you at all times because your fever had been that bad. Only a boy of ten and he took one look at you and for reasons he still didn’t understand, was certain in his mind that he wanted to be the one to care for you. 

It was a joke to him, thinking that Ygritte assumed she was who he was supposed to be for. The first real time someone tried speaking of a future together with him, and it was with someone that forced him to fuck her against his will, someone who when he tried showing his true colours, always looked angry and violent he was having thoughts separate to her. Ygritte wanted his future to change to be one she would force herself to fit in, you were the one who tried to stand out of his way in case your feelings weren’t returned anymore.

But any future he saw, you were in it and you were his. He didn’t need you to marry him, but Jon knew that he certainly dreamed about it. And never before did the dream of marrying you feel closer then it did now. You were Robb’s wife and he didn’t want to take that away from you, but Jon couldn’t lie to himself and say that he didn’t wish he one day, might be able to call you his own wife.

It was a dream you both never thought was possible, and now there wasn’t a soul around you anymore who would find a problem with it. But you needed more time to heal then he did. He’d wait however long it took for you to find any comfort in the idea yourself. 

It was always odd between you both. Your start was forbidden and slow, but the reunion was sudden, fast, and aggressive. Almost tormented by how you felt around him, how beautiful you were and the way the horrors of the world around him meant not a thing as long as he was inside you. 

But now he wanted nothing more then to take it slow again. Just as the desire to call you his wife, Jon was also patient enough to take care of you as long as it took for you to be truly comfortable. In six years neither of you had gotten to the point you were ready to sleep together, now that you had? 

Jon would wait a lifetime for you to be ready for him. Because were it reversed, you would wait an eternity for him to be ready for you. The past few days had been rough, and the future was uncertain in terms of the winter storms ahead, but as you both stood in front of the fire, finding no pressure to do anything beyond enjoy the gentleness of his kiss, Jon at least would savour this peace. 

You wanted him to feel at peace, and he would do whatever it took to give that to you in return. 

As the sun shined bright against the strange land, the only thoughts he could focus on were that he still had time. From everything he could gather without tipping a soul off, he had enough time to ensure everything over twenty years worked towards would make it before it could no longer be hidden. The skin was already grotesque. It was but a small patch, barley noticeable unless one were to rake his sleeves up high and even then, he made sure he was covering any and every chance it could spread. 

No one knew after all. No one but him felt the disgust of the waters of Old Valyria seep into him like a thick poison, no one felt the growing crack along his skin until it burst into a grey. A grey that now sat in almost a small circle of scales that looked of dusting stones to mock him in.

He wasn’t the boys father he told himself. He wasn’t his father, he just needed to fulfill this duty and he could die or disappear to rot away. But as he stood on a walls edge in the castle of Dragonstone, looking down to the boy turned man amongst the sell swords trying to train him like a solider? 

Jon Connington could only feel a pull at his heart rather then his arm. 

They weren’t Griff and Young Griff anymore. He was once more the man he used to be, the one once Hand of the King, and the person his most beloved friend had trusted with his son. His son was soon to drop that facade, and it was hard to remember that lately. But he had to remember, Rhaegar didn’t trust the baby to him, to be his father. No, Rheagar had trusted him to raise his son until he was ready to avenge his death and take his rightful place on the Iron Throne. 

Jon Connington’s only solace was that they had arrived in Westeros to find it in a broken and disorganized state. It would take much time to rally anyone under the true heir now that he had returned to his people, would take time for anyone to heal their own Kingdoms enough to join back into one united Kingdom together. 

He had just a little longer at least, to fight against this strong and frightening feeling to call this boy his son for real. Standing in the morning shine repeating like a mantra, he was doing this for Rhaegar, he wasn’t doing this as a father. Say the words he had said for twenty five some years now. It was only for Rhaegar.

But just maybe, the grey under his shirt was telling him that the sooner they conquered Westeros, the sooner Young Griff would become the true heir forever. The sooner he would never have use of the Griff which was posed as his father, ever again. 

Aegon would have the blood of Rheagar Targaryean, and Jon Connington would have no one.

It was the fire and roar of a creature you did not recognize that you were pulled from. A knock coming to the door far too early in the morning that was harsh enough it startled you right out of whatever that dream was. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but something was surrounding you in the crypt of Winterfell set ablaze, and above shadows drifted across the skies like dark clouds that roared as they passed over. In the far distance was growls of a wolf and the cries of an infant, but the door was knocked at, and quickly the trails of the dream faded away. 

You in particular were the one the guard at the door was looking for. Saying there were people here claiming to need to see you directly. Eyes still heavy with sleep, and barley having much time to make yourself presentable you brushed passed Jon’s insistence on making them wait five more minutes so you’re not walking through the castle freezing at least. That habit however, had not gone away since your time in Winterfell together last. 

The side doors to the main hall opened, most of the corridors empty and cold in the morning chill as most whom were up and about had been on night duties. Standing together a the end of the hall however, woke you up right away. 

Ser Davos Seaworth stood tall as he always did, no matter the task he was ready at action, but while carrying a hesitant and morose expression grimed onto his face. It however, was his companion that had you stop mid step, wide eyed and lips parting in a confused surprise. 

Beside him, standing in the halls of Winterfell was Selyse Baratheon. 

A look on her, was as similar as it was on your face. Eyes wide taking in the sight of her daughter almost so naturally in what was home to you now. Instead of parting in surprise though, her lips were tight and thin as she almost was holding herself back from speaking a word. Your mother had never before wanted to step foot in Winterfell and yet here she was. 

Nodding silently to the guards, they took their leave and the door closing behind them sealed the three of you alone in the large hall. Your footsteps echoed as you came down the small steps and forward towards them, Davos being the one to meet you halfway as your mother held back. Your voice was a bit cracked still from sleep, but any louder and your voice would have caught in the air and bounced loudly off the walls for any to hear. 

“If it weren’t so early, Ser Davos I might have said how glad I am to see you.” 

Chuckling himself, he begun to glance over you. Looking no doubt for any signs of injury and coming up with none. Standing close he was equally as quiet but far more awake. “Well, I’ll just have to be the one then to congratulate on your defeat of the Boltons,” lowering to a bit more with a fondness, “And I’m relieved you’re alright.” 

Neither of you felt the care to hold back, his hug warm and comforting as there was more in it then the words said. You had left knowing it was a bloodbath and potential slaughter your people were walking into, and to see you come out alive on the other end struck a cord in his heart. Pulling back, his hand comfortingly on your upper arm, Davos turned to stand more to your side as he moved out of view of your mother. 

Your name quiet on her lips, and a few paces forward she walked. Unlike with him, neither you nor her had any rush to go to the other, and neither of you hugged or even moved in for one. You were thankful no one else was in the room, to many it looked heartless but there was an awkward pain as you both looked at the other. It always was with her, especially now. Glancing around the room, “So this is where we were sending you all those years.” 

“More or less.” Not quite the warm home full of life it once had been, hard to imagine it being that way again anymore. Your arms crossed over your stomach as you inhaled, turning to somewhat keep both parties in your vision. “I don’t imagine you both travelled all this way to simply stop by and say hello.” 

Ser Davos took charge, coming back over to you with a more hardened stern expression. “No, and as much as we’d like it to be, we’re here because your father sent us.” Your face must have shifted into something bordering from hesitant to filling with a panic, but only the three of you stood in the hall and you knew to not let it overtake yet. 

“What? He change his mind on not calling me a traitor again?” Your mother had tried to plead your name in a mixture of stern yet on the side of a beg. But you kept your eyes on Davos, and the blunt truth in his found an answer a bit easier. 

Shaking his head, “No, I can assure you, it’s far from that.” Glancing to Selyse for only a flickering of his eyes before finding yours, narrowing in your brows as you were finding pieces already to put together on your own. “You remember Pylos?” 

Nodding, you could easily recall him. The young man sent to Dragonstone, only a few years older then yourself, to work for the time being under Maester Cressen. All knew why he was there, Cressen was getting old and Pylos was to be the Maester after him. Trying to pile it away under much more things you couldn’t focus on, you ignored that likely it meant the man had finally passed since last you saw him. 

Your head tilted in a question, eyes narrowing at whatever was to come, but instead the echoing creak of a door filled the room. Both of them merely looked up behind you to see, whereas you took your time not quite looking away yet. If it was about Pylos, it was about Dragonstone and perhaps once upon a time you would have not thought much of it. But now, you couldn’t figure out what would have happened to bring the two of them all the way here themselves. 

Davos stepped forward, closer to your side as you turned the same time to find Jon having joined. 

Curls as loose and wild as they were when you had departed, and dressed down like anyone else, immediately catching your eye in a way that had you feel a bit more awake. It was as he approached giving you a silent glance, eyebrow raised as if to make a point as he wrapped his white fur cloak around your admittedly freezing frame. The cloak quickly becoming more like yours at this rate. 

A sneaking glance to your mother and you felt the childish shame in you, a sharp tint in her eyes that no doubt had caught something in the small interaction and it only served to make you feel even stranger. As if she could sense something from there, and was waiting to shame you for it.

Jon seemed to take no notice of the uncomfortable air between mother and daughter as he greeted Davos. The two shaking hands as Davos held his own amusement. “I was about to call you Lord Commander, but I suppose it’s King Snow now isn’t it? No, that doesn’t sound right, does it? King Jon?” 

Both held a smirk to the other as Jon shook his head with a light air about him, “It doesn’t matter.”  Looking up to your mother, nothing but a soft politeness towards her with a nod and respectfully keeping a distance he by now, understood she would prefer. “Surprise to see you here, my lady but a pleasant one.” 

Selyse nodded, not saying much as she turned her attention back to you. This time your attention cut between all three and finding an unease in your heart over something you didn’t quite grasp, but Davos took charge for both of you. “At least it makes this easier, having both of you here.” Jon’s eyes only narrowed slightly in question, whereas your heart begun to race the slightest bit, tensing your muscles in their entirety as they did so. “I know yourself and Stannis did not part on the best of terms, your grace,” Davos now coming more back to you, an ask tinted in his eyes to simply hear him out first. “But he sent me here, himself. He’s received news that he insisted the both of you need to know.” 

Your tone perhaps, was a bit on the unnecessarily biting side when it was not really deserved. “And it was something he couldn’t sent a raven for? Sending you both seems like a drastic action.” This time the uncertain look was between the two of them. Davos looking to Selyse as she only tilted her head in a small nod, speaking something you couldn’t detect to him. 

“It might be easier if you read it for yourself.” Slowly, he pulled out an already opened raven scroll his hand slow as he raised it up to you specifically with a warning edge across his features as if to brace yourself. “Maester Pylos sent this to the King, arrived urgently in the middle of the night.” 

Your eyes were wide, chest not moving much as air refused to flow through all of the piling nerves. A slow grasp of the paper before it sat heavy in your hands. Unfurling it to reveal the contents, you had turned slightly away from all three of them. Pacing towards the steps by the high table as your eyes took in the writing. 

Jon had given Davos a questioning look, but he only looked towards where your back had turned against them in patience. He knew too well what it said, and you knew why he had chosen to let you read first. 

Read and reread over and over, all of the air in your lungs had sought to leave your body. A tightening inside, your heart shrinking along with the force as something you couldn’t decide between a wide eyed astonishment came over your features, but the almost shaking panic in your muscles had you feeling the need to lash out. 

There was no way this was true, it was impossible. But your father wasn’t a man to believe in petty rumours and whispers. No, Stannis knew what you would’ve needed from Dragonstone as well as he did and if he wanted you to know this, then this was real and it was serious. You couldn’t figure out the degree to which that scared you.

Turning back to face them, that fearful astonishment was painted heavily over your features as you looked to Davos. “Has anyone else-” 

Knowing just what you were to ask, “We received reports from both the ports and villages as well. I don’t know if it’s gotten to the mainlands yet, but it will soon.” 

Stepping slowly back, you let go of the raven scroll from the tightness in both your hands from the dumbfounded feeling inside you. Coming beside Jon, you didn’t hide or even find will to vary that same expression as you silently handed it to him. 

As he read the words, you paced more, leaving to the opposite side far from any as you ran a hand over your mouth. Trying so badly to keep a calm, but then Jon tensed as well. A darker paint flowing over his eyes and a bewildered expression moving between you and Davos. He reread it as many times as you had, his voice rough, rasping and almost incredulous. “How would no one have known about this?” 

You utterly hated the answer that Davos also had for it. An answer Jon wouldn’t have the experiencing to feel the chilling breeze from such a truth, but one that made you wanted to throw something, maybe scream. “We can’t say for sure, but it doesn’t seem impossible. One of his trusted advisors, is Lord Varys.” 

The huffing breath of a laugh that left your lips was utterly meaningless. Your anger saw a chance to grow right before their eyes as you leaned against the table. Your eyes burning in a blaze staring at the floor as your hands tensed enough you risked the digging in your palms. “For the good of the realm..” Only a whisper, and now you truly wished to go down to the crypts and atone to Eddard Stark for having been forced to play and die in part of this game. Your voice was louder, trying to keep a barley held back anger sat just on the inside. “Who does he already have?” 

“They have the Golden Company at their backs,” Your eyes narrowed, those kinds of numbers would be unsustainable on Dragonstone for long periods of time you knew too well. Davos continued however, “None have come to his side yet, but we knew of some who will likely declare for him once he makes his presence known.” 

Your own voice finding some of those answers on your own, “Fair to assume the Martell's will, given they believe his story. So will the Tarly’s, and the Hightower’s.” Missing entirely a passing twist in Jon’s expression as you and Davos looked at the other. 

This was why you knew he had to be sent here himself, this was too much to send in a raven. Davos stepped forward with a nod, “The numbers they have now aren’t great, they know they can’t keep many there for good, eventually they’ll have to make a run for the mainlands.” 

One arm moved to cross around your stomach while the other rested up on it, your nails tapping at your lips trying to see enough of your time around the Royal Fleet to grasp what the best options for them would be. “They can’t go right for King’s Landing, they don’t have enough enough support for it, so we just need to get there before anyone with a sizable fleet can declare for him. At this point I don’t particularly care where they go after that, but we need Dragonstone more then they do.” 

His voice rung out, louder then the quiet mumbling between you and Davos catching both of your attention as Jon put things together in his own mind. “I’m assuming you weren’t sent here hoping I’d make my people fight in someone else's war.” A darker, sharper flash was through his eyes as Jon stepped closer. “Stannis knows the only reason I need Dragonstone is to gain access to it’s mines, I’m not here to join any fight for the Iron Throne.” 

Something more of an understanding came over Davos, and you were once more thankful it was him who was sent here and not your father himself. “I think he’s starting to finally learn that lesson.” You didn’t look at either of them. Only the floor as they spoke. 

“Otherwise, I shall destroy you.” 

The confidence in such a declaration that you and Robb were to be his enemies, and perhaps you knew this anger and spite in your heart towards your father just may have not forgiven him for that day. 

Jon and Davos now, finding a plan as your mind had faded in and out of the present. “So I reach out first, I’m not here to question his legitimacy, I need one thing and if he cooperates then we don’t need to fight. But, I’m taking my men there all the same.” 

Your mind had clearly drifted off longer then you thought you had, looking back up Jon and Davos were standing close having gone back and forth between things for some time it seemed like. Selyse, had been switching between watching them, and keeping an eye on your fading distance. You did not return the glance to her back. 

Your name getting called by Jon, with the same kind of watchful gaze deep in his eyes as well, as he spoke quieter to you. “Are you with me?” To the others, sounding much like asking if you were agreeing to the plans, but you knew better. He was trying to gauge where your mind was sitting at without drawing attention to the concern behind it. 

Nodding firmly, you pushed up and off the table coming closer to them. “I’ll have the men start gathering the Lords here right away.” He didn’t dispute it, but it clearly was an excuse to get yourself to leave the room without them quicker. But it was Davos, who stopped you. 

Only letting you get a few feet towards the main doors, calling your name gently before pulling slowly something from a pocket. He was the one to meet you where you stood, handing a chain to you, a sturdy metal with a solid casing shaped in an almost diamond shape. Your brows rose in question, but his voice was soft as he placed it gently into your palm. “I told you I’d take her to visit you myself.” 

You said not a single word as all of the air in you left. Neither other party there knowing what exactly it was which just occurred but Davos could see the red behind your eyes wanting to turn to tears and fall in that exact second. You just nodded, closing your hand tightly around it before making your leave quickly. 

Giving instructions to some of the men nearby before you walked to an empty hall, all but throwing yourself against the wall out of sight. The necklace wasn’t anything one would call special, but it also wasn’t the simplicity of what you gave Davos first. He didn’t just keep her safe, he took what was left and had it made into something you could keep around your neck for any time or reason. 

Your head hanging low as you clutched it tightly, holding it to your heart as your lungs burned wanting to find that strange mixture of pain to cry at, but instead you let your head thud back into the stone wall. Trying to breathe deeply, letting your eyes slip shut before any tears fell. You couldn’t do this now, you couldn’t think on her right now. There were more important things to prepare for, and yet it was only the sight and sounds of her calling your name. That last visit you saw of her, and how she had jumped into your arms with such excitement to see you. 

Her head burying in your neck as you held her back tightly. Now you could stay there, Shireen. Safe right with me no matter what now. Your heart screamed in a burning pain, but you didn’t have time to dwell on it’s agony now. Or how such a simple act from Davos, was more then a single thing shared that day between you and your father over her. 

You told Shireen you would one day bring her here, but she’d have to hold off a little bit longer before you could spend the right time making her at home. Right now, duty demanded things of you and pain in your heart was not part of that. No matter how much you wished it were. 

If one was to ask both the free folk and the Northern Lords all in attendance, they would have said it was something that filled with pride. Those who knew them both well, those who knew the father before him and all those who once thought up there would be Robb Stark. But it wasn’t Robb sitting in his home as King in the North, nor was it Lord Eddard Stark sitting there was Warden of the North. 

Instead, many found the sight of their new King in the North to be one that inspired. Jon Snow stood tall in his place, now covering the light layers of fabric and leathers was the same fur which had adorned him the previous day. Dark browns mixed with tints of black that sat as broad across his shoulders as ones like it did his father and brother. To the Northerners, it didn’t stand out to them that the other which sat next to the left of him. You had been Queen before, and none saw you less then now, as did the King. 

Jon wasn’t a foreigner from the south, he was one that the people knew. Despite if he thought they would not see him or remember, they did. And you by his side instead of once Robb’s was not out of place either. The King in the North didn’t hide the deep care in his heart for you, nor did any think he should. But if they were to ask you both of your emotions? 

It was a different story. To Jon, he was as sure in his words as he was unsure of his new title. King sounded wrong attached to him. Ser Davos had joked with him about both Snow and Jon sounding odd against the word King and yet deep down he felt it. He wasn’t Robb, but this was his Kingdom and all he could think was how much were his people judging him against his brother? What of his weaknesses would they sniff out in a second and wish it was different. 

Was he worthy of his father’s seat? Did sitting feel so strange because he somehow felt that he hadn’t earned the things his father did? It all sat in his heart, but he couldn’t focus on that. He had to look at what was right in front of him, because no one else would. No other King or Kingdom would look at the truth and fight for it but he had to. Regardless of the insecurity in his heart. He could only press on, hoping he was not a disappointment to his father. 

You however, felt your heart racing as you kept such a cold and still expression some may have thought you were a statue, had most here not been used to you. For the entire war, you and Robb had struggled to discuss a future in Winterfell knowing the state of war made what if’s difficult to see passed. But now, you did sit here, at the King in the North’s side in Winterfell but you couldn’t stop that wonder if you were looked down on for it. 

It was an uncomfortable thought, and whether or not you truly realized it, the amount of taunting and mocking of Ramsay was doing it. The slimy words of accusing you of sleeping with the wolves, degrading you by acting as if you where some whore for the Stark men and now you couldn’t stop the fear that your people saw it that way too. Fucking your way back into being a Queen, going from one King in the North’s bed to the next. 

Jon’s voice was loud in the hall, projecting to all present, many crowded around the tables and some finding a place against the walls around to watch. “We know of three ways to fight back against them. I cut through one of them using a Valyrian Steel sword and they shattered right in front of my eyes. We also know that fire kills them. The free folk have been burning their dead for hundreds of years because anytime they might rise back up.” 

There weren’t whispers, but the Lords did look to each other with glances of varying worry. The free folk in attendance all looked with a pride of their own, as it grew better by the day of how many of the Northerns had begun to accept their presence. 

“Burning the dead keeps them from the Others finding a way to raise them up for their army, and fire also will kill any that’s returned to life. Lord Commander Mormont was attacked by a wight, and no normal weapon could hurt it until we lit it on fire.”

It was not a promising outlook thus far. A steel which had little in existence, as well as the instability of fire as a defence. One final option though, came both with promise, but a caveat. “They also can be killed with dragonglass. One of my brothers in the Night’s Watch had found a stash of daggers carved from Dragonglass at the Fist of the First men, and when he shoved one of them into their backs, they shattered just as they did with Valyrian Steel. Dragonglass can kill Wights, it can kill the Others, meaning it’s more valuable now to us then gold. We need to find it, we need to mine it, we need to make weapons out of it.” 

The question arose from the crowd, just as it had from Theon when the three of you discussed it alone. “Where would we even get Dragonglass? Unless that stash you lot found is enough for share in the thousands.”

You had been sat beside him, and as Jon turned to look at you, you gave a slight nod. He knew exactly as you knew now, and you didn’t prefer taking over the meeting from his voice. Turning back to the people, he was a bit more hesitant knowing the cost to come. 

Gesturing to you for a brief moment, “The island of Dragonstone is build on top of a massive deposit of Dragonglass, there are tunnels all over the underground that are filled with more then enough to arm every man, woman, and child in the North. We’ll need men with skills mining, carve out tunnels to access it properly and we bring it back North.” 

Lord Wyman Manderly spoke up from his place, “So we need ships, and men to mine. And it just so happens, your grace, we have both.” 

A warmth in Jon’s tone with a nod, “Your enthusiasm is much appreciated my lord, but this isn’t going to be that simple.” His tone was rougher, lower, and a warning encased in it’s edge that all understood something was coming more then they thought. “We just recently have received word that Dragonstone is being occupied by a Southern Army. One led by a man using his place there to make his claim as heir to the Iron Throne, who won’t be too happy with what we’re about to ask.” 

He was quiet, and you knew you had to be the one to say it. Palms braced against the wooden surface, you almost found no ability to even take a deep breathe as you look to them all. Glancing to Jon, and only for a split second did you find a soothing ease in the assurance in his grey eyes. Taking a deeper breathe you stood properly beside him. 

Jon himself, tried very hard to ignore how it felt watching you speak with such confident but calming authority to his people, all with his own white furs gently draped over your own shoulders. 

“Whether who he is saying he is, is true or not, Dragonstone is being occupied by a man claiming to be Aegon Targaryean.” Whispers this time flew through the Northern Lords like a breeze blowing in the air but with words in disbelief. “The army at his side is made up of the Golden Company, meaning if they deny a truce, we will be fighting our way onto the island. Lord Wyman, how many ships do you have currently?” 

“Publically? Twenty three.” 

You found a bit of a smirk his way, raising one eyebrow in jest, “And not publically?” 

“Sixty. Most of which I can have fitted to sail for war by the new moon.” 

You nodded, knowing Jon was letting you do some of this knowing your understanding of Dragonstone outweighed almost all in the hall. “Our biggest problem will be getting onto the island itself. The castle faces out to the Narrow Sea but most of the island is surrounded by rocks and mountain sides. There’s a small gap that leads to the beaches and from there we have two ways to the castle. One going the long away, following a long path up to the cliff side, and the other up scaling along the curtain itself and coming up behind them. As long as we get through that gap, we can surround them. But we will need enough manpower to get our feet on the ground in the first place.” 

The lands were complicated, more complicated then many would think. All of you would have to be in on a very detailed plan if it were to work. It was an unforgiving terrain for those not familiar with it. 

Hard to gauge everyone’s reactions at once, but it seemed that most in the hall truly understood what was to come. Understood that as Jon spoke, it didn’t matter what personal matters were felt on the matter, it was about doing what needed to be done. “Stannis Baratheon has a fleet of at least sixty of his own garrisoned at Eastwatch by the sea. He knows the kind of fight we are up against, and he knows why we need Dragonstone. If we add his ships to yours Lord Wyman, then we have a fighting chance.” 

Lord Dustin seemed to stand with protest, one that was not quite welcome in the air. “We denied him as our King-” 

Jon though, was strict. His voice commanding against the man and were it to be seen, would have almost pushed him back in his spot. “I’m not joining to make him our King.” Looking to Tormund in the distance, the man finding a smirk as he looked up to Jon’s words. “I’m not King of the free folk, but if we’re going to survive this winter together then we need to learn to fight side by side without arguing about joining one side or another. The North is our home, and you chose me as your King. That isn’t changing just because we ally with another King for the only cause that matters.”

Tormund’s own voice was full of an amusement that radiated through the other Lords. “If my people can follow him,” gesturing to where Jon stood, “without kneeling down to him then all of us together can teach the same lesson to this Southerner, whether he likes it or not.” 

Agreement’s rumbled, and Lord Dustin sat with nothing more on the subject in his mouth. Lord Wyman took that mantle up, “I can send a raven to Eastwatch by the sea, see if the man’s willing to see reason. That way we have our ships all in once place if he agrees to meet with ours in White Harbour.” 

One proper benefit of Jon being King, was that you could slip away amongst the crowds around him once the meeting had dispensed. Lord Wyman already leaving for White Harbour, giving at least some hope this would not be a fruitless endeavour. 

The snow surrounding it was indescribable. A blanket of white that laid undisturbed against the ground, and a barley there reflection against water asking to freeze over soon. The Weirwood stood somehow taller then you remembered, the red was so bright and outstanding against the winter around it. Red leaves that bled in colour moving down to a white bark that blended so well. As if the face and the leaves were the only thing in the land that wasn’t snow. 

Once upon a time, you had been scared to come here. The old gods had little rules and your small mind didn’t understand what you were supposed to follow. Fearing the Seven would punish you for praying in a sept so close to where the Northerns sat under a bleeding face carved into a Weirwood. But the last time you were here was nothing of the sort. 

It looked nothing like that day. The warmth, the green all around and the water shining against what sun peeked through the other trees in the godswood. Right up there, he stood. The panic swirling in your veins as Ned Stark comforted you with every care of a father, bringing you out to his son as you found a life with him. The face you had once as a child been scared to look at, had been something you lifted your eyes too, finishing a prayer in silence asking to find a love that was genuine and true with Robb. 

The old gods answered. They gave you that. But now, as you stood feet away from it, the winter finally making it’s way around the lands and threats coming you never could have conceived in those days impending on you. What would you even say to them this time, was there even a word you could pray which would matter? You had not the bravery to go any closer. 

Not the strength alone to disturb the untouched beauty around the Weirwood as if this was a place you had a right to pray in. A sept still stood, but you also were fairly certain the Seven might just open a hole in the ground and damn you to a vision of hell for how little you held to just one. The Seven, the Old Gods, and the whispers under a fire god that your own family had taken up with in eithers place. 

What did give you bravery, or force it on you, was being knocked in the back by something large. You stumbled forward just a tad as you turned around with a narrowed glare until you came upon the sight of something just as white and red as the tree itself. Ghost stood tall behind you, his fur blending with the snow around him with eyes red as if they matched the Weirwood’s leaves shining in the colourless surrounding. 

A little huff in the direwolf came out as he looked at you before bumping you almost childishly once more. Truly the fact that this was a great beast almost was a joke. Running his head along your side as he did so, and his eyes shutting with a slight pant as you ran your nails along his head and around his ears. Looking back up eventually, he stared at you in silence but the same affection in his face. “Alright, alright. If you insist.” 

Ghost followed by your side as you approached. The water just reflecting enough that you could see the red wavering in the slightest of breezes around. Pulling the fur tighter around your front as a shiver left your mouth, cold enough you breathe fogged the space it touched. Each step you took as you finally came under the branches, you felt out of place in your mind even though something settled in your heart. 

Prayers, words, steps, rituals, rules to be followed came every part of the way under the Seven and sometimes you felt lost here. Not knowing what you should say or do, when every part of faith in childhood had told you to be detailed and specific in every word and prayer uttered. But that wasn’t what was asked of you here. 

A gloved hand carefully tracing your fingertips down the trunk beside the carved face as your eyes looked up wide and bright as a peek of sunlight shined down just enough to send slivers of light across the snowy ground. Ghost stood beside you, watching you and around as he looked like a wolf which came right from the roots of the tree. Carved into the bark and came to life, only it’s red leaves only found a spot in his eyes. Open wide at all times, seeing any and everything unlike the carved faces with eyes always closed. 

Something was warmer in your chest, recognizing an aura of this place that found peace while your logic told you this wasn’t enough for the gods. You needed to repent, offer gifts and sacrifice, plead of punishment to rectify your sins. You had no idea what you were supposed to believe. 

It took a while to convince yourself it was alright to sit down. Gently brushing snow from your way to sit, facing the water as Ghost stepped beside you. Looking at him with a tilt in your head you smiled, “This time I actually do know what you want, but I assure you there is no chance of you curling up on my lap.” 

As if he knew exactly what you said, which he probably did, Ghost gave a whine before huffing. Settling beside you as his head sat down against your thighs, your hand naturally giving itself a home to run across his fur. Watching him in silence, the time passed as the day grew colder and colder. Not having gone back after such an early morning to dress any warmer then this, you just let the cold sit around you. 

Just like last time, you didn’t see or hear him coming until he already spoke. “It would be easier to scold you for not dressing properly, if you didn’t look so beautiful.” 

You and Ghost both turning your heads to see Jon approaching. Him naturally, finding it no kind of difficult to come right up. This was his home, and they were his gods. What of it would there be to keep him away. On the other hand, there was a simplicity of your own the way in which you spent no notice admiring him. 

Clearly dressed warmer, more layers and leathers then what you had in merely a dress and fur around your shoulders. The fur sitting around him doing a better job even more, at keeping him that warm against the breeze. His hair was down more it seemed in his own home, sitting loose and wild almost making you smile. Jon could tell the way you didn’t realize you were staring, but only settled down right beside you. 

Unlike the last though, Jon spared no time and took the liberty to pull you more into his side, arm wrapped around you to trace up your waist. Ghost settled once more against you, the moving position allowing him to better lay down with his head in your thighs against the uneven land. Your tone was soft as it murmured out looking over him so close, “I think it’s just your clothes you enjoy on me.” 

It could’ve broken your heart if it didn’t feel so normal. How Jon’s gloved hand danced up to run along your neck before pulling you over to kiss the top of your head, stretching his thumb to run along your cheek as you leaned the other more against him. His chuckle was deep, vibrating somewhat against you. “I promise you, it’s both.” 

Nodding against him, you weren’t tired in your mind, just in muscles as you barley got out in a clear tone, “When did our lives become so complicated?” 

Once more, Jon’s hand slid down to your waist, as the other picked up your free one and lifted it up to rest over the leathers covering his heart. Your fingers dig slightly into the material as if trying to feel it beat under. Then tilting your chin up to look at him, grey eyes wide and full of a sparkling love that you could barley look into.  “Our lives were always complicated, now it’s just going to take a little more to get out of it.” 

You nodded once more. Keeping your attention occupied with the white direwolf on one side of you, and the white wolf with his arms keeping you against his side. Turning your head up, you met part of his neck and furs around him, slightly nuzzling into him before resting once more as he cupped the side of your head keeping you there. “You never let me say it back yesterday, that I love you.” 

“I don’t need you to say it for me to know. I know you love me, we’ve always loved each other and we both always felt it.” He had resisted the urge to bury his face in your hair right away, but he wanted you to hear him properly. Sighing out gently, your eyes sliding closed as if to rest against him this way, Jon never let you go. A hand around to your waist, while the other reached over you both to cup your head against his neck, turning his face into your hair finally. 

The cold gave you another shiver, catching Jon’s attention who pulled you back closer to his side, turned in place enough to watch your face closely. “When my father reaches White Harbour, I’m going to go meet with him. If we are to do this together, no one knows Dragonstone better then us. We can put a plan in place for when the rest of you show up. Figure out how we are going to get our feet onto the ground and the rest in your hands will be easy.” 

His hold on you was tighter, a clench slightly in his jaw as he considered it. Quiet for a good moment before you gently murmured his name, finally he rasped out, “I’m trying to find a reason to make you stay that’s better then I don’t want you to go.” 

You smiled a small bit at that, facing him better as well and the truth in his eyes wasn’t controlling or demanding. More like you were still those young children, you sick and unconscious in bed, and Jon was still afraid to keep his eyes off of you for too long. Tracing your hand along his jaw, you smiled much more as his eyes fluttered shut at the sensation. Your own voice was low in a whisper. “I’m only going to to White Harbour, I’m not leaving for war without you this time. Only ensuring everything is ready for you when you catch up. You could still order to me stay if you really want to however, you are King.” 

Jon rolled his eyes that time. “I thought you Baratheon’s didn’t like being told what to do.” 

The response on your lips only made Jon roll his eyes even harder that time with a much easier smirk on his face. Your shoulder shrugging with a flat, hardly concealed sass on your face. “I’m also a Stark now, and besides I think we both know that’s not quite true with me.”

Always a strange time when thoughts like it came up, but he couldn’t help once more but feel ashamed at how much he had once tried replacing you in his mind with Ygritte. You always trusted him, listened to him, and deep down would never go against something he said or did. Especially as a Queen by his side now, he knew you well enough to be certain you’d follow every command which would come out of his rule. He didn’t need that level of dedication to his word, but you didn’t do it out of obligation. You trusted him and his choices, just as he knew without having to ask, that you gave such dedication equally to Robb.

Whereas Ygritte almost hated the idea of not being so aggressively in charge at all times. Jon could look at you now, and he could almost hear the insults and degrading at how you were letting someone like Jon order you around. Would think you were weak to let him be the one in charge, to be the one you trusted to take care of you instead of demanding you do it yourself. 

When in truth he knew you stood so firmly on your own effortlessly, and you listened to Jon when it mattered. This time however, his order wasn’t much of an order. But advice that no matter how difficult it would be for you in your heart, was for your own good. For your good and for Stannis as well. They had their disagreement’s, but Stannis was a man Jon respected in a lot of ways. He didn’t expect you to see it the same way, much like how you never expected Jon to have the same dynamic with his father that you had developed. 

More reassured this time, finding only trust as you looked at him. “Go easy on him, your father. He knows as well as I do what we’re really up against out here, and he’s trying to do the right thing. You don’t have to forgive him, but hating him won’t make you feel any better.” 

Nodding, you shifted once more, leaning your head against his shoulder as you both sat in the silence of the cold before the Weirwood. Only speaking up once more in a small, but amusingly confused tone in your ear. “Now I have to ask, is there a reason your mother keeps giving me that look?” 

He didn’t expect you to laugh right away, but you certainty did. A waver in your voice failing to keep back how amusing you found it. “She’s not particularly a fan of you Northerners. Thinks you’re all unkempt, unruly, and unfitting for her daughter. That and I suspect she might know we sleep in the same bed, which she will entirely have judged you for allowing.” 

The flat expression on his face was even funnier then the question he had just asked. “Probably shouldn’t tell her about what I did when I first woke up in Castle Black, then.” You flushed, looking away as if you both hadn’t come close to finding that harmony together again since. “If she’s that worried, strictly speaking, Northerners don’t actually many people  there for us to get married. Could do it right now, put her poor mind at ease.” 

“Somehow, I think it’s too late to save your honour in her eyes, Snow.” 

Tones both in joking, but a small part of you and a large part of him knew that it wasn’t untrue. It wasn’t something neither had thought of outside that moment, but there was too much in your mind to make sense of that idea just yet. Too much in your life you couldn’t push back yet. 

Jon to his own credit, at least could obsess over the idea quietly in his mind with no issue. He did though, lean forward, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. Your own moulding to his in an instant, turning to gently move your hands to run up his collarbones and around the back of his neck. Hands finding the easy desire to run through his curls, nails scratching at his scalp as you did so. His free hand now cupping your cheek and jaw, tilting you up to stay against him as the one around your waist slid now to hold you tenderly at your hip. 

Never picked up, never grew heated. Just a gentle kiss with more passion in his touch then innocent, but he only kissed and held you just as he was in that moment. Never pushed you for more, just the beg to not part from him just yet. He wasn’t ready to see you go yet, not here and not later. Not even ever, if he were being truthful. 

“You should eat more.” 

Finding the strength within you not to either roll your eyes or sigh out in annoyance. Her tone came off in a lecturing condescension when you knew she meant well. You had good intentions joining her for supper, she was going to be here for an unknown amount of time, she came all this way when she didn’t have too but it didn’t make being alone any easier. 

You had barley made much of a dent in your food, and she had paid close attention to it. “You’re wasting away enough as it is. As long as it’s in front of you, you should at least eat.”

Taking a bite, likely in a more dramatic fashion then was mature but you did not come here to be scolded like a child. Giving a look to her as it to ask if that were satisfactory, she only raised an eyebrow before leaving the topic behind. 

The fingertips of your free hand tapped at the table in her quarters, looking to the small amount she brought with her which could fit on her horse. “How long were you planning on staying?” Her features barley moved, but you caught a slight twitch in her jaw as she realized what you were looking at. “You didn’t bring much, am I assuming you’re returning to father when I leave for White Harbour?” 

For all your doubts, she looked down. Tearing from watching your own gaze as she sighed. Your brows narrowed in confusion at her, but her voice was quiet as she explained. “Your father had only sent Ser Davos here, I was not thought to be sent at all. I came on my own.” You really gave a more confused look but you stayed silent. “You told me to stay with him because you thought I would find purpose with him, I would do better there.”

Your jaw clenched as did the words pushing out of your mouth. “You supported him over four years as your King. He’s your husband, I don’t see why you wouldn’t choose to stay at his side.”

Selyse wished you would look at her, but she understood why you didn’t. Your name coming softly from her mouth, “I have hardly been a mother to you. I pushed you away, and then never tried to reconcile that even after seeing the woman you had become without me. And I have no one to blame but myself for not being there.” 

Your eyes flickered up to her somewhat, a doubt in them and your mind but there was a skip in your heart at finding no lies in her face. “It’s not your fault. I was young when you lost your first two, and by the time you were ready to be a mother again, you had Shireen. I never resented you for that, I understood by then I wasn’t putting the effort in either.” 

The necklace sat heavy in your pocket, not yet having the bravery to put in on. 

The quiet was tense, palpable enough it seeped into the food still sat on your plates. “You do, for what I did to her.” The weight in your throat plummeted down to your stomach and sent you feeling as if the floor beneath you would open up and trap you within it forever. “I was upset, I felt desperate and I thought I had none left and..I let her talk me into it. I can’t change that, I can’t ask you or anyone else to forgive me for it. That will always be my fault, and you should hate me for it.” 

Voice but a whisper, you leaned your arms more crossed against the table. A somewhat ill mannered position at supper for you, but the weight of the her memory pushed you from sitting any kind of straight and proper. “Hating you won’t bring her back. Hating Roose Bolton never brought Robb back, so why would doing so feel better now.” There was a rare shine behind your mother’s eyes, one that seeped with sadness from a heart you rarely saw towards you. “I don’t quite know if I am ready in my heart to forgive you, but I don’t hate you. If you wouldn’t let me blame myself for her, I won’t blame you for letting that woman manipulate you into it.” 

Your eyes met and for once neither looked away as there was a genuine honesty in her. “I will join you when you sail for Dragonstone, but when you leave, I will too.” Your brows narrowed as she cleared her throat slightly almost in an awkwardness. “I haven’t been a mother to you since you were a girl, so let me do it now. If you want me to leave I will, but if not, I came here for you. Not for war. For you.” 

It was a heavy feeling that continued to get worse. The weight of a truth she hardly gave to you, and yet her eyes were sad warm as they were full of sorrow. You suspected, you looked at her with the very same. You never had a life where Selyse was properly in it, and having her there now was foreign. But, turning her away wasn’t the solution which felt right in your heart. It felt more cruel. 

Jon had said you can’t get better if you never talk about her, and perhaps you needed to give your mother that chance. No matter how strange and uncomfortable it would be. She was still your mother, and she was trying. You only nodded though, throat too closed to work even after swallowing down the water in front of you. 

There was a quiet as you pulled yourself together, sitting up properly and promptly wiping away the small water gathered by your eyes you didn’t notice before. As if humouring her, you took another bite before speaking. “I can have you moved to better quarters, something more suitable for you long term. I’ll also send for someone to get you some warmer things to wear. If I’m going to get lectured for not dressing properly for the winter, then you have to as well.” 

Shaking her head slightly, “The room is fine, it will only be me. I don’t need much.”

You two were back to quiet for a good while, the silence not unobtrusive or awkward. You and Selyse tended to be the most quiet of all your family. Stannis was not much of a chatty man, but you certainly got your tendency to enjoy the silence from your mother. But there was one more thing she found the bravery to speak. 

“She would have been proud. Your sister. Shireen would have been proud to see how far you’ve come.”

Not much thought came into it, as you pulled out the necklace, placing it gently between you both. A slight tear in your tone trying not to let any tears fall. “I kept a small part of her, what was left that night I mean. When we came here, I didn’t know if we would be able to win and I didn’t want any part of her near the Boltons so I gave what remained to her to Davos to keep safe. Told me he would bring her to visit himself if we won.” 

You tilted your head as she hesitated to pick it up. There was nothing to see, and even if there was it was just greys and tints of white of bone which were scattered left. But she held it with all the same kind of care as you did those final moments with her in that room. Something close to tears in her own voice. “She did always speak of going on adventures with you.” Nodding you over, she stood from her seat holding the necklace. “Come here, he went through the trouble to have this made at least wear it like you’re supposed too.” 

Her tone was stern, but not the glint in her eyes that matched. 

You took your time, coming to stand by her, turning around as you pulled your hair out of her way so she could drape the necklace around your neck. Sitting just underneath the high seam of your dress she linked it together in the back. In a surprise, she moved your hair back into place, smoothing it out neatly all on her own before giving you space once more. 

Looking down at it, before hiding it under the fabric. It wasn’t there to be shown off, it was there to keep her with you. Facing your mother once more both of you found little ability to speak. “Thank you.” 

What you wished would stay quiet though, didn’t as some time later did she say the one thing that set your nerves off. Food long finished and taken away, now you both had been finding small things to speak on when she finally asked what you had dreaded. “Are you and that boy sleeping in the same bed?” 

You pushed your chair back to try and stand, and Selyse called you back louder with more of a motherly scold in her tone that made you feel much like a child again for not listening too. “I’m not listening to this right now.” 

“You two are not married, he shouldn’t be acting as if you are some tavern slut to keep his bed warm at night.” You tried protesting, your voice higher pitched and almost embarrassed as you looked back at her lecturing glare. “Being a King does not mean he can ignore protecting your honour-” 

If it was possible to force yourself to melt into the floor and die on impact you would’ve done it right then and there just to avoid this conversation. “Mother, if you recall, I was married. I was pregnant even, I think I’ve long since passed the point of having any honour left to protect.” 

She was silent and you absolutely felt like a child the way she was watching you. “Don’t tell me he’s-” 

Turning towards the door, you walked away as your blood boiled in a horrific shame. “That will be all, mother. I wish you goodnight.” Selyse once more said your name in a lecturing tone but you took your quick leave as nothing but a red, warm embarrassment came over your cheeks and drenched itself into your mind. 

It was lovely, being a grown woman through as much horror as you had experienced and yet the second she started speaking you could almost see yourself as the young teenage girl she used to have to give such lectures over before. 

At least Maege had a very good laugh over it when you told her later that evening. 

Preparing his entire life to take on this responsibility was one thing, but a completely different feeling now that he was being told more and more to act on it. He was to be King, so he had to make choices a King would make. 

“You will be making decisions far harder then this everyday when you claim the Throne.” 

He could grumble and sigh all he liked, but it was true. He wasn’t allowed to be Young Griff anymore, he was supposed to be Aegon. Supposed to be the rightful heir, the true leader of the Seven Kingdoms, son of the Crown Prince Rhaegar, and yet as soon as the raven came he looked to Griff like the boy he used to be. 

Young Griff looking to his father to help guide him onto what’s the right path. Only, if he wasn’t Young Griff anymore, that meant Griff was no longer his father. He was once more Jon Connington, and they were no longer father and son training for a destiny far in their future. It was now, and he couldn’t be that boy anymore. 

Being Aegon meant he had to find it in himself to take after Rhaegar. But no stories told of his blood father had felt connected to who he was in his soul. He had to be his father’s heir, but he wasn’t the one who spent his entire life raising him as his son. Rhaegar was his father, Jon Connington had been trusted to keep him safe, but it was Griff that raised him. This wasn’t going to be as easy as it once felt back when he was far from Westeros. 

But now, as he read the raven over and over he was trying to ask himself what would Rhaegar expect of him, but came back up blank. He had no idea what he would do or say, and so he could only look at Connington and hope he understood his silent plea. Which he did. 

Glancing subtly to the men around the room before moving to come close to Aegon’s side at the end of the painted table he lowered his voice, something more guileful in tone. “What does your first instinct tell you?” 

His first instinct was to just let these people have what they wanted. What did he care about rocks and scary bed time tales? It didn’t change his ambition for the Throne. But he had the distinct impression that it wouldn’t be something Rhaegar would have chosen to do. Not from what he was told of him. So he had to find a new answer. 

“If he’s calling himself a King, that means he assumes he has no duty to kneel to my rule.” A silence in the room waited for him to figure it out, Connington at his side waiting and watching with all the patience he suspected his blood father wouldn’t have given him. Turning to look at him with a more determined look in his eye, “I think if he wants what we have, he can ask for permission. After kneeling before me, and beg for forgiveness for keeping part of my own Kingdom from me.” 

The men in the room looked approvingly at his fierce tone, stance broad as he braced his palms against the painted table. But when he glanced back to Connington, he wasn’t sure he was finding the same in his eyes, but whatever it was instead got covered up quickly. 

“You are the King, the true heir to the Iron Throne. If this is your decision, then he can either bend the knee or pay the price. I can have Maester Pylos send a raven back right away if this is what you want.” He was calm and patient, the tone of Griff towards a younger, unsure, learning Young Griff.

But he had to be Aegon now. And Aegon’s father was not Jon Connington, his father was Rheagar Targaryean. Nodding once he looked him sure in the eyes. “There is only one true King, and it isn’t some pretender telling tall tales.” Young Griff didn’t like the choice he was about to make, but Aegon Targaryean would have too. 

“This Jon Snow can either bend the knee like everyone else, or die fighting against it.” 

[ruiniel]

Remember

Fandom: Demon Slayer: Kimetsu no yaiba

Pairing: Kokushibō x fem!Reader

Rating: 🔞

Count: 1.7k

On AO3

Part I - Part II - Part IV - Part V - Part VI - Part VII - Part VIII - Part IX

Tags & Warnings: Multichapter, Darkfic, Angst, Ambiguity, Past Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Reincarnation, Toxic relationship, Codependency, Blood kink, Flashbacks, Kokushibō's wife, her name is Hisami, References to childbirth but nothing graphic, POV Second Person, Tsugikuni Michikatsu POV, Emotional Sex, Mild Smut, is it gratuitous yes and no, Human!Kokushibō, Kokushibō | Tsugikuni Michikatsu-centric, Sengoku Period (1467-1590), if there's anything Upper Moon One fears it's his memories, Making promises he can't keep

Author note

My hands, they slipped this chapter... rating changed, see the tags.

Naginata: a versatile, conventional polearm, mainly favored for its length, which can compensate for the strength and body size advantage of male opponents. It was a weapon-of-choice of the onna-musha or female warriors in pre-modern Japan.

Ashigaru: in a samurai household their primary role was that of protectors and warriors but were also responsible for various tasks around the estate.

Koshimoto: the personal attendants to the samurai. Among others, their tasks included dressing the samurai in their elaborate armor.

III.

Worry is a deeply human trait. You know this, and you know the world will never give without taking just enough to keep one fighting on. You’ve tried mastering your breaths as you’d been taught, but your grasp is clammy on the naginata which never tasted spilled blood. 

When he left, you wished to go, too, but buried your desires at the feet of duty for the good of your clans, your futures and the precious, rare spark that flourished from nothing in such short a time between you. 

Michikatsu has always been talented in the way of the sword, dedicated and perseverent. All traits required of him, ingrained in you too. You’d watch him train when you were too small to join, you toiled to reach a skill level enabling you to protect your own if things took a turn for the worst in the land.

He promised he’d be careful. He promised. You cross the engawa countless times, watching the night for a sign.

“Hisami-sama, the tea is ready.”

You thank the girl, who lingers, hesitates to speak further, but you can feel her unrest. She retreats, and you are unable to tear your eyes away from the outside.

The neighing of horses bursts upon the beaten path like omens from a distance, louder and louder. Sweat beads on your forehead. You ought to remove yourself and go inside, but invisible weights latch around your ankles. Your shoulders stiffen, and the remaining ashigaru become alert until you see a familiar standard, known faces, and finally him, dismounting fluidly as the household are swift to approach their lord and returning retainers.

Your weapon set aside, you exhale a deep breath then draw another.

His gaze locks on you as you rush to reach him but before you can throw yourself at him, custom and all be damned, his hands are on your shoulders, holding you firmly at arm’s length. 

In the torchlight, you see the blood on his face is dry, and the same stains match those on his chest, his armored sleeves, and his shin guards. His violet stare is distant, its dark depths empty. This was his second military incursion as a kogashira leading his squad in battle. 

You greet him as befits custom; Michikatsu is silent. His eyes never leave your face, and now something new lurks behind them, something you’d not seen there before. Slowly, he releases you, turning and—curious—dismissing the koshimoto. 

What is this? You don’t understand. 

Michikatsu then looks your way with the kind of expression that bears meaning: a beckoning. Worried, compelled, you let the steward handle the rest and follow his heavy tread inside. 

Once there, he removes one gauntlet, then the other; silent, so silent. You near, aiding with the removal of the armor piece after piece. So many questions, that you nearly bite your tongue to force them down. His gaze follows your movements, again always returning to your face. 

“Will there be anything else, Michikatsu-dono?” 

With just the two of you together, here, you wonder at your choice of address: the only way you allow yourself to express the hurt, the rejection of that one gesture outside after so many weeks of uncertainty. He must see it, and still, nothing. 

His eyes meet yours, as though surprised you’re there at all. “No, Hisami. Thank you.”

He says nothing else. He rises, turns away, and leaves the room.

The space by your side is cold and empty, all the emptier the more you stare, the more your mind drowns in rumination. A demon of silence, has forced its way into a corner of your chamber, lurking and layering doubts like nightshade over your spirit. 

The slow slide of the fusuma panel interrupts this torturous reverie.

Michikatsu nears, kneels by the futon even as you rise to sit, facing him. The glow of the lamp plays over his features and his unbound hair, still wet from a bath, shining like ink. He wears nothing but a carelessly fastened yukata, and droplets of water shine golden as they drip down his pale chest. You see a bruise, large and dark, beneath his collarbone. There must be others. 

You stare, unsure what to say. Michikatsu has always had a gentle, withdrawn nature, but he’s never acted quite like this before. If someone didn’t know him better, one would think he is his usual self, albeit spent mentally and physically after weeks of immense strain that only warfare can cause. His breaths are labored, though, as if he’d crossed a great distance on foot and not merely the path to your bedroom. The fact that he even is here should gladden you, after his earlier manner, but… be that as it may, you will try again. 

“I missed y—”

Your words are severed. He knows how to be gentle; but like deep waters with roiling currents that drag one to the depths, he also harbors an unpredictable side: and now his hand is heavy on your thigh, the other gripping the nape of your neck, bringing your face closer none too gently. His lips are hot, crushing against yours; it’s close to pain, and the weakness from the time spent apart only allows you to feebly press your palms against his chest.

His breathing is still harsh against your mouth, and with this his earlier peculiarities seem so insignificant. If this time has been difficult for you, a thread of understanding dawns as to what it must have been like for him. You slowly sway together back and forth as you kiss, your fingers gliding through his sable hair and him releasing you seems out of the question, the hand on your thigh snaking up and around your waist, forcing your body flush against his. He ends the kiss, sucking on your lower lip with an abandon that will surely leave a mark, and goes still; panting, silent, resting his forehead against your shoulder.

“Michikatsu, please, say something…” 

He bares your shoulder, the wet warmth of his mouth gliding over your skin, along your neck and there he lingers, kissing and licking a spot he learned has you shivering—and it does, sparks of pleasure rushing waywardly through you, dispersing all and any fears or troubles; a soft sigh leaves him when your fingers tighten in his hair. 

If he chooses to speak this way rather than using words, you mind it less and less, lending yourself to the careful way he cups your head, the tickle of his wet strands on your skin as he descends with you in his arms. His weight presses you into the futon and hungrily he still nips at your neck, your chin, licking a warm stripe between your breasts before staring at the hardened tips peaked through your yukata. He looks… adorable, you think, like one might when coveting a ripe fruit. He meets your eyes as his roughened hand carefully undoes your garment, palming one breast; the softness of his mouth closing around one hardened tip leaves you dizzy with need.

With urgency you slide his garment down his shoulders. He moves as to make it easier, his naked hips shifting against yours, left, right, left, right… languid and slow.

A hand runs through your hair; your eyes open, finding his. “Forgive me for earlier,” he whispers, watching you in that manner again, the way he did earlier at his arrival, the way no one ever did. His hand reaches between your bodies, slow and with intent, exploring; his lashes lower when he finds you. His finger traces slow, soft circles, covered in your slick. You know he loves this, takes pleasure in seeing all the ways he affects you. “I was… for one, I did not want to soil your clothes,” he jests.

Your back arches off the futon as he plays, your sight lost in the black centers of his eyes, rimmed with faint ribbons of amethyst; he is hard already, and your sense is reduced to the memory of how he feels when he pins you down, takes you and takes you and takes you. You relish in the thrum of his voice, low and sincere, your hands running up and down his tense back—the work of art that is his body honed by training, by all the ways he’s always pushed himself until his hands bled on his sword. 

“It is difficult, out there, and I was relieved…” Michikatsu smiles drunkenly at the slow sway of your own hips against his, retrieving his hand and rising enough to cage you beneath him. “... to… to finally be home.” Without warning he rises, flips you over on your abdomen and lines his body against yours, his knee nudging your legs apart even as he keeps speaking in your ear. “... with you.”

You’re long past reason, lashes fluttering and core tightening as he finds you, and a coil of primal delight unfurls in your body from the warmth of his arousal slicking inside—so easily, such a perfect fit. He pauses halfway, met with your desperate little mewl of protest. 

“I know… I know…” He kisses your cheek, licks your ear. “Hisami, listen to me,” he murmurs, sucking on your earlobe; your assent comes in the form of a sigh, which seems to be enough for him. “I am a flawed man but I will…” he rises, propping his fists against the futon on either side of your shoulders. “I will do my utmost to leave as seldom as I can…” His hips press against you, pushing deep; you turn your face into the quilt, stifling your moan. “I will protect what we have for as long as I live…” His voice is hoarser,  words hitched with the effort to control the tremble of pleasure in his own body.

He moves not at all, but you’re already unraveling and undone at the mere thought of him doing so. He places shallow kisses to the nape of your neck, the crown of your head as his back arches, and the first thrust relieves you of all thought, all but him.

“I promise,” he repeats on the second thrust, and the third, building a rhythm that has you tilting your head up, hands blindly groping at his forearms until he eases down against you. He moves deeper, slower, reaching to lace your fingers with his, his scent and lips and voice weaving with that ethereal thread now drawn impossibly tight between you. 

Part IV

[ao3feed-kiribaku]

Nobody Listens

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/gLwAhES by Snow_flakes11037 The Bakusquad goes to a party and shit goes down (shit being Bakugo has a VERY BAD TIME)   (Aka a fic based on one of my worst fears and four hours of researching Vyvance and Bipolar 2) Words: 3297, Chapters: 1/2, Language: English Series: Part 1 of Pause Reality Fandoms: 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia (Anime & Manga) Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con Categories: F/M, Gen, M/M Characters: Bakugou Katsuki, Kirishima Eijirou, Kaminari Denki, Ashido Mina, Jirou Kyouka, Sero Hanta, Class 1-A (My Hero Academia) Relationships: Bakugou Katsuki/Kirishima Eijirou, Jirou Kyouka/Kaminari Denki, Minor or Background Relationship(s) Additional Tags: Bakusquad (My Hero Academia), House Party, Underage Drinking, Peer Pressure, Drug Addiction, Drug Abuse, Abuse of Prescription Drugs, Bipolar Disorder, Bakugo Katsuki has bipolar disorder, Kaminari Denki Has ADHD, Bakugou Katsuki-centric, Bisexual Kaminari Denki, Cupioromantic Ashido Mina, Drug Withdrawal, Accidental Drug Use, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Drink Spiking, Hallucinations, Manic Episode, Seizures, we do not have fun in this fic, Bakugou Katsuki Swears A Lot, Bakugou Katsuki Has an Eating Disorder, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Maybe ARFID???, but like not diagnosed as it, Kaminari Denki Has Tics, Kaminari Denki Has Seizures, author did lots of research, LIKE TOO MUCH, about one drug, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mostly hurt, Angst, Title from a Destiny K song, Long Clothing Descriptions whoops, Attempted Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, NO rape, Drunk Texting, Hospitals, Kaminari Denki-centric, One chapter for each of them, Abusive Bakugou Mitsuki, in reference - Freeform, Body Dysmorphic Disorder, Bakugou katsuki has body dysmorphic disorder, Bakugou Katsuki is Bad at Feelings, Bisexual Bakugou Katsuki, Demisexual Bakugou Katsuki, Self-Harm, This is truly going off the rails, it started normal 😭 read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/gLwAhES

[annas-hair-donut]

The Refugees

Fandom: Frozen (Disney Movies), Tangled (2010) Rating: Mature Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage Relationships: Anna/Kristoff, Anna/Hans (Disney), Kristoff & Sven, Anna & Rapunzel, Eugene Fitzherbert | Flynn Rider/Rapunzel Characters: Anna, Kristoff, Agnarr, Hans, Rapunzel, Sven, Oaken, Eugene Fitzherbert | Flynn Rider, Olaf, Gothel, Stabbington Brothers, Bulda Additional Tags: Angst, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - High School, True Love, Northuldra (Disney), Genocide, Bigotry & Prejudice, Discrimination, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Shame, Survivor Guilt, Friendship, Cousins, Trust Issues, Love Triangles, Childhood Trauma, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Sexual Abuse, Bullying, references to murder, Gunshot Wounds, dissociative disorder, Mild Gore Series: Part 1 of The Refugees Summary:

Kristoff, a newly arrived refugee of the Northuldran genocide, and Anna, an Arendellian immigrant with a hole in her heart and a controlling boyfriend, are drawn together by fate amidst high school drama, an increasingly fraught political climate, and painful memories of their lives before arriving in Corona.

Chapter 14: "Shooting Star" now posted.

Kristoff faces the consequences of his actions and Anna embraces fate.

[dhr-ao3]

A Simple Fate

A Simple Fate https://ift.tt/x1sqBTA by lizz505 "She was smiling like an insane person. He liked it. "What do you feel about me?" "I'm obsessed, I'm infatuated, I desire you." "That's a lie." She retorted. "What do you feel about me?" It was his turn to ask. "I'm interested in you, I desire you, and if you think you're obsessed with me, you have no idea what obsession truly is." The smile never left her lips. "Do you think you're capable of murder?" "Maybe, you?" She asked "Yes." He answered and went back to his book." ____ A story where Hermione and Draco join forces to overthrow Voldemort and become the New Dark Lord and Dark Lady, the dawn of a new era is approaching. Will they execute their plan successfully? Will their new reign survive and thrive? Will they become everything they dreamed of? A story of thirst for power, violence and love. Words: 1516, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Fandoms: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con Categories: F/M Characters: Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger, Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Pansy Parkinson, Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini, Narcissa Black Malfoy, Daphne Greengrass Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy Additional Tags: Dark Narcissa Black Malfoy, Inspired by Hades and Persephone (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, Muggle Technology, Dark Lord Draco Malfoy, Dark Lady Hermione Malfoy, Dark Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Secret Relationship, Overthrowing Voldemort, Wordless Magic, Occlumency (Harry Potter), Legilimency (Harry Potter), Inappropriate Use of Legilimency (Harry Potter), Torture, Murder, Spell Creation (Harry Potter), Explicit Sexual Content, Consensual Non-Consent, Rough Sex, Dacryphilia, Spanking, Impact Play, mild degradation kink, Praise Kink, Breeding Kink, Table Sex, Dom/sub Undertones, Simp Draco Malfoy, touch her and you die, Revenge, Mental Health Issues, Toxic Draco Malfoy, BAMF Hermione Granger, BAMF Narcissa Black Malfoy, Ron Weasley Bashing, Order of the Phoenix Bashing, Everyone is going through some shit, very very descriptive torture, Draco and Hermione are extremely toxic and unhinged, touch him and you die, Extremely OOC Hermione, Extremely OOC Draco, Muggle technology mixed with Magic, Draco collects mugs and odd things, Domestic Fluff, Draco spoils Hermione, Supportive Narcissa Black Malfoy, Reference to art and literature, Draco Malfoy in the Muggle World, Draco likes Tesco, reference to movies, Underling elements of WWII, Underling elements of fascism, Developing Relationship, Possessive Draco Malfoy, Possessive Hermione Granger, Obsessive Draco Malfoy, Obsessive Hermione Granger, Magically Powerful Draco Malfoy, Powerful Hermione Granger, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Happy Ending, Cannibalism via AO3 works tagged 'Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy' https://ift.tt/AJOrSUN March 28, 2024 at 12:36AM

[ao3feed-nanago]

Two Sides of The Same Coin

by DelusionallyIvy Jujutsu Kaisen Words: 7, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Fandoms: 呪術廻戦 | Jujutsu Kaisen (Manga), 呪術廻戦 | Jujutsu Kaisen (Anime) Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death Categories: F/F, F/M Characters: Gojo Satoru, Getou Suguru, Kenjaku | Fake Getou Suguru, Fushiguro Megumi, Itadori Yuuji, Zenin Clan (Jujutsu Kaisen), Kugisaki Nobara, Inumaki Toge, Mahito (Jujutsu Kaisen), Chousou (Jujutsu Kaisen), Fushiguro Toji, Nanami Kento, Sukuna | Ryoumen Sukuna, Panda (Jujutsu Kaisen), Mei Mei (Jujutsu Kaisen), Ui Ui (Jujutsu Kaisen), Gojo Clan (Jujutsu Kaisen), Getou Suguru's Parents, Haibara Yu (Jujutsu Kaisen), Ieiri Shoko, Iori Utahime, Jogo (Jujutsu Kaisen), Hanami (Jujutsu Kaisen), Toudou Aoi (Jujutsu Kaisen), Kamo Clan (Jujutsu Kaisen), Fumi (Jujutsu Kaisen), Remi (Jujutsu Kaisen) Relationships: Getou Suguru/Gojo Satoru, Kugisaki Nobara/Zenin Maki, Fushiguro Megumi/Itadori Yuuji, Ieiri Shoko/Iori Utahime, Gojo Satoru/Nanami Kento, Haibara Yu & Nanami Kento Additional Tags: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Hurt No Comfort, Heavy Angst, Suicide Attempt, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Mild Smut, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Unrequited Love, Boys In Love, Lesbian Character, Canon-Typical Violence, Threats of Violence, Aftermath of Violence, Blood and Gore, References to Depression, Mental Anguish, Mental Health Issues, Jujutsu Kaisen Manga Spoilers, Shibuya Incident Arc Spoilers (Jujutsu Kaisen), Post-Shibuya Incident Arc (Jujutsu Kaisen), Post-Star Plasma Vessel | Hidden Inventory Arc (Jujutsu Kaisen), The Shibuya Incident Never Happened (Jujutsu Kaisen), Shibuya Incident Arc (Jujutsu Kaisen), Edgar Allan Poe References, Rape/Non-con Elements, Everyone is Dead via https://ift.tt/twGq281

[ao3feed-brucewayne]

And you're always lookin' for some company

by Citrus_x_Sinensis

After the Spyral debacle and his "fake" death, Dick ends up alienated from his family, and what is better than a harem of morally ambiguous older men to cure his touch starve problem. Dick sleeps around with so much morally ambiguous older men to cope with his loneliness after being separated from his family for a long time and how they received him after finding out he was alive.

Words: 3347, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: DCU (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Grayson (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), Midnighter (Comics), Midnighter and Apollo (Comics), Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Constantine (Comic)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: M/M

Characters: Dick Grayson, Midnighter (DCU), Tiger (DCU), Apollo (DCU), Slade Wilson, John Constantine, Raptor (DCU), Lincoln March, Jason Todd, Damian Wayne, Tim Drake, Bruce Wayne, Cassandra Cain, Stephanie Brown, Duke Thomas, Barbara Gordon, Original Characters

Relationships: Dick Grayson/Midnighter, Apollo/Dick Grayson/Midnighter, Apollo/Dick Grayson, Dick Grayson/Slade Wilson, John Constantine/Dick Grayson, Dick Grayson/Raptor, Dick Grayson/Tiger, Dick Grayson/Lincoln March, Dick Grayson/Jason Todd, Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Cassandra Cain & Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Duke Thomas & Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Stephanie Brown & Cassandra Cain & Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Damian Wayne

Additional Tags: Past Dick Grayson/Koriand'r, Past Dick Grayson/Roy Harper, Past Dick Grayson/Wally West, Past Barbara Gordon/Dick Grayson, Mentioned Catalina Flores, Mentioned Miriam Delgado, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Assault, Past Sexual Abuse, Past Relationship(s), Hurt Dick Grayson, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Anal Sex, Oral Sex, Rimming, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Porn with Feelings, References to Forever Evil (Comics), Post-Forever Evil (Comics), Implied/Referenced Character Death, Dick Grayson's Harem of Older Men, Dick Grayson's Harem of Morally Ambiguous Older Men

source https://archiveofourown.org/works/46039327

[ao3feed-jaydick]

And you're always lookin' for some company

read it on the AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/46039327 by Citrus_x_Sinensis After the Spyral debacle and his "fake" death, Dick ends up alienated from his family, and what is better than a harem of morally ambiguous older men to cure his touch starve problem. Dick sleeps around with so much morally ambiguous older men to cope with his loneliness after being separated from his family for a long time and how they received him after finding out he was alive. Words: 3347, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Fandoms: DCU (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Grayson (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), Midnighter (Comics), Midnighter and Apollo (Comics), Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Constantine (Comic) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Categories: M/M Characters: Dick Grayson, Midnighter (DCU), Tiger (DCU), Apollo (DCU), Slade Wilson, John Constantine, Raptor (DCU), Lincoln March, Jason Todd, Damian Wayne, Tim Drake, Bruce Wayne, Cassandra Cain, Stephanie Brown, Duke Thomas, Barbara Gordon, Original Characters Relationships: Dick Grayson/Midnighter, Apollo/Dick Grayson/Midnighter, Apollo/Dick Grayson, Dick Grayson/Slade Wilson, John Constantine/Dick Grayson, Dick Grayson/Raptor, Dick Grayson/Tiger, Dick Grayson/Lincoln March, Dick Grayson/Jason Todd, Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Cassandra Cain & Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Duke Thomas & Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Stephanie Brown & Cassandra Cain & Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Damian Wayne Additional Tags: Past Dick Grayson/Koriand'r, Past Dick Grayson/Roy Harper, Past Dick Grayson/Wally West, Past Barbara Gordon/Dick Grayson, Mentioned Catalina Flores, Mentioned Miriam Delgado, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Assault, Past Sexual Abuse, Past Relationship(s), Hurt Dick Grayson, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Anal Sex, Oral Sex, Rimming, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Porn with Feelings, References to Forever Evil (Comics), Post-Forever Evil (Comics), Implied/Referenced Character Death, Dick Grayson's Harem of Older Men, Dick Grayson's Harem of Morally Ambiguous Older Men read it on the AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/46039327

[sickenedfanfics]

Sanguine Symphony

Title: Sanguine Symphony

Chapters:

“Note to Readers”

“Fully Qualified”

“Vampire Overview”

“Human Overview”

“Sanguine Symphony (A Tears of Pearls Parody)”

“Chapter One”

Note:

Please note: The mention of Aboriginal vampire hunters using boomerangs to impale vampires is a reference taken from the show, Firebite, which is an Australian/American joint production.

Type: Alternate Universe, Real Person Fanfiction, Band Fic

Rating: Explicit

Warning:

Rape/Non-Con, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Profanity, Gore

Category: M/M

Fandom: Savage Garden

Relationships: Darren Hayes/Daniel Jones

Characters: Darren Hayes, Daniel Jones, You, Reader, Original Characters

Story Tags:

I miss the 90s, Bring Back 90s Music, Yup I'm Old As Fuck, POV Darren Hayes, Good Writing, Well-Written, Original Universe, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe – Dark, Slice of Life, Dark, Minor Original Character(s), Guitars, Keyboard, Piano, Music, Musicians, Musical Instruments, vocalist, 90's Music, music group, Band, Band Fic, Alternate Universe – Vampire, Vampires, Abuse, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Verbal Abuse, Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Blood, Blood Drinking, LGBTQ Themes, LGBTQ Character, Bisexuality, Gay, Gay Male Character, Homosexuality, Shipping, Established Relationship, Dysfunctional Relationships, Abusive Relationships, Unhealthy Relationships, Domestic, Drama, Past Violence, Past Domestic Violence, Bottom Darren Hayes, Top Daniel Jones (Savage Garden), Reader-Insert, Mild Reader-Insert, Reader-Insert Parts, RPF, Real people, POV Second Person, POV Third Person, POV Multiple, POV Alternating, Bisexual Daniel Jones (Savage Garden), Domestic Disputes, Erotica, Homoeroticism, Gay Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, Heterosexual Sex, Killing, Murder, Romance, Mention of Child Abuse, LGBTQ, Gay Romance, Gay Male Lead Character, Gay Male Relationship, Relationships, Real Person Slash, Real Person Fiction, Based on Real People, Homoerotic Themes, Homoerotic Scenes, Homo, Gay Sex, Explicit Language, Heterosexual, Supernatural, Psychological, Anti-Hero Lead, Magic, Male Lead, Non-Human Lead, Villainous Lead, Adultery, Affair, Cheating, Cross-Dressing, Cruel Characters, Famous Protagonist, Modern Times, Nudity, Singer, Succubus, Suicides

Chapter Tags:

no smut, no sex

Story Summary:

Play me a symphony painted with sanguine kisses.

Darren Hayes and Daniel Jones dropped off the radar twenty-two years ago. Have you ever wondered what happened to that cool-ass group? How can they just disappear without a trace? The answer to that is not one that humans can imagine. The pop duo has been dragged into the underworld of the undead. They've survived this long but their relationship is hanging by the bare threads. Depression, rage, fury, and pain all thrive in this tale of blood, strife, and pain.

Chapter Summary:

Users of the hit vampire social media site, VamVu, get a surprise when a live video featuring Darren Hayes, frontman of Savage Garden, is hosted. They're stunned and outdone, but they get great news.

Intro:

You sit at or hold your Wi-Fi-enabled device (laptop, tablet, computer, phone, whatever) with a glass of junior blood wine at hand. It’s the cheap shit because everybody knows you were piss poor broke before you were embraced, so why would undead life be any different? You sign into your VamVu (yeah, a play on vamp/vampire view) account located on the dark web. You catch up with some of your friends, thumb down a video by sociopolitical leftist pussified vampires which promoted allowing weres, shapeshifters, zombies, demons, and Magic Folk on the site, and thumb up one commenter’s chant of “keep VamVu bloodstained red.”

“Note to Readers”:

AO3 Quotev Royal Road Scribble Hub Squidge World

“Fully Qualified”:

AO3 Quotev Royal Road Scribble Hub Squidge World

“Vampire Overview”:

AO3 Quotev Royal Road Scribble Hub Squidge World

“Human Overview”:

AO3 Quotev Royal Road Scribble Hub Squidge World

“Sanguine Symphony (A Tears of Pearls Parody)”:

AO3 Inkitt Quotev Royal Road Scribble Hub Squidge World

“Chapter One”:

AO3 Inkitt Quotev Royal Road Scribble Hub Squidge World

----

Other Sites: Fanfiction Original Writing

[ao3feed-peterstiles]

Ashes to Embers

Read it on AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/55056274 by diei_elf Когда Стайлз тащит Скотта в лес, чтобы напиться виски, Скотт слышит вой и уходит до того, как те два парня, источающих преступную ауру, решать докопаться до пьяного Стайлза. Последствия роковой встречи катастрофичны. Но даже в аду можно отыскать уголек поприятнее... Для Стайлза таким угольком неожиданно становится Питер Хейл, отлично знающий, что такое восставать из пепла.   AU по мотивам первых сезонов. Words: 3734, Chapters: 1/?, Language: Русский Fandoms: Teen Wolf (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: Rape/Non-Con Categories: F/M, Gen, M/M Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Sheriff Stilinski, Scott McCall, Peter Hale, Derek Hale, Lydia Martin, Allison Argent, Jackson, Isaac Lahey Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Sheriff Stilinski & Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale & Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale's Pack Members & Stiles Stilinski, The Bad Guys 1x08/Stiles Stilinski, Past Peter/OMC Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Post-Season/Series 01 AU, Bromance, Good Peter Hale, Co-Alpha Peter Hale, Pack Alpha Derek Hale, Good Friend Scott McCall, Stilinski Family Feels, Rape, Raped Stiles Stilinski, Hurt/Comfort, Dark elements, Self-Harm, Protectiveness, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Post-Traumatic, Sheriff's a young father, Hugs, Pack Feels, Slow Build Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Mild thoughts of death, Blood & Triggers, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Stiles is keeping what happened a secret, Peter didn't kill Laura, Peter Hale Takes Care of Stiles Stilinski, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski Gets Bitten, Sheriff Stilinski Finds Out About Werewolves, References to Canon Read it on AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/55056274

[sskk-ao3feed]

a moth to your flame

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/NZJYy8W by sucrosette No, this was dangerous. The realization that he might actually enjoy something like this was too much. Akutagawa snapped his fingers away in a moment of cold clarity and took a step back, the sound of it too loud when the only other noise in the suite was the weretiger’s own shuddering breaths. “What the fuck is this, Jinko?” Or, the one in which Akutagawa gets a little too drunk on the pheromones of one tiger’s unexpected heat. Words: 7300, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: 文豪ストレイドッグス | Bungou Stray Dogs Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: M/M Characters: Akutagawa Ryuunosuke (Bungou Stray Dogs), Nakajima Atsushi (Bungou Stray Dogs) Relationships: Akutagawa Ryuunosuke/Nakajima Atsushi (Bungou Stray Dogs) Additional Tags: Canon Compliant, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Rape/Non-con Elements, Dubious Consent, your mileage may vary, Bottom Nakajima Atsushi (Bungou Stray Dogs), Top Akutagawa Ryuunosuke (Bungou Stray Dogs), Sadistic Akutagawa Ryuunosuke (Bungou Stray Dogs), Masochist Nakajima Atsushi (Bungou Stray Dogs), They/Them and He/Him Pronouns for Nakajima Atsushi (Bungou Stray Dogs), Nonbinary Nakajima Atsushi (Bungou Stray Dogs), Possessive Akutagawa Ryuunosuke (Bungou Stray Dogs), Occasional Use of ‘it’ to Refer to Rashoumon Specifically, afab language, Mating Cycles/In Heat, kabedon, Cigarettes, Drinking, Hints of Akutagawa’s Extensive Self-Worth Issues, Egregious Descriptions of Cocksucking, Choking, Author Might be Slightly Obsessed with that Pretty Gagging Sound Bottoms Make, Casually Choke Your Bottoms it’s Free Fucking Therapy, Degradation, Degradation Kink Unlocked, Praise Kink, Biting, Begging, Dacryphilia, Very Mildly Sacrilegious Smut, Breeding Kink, Creampie, Cockwarming, overstim, A truly improbable amount of orgasms, smut with feelings, Smut and (mild) Angst, Blood, This Kitten has Literal Claws, Fucking Your Enemy/Rival/Partner/IDK it’s Complicated as Copium, Bondage via Inky Black Clothing Demon, Bungo Dead Dove Week 2024 read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/NZJYy8W

[rise-my-angel]

Heart of the Great Wolf

20 - Visions in Eye and Flames

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

Length: 12.4k

Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, discussions of warfare, minor blood and violence, talk of executions, mentions of child death, mild gore, suicidal ideation, references to rape

Notes: We got a few big boy chapters coming up, so I'm posting this one early. Previous Chapter Here, Series Masterlist Here.

Renly Baratheon spent so much of his days taking little of anything seriously. Only a child when he was given Storm’s End meaning much of the ruling had to be taught to him, if at all. Then being brought to King’s Landing when he became old enough did once more he get granted a position on the small council without ever truly doing the work to earn it. Most days he spent it laughing and gambling with Littlefinger and the more that piled onto Stannis’s desk the more tiresome he found his brother. 

It was why he begun sending his eldest daughter away in the first place. Renly was spoiled and had no idea what true hard work it took to run Robert’s Kingdom for him and he had no intention of letting you become the same. The North was a surprising choice as it also was easy. Many of the Seven Kingdom’s were no different then the backstabbing of King’s Landing, and he found no ally he trusted in Dorne nor did he appreciate their much more free leisurely way of life. 

No one would call Stannis a friend of Eddard Stark, but then most would not call Stannis a friend to any person. A bitter taste in his mouth after spending a year holding off a siege of Storm’s End, starving as slowly they made their way through the horses, then the dogs, the cats, the rats and finally just as there left was only option left to them, just as he was sure his wife as dying, did a boat appear carrying enough food that they could hold off for just a bit longer. Long enough to have it end. And it was Ned Stark who arrived, ending the siege and it was Ned Stark which was given the credit for the work. 

He was the man Robert wished was his true brother, the one that was looked at and trusted in ways that he would never be. And as much as there was a stubborn resentment, he was smart enough to know that there was no glory or gain from the actions Ned Stark took. He was not a man who let his successes influence who he was and it was his best option. 

Dragonstone was dark, and grim and you for a long time there were very alone with little in the way of friends. He could send you there for a time, and know you would learn as much from the man as you did gain from being around the Stark’s children. He had two sons around your age and it would do you some good to be around them. 

Selyse had an issue with it. She had just lost her second boy before birth, and she considered the Northerners to be unruly and unbefitting of her daughter. Saying keeping her around boys as she grew up at that time would only serve a distraction. Putting suggestions of houses at least with a girl your age to be sent to, but Stannis trusted none of them to teach you. You learned a great deal from him, even in the months before the Jon Arryn’s death you would still travel to spend your time in Winterfell at Ned Stark’s side. Taking it as seriously as you did your first months ever there. 

She wasn’t wrong about his boys however. You made friends with his sons faster then you did anyone on Dragonstone and the more you would write home or visit, the more you talked about them and not what you were learning. Each time you would come home a little more light in your eyes, a little more wild then before but that also was why he finally took you with him to King’s Landing. Selyse had Shireen to dote on by then, and he wanted to crush out whatever carefree nonsense the two Stark Boys were influencing you with. And he had watched as that wild streak tamed over time finally as you took far more after him then you did Renly, or the Northerners you stayed with. Or so he once thought.

Until sailing to Eastwatch by the sea, Stannis had never set foot in the North. He had no reason to, most didn’t. It was large, and cold, and the Northerners too difficult to control but somehow they had seen you as one of their own. He had hoped that meant finding allegiance in them would be easier then he thought, but they were a stubborn people. 

As the snow mounted around his army, he had both demanded they stay quiet and out of word and sight to the rest of the Kingdom, as well as to find reassurance in their god which wasn’t burned in a fire. Early on his men asking for burnings as sacrifices for better luck and weather, but Stannis only told them “I will have no burnings. Pray harder.” 

He had left the red woman behind on purpose, her fire god asking too much of him and the more he spent listening to her the less chance he had to gain the people’s support. He had lost it in the wildlings, and if he continued as such he would lose any new chance of an ally. Regret was not often a word in his vocabulary, but the longer the war went on, the more he looked back with disdain on the inhumane actions he had chosen so brazenly. He would remember that look of hate in your eyes that day in the field. 

As much as he went on about how you were a traitor, realizing that you had died hating him, was the worst punishment Stannis could receive for his sins. A punishment for those sins that had yet to cease.

The Bolton’s were smart, keeping their presence around the North minimum but Stannis’s silence meant that they now had no idea if he was out there to attack. His biggest issue now, lay in the scattered remains of the Ironborn. With no unity to fight them out with, each House seemed doomed to fight them off on their own as their new wardens prepared for Stannis alone.

But the North it seemed, did not break from what his daughter had told him. What Robb Stark had told him. They wouldn’t have him as their King, and as his army encroached onto Deepwood Motte it was an itching question of who exactly would they even listen to at this point. 

Robert many times went on often and loudly how difficult it was to control them, and truly Stannis was starting to understand that fact. 

It was a tricky spot to approach in, not quite close enough to the waters to push them back into and corner them. It was going to have to be a risk of cutting himself a path and holding the line rather then trap them between two spots with nowhere to run. Then again, many of his moves now seemed to be gambles of varying pay off. His one with Jon Snow certainly didn’t.

A man as stubborn as his father but it was not his place to argue. He made his choice and Stannis had to plan regardless of the difficulty without him. He had seen great potential, but there was much holding him back that day and he could only guess as to what upbringing led a son of Ned Stark to be alone in the Night’s Watch. 

He had hoped to feed into the injustice of what the Bolton’s had done to his family and his home, remind him that the man who held Winterfell was the same man who murdered Jon’s own brother but still he said no. Offered to make him a true Stark and become Lord of Winterfell himself and still he said no. What would get him to say yes, what was left in this world for Stannis to offer him that would finally pull Jon Snow out of the frozen waste of Castle Black and into the fight. 

But if only for that particular day, he had to shelve that thought for later. Or at least he thought he did. 

The men for House Glover had no fight, pushed back into their own home and not enough of an advantage to overpower the Ironborn infesting it. Coming up from the southeast, he was strategizing for just that fight. And as that fight proceeded, he knew he needed to push them back enough to give the Glover’s a chance to break into it on their own as well. 

Only, it was not the allies of the North which came from the northwest. There in fact for the most part, were none in the hands of the men who came. Not Ironborn either. 

Stannis had the line blocked so they could not pass through them but it was the men which came from above that circled around the rest and cut off any escape. Blocking the Ironborn in as their fight grew fruitless. Their fighting was a mix, some with a tactical approach others with a brutal bloodshed that charged with little fear. 

Only in the midst did he realize he in fact, recognized there was at least one image he knew. Pressed into the shields and armour of the men was that of a bear. But it was the ones they fought with that was confusing. The very wildlings who had so adamantly denied his cause.

But as the fighting stopped finally, it was an image he almost thought he hallucinated the first few seconds he realized what he was looking at. But standing in front of him and not frozen away still.

So this was that feeling. It had been a long time since it passed through you, but you recalled the shaking in your bloodstream vividly then as well. This time you knew what to expect, but did you really?

The worst of the battles were eluding you by the end of the war. Lannisters on the run, and hiding away so much there was no fight to be found for some months. But now, after everything that has been between the last fight you remembered and now, you could very well be right before that first one in Whispering Wood. Uncertain for the safety of those you care about going into this, but far less of that was wondering of yourself. 

This time as you sat in the Mormont’s armoury all on your own, slowly lacing up your boots in the quiet you contemplated something you had told Robb. Back in Winterfell when men once more were gathering around to prepare for war, “I know how to swing a sword, but maybe that doesn’t mean I have the right to be out there with you and these men.” 

Robb had assured you on it then, but his words no longer reached your darker mind now. Maybe you were really just trying to play in something you couldn’t handle anymore, but who would you be if only now did you just hide away from it?

Only as a pair of gloves lightly smacked into your chest, your eyes instantly peeled up in a glare to the somewhat amused Theon. “I’d ask if you were alright, but I know you’d just lie.” Leaning back against the wall closest to you, he watched as you tugged them on irritated. “Don’t think I’ve seen you this wound up since-”

“I know.” Cutting him off you looked back down. Letting your foot step from the stone bench back onto the ground, you swung yourself to sit forward. “I can’t tell if knowing what the fight we are walking into will look like makes me feel more assured or less.” Pausing you looked up to him, his own eyes wandering off as he was lost in thought. “What about you? Ironborn are your own people, are you sure you’re up to being on the other side of them?” 

He didn’t respond right away, but you felt the conflict. “Don’t know. Guess I’ll only find out when I’m actually out there again. Were you prepared to fight on the other side of your father?”

Your eyes snapped up, stuck to a meaningless spot on the floor before you shrugged and continued fiddling with the leather. “Always figured it was an inevitability. He thought I was a traitor, there isn’t much space for love in there to hesitate towards.” 

“Thought I was the traitor.” 

He said it so casually that when you looked up with a confused look, you could see the humour hiding his deep struggle of it. The sides of your mouth quirked up a bit to alleviate the weight on his shoulders. “At this point I’m not sure there’s even one of us who isn’t seen as a traitor to someone somewhere along the lines. Just something they will have to move past.” 

“Oh, just like how you’re so good at moving on from things.” You glared up at him, but he just crossed his arms looking at you with a more narrowed, almost analyzing gaze. “Ever since the day you rode into Winterfell with the royal family you’ve taken every single problem and just put it on yourself with blame and never let anyone take any of it off. You just keep holding onto everything like you’re afraid to it’ll all crumble the second anyone helps.” 

You didn’t respond, and you knew it was hypocritical of you to even do this. You had told Robb so assuredly, that he shouldn’t be carrying the burdens of leadership and war all on his own but yet you found no reasonable solution to such things other then to take it all on you. “Don’t know any other way, I suppose.” 

“Could try not being so miserable all the time.” A small smirk shared between you at the insult but you found not the strength to really bite back on it. “I’m not trying to tell you what to do, but you’re likely not going to feel any better by assuming everyone wants to blame you. They’ll have enough to blame me for, so try letting me share some now.” 

You bit your tongue in thought, trying to contemplate how these people even still saw any good in you when a pair of entering footsteps caught your attention. Looking up to the main door though, was not in a manner as subtle as you were perhaps hoping. He was having one side of thoughts, you were having the other and quickly the third part in Theon found no desire to be in between. Grabbing both sets of bows before leaving the room. 

Jon was better a this then you were, acting so natural as if there was nothing to think back so distractedly. Given better attire and armour by the Mormont’s set something off in your blood when it was not the time nor the place. Dressed not like others of the Night’s Watch any longer, his new colours draped in a dark, blueish green and browns in leather armour that all made him look like a proper warrior, a leader. Strapped around him still was Longclaw that stood out far more against this look then blending with the black before it. 

Only sight was your eyes narrowing a little as you glanced to him, looking discreetly from his sword to his hair now pulled all the way back most wouldn’t think anything of it, but Jon knew better. Especially now. “Something on your mind?” 

Quickly finding his eyes again before you closed yourself back up, fussing with the tightness of your boots laces only to find a distraction. “No.” You paused before trying to slip out in a flat tone, “I’ve never seen you dressed for a fight like this, is all. Caught me off guard.” 

Unlike Theon, there was little wait in Jon approaching you, taking a seat beside you despite how you tried to not look at him. “I haven’t seen you like this either, remember?” You shrugged, to many nerves about too much at one running inside your mind. Jon called your name, turning your head slightly to his direction but it wasn’t enough for him. Saying it much more stern in a deeper tone, causing you to finally look up at him. 

He looked incredibly handsome like this and you hated that you were even thinking about that right now. 

“I want you away from the main fight as long as you can.” Once perhaps he would’ve thought you’d argue back but you just sat in quiet, eyes looking at him but still far away as he continued. “You haven’t been in a real battle in well over a year, and you’re not even fully healed yet. I can’t have you getting hurt out there.” 

Biting your tongue, your nodded as a weight settled in your chest. Leaning your forearms over on your knees as you clasped your hands you quietly muttered, “No, I get it. Stay on the sides, out of the way.” 

Jon was quick to jump on that, tone a little more tinged in a frustration. “That’s not what I’m saying, and you know that.” You sighed deeply, he was right but you didn’t really know what else to feel sometimes outside of whatever this hopelessness was. “If I let you out there, trying to risk your life just because you think you’re expected to, could you really tell me that you care enough about yourself anymore to not get hurt?” 

Once more, you said nothing and he was right. Shaking your head slightly you sighed, “Sometimes I hate that you still know me so well. Especially now that you’re much bossier.” Leaning away from him, you missed the fond smirk slipping onto his face briefly. 

“You stay closer to the sides with Theon, you were always a better shot with an arrow then you were with a sword.” If the nerves in you weren’t screeching you may have nudged him for that, and Jon picked up instantly how difficult it was to find that playfulness the closer to a fight it was. Leaning forward he matched your position but never tried invading your space. “You’re allowed to let other people do some of the hard work, you know.” 

“You are King. And that means realizing you don’t always have to do everything yourself.” 

Since when were you such a hypocrite? Were you always this was, and no one had made notice of it to you? Nodding weakly, you could feel his eyes on you, you only seeing part of him in your side vision without turning proper. “As long as you do the same. Make me do some of the hard work for you, I mean.” 

By not looking at him, you did however miss the dark greed in his eyes flashing by quick, as he also swallowed, forcing something very not appropriate for this setting back down his throat. Trying desperately to focus on anything but how breathless you sounded with his name moaning from your lips the other night, and how much of a siren’s song the taste between your legs called to him as. “Think we could figure something out.” For a moment you both sat in the quiet together before he asked, “Are you ready?” 

He knew you had too much anxiety to speak much, taking your nod as his answer. Standing up, Jon held a hand out to you to pull you to your feet. Looking at you closely for a second, giving a slip of softness in the heavy looming air. His hand letting yours go as it reached up, running gently down your cheek and cupping your jaw with a thumb running along the skin it just passed over. 

In an easier time, Jon wouldn’t have hesitated to lean down and kiss you. But he told himself, ease you into things. The closer this fight got to Ramsay, the more he knew you would lose the capability to relax even when alone. Instead he pulled back, gently pushing you towards the door with a rasping, “Come on, they’re all waiting on us.” 

It was Galbert Glover which was the one who displayed which side confused Stannis. In the final calm of everything, finding an easier victory then presumed as the Ironborn were not prepared for the wildness of the free folk being led with genuine strategy. “Never thought I’d live to see the day I was grateful to see the wildlings coming through those woods.” 

Recognizing a once fellow soldier in Maege Mormont, the pair of them clasped arms in a firm shake, a gratefulness on both of them seeing the other still alive. “Can’t say I did either, but they get the job done don’t they.” She easily recalled the last time she had seen Stannis Baratheon, and the many since rumours she’d heard didn’t make the formal greeting any more welcoming. She let her little spitfire Lyanna send that raven for a reason afterall. Give him a taste of how the North felt about his claim.

Turning to look at him, as the free folk surrounded the Baratheon men unsure as to what fight they may be looking at next. Tormund staring down the man, no faith in what he would presume they were here for and he received it. “Your people deny my cause, and yet you show up in battle regardless.” 

Tormund’s unimpressed voice rumbled out loud for all to hear, “We didn’t come here for you.” 

Stannis asked for who, and like a parting sea in the crowd of free folk they all turned to make way a path for the one who did lead them. His own armour doused in as much blood as his sword dripped but certainly it was indeed Jon Snow. The men around him holding a confidence in how they looked to him come into the clearing. 

Meeting each other half way, and certainly not looking for any kind of fight further, both men reached out to shake the others hand firmly. Stannis speaking up first as they let go, “I take it this means you’ve reconsidered my offer.” 

But Jon was confident, a furrowed look in his brow as though it spoke of something he knew that the King before him did not. He knew two things, and both were as much as a hit to the gut as the other as far as he was concerned. “No. I haven’t, your grace. I’m not here to fight for you, I’m here to fight for them.” Looking to where both of those in House Mormont and House Glover stood before turning back. “I mean no offence to your help, but the North isn’t your home to defend. It’s mine, and theirs.”

Gesturing to those who stood behind him before finding all certainty full in his tone. “I’m not here to kneel, or to ask anyone else to. One of your men, Ser Davos, told me that as long as the Bolton’s hold the North it will suffer, and that just maybe I’m no use to anyone if I hide at Castle Black while my home gets torn apart. But I’m here for my people, to fight with them, and beside you if you will. Not to submit them to your cause.” 

If Jon had to wager a guess, he would assume that the King was currently trying to decide if he admired him for his brazenness or hang him for his insolence. That narrowed, sharp expression in his eyes on top of a cold face gave little away and his tone gave even less. Even as it could sound. “You got them to follow you.” 

Years ago, such a statement would have had Tormund stepping up in an angry defence, but things were different now. And Jon appreciated the trust in him to speak for them with honesty. “The free folk didn’t follow me beacuse they had to, they did it beacuse I asked them for help. Not to bend to me, but to fight beside me. After what we’ve seen, they understand we can’t let whose King of who get in the way anymore.” 

Galbert Glover approached the pair, “If there’s a wildling army on my land, then that means you must be Jon Snow.” 

Willing him not to say anything in front of all these people the two shook hands. “I am, my lord. It isn’t easy, asking to put years of fighting with wildlings aside but I’m grateful you agreed to hear us out.” A flicker of eyes between, Jon could recognize was the realization Stannis was having of missing key information. Jon stepping towards Lord Glover in a lower tone, “There are matters would be best discussed in private, my lord. If you still are willing to-”

Getting used to being treated with the kind of respect he could see these same men giving Robb, was strange but there was not a single ounce of ire in the interruption. “My home has been ravaged by the Ironborn for over two years, and that’s all ended now thanks to both of you. I am more then willing to hear your proposal.” For a second, Jon had glanced in the distance and if he was seeing Ghost he knew who was not far behind, and doing it in front of all these people was a big mistake. 

The lord and the Southern King greeted each other at least showing the same degree of respect to his own fight for Deepwood Motte. If there weren’t so many people around, Jon may have tried it. But eyes were lingering too much in the crowd of a once battlefield and there was enough to discuss then to add that. He could only hope he was conveying enough to Ghost from their eyes meeting far off, that he understood to keep back. Ghost backing up a bit before turning around and taking off. 

He wasn’t going to parade you around your father and his men like a spectacle to gawk at. 

It wasn’t supposed to take this long to join, but truth be told there weren’t only hangups for you that were keeping it back. Beckoning the men with you to go on ahead you looked back up from your arm to them with a narrowed glare, “Keep this scrape out of your mouths, would you? No need to go blathering everytime I get a cut.” 

You’d spent more time around these men then Theon did. Spent more years in a war with soldiers of the Mormonts on your side and it seemed the striking attitude was taken with a grin and a mumbled agreement as they left. Theon knelt at your side pulling the bloody leather on your upper arm apart enough to glance at it. “You think he’s not going to notice the second he sees you?” 

Rolling your eyes you huffed, “I would just rather not be fussed over right now, I’d rather be anywhere then here right now.” You had been the one to spot out your fathers men right away and you were thankful if you had any skill with you still, at least you could hold your own with a bow. An excuse to stay as far away as possible. “What about you?”

Raising an eyebrow with a glint of mocking, “You asking if I want to be fussed over? Because if it’s by Snow, then no thank you I’ll pass.” You rolled your eyes again, finding no amusement in it but as Theon cleared his throat and tore the leather open a bit more to see how deep it was, you knew the facade wasn’t as strong as he pretended. “I don’t know, I can’t say I feel bad, didn’t know these men and they didn’t want to know me. The more we get on our side the more they’re going to start thinking that way about me. Hope you’re still coherent enough to defend me then.” 

His voice hissing a bit as he seemed to finally have noticed it was deeper then you had admitted the slice to the arm was. You were taken by suprise by an Ironborn in the ends of the fighting, running behind you enough to slice at your arm before you could defend yourself. Theon sending an arrow through his throat moments after. 

One fight back and you already were worse then the first one you ever battled in. A dreading promise of your future uselessness. Glancing up with a guarded, but almost regretful expression sinking into your eyes at Theon, he tried not to look as he carefully wrapped a bandage inside the tear of your armour and around the cut for now. “I will be, if my father doesn’t hang me for being a traitor that is.” 

If you were joking, neither you nor Theon expanded upon that sentiment. “You’ve done nothing wrong.” 

Satisfied with the wrappings for now, he pulled you up to your feet as you just looked at the other for a moment. You were both stalling, and you both knew it but finally you walked closer to the edge of the snowy cliff to snatch your bow. “I’ve done plenty wrong.” 

The bodies around couldn’t help but make you wonder, if the Ironborn were still this prevalent in areas of the North and from what you had gathered there was little help from the Bolton’s, you wondered just what their numbers looked like. The houses on their side, and their now more untouched army having cleared their way to Winterfell would give them a mighty advantage should they have that amount against yours. 

As you got closer, the more your nerves flared up. Seeing a clearing further from the Glover’s Keep, you found the stares from both sides to be unnerving. One side looked to you with knowledge of the dead and the other likely just saw you as a traitor to be taken care of. Stares of men you hardly knew anymore, and then stares of men you barley knew to start with but it seemed conversations had moved on without you. 

For once, you were thankful not to be in on it. Your arm already was sore from your own incompetence, you nodded to Theon who parted ways, already reading what you intended to ask of him. The only other one around with any casual intention finding his way to you in the quiet mess. “One of these days I’m going to have to see what a pretty crow like you, looks like swinging that sword.” 

Glancing up from your partially knelt over position, you raised an eyebrow at Tormund with a small huffing breathe of amusement before directing your attention back the count still holding on a number in your head. “Might want to start one now then. Once my father realizes I’m alive I’m fairly certain the upstanding holder of duty and justice will serve my treason a swift sentence.” 

Coming around to see your face more clearly, it was twisted in a terse frustration that narrowed your brows into a scowl as you continued on. “You think any of us will let that happen?”

You shrugged, voice tight and restrained. “It isn’t up to you. It’s up to the King.” 

Kneeling down, the wilder man took no issue with snatching the wiring you were coiling and tossing it out of sight. Leaning to follow your turn to watch it go before you relented. Once more making eye contact with him, eyebrow raised in waiting. His own features narrowed slightly, “How are you more stubborn then your crow, in there?” Head nodding to the Glover’s reclaimed Keep. 

Expression did not move not twitch, flat tongued tone spilling out. “Spend a few years being raised by my father and see for yourself.” Tilting bit as your shoulders dropped, voice a bit more quiet. Not quite relaxed, but a relenting ease. “I spent three years at war thinking eventually, I would find myself fighting against him too. Called me a traitor and my husband a thief and a usurper, and the only reason he’d feel any guilt about it is beacuse he spent a year thinking I was dead. You’re likely not aware of this, but guilt is not exactly a strong motivator for a man like Stannis Baratheon.” 

“So why’s it so damned strong in you?” As you braced your hands on your thighs to push yourself up, Tormund did so with no effort and dragged you up in the process like you weighed nothing. Your hands braced on your hips, knees slightly bent favouring one side he noticed, you were looking out to the snow melting landscape he got the sense you were simply trying to accept the worse case scenario. “As if you’re crow’s going to let anything happen to you. Can barley take his eyes off you for more then five seconds when he’s near you, you’re not going anywhere.” 

As Theon reemerged, you nodded to your current companion lungs constricting with each step. You tilted your head slightly in question, and he did for what it was worth, look somewhat apologetic. Head dropping fully to one side as your face fell and eyes narrowed, he gave you an incredulous look in return. “You think your father’s going to hang you, well Jon would hang me if I sent you to him and didn’t mention you were hurt.” 

“I’m not hurt, it’s barley-” 

Theon didn’t give you the chance, walking passed you with a shove to your upper back. “It’s only going to be worse if you make him come find you himself.” Yelling fading as he got further away. 

The walk to the keep was short, but felt an eternity passing each step forward. A childish wish weeks ago that maybe the gods would bring just your father to you when it was all you loved that you thought you lost. Now, you couldn’t possibly conceive of a less appealing idea then having to face what you did, and what she did. 

And how if he didn’t hate you when you died, he would knowing you were what he has left and the pathetic failure to live up to what he had tried to teach you to be for your entire life. What leader were you by now that could live up in Stannis Baratheon’s eyes? Especially one with eyes as cold and dispondant as you were coming up the steps, guards at the main doors opened for you with mutterings of a title you wish wasn’t you anymore. 

Even worse, as soon as you stepped inside, Jon all but accosted you too suddenly for your dreary haze of a mind. One hand on your cheek, inspecting anything major on your face as the other gentle just below the bandage clearly bleeding through. “What the hell happened?”

Shaking your head the nerves just raced inside it bouncing like coins. “Jon, I’m fine-”

“You’re not fine.” The hand on your cheek joining the other to pull your arm towards him, turning it as you looked at the slight blood and grime over him. “You should let me close this before it gets any worse.” 

Trying to pull away, it didn’t even phase the far stronger man as he just pulled you back with a hand at your waist. The other peeling back the bandage enough to gauge how deep it was. “One cut, it’s one cut, Jon.” 

As if something suddenly swam into the fore most of his mind, his fingers gently ran through the loose strands of hair at the side of your face before cupping it tenderly. His own eyes dark, tied between angry and upset that made your heart ache even more when his face twisted to the same expression match as he spoke. As if out of breathe, and full of a worry and irritation. “How the hell did Robb do this?” 

Your face fell a bit, but he moved the other from your arm to the other side of your cheek, not pulling you any closer but keeping you right where he could see your eyes. “Do what?” 

Both knowing it wasn’t anger at him, not at Robb. An anger however, at something far more complex in detail only made worse likely by both of you in visions of blood and death to the other. “Stand fighting knowing you were out there too. I hate it, hated every second not knowing where the hell you were or if you were alright. How did he just let you into the thick of all that and not lose his mind?” 

In truth, you both were just more confident then. Fought and loved together it was easy to feel on equal grounds together with Robb. But who you had become? Now you were painfully aware that Jon was so much more then you were. Even when being generous towards your own worth. Wanting to reach out to him, but you hesitated like many times before, fingers stretched but flexed back into themselves rather then find somewhere on him to rest them. “Jon, it’s just a scratch. I barley did anything out there, regardless.” 

The blackness faded away some as he calmed. The grey now looking over your face like it had been ages since he’d been allowed to see it. “You shouldn’t have to be out there at all.” For a split second, magnets coming together like a fate meant to be as Jon’s eyes slipped down to your lips and back up. And as quick as the force pulled him barley an inch closer did doors opening in the distance once more pull you apart entirely. 

For the best you thought. You hadn’t felt his lips against yours since that first night and whatever restraint still existed in you was quickly dying each time you felt them anywhere on you at all. 

Head tilting down for a moment when no one passed by or turned corner to interrupt, you broached with caution. “Does he know, or are we leaving that up to me?” 

Sighing, Jon’s brows narrowed a tinge as he glanced between you and the path to your father. “Lord Glover has agreed to pledge his own men to us, saying that if Robb refused to bend to Stannis, then he wouldn’t either. But I think he’s starting to put it together.”

Feeling the breeze around you, sat atop your horse your memory could see the simple disdain for your choices in his eyes. That your duty was beside him as his daughter, but even still you found no favourable manner of crossing to his instead of the people who looked to you as their own. “Either way.” You dropped your arms from their crossed position of your chest to your side as your face stilled. “Suppose it’s time for me to find out what it is he still does with traitors.” 

Jon tried taking a step back towards you, but how closed off you were becoming to him to stop in his track. Looking you over, eyes glazing across your arm. “You really should let me take care of that before you see him.” 

The shrug on your shoulders didn’t sit well with him. Wishing you would find something within yourself to push for and still coming up short. “If he’s going to burn me, a little blood won’t matter much then will it?” Jon tried calling your name in a quiet warning, but you turned to walk towards the doors. Not needing the sight to know that Jon was following you. 

The doors to the main hall opened, and inside was both Lord Glover, and Stannis Baratheon. One looked at you with the same shock most others did while the other was more challenging to ascertain the meaning. Yours was the same for him, however. 

Eyes watching you carefully with heavy air and the scent of blood still fresh around you even so far removed from it’s vicinity. Your life and his both caked in layers of death yet never once stood on the same ground as anything but enemies. Not once in the emotion of care did footsteps carry you to the table they both found themselves around while your own heart was steady enough to keep yourself willed together. 

Not as unseemly as the last, more full of colour and life as if the thing which took toll had long healed with eyes dull in colour giving away nothing. Or much and you simply did not know him well enough to detect anymore. The only man you were sure you could read was your father but as foreign to you as was as detached to the memories with you. 

Those early days on Dragonstone as he continuously hit you with a practice sword, little instruction each time but a few words that you connected in a string of lessons. The quicker you became under his instruction, the more he would smile when you came close to striking him. No such fondness in the echoing quiet of the room. 

Jon had approached to your side, “Lord Glover, I don’t want to impose in your own home but perhaps some privacy would be helpful.” You didn’t look anywhere but him, a coldness sitting so heavily within the colours of your eyes that where else was left for you to go but freeze over entirely. 

Standing, he took no offence to you not making any motion towards him. Lord Glover clearly was used to you by now, even if it seemed like such a stand off behaviour for a not so keen eye. “Of course. The room is yours as long as you need it, your grace.” 

Eyes of a father flickering to beside you, and the pieces fit closer to making the right image when he was not sure who it was the title was directed towards. But knowing the Glover was not looking or speaking to him. You cared not with him, it was a truth he had failed to face before and you would not stand for it again. 

Two Baratheon’s staring with the same analyzing judgment before your tone came out, flat and even with not a hint of anything to detect behind it. “Heard you were dead.” 

Stannis’s eyebrows quirked up only a single breathe as his voice was yours as yours was his. Clearly he raised to be like him too much. “The North is large, word of my whereabouts travel slow. Yours however, didn’t travel at all.” You spoke nothing and forced him to keep the conversation float enough to keep from sinking. “Rumours are rarely true, what am I to make of the one I know the Northerners are whispering about you.”

Match met in eyes, you saw them flicker down to where it could not be seen. “Just because I stand before you now doesn’t make them lies.” Images almost came upon his eyes as your father seemed to find little doubt in whatever it was was spoken of you. 

Coming up to the thin table, you stood at the other side facing him directly. Your palms flattening across the smooth surface slightly wishing that this could just be done and over with. Your father was quiet, only not one that was comforting or easy. Faint sounds muffled and echoing both within the halls and outside them as you watched. 

Your father spoke with more genuinity in his tone then you’d heard in years but you soon wished he didn’t bother. “I’m sorry about your son.” Instantly yours flickered away, to the side downcast as a heavy weight stole the breathe from your lungs and left only a burning that travelled down to the scar under your clothes. “I wish I could have told you sooner. Your mother and I know better then most, you didn’t deserve that.” 

The force of your heart pounding made you want to throw up, the only hope that had been found in a long time for you both but a shattered memory that bled out just as fast. You didn’t look where you knew Jon was outside, close enough to hear. You didn’t even know if he knew. You didn’t want to know if he knew. You wanted no one to speak of it ever again and your father took your silence as that deceleration. 

“You betrayed me. Siding with a crown that fought against my own.” 

Peeling your eyes up to him finally, you leaned further into the table only to look away to nothing of important on the table once more. “What did you have in mind? Dragging me in front of your men up to your gods flames? Or have you found even a shred of mercy to have it be quicker then that?” 

You saw not the blinding light of rage in the grey eyes somewhere behind. He and the King had come to an agreement already, but your acceptance of death made him uncomfortable and angry. 

Stannis stood a little more with ease. “I’m not punishing you for those crimes. Or any of your crimes.” 

Sharp eyes flickered up to him, a confused tint of rage that almost hissed along with your breathless tone. “Why?” He had no care for mercy when he was ready to stand against you and Robb. “You’ve never taken kindly to traitors, why change that now?” 

Brows furrowing as he gave you a forming look of incredulity. “You’re my daughter.” 

A hiss still seeping out only one thing came to your mind. “And Renly was your brother.” You could still recall the last day in front of him, begging with naivety for him not to declare King for himself. Not to do something so rash and stupid, and only having him throw back in your face that if you didn’t want the family torn apart you should’ve sided with them. 

If it was guilt you caught, he smothered it just as fast as he grumbled out, “He denied my right as King, stole my bannermen, conspired to keep me off the throne. Tell me what is the penalty for treason under the law? What justice is there in letting him steal what was rightfully mine?”

You had tried for long not to believe such a thing but he didn’t make it easy. “Robb did too.” Trying to claim that was different, you cut him off with no care for how that looked. “It wasn’t different when you threatened to destroy us. Your grief over my death is not a forgivence for three years thinking you’d come for us one day.” 

An aggravation slipped into his voice, bracing his hands on the chair in front of him similar to your own stance. “What is it you want me to do then, I can’t change the past or any mistakes I may have made. I don’t do this, any of this, to be cruel in intention. If the law is cruel, if our own duty is cruel, who are we to go against that?”

“I know half of what you’ve done was for what you think was right, but I also know the other half was only done because she demanded it so.” A sting in your eyes was at the sights and words haunting you from what whispered reached. “You aren’t a man who slaughters innocents, or burns people alive to appease some god a that woman whispered in your ear of. You were never that man until her.”

His eyes narrowed towards you, “She does what needs to be done, does what others aren’t willing to admit. I never asked for this, no more than I asked to be King. We do not chose our destiny-” 

A flash of rage swam through your veins, palms slamming down onto the table with a bang with a biting anger so close to sorrow fighting for control in your throat. “Don’t speak to me about destiny. You had the gall to let that woman tell me of a future I’ll never have and stand in front of me now that I’ve lost all of it? You stand here and tell me this was all meant to happen this way, that everyone we’ve all lost was worth it just to get here?”

Not with rage which matched yours but as he stood there with a radiating feeling around him that was as tense while it was intertwining with yours. “We’re at war, we lose the people we love. That’s the sacrifice we have to make.” You shook, trying not to let it break but the water was spilling over and the glass begging to crack open. “Even when it’s our own. We don’t have to like it, but we have to accept it.” 

A whisper all you could muster in case the sounds otherwise to high and break it. “You truly believe that? That we have to sacrifice the people we love, our families just to fight for some future of a god so few of you even have faith in? That even losing your children is worth what she speaks of?” 

Your father thinking it was your own being referred to. Tone softening a bit as he found your glaring eyes. “Your son is gone, you can’t change that. I thought I lost you, but something brought you back for a reason and you need to accept that regardless if you don’t like it.” 

It was a mistake letting it come out of your mouth, because as soon as it was spoken into the air there was no avoiding it. “And if it was Shireen?” 

Stannis knew in an instant something was wrong, something as a horror painted over your eyes and your skin paled had him suddenly standing at a cliff’s edge of a nightmare. “If Shireen what?” You couldn’t breathe, or move. Stuck in that position as the world stopped spinning and all you could feel under your palms was the horribly smooth glide of a blade before a blazing fire in the snow had followed. 

He called your name, but you didn’t look at him. Wanting only to flee or cry, likely both as the thoughts and feelings still fresh in your hands was as if you were there once more. Only it was worse, because you knew she never could be again. The fires in your mind was bright but you saw nothing of a god in them, only loss that was your fault. 

Turning round the corridor, you tried to shake away your father’s new duty for you. Only repeating in your head as there was no escaping this fate, he’d drag you into this duty if he had to but your father knew better then to think you’d truly make any fuss. 

The grim walls surrounding you were darker and more closing in then the previous, and the air was thick and heavy where there were there not windows flowing the wind through. But as you neared the room you were headed towards, you felt both a breeze and the sound that followed. 

Voice a little more solid then last, two years making quite the difference you imagined as the gentle singing reached your ears. No doubt sitting by the window so the singing could be heard by whatever birds passed by it. Leaning against the open door, she continued to sing running her hands along a doll you recall having gotten for her. 

It had been a while since you had visited her, her nameday rapidly approaching and yet you had not seen her since a little over two years. Dragonstone was easier to visit then the North and you had been on ships heading there countless times. You had only just reached your teens the last time, old enough to be trusted on your own for such journeys across the bay and still young enough that your duties were not quite your fathers yet. 

That would change this time. Two years in Winterfell had done a number on your willingness to return to King’s Landing and this time you insisted on being here first. You needed something to occupy your mind after the final few months there had changed into. 

Finally whispering into the afternoon air in a lull of her song. “Hey silly girl,” 

Turning in an instant, she yelled your name and jumped up. Running for a hug as you met her half way, kneeling down to catch her as she all but lept into the final few feet between you. Both of you laughing with joyful grins as you both kept a tight hold. 

Finally pulling back you held her at her arms, looking her with a mocking squint up and down before running a hand along her hair. “You’re going to be grow to be even prettier then the Queen at this rate.” 

Huffing at you with annoyance, making you laugh even more as you kissed the top of her head. “You’re older then me, that makes you the pretty one.” Face twisting into a playful doubt and shake of your head that had her insist further. “It’s true, you look so pretty coming back from the North.” 

You felt your heart soften a bit. It was why you didn’t like to visit her while departing King’s Landing, needing time to come down from the aggravation such a city caused, but the ease from the North still feeling the remaining trails of something like home. Standing up, you both moved to sit on her bed as she crawled to sit in the middle more. 

Once more you ran a hand over her hair, moving strands to the lay behind her shoulder. “Well, I am just going to have to find a way to convince father to let you come with me one of these days, aren’t I?” 

She nodded before hesitating, a little more dejected then before. “And mother.” Your eyes narrowed a bit in question as the girl looked away, like she was debating a secret to tell. “She says the North isn’t helping, that you are still too wild and that Lord Stark’s sons are a bad influence. Mother would never let me go.” 

She never said it in so many words to you, but had made it clear she thought your attitude as too lively and quick when returning from there. This time was especially bad. Two years had truly made it feel like home and those in it. Chuckling you raised an eyebrow at her, “Being honest with ourselves, Shireen? I think there isn’t much mother does like whenever I come visit.” 

Not even the age you were when first visiting Winterfell, she was too young to understand if you tried to tell her about it the way you wanted, you had no one here nor King’s Landing to discuss it with. Her eyes widened suddenly, “I made you something, come look.” Flipping onto her stomach she hurled half her body over soft surface to a small cupboard to the side of her bed, rifling through things to grab a piece of paper. Pulling it back, you turned to your stomach as she flipped it over. 

Her drawing far better then the last one she included in a raven to you. She was unstoppable about sending things to you now that she knew how to write. A winter scene no doubt she tried to copy from one of her books, and in the middle were two stags, one smaller then the other and beside them was a large wolf bigger then the other two. The stags coloured with browns and yellowish golds and the wolf was a deep black that made it look menacing. You smirked at her, turning your head slightly. “Are you trying to warn me about something?” 

She nudged you with a bashful smile and you nudged her back. “No, I thought about making it look like us but when I grow more I didn’t want to have to redo it, so I made us our house animals.” Pointing to the first taller stag, “That one is you. You’re fully grown already so I had to make me a bit smaller, but that’s okay it can just mean this one’s younger.” The second being smaller clearly her. 

You nodded to the wolf, “So whose that?”

The little grin turned a bit shy, you tilting your head to the side to better look at her as she flickered between you and the drawing before settling on the drawing. A shrug she finally relented. “I can make a new one if it’s wrong but you said he has longer black hair. I didn’t mean to make him so scary looking, it just turned out that way.” 

Were she not so innocent and so young you may have told her how ironic it was she made you this while you were away in Winterfell finding a new dynamic with the wolf in question. “I think he’d find it amusing you made him so scary and menacing.” 

“You have to keep it a secret though, mother says you talk too much about him in your letters. Says you shouldn’t be so distracted with a boy.” The North in general were not suited to your mother, loud and charming in their own unique ways, some bold and brash that would not sit in her stomach well. “So I have to keep it until you leave, so you can take it with you and she’d never see it.”

Hiding back, you both stayed in that position whispering like misbehaving children. “Well, I’m not leaving for King’s Landing until after your name day. So, we have plenty of time to figure out how I am to smuggle it out. What do we think your onion knight would do?”

You didn’t want to think about how long he and your mother were talking with no sign of either of them. What on earth they could be saying to each other now that it was all out, but perhaps it wasn’t your business anymore. He didn’t react as much as you knew it crushed his heart but you had to be the one who did it. It was your hands the blood was spilt and stained too forever, but you couldn’t lie about it. 

Talks back and forth between the Northern Houses now pledged to you, as well as the free folk who followed beside him, went back and forth but as you stood with your back against a stone wall, arms crossed as your eyes just glazed over the images and plans splayed out you knew you were being of no help. 

You hadn’t even been allowed outside further then the overhands and balconies of the second story or the high peaks of the castle walls that were no escape but a painted mess. You were out of your depth, no knowledge anymore of the state of the Bolton’s army or what their strategy may look like. But more then that, all you could think of was that look on your fathers face. 

Wishing it was just a desperate plot from two people who had no concept of what to do without Shireen between them, you knew better. You could see how that look behind his eyes was as in awe as he was cautious of his words. Telling him the truth that if you didn’t send that woman away you wouldn’t have the restraint later to not shove a blade through her. That all you could see was here lies. 

“I can’t tell you what to believe for yourself, but I won’t follow it. How many more have to die before we find any true fate in this destiny she speaks of? How much more of this family do we have to lose. How much more do you and I even have left in us to give?” You still didn’t ask about Renly, maybe you didn’t want too. Didn’t want to hear what he was capable of doing to his own brother, but then, you were the one to wield the dagger yourself for her.

Perhaps you were as guilty as he was. Traitors to more then just each other because it was the only choice you saw, the only duty left in front of you. 

Speaking low, in a rumble as he stepped back towards the other end of the table. “I saw a vision in the flames.” Slowly, your head rose up, peeling from it’s nonsense focus and following the path up to meet his eyes, as if recalling what should not be possible. It had been a very long time since you had recalled such an incident, but not with him. “A great battle in the snow, I saw it.” 

Dreams were one but images in your minds eye were others, nowhere near sleep nor flames but they had been there all the same no matter how much you pushed them away, how much you tried to deny they were there. You could go the rest of your existence avoiding looking at it, but the scar along you felt as real as inhuman it was. Your eyes looked to the other, a strange pulse in your heart as you saw not an enemy. 

Stepping forward, he braced his knuckles onto the surface leaning towards you in mimic, a knowing on his tongue that you know didn’t come from you. “And I know you saw that you raised him from the dead.” That freezing cold from your dreams swept over you but ran straight through your veins and down your spine. Eyes falling from his as you recalled how the marks felt on his cold corpse that very first time in horror. 

Quietly murmuring your name, there was a genuinity in his face that was one you knew carried the truth of his conviction. “I never used to believe, but when you see it, when it’s right there in front of you. As real as these stone walls, how can you deny that you have a true purpose here?”

By the time Jon found you again he had spent much of the time planning that you had lost in your own head. If you listened closely, you could still hear her faint singing as you would always walking the halls of Dragonstone only to have it replaced with the hissing in your ear of words still haunting you the closer you came back to him. 

“If you’re a lucky girl, I’ll find you a pack of real wolves to replace all your dead ones. Strip you right down and throw you in with them. We could all finally see our Queen in the North back where she belongs, just something for the wolves to fuck until I kill all of them too.”

When the true wolf came upon you, you almost jumped out of your skin. Jon moving to reach out and steady you, but you already had moved back a step with a gasping sigh and leaning back against the stone wall. Looking out into the thick of the snowy woods. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

You barley shrugged as he leaned back for himself beside you. Both arms crossed in front of your chests but his didn’t have any shake in it, unlike the one you were trying to hide. “Did we come to an agreement?”

Jon nodded, “We have. Lord Glover seems confident the Manderlys will give us a chance as well as the Hornwood’s.” Only nodding being any indicator you heard him, your eyes were trained on the sun lowering itself to hide behind the trees. “It was strange they said. Having me be the one in charge and you not there at all.” 

You shrugged again. Something in you was mentally drained and you just did not have the energy to talk about leadership in that moment. “And my father?” 

From the side you could tell Jon had turned in place to look at you, still leaning as you were but his sights now only on you ignoring him in favour of the setting sun. Voice rasping out your name gently wanting you to just turn and look at him. But you couldn’t. You didn’t want to see the colour in anyone’s eyes right now save they fade away. 

“Come on, I’m patching you up. Now.” Not bothering to wait, Jon encouraged you forward with him and you just didn’t bother arguing. The bandage was soaked through and blood drying thick by that point and you knew it wouldn’t be a pleasant sight. 

Never questioning where he was heading, it was always like that with him. You’d follow him anywhere he’d lead you and even in moments now where it felt like the world was between you you still managed to just trust where he was taking you. The voice in your head though, he you’d fight everytime. Only make it worse as you wondered what else could he have planned and yet it was always worse then the last. 

It wasn’t until Jon already had you sitting down, him sideways next to you, sitting a few things out did you notice he was far more cleaned up then before. You truly hated how easy he made it at any time to admire him. Gesturing towards your outer layer, “I need that off.” 

Looking down you swallowed that feeling before starting to wince as you slowly pulled it off, only to feel flushed in an instant as Jon swiftly reached over to pull it off without any effort, only to feel winded as he also pulled off the softer long sleeve underneath where there was only enough material on left to cover your chest. But he only put them to the side, reaching back to peel off the bandage. 

Trying your best to look forward instead of the soft glint in his eyes towards you, right now it might break you and you just didn’t want to deal with that. Not now, not here. “Is your quiet signifying good news or does it look infected?” 

You missed the small shake of his head, but you heard the deep exhale. “No, it looks like it should be fine if I stitch it up now.” Turning and gathering what he brought over, you felt the burn of the slightest bit of water, gently running across to clean it enough for Jon to see better. Pausing as he glanced up to you, “Ten years ago you would’ve already complained about that.”

Smiling a bit, you raised an eyebrow. “Ten years ago we were still all teenagers chasing each other through the wolfswood.” The smile on your lips small, but enough that it brightened the grey in Jon’s eyes. 

You did hiss slightly as he first pushed the needle through, but didn’t move otherwise. Collecting yourself as he continued on. “If I’m remembering correctly, me and Robb were the ones doing the chasing.” 

Neither of you noticed in that moment, but it was the first time Robb had been brought up between you both that didn’t skip to pain or distant agony. Mentioned in passing with a fond smile on both at the memories alone and none of the blood came forth in that moment. 

“Pretty sure that was the point. See if I could hold out until midnight and not get caught.” 

With each wince or hiss, Jon’s eyes flew up to your face but saw none of the unfamiliar points of agony that used to come with cleaning such injuries. And a little more heavy something weighed in his chest at how you didn’t notice you were so used to it. 

His hands were large and rough, yet such a gentle touch as he continued to stitch the sliced skin together. Much like the tone of his voice sounding as a tender rumble despite the husking deep thickness of his accent shining through. “And how’d that go for you? Not getting caught.” You just rolled your eyes playfully as he looked back between you and his work. “Hard to believe we just came home that night, and no one suspected anything was different.” 

You never forgot it, the way he gained the upper hand and had your back against a tree so you couldn’t run only to press himself against you in a kiss. A kiss that somehow led all the way to right this very moment together. “Hard to believe there used to be a time you didn’t make me nervous.” Your eyes both flickering to the side to peek a glance at the other as you turned them to the floor. “Though I always wondered if you simply got a kick out of making me nervous around you for fun”

“I did.” You’d turn to him were it not to jostle his steady hands still very carefully sewing the wound together. “It was cute, that out of the two of us, it was you who was always nervous. Always a bit shy whenever I’d go to kiss you after. Not that much has changed.” 

You didn’t look past at the memory, trying to look forward. Not wanting to base whatever careful balancing act it was you held with Jon at an impasse, for a night you both had not repeated. The other night, that first on Bear Island came the closest, but he had directly told you he wouldn’t kiss you. So how would he truthfully knew if it still made you nervous or not?

For a while it was just quiet. Just your shaking breaths every now and again before Jon had finally finished clearing up your arm, and wrapping it fresh. You weren’t sure why it slipped out, but there was no stopping once your mouth betrayed your thoughts. “I thought of you sometimes. When Ramsay would...it wasn’t always but sometimes the only way I could cope was to focus on something else..and I often ended up thinking about you.”

Your name came out in a husk, his eyes narrowed as he looked at you. “How often did he hurt you?” 

Trying to recall, the time was varied in your mind. Unsure of how long you were really at the Dreadfort locked way. “He only started when the Lannisters had officially made him a Bolton. Around the time they retook Moat Cailin, so..whenever that was. It started then. Only got worse, made it worse for myself ,honestly. Fighting back as much as I did. Think he actually enjoyed when I put up a fight.” 

That feeling of the cool air on your skin as you rode into Winterfell that paired so ugly with how horrific of a journey it was to get back. It only got worse when you were given an actual room to live in that he could visit whenever he wanted. 

Jon was deathly silent and you dared not look at him. “Sometimes he’d drag Theon in..force him to watch. Would tell me I was lucky he.. otherwise he would’ve forced him to help.” Looking down your nails dug into whatever skin on your fingers it could find but the pain served no distraction from the nightmares. 

“They took everything I still had with Robb and tainted all of it, Ramsay plastering his nightmares all over it like this was all I was ever worth after Robb. As if I was supposed to feel worthless without him, not be able to think of him without thinking of how Ramsay came and ruined all of it..the only thing that they didn’t ruin was you. You were the one thing still intact enough that I could escape to when it got too much.” You inhaled a shaking breathe that followed with tears, no point in pretending they weren’t there, or hide them. Jon always caught onto your state, always knew what you were trying to hide in your feelings. 

Shrugging with a fake lightness in your eyes that played on your lips as if to placate whatever was behind you within him. “Sometimes it feels like I’m now just ruining you in the same way. That all this I dragged into you is going to stand out more then...then..”

“More then what? More then how much you mean to me?” You rolled your eyes, not wanting him to do the same placating but Jon had none of it. Moving to crouch in front of you forcing you to look in his eyes, somehow raging yet flashing of a softness. “You didn’t deserve that, any of that. No one does.” A glint of doubt in your eyes and Jon reached up to cup both your cheeks in his hands. “I know you wish you could just be fine, but you’re not. You’re not fine, darling. And I can’t seem to get through that beautiful head of yours enough to convince you that it’s okay to not be alright.” 

You smiled weakly, and in a risk of your heart, one hand of yours gently reached up. Wrapping around one of his wrists, which only made him hold tighter and lean into you closer. “I was always stubborn, wasn’t I?” 

Thumbs running along your cheeks, you could see he wanted to be angry, wanted to be furious but also found none of that red when you looked into his eyes. Only a love that was as strong as it was the day you two left one another on the Kingsroad with a screaming in your hearts that parting was more then sweet sorrow, but blood and horror. “You’re also clever, quick in a fight, and I know behind all this you’re someone who inspires these people. But, you’ve also been through hell, and it’s just going to wind up killing you if you don’t let someone in, let me in.”

Pushing the ends of the fabric around his wrist you gently ran a thumb over his pulse, eyes almost slipping closed at the reassurance. “I don’t know if I have it in me anymore, Jon. I don’t know if they’ve left any kind of a leader I once was in me. I don’t know where I fit in here anymore, or where I’m supposed to be.” 

Leaning forward, Jon pressed his forehead to yours murmuring your name as one hand readjusted against your cheek and the other gently ran along your hair at the back of your head. “You don’t have to always be the one carrying everything yourself. If you don’t think you can stand on your own, that’s okay but I want you by my side. You have to let me protect you, let me take care of you, if you don’t think you can do it yourself.” 

Heart wanting to melt away in your chest almost crumbling to dust. “Why are you still so sweet to me, after everything I’ve put you through?” 

Hesitating in his own right not to kiss you, he gently ran his nose along the length of yours, nudging you until you leaned more into his touch properly. Letting him cup the back of your head to stay closer then you were before. “We gave each other up once, and we both ended up dead. But you’ve been given a new chance, you gave me a new chance and this time, I need to be the one to protect the woman I love. Because you belong with me, and I’m not giving you up to anyone else ever again.” 

Pulling you to your feet, Jon only let you go long enough to change where his hands sat, pulling you into his chest. Your hands spared no time wrapping up around the back of his neck. Jon’s were split between holding the back of your own head into his neck so he could lean down to nuzzle his own into yours, and the other wrapped tightly around your waist keeping you both close. 

Only the calming of each other’s breathing sounded in the air. Every single thing outside of this small moment could be entirely ruined, a horror waiting for you both as soon as you left this room. But as long as you both stood there in the others arms it felt like maybe you both weren’t so beaten down and broken. 

Jon for his part however, knew a striking hot rage was building and the closer you all got to Winterfell the more he knew it was going to be likely impossible to properly contain it. 

Especially when the next day’s early morning sun rose and arriving with it, a vicious note of terrorizing threat towards Jon for not giving you back. Laying out the vile, bloody thing’s he’d do to you in front of him before killing him just to prove his “bride” didn’t belong to Jon. But it was what came with the letter that was the beginning of an urgent nightmare that no longer could take it’s time getting there.

The bloody, rotting, decapitated head of a black direwolf. 

[love-bokumono-fics]

Fresh Crops! October 2 - October 8, 2023

This week's newest fics and chapter updates for Harvest Moon and Story of Seasons on AO3!

LUST - by kopipuna; WIP, 10/?, 50k; Language: Bahasa Indonesia

Rating: Explicit; Archive Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Graphic Depictions Of Violence; Category: F/M Fandom: Friends of Mineral Town Relationship: Claire the Farmer/Gray; Characters: Claire, Gray, Duke, Doug | Dudley, Ann the Innkeeper | Ran, Mary the Librarian | Marie, Zack, Brandon, Cliff, Anna, Rick, Karen Additional Tags: Romance, Sex, Drama & Romance, Friends With Benefits, Psychological Trauma, Hurt/Comfort, Social Issues, Social drama Summary: Ada pendatang baru yang membeli kebun bobrok di sana. Sebuah keputusan paling bodoh dan ekstra tolol, menurut Gray, lelaki 24 tahun yang sudah mengidap kebosanan akut. Gray sendiri sudah mengidam ingin hengkang dari tempat ini, kota sialan ini, juga segala hidup monoton di dalamnya. Apa yang dipikirkan pendatang itu? Terserah apa yang dimaui si pendatang, Gray akan berusaha tidak peduli dan jauh-jauh saja darinya. Takut ketularan tolol. Namun Duke muncul dengan rencana paling sialan di dunia. Gara-gara rencana konyolnya, Gray jadi terjebak dalam situasi bersetubuh dengan perempuan yang dikata-katainya tolol. Bukan hanya sekali, tapi berkali-kali, mungkin sampai ratusan kali. Sialannya, tubuh pendatang ini enak sekali. Namun meski seenak apa pun mereka merasakan persetubuhan, hubungan mereka hanya boleh sebatas ini.

The Egg Thief - by dicelady20; WIP, 12/19, 45k

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences; Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence; Category: F/M Fandoms: Dragon Ball GT/Z, Friends of Mineral Town Characters: Trunks Briefs (DB), Claire the Farmer Additional Tags: Harvest Moon, Dragon Ball Z, Dragon Ball GT, Romance, Slow Burn, Martial Arts, Cussing, Crossover, Healing, city vibes, dark scenes, POV Multiple, POV Third Person Limited, Mild Gore, References to Harvest Moon/Story of Seasons Games, Supernatural Elements, First Meetings, story of seasons, Superheroes Summary: Claire decides to give the city life another chance, but as she does, she is haunted by her nightmares & her past. Mr. CEO of Capsule Corp., Trunks, is haunted by something else in his life; juggling between his CEO work & saving Earth from vindictive dragons. As their two worlds collide, what could possibly go wrong?

–but only if you ask me to - by atbash; Complete, 1/1, 3.3k

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences; Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply; Category: Gen Fandom: Harvest Moon DS Relationship: Pete | Jack & Witch Princess | Majo-sama; Characters: Pete | Jack, Witch Princess Additional Tags: Injury, Vomiting, Magic, Hurt/Comfort, Old Friends, Complicated Relationships, canon-typical gratuitous use of greek characters to denote magical incantation, Full Moon Summary: Pete took a deep, full breath through his nose. No response, and she'd get bored, right? That was how the Harvest Goddess handled it, usually. Right, of course, because ignoring the Witch turned out all peachy-keen for the Harvest Goddess.

"Go do whatever you want and see if I'll care about it." - by Anonymous; Complete, 1/1, 2.5k

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences; Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence; Category: Other Fandom: Animal Parade Characters: Gill, Hamilton, Perry, Bo, Owen Additional Tags: Domestic Violence, Homophobia, Threats of Violence, Death Threats, Daddy Issues, Perry is Bri'ish, Gill is half British (Hamilton's side) and half French (His mom's side), Bo is German Summary: In which Hamilton confronts his son about his homosexuality.

Don't Eat Flowers - by Maymist; Complete, 5/5, 11k

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences; Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply; Category: F/F Fandoms: A Wonderful Life Relationship: Nami/Pony | Aya | Jill; Characters: Nami, Pony | Aya | Jill, Rock, Reader Additional Tags: Lesbian Character, Inspired by Harvest Moon/Story of Seasons, Mentions of Other Harvest Moon/Story of Seasons Games, Blue Feather, Romance, LGBTQ Character, POV Lesbian Character, Canon Lesbian Relationship Summary: The new farmer girl in Forgotten Valley attempts to give Nami some flowers to, er… totally give the hint that she's romantically interested in the very much reserved tomboyish red-head. Nami completely jumps to conclusions and misunderstands though, and that's where this silly romance begins. What kind of other madness will ensue?

Degausser - by JillOfAllTrades__x; WIP, 11/?, 60k

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences; Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings; Categories: F/M, Multi Fandoms: Friends of Mineral Town Characters: Pete | Jack, Claire the Farmer, Ann the Innkeeper | Ran, Gray, Cliff, Jennifer, Popuri, Karen, Kai, Mineral Town Residents Additional Tags: Redemption, Fresh Start, Loneliness, Angst, Self-Loathing, Self-Acceptance, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Drug Use, Self-Harm, Multiple Pairings Summary: Those that live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones – but that’s all Jack and Claire ever knew up until a series of half-lit cruel intentions landed them on the ferry to the desolate island of Mineral Town. After all, it was certainly easier to cast judgment unto others than it was to face the skeletons in your own closet. And surely no one would have an ill word to say about a brooding playboy and an immature party girl taking over the once-great farm that founded and funded their small town, right?

The Moon and Sun Dynamic - by SinMints; WIP, 16/21, 40k

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences; Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply; Category: M/M Fandom: Animal Parade Relationships: Luke/Wizard, chase/maya(background), Candace/Julius (background); Characters: Luke, Wizard, Kathy, Jin, Dal, Bo, Maya | Mai, Chase | Chihaya, Julius, Candace Additional Tags: the story of this ship is hella long, wizard has some social anxiety issues, lukes an idiot ofc, Rating changed for Language, Slow Burn, the slowest burn, Minor Character Death Mention, Alcohol, ykw im gonna say it- its the autism/adhd dynamic Summary: The moon and sun, two beings destined to never meet. However, a turn of fate brings them together one day and... the sun's kind of annoying... and the moon's kinda spooky.

From Dusk to Dawn - by SinMints; WIP, 2/5, 5.6k

Rating: Explicit; Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply; Category: M/M Fandoms: Animal Parade Relationship: Wizard Gale | Mahoutsukai/Luke; Characters: Luke the Carpenter, Wizard Gale Additional Tags: *NOTE: Some tags have been removed to keep Safe For Tumblr. Please see full tag list on AO3* Porn With Plot, tags will be added as chapters are added, Body Worship, First Time, Luke is very serious about consent, magic shenanigans Summary: This work is part of a series. The Moon and Sun Dynamic is the main fic, and these are just snippets of NSFW scenes that happen during or between chapters. Not much of what happens here will make sense without reading the parent fic, sorry! As with TMaSD- this will be EXTREMELY slow and sporadic in updates- writing is not my passion but we gotta cook. This work will be updated when the corresponding chapter from the parent fic is updated.

The Hearts of Leaf Valley - by SymphonicFantasia; Complete, 25/25, 3.8k

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences; Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply; Category: Gen Fandoms: Hero of Leaf Valley Characters: Toy, Gwen, Dia, Lyla the Florist, Gina, Katie Additional Tags: Character Study, Fluff, Angst, Emotions Summary: Everyone in Leaf Valley had their own feelings. For each one of them, different feelings related to different things or even different people. And this is their tale for each one of them.

The Strong Willed Gwen - by SymphonicFantasia; WIP, 9/100, <1k

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences; Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply; Category: Gen Fandoms: Save the Homeland, Magical Melody, Hero of Leaf Valley Relationship: Bob | Kazan/Gwen | Sara; Character: Gwen Additional Tags: Animal Death, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Angst, Romance, Character Study, Character Development Summary: She was aware that she was a violent girl from time to time; it was no surprise to any of the townsfolk. That was just who she was. The strong-willed, horse loving, Inn cooking Gwen—and nothing more.

A Succession of Stones - by Dinomilkshakes; Complete, 11/11, 46k

Rating: Explicit; Archive Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings; Categories: Other, Gen Fandoms: A Wonderful Life Relationships: Rock/Reader-Insert, Lumina/Gustafa; Characters: Rock, Takakura, Vesta, Matthew, Cecilia, Ramona, Sebastian, Ruby | Lou, Tei, Nami, Dr. Baddoch, Gustafa, Lumina, Molly, Cody Additional Tags: *NOTE: Some tags have been removed to keep Safe for Tumblr. Please see full tag list on AO3* unemployment, Friends to Lovers, Childhood Sweethearts, Childhood Friends, they/them pronouns, Creampie, Breeding Kink, Drunk Sex, Fluff and Angst, Light Angst, Dream Sex, Drowning, Thunderstorms, Natural Disasters, Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Blood and Injury, Alcohol, Transgender Reader, nonbinary reader, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, family trauma, Nami is Nonbinary, Magic, Contracts, music appreciation, Found Family, Pegging, Car Sex, Sex in a Car, Unplanned Pregnancy, Marriage, twist ending Summary: In which the farmer marries Rock. “My hands are calloused so that his won’t need to be.” - Shakespeare, probably. Living in the big city takes a turn for the worse as you lose your job! SO you make the move to the Forgotten Valley where you used to spend your youthful summers. Awesome. One of your childhood sweethearts still lives there- but this fucking guy won’t leave you alone! You can’t seem to get away. Bygone are the days of sitting alone in your apartment, whiling away the time. Unfortunately, you become fond of him- on days where he’s gone it feels like somethings missing. But who is this bum who won’t leave you alone, and why do you never see him working!? And could you possibly put up with him for the rest of your life..? In which we examine a situation in which the farmer has no other choice but to marry Rock.

[ao3feedbuddie]

beating the odds (without a tennis racket and with a firehose instead)

read it on the AO3 at by pastelwolfie " tennis ball will approve of no one but perfection for her buck. he needs - at the very least - someone who will love him for him, and not consider him less than. it’s a low bar, isn’t it? god. tennis ball needs to raise her standards. someone who worships the ground buck walks along, and worships him as he is, flaws and all? better? someone who worships buck for who he is, knows what he needs, but is also someone buck can love back? there we go. maybe, if tennis ball manifests it hard enough, someone perfect will appear. … why, hello, eddie diaz. ”   // the lives of found-families and lovers, as told through the perspective of an invested, eager, possessive and slightly creepy tennis ball. or; the pov character is a hardcore buddie truther, but is also kinda horny for everyone. also she’s a tennis ball. the definition of a crack fic, but it’s also weirdly possessive and also, somehow, a character study i’m proud of? there’s a surprising amount of heavy feelings in here. it’s an odd concoction of things. title is 100% a sex joke fyi. if it wasn’t abundantly clear. Words: 21572, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: 9-1-1 (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con Categories: M/M Characters: Evan "Buck" Buckley, Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Bobby Nash, Howie "Chimney" Han, Maddie Buckley, Henrietta "Hen" Wilson, Athena Grant, Ravi Panikkar Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Evan "Buck" Buckley & Bobby Nash, Maddie Buckley/Howie "Chimney" Han, Athena Grant/Bobby Nash Additional Tags: Abby Clark Bashing, Supportive Athena Grant, Evan "Buck" Buckley Loves Eddie Diaz, Bisexual Evan "Buck" Buckley, Evan "Buck" Buckley Whump, Domestic Violence, Angst, Mutual Pining, Getting Together, Canon Compliant, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, POV Outsider, Firehouse 118 Crew as Family (9-1-1 TV), Suicidal Thoughts, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Character Study, unhinged behavior, Unreliable Narrator, Near Death Experiences, Beta Read, wow i feel cool using that tag, ps to my beta im so sorry, mild to aggressive bashing of everyone who isn't buck, did like a josh and made timely greys anatomy references, Dr Wells is her own warning, hey 911 what the fuck was up with that??, Mild Sexual Content, ?? maybe pov character is horny af, and also discussion on buck 1.0 read it on the AO3 at