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ninetailedfoxmanchi · 2 months ago

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The Northern Winds (pt. 3)

PART 1 & PART 2

Summary: Lady Y/N is pregnant again after suffering a miscarriage. Winter is coming and with it spring and the news of Prince Jacaerys coming to Winterfell.

Warnings: pregnancy and its symptoms, childbirth, mention of postnatal depression, mention of rape, mature NSFW content (18+), SPOILERS FOR HOUSE OF THE DRAGON/FIRE AND BLOOD (both what has happened and what will happen in the end!!!)

A/N: Let me just say that I cried writing the ending of this story

Taglist: @nixtape-foryou @accountforreading123 @melsunshine @lovemesomevesey @goldenxshine @beebeechaos @mckennah123

@blonde-scandinav1an @letaliabane @answer-the-sirens @lilyed777 @travelingmypassion

***

Before long the Lady of Winterfell was high into her pregnancy and with it arrived a white raven from the archmaesters of the Citadel announcing the winter was upon them. If anyone knew of winter, it was the Northerners. A third of the crops of every harvest had been stored for winter ever since the first white raven arrived sending word of the summer’s end. The winter town beneath the walls of Winterfell filled eagerly once more, its houses, markets, and taverns bustling with life. Fire burned ceaselessly in every hearth making the view from the towers of Winterfell seem like the night sky with stars not of silver but of gold.

The Lady of Winterfell stood atop of one of Winterfell’s watchtowers, observing the smallfolk rushing among the houses and the passageways, taking care of the final errands before the day’s light would be consumed by darkness. Even as the night set in, Lady Y/N could still see them hurrying about because of their torches and lanterns to light the way.

Lady Y/N pulled her heavy cloak closer, supporting her great belly beneath it. If everything was as it was supposed to be, childbirth was not far away. The thought of it filled Y/N with equal measures of joy as well as worry.

The first few moons with child were not easy. Lady Y/N was abed for most of it, sick with nausea and barely keeping anything down. She did not care for food other than salt beef and rusk bread. Even oranges that were once her favourite she could no longer stand. And simply the smell of ale would make Lady Y/N sick immediately. Although it was Cregan’s preferred drink, he ordered it not be served at feasts any longer if the Lady Stark was strong enough to attend. As for him, he would drink wine instead or hippocras when the winter truly set in and the cold was strong enough to bite off your fingers.

Maester Bennard too was with Lady Stark most every day, brewing remedies for her nausea but with very little effect. Yet as the babe grew stronger, the sickness disappeared almost overnight. Lady Y/N regained her strength and her love for oranges and resumed her duties as the Lady of Winterfell with much eagerness although always beneath the watchful eye of Lord Stark. His hard, grey eyes would not leave his wife during council meetings, lingering either on her or her slowly growing belly. As someone who always wielded power, even as a child for Cregan was his father’s heir, Lord Stark came to know complete powerlessness for the first time in his life when his wife fell with child. Whilst he could command his men and wield his great longsword, Cregan could do little when it came to his yet unborn child. Whilst Lady Y/N was abed with sickness, Lord Stark would often leave the leading of the council meetings to his maester and his other trusted advisors. If anything were to go wrong again and Cregan would not be there for his wife, he would never be able to forgive himself.

Lady Y/N too was worried, especially during the first half of her being with child. She could not sleep for fear of waking coated in blood. She had nightmares and was sometimes so tired, not only from sickness but from fear, that she could only leave the bed to use the privy. Yet this time, Cregan was there by her side, watching over her and making sure that his wife had everything she could want and need. When Lady Ellyn was away to get some rest as she tended to Lady Stark at all times, the Lord of Winterfell would stay by his wife’s side, keeping a watchful eye even when Lady Y/N slept. But as the pregnancy neared the end, both the Lord and the Lady of Winterfell quickly forgot about the worries of the past and had no choice but focus on the present.

“If you are trying to freeze to death, there are easier ways than standing atop of a tower,” said the Lord of Winterfell as he joined his wife. Lady Y/N turned around, meeting her husband’s warm smile with her one of her own.

“The cold air does me good,” said Lady Y/N as Cregan wrapped his arms around her, his nose buried in the fragrant skin of her neck.

“Of course,” murmured Cregan, “You are carrying a northern child.” He kissed the part of Y/N’s neck not shielded by the red fox fur of her blue cloak. Goosebumps rose of Lady Y/N’s arms as she placed her hands on his that were supporting her belly. The babe kicked and although the sensation was uncomfortable for Y/N, it always filled her heart with warmth at the proof of new life.

Lord Stark could not help but smile when he felt his child move beneath his touch. But then his excitement faded some. “Does it hurt you when he does that?” asked Cregan his wife. Lady Y/N was surprised by his question, yet she should not have been for Cregan’s curiosity never ceased and his questions never remained only in his thoughts.

“It is uncomfortable but not painful,” said Lady Y/N before she could actually comprehend what Cregan said.

“He?” asked Lady Y/N, a grin growing on her lips. She turned around to look at Cregan. If it were not for the darkness of the coming night, Y/N would be able to see the heat creep into her husband’s cheeks.

“Or she,” said Cregan quickly, his eyes shifting between his wife and their unborn child. “Either one will do,” said the Lord of Winterfell as he knelt before his wife and kissed her great belly, leaning his forehead gently against it. Lady Y/N ran her gloved fingers through Lord Stark’s hair, secretly wishing their child, be it a boy or a girl, to have their father’s eyes.

Lady Stark placed her hand on Cregan’s cheek when he got up, her thumb smoothing across his wind-lashed skin.

“I too think it is a boy,” confessed Lady Y/N in a gentle voice. Cregan’s grey eyes had never before seemed so big and childlike to her as in that moment when his lips were parted but his mouth at a loss for words.

Lady Y/N stepped on the tips of her toes before Cregan cupped her cheeks and guided her closer. He kissed her ardently again and again, unable to detach himself from her love.

***

A snowstorm raged outside that morrow when the Lord and Lady of Winterfell broke their fast on fried eggs and boiled ham before they would attend the council meeting. Yet as Lady Y/N climbed the stairs of Rodrick’s Tower, a terrible pain spread from her back to her abdomen. A loud gasp escaped her lungs as Lord Stark turned around hastily, Lady Y/N’s hand grabbing onto his arm.

“What is it?” hurried Lord Stark.

Y/N gasped again at another wave of pain, followed by a strange sensation and a small gush of fluid trickling down her leg. A striking pain shot through her abdomen alone this time. Lady Y/N cried out in pain and would have fallen to her knees if not for Cregan holding her.

“The babe … It’s coming,” breathed Lady Y/N, her nails digging into her husband’s forearm.

Cregan did not hesitate and wrapped his arms around his wife, picking her up with easily yet with great care. “Hold onto me,” said Lord Stark and carried Lady Y/N to the birthing chambers. He shouted to the servants to get the maester and the midwife as his wife cried out in pain. Her breathing grew even faster when Cregan laid her into their bed. Y/N caught his hand, begging him with her eyes not to leave her side. Tears gathered in her vision as all of her fears and worries returned to her. She was not much afraid of the pain but for the babe. She would not be able to bear losing it.

“You will be alright, my love,” said Cregan and kissed Y/N’s brow. He brushed away the hair that stuck to her forehead before loosening the strings on her dress. A small sob escaped Lady Y/N’s lips as she paced her breathing whilst they waited for the maester and the midwife.

“I’m not going anywhere,” assured Cregan, holding his wife’s palm with one hand and caressing her cheek with the other. “I promise, my love.”

Lady Y/N nodded just as Maester Bennard, midwife Othella and her ladies-in-waiting arrived.

The maester asked Lord Stark to leave as was customary but Cregan would not be moved from his wife’s side. It was unheard of and yet not a soul dared to say a word of protest.

Lady Y/N remembered her mother’s letters of her own time with child and how Lord Jonos was never remotely interested in the babe until it was born. Lady Whytefort was supposed to visit before Lady Y/N went into labour but the snowstorm must have kept her in a lesser lord’s castle somewhere. Y/N had hoped her mother would be there when the babe would arrive yet she was grateful Cregan was there at least.

Lady Othella, the midwife who assisted the Lady of Winterfell in childbed, was no highborn lady at all but the smallfolk and the noble alike addressed her as lady for the many children she helped deliver and save when the labour was difficult. Lady Othella was a short woman of petite stature yet her hands possessed the strength that could wield a sword. She wore her hair in a coif of deep blue but her tawny locks more oft than not slipped onto her pale, heart-shaped face.

“Breathe, my lady,” instructed Lady Othella as the servants made the bed more comfortable for Lady Y/N. They placed pillows behind her head and beneath her hips, relieving some of the soreness in her back.

Lady Y/N nodded and paced her breathing. Her pains were still very far apart yet no less painful.

The labour lasted through the day and well into the night although there was no telling the time as the snowstorm raged on outside the windows of Winterfell. Near the hour of the ghosts, Lady Stark’s labour pains grew stronger and more frequent, now only moments apart.

Lady Othella announced it was time under the careful supervision of Maester Bennard.

Y/N let go of Cregan’s hand as she was sure she was going to crush all the bones in his hand. She gripped onto the linens instead but the Lord of Winterfell made her take his hand once again.

Lady Y/N pushed and pushed and prayed that the baby would come and come healthy.

“You are almost there, my lady,” encouraged Lady Othella, giving Lady Stark the last bit of strength she needed to push her baby into the world.

A sense of relief came over Y/N as the pressure was gone and the babe’s crying filled the room. Lady Y/N’s loud and fast breathing was scattered with the crying of happiness as Maester Bennard cut the navel string and the babe got wrapped up in clean linens.

“My congratulations, my lord, my lady,” said Lady Othella, a warm smile spreading across her lips. “You have a son.”

Lady Y/N fell the breath get knocked out of her for a moment, her big, pensive eyes wide with wonder as she stared at her son in the midwife’s hands. Lady Othella gave her the babe as Lady Y/N reached out with her hands and Lord Stark finally let go of his wife’s hand. Y/N pressed the babe to her chest instinctively, her mouth full of sobs as the babe’s crying eased. She looked at her husband whose grey eyes flickered between the child no larger than his two hands put together and his beautiful wife, his beautiful wife who just gave him a son.

Cregan’s vision became blurred. He could not remember the last time he cried for it was when he was still a child himself. Yet as Lord Stark saw his wife holding their son, his heart filled with joy indescribable to anyone and at the same time with fear so great he thought it would break him.

Lord Stark got up and kissed Y/N’s forehead, his hand barely touching the babe for fear of hurting him. The baby nuzzled into his mother’s chest, recognizing the warmth and the comfort of her body.

“We have a son,” Lady Y/N cried from happiness as she looked up at her husband.

“We do,” said the Lord of Winterfell in a quiet voice. “Rickon?” asked Cregan as he looked at his wife, his eyes were big and pure as a child’s.

“Rickon,” agreed Y/N and smiled at her babe.

***

After the long and tiresome labour, Lady Stark had time enough to rest and recover but would not let a wetnurse feed her son, not when she could do it herself. Maester Bennard advised against it and encouraged Lady Y/N to focus on recovering and to leave the babe to the wetnurse. Lady Othella did not share his opinion entirely, which was the cause of many quarrels between the maester and the midwife already during Lady Stark’s pregnancy.

Maester Bennard looked to Lord Stark for support, speaking of how the late Lady Gilliane Stark, Cregan’s mother, always entrusted her children into the care of a wetnurse as did the wife of Cregan’s uncle, who had three healthy sons.

Lord Stark stood by the small window of the birthing chamber, seeing how the terrible snowstorm was beginning to cease. The wind whistled and howled violently all the while as the Lady of Winterfell was in childbed.

Lord Stark turned to Maester Bennard when he felt his scholarly gaze on his back.

“You will do as my wife says, Maester Bennard,” said Lord Stark, his arms crossed pensively over his broad chest. His voice was as even and cold as steel.

“You are a maester of the Citadel and are highly valued in my household, Bennard – not only as a learned man but as a friend,” continued Lord Stark. “You are a maester of Oldtown yet you are neither a woman nor a mother and that is no fault of yours, so you will do as Lady Stark commands even if she chooses not to heed your advice.”

Maester Bennard lowered his gaze and bowed, “As my lord commands.”

The newborn babe suckled happily on his mother’s breast, who in equal measure could not be happier herself. Lady Y/N was not opposed to a wetnurse yet she wanted to care for her babe as much as she could on her own, particularly now when the babe had hardly been born.

Once Lady Othella and Maester Bennard retired, assuring Lady Stark was in as good health as she could be, Cregan allowed himself so sit beside his wife and his newborn son. Lady Y/N held the baby with one hand but reached for her husband’s palm with the other. She brought it to her lips and kissed it, her eyes closed as she did so.

“Thank you,” spoke Y/N gently, leaning her head tiredly against the pillow as she watched her husband.

“Whatever for?” asked Cregan, his sharp brows in their usual frown. He had done absolutely nothing whilst his wife did everything.

“Everything,” said Y/N nevertheless, gently holding onto Cregan’s hand. “Did I break all of your bones?” she smiled, brushing her thumb across the top of his palm.

“I think I still have a few of them left,” grinned Cregan as he looked down at his wife’s small hand in his. His heart weighed heavy in his chest but he did not know why. Perhaps he was so happy that some of his happiness had to turn into sadness or he would burst with joy.

“What is it?” frowned Y/N when she saw the melancholy in Cregan’s features.

I’m afraid, Cregan wanted to say. I’m afraid to lose you and I’m afraid to lose our son. Strange how new life so quickly reminds one of death.

“Cregan?” asked Y/N softly when he did not speak. Cregan only sat closer and kissed his lady wife, kissed her again and again, first on her lips then her nose and her cheeks and finally her brow. Cregan leaned his forehead against Y/N’s, his eyes shut tight.

“I love you,” promised Lord Stark and sealed it with another kiss.

“I love you,” said Y/N and caressed her husband’s cheek. The baby cooed when it was done feeding, now happily nuzzling against his mother’s warm chest.

“Do you wish to hold him?” asked Y/N with a smile. Lord Stark froze in place, his eyes round and his lips parted.

“I don’t know,” said Cregan and watched how the happiness dimmed in Lady Y/N’s bright eyes. “My hands … What if they are too rough for him?” said Cregan warily. “What if I hurt him?”

Lady Y/N’s smiled once again. “You won’t, I promise,” said Y/N as she sat up with Rickon resting securely in her hands. Cregan mimicked the shape of his wife’s arms and waited patiently for her to place his tiny, delicate son into his hands. The babe missed the comfort of his mother’s body and let out a cry and then another, each startling Cregan more than the other. But as soon as the babe found the warmth of his father’s chest he stopped his crying and sighed contently. Cregan felt his body tremble as he held his son, seeing how he blinked his small, storm-grey eyes.

When Lord Stark looked up once again, he saw how his wife had fallen asleep, her hand outstretched towards him. Cregan sat close beside her and listened to her soft breathing. As he watched his son, the Lord of Winterfell vowed to himself to destroy anyone who would ever think of harming them.

Come morning, Lady Stark awoke with her husband was sleeping beside her, his arm entwined with hers. She sat up quickly thinking of her son only to see him sound asleep in his bassinet. Lady Y/N laid back down, coming to realize how sore her body was. Every muscle in her body felt uncomfortable. She turned on her back, unable to supress a groan that woke Lord Stark from his light sleep.

“Will you please ask for Maester Bennard?” asked Y/N as she tried to sit up. Her body was something she did not recognize. A mess of pain and discomfort and unpredictability.

Cregan jumped to his feet and called the servants, who fetched Maester Bennard. In the meantime, Lord Stark returned to his wife’s side.

“Are you in pain, my love?” asked Cregan as he knelt beside the bed.

“Everything hurts,” confessed Lady Y/N but it was only normal to feel this way. She had been in labour for near a full day before the babe was delivered. Y/N needed help to use the privy and when she returned Maester Bennard was there with his assistants. He gave her instructions of recovery and some remedies for the pain.

“I would have a bath,” asked Lady Y/N, looking at her maester for advice.

“I believe it would do you good, my lady,” agreed Maester Bennard as he gathered his potions in his ornate, wooden box. “I would also advise warm cloth for your belly and your chest.”

The servants prepared a nice, warm bath whilst Lady Ellyn and Lady Jocelyn helped Y/N out of her clothes. Lifting her legs only slightly proved a greater challenge than Lady Stark could have foreseen. The warm water helped remedy the soreness of her body, however. Y/N allowed Lady Ellyn to help her wash as she could barely find the strength to move her aching limbs.

“You did so well, my lady,” said Lady Ellyn gently as she sat beside the bath, her thumb drawing circles into her friend’s hand. “You have the most beautiful son, you ought to be proud.”

Lady Y/N managed a smile but could not help but feel an unusual melancholy creep in. Lady Whytefort wrote to her of her own mother’s sadness after she gave birth to her. Lady Cerwyn – then Ryswell of the Rills before she widowed and remarried – was said to have locked herself in her chambers and refused to care for her daughter for near a moon’s turn. But afterwards when Lady Y/N’s grandmother recovered everything was as if nothing had happened. Even Y/N herself had not known of this prior to her lady mother’s letter although she was close to her maternal grandmother and stayed at the Rills many a summer’s moon.

Lady Y/N shared this story with Lady Ellyn.

“I am sure you have nothing to fear, my lady,” Lady Ellyn tried to reassure her friend although she had heard of similar experiences happening to other women. “Even if such a thing should occur, you have your ladies and a host of wetnurses who would die to serve House Stark. You would recover and all would be well, I am sure of it,” tried Lady Ellyn. What her friend spoke was true Y/N knew and yet she could not help but feel like a failure at just the thought of not wanting to care for her son. However, as sore and tired as Lady Y/N felt, she could and would not judge any woman who would feel the way her grandmother did upon birthing her daughter. Y/N could not even imagine how difficult it must have been for her own mother especially with a man like Lord Jonos. Lady Y/N loved her father dearly in spite of it all, but she could not stand the way he treated her mother. Especially not now when Y/N saw herself there were different ways of leading married life, good and gentle ways.

Lord Stark returned to Lady Y/N’s chambers. He had washed and shaved and had a change of garments. He seemed tired, a pensive expression hiding in his features.

“I would have a moment with my wife,” said Lord Stark to Lady Ellyn. She got up and curtsied. “If you are able,” said Lord Stark, now turning to his wife.

“I will get dressed,” nodded Lady Y/N.

Lady Stark was helped into a comfortable gown of cerulean blue and white Myrish lace with pearl embroidery whilst she had the servants braid her hair. The warm bath helped Lady Y/N with her pains, allowing her to walk with the support of her lady-in-waiting.

Whilst the Lady of Winterfell had a change of garments, the servants had brought food and drink aplenty for Lord and Lady Stark to break their fast on. They prepared a hearty broth rich with venison and grains for Lady Y/N to recover her strength, offering congratulations left and right as she sat down. Lady Stark reserved a smile for each of them no matter how low- or highborn.

“Could you find any rest, my love?” asked Lady Y/N once the servants left the Lord and Lady of Winterfell to break their fast in peace. Y/N took Cregan’s hand, the warmth of his touch instantly reassuring her. Cregan had dark circles beneath his eyes and his skin appeared ashen. He had not left his wife’s side not for a moment since she went into labour and stayed awake for as long as he could even after Lady Y/N had already fallen asleep.

Lord Stark rose his pensive, grey eyes to Y/N. “How can you ask me that when you have just given birth to our son?” said Cregan gently as he squeezed his wife’s hand in his.

“I could not have done it if you had not been there by my side,” said Lady Y/N genuinely. She paused.

“Are you happy?” asked Y/N anxiously. Cregan’s brows furrowed into an incredulous frown.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Only … You seem distant,” said Lady Y/N, watching her husband’s eyes for any trace of doubt.

“Forgive me,” said Cregan heavily yet his voice quietened some as he looked towards the window.

“Tell me,” asked Lady Y/N, not ungently, and squeezed her husband’s hand reassuringly.

“I …” began Cregan. “I had a brother,” said Cregan, his grey eyes returning to his wife. Y/N stared at him, her mouth parted. “He died aged only two when I was ten-and-one.”

“You cannot remember him from your time here at Winterfell. You could not even if you stayed for a full moon and not a day. My mother did not like him leaving his chambers. He was sickly … He had been since he was born,” said Cregan. “I … I barely knew him …”

“I am so sorry,” said Y/N, not knowing what else to say. She reached out to him, enfolding his calloused palm between her hands. They had been wed for more than a year and yet Y/N had never heard Cregan nor anyone else for that matter mention Lord Stark having had a brother.

“What happened?” asked Y/N gently.

“Fever took him,” said Cregan, his gaze focused on his wife’s hands clasped around his own. “First it took my mother, then Benjen not even three nights after,” told Cregan, his voice deep and sombre. “He was named after my grandsire.”

“I am so sorry, my love,” spoke Y/N gently.

Lord Stark got up from the table and stood by the window, his gaze reaching out beyond the walls of his strong castle.

“At least my mother did not have to see him die,” said Cregan to himself more than to his wife. “At least the Gods spared her as much.”

Y/N stared at her husband’s back, coming to realize where Cregan’s melancholy and pensiveness came from. The birth of their son agitated old wounds and disturbed the present. Cregan did not so much feel the loss of his brother when he held his newborn son; rather, he came to understand his mother’s worry and fear at the prospect of having to bury her child.

Lady Y/N gathered what strength she could and got up from the table on her own. Lord Stark turned around but Y/N was already by his side. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, Cregan’s hands instinctively wrapping around Y/N’s waist as he buried his nose in the warmth of her neck. Cregan let out a breath he did not know he was holding.

*** 2 YEARS LATER ***

As the cold and heavy winter went by leaving nothing but darkness and snow, a hope of spring returned when a white raven flew in from Oldtown bearing news of the winter’s end. Although the snow was never quite gone north of The Gift, the blizzards and snowstorms grew scarcer and were replaced by days of warm sunshine at Winterfell.

Despite the winter and Lord Stark’s frequent visits to the Wall before the snow became too tall to travel, there was always some form of joy and merriment in the castle walls of Winterfell. As little Rickon Stark, the firstborn son of Lord Cregan and Lady Y/N Stark, grew older and bolder by the day, he kept his noble parents busy even when there were no lordly duties to attend to.

“Rickon tells me you are going to show him how to ride to-day,” spoke Cregan softly, his voice deep and husky in the hour of the nightingale. His fingers were tangled in his wife’s hair, their foreheads nearly touching as they savoured the last moments of peace before the castle would be bustling with errands and duties to attend to once again.

Y/N rose her big, sleepy eyes to her husband’s. “He will only sit ahorse,” said Lady Y/N quietly, tracing her fingers across the scars on Cregan’s chest. “Mayhaps I will let Ser Tybald lead him around the courtyard if Rickon will wish to,” considered Y/N aloud.

“Of course he will, he is your son,” laughed Cregan, secretly delighting in his wife’s soft touch.

“Is he not your son too?” said Y/N aghast as she grinned, leaning on her elbow. “I suppose you preferred learning the names and banners of Houses to spending time with swords and horses,” she teased.

Cregan smiled and pulled Y/N into a kiss, her arms resting on his strong chest. She moved even closer, deepening the kiss as she harboured a secret to tell her husband. But as his arms wrapped around Y/N’s hips eagerly, she forgot all about the news and straddled Cregan’s waist instead. He pulled off her nightgown, his hands reaching immediately for her soft breasts. Cregan sat up and kissed them as Y/N’s hands tangled in his dark hair. She moaned when he found her sweet spot, knowing her body better than sometimes she did.

“Mommy! Mommy!” called a small voice running around the hallways of Winterfell. Y/N gasped as her gaze darted towards the door.

“Gods,” muttered Y/N hastily and jumped off the bed where she picked up her nightgown and slipped it on just in time. Cregan laughed as he leaned against the bedframe, watching a deep blush flush his wife’s cheeks as Rickon burst into the room, wrapping his arms around her mother’s knees.

“Good morrow, little one,” said Y/N, her eyes locking with Cregan’s when she picked up her son and held him to her. “Should you not be abed?” Lady Stark asked of her son but made eyes at her all too amused husband.

“I wanted to see you,” said Rickon cheerfully although there was sleep in his eyes.

“Alright, little warrior,” said Cregan as he got up from the bed. “Your mother is right. Back to bed.” Cregan took his son from Y/N’s arms, the playful, teasing look in Cregan’s eyes making Y/N’s knees weak. A shivery breath escaped Y/N’s lips as she watched her husband’s bare back when he walked across their chambers.

Rickon’s wetnurse was already at the door of their rooms yet dared not come in.

“I’m so sorry, m’lord,” said the wetnurse as she took Rickon from Lord Stark’s arms.

“That’s alright,” said Lord Stark gently, running his hand through his son’s dark hair one last time before he returned to his private chambers.

Cregan slipped his arms beneath Y/N’s bum and lifted her up eagerly, her legs wrapping around his waist as he carried her to their bed. He sat down, his large hands squeezing his wife’s soft thighs. Cregan went for his breeches but Y/N stopped him.

“Let me do it,” she spoke softly, her voice laced with desire. She dropped to her knees and undid Cregan’s nightbreeches, pulling them off with haste. Cregan watched as his wife took him in her mouth, her tongue sliding skilfully along his length. Cregan threw his head back in pleasure, his fists balling around the linens of their bed to keep himself from climaxing immediately. As Cregan groaned in pleasure his eyes met Y/N’s. She stopped, teasing her husband.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” muttered Cregan and quickly pulled Y/N into his lap.

“Show me,” she breathed against his lips, her heart beating harshly against her chest.

Cregan took Y/N’s waist and turned her around, pulling off her loose nightgown yet again. His fingers found her breasts once more as he kissed her neck one last time before he took Y/N’s hips and entered her. Y/N moaned loudly as she clawed at the furs of their bed. Cregan’s thrusts were hard and even before he slowly escalated his pace. Y/N could not help but whimper in pleasure as her husband’s fingers tangled in her long hair, pulling on them gently. Cregan leaned down and kissed her from behind, his hips moving faster and then slower as he felt himself nearing his pleasure. He reached around Y/N’s waist with his hand, his fingers nestling between her thighs. Y/N winced in pleasure, leaned into his touch and only moments away from complete pleasure. Y/N whimpered halfway through a moan, climaxing sooner than she anticipated. She leaned her head against the bed as her eyes closed, Cregan’s fingers digging harshly into the soft curves of her hips. Cregan’s seed dripped down the inside of Y/N’s thigh before they both fell flat on the bed, their bodies tangled and exhausted from divine pleasure.

***

After breaking their fast in Benjen’s Hall, Lady Stark took her son Rickon to the stables as she promised. Ser Tybald provided a well-natured, chestnut pony with mane the colour of butter for Lord Stark’s firstborn son.

“Let him smell you,” said Lady Stark and lifted her son into her arms. “Like this,” she showed by placing her palm gently to the pony’s muzzle. Rickon reached out hesitantly but when the pony leaned her muzzle against his hand, he smiled with eyes as happy as ever.

“You have to name him now,” encouraged Lady Stark, ��But you have to name him carefully for he will carry that name for many years.”

Rickon looked at her with big, round eyes, his mind whooshing with a thousand ideas. He looked at his horse again with his lips parted.

“Squire,” said Rickon determinedly.

Lady Y/N watched as her son reached for the pony’s muzzle once again, mesmerized by Rickon’s likeness to his father.

Y/N kissed her son’s temple and put him down, allowing the master-of-horse to show him how to properly saddle and ready a horse. She watched as he was sat into one of the saddles, first off horse and later on Squire. He beamed with joy when Ser Tybald asked him if he wanted to have a walk around the courtyard.

“Mother, may I?” called Rickon from atop of his butter-maned pony.

“You may,” allowed Lady Stark, her lips spreading into a smile at the sight of her boy content. “Only be careful and hold on tight.”

“I will,” promised Rickon, his little hands wrapping tightly around the horn of the saddle.

Lady Y/N pulled her cloak closer to her as a cold, spring breeze swept through the walls of Winterfell.

“What did he name the horse?” asked a voice behind Lady Stark. She turned around, her eyes finding those of her husband.

“Squire,” smiled Lady Y/N.

“Of course,” said Lord Stark, unable to disguise a grin off his lips.

Y/N wrapped her hand around Cregan’s elbow, pressing closer to him. “What did you name your first horse?” she wondered.

Cregan smiled, “Jester.”

Lady Y/N could not help but snort a laughter, finding the name so very fitting of Cregan as she imagined him as a young boy. He laughed with her, almost asking the same of Y/N but quickly remembered.

“Blackspur was my first,” said Lady Y/N all on her own, the smile on her lips turning into a melancholy one. Ser Tybald had to put her down soon after the beginning of the new year for she had grown sick. It was the kindest thing to do, knew Y/N, yet that acknowledgement made it hurt no less. Blackspur had a long and comfortable life, longer than many horses. Those were the only thoughts that could make Lady Stark’s grief less painful.

“I know,” spoke Cregan and kissed his wife’s temple.

Suddenly echoed an approaching sound of hooves against the cobblestones. Lady Stark stood up straight, detaching herself hesitantly from Cregan’s warm body to welcome unexpected guests. Yet only two riders crossed the Hunter’s Gate into the castle, leading a beautiful filly tied to one of their saddles. She had long muscular legs, her coat of raw umber brown. She shook her head, her mane alike in colour, as the horsemen dismounted and one of them took her into Winterfell’s stables.

“Wait for me,” asked Cregan of his lady wife before he met with the other horseman, who bowed their heads before the Lord of Winterfell. They spoke briefly and even shook hands. Lady Stark’s gaze drifted to her son across the yard when his pony neighed, her heart leaping out of her chest for a moment. Rickon laughed however, savouring every moment before he would have to listen to Maester Bennard’s lessons on Houses great and small.

“Come,” Lady Y/N heard her husband call. She turned her attention to him but saw the riders leave through the Hunger’s Gate. They were gone as quickly as they arrived.

“What is it? Is their horse injured?” asked Y/N once at her husband’s side. Knights and lords, especially of smaller Houses, often brought their mounts to Winterfell if the animal was ill or injured for Winterfell had one of the best stables in the North.

“She is in perfect health,” said Cregan as he led his wife into the stables. The ash brown filly paced restlessly, her elegant head turning towards the strangers coming to see her. She was young, only just old enough to saddle.

“Why did they bring her then?” asked Y/N, admiring the magnificent animal and wondering if per chance they wanted Ser Tybalt to break her in and have her ready for riding.

“She is yours if you want her,” said Lord Stark, his gaze shifting between his wife’s eyes and the filly he chose for her.

“What?” gasped Lady Y/N, looking up at her husband’s expecting eyes. She was at a loss for words.

“I know she cannot replace Blackspur but—”

“Thank you,” Y/N cut Cregan off before he could finish. She took his hand and stepped on the tips of her toes to kiss him. He leaned down for her, his strong arms wrapping around her waist. Y/N pulled away slowly, looking around to make sure they were alone. Ser Tybald was still leading Rickon on Squire and informing him all about caring for horses.

“I have to tell you something, husband,” said Lady Y/N, biting her lip as she could not help but smile. She looked down at her Cregan’s chest and the silver direwolf emblem resting between his collarbones.

“What is it?” asked Cregan, his brows quickly jumping into a gentle frown.

“I am with child again,” whispered Y/N as she looked up into her husband’s eyes. The emotions in the greyness of his irises swirled like a great summer storm.

“Say it again,” breathed Lord Stark incredulous.

“I am with child,” repeated Lady Y/N, her smile as bright as ever as she observed her lord husband’s reaction. Cregan pulled her into his arms eagerly, his hands cupping her cheeks as he kissed her deeply. Y/N’s palms rested against her husband’s chest as she could not help but smile into the kiss.

“Mommy!” called Rickon’s small voice as he came running into the stables. Ser Tybald followed him with Squire.

“Can I ride again in the after-noon?” begged Rickon, his eyes as big as stars. The boy knew the answer would be ‘no’ but with his mother at least he stood a chance.

“Ask your father,” smiled Lady Y/N, her hand creeping into her husband’s palm.

“Father, may I?” asked Rickon carefully, his arms locked behind his back as he swayed left and right ever so slightly, his eyes resting on his father’s boots. He knew the answer this time too.

“Tomorrow,” said Lord Stark. “Come, Maester Bennard must be waiting for you.”

Speaking of which, as soon as the Lord and Lady of Winterfell returned inside the castle they were met with Maester Bennard. He was out of breath, his normally pale cheeks flushed with fever.

“My lord,” Maester Bennard gasped for breath, “My lord, urgent news from Dragonstone.” He handed Lord Stark a scroll of parchment with a broken seal of a red, three-headed dragon.

Cregan placed Rickon into his wetnurse’s care before he unrolled the raven scroll. “It’s Prince Jacaerys,” told Lord Stark aloud as he turned to his wife. “He is coming to Winterfell.”

***

As they lay in bed that night and Cregan’s hand rested gently on the barely visible bump of Y/N’s belly, neither the Lord nor the Lady of Winterfell could fall asleep. The night was bright and the moon shone invasively through the windows of their private chambers.

“What do you think he wants?” whispered Y/N quietly in case Cregan managed to fall asleep. She need not have asked for she knew, she only did not want to accept it.

“I do not know,” spoke Cregan gravely. “But I do now my father swore an oath … I swore an oath.”

News of trouble and strife in House Targaryen had long been flying north to Winterfell. The ravens more oft than not came from outside the walls of the Red Keep, coming from the Riverlands and the Vale and even from the Reach. The matter of succession seemed to be settled when King Viserys the Peaceful declared his daughter as his heir and future queen. Yet upon his death, appeared to have formed two camps that the smallfolk and the great alike called the Greens and the Blacks. The first supported Prince Aegon’s claim to the throne as he was King Viserys’ eldest son and the latter the claim of Princess Rhaenyra. If the North was to get involved in the war within House Targaryen, Winterfell would declare for Princess Rhaenyra as it did when King Viserys was still alive.

Y/N’s heart grew heavy in her chest. She placed her hand atop Cregan’s that was resting on her belly and squeezed it tightly. A shaky breath escaped her lips as she stared at the ceiling, knowing full well she will not find any sleep tonight.

“Hey,” whispered Cregan and leaned on his elbow. He caressed Y/N’s cheeks, making her look at him. “We will not know until he is here,” Cregan tried to reassure her some. He could not tell if it was the moonlight glistening in Y/N’s eyes or whether they were tears he saw, but Y/N nodded nevertheless if only to give her husband some peace.

The following eve came word from New Castle. Prince Jacaerys spent the night in White Harbor with his dragon Vermax and would fly for Winterfell in the morn.

The castle was up in preparation for the welcoming of the royal prince. Lady Stark ordered the kitchens to prepare the finest dishes of roast boar and pheasant in a sauce of almonds. The best casks of ale and wine were to be brought from the cellars of Winterfell and the Great Hall arranged appropriately. Only the highest and noblest of councillors were to attend the feast upon Prince Jacaerys’ arrival alongside Lord Stark and Lady Y/N.

After only just bearing through the winter, neither the Lord nor the Lady of Winterfell were too pleased to prepare a dozen sheep and goats for the prince’s dragon to feast on yet they had little choice in the matter.

Lady Stark chose a gown of ash green and pale white in the colours of Winterfell with a belt of white gold with the emblem of two direwolves’ heads baring their fangs at one another in its centre. She wore a necklace and earrings of emerald stones encrusted with diamonds that Cregan had gifted her upon the birth of their son.

The Lady of Winterfell paced around the Great Hall, making sure everything was perfect for the feast. Although she had put tremendous effort into the evening, both she and Cregan decided to keep the spirit of things much alike they would for any other highborn lord or lady coming to visit. Even though House Stark bent the knee to House Targaryen many years ago, the sense in the North was still that of House Stark’s rule.

Lady Y/N did not truly consider the prince’s dragon until she heard it screeching and roaring above the castle walls. Her heart sank as her eyes grew big coming face to face with her husband.

“Come,” said Cregan, holding out his hand. “He is here.”

The Lord and Lady of Winterfell gathered outside, greeted by the early spring snows. Lady Stark wore a heavy cloak of cloth-of-silver and wool, with fur of the grey wolf. She held her hands locked together before her, her breath coming out in clouds. It was nightfall already as she gazed into the sky. Her mouth went dry at the sight of an enormous, bat-like figure dancing in the sky. The beast screeched, irate with the cold and the snow.

The prince descended into the courtyard of Winterfell’s castle, the force of the dragon’s leathery wings sending snowflakes back into the sky. Prince Jacaerys dismounted and spoke to his beast in High Valeryan before meeting the Lord and Lady of Winterfell.

Lord Stark bowed his head and Lady Y/N curtsied gracefully before the crown prince.

“My prince,” said Lord Stark first, his words echoed by his wife.

“Lord Stark,” greeted Prince Jacaerys. “My lady,” he said, kissing the top of Lady Stark’s gloved hand. She offered a small smile but could not help but notice the prince’s youth although there were not many years of difference between them nor between him and Cregan for that matter. It was true what they said, however. The crown prince looked little like a Targaryen ought to with his head of brown locks and eyes of green. In truth, Prince Jacaerys looked much more like her own brother, thought Lady Stark, save for the prince’s fox face and slender frame true of House Targaryen.

“Welcome to Winterfell,” said Cregan as he accepted the prince’s hand in his. Lord Stark towered over the prince although he towered over most any man and Prince Jacaerys was no different.

The Lord and Lady of Winterfell welcomed the prince into the Great Hall where the noble councillors of Winterfell awaited, bowing and showing their respects to Princess Rhaenyra’s heir and messenger as he would name himself.

Prince Jacaerys was seated to the right of Lord Stark whilst Lady Y/N sat to his left. She nodded to the servants to bring the food and serve the drink whilst the singers sang and played their music. There was no talk of succession nor war or politics until the feast had ended. Although the Lord of Winterfell offered the prince to rest for the night before they talk, both Prince Jacaerys as well as Lord Stark were of a mind to speak now.

They walked the walls of Winterfell to ensure privacy, accompanied only by the cold and the snow. Prince Jacaerys looked toward the winter town, seeing but a few of the lights that warmed its houses during the past two years.

“I see winter is still true in the North although they say elsewise at the Citadel,” spoke the crown prince.

Lord Stark smiled although he wished to laugh. “These are only the spring snows, my prince. During winter, all that you see was covered in snow and all memory of warmth was neigh forgotten.”

Prince Jacaerys turned to his mother’s sworn vassal. Cregan Stark was a man hardened by cold and winter, a man seasoned in battle and in swordplay, whose reputation as one of the best swordsmen in all of the Seven Kingdoms preceded him. Lord Stark was only a few years his senior and yet he had seen and lived the life of a man.

Prince Jacaerys looked at Lord Stark with both envy as well as admiration. He was a royal prince and yet he had not lived or done as half as Lord Stark.

“I confess I wished to see the Wall,” said Prince Jacaerys, stirring his thoughts in another direction. “It would have pleased me to meet with you in the place where our ancestors treated.”

“Indeed,” said the Lord of Winterfell, the fur on his heavy coat ruffled by the cold winds. “At least you have the mercy not to threaten me with your dragon.” Lord Stark’s words cut a uncomfortable silence between the two young men.

“Surely the great Torren Stark would have sooner died than bent the knee. Unless he believed the Conqueror could bring unity to the Seven Kingdoms.”

“You are right in that,” agreed Lord Stark as they walked along the walls of his castle.

“That unity is now threatened,” urged Prince Jacaerys. “The realm will soon tear itself apart if the men do not remember their oath sworn to King Viserys. And to his rightful heir.”

Lord Stark stopped. “Starks do not forget their oaths, my prince,” said Cregan sombrely. “But you must know that my gaze is forever torn between north and south. In the winter, my duty to the North and to the Wall is even more dire than what I owe to King’s Landing,” spoke the Lord of Winterfell as they continued walking. “I need my men here.”

This time, Prince Jacaerys held his step. He frowned at his mother’s vassal, his temper as quick as any Targaryen’s. “Whilst your men guard against wildlings and weather, the Hightowers plan to usurp the throne.”

Lord Stark did not heed the haste of Prince Jacaerys’ words and climbed into the northmost watchtower.

“If my mother is to defend her claim, to hold the realm united,” said Prince Jacaerys, following him into the nest, “She needs an army. War is coming – to the whole of the realm, my lord. We cannot wager without the support of the North …” spoke the prince, his words losing breath as the vastness of the North opened before his eyes. An endless sea of white spread before him, disturbed only by shadows of trees and moving clouds of snow.

“My father brought King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne to see the Wall. His grace watched as their dragons, the greatest power in the world, refused to cross it,” told Lord Stark as the prince found his breath.

“Do you think my ancestors built a seven-hundred-foot wall of ice to keep out snow and savages?” said Cregan, looking the crown prince dead in the eye.

The young prince stared at him pensively. “What does it keep out?” he asked.

Lord Stark eyes darkened. “Death.”

The Lord of Winterfell walked Prince Jacaerys inside the castle. He felt the weight of his father’s oath, the oath that was his own.

“I have thousands of greybeards who have already seen too many winters,” said Lord Stark. “They are … well-honed.”

“So they are old?” asked Prince Jacaerys, his brows raising slightly. They had reached the chambers prepared for him.

Lord Stark nodded solemnly but the North needed its best men to remain.

“I can ready them to march at once,” promised the Lord of Winterfell.

Prince Jacaerys smiled, grateful for Lord Stark’s dislike of pretence.

“If your greybeards can fight, the Queen will have them,” agreed Prince Jacaerys.

A smirk crept into the line of Cregan’s mouth. “They will fight hard, like Northerners.”

***

Y/N could not even find it in her to sit down, much less fall asleep until Cregan returned to their chambers. The hour was late yet Y/N was as awake as it were mid-day. She stared at her husband expectantly when he returned, a great tiredness set in his features.

“He wants our men to fight for his mother’s claim,” confirmed Lord Stark.

And what of you? Does he want you? Y/N wanted to ask but could not make herself speak.

“I told him my men need to stay in the North. The Wall must needs be protected,” said Cregan. Y/N’s chest dropped with an exhale of relief yet only for a moment.

“I offered him my greybeards,” spoke Cregan before he walked over to one of the chests with his belongings. “I will go south as soon as they are ready to march.”

Cregan’s words knocked the wind out of Y/N as her heart dropped to her stomach. She grew sick with nausea.

“I thought to save this for another occasion,” said Cregan as he took a large package wrapped in cloth of silk from one of the painted chests.

Y/N stared at him astounded but took the parcel that he offered. She laid it carefully on the bed, pulling apart the silken wrapping. A coat as white as snow lay underneath, trimmed in fur without a single hair of colour. Y/N’s lips parted as her fingers glided through the fur as soft as butter. She frowned for she knew it came from a beast as rare as any. No wolf or mink could ever produce such a soft and white coat.

“Winter fox?” Y/N thought out loud, her big round eyes rising to her husband’s.

“To keep you warm if I do not return before the next winter,” said Cregan with a small smile although he could not hide the guilt and melancholy in his grey eyes.

Y/N looked at him thunderstruck. She did not care for the coat no matter how magnificent; all she wanted was her husband.

“Before the next winter?” gasped Y/N. “But … That could be years. That will be years.”

“I swore an oath, Y/N,” said Cregan with a heavy heart. “I cannot send my men south with no one to lead them.”

You swore an oath to me too, Y/N wanted to say but was glad she did not; the last thing she wanted was to argue. She understood that the realm was more important even if she herself would have let it burn to the ground if it meant her husband would remain by her side.

Y/N looked down at Cregan’s chest as her eyes welled with tears so hot they felt as cold as ice.

Cregan did not have the words to comfort her. He only pulled her into his arms, holding her head to his chest as she wept quietly.

*** ANOTHER 2 YEARS GONE BY ***

Many moons went by, then a year and then another during which Cregan’s letters maintained Lady Stark’s sanity. If not for her children and her ever faithful friend Lady Ellyn, Y/N would be sure to lose her mind. However, with one child running around and another at her hip - a daughter born in the late spring that she named Sarra - time went by quickly for the Lady of Winterfell after the first few moons without Cregan.

The council held news of the progress of the Targaryen war in the south. It received reports of the little prince Jaehaerys’ assassination, the death of Princess Rhaenys and her dragon Meleys at Rook’s Rest, King’s Landing changing rulers faster than the wind changes in the North, and even news of Prince Aemond’s death met at the hands of Prince Daemon at God’s Eye, where the lake swallowed both Targaryen princes as well as their mighty beasts.

All the while the news of war arrived from the capital and its surrounding Houses, the Lady of Winterfell prayed in the Godswood for her husband’s safety, that neither he nor his army be met with dragonfire, and that he returns safely to her, to Winterfell, to see his son grow and meet his daughter.

Lady Stark taught her children the ways of the Old Gods and spoke often of their father. Sarra was but a near a babe still yet Rickon had known and loved his father well. He cried many a night after Lord Stark marched south, and Lady Stark cried too. However, as time passed by, Cregan’s absence became easier to bear and life forced everyone to continue living. Seed needed to be planted for the first crops and people were beginning to leave the winter town abandoned to return to their farms and fields. The castle needed mending after the harsh winter as did the Wall, and lords from all over North came to House Stark for help.

In the meanwhile, Lady Y/N grew great with child and her lady mother came to stay until the babe was born. Lady Y/N had it easier with Sarra than she had with Rickon both in terms of early sickness as well as her time in childbed. Her daughter was born in the early hours of the morning, the labour lasting only a few hours. Sarra was a small, fragile babe but quickly grew stronger as the spring turned brighter and warmer. Although Rickon looked much like his father when he was born, he had grown more and more into the character of both his mother and father. He loved climbing and riding and pestered Ser Harwyn every waking moment to train him at swordplay. Sarra, however, was silent and calm. She looked like her mother with eyes that were exactly like those of Lady Stark.

The summer neared when a raven arrived bearing Lord Stark’s grey direwolf. Lady Y/N sat with the letter in her husband’s solar and read.

Beloved wife,

I encountered no war to speak of when my greybeards entered the red city. King’s Landing has long yielded to the many deaths of its kings and queens. I held court for six days to seek punishment for those who ended the life of King Aegon II, for no king should die of poison but on the battlefield with honour. I sought punishment for those too who conspired against the rightful heir. Many decided to take the black and join the Night’s Watch than to die at the blade of my sword. Those are the ones who will return north with me whilst many of my greybeards decide to remain in the south and in the Riverlands to attend the Widow Fairs.

I was offered a place in the king’s service that I could not accept. I long to return to you and our children, to see the towers of Winterfell rising before my eyes. When they place the crown on the boy king Aegon’s head, I will gather my men and we will march home.

Cregan

Lady Y/N reread the letter over and over again until it was engraved in her memory. Her heart beat harshly against her throat as her eyes watered yet she did not weep. She folded the letter and held it to her chest, closing her eyes as she leaned back in her husband’s chair. A ride from Winterfell to King’s Landing took a moon’s turn at the least, more with an army marching with you. Yet it did not matter. He was coming back. Cregan was returning home.

***

Lady Stark took to the Wolfswood with Ser Harwyn and an escort of knights following not far behind. She rode her mare neigh every day, the ash brown filly her husband gifted her after the passing of her beloved Blackspur. Lady Y/N named the beast Tempest for her temper and the ashen colour of her coat. Although Blackspurt had been wary of strangers but warmed up to them eventually, Tempest did not care for them. If she disliked any of them, she would show it by stomping her hooves or kicking, her teeth snapping at many a stableboy’s hand. But she was different with Lady Stark. There was a bond between the temperamental mare and the Lady of Winterfell no one could quite understand. Even in her pregnancy, Tempest sensed the change in her mistress, and whilst the horse did not care for her caretakers, she never lashed at children.

One evening Rickon resented his mother for not being to tell him when his father would return from the march. It has been close to two years since Lord Stark left for the south with his greybeards. The boy disappeared from his rooms in the night with no one being able to find him.

Lady Y/N’s first instinct was to check the stables and Squire but the boy was not there and the pony was in his stall. Whilst the castle was up in the search of Winterfell’s heir, young Rickon was hiding right where they first searched for him – in the stables. He meant to go to Squire, his beloved pony, yet as he stepped into he stable, the noise aroused Tempest.

Rickon tread carefully towards her, knowing of her temper but could not help himself. His curiosity was too great. He looked at the ashen brown mare in her stall, her breath coming out in clouds in the cold night. Rickon approached the iron bars of her door, carefully raising his hand to her muzzle. Tempest snorted, frightening little Rickon so much he fell to his butt. He did not understand why but he picked himself up and tried again. He brought his hand up to Tempest’s muzzle once again and let her smell him. Her muzzle was warm and wet against his touch, causing a smile to spread across Rickon’s lips. He carefully pushed open the door to her stall and met her, standing twice his size. His heart was thumping in his chest with excitement but he was not afraid.

They found the boy in the morning when one of the stableboys brought Tempest her grain and came to clean her stall. The mare was lying in the hay, staring warily at the stableboy whilst little Rickon slept against her belly.

Cold northern winds whooshed through the forest, rocking the tall trees of Wolfswood. Lady Stark’s gaze rose to their swaying crowns as she took in the fresh air after being cooped up in council meetings and hearing of the issues of the smallfolk. She had to condemn two thieves and a rapist – the thieves lost the same amount of fingers as the chickens they stole whilst the rapist chose death over taking the black and Lady Stark was glad for it.

Every time the Lady of Winterfell had to condemn a rapist she remembered the bandits who attacked her many years ago right there in the Wolfswood. She could not forgive herself for not taking an escort that time. If she had, the knights would have cut down the delinquents and they would never have had the chance to despoil that peasant girl. Lady Stark often rode past her father’s farm to see how they were living. When the girl wed last year, Lady Y/N then found a way to pass by her husband’s carpentry shop, making sure the girl and her family had everything they needed. It pained Lady Y/N to see the girl bow her head to her and curtsy clumsily when Y/N passed by on Tempest when she was the one who wanted to drop to her knees and beg the girl forgiveness.

“Have there been any more news from King’s Landing?” asked Ser Harwyn, the master-of-arms at Winterfell, waking Lady Stark from her thoughts.

“Not since Rhaenyra’s boy was crowned,” said Lady Y/N, leading her mare up a gentle slope.

It has been more than two moon's since the youngest son of Queen Rhaenyra was crowned Aegon III Targaryen although the smallfolk had already named him Aegon the Unlucky.

“Mayhaps Lord Stark took rest at Riverrun,” suggested Ser Harwyn, following his lady up the slope on his tall red gelding.

Lady Stark did not say anything. She would not allow herself to think of Cregan’s return for she found it consumed her thoughts and she could not find the will to do any of her duties if she did so. When Cregan left to fight the wildlings shortly after they were wed, Y/N felt almost as if she were greeting a stranger when he returned; and they have been parted for only four moons. It has been more than two years since they last saw each other now. Y/N could not bear to think of her husband finding company in another woman’s arms, of his love for her blowing away like the leaves off a dying tree.

“I would return to the castle though Stone Creek,” said Lady Stark to keep her thoughts from drifting.

“Past the girl Alys’s house?” asked Ser Harwyn although he already knew the answer. He as well as any who were there that day when the bandits were tried and condemned by Lord Cregan Stark knew the wroth of the Lord of Winterfell and the justice of his lady wife.

It was Ser Harwyn too who found the girl for Lady Stark and told her of her name and where she lived. Alys wed a carpenter, a boy her age with yellow hair and eyes the colour of the sky.

As Lady Stark commanded, they passed though Stone Creek on the way back to the castle. It was a small village of some half a dozen farms and their respective fields. The smallfolk stopped their work when the Lady of Winterfell passed on her tall mare and bowed their heads with respect. The Lady Stark wore a gown of pale poppy red with hems and bodice embroidered in the string-of-gold. It has been more than five years since Lady Y/N of Whytefort became their Lady of Winterfell yet none of her beauty faded in that time. She only grew further into her womanhood although ruling Winterfell made Lady Y/N harder. It strengthened her back in her saddle and firmed her slender yet womanly body with authority.

Lady Stark passed by the girl Alys’s house. She saw her in her garden surrounded by blooming herbs as she fed the chickens, her newborn baby crying softly in its woven bassinet. It has been a while since Y/N passed through Stone Creek for the last time she saw Alys was when the girl was still great with child.

Lady Stark smiled to herself and spurred Tempest on. The escort of knights followed as their hooves thumped through the small village. Winterfell already rose in the distance when the sky turned grey, its menacing clouds foretelling rain.

The company spurred their mounts to a leisurely gallop as they crossed the fields and meadows back to the safety of the castle. A drop of rain fell here and there but Lady Stark hoped to reach Winterfell before the downpour. The air was thick with humidity in the face of the summer. Y/N thought she heard thunder in the distance yet her eyes fell upon a darkness beneath the walls of Winterfell.

Lady Stark reined Tempest to an abrupt halt at the sight of the massive host of warriors beneath her castle. Ser Harwyn and the knights pulled up their mounts to a sudden stop as well, their horses neighing and pacing anxiously.

The sound of Y/N’s heart echoed through her mind as hot fever crept up her neck. Her breath caught in her throat.

“Gods,” gasped Lady Stark soundlessly as more raindrops began to fall but her gaze was set on the horizon.

Y/N's heels nudged Tempest’s belly as she urged her on with haste. They fell into a gallop so swift that Lady Stark’s hair escaped her pearl-embroidered net and floated freely in the wind. The castle approached quickly yet not nearly quickly enough. Tempest’s long muscular legs outran the other mounts who carried knights clad in heavy armour. Lady Y/N passed through the winter town, nearly knocking down a man and his flour cart in her haste. The sound of Tempest’s horseshoes against the cobblestones of the castle echoed in Y/N’s ears along with the wild beating of her own heart.

Lady Stark reached the innermost courtyard as thick raindrops began to fall in the thousands. As Y/N reined Tempest in, the young mare nearly rose to her hind legs. Tempest paced restlessly and snorted loudly as her breathless mistress sat frozen in her saddle. Y/N’s eyes found her husband standing beneath the stone canopy of the castle’s entrance, his formidable grey eyes awaiting the sight of the approaching rider.

Y/N’s breathing was loud and laboured as heavy rain fell down her face. Thunder echoed through the sky as Lord Stark came out to her. A stableboy rushed in and took the reins of Lady Stark’s mount. Cregan’s arms went to his wife’s waist as he lifted her from her saddle and helped her down. Y/N’s hands gripped onto Cregan’s arms, holding him tightly. To her, he looked the same as the day he left her. Her eyes welled with hot tears as heavy rain poured on the both of them.

“Is it really you?” asked Y/N, tears falling down her cheeks. Her body trembled. “Are you … Are you really back?”

Cregan watched her beautiful eyes, deep like pools with hope and longing. “It’s me,” he spoke as his large sword-calloused hand caressed her cheek, the tip of his thumb brushing across her lips. Cregan leaned in and kissed her desperately, having dreamed of this moment for what seemed to him a hundred years. His arms locked around Y/N’s waist, her feet no longer touching the floor. Even as they reached for air, their lips returned to one another’s, not being able to let go of each other’s bodies.

“Father,” said a small, breathless voice yet it was the only voice that could make the Lord and Lady of Winterfell tear away from each other.

Rickon stood beneath the stone canopy, not being able to believe his eyes either.

“Father!” called Rickon and ran out into the summer rain, his arms wrapping around his father’s neck. Cregan picked up his son and held the boy close to him, his heart aching with the time he had missed fighting for a crown he did not care for.

“Did you look after your mother, son?” asked Cregan against his son’s hair. Rickon pulled away, his big grey eyes meeting his father’s as he smiled.

“I did,” said Rickon proudly, “And I looked after Sarra too.”

Cregan turned to Y/N with Rickon securely in his arms. His grey eyes were drenched with guilt and love so profound he did not know how he was able to contain it in his chest.

“I would meet her,” asked Cregan, his voice soft as he stole another kiss from his wife. She took his hand and nodded as they got away from the rain.

Sarra was down for an afternoon sleep when Y/N showed Cregan to her nursery. The wetnurse stood up and bowed, startled as she saw the Lord of Winterfell had returned.

"Leave us please," Lady Stark gave her a small smile. The wetnurse bowed again and left the Lord and Lady of Winterfell with their daughter.

Cregan knelt beside Sarra’s small bed, his heart ripping into a thousand small pieces. A shaky breath escaped his lungs as he caressed his daughter’s soft hair from her face.

“She is so beautiful,” whispered Cregan, unable to take his eyes off Sarra. “She looks just like you.”

Y/N ran her hand across Cregan’s broad shoulders as she stood beside him, her heart filled with so much happiness it brought tears to her eyes. The Gods listened to her prayers.

Cregan took Y/N’s palm and kissed it as rain dripped off her long hair. He looked up at her. She looked even more beautiful than he remembered.

“I missed you, my love,” said Cregan as he stood up, his hands cupping Y/N’s cheeks. “I always dreamed of you.” He caressed Y/N's face gently with his thumbs, his gaze memorizing her beautiful eyes. Cregan kissed his wife tenderly.

#house of the dragon #game of thrones #hotd #house of the dragon fanfic #cregan stark #cregan stark x reader #hotd cregan #cregan stark x y/n #winterfell #house stark #the wolf of the north #cregan fanfiction

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rboooks · 1 year ago

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DC x DP Fic idea: The Ghost Trio's Food Trip

Gotham has always had an overwhelming pollution problem. They accepted it- even Poison Ivy knew there wasn't much chance to undo what's been done. She merely fought for what was left- and they learned to live with the tainted water, smoke-covered sky, and sometimes spicy air.

The Gotham river wasn't the color of water anymore, it's was either black or on good days dark green.

This is how it was for generations, some saying even before the first Wayne- one of the original founders of Gotham- moved in.

Then one night, Gotham saw three glowing figures in the sky. Now, metas weren't uncommon but everyone knew Batman's stance on them. Just as they knew it would happen, , the Bats attempted to knock the figures down.

Only.....the three fought off all the Bats and won. Gotham Collective held their breath as the strange glowing people brought their Dark Knight and his team to their knees.

A young girl with pure white hair kept Robin, Spoiler and Red Robin a fair fight but ultimately she was victorious.

A young adult man with the same hair color toyed with Nightwing, Red Hood and Signal, looking to be treating their fight like a game.

But worst of all was the young teenage boy who held off Batman and Orphan like they were a annoying fly.

Once the dust settled, the teenager- the apparent leader of the trio- floated a camera from a local need crew to broadcast they defeat of the Batclan.

He is holding the camera like a phone angering his face and the two others to share the screen.

"People of Gotham! I am Phantom, with me is my brother-um what's your code name again?"

The adult man rolled his eyes "Specter"

"Really? That's what you're going with?" Phantom asked and gets smack on the back of his head by Specter.

The young girl giggles, throwing her face into the frame to shout." And I'm Wraith!"

"Come on; we can't all be another word for a ghost!" Phantom whines. "Isn't there something else you want to be called?"

Specter raises a brow, forcefully taking the camera out of Phantom's hand so that his face takes up the entire screen. He stares into the lens, allowing every citizen of Gotham to see his inhuman feature as he smirks."Call me Daddy."

"DAN, NO!" Phantom screams in horror. Wraith cackles somewhere off-screen as Specter blows the camera a kiss. He slaps Phantom's hands away from the desperate attempt to get control of the video camera. "You can be Specter, just never call yourself that again!"

"Dan! Keep away!" Wraith shouts, and the man throws the camera at her as Phantom screams in outrage.

"Give that back!"

"Come and get it!" She taunts only to, throw it back to Specter as Phantom rounds on her.

As the camera jerks back and forth, Gotham can catch glimpses of their heroes. All tied up with glowing green ropes a few feet away, looking worse for wear but awake and quiet.

The three made the mistake of allowing time to plan.

Phantom eventually regains the camera after a while. He clears his throat. "As I was saying, I am Phantom and these are my brother Specter and my sister Wraith. We have ripped open a portal to your city to place claim on your resources! Should you get in the way of our feast, you will be destroyed!"

"What resources do you want?" Red Robin asked somewhere to the right.

Phantom points to the sky, the river and certain parts of the city, dramatically announcing "The ectoplasm!"

The what?

"Today we feast!" He screams and his siblings take flight.

Wraith jumps into the sky, flying across the city in neck breaking speeds, leaving in her trail.....a streak of clear blue sky?

Specter dives head first into the river, absorbing....the black tar and trash leaing clear water?

Phantom inhales, dragging up litter off the closet streets around him. It Flys around him in glowing green, and the boy stuffs them into his mouth. He moans as he chewing. "Scrumptious"

Specter returns, carrying a giant green transparent jar of what looks like Gotham slime swishing within it. He sticks in a straw, tilting the jar in his younger brother's direction. "You have to try a drink of this! The ectoplasm is amazingly sweet!"

As Phantom takes a sip. "Awesome! It's taste just like Far Frozen sparkling water!"

"Guys! Even the air here is tasty!" Wraith announces as she flouts back down her own transparent jar holding what looks like all the smoke and dangerous gasses of Gotham city. "Take a swift!"

The two slam their heads through the glowing green, taking in a long sniff and sighing.

"Wait. Wait. Wait." Red Robin calls, gaining all three attention, "All you want is Gotham's pollution?"

"No, we want the Ectoplasm," Wraith replies, crossing her arms. "And there is nothing you can do to stop us! Nothing any of you can!"

The feed cuts then as a giant portal rips above the city, and the three siblings, fly through it, laughing evilly the entire time.

They return several times a week to "steal" from Gotham and the citizens have never seen their city so clean.

Or Danny, Dan, and Dani have made up and become actual siblings once coming out to their parents. A few quick adoptions papers later, the trio bond by exploring through various doors of the Infinite Realms.

They quickly discover that different worlds have a ton of ectoplasm just up grabs since humans don't eat it and start a food tour across the multiverse during siblings night.

Jazz is welcome, but since she can't eat ectoplasm as they can, she always has a pizza- her comfort food- waiting back at her apartment and a fun session of Dnd ready for them.

Meanwhile, the Bats don't know what type of aliens the Ghost Trio are, but they have been helping with the pollution problem and can't find it in themselves to try and stop them. Damian has never seen the bottom of Gotham River, but he enjoyed painting it after Specter "stole all the ectoplasm" from it, leaving only clean water.

He hopes they visit the beach next. Maybe there was hope for their reefs with the Ghost Trio around.

Tim and Bruce are the only ones obsessed with finding answers, everyone else cheers when the three fly by.

#dc x dp crossover #dc x dp #Ectoplasm in Dc is just pollution #the ghost trio just want to have fun #gotham is going green!

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dinsbeskar · 13 days ago

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Wicked Game (Sauron/F!Reader)

He knows he shouldn't covet you, that he is above such earthy things as love. So why does he stalk you in the forests you call home? It's love at first sight, and the feeling is mutual; or:

Sauron engages in some light stalking and gets the girl somehow.

Prequel to In the Dark of the Night // AO3 Link

Songs to listen to: Wicked Game / Beautiful Stranger / Iris

What a wicked game you play, to make me feel this way

What a wicked thing to do, to let me dream of you

Warnings: 18+! Smut, fluff, lil bit of angst, P in V sex, fingering, licking/biting. Sauron!! He's super creepy, sorry, idk what to say, there's some stalking, some creepy behaviour, he's a bit unhinged. Love at first sight!! Like babe it's been an afternoon, calm down. Anyway we move fast!!

A/N: bro is head empty, no thoughts, down bad in this, sorry!! in this house we subscribe to the 'elves fuck once and they're married for eternity' idea, so there's that tiny spoiler for you!

Word Count: 6.2k!

Mairon was already old when he met you, unfathomably ancient in fact, wandering Arda and beholding the power of creation, amongst other things. He was sure he had already experienced everything there was on the physical plain, but you would prove him wrong indeed. When the first Elves awoke, he felt a pull, like many of the Ainur, to see the new life that now roamed the forests and plains they had sung into being. He was not the first spirit to stumble across the peoples of Middle Earth, and he would not be the last. Watching your people dance and sing and create gave him new inspiration to take back to Aulë's forge, to bring order and balance to your lives as he saw fit, for who could know better than he?

Today was a feast day, when all of your people were out in the forest hunting and foraging, mirthful song filling the glades as you ran barefoot through the trees, breathless with laughter and exertion, carrying a basket of berries meant for the evening's festivities. Pale golden light streamed through the leafy canopy, dust motes floating in the rays and sparkling like the stars above. You looked around for your companions, a little far off beyond the thicket you had picked through for its fruit. Unperturbed, you continued, hearing the silvery sound of water flowing somewhere in the vicinity. A drink or a dip was almost certain, you thought, to refresh you and your companions before the feast, but you would find it first and save them from searching. Soft birdsong and rustling leaves accompanied by a warm breeze made for the perfect setting; how could you wish for more?

He makes a great effort to be silent, not wishing to frighten you, unsure of how his sudden appearance might affect you. After all, you hadn't heard him the countless times before, why should you now? He matches your footsteps, remaining in step with you behind the trees in the merciful shadow, careful not to disturb the undergrowth, picking carefully through the wildflowers that scent the air. Your pointed ears prick up at a rustle in the trees, and you snap your head round to investigate. He darts behind a gnarled oak tree, holding his breath and awaiting your discovery. You smile and shake your head softly; what could you possibly be afraid of in these forests, your home for decades? You continue following the sound of the stream up ahead, ignoring all other sounds in the forest now, much to his satisfaction. How innocent you are, how much you need his protection, for what would you do if there were forces that wished to subdue you or do you harm? The glint in his eye grows as he draws closer, still choosing to remain hidden from you. He could use his powers to disguise himself, to stalk you unnoticed almost hand in hand with you, and had done on a few occasions, close enough to smell your soft hair, even to take a few strands for himself, but somehow he likes this better, imagining you the innocent prey to his stealthy predator, a thrill at the though of catching you rushing through him as quickly as he pushes it away. He only wants to watch you, to know you, to observe, nothing more. What interest could you possibly have in one another beyond curiosity?

The first time he saw you, many moons ago, you'd been surrounded by your fellow Elves, dancing in harmony in a field of wildflowers, sweet music in the air. He hadn't thought much of you at first if truth be told, you were all very much alike; all fair and graceful, joyful and innocent. It was only when the music picked up, your dance became faster and more frenetic, that an Elf with long golden hair had tripped and fallen, disrupting the rhythm, leaving all your companions giggling at her misfortune. He too had laughed at her stumble, grateful that the music covered his sudden outburst, but then he noticed you, with your hand outstretched and a comforting smile to greet your fallen comrade, who shook herself off while you picked stray leaves from her hair. She seemed unhurt, and no one else was concerned, already having resumed their merriment, but you held back a moment to check she was well. He was instantly captivated, itching to reveal himself and carry you off, to protect the light within you, or consume it wholly. The tiny semblance of self-restraint he had left held him back, told him to wait and observe, to absorb all he could about you; the idea of you rejecting his advances was intolerable, triggering waves of nauseous anger throughout his being. No, patience would serve him, and so he had waited, oh so patiently. Your kindness had, and would, be your undoing.

Illuminated up ahead is the stream you've been chasing; it's small, barely a trickle, but you follow it regardless. The water is cool and clear and refreshes your worn feet, and you lift your dress to keep it clear as you pad down the river bed, feeling the sandy mud between your toes being washed away as you lift your feet into the current. The light is beginning to fade now, you know you should turn back, but you're sure there is a pool nearby, and it would feel so good to swim a little before getting back to the others. They could share in it tomorrow, but today you could bask in some sweet time alone.

He has been following your softly trodden path in the mossy forest floor, but when he reaches the water's edge, it vanishes. Cursing, he casts about, searching for a hint of your next steps. He had only stopped for a moment, distracted by the way your hair catches the light, your graceful smile, the way your dress flows over your frame. A fleeting thought of taking that same dress off you, the image of you pliant underneath him, all had left him breathless, frankly caught unawares, still unused to the urge to get close to you even after all this time, and the strange feelings that coursed through his fair form that he had never experienced before setting his gaze upon you. He had passed a few golden afternoons like this - perhaps many if he were ever honest - watching and waiting for you, but every occasion felt like a lifetime, which for Mairon was indeed no understatement.

Frustration coursed through him, filling the pit of his stomach with a strange churning at the thought of losing you; it was a feeling he couldn't quite place, nor come to terms with. These mortal forms were not for him, he decided, the lack of clarity in these feelings was suffering enough, and he turned to leave, embarrassed now that he had let it get this far. It was a foolish errand, carried out once too often, following you through the forest with no thought but to see what you would do if you only turned around, saw him, embraced him-

A sharp crack rang out through the trees as he snapped a branch under his feet in his haste, all thoughts of moving in the shadows abandoned as his self-admonishment moved him to run, to leave now before he could become entangled with you. But as he scolded himself for his lack of self control, he heard you call out.

"Who's there? Did you find me? And here I was, hoping for some peace," you laugh, expecting your friends to join you as you wade in the crystal clear waters.

Your eyes widen and you stare at the stranger who appears as if from the shadows themselves, a small smile gracing his face. He is ethereal, and frankly you have never beheld a being more beautiful, but for the first time in your life, a small voice deep in your mind advises caution.

"I didn't mean to startle you, young one," his smooth voice reaches your ears and sends tingles from the top of your head to the tips of your toes.

"You didn't," you lie, after a long pause, not wanting to discomfort him any more than he seemed to be. Blood rushed to your face as he regards you intensely, as if you'd met before.

"Were you looking for something? The pool perhaps? It is a warm day, I couldn't be too surprised to find someone else had the same idea." You gesture to yourself with your skirts around your waist, legs submerged.

He steps closer, still regarding you, his smile widening. You had said something right apparently, and you couldn't shake the feeling of satisfaction that his lovely smile gave you; as long as he kept looking at you like that, you felt you might be content forever, such were the tender pangs your heart suddenly felt in his presence. You didn't even know his name, and so immediately you ask.

"I have many names," he articulates carefully, eyes on yours, unblinking.

"So what name should I use for you?" You ask teasingly, beginning to step out of the water, wringing the edges of your skirts out.

Unthinking he stretches out his hand, and as if on instinct, you take it, not needing the assistance but immediately grateful you took it. His hand is warm and strong, and encircles yours comfortingly, fitting perfectly. A wave of some strange feeling overtakes you, a heat beginning in your abdomen, flowing through you. You've never experienced it before, but from what you have heard from your married kin, it might be called lust.

Your face feeling hot now, you look away, anywhere but at this beautiful stranger, and notice a small dark stain blooming on his shoe. Your eyes widen and you drop to your knees to look closer, unheeding of the change in his stance as he takes you in from above. What magic could you wield over him in this position, he wonders.

"You're hurt, my lord," you motion to his foot, and he realises that in his trance, the branch had broken his sole and pierced his flesh. The pain had gone unnoticed until now, your spell over him seeming to soothe any ill in his body or soul, but now that you'd pointed it out, he winced and cursed this body of flesh and bone, so easily vulnerable to the perils of mortality, even if his fëa was not.

"Come, let me look at it, it might be serious," you beckon him to follow you to a fallen tree trunk, lying oh so conveniently on its side, as if waiting for two lovers to take their seats on its bark. He stands awkwardly, watching you, his brow furrowed as if he had no idea what you have planned, before you laugh and pull him to sit. Without ceremony, you strip him of his shoe and examine the wound.

"That is a lot of blood for such a small wound," you murmur, tracing the arch of his foot. You find yourself touching his skin a fraction too long, and without looking at him, you straighten and go back to the pool.

His eyes never leave you, even as you avoid his gaze, ripping a strip of gauzy fabric from your dress and wetting it, before hurrying back. Almost imperceptible to the average observer, your hands shake, but he is not the average observer, and he has observed you for quite a while now. You're nervous, he realises with a tiny smirk, and it thrills him, sending a delicious shiver down his spine. All these new feelings this body gave him, they don't appear to cease evolving while you're this close, close enough that he feels your breath on his skin and nearly gasps. He needs to pull himself together, but try as he might, alas, your kindness was intoxicating. He had known such goodness in Aman when he'd dwelt there with his kin, if you could call them that, but his recent company was somewhat lacking in that department.

You sit back on your haunches and look once more at the wound, now nearly clean and seemingly smaller than it had been. Shrugging to yourself, you carefully dab away the blood that still drips onto the ground beneath you, soaking into the moss and ferns; you don't notice how they seem to brown and wilt with each drop.

"Is everything alright, my lady?" He asks, quick to notice your confusion, eager to distract you from the plants at your knees.

His lady, that did sound delightful. You know it is a manner of speech, but for a moment it is rather blissful to imagine it, the lady to this gracious lord.

"I think I might have overestimated how badly you were injured, it seems to be only a scratch," you reply, still a little bemused as to the disproportionate amount of blood. How were you to know that he could heal himself with nary a thought.

You start to pull away, but he is reluctant to let you go so soon, wishing for a moment it had been a serious matter, that he would require all of your gentle care and undivided attention for the foreseeable future, kicking himself that he didn't allow the wound to fester and bloom. He casts about for any excuse and uncharacteristically lands on a weak one.

"Your dress, my lady, how can I make it up to you? After all, your efforts ought not be in vain." He knows how to ingratiate himself with most folk, and makes the most of his skills to do so, but there is a tiny part of him now that actually feels he owes a kindness in return. It's an alien notion, and he attempts to brush it aside, but as he lingers in your presence, he realises that he would sooner abduct you from this glade than let you leave him, and if a kindness is what it will take, then he will fulfil it.

A small crinkle appears in your brow, then you glance down at the torn hem and chuckle.

"It is nothing, my lord, easily fixed, and anyone would have done the same." You graciously reply.

The way you look up at him through your lashes, his heart skips a beat; he didn't even know it could do that.

Your small nervous smile becomes radiant, beaming even, as you bask in the glow of the dappled light illuminating his face. You realise you don't want him to leave just yet, inexplicably drawn to his presence, and you cast about for any reason at all that would keep him here.

"I'm afraid your shoe is a little wet." To your credit, it actually is wet, full of blood, but in an inexplicable act to scupper his departure, before he can react and you can elaborate, you find yourself holding it on the water's edge.

Your hands move faster than your brain, and you drop it into the shallows, looking him dead in the eye.

For a moment, all is still between you, and you bite your lip, your mischievous grin suddenly uneasy as your mind catches up with you and you consider what in all of Middle Earth you just did. This is a total stranger, an ethereallly beautiful one at that, and you have no idea how he will react to your escapade. You straighten and wring your hand a little behind your back, awaiting a wrath that would never come.

"It would appear it is very wet, my lady." And he throws back his head and laughs long and hard, a sound that you want to elicit from him again and again.

When you are lying entwined together, many years and hardships later, he will ask you what you were thinking, and as ever you answer him honestly: you only wanted him to stay, however you had to do it.

With a playful laugh, you retrieve the sodden shoe and shake it off, before holding it out to him. He can still leave, you think, but it will be mighty awkward.

He takes it, throws it behind him, kicks off his other shoe, and shrugs off his robe. Your mouth falls open a little and you lick your lips unconsciously, as his frame is revealed, taut and lean, through his thin shirt. He rucks up his trousers and joins you in the shallow water, shivering a little at the sensation.

Instinctively, you outstretch your hand to steady him, and he takes it without thinking. His touch soothes any nerves you had and sparks a fire that seems to trail up your arm and end in your aching chest. You hadn't noticed you were holding your breath and slowly exhaled, careful not to alert him to your sudden onslaught of sensation. He considers you for a moment, smile tugging at his lips, seemingly fascinated by where you are joined, fingers entwined. And then he has a mad idea.

The tension in the air is cut by a sudden splash of water on your face, and as you clear your eyes, you realise he was the one that had thrown it. He had seen many an elf play-fighting in the water all the time, throwing it at one another joyously, victory seemingly determined by who doused their opponents the most. He had never partaken, obviously, but now inspiration took him, and you had made the first move with his shoe, but now as he watched your face screw up with indignation, water in your eyes and hair, he wasn't so sure it was the right jest with which to entice you.

For a moment you are dumbfounded. This stranger, whose name you still didn't even know, whom you'd only met in the last hour, had started a water fight.

Seemingly affronted, you snatch your hand away and make to leave, turning your back to him. His face falls and he realises this was probably not the way to win your affections.

"My lady, I-" his apology is cut short by an armful of water to the face, as you reach down into the pool and swing as much as you can in his general direction in one fell swoop.

Cackling with triumphant laughter, you can't help but feel a little sorry for him as he stands there absolutely sopping wet, eyebrows in his hairline, looking positively flabbergasted. Unfortunately for you, his eyes narrow as he realises your subterfuge, and the game commences.

It is over soon enough, the two of you emerging soaked and giggling like children, having run rings around each other and giving as good as you got, both of you thoroughly avenged. As you both wade back to shore, he takes your hand and holds it in the air.

"Ladies and gentlemen, lords and ladies, I present the victor of the battle-"

He is interrupted by the both of you breaking down into breathless laughter once again, two strangers no more.

On the sandy bank, he climbs out first, and awaits you, but you hold back.

"What should I call you then, my lord, unless that is what you prefer to be named?" You have to ask, needing introductions now you had so thoroughly beaten him in battle, never mind your fascination with him, the overwhelming urge to pull him close.

"I have many names, my lady, and you have not yet told me yours," he replies, almost but not quite frowning at you, confused as to why it really matters, why you would need to know who he is after having passed such a pleasurable afternoon together.

"You first, I asked you before and you avoided the question." Your expression is now serious; why would he want to conceal himself from you, after you had passed such a pleasurable afternoon together?

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"I have many names, but the one I prefer," he holds his breath a little, still unsure as to how you might receive him, "is Mairon."

After a long pause, in which he considers fleeing, or possibly burning the forest down, your expression brightens as you mull over his name, feel it in your mouth, wonder over the meaning.

"That is beautiful," you murmur, "the admirable? You must be something wonderful to have earned such a name, my lord."

Relief washes over him as he realises his true name must not yet be known in these parts; rumours and slander would not colour his attempts to woo you after all.

His gaze softens as he watches you taste his name on your tongue, and he has a sudden aching longing to know what it sounds like when you're on your back and breathless under him. Surely nothing could be sweeter.

"And you, love, what am I to call you?" He is so struck by you, he barely notices the crucial detail that slips from his lips, but you do, and you regard him with a strange look he can't place.

Love, he said, so casually and so delicious to hear, your breath hitches and for a second the world spins. You've only just met this man, if he is even a man, and he uses such pet names as if you've known each other a lifetime.

"Amarië, that's what everyone calls me." You had almost forgotten he had asked, and it was only the silence between you that reminded you to answer.

"Goodness. A fitting name for so virtuous a maiden." He steps closer, still on the bank, oh so tall above you, the light through the trees illuminating him from behind, leaving his features in shadow.

Of course, he already knew your name, and had always thought it fitting. Indeed, it was one of the reasons he had hesitated to approach you, for surely one so good could not possibly want nor need one such as him, despite the ache in his heart that told him you were his to take, the rest of Arda be damned. He knew his purpose in Arda was a valiant one; his methods, however, he was aware they were... contestable.

Your face grows hot at his compliment, and you look down and away, anywhere but at his gaze, currently fixed on you, intense and contemplative. He gently lifts your chin, seeming to study your every feature, every nuance in your expression until he sees what he desires.

A shadow passes over his face, before he tightens his grip and finally pulls you from the shallow water. You stumble a little, but he is right there to catch you, strong arms around you as your free hand is crushed between you, pressed against his chest. His eyes are dark, scaring you and thrilling you all at once, like a wolf studying its prey before their total annihilation. Then he takes your face in his hands and claims your lips, as if he's finally satisfying some dark long-held urge, and you cannot help but melt.

It is as if he has done this a thousand times before, teasing you with his tongue, demanding entrance to your mouth as if he wants to drown in you.

Electric tingles spread over your skin everywhere he touches, from your neck where he grips you softly, to your lips he has claimed for his own, to your waist that he refuses to yield from his embrace.

He is unrelenting, refusing to let you come up for air, even as you claw at his arms for release. Finally he seems to realise his mistake and pulls back, lips swollen and parted in pleasure. You take a deep breath, chuckling a little as you do so.

"You are no Elf, my lord Mairon," you remark, righting your dress and smoothing your hair where he had wound his fingers.

With a slightly apologetic smirk, he nods. "I am something far greater, my love, so from time to time, I might forget such... intricacies."

In this moment, you feel as though your heart might burst, wanting him close, touching you, encircling you. But a shiver travels down your spine as the little voice whispering warnings becomes a scream, beholding him not as an ethereal being sent to ravish you, but a danger to ruin you. It was all too brief and you shook it off, for how could this beautiful creature ever mean you harm?

Evening becomes night, and you migrate from the tree trunk to the forest floor. Nestled into him with his arm wrapped around your shoulders, you share the basket of berries that will surely be missed at the feast of your kin, and talk for hours about everything and nothing. He tells you of his work, that he is a smith and loves nothing more than to create beautiful things, but he has never had more exquisite inspiration than you.

He seems to know just what to say, soft words whispered only to please you, and all you want is more. He traces his fingers up and down your arm, across your collarbone, into the shell of your ear, idly mapping every inch of you.

He doesn't press you further than gentle touches and tiny kisses peppering your skin. Perhaps though he is no Elf, he is aware of your people's customs, that to give yourself to him in body would be to make the two of you one forever, body and soul. You're not so sure that isn't what you want, but you appreciate the gesture nonetheless; after all, you have only known him an afternoon.

It takes all of his self-restraint to suppress the urge to take you here and now, after all, who were you to stop him? But he wanted you when you were ready for him, mind, body, and soul, and he was willing to wait, even if it took an age. Admittedly it would be a difficult wait, he muses, as he realises the close proximity of your body to his is having an unexpected effect on him. He shifts position to avoid you noticing how hard he is just from touching you, and he prays to any of the Valar who might have an ear for him that his wait for you will be swift.

You twirl a tiny flower idly between your forefinger and thumb, gazing up at the heavens, your other hand wrapped in his. You are such exquisite inspiration, he muses, smirking as he realises he can have you after all. He sits up, making you groan, robbed of his warmth.

"What are you doing, love?" You complain, taking a slightly petulant tone that makes him chuckle.

"You'll see, patience is a virtue," he reaches out with his closest hand and smoothes your hair, gesturing for you to lie back down.

You kick your feet a little, suitably admonished but impatient still.

"Come back to me, I had just got comfortable, and you've ruined it now!" You laugh at him, his back turned to you so you can't make out what he is doing.

You sigh long and loud, earning an affectionate chuckle, before you lay back down and close your eyes. It is but a few moments later that he grasps your hand and pulls you up to face him. When you see what he has readied, you gasp, tears pricking your eyes.

Purple irises grow with literal wild abandon in these fields and you had always loved them, weaving them in your hair and stitching their image on your garb. In his hand, perched on his fingertips as if it is the most precious thing in creation, is a tiny iris in full bloom, its slender stem wound and plaited into a ring, with its gorgeous indigo flower crowning it like no diamond ever could.

He is on his knees in front of you, ring in hand, and for a second you cannot quite put the pieces together. You have known him a day, if that? It is a beautiful gift, but can you accept the deeper meaning behind it, that seems to lie in his expression, if not his words.

"It is beautiful, my lord," you sigh, "I think I shall require your aid in putting it on, it is so delicate after all."

Your heart aches at his wide smile, the crinkle of his eyes as he wordlessly slips it onto the fourth finger of your left hand, which surely he cannot know would mean-

"I would make you mine, my love, if you would have me," he murmurs, heart beating out of his chest, sentiment momentarily making him soft and weak for you.

So he does know the significance, and in an instant you feel as though you've been doused in liquid fire, nerves tying your stomach in knots, regarding his gift on your finger with equal parts trepidation and excitement.

You close the space between you and grasp his face with both hands, claiming his lips for your own, fingers travelling to his hair and over the pointed tips of his ears. He moans deep in his chest and pushes you backwards into your makeshift bed, peppering you with kisses until all your skin is ablaze.

"I am yours," you breathe, words so soft he might have missed them, had you not whispered directly into his ear, clutching his neck and whimpering as he maps every uncovered inch of you he can reach with his lips.

He groans, a noise so guttural it surprises you in the best way, sending a wave of arousal to between your legs. He rolls his hips against yours, and you feel something hard against your mound, through all the layers of fabric between you.

The stars blaze above you, hot and bright, but they have nothing on the way he makes you feel. You have heard of love at first sight, but never thought it might happen to you, that it was rare enough if it happened at all.

His hot breath trails down your neck to your collarbone, and his clever fingers work to unlace you from the fabric shielding you from his gaze. He stops a moment, breathing heavily.

"Tell me you want this -" his silver tongue licks your ear and sucks at your neck. "Tell me you need this."

His gaze is so heated, and his voice rough with arousal, that you clench your legs together to relieve that ache that has been building there since you met him. It seems like forever ago now, impossible that it has not even been a day.

"I need you," you hiss, desperate for any touch he'll bestow upon you. "...I'll always need you, now that I have you, I can't let you go."

Your words shatter the last remaining resolve he had not to ruin you, and he takes you as his own. Stripping every inch of you until you are bare before him, desperate for his skin on yours, he wraps you in his arms, legs entwined with yours. The violent urge to claim you was not satisfied, but he would have plenty of time to show you all of him; tonight was your wedding night, and you deserved what gentleness he could provide.

He runs his fingers through your slick, fascinated by how wet you are for him. Perhaps these mortal forms were not so bad after all.

You moan his name and beg for more, though you cannot possibly know what you are asking for. His lascivious grin sends tremors through you, a swooping feeling in the pit of your stomach telling you there is no going back now.

He loosens himself from his trousers, shucks them off almost clumsily in his haste to be inside you. He is beautiful, you reflect, as you take in his bare torso, his strong legs, and all the flesh in between. His size shocks you a little and you wonder how he plans to use it.

He sees your eyes widen and immediately covers you with his body, kissing softly at your neck so to better hear your tiny sounds of pleasure. In time he will make you scream, he vows.

"It's alright, love," he reassures you with a soft smile, "I've got you, I won't let it hurt."

His fingers move in comforting circles in the small of your back, at the apex of your thighs, across your mound. He gathers the slick from your entrance, readying himself with a stroke. He is already so painfully hard, but he has to come inside you, no way will he waste his seed on the forest floor.

He holds your gaze as he lowers himself to between your thighs, wrapping your legs around him.

"Pull me to you, love, make me yours," he pants, cock straining at your entrance, waiting for you to take the plunge.

It's like standing at a precipice; the fear of falling is so closely tied to the fear of jumping. But you bite your lip and dig your fingernails into his back, tighten your calves, and pull his lower body into yours.

You want to scream, the stretch is too much, he is too big and he's hitting somewhere delicious inside you that makes you see stars. He doesn't move, letting you feel all of him, relishing in you taking him like the good girl you are.

"Well done, love, so good for me, you feel so fucking good," he exhales, towering over you while the moon illuminates him from behind, leaving his expression inscrutable.

His fingers on your abdomen are so soothing, the stinging stretch you felt disappears, leaving only white hot pleasure in its wake. You begin to move your hips against him, aching for more friction, more skin on yours, you'd take anything he would give you.

At first his movements are slow and rhythmical, as if you are made of glass, but your impatient whines encourage him to release himself upon you, snapping his hips in time to your thrusts against him, endlessly surprised but thrilled at your eagerness to please him. He has chosen so well.

The intensity of the moment gets the better of both of you, and before long you are chanting his name in his ear, chasing your inevitable ruin on his cock.

He comes first, much to his eternal embarrassment, unable to prevent spilling inside you as your tight cunt clenches his flesh. You feel him pulse inside you and it tips you over the edge, a silent scream on your lips as fire overtakes your flesh and leaves you drowning in him.

For a second, you behold each other as you truly are, not in body but spirit, and it terrifies you; you see something black as the darkest night throwing off flames that lick at your being, triggering that sick swooping feeling in your abdomen again. He is enthralled by you, bright and radiant like the morning star, and he wants to coat himself in your light, drink it in and burn all of Arda until there is nothing but the two of you in the cosmos.

His attentions to your neck slow and he leans back to look at you in all your glory, radiant under him in body and soul, as you lazily trace his hips with your fingers, coming down from your high and needing nothing more than to be held.

"You did so well, my love, so good for me," he whispers as he releases you from his grasp, laying you down beside him and pressing himself against your back with his arm slung over your torso possessively.

Your eyes begin to droop with the lateness of the hour and the exertion of your wedding night, and while he murmurs in your ear how much he loves you, how proud he is of you, how much he needs you, you take his hand and sleepily press a kiss to his palm. You snuggle in closer as he draws his robe around the pair of you against the night's chill, and slowly drift off, a smile on your face even in sleep.

He gazes at you adoringly, murmuring sweet nothings as your body relaxes into his.

"Beautiful girl, only mine," his voice is so soft yet somehow it finds you even as you begin to slumber. "My sweet wife, we will know peace together, I swear it to you."

He wants to claw inside his own chest and pull his treacherous heart out with his bare hands, for surely that pain would be easier to bear than this. He curses himself for being so weak, and you for being so tempting, before closing his eyes to join you.

He thought by having you, possessing you, that these feelings might be assuaged, that the urgency he felt to be near you would fade, and he could move on from this unique torment. Alas they had increased a hundredfold, and he swore on his fëa itself that no harm would ever come to you, that he would cherish you all his days.

What a wicked thing to do, to make me dream of you

No, I don't wanna fall in love with you

#sauron x reader #annatar x reader #halbrand x reader #the rings of power #my fic #i know the lore fairly well but tbh I've messed about with it bc it's my fic and i do what i want 😂#so there was no sex but i got into the hades/persephone vibes of him just doing it and marrying her the night of revealing himself #so now there's sex lmfao #its like playing with barbies and making them kiss 😅😂#it's a longer part than planned i kept adding to it smh #anyway enjoy!!

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cyripticchronicler · 6 months ago

Note

i adore your writing & i had an random idea! (it’s absolutely okay if you don’t do it, i just thought i’d request <3)

any of the marauders having a crush on marauders!reader & the other maraduers just straight up teasing him about it all the time yet reader is SO oblivious to it & thinks the maraduer just flirts with everyone 😭

Teasing Words and Hidden Feelings

Paring: James Potter x Reader

Summary: You're used to Sirius and Remus's teasing, you just wish the things they always teased James about were true.

A/N: I haven't written in forever and this definitely isn't my best work. But thank you for requesting! I appreciate it and hope this fic did your request justice. Also please ignore the really bad summary and title lmao.

Warnings: Not proofread, kissing, alcohol, spoiler for the ending of Romeo and Juliet??

Masterlist

The candle-lit hall glows brightly in the dark of the night, chattering bouncing off the stone walls as people eat the feast in front of them. Remus and Sirius sit across from you, a knowing glint in their eyes as they huddle together, whispers drowned out by the bustling crowd in the great hall.

“What?” You question nervously, your hand fiddling with the hem of your skirt as they cast another look your way.

James sits beside you, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder when he notices the confusion on your face. “Ignore them, love, they’re being idiots.” He shoots them a glare and Sirius waggles his eyebrows. “Sorry…Love,” He says to you, bursting out in laughter while he smacks his knee.

Your heart sinks at the feeling of being left out, like you were missing the joke but you push those thoughts away, shooting James a warm smile and shoving food in your mouth.

You’re relatively new to the group. James, Remus and Sirius have been friends for years, even hanging out over the summer, but you’ve only joined their group just last year, and you can’t help but feel you’re missing something when it comes to their jokes.

They've been nothing but kind and inclusive but it’s obvious that there’s something they’re not telling you. And when Sirius starts dramatically confessing his love to Remus while James sits beside you, tense as a rock, you’ve decided to just ask.

“What are you doing?” You ask, your tone light as you look between the boys. Sirius stops what he’s doing, a mischievous smirk gracing his harsh features, “I’m acting out-”

“-The scene for the play he’s in.” James interrupts, laughing awkwardly and running a hand through his hair with flushed cheeks. Your heart tugs at his laugh and you smile, knowing you’d never get sick of hearing his joy.

“You’re in a play, Sirius?” You ask, brows furrowed in confusion as you rack your mind to figure out whether the school even does plays. “Where are you doing the play? I’d love to come.” You smile supportively, though it wavers when you notice James cringing and Remus shooting you a pitying look.

“Oh,” You force a laugh, “You’re not are you?”

Sirius shakes his head, grinning wide, “No, but I’d be great in a play. I mean, I have the looks for it.” He runs his hand through his silky black hair, posing and winking, “I could be part of that muggle play, Romeo and Juliet. Then I’d meet my true love.” He jokes and a small smile pulls at your lips.

James chuckles, his arm hitting yours, “Maybe we should be part of the play, and you’re my Juliet.” Your cheeks flush ferociously at his words, eyes widening but you force yourself to shrug it off, knowing he flirts with everyone. “Yeah, maybe.”

Sirius groans, capturing your attention once again. “Did you hear that, James? Maybe. I’m telling you, darling, he’s going to go back to his dorm and cry himself to sleep. How could you be so cruel?”

You scowl playfully, “He’s going to need to try a lot harder than that if he wants me to be his Juliet.” From the corner of your eye, James nods, eyes glimmering in the candlelight. You turn to look at him fully, shooting him a small smile that he returns.

“You know they both kill themselves, right?” Remus questions from where he sits, silently observing the conversation.

“Oh.”

✰✰✰

The soft crackling of the fireplace has your eyes fluttering shut, moving your hand so that it’s placed under your cheek in a makeshift pillow. You know you should probably head up to your dorm for an actual nap, but the warmth of the common room draws you in until you’re lying on the couch in front of the fire, the hand that’s not under your chin moving to cover your eyes from the bright sun that reflects through the window.

It’s Saturday and you’ve planned to sleep the draining week behind, the clear sky allowing you to rest in an empty common room since everyone else decided to soak in the sun.

You’re close to falling asleep, ready to sleep your problems away when the common room door opens, the familiar sounds of the boys laugh causing you to snap your eyes open.

You smile at the snarky comments aimed at each other, sitting up to peek at them over the couch. Remus spots your slow movements, grinning at you with a roll of his eyes and coming to sit in the armchair across from you.

“Were you trying to sleep?” He asks, amusement shining in his eyes when you nod, returning to your previous position lying down, eyes fighting to stay open.

“How was Hogsmeade?” You attempt to converse, though you wish to sleep. “It was good!” Sirius answers for Remus, patting your head playfully as he moves towards the other couch, legs splayed out in front of him, leaving no room for James and you roll your eyes with a smile, forcing yourself to sit up so there’s room for him.

“Thank you, Love.” He winks and you blush, the strength in your neck failing you as your head falls on his shoulder. He tenses and holds his breath, cheeks turning a deep red.

Remus notices and grins cheekily, “Remember to breathe, James, or else you’ll never get to ask her on a date.”

Your eyes widen and you groan, moving to sit up properly. James grips the back of your neck, moving you so you’re back against his shoulder, your heart beating wildly in your chest, resounding in your ears. “It’s okay, love, I’ll make sure to ask you out on a date before I die.” He mutters, playfulness coating his voice though his smile is strained. You scoff to cover the squeal that threatens to escape your lips, “Go find another girl to torture please.” You don’t mean it, wanting nothing more for James to mean the words he’s saying.

But he’s a flirt. You’ve seen the way he talks to others, the way they blush and bite their lips, you just wish he didn’t have such a big effect on you. That he didn’t cause your heart to speed up, your palms to turn sweaty, or your body to burn from his gaze.

You lay back down, knees curled up to your chest so James has room, you close your eyes, planning to ignore the boys as they chat quietly.

You’re half asleep when James grabs your calf, moving so your feet are atop his legs, thumb gently stroking your ankle.

“You’re so whipped.”

“Shut up, Moony.”

✰✰✰

Your screams are drowned out by the others around you, hands clapping while you jump up and down, breaking out into laughter when you make eye contact with Lily who’s cheering just as hard.

James’ smile is the sun itself, his wide grin shining as he soars through the sky, arm up high, showing off the golden snitch.

His eyes search the crowd, landing on you and you grin, biting your lip to contain your laughter. His eyes crinkle, head tilting in an invite for you to get off the stands.

You make your way with the rest of the crowd, linking arms with Remus so you don’t get split up. You’re talking excitedly when you make it to the field, hands moving frantically in front of you. “He was amazing, Remus! He was so fast- Merlin he’s incredible.” You laugh, jumping up and down.

Remus chuckles. “Why don’t you tell him that? He’d grow red faster than you could blink.” Hitting him playfully on the arm, you roll your eyes. “Oh shush.”

Your eyes track James, talking to Sirius with a big smile. You run up, pulling him in for a tight hug. “You did so well,” You whisper, breath fanning across his neck, unknowingly sending goosebumps up his spine.

He kisses your head, your heart skipping a beat, “Thank you, Love. It means a lot to me.” With one hand stroking your cheek gently, the other moves to push a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

You turn to mush, eyes softening. “James, I-“

“Quick Remus do the same,” You frown, turning around to see Sirius forcing Remus’ hand on his cheek, giving him his best doe eyes.

“What the-“

James forces your eyes back on him, a tight smile on his face. “Ignore them. What were you going to say?”

You shake your head, hands moving to hold his arm, muscles straining against the tight quidditch shirt, “Nothing. Are we celebrating the Gryffindor win tonight?”

He nods, walking off and not casting a glance toward Remus and Sirius behind you, “Yeah, you coming?”

You nod, “For a little bit.”

He winks, wrapping his arm around your waist. “I'm glad, It won’t be a party without you.”

You both jump as Sirius interrupts our conversation, “I’m coming to the party too, Padfoot. Are you just so so happy I’m coming? Will it make the party a million times better?” he pouts, doe eyes aimed at James and you snort.

James groans, pushing him away playfully. “Fuck off.”

He grins, moving so he’s in front of us, walking backwards, “I see who your favourite is. It’ll never be me, will it?” He sighs sadly, lips turning down into a pout.

“She is my favourite,” James mutters, smiling cheekily at me and my cheeks flush.

✰✰✰

The party is in full swing by the time you make it to the common room and everyone cheers when James enters. You grin, moving to give James the spotlight but he grips your hand tightly, ensuring you don’t leave his side.

With a flush, you grab a random bottle of alcohol, pour it into a cup and practically chug it down, relishing in the buzz it gives you.

“You planning on getting drunk?” James asks, amusement shining in his eyes when you pour yourself another drink. “Merlin, yes,” You laugh. He rolls his eyes, hands reaching up to pull the cup from your nimble hands.

Before you have time to glare, he refills it and takes a small sip before handing it back to you.

You grin, grabbing his hand and pulling him into the crowd. He gets swept away, conversing with people about the game. You find Lily and Alice to talk to for a bit, downing your drink and finding another.

By the time James returns to your side from where you’re standing by yourself in the corner, eying the crowd, you’re more than tipsy, on the way to drunk.

“You look so pretty,” James mutters in your ear, causing you to grin. “You’re also pretty.” His cheeks flush a deep red, suddenly shy. “Thank you, love.”

You take a sip from your fifth drink of the night, “You’re also hot.” You don’t flush or show an ounce of shame, the alcohol giving you confidence.

He grins through red cheeks, “Yeah?” You nod. “You’re also hot.” His hands land on your waist, pulling you into him. You shake your head, “I’m pretty. Don’t know about hot though.”

James shakes his head immediately. “No, Love. You’re so hot. You make my knees weak every time I see you. Do you know how hard it is to control myself when you walk in, drop-dead gorgeous and looking so fine? Trust me, you’re hot.”

You sober slightly at his words, moving your hands up to link behind his neck. Your palms stick with sweat, legs turn to mush beneath you. “Yeah?” He just nods in response, eyes tracking your face, trying to gauge your reaction.

Without thinking about the consequences, you pull him in.

He responds immediately, lips meeting yours with an urgency, his hands gripping your hips tight. His hair in your fingers, you pull him harder against you, growing dizzy at his groan. He deepens the kiss, devouring you completely.

The lack of oxygen forces you apart, lips wet and swollen. James doesn’t go far, his forehead falling against yours. You suddenly grow nervous, looking down at your bodies, pressed against each other. “I should’ve asked first. I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head immediately, placing a kiss on your nose as his hands rub soothing circles from where they now rest on your waist. “You can kiss me anytime, anywhere. No need to ask.”

You grow hopeful, eyes lighting up, “Does that mean you like me too?” The room is crowded but the way James is staring at you makes you feel like the only person in the world, the crowd droned out by the happiness and love reflecting in his eyes.

“Honey, I love you,” He states sincerely, nothing but honesty painting his features. Your mouth stretches into a wide smile, heart flipping in giddy, “I love you too, James.”

“Thank the heavens above,” He mutters playfully and you laugh loudly, fingers fisting his shirt.

✰✰✰

The great hall is obnoxiously loud, the early morning light shining through the pristine windows making you squint, a frown pulling at your lips. The pounding in your head is hard to ignore and painful enough to make you regret drinking so much last night.

But James is sitting next to you, his large hand in yours under the table while his thigh presses against your own. The subtle touches warm you over, an unmistakable flush crawling up your neck. “You look so cute,” James whispers into your ear, his soft eyes, filled with admiration inspecting your face.

You smile wildly. “Thank you, so do you.” His free hand drops the spoon he was holding and brushes a stray strand of hair from my face. He leans closer, hand cradling my jaw gently. A loud clearing of the throat from across the table has us looking away, your eyes narrowing at the confused looks on Sirius and Remus’ faces.

Sirius his confusion off with a grin, twisting his body so he’s facing Remus, hands moving dramatically in front of him. “Remus! Please, let me call you cute and almost kiss you!”

Remus turns to face him, one of his scarred hands cradling his jaw with a mischievous grin. “Of course! But I’m going to be oblivious while my friends grow sick of our pining.”

“You know we’re together…Right?”

Their wide eyes whip around to face us, jaws to the floor. Remus’ hands are still on Sirius’ jaw as he mutters in shock, “What?”

#fanfiction #james potter #james potter fic #james potter x fem!reader #james potter x reader #james potter fanfiction #james potter fluff #james potter imagine #james potter drabble #James Potter x reader #james potter x reader hurt/comfort #james potter oneshots #marauders era #the marauders #marauders #james potter angst to fluff

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downthe-f4ndom-rabbith0le · 2 days ago

Text

Always Been You (Dick Grayson x Reader) - Chapter 7

Always Been You (Dick Grayson x Reader)Reader Insert: she/her pronouns Word Count: 5017 Warnings: death, violence, fighting, bloody wounds, angst, infuriatingly oblivious love interest, slowburn Spoilers: Young Justice Seasons 1-3 plot partially, but it ended in 2022 so catch up.

Y/N Prince - miracle daughter of Wonder Woman and Steve Trevor - and Dick Grayson - first adoptive son of the Batman himself - have been best friends since day one. They went to school together, trained together, kept each other's alter ego secret from everyone else, and they founded the Young Justice alongside their friends together.

But as time progressed, Y/N and Dick grew up and Y/N found herself wanting more than friendship with Dick. But he never seemed to indicate that he reciprocated her feelings. And when Wally died and Dick abandoned the team, Y/N realised he never would. So she heads to the one place she knows will help her become a stronger warrior so that one day she can take her mother's place: Themyscira.

Two years after his leave, Dick reaches out to his old friends to help him with a mission. But when he finds out Y/N left too, he chases after her in the hopes to bring her back.

However, when the two finally reunite, it isn't as warm as he hopes. Not to mention Themyscira becomes under siege as they go to war against Echidna, the Mother of Monsters in Greek Mythology, and her army of monstrous children.

Will Dick and Y/N be able to put their past behind them and save the Amazonians' homeland? Or will they fall, unable to tell one another their true feelings?

~~~

T-minus 1 day until Echidna's War.

'All right, everyone!' Y/N called out to the group, forcing them to stop sparring in their pairs and look at her. 'That's enough for today. Go, shower and get ready for our feast. You deserve to enjoy this night before tomorrow.'

'Yes, Princess!' the warriors said in unison, then quickly dispersed, leaving the training grounds to head back into the city to prepare for tomorrow.

'You should get ready too, Princess,' Calliope said, looking after her sisters-in-arms chatting and walking down the stairs to their homes. Y/N's heart pulled at the thought that she'd never see such happy smiles again after tonight.

'In a moment, Calliope,' Y/N answered, looking around the remaining groups that were finishing up their drills. Her gaze fell on one particular acrobat who was teaching the group blocking techniques and some acrobatic manoeuvres to avoid an opponent. All the while doing so, Dick was smiling, encouraging the women to keep trying.

'He's not too bad,' Calliope said with amusement. 'For a mortal man, that is.'

Y/N turned to Calliope only to see a knowing smile on her friend's face. Only then did Y/N realise she was smiling stupidly wide, and made quick work to get rid of it. 'I guess so. But he's stupidly naive and impulsive. He'll get himself killed because of it.'

'Maybe,' Calliope said thoughtfully as she looked back at Dick for a moment before facing Y/N again. 'But isn't that how a true warrior should die? In battle fighting for what's right?'

Y/N didn't like the thought of Dick being clawed open or beheaded by monsters, so she quickly said, 'It's not his battle to fight in, though. He shouldn't be here.'

'But he is, Y/N,' Calliope insisted, coming to stand in front of Y/N so she had no choice but to make eye contact. 'And that's what makes him even braver. He's here helping us save our home; a home he had never seen until a few days ago; a home that has no connection to him whatsoever but he is here trying to save it.'

Before Y/N could protest, Calliope gripped Y/N's hands in a manner that was desperate and insistent. 'You should tell him. Before it's too late.'

Y/N furrowed her brows in confusion. 'What are you-'

'Oh, don't play dumb with me,' Calliope interrupted. 'I see how you look at him. You're worried about him. Which means you care, despite everything you say to convince us otherwise.'

Y/N went to deny it but couldn't find the words to do so. Her heart was being torn in so many different directions any time she thought about Dick, she didn't know what exactly she felt for him. It was hard to put into words what he meant to her, the good and the bad.

When she remained silent, Calliope patted Y/N's hands gently then dropped them as she too walked away, leaving Y/N standing frozen in a battle with her head and her heart.

Y/N could've been standing there for one minute or an hour for all she knew, until someone waved their hand in front of her face and broke her from her trance.

'Y/N,' Dick said, his brows furrowed in concern. 'You okay?'

Y/N took a deep breath in as she came back to the moment. 'Yes. Yes, I'm fine. Just...'

'Worried?' Dick offered, and Y/N was grateful for the change in subject. 'Well, I wouldn't be if I were you. These women are stronger than some of the heroes back home.'

Y/N raised a playful eyebrow. 'Only some?'

Dick chuckled. 'Okay, all of them.'

The two shared a quiet laugh, and it brought Y/N a sense of normalcy and nostalgia that warmed her heart.

She looked around as the remaining warriors finished their trainings and made to leave for their homes. Y/N could almost name each and every one of them, and there was the possibility that after tomorrow she would never see them again.

'Echidna is the one who should be worried,' Y/N said, her voice slightly shaky with anger and determination. She knew that if death were to come tomorrow, Y/N wouldn't be able to save them all. But she'd be damned if she didn't try to.

A warm calloused hand tentatively enclosed her fist, and the touch was enough to cease Y/N's shakes. 'I agree,' Dick said, two simple words seemingly echoing around the quiet training ground. His smile was smooth but genuine and Y/N could've believed they were eighteen again and back on the mainland and with the team. Back when his smile eased all her problems, back when Wally and all their lost friends weren't gone. Back when it was just them, and everything in Y/N's world made sense.

But now Y/N felt like she was on another planet, and they were about to go to war with the Mother of Monsters and nothing made sense anymore.

Y/N slowly pulled her had away from Dick's and cleared her throat as she stared straight ahead. 'We should probably get ready for the feast. Could be the last one we have in a while.' Or ever, she wanted to add, but Dick was an optimist and would ridicule her for thinking such thoughts and she really didn't want to keep talking with him.

'That's right,' Dick said, eyes brightening up at the thought of food. 'I bet you guys put on the best meals, as well.'

Y/N just rolled her eyes as they made their way across the training grounds to the stairs that would lead them back into town. 'A true boy. Only ever thinking about food.'

'A true girl. Turning every compliment into an insult.'

Y/N shoved him and he shoved her back and the two couldn't hold back radiant smiles. It astounded Y/N how easily they fell back into old habits. How familiar and safe Dick was.

'You should tell him. Before it's too late.'

Tell him what exactly? Y/N could hardly discern what mixture of emotions was running through her, let alone wheedle down to a specific point what her true feelings were for Dick. She'd been upset for so long, then angry at him. But the past three days he'd shown himself to be the Dick she'd always known and come to love. Kind, brave, funny, strong, compassionate.

It all lead her to a very confusing fork in the metaphorical road of her heart.

Even so, there was something she felt for him...

Just as Dick took a step down the stairs, Y/N found herself reaching out to him this time, bringing him to a stop with her soft grip on his shoulder. 'Wait.'

Dick looked over his shoulder immediately, his piercing blue eyes glued onto her with curiosity and wonder. 'Yeah?' he asked.

Y/N took in a deep breath, calming her racing heart as she said, 'I'm sorry.' When Dick only frowned with confusion, she elaborated. 'I'm sorry for doubting you. For being... well, I haven't been the most welcoming of people have I?'

Dick didn't say a word, but he turned fully around to face her, his face as serious as it was the other night on another staircase. Y/N's hand dropped to her side, and she found she could not look away from Dick's eyes as the words started falling out.

'I guess... I just didn't think you cared about us anymore,' she said. 'About the team, about me. And it made me so angry, but then you came to the one place I thought I could finally find peace again and I just couldn't accept that you were here for me. But I see now I was wrong.'

'No, I was the one who was wrong,' Dick said with a shake of his head. 'You had every right to be angry with me, in fact you still do. You were right, I was ignorant and only thought of my pain in those years I was away. I didn't think how coming here would affect you after everything I've done.'

Dick returned to the landing, now towering over Y/N, and took her hands in his and said in a gentle voice, 'I know I am far from forgiven, but I promise you, I will spend whatever time I have left on this earth trying to make it up to you.'

Y/N could hardly breathe with the way Dick was looking at her. It was almost dream-like, and suddenly all of her teenage emotions came rushing back into her bloodstream. The adoration, the awe, the love - it had remained all this time, she'd just repressed it in her time of pain and loss.

And it could've just been her, but something flickered briefly across Dick's face - the slightest arch of his brows, the minuscule twitch of his mouth. An emotion Y/N had no time to discern before Dick was the one stepping back and resuming his journey down the stairs, a careless smile on his face like the moment never happened.

'The showers await us, Princess,' he jested as he waved her after him. 'Wouldn't want to be late for the feast!'

Y/N stared after him for a moment, trying to process what just happened. He was serious, he would do anything to make it all up to her. And that look on his face...

Y/N shook herself out of her imagination. Probably just seeing things, she told herself as she followed Dick down the stairs. She wouldn't get her hopes up again.

Not for Dick Grayson of all people.

~~~

When Dick Grayson arrived back at his room, he drew himself a bath and allowed himself to relax if only for a few minutes. The first night in his room he'd been affronted to find a group of women ready to bathe him like a child. He'd argued with Y/N about them, her saying it was their tradition and all. Eventually she caved and dismissed the women from his room. He laughed at the memory, thinking beneath his own anger that she looked cute riled up.

There it was again - the thoughts he had never thought before.

He couldn't deny Y/N had grown into a beautiful young woman, one who stood by her values and always fought for the right thing. She'd stuck by the team when he couldn't, and for that he would always admire her.

But then again he had always admired her. That's part of the reason she was his best friend. She was this strong and loving individual that had always stuck by him and the others. She had the most infectious smile, and her laughter was like music-

Dick bolted upright in the bath, his heart racing at a million miles per hour as an alarming thought entered his mind. Do I like Y/N?

Well, it wasn't a matter of like. Of course he liked her, she was his best friend after all. But they'd never... she'd never implied...

He recalled when they were younger how many people - including their parents - said that he and Y/N would end up together. They were each other's better half, and honestly part of the reason he ended up breaking up with each and every one of his past girlfriends. Because they couldn't see how important Y/N was to him.

That didn't mean he liked her like that... did he?

Dick splashed his face one last time before leaping out of the bath to get ready for the feast. Maybe all the training he was doing was making him tired and delusional. After all, even if he truly felt that way for her, she'd never feel the same. Maybe once - though there was no telling so - but certainly not now.

However, they'd had a moment on the stairs this afternoon, and something felt... different. The way she looked at him had sent his gut rolling with something akin to a roller coaster, and the vision of her hair in the golden rays of sun had taken his breath away completely. Dick couldn't remember the last time he'd felt that way - completely and utterly entranced.

Dick dressed himself in the only set of clothes he'd come in and opened his door to find Calliope and other guards standing in the corridor.

'We are to escort you down to the feast, Mr. Grayson,' Calliope explained. 'By order of the Queen herself. You will be seated at their table tonight.'

Dick found this surprising as he usually sat with the soldiers of the group he'd trained that day, getting to know them and laughing with them. But he was to sit at the royals table, which consisted of Queen Hippolyta, some generals, and Y/N.

When they entered the dining hall, the feast had pretty much begun as hundreds and hundreds of women were already seated at long tables that ran almost from the door to the dais where the Queen sat chatting with other generals at their own long table. Dick made sure to greet any woman he knew as he was guided up to the royals' table.

'So nice of you to join us, Mr. Grayson,' the Queen said as Dick was seated.

'The pleasure is all mine, your Majesty,' he replied politely, then noted the empty chair between him and the Queen. 'Is Y/N not down yet?'

'She is usually late to these sorts of things,' the Queen replied defeatedly. 'She always fights with the maidens about her hair and dress. In that respect, she is very much her mother.'

As Queen Hippolyta turned back to the speak with the generals, a quiet voice leant in behind him and quietly said, 'Eager to see the princess are we?'

'W-What?' Dick exclaimed to Calliope. 'No, I'm not. I just... I'm just making conversation, that's all.'

'Whatever you say, mortal,' Calliope teased, her smile knowing and irritating as she remained by Dick's head.

He turned to her, annoyed. 'What do you mean by that?'

Calliope just shrugged. 'Nothing nobody doesn't already know.' When Dick just stared blankly at her, she rolled her eyes and said, 'You cannot tell me you do not feel for our princess. Do you not?'

It was like she was reading his mind or something. It was a little freaky and off-putting. But Dick was used to off-putting questions - journalists used them all the time on him when Dick did press interviews with Bruce.

So he calmly sat in his chair and looked out to the busy hall in front of him. 'Well, I still have the bruises from our first sparring match when I first got here so I guess I do feel something because of the princess.'

Calliope chuckled and shook her head. 'Avoid the question all you want, mortal. But Truth always has an interesting way of making itself known.'

Dick didn't like her know-it-all tone, and so finally turned around and said in a quiet but hard tone. 'My relationship with Y/N isn't up for debate here. She is my best friend, and the only thing I'm interested in is restoring her trust in me and saving your island.'

'How noble...' Calliope started, but her attention turned to the opening of the hall's doors and so Dick's eyes followed. He was struck still at the vision he was met with.

It was Y/N, draped in a flattering arrangement of white cloth that was synched at her waist with a golden chain. Her H/C hair had been put up in a loose bun, held together by golden pins. Plain sandals covered her feet as she made her way towards the dais, the many bracelets and arm bands adorning her arms flashing golden in the firelight.

Dick knew he was gaping, but he couldn't help it. No one could it seemed, as Y/N greeted many women along the way, and whispers of her beauty echoed throughout the hall. When she drew closer, her eyes connected with Dick's, and instead of the cold or distant expression she'd given him since day one, she offered him an embarrassed smile.

That brief interaction sent his heart in motion. It reminded him of the time they had gone to prom in their junior year of school. It had been the first time Dick had seen Y/N with makeup and in a dress. She'd given him the same embarrassed look, and he had been just as transfixed.

Dick felt someone lean in to his ear as he continued to watch Y/N make her way to the dais. 'But are you sure there is no other reason that you are here?' Calliope finished with a whisper.

She stepped back into her position before Dick could respond, not that he knew what he would say anyway. His gut was rolling so much with indecision that he thought he might throw up.

He was brought out of his thoughts as Y/N took her seat between him and the Queen. 'Grandmother,' she greeted coolly.

'Y/N,' the Queen responded, a kind smile stretching her lips. 'You look beautiful, my dear.'

'Thank you, but I still do not understand why I must wear this to every feast we have,' Y/N argued.

'It is tradition, and you are Themyscria's princess,' the Queen explained, tapping her granddaughter's hand in comfort before returning to her previous conversation.

Y/N sighed in mild defeat as she sat back in her chair. After a moment, she clocked that Dick was looking at her and sighed again. 'Not a single word from you, Grayson.'

'I wasn't going to say anything!' Dick retorted, quickly collecting himself.

'I can see it in your eyes that you're going to laugh at me.'

It took Dick a moment to realise she wasn't joking. She fidgeted with the loose cloth that draped over her body, eyes flickering from him to the crowd and back. She genuinely thought she looked ridiculous. If he was sixteen still, maybe he would've made a comment or two.

But sixteen was a long time ago now.

'No, I wasn't,' he said, and his answer must've surprised him as she turned to him with a perplexed expression on her face. 'You look... You look beautiful, Y/N.'

Y/N's E/C eyes scanned over his face, possibly searching for any kind of lie or detection of amusement. But she obviously didn't find anything, as she smiled at him, her eyes shining with surprise. 'Thank you. I would offer you the same compliment, but you've looked the same as you did the day you got here.'

'Ruggedly handsome?'

'Hmm, I'd say a bit worse for wear.'

Dick let out a painful groan as he slapped a hand across his chest where his heart was encased under. 'Wow! Way to wound a guy.'

Y/N just laughed, and Dick joined her, genuinely happy to see her smiling as they used to together. Once the laughter died, he said, 'But seriously, Y/N, you look great. And... I'm just glad you're not calling me Nightwing anymore.'

'Well,' Y/N started, fiddling with one of her bracelets, 'I figured you deserved that much after all your help.'

Help. That's right. He was helping her save her new home and new family. It wasn't because she'd forgiven him and were suddenly best friends again.

'I'm sorry to interrupt,' a young girl said, coming to stand on the other side of the table. 'But I just had something to discuss with you, Princess.'

'Of course,' Y/N answered, turning all her attention to the girl. 'Go ahead.'

Throughout dinner, Y/N was kept busy by other conversations with warriors and young girls and teachers alike that all had questions for their princess. Y/N answered every single one of their queries with enthusiasm and grace, not batting an eye as she ate and spoke and listened.

She was a natural and a pro. The whole time she spoke, Dick couldn't help but think about the two years he'd been gone for and how many times Y/N had to soothe a fear, had to deliver a confident speech that would encourage the team to keep going no matter how bleak the future seemed.

It saddened and pained him to think he'd forced that responsibility onto her in his absence. But she'd done it, held the team together and she was doing that right now as well for her people.

Upon the conclusion of dinner, the Queen called for silence as she rose to address the hall. 'Evening everyone,' she started, her voice radiating composure and control. 'Tonight, we are in the presence of our own history in the making. Tomorrow, we face Echidna, the Mother of Monsters.'

The mention of the goddess sent whispers of fear rattling throughout the crowd, but they were quickly silenced by the raise of the Queen's hand. 'I know some of you, if not all of you, are fearful of the coming events. Echidna is a foe that will not be so easily defeated. However, this is what we have trained for. This is what us Amazons are built for.

"Think of the young women, young girls and infants in their houses sleeping peacefully right now. Think of the women you grew up with, of the friendships and sisterhoods you have forged in those years. Think of the woman beside you now. That is who you fight for when Echidna comes. Not ourselves, but the women" - the Queen made a pointed look at Dick as she continued - "and man that reside on this island tonight. They will need you when the fight comes. So are you ready?'

The entire hall exploded with cheers and whistles of eagerness, and that brought a bright smile to Queen Hippolyta's face. 'In that case, enjoy tonight. Dance, eat, drink, sing. Be free.'

By the flick of the Queen's wrist, the band in the corner Dick hadn't seen started playing beautiful music and the tables were moved to create room for a dance floor.

'Princess, you must join us for a dance!' Some young girls came around the table and gently pulled Y/N from her seat, to which Y/N just laughed as she allowed them to drag her to the dance floor. Dick watched Y/N join the other women, watched her smile stretch wide and bright, watched her embrace and let herself go as she danced.

When was the last time she'd done that?

'...when we last spoke, she sounded like she didn't want to be found. That she would come back to us when she was ready...'

'Maybe she doesn't want to see you, have you considered that?'

Kaldur's words haunted him, had been since he left M'gann and Connor's house. He just hadn't taken his friend's warning seriously until now.

Kaldur was right.

Dick rose from his seat and quickly excused himself from the party, suddenly overwhelmed by the music and the full room. He escaped to one of the balconies nearby and was relieved that he could finally hear himself think. And yet now he could hear it all in the outdoor silence - the conflicting emotions and thoughts running through him.

Did she really belong here or back home?

Did he mean as much to her anymore as much as she meant to him?

What did he truly feel for her?

What will happen when Echidna strikes tomorrow?

So many issues and so little time to solve them all.

He didn't know how long he stood there, looking out over the mountain and ocean, over the flickering lights of those who feasted in their homes. It could've been hours, and yet the full moon barely moved.

'What are you doing out here?'

Dick was knocked out of his mind at the sound of the sweet voice, and he turned to find Y/N standing on the steps that lead back inside to the bustling party, an exhausted grin adorning her flushed face. With the firelight behind her and the moon shining onto her dress, Dick could've sworn she glowed divinely.

'S-Sorry?' he called out, confused as to why she was out there in the first place.

'I asked what are you doing out here all by yourself on such a beautiful night?' Y/N repeated, walking down the steps before making her way over to him at the balcony's edge. 'You're usually one for parties if high school was any indicator.'

Dick tried to laugh, but it came out as a weak cough. 'Yeah well, we're a long way from high school, aren't we.'

'What's going on with you?' Y/N asked, and Dick could feel her stare on him. 'You've been oddly... quiet this evening.'

'I just don't feel well is all. Don't worry I will be fine for the battle tomorrow.'

'That's a load of crap, Grayson and you know it.'

Dick didn't reply, just looked out over the ocean in the hopes that she would leave. But she didn't and Dick finally turned to meet her stare. It was like she was undressing him, but not in the physical sense. In the way she'd always been able to read him and say silently that she knew he wasn't okay.

That one stare made him feel more vulnerable than being naked, or doing flips off a podium twenty metres in the air with no safety net to catch him.

'I just... I've been doing some thinking,' he started, 'and I think that... if we both survive this... that you should stay here. On Themyscira. If that is what you want.'

Y/N scrunched her brows in confusion. 'So... you're giving me permission to stay here if we all live through Echidna's war? Seriously?'

Dick turned to her fully. 'No, I mean yes- But no you don't need my permission to stay, I just... I'm sorry this is coming out all wrong.' He took a calming breath before starting again. 'What I mean to say is, I came after you for the wrong reasons. I was being selfish and stubborn. But I want you to be happy. And seeing you dance tonight with the other women... well, I can't remember the last time myself or any of the team brought you that kind of happiness.'

'What about your mission?' she asked, her voice distant, almost scared.

Dick flashed her a casual smile. 'Don't worry about it. I'll manage. I never should've come here in the first place. I'm sorry.' Dick gestured back to the stairs and started back-tracking towards them. 'Let's go rejoin the party while we still can, huh? You're right, I do love a good party.'

Just as he turned his back, Y/N called out. 'I'm not.'

He paused for a moment, then looked over his shoulder to find Y/N looking at him with an intensity that almost sent him staggering. 'What?' he asked.

'I'm not sorry you came,' she answered, taking a deep breath in to maintain her composure.

Surprised by her answer, Dick turned back to her. 'You're not?'

She shook her head, then started fidgeting with her dress and looked down. 'Am I angry you came? Yes, initially. Am I still hurting because of what you did, and is your presence just a daily reminder of that pain? Most definitely.'

That last one struck him deep. He had never wanted to be the cause of so much pain. Not to her of all people.

After another deep breath, Y/N finally looked up at him. 'But that doesn't mean I didn't miss you.'

There it was again, that look she'd given him on the stairs earlier, in fact she'd given it to him many times before, he realised. Not just on Themyscira but back home, back when they were sixteen. It was the look of truth and honesty, of adoration and care.

His heart thumped so heavily in his chest he swore Y/N could hear it, and while he didn't understand what the thought of Y/N missing him implied, he knew how it made him feel.

'I missed you too,' he said honestly, returning to stand in front of Y/N. He didn't know why, but it felt right to reach for her hands, and she didn't push him away as he enclosed his fingers around hers. 'A-And being here has made me realise something else, too.'

'What's that?' Her breath fanned his face they stood so close, closer than what simple friends should. But he didn't care, it felt right, it felt natural.

'That I... I just...' He couldn't get the words out, they were so heavy with meaning they got stuck in his throat. Both afraid and excited to say them aloud, he couldn't decide what fate would be worse. Be honest and rejected, or be honest and see if she felt the same.

'You what, Dick?' she whispered, eyes never leaving his.

They both realised that it was the first time she'd called him by his first name since he'd landed on Themyscira. And if that wasn't a sign, then Dick didn't know what would be.

'I just...' Dick started, but a shadow crossed over Y/N's face and he quickly turned to find a a giant winged creature with fangs and a humanoid body reaching to him with its claws.

'Get down!' Dick cried as he turned and dove to the ground with Y/N. He felt the talons of the creature brush against his back as he partially covered Y/N out of natural instinct. The creature screeched as it soared high above again, disappearing into the darkness despite the moonlight.

'Are you okay?' Dick asked as he helped Y/N to her feet.

'Yes, I'm fine,' Y/N said, her eyes trained on the sky.

'What was that?' Dick asked, trying to spy the creature but there was no sign of it anywhere.

'That was a harpy,' Y/N answered, then her eyes locked on to something in the sky, her face paling with fear.

Dick followed her gaze and found himself frozen with fear himself. The harpy had come back but with more of its kind. Many more. So much so they blocked out the moon and engulfed the palace in darkness.

'Echidna's war...' Y/N breathed out in disbelief. 'It' has begun.'

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

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wild-typo-turtle · 4 days ago

Text

Threads - Part 12

Explicit (slow burn, 18+ only) - Rings of Power - Gil-galad x OFC (Elf)

Includes S2E8 of Rings of Power - spoilers ahoy!

Gil-galad had only taken a handful of steps when his gaze passed over yet another collapsed building. From the looks of things, it had once been an open, airy shop that had faced directly into the plaza. The roof had caved in, creating dusty shadows, and even his keen eyes might have missed the slumped figure had he not heard the tiny whimper from the darkness.

Eregion has been destroyed; Sauron is gone. And yet, the sun still shines, as the ruined city holds the last thing that High King Gil-galad had ever expected to find.

Themes: #Idiots in love, #love at first sight, #soulmates, #smut with feelings, #fix-it, #everybody lives

Content Warnings: Explicit content (parts 9 and 11), canon-typical violence; loss of parents; grief/mourning.

Tag List: @morganas-pendragons, @stellar-solar-flare, @the141bandicoot; @inyx-writes44, @melmel-fandom, @hufflepufferine, @shadows-and-flowers, @xcrybaby555x, @bespectacledhuman

Face claim: Keri Russell as Linnea

Part 1 (includes A/N and credits), Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9 (contains smut), Part 10, Part 11 (contains very brief, light smut)

A/N: Once again, the chapter ate words, and demanded that it be split into two. So here's the actual wedding, and then the coronation and wedding night will be in the next part! Also - the Quenya is probably pretty horrible/inaccurate, and I take full responsibility for bad translation. -WTT

Part 12

The morning of the wedding dawned bright and clear. The sun shone down through the trees, turning everything a pale gold, as if the weather itself were smiling and approving of what was to come.

The servants had brought her breakfast, but Linnea had barely been able to eat. She had managed tea, and had nibbled on a piece of fresh, hot bread, but the thought of anything more sent her stomach twisting into knots. She reminded herself that there would be ample food at the wedding feast - and perhaps her nerves would settle by then.

She slipped into the bath and let Pendes carefully wash her hair, trying to relax in the hot water. Steam drifted around her, scented with roses and lilies, and she ran her sponge over herself as Pendes massaged her scalp. It felt so ordinary - the same motions as she performed every morning - and yet, there was a sparkling haze over it all. The previous night had been restless, everything almost too clear and sharp to her eyes. Today was softer, as if half in a dream.

When the bath was finished and she was dry, Linnea wrapped herself in her robe before going into her dressing area. Her wedding dress waited for her, another thing that didn't seem entirely real; as she drew the dress over her head, it felt like it was barely there in her hands. Lavan laced it for her up the back, and once it was tightened, she lifted the skirts and stepped into her shoes.

Hair next. She seated herself at the dressing table and Pendes carefully combed out her curls, arranging them just so on her shoulders. For the wedding feast, she would wear the gold filigree circlet that she had worn the prior day, but that would be replaced by her new crown at the coronation.

The crown was not in her rooms. It was waiting along with everything else for the wedding; the gold rings, and Gil-galad’s cloak, that she had carefully wrapped in gold silk. Elrond had been entrusted with the logistics of the ceremony, and even though she had not spent much time with him, she felt confident that everything would go smoothly. She had been able to give Elrond the cloak and whisper that it was a surprise, and trust that her secret would be kept safe.

Pendes finished with the comb, and stepped back. Linnea looked in the mirror.

Her hair shone. Her skin was clean and flawless, glowing with health and vigor. Her eyes were bright, and her cheeks were pink.

She was ready.

The courtyard that they had chosen for the ceremony was fitting. It was just the right size for the small group, and moreover, it was private, and it was reasonably close to the kitchens for purposes of the feast. And it also happened to be the courtyard that Linnea had arrived in, that very first day in Lindon.

Adabes had overseen the decorations. Poles had been erected, with cloth streamers and garlands of flowers stretching between them. A small dais had been set up for the musicians, a harpist and a flautist and a singer. More flowers had been strewn on the tables; lanterns and banners had been hung; candles had been placed. The tables themselves were small, no more than four seats each, allowing for more intimate conversations. It had also avoided any awkwardness in seating; it had been easy to put groups together that would not risk offending anyone.

She couldn’t see it, but she could picture it; she had seen it all the previous day, one last look to ensure that everything was ready. And she could hear it; the guests were mingling, and she could make out the murmurs of conversation.

Linnea had paused in a small antechamber that led to the large terrace out front, the terrace where Gil-galad had waited for her. He would do so again now; she would emerge so that everyone could see them, and they could greet their guests. And then the feast would begin.

She waited, but she did not wait long. Adabes came into the cool, shadowy side room, beaming. She was dressed in gold and green, and had wrapped the silk shawl Linnea had given her over her shoulders.

“It is time,” she said. “All awaits you, my lady.”

Linnea inhaled deeply.

“Thank you.”

It didn't even sound like her voice, coming from her lips. But she smoothed her skirts, and then stepped forward.

As she’d known he would be, Gil-galad was waiting for her on the terrace, where everyone could see them coming together. And he glowed.

He had chosen white samite, shot through with threads of gold, and she understood his smugness when he had seen the color of her dress. The cut was similar to his council robe, long and fairly simple, with an overrobe of the same samite. The edges and the sleeves were bordered in pale gold, and the gold was embroidered with flames in silver thread - the noble fire of his name. His dark hair looked even darker against the white and gold, brushed smooth and shining, and his crown shone atop it.

The crown was not his only adornment. He wore the gold pectoral he favored, and a gold belt hugged his waist. And both Vilya and his betrothal ring sparkled on his hand.

She wondered how all of this had happened. What she had done, how she had been so fortunate to wed him. He was beautiful in every way that an Elf could be, but seeing him now - how was it her he had chosen to wed?

No sooner had she had the thought, than she felt the ósanwë come to life.

I am the fortunate one, rîn vuin. You have chosen me, and I will be grateful for it until the end of my days.

She could feel it, too. His joy, his gratitude, his wonder.

The warmth of it made her smile, and as he held out his hand, she placed hers in it without hesitation.

Gil-galad led her to the edge of the terrace, to the stone railing that circled it. The musicians, that had paused when she stepped out, began to play again. And, still with her hand held in his, he raised his voice in song.

Eldalie!

túl rimbë símen esse sina sinome

i lillassea laurë, i nen lutta

túl ar morco cetta ana sina ertie

i tuine sir, i wilin líre.

Eldalie!

Túl sina, i amaurea o veryanwe

i salque na lai, i úrin na calima

túl ar líre, túl ar merenya

túl cen sí ve emme vanda melin oiale.

It was a song of welcome, a song of invitation for all to come and celebrate their marriage. A simple melody, but one that set the tone - and Linnea would never tire of hearing him sing, whatever the reason for it.

Once finished, he led her to the stairs, slowly descending to the table that had been prepared for them as the guests took their seats. The expectation was that the two of them would not stay seated for very long at once; they would move about the other tables to speak to the guests. The feast was presented in courses, and after each course, they would visit another group.

And they would also receive their gifts.

She had realized it only a few days ago, but of course there would be wedding gifts. And given that this was a royal wedding, they would likely be extravagant. She had shyly asked Gil-galad if there was any way they could request that gifts be foregone, but he had shaken his head. And she understood why; this was political too, just like the wedding itself.

Gil-galad seated her gracefully, keeping her hand in his as she took her chair. It had been plain to her from the start that he enjoyed these small courtesies of a husband: helping her from the saddle after a ride, giving her his arm when they walked together. And those things delighted her as well; small though they were, they added to the constant feeling of being loved, being cherished and cared for and protected.

Once she was seated, he sat beside her. They were the only two at the table, allowing for a few private moments while they ate. The wine had already been poured, and he raised his full glass in salute to the guests.

“Á tule! Mate ar suce merendesse.”

A rumble from the assembled group, everyone else raising their glasses as the first course was brought out and set before the guests. It was a light start, an arrangement of fresh sliced fruits and berries, and Linnea was grateful for it. Her stomach had settled slightly, and the sweet aromas tempted her.

But there was another small ritual that accompanied the food, and it was one she had looked forward to. Perhaps unreasonably so, but seeing it at other weddings had touched her heart in a way she could not explain.

She picked up her fork, loading it with a small bite of the fruit, and turned to Gil-galad.

He was smiling, as he opened his mouth to receive the food. She carefully extended the fork and he took the bite, chewing and swallowing, and then repeated the exchange for her. The juice spread on her tongue, bursting with flavor.

A bite from her plate for him, and one from his for her. A wedding ritual for commoners and royalty alike. Perhaps it was the symbolism that had always moved her so, that bride and groom would always care and provide for each other, putting each other first. And she knew that her own marriage would not always be so - she was marrying a King, she was going to be crowned queen. There would be times when the realm’s needs would have to come above their own. But seeing his smile, the love in his eyes, none of that seemed insurmountable.

“Gi melin,” she murmured, once she had swallowed.

He reached over, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips for a kiss. “Gi melin. Once again you render me speechless, rîn vuin. I shall have to find a better way to praise you than to call you beautiful.”

“When you discover it, I would be glad to know of it,” she smiled back. “For I am in need of such as well, aran vuin.”

He kissed her hand again, and perhaps it was for the best that they sat by themselves. She nearly laughed at the thought of others having to tolerate these words, these displays of affection. It was often so, at weddings - part of the joy in celebrating was to see and share in the couple’s love. But it felt more intense now than she had ever been part of, and perhaps that was simply because it was her love. Perhaps everyone felt this way, when it was their turn.

It seemed no time at all before they had finished the fruit and were standing, walking arm-in-arm to the first of the tables, where the four commanders of the armies were seated. Once again, this had been carefully planned; the most important of the guests would be greeted later in the feast, corresponding with the main dishes. Yet there was still honor in being first, and the choice of the commanders was an acknowledgment of the storms that awaited them and the fights to come.

A long box lay on the table waiting. And after the greetings and wishes for happiness, Gil-galad opened the lid to find a matching pair of daggers resting on a bed of blue silk. They were fashioned expertly, sheathed in ivory leather, and the handles were chased with gold and silver. Beautiful, but also simple; there was no disguising that these were weapons of war. They were meant to be used.

The day that they had begun their journey to Lindon, Hellathas had - without comment - presented Linnea with a dagger to carry. It had been plainer than these, but no less a weapon for that. She had not had to use it, and had been relieved. Her hand, accustomed to shuttle and thread, did not know how to hold a blade. The dagger in the box - the smaller one, plainly meant for her - would feel foreign to her, she who had never had cause to go armed.

But those thoughts tickled at her again, the reminder of her responsibilities as queen. The responsibility to defend not just herself, but the realm she and Gil-galad ruled.

She echoed the thanks he bestowed on the commanders, praising the skill and beauty of the craftsmanship, and took his arm again to return to their table, her thoughts astir.

A light vegetable soup for the next course, and a visit to the Lorien table, where Amdír and Amroth sat. Their gift was simpler than the daggers, but Linnea privately thought it was much lovelier; they had brought a set of wooden drinking bowls, carefully carved from tree burls and polished to a brilliant, smooth finish. She was on more solid ground here than she had been with the weapons; she lingered, examining and handling each of the bowls carefully. Gil-galad stood watching, smiling as she praised the work, and he chuckled as he nearly had to pull her away for the next course.

“Nán alassea alassetyanen,” he murmured, as they finally returned to their table. Your joy gives me joy.

The next course was fish, poached with wine, and accompanied by root vegetables. And afterward, the table of the Dwarves.

The guests had placed their gifts on their tables, and Linnea had been curious about this one. It was a wooden crate, large enough to where it was difficult to see Durin and Disa sitting behind it, taking up most of the table. It was simple; the shape gave no hint to what it contained. As they approached, the Dwarves stood, and came around to the front of the table to greet them.

Disa spoke first, beaming as she curtseyed. “High King. My lady. May your marriage shine as bright as Aulë’s own forges.”

As she straightened, Linnea extended her hands, clasping the Dwarf princess’s. “We thank you, Princess Disa, and are honored by the presence of yourself and your lord husband.”

“Indeed,” Gil-galad murmured from beside her. “We look forward to continued goodwill between Lindon and Khazad-dûm.”

Durin cleared his throat, nodding. “There is much that is uncertain,” he rumbled. “As you well know, High King. Yet let our gift be an indication of the potential we see in friendship.”

Gil-galad raised a brow, and reached to open the crate. As he lifted the lid and set it aside, Linnea’s eyes widened.

It was ore. Silvery ore that shone with its own light, heaped in the crate. They had been given mithril.

Linnea was no smith, but even she could tell that this quantity was vast. It would forge a full set of armor and to spare, or multiple weapons. And with that thought, she was struck by the political brilliance of the gift; something made by the Dwarves would have been difficult for the High King and Queen to accept and use, but the means to make it was entirely different.

Gil-galad looked as stunned as she felt. He reached into the crate, picking out a small piece of the ore. A hush fell over the guests as he raised it up, as everyone saw the light emanating from the depths of the metal.

“Lord Durin,” he murmured. “Your generosity honors us beyond words. This gift is indeed above mere friendship.”

“There's more,” Durin said. “We brought two others. Didn't want to break yer table with the weight.”

Linnea had to stifle a laugh. Gil-galad had shared the incident involving the stone table with her from when Durin had first visited Lindon; he had known the entire thing was a ruse, but had gone along with it as an investment in the future, a seed of friendship planted.

“My bride and I give you our most humble thanks,” he said. “And we bid you enjoy our hospitality here in Lindon for as long as it pleases you to remain.”

“We depart in the morning, High King,” Disa said. “There is much that demands our attention at home. But perhaps you and your Queen would honor us with a visit one day.”

She had made the offer to Linnea the previous evening, after Tinnaril had left. The expression on her face had been shy - strange to see, on a Dwarf - but it had been honest, and hopeful. And Linnea had assured her that she had not overstepped, that she too would take pleasure in it.

Gil-galad's face did not betray any of his thoughts, not even to Linnea; he merely inclined his head. “Perhaps,” he allowed. “If the King and Queen of Khazad-dûm wish it, such might indeed be possible.”

He had writ between his words, and it was clear enough as to his meaning. If Durin came to the throne, the friendship between the realms could continue. But it was contingent upon that, and perhaps would even serve as some encouragement to Durin. Seeds planted, indeed.

Gil-galad once again offered his arm to Linnea. As they moved away, back to their own table, she could see servants coming to retrieve the crate - and even they grunted at the effort to lift it.

“What will we do with it?” she whispered.

He looked down at her, his eyes dark. “I know not,” he murmured. “But I feel it should be kept until we are certain. Such a gift has a purpose, even if we do not know it yet.”

His words echoed her own thoughts, and she nodded. “We shall save it until the time is right. Our minds are as one in this, meleth nín.”

He smiled as they reached their table, once again gracefully seating her. “May it always be so, melethel. May it always be so.”

There were several more courses, each more delicious than the last, and in small portions to allow everything to be fully enjoyed. And between them, more gifts; it was an effort to keep track of them all, but Linnea was conscious of Adabes’ watchful eye in the background. She knew there would be a list the following day, precisely noting who had given what, to allow her to send letters of thanks after the wedding was over.

And at last, the final course was finished, a layered pastry confection that was so light it practically melted on the tongue. And the last table waited for them; they had saved Oropher and his family for the end, to allow their gift all the attention that it merited.

There was no box. It was a bundle of leather, placed on the table carefully. The Woodland Elves stood as they approached; Linnea fancied that Tinnaril’s gaze held a trace of warmth, but Oropher and Thranduil were stern and cold. They looked as though they might be twins, with their blond hair and distant eyes.

“Gil-galad,” Oropher said. “Lady Linnea. Please accept this gift to celebrate your marriage.”

No flowery words; that was not Oropher’s way. Gil-galad had dealt with him enough to know that, and knew better than to push back. Instead, he simply nodded, and began unwrapping the leather.

Just like the very first gift, it was a pair of matched weapons. But these were bows, both light and sturdy, made in the fashion of the Woodland Elves. Unadorned and yet beautiful; the grips were carved bone and wrapped in virgin leather, and the limbs were smooth and shining. Linnea did not know the wood by sight, but it was dark in color.

One bow was smaller than the other. She reached out and lifted it free, and her hand curled around the grip in a perfect fit.

The daggers had not spoken to her. This did.

She felt Gil-galad's eyes on her, watching as she turned the bow back and forth. He had not touched his own bow, but he was smiling faintly as he looked at the one in her hands.

“It pleases you, melethel?”

She would need to learn to shoot it. There would be no lack of teachers among Lindon's warriors. And for the first time, the thought of having to fight did not fill her with trepidation; rather, it was a sense of pride, a sense of honor that she would do so for her realm. It was a responsibility that was hers to accept, and with the bow in her hands, she felt that she could accept it.

“Yes,” she breathed. “It does.”

She turned her gaze to Oropher, and bowed her head deeply to him. “We are honored by the workmanship of our Woodland kin, King Oropher. You have our gratitude.”

Oropher nodded at her, and then shifted his gaze to Gil-galad. “I hope you are not so preoccupied with your new bride that you cannot return to the Greenwood soon,” he murmured. “I await the continuation of our discussions. Especially given your queen’s acknowledgement of our craft.”

Inwardly, Linnea groaned. Oropher was proud, she knew that, and she saw the trap too late. The Woodland Elves were skilled, but the Noldor were more so, and it was a sore point for Oropher that his people were less well armed and armored than Gil-galad’s.

But Gil-galad did not rise to the bait; he simply lifted a brow a fraction of an inch. “If my queen is welcome to accompany me, we would be pleased to visit as soon as it is convenient.”

Oropher didn’t reply; he simply nodded once more and sat back down, and Tinnaril and Thranduil followed his lead.

Do not fret, melethel.

That candle lit back in her heart, even as Gil-galad turned from the table and extended his hand to her. Oropher is a slippery snake. But there is honor in him, and we will find our way to pin him yet.

She took the extended hand with a wry smile. Your patience will outlast the stars, my love.

Perhaps in some things. But in others…no, my queen. I have spent these last hours growing more and more impatient.

The ceremony.

Now that the feast was finished, it was time.

He led her to the far end of the courtyard. The murmuring and conversation among the guests died down as they walked, their destination clear; a bower of flowers and vines had been set up for the ceremony. Elrond had seen their movement, and was already waiting there, his hands folded in front of him. He bowed as they approached, and offered Linnea a smile as he straightened up and stepped to the side.

They needed no priest or commander to officiate, as Men did. Their marriage was between the two of them. Silence fell over the courtyard; the only sound was the occasional chirp of the birds. Linnea turned to face Gil-galad, and he did the same, carefully taking both of her hands in his.

“Nál melme coivienyo,” he said simply. “Ma aþal vesta ninna?”

A tear welled in her eye, spilling down her cheek. She knew it would not be the first.

You are the love of my life. Will you marry me?

“Nál melme coivienyo,” she whispered back. “Aþa.”

He had known her answer, but he still smiled at it. His eyes shimmered, and closed briefly.

“Ta, nai Manwe Súlimo tiruva me, Ereinion ar Linnea, ar nai Eru Ilúvatar alyuva me.”

Then, may Manwe Lord of Wind watch over us, Ereinion and Linnea, and may Eru the Father of All bless us.

The invoking of Eru’s name sent a shiver up her spine.

“Ar nai Varda Tintalle hlaruva ellorlma, Linnea ar Ereinion, ar nai Eru Ilúvatar alyuva me.”

And may Varda Star-kindler hear our calls, Linnea and Ereinion, and may Eru the Father of All bless us.

The words were simple enough, but as they rolled off her tongue, she felt the power in them. It was similar to how it had felt walking to the clearing of the Yavannildi; the eyes of the Valar were upon them, and she could practically feel those gazes pressing against her skin.

And a warmth, too. An approval of the love that filled the clearing. A feeling even greater than the sense of the Valar, a feeling that made her tremble in its power and its vastness.

But all that paled next to the look in Gil-galad’s eyes.

She could have beheld it until the sun set. But Elrond was coming forward, taking a small bundle of velvet from within his cloak, and that meant it was time for the exchange of rings.

Once he reached them, he unfolded the velvet reverently, letting the two rings rest in his palm. They were plain bands, no jewels or engraving, just an unending circle of gold.

Gil-galad went first, and Linnea couldn't help but marvel at his confidence. He took her hand and slipped the silver star off her finger, setting it back in the velvet that Elrond held, and then lifted the smaller of the two bands of gold. In another moment, it was resting cool on her finger, simple and pure.

Her turn.

The betrothal ring slid off his finger easily, as if even it knew that its task was done. And the gold ring went on just as easily. It was the work of a few seconds at most, but even in that short time, that gold ring looked like it had always been there. Vilya itself was overshadowed.

Another tear welled up and spilled down her cheek. She saw his hand move, and a moment later, felt his warm palm cup her face.

“Melethel,” he said softly. “I have something more for you.”

At that, she looked up, her eyes blurred from the tears. He smiled gently at her, and then tilted his head slightly so that his voice carried out to the guests.

“On this our wedding day, I bestow a gift upon my new wife.” His words rang out clear, and even had the group been twice the size, no one could have failed to hear him. “For you, melda tarí, as a symbol of the light you have brought to my heart.”

She wasn't entirely surprised. Not after she'd revealed having a gift of her own. And she guessed he had adhered more to tradition, as he extended his hand to Elrond and the herald filled it with another small cloth-wrapped bundle. But she still lost her breath when he opened it.

It was a pendant, wrought of gold, on a golden chain. It was faintly oval in shape, but formed of swirls and curls, evoking the flames she'd thought of when she'd first seen the embroidery on his robes. But at the center of the swirls was a fire opal the size of the pad of her finger, glowing from within, and setting off glittering sparkles in its depths as the light struck it.

She dragged her eyes from the jewel to Gil-galad's face, unable to speak.

“Calagûr,” he murmured. “May I?”

Calagûr. Heart-light. Linnea had never taken an epessë; not her, a simple weaver. But the word resonated in the air as Gil-galad spoke it, settling upon her shoulders like a cloak of her own. A name, and one that she would carry for the rest of her life; she knew that with utter certainty.

In the face of it, all she could do was nod, and turn her back to him. His arms came around her, his hands deftly settling the pendant in place and maneuvering the chain beneath her curls. And once he hooked the clasp, the necklace settled into place just above her heart, and the gold was not cold, but as warm as if it had been in the sun all day.

She turned back, and she met his eyes.

“Melda aran,” and her voice was soft; it was only for him. “Hantanyë tyen.”

It was the most thanks she could give at that moment, with everyone there; it would be most improper for her to grab him and kiss him as thoroughly as the gift merited. But she would do that later - and there was something else she could do now, something she'd been eager for ever since she had begun working with the brown wool her mother had woven.

She took a breath, raising her voice. “On this our wedding day, I bestow a gift upon my new husband,” she said. “For you, melda aran, the work of my hands, that you may feel me near even if we are apart.”

She saw him smile at her words. As Gil-galad had been putting the necklace on her, Elrond had discreetly slipped away, and now he was returning with a much larger bundle. The bulk of it filled Elrond's arms, the gold silk wrapping shining.

Gil-galad didn't look entirely surprised either, but of course she had told him she had a gift, and it would not take great wisdom to surmise that it was something of fabric. She accepted the bundle from Elrond and then extended it to Gil-galad, and he took it. He shifted it to one arm, using his free hand to unwrap it, and then the gold silk fell to the ground as he shook out the cloak.

Linnea had cut it with ample room, using every bit of the brown wool. There were pockets inside, reinforced and concealed within the lining, and the lining itself was of brown velvet. She had given it a deep hood as well; if the need was there, he could wrap himself in the cloak and draw the hood and be all but invisible.

Even without touching it, she could feel her mother's work. Lhénes’ charms had held strong through the cutting and sewing, and the cloak hummed with them.

And she herself had done more. His vision had stayed with her, of the brown sheep and the snow and the fiery heat of Sauron. Between the wool and the velvet, the cloak was warm and heavy, but she had embroidered charms into each of the seams and along the hem. Inside, protected by the lining so they would not snag or unravel, dozens of charms against fire and heat. He could not stand in the middle of a bonfire in the cloak - at least not for long. But it would buy a few moments, and it was often enough where even moments counted for much.

She flattered herself that the cloak was pleasing to the eye, but it was a purposeful garment - its place was in war, not at a wedding. But Gil-galad cared nothing for that; he swirled the cloak around himself, draping it over his shoulders to try it on. The edge stopped just above where his feet would be; she had gauged his height well. He looked at the fabric where it hung over his chest, stroking his hand down it.

“It is as beautiful as its maker,” he said softly. “And wearing it will remind me of my wife's embrace. Thank you, melethel.”

She smiled, and bowed her head to him. He slung the cloak off and handed it to Elrond, and then extended his hands to her again. This was the final part of the ceremony, and she placed her hands back in his with no hesitation. Normally, they would speak these final words in Quenya just as they had done with their blessings, but out of consideration for their Dwarven guests, had agreed to do so in Common.

“What was two, is now one. Let all assembled see and know, that Ereinion Gil-galad and Linnea Calagûr are wed, now and forever.”

His voice was still soft, but again it carried. Linnea swallowed hard, her eyes fixed on his.

“What was two, is now one. Let all assembled see and know, that Linnea Calagûr and Ereinion Gil-galad are wed, now and forever.”

She wasn't certain that anyone had heard her, the words had come out so quiet and so choked. And her eyes were fixed on Gil-galad. But she heard the applause start - restrained and polite from the Elves, exuberant and joyful from the two Dwarves - and that was proof enough.

And then Gil-galad leaned down.

It was a chaste kiss, a brief and gentle touch of lips. Appropriate for such a public setting. But she felt just the softest nibble, the briefest hint of the desire and the love behind the kiss, and she nibbled back just as quickly.

It would do for now.

Continue to Part 13 - warning, contains smut!

Gil-galad's welcome song:

O Elvenkind

Come gather here in this place

The leaves are gold, the water flows

Come and bear witness to this union

The river runs, the birds sing

O Elvenkind!

Come on this, the day of our marriage

The grass is green, the sun is bright

Come and sing, come and celebrate

Come see us now as we pledge our love forevermore.

#rings of power #gil galad #gil-galad #trop fanfiction #gil-galad x ofc #the rings of power #fanfic #fanfiction #fix it fic #fix it au

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wholoveseggs · 8 months ago

Text

Crimson Frost {Part One}

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

Part One

You are to be wed to Niklaus of the Mikaelson clan, but when tragedy strikes and blood is shed in the snowy night, the true strength of family bonds and the power of love are put to the ultimate test.

♡♡ I'm back with another series, one I've wanted to write for a long time. This series explores the lives of the Mikaelsons as ordinary individuals in the Viking era, told from the reader's perspective but also Niklaus's. ♡♡

6k words - Warnings: Viking AU where the Mikaelsons are completely human (no magic, werewolves, vampires... etc) lots of death and violence, sprinkle of norse mythology... no smut in this part, {Spoiler: it will be eventually reader x Elijah}

{Part Two} {Part Three} {Part Four} {Part Five}

"Gerda! Come help me with these flowers," you yelled from the back garden. You were gathering the best wildflowers you could find to make a wreath to wear for the feast that evening. It was still winter, but it had been mild for almost a whole moon, bringing the wildflowers early.

"Coming systir!" she replied. Gerda came out into the garden a few moments later, carrying a basket full of wildflowers and a smile on her face. "These will look so lovely in your hair tonight," she said holding up a bunch of lavender. "I'm sure Niklaus will be so happy to see you."

You blushed slightly at her words. Niklaus.

Your mother had told you that the feast tonight was to announce your marriage to the young Mikaelson. Your family was thrilled, having you marry one of the sons of the Karl increased your family's standing among the clan. However, you were still nervous. You had grown up with Niklaus, he was kind and had a sweet smile, but he was also quite wild and battle hungry. He had just returned from his first raiding voyage to the coast of the English lands, and the stories of his bravery were spreading.

“I'm sure he will, but he is not my betrothed yet," you said as you put some more flowers in your basket.

"That does not mean that he will not be soon, and you will have to kiss him eventually," Gerda replied.

"Gerda!" You threw a bunch of flowers at her. "Do not be so improper."

"Sorry systir," Gerda said laughing. "It's just exciting, you are getting married to a Mikaelson!"

"Let us hope that the gods smile on our union," you said, picking up your basket of flowers.

Gerda had only seen eleven summers yet she was eager to grow up, while you were less than eager. Your betrothal had been a long time coming and it was a good match for your family, but you didn't have the same excitement as your sister. You felt unprepared to be a wife.

You saw Niklaus coming over with his little brother Henrik and a small smile crossed your face.

You looked up at Niklaus. "Hello, Niklaus."

"My dear," Niklaus greeted, bowing his head. "You look beautiful as ever."

"Thank you," you replied.

Henrik stood beside his brother. "Nik, you promised we could spar today!"

"Henrik, patience," Niklaus said, placing a hand on his younger brother's shoulder. "How about you go with Gerda, she can watch while you practice."

"Come on Gerda, let's go," Henrik said excitedly, taking her hand and pulling her over to the field.

"Your brother seems enthusiastic," you remarked.

"It's what he was born to do," Niklaus said, watching his brother and your sister run off.

"They would make a good match, your Gerda and my Henrik," he suggested.

"Oh yes, Gerda is very fond of Henrik," you agreed. "But they are both so young, it's a bit too early to make a decision such as that."

"Of course, I would not wish to rush them," Niklaus said. "Besides, you are the one I'm here for today."

You looked away, a slight blush appearing on your cheeks. He was a true charmer and had seen many battles even at his young age, the ladies in the village loved him and were always fighting over his attention. But the truth was you didn't feel anything when you looked at him. There was no spark or tingle of love the way it was described in the fables, just a friendship that you wished would turn into something more.

But it was an honor for your family, to be marrying into such a noble household. And it wasn't like he was ugly, or cruel. He was a good man and would no doubt make a fine husband.

"I think it will be an early spring, with all of these flowers in bloom," Niklaus said, reaching down and picking a blue wildflower and handing it to you.

"I do too," you replied, smiling and putting the flower in your hair.

"Nik, I thought you were sparring with me!" Henrik yelled, trying to gain the attention of his older brother

"Very well!" He responded, giving you a wink before running after his little brother, he picked up Gerda and gave her a spin, making her laugh.

You laughed at the sight and watched the three of them. Niklaus, Henrik, and Gerda. Playing around and having fun, but soon the time would come for them to grow up, and you feared what that would bring.

The sound of laughter and music filled the longhouse, you were sitting on a bench between your mother and father, enjoying the feast.

Henrik and Gerda were dancing and playing near the fire, laughing and smiling. They had been inseparable all day, both excited about the wedding to come.

Your eyes found Niklaus, sitting on the other side of the longhouse, chatting with his older brothers, Finn and Elijah.

Your engagement was to be announced tonight, in front of the whole clan, but you had already heard the news. You were going to be Niklaus' wife, and the next lady of the Mikaelson clan.

But you would be lying if you said that the thought didn't fill you with dread. You didn't feel ready to be a wife.

You saw beautiful Rebekah, Niklaus's sister, dancing with her friends. Her long blonde hair in a thick braid with ribbons and flowers. She was laughing and having a good time, while you sat alone and tried to hide how nervous you were.

She came over and took your hand. "Come dance,”

You smiled and joined her, spinning and twirling around.

"I've heard the news, congratulations," she said. "My brother is a very lucky man."

"Thank you," you replied.

Rebekah pulled you in close. "Soon you will be with child and I'll have a little niece or nephew to dote on," she said, her hand moving down to touch your belly.

You laughed, a blush spreading across your cheeks. "Yes, that is my hope."

"Well, the sooner the better," Rebekah replied. "Nik is getting antsy."

"What do you mean?" You asked.

"There has been word that the Blackthorne clan has been moving in this direction," she said. "Nik's been preparing for a battle, he says he will not let them pass our borders."

"I see," you replied. The Blackthorne clan were known to be ruthless and merciless. Their leader, a man named Einar, was notorious for his brutal raids and pillaging. It had been said that he once slaughtered an entire village just because they refused to give him one of their daughters.

"My father doesn't think they will make a move, but Niklaus is worried," Rebekah said. She gave you a searching look, "He lusts for war and glory."

You frowned, looking at her. "What if he's right? What if they attack? What will happen to us?"

"Don't worry sweet girl, you are apart of my family now, and the Mikaelsons will protect you," Rebekah promised.

As the night went on you feasted and danced with the people of the village. There was food and drink for everyone, and the mood was jovial.

You saw your father sitting next to Mikael, they were deep in conversation and your father was nodding along with whatever the elder Mikaelson was saying.

Mikael suddenly stood, raising his mug and the room fell silent.

"Tonight, we celebrate the engagement of my son Niklaus to the daughter of Erik," Mikael announced, looking over at the two of you.

"To a bright future, may they have many sons to lead us into battle and may their union bring great fortune to both families."

The clan erupted into cheers, banging on the table and lifting their mugs.

"A toast, to Niklaus and his bride!" Mikael called.

Everyone raised their mugs, cheering for the couple. Niklaus approached you and wrapped his arms around you. “It seems the gods have finally smiled upon us," he whispered.

You nodded and smiled at him, trying not to let him see the uncertainty in your eyes. He kissed your cheek and danced with you, the feast continuing on.

As the night wore on, you sat by yourself, watching the dancing and laughter. Rebekah and her friends were talking, Henrik and Gerda were still spinning around, and Niklaus was deep in conversation with Elijah.

Your parents had left, they were a bit older and didn't stay up late like the others. You wanted to leave as well, but Gerda was having so much fun, you didn't want to cut her night short.

Kol came over, sitting down beside you. "You should be out there having fun, not sulking here all alone."

"I'm not sulking," you replied.

"Yes you are," Kol said, grabbing a piece of bread from the table and stuffing it in his mouth. The two of you had grown up together, and he always knew when something was wrong.

"Well, the whole marriage thing has been weighing heavily on my mind," you confessed.

"Oh, come on, Nik's a fine warrior," Kol remarked. "My brother has always been taken with you, he will make a good husband... I think," he teased.

You laughed a bit, pushing him gently. "I know, I know, but I just wish to wait a bit longer. It seems like this has all happened so quickly."

Kol put his arm around you. "You will come to love him, and even if you don't, I am sure the bedding will be enjoyable."

"Kol, stop it!" You giggled, shoving him away.

He grinned and took another piece of bread, "You go home and rest, I'll watch Gerda."

"Are you sure?" You asked.

"Positive," he said. "You are both family now, I will protect her as if she were my own blood."

"Thank you, Kol," you replied, giving him a kiss on the cheek. "I will see you tomorrow."

You made your way out of the longhouse and back towards your home, the cold night air filling your lungs, you breathed out a plume of heat into the chilly air, perhaps winter was not quite done yet. As you walked you thought about Niklaus, he had been so kind and thoughtful lately, he was a good man, you had no reason not to marry him.

You were pulled from your thoughts by the sound of rustling in the bushes, you paused and listened. It was probably just a fox or some other woodland creature, but something didn't feel right.

Suddenly, you were knocked to the ground, a man pinning you down.

"Don't scream," he hissed.

You struggled beneath him, trying to push him off. He smelled of mead and sweat, his face was covered in dirt, his teeth rotted and bloody.

He pressed a blade to your throat, you stopped moving and let out a gasp.

"Do not fight, and I won't hurt you," the man growled.

He had black hair and was wearing a thick fur cloak, his body pressed against yours as he held you down. He pulled at your dress, ripping the fabric and exposing your skin.

"No!" You cried, struggling against him.

He moved his hand up and grabbed your face, his fingers digging into your jaw.

"You are a pretty one, will fetch a good price," he said, running his hand down your body and touching you roughly.

You heard the sound of a horn blowing, signaling a raid. Panic coursed through you.

The Blackthornes had come.

The man was distracted momentarily by the sound and you took the opportunity to grab a rock and smash it against his head. He grunted and fell back, letting you go. You scrambled away and stood up, running to your home.

You heard the shouts of the villagers as they prepared for battle, the sounds of swords clashing and people dying.

As you ran, you saw a group of warriors, led by Einar Blackthorne, storming through the village, killing and setting everything on fire. By the time you got to your house, it was in flames.

Your parents were nowhere to be seen and your heart dropped. You picked up the wood axe sitting on a stump and broke down the door, the heat and smoke burning your lungs.

"Faðir!" You shouted, coughing and looking around. "Móðir!"

"Y/N," a voice called. You saw your mother, kneeling on the floor and holding her hands over her chest.

"Móðir!" You cried, rushing over to her. "What happened, are you alright?"

"Dóttir," she said, reaching out to you, her breathing was labored and her hands were covered in blood.

Your father lay next to her, a wound in his stomach and a pool of blood surrounding him.

"Faðir," you gasped, looking at his lifeless body.

"Gerda," your mother croaked, clutching at your dress. "Go get Gerda,"

"I will," you assured her. "But first I must get you out of here."

You tried to help her stand, but her breathing became ragged and her eyes fluttered closed.

"Móðir?" You said, shaking her.

She didn't respond and her head slumped forward, her body limp in your arms.

"Móðir!" You screamed, tears streaming down your cheeks.

The smoke grew thicker, and the fire was getting closer. The wood beams above cracking and falling.

You laid her down gently, the smoke stinging your eyes, the heat of the flames singeing your hair and burning your skin.

You stumbled through the flames, making your way out of the house, you coughed and sputtered, trying to breathe in the clean air. Your village was engulfed in chaos and flames, you could see the invaders killing and stealing, their cries echoing through the night.

"Gerda," you whispered, trying to catch your breath.

A figure appeared in the darkness, a man wielding a sword, his body covered in blood and his face masked by the smoke. He was wearing the Blackthorne colors of gray and red. You raised your axe and struck him down, the blade slicing through his neck. Rage and adrenaline coursed through you, the fury of Tyr fueling you as you continued on, searching for Gerda.

Your family, your clan, your home had been destroyed. Everything you loved was burning, but you were determined to find your baby sister.

Your ran back to the longhouse, it was in flames, the heat radiating off of the building.

"Gerda!" You screamed out for her, trying to find her in the chaos.

You could hear the sound of fighting and screams, the smell of burning wood and blood filled the air.

Suddenly, a man emerged from the smoke, the same one who tried to rape you earlier, you raised your axe again, ready to strike.

But the man grabbed the blade, stopping the swing mid-air and pulling it from your grasp. He smirked and grabbed you by the hair, throwing you to the ground. You looked up at the longhouse, the place where you had spent so many nights with the Mikaelson family, the place where Gerda and Henrik were.

"You will make a good prize," he growled, running his hands over your body.

"No!" You screamed, thrashing around and he laughed and pinned you down, his hands tearing at your dress.

You could hear the cries of the villagers as they fought for their lives, the screams of the children and the clash of steel.

A hand grabbed the back of your attacker's neck and he was ripped away from you, you gasped, scrambling back. You watched the men fight viciously, exchanging blows.

Your savior was wearing the Mikaelson colors of green and blue, and you realized it was Niklaus.

You stood and grabbed your axe, raising it and attacking other raiders as they tried to approach, giving Niklaus the advantage.

"Y/n! systir!" You heard the sound of your name being called and you looked up, seeing Gerda and Henrik being hauled off by the raiders.

"Gerda!" You shouted, running after them.

You couldn't reach them, another raider jumped in front of you, swinging his sword. You ducked and avoided his blow, swinging your axe and catching him in the side.

He fell to the ground and you kept running, chasing after the raiders and your sister. You ran as fast as you could, dodging the raiders who were trying to stop you. But it was no use, they caught you and dragged you back.

Snow was starting to fall, and you could feel the cold biting at your skin. Two raiders had you by the arms, dragging you along the cold ground, you knew it wouldn't be long before you saw Valhalla. They threw you onto the back of a horse, the cold metal of a knife pressed to your throat.

"Don't struggle or we'll throw you into the fire," the man behind you growled.

You kicked him hard, and he struck you across the face, but you didn't care. Your family was dead, your home was gone, and Gerda was being taken away.

Suddenly, the men on the horse yelled, and the knife was pulled from your throat. You looked up to see a figure in armor, holding a Mikaelson shield in one hand and a sword in the other.

He struck down the Raiders, their bodies falling to the ground. You were disoriented from the blow, unable to see who had come to your rescue.

The figure grabbed the reins of the horse, and the beast whinnied, bucking wildly. He pulled you against him, the metal of his armor cold against your skin.

"Shhhh," he whispered, trying to calm the horse.

You recognized the voice, it was Elijah, Niklaus’ elder brother.

"We have to get out of here, can you ride?" He asked.

You nodded and he handed you the reins. You could see the bodies of the raiders scattered around, and the sounds of the battle were beginning to fade. Snow and ash fell from the sky, and the scent of death hung in the air.

"Come on," Elijah said, pulling himself up behind you.

He wrapped his arm around you, taking the reins back. "I will take you somewhere safe," he promised.

"What about your family? They took Gerda and Henrik," you asked, tears stinging your eyes.

The horse took off, galloping through the woods and away from the destruction. You looked back, seeing the flames and smoke rising into the night sky, and you wondered if Gerda was still alive.

"I saw Niklaus going after them, we have to hope he can save them," Elijah replied.

You held onto the horse tightly, the wind and sleet whipping against your face. The snow falling heavier now, the trees bare and the branches covered in a layer of ice.

Elijah's voice cut through the cold, "I know a place we can shelter from this storm,"

The wind howled and the snow fell heavily, obscuring your vision. You could barely see a thing, but you trusted Elijah.

You didn't know how long you'd been riding, but eventually, Elijah stopped the horse and helped you down.

He brushed away some snow to reveal a small cabin built into a overhang of rock. He tied the horse to a post under the eaves of the structure and opened the door, motioning for you to enter.

"It's not much, but it will keep us warm," he said.

The cabin was made of logs and stones, and there was a fireplace in the center. You shivered, your body numb from the cold.

Elijah started a fire with some wood that was already stacked inside the cabin, and soon the room was filled with warmth and light.

You sat on a bench, the flames from the fireplace flickering, casting shadows on the walls. Elijah sat beside you, and you could see the exhaustion and sorrow in his eyes.

"What of the rest of your family? Your parents? Rebekah? Kol? Finn?" You asked.

Elijah let out a sigh, "my parents and Finn were killed, I lost Kol and Rebekah, I don't know where they are or if they're even alive,"

He turned to look at you, his dark eyes full of sadness. "What about your parents?"

You looked away, a lump forming in your throat. "Dead as well."

You tried to stop the tears, to be strong, but the thought of your mother and father, and all those people, gone, was too much to bear. You buried your face in your hands and sobbed, the grief washing over you like a tidal wave.

Elijah placed his cloak around you and got up to stoke the fire. He added more wood, and the flames crackled and popped.

He sat back down and you moved closer, resting your head on his shoulder, his arm wrapping around you. You were both tired and hurt, and you knew that this might be the last night you ever spent alive. You were both silent for a moment, the weight of the night's events heavy on your minds.

"I am sorry about your family," Elijah whispered.

"As I am sorry about yours," you replied, looking up at him.

This was the first time you ever really spoke to him, as children you were always running around with Kol and Rebekah. Elijah was the stern older brother, the one who was always scolding you for being reckless. But now, he seemed so different.

He placed his hand on your cheek, his thumb gently wiping away the tears that were rolling down your cheeks.

"We will find them, and send every single one of those Blackthornes straight to Hel,"

Niklaus was smiling as he feasted and celebrated his engagement. The scent of meat and ale mingled with the smell of pine and fire, the flickering candles casting a warm glow on the room.

He sat with his brother, Elijah, watching as the members of the clan drank and danced. The atmosphere was festive, and everyone seemed to be having a good time, Niklaus loved a good party, especially one that was about him.

"Isn't she a beauty, brother?" He remarked, watching you from across the table.

"She will be a fine wife for you," Elijah replied, sipping his mead.

"Do you think she will let me bed her before the wedding? I do wish to know what pleasures await me," he grinned.

"Niklaus," Elijah sighed, "You cannot speak of your betrothed in such a manner, have some respect."

"Relax brother, it is just the two of us," he shrugged.

"Still, a woman's virtue is not a subject to be jested about,"

"Oh come on, 'Lijah, I'm only joking. Even the gods would agree that the wedding cannot come soon enough." He said, taking a sip of his mead.

The men were sitting around the table, feasting and drinking. Niklaus watched his little brother Henrik playing with Gerda, they were dancing and spinning in circles.

"I'm surprised Kol is not joining in on the festivities," Niklaus said, nodding to where Kol was sitting alone at the end of the table.

"He's been moody lately," Elijah remarked. "His courting of the Blackthorne girl did not go well, he returned with an arrow in his thigh."

"He was lucky to come back at all," Niklaus muttered. "Father won't listen to reason when it comes to the Blackthornes."

"What would you have him do Niklaus? Wage a war we cannot win?" Elijah replied, his eyes flickering over to where you were talking to some of the women.

"This is how I see it. We either bring the fight to the Blackthornes or wait for them to bring the fight to us," Niklaus stated.

"You two talk of politics like wise old men," Finn piped up. "But you're nothing more than fools, unprepared for battle. The Blackthornes are a mighty clan, and if we were to attack, we would lose everything we've built here."

"When have you seen battle Finn? When you put your trousers on in the morning? Or when you wipe your ass?" Niklaus laughed, grinning at Finn maliciously.

Finn rolled his eyes and ignored the insult, "This is a peaceful village. The only bloodshed we've seen is at the hands of wolves and bears. Father is right to avoid conflict."

"I stopped listening after you said 'father is right', that means nothing to me," Niklaus remarked, downing his drink.

"Well, then I shall take my leave and continue this conversation with someone who actually has the capacity to understand it," Finn huffed, getting up from his seat.

Elijah shook his head, "He does have a point Niklaus. War is not something we can take lightly, the consequences could be dire."

Niklaus watched as Finn went over to you and offered his hand, no doubt asking you for a dance. He watched as you politely rejected Finn. He smiled to himself, you really were the perfect wife.

"We can't avoid the Blackthornes forever. Eventually, we will have to make a move," Niklaus stated.

"Not today, Niklaus, not tonight. Tonight is a night of celebration," Elijah said. "You cannot lust after war on the night of your engagement."

"Fine," Niklaus sighed. "We will discuss this tomorrow,"

"Very well," Elijah agreed.

"I'll hold you to that," Niklaus said, downing the rest of his mead, he watched as you danced with Rebekah, he loved the way you smiled and laughed.

He felt a sense of peace and happiness, knowing that soon, you would be his wife. He looked to his father, who raised his mug and toasted to the union, a gesture that surprised Niklaus, but also put him at ease.

The music began to play, and the men started dancing with their wives. He came over to you, and told you how the gods were smiling down at your union. You looked so beautiful, and he could barely take his eyes off of you.

He danced with you for a while, before Elijah approached and asked for a private word. The brothers found a quiet corner, away from the crowds and music.

"What is it?" He asked.

"I've gotten word from a scout that the Blackthornes are near. Their numbers are great, and they are preparing to attack," Elijah informed him.

"When will they be here?" Niklaus asked, his mind already racing with possible scenarios and outcomes.

"On the morrow, if the scouts are correct," Elijah replied, his voice tense.

"Then we must prepare. I'll rally the men, and we'll set a trap. We'll lead the Blackthornes into the woods, and ambush them," Niklaus said, his eyes flashing with excitement.

"Father has it well in hand, enjoy the celebrations Niklaus," Elijah said. "And be careful not to drink too much, I will need your help in the morning."

Niklaus nodded, but couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that had settled in the pit of his stomach. He glanced over to where you were sitting, chatting and laughing with Kol. You were so happy and carefree, and he wanted to protect that, even if it meant risking his life.

Niklaus spent the rest of the evening drinking and dancing, trying to push aside his worries. You left not long after, and he went to follow, but Kol stopped him, "Let her be Niklaus. She's tired, and I'm sure she has a lot on her mind."

He begrudgingly agreed and stayed, dancing with Henrik on his shoulders as Gerda did on Kol's. It was late, and he could feel the effects of the mead and ale taking hold.

"Off to bed now little Henrik. I'll walk you home sweet Gerda," Kol said softly, setting her down and kissing her cheek.

Suddenly the sound of a horn rang through the night air, and they froze, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end.

"To arms!" Mikael shouted, his voice echoing through the longhouse.

The room erupted into chaos, the men rushing to grab their weapons and armor. Niklaus laughed, rushing to grab his sword, "So much for a peaceful night!"

He grabbed his shield and rushed outside, joining the fray of battle.

The smell of blood and sweat filled his nostrils as he swung his sword, cutting down raider after raider. Glory and honor filled his heart as he fought, but the thought of you was never far from his mind.

He had promised you that he would keep you safe, and he intended to keep that promise. Your father was old and you had no brothers to defend you, tonight it was his duty. He headed towards your home, but stopped at the sound of his sister screaming, he turned to see Finn swinging wildly at Einar Blackthorne.

His eldest brother was standing in front of Rebekah, she was holding a sword with shaking hands.

"Finn, don't!" Rebekah pleaded, watching him try to fight Einar, but it was an uneven match, Einar struck Finn across the torso with his axe and he crumpled to the ground.

Rebekah fell to her knees at his side, "No! Finn, no!" She cried, clutching to his body.

Einar grabbed Rebekah by the hair and dragged her away.

Niklaus roared and chased after them, but was cut off by a group of raiders, and he slashed and hacked his way through them, searching for where his sister had been taken in the chaos.

Kol was fighting nearby, the young warrior was up against a beast of a man, he stabbed Kol in the arm and he collapsed to the ground.

He heard the sounds of Kol's screams, the boy was fighting for his life. The sight of Kol, bloody and beaten, snapped something inside Niklaus.

He ran towards the man who had stabbed his brother, his eyes full of rage and fury. The man was large and strong, but Niklaus was faster, he plunged his sword into the man's chest and twisted, watching as the life drained from his eyes.

Niklaus could almost hear the drum beats of war, as though the gates of Valhalla had opened, and his ancestors were cheering him on.

The scent of blood and death was thick in the air, and the sounds of clashing metal and screams filled the night. The ground was covered in the bodies of the dead and wounded, and the snow was stained crimson.

He pulled Kol to his feet, and saw Elijah fighting off a group of raiders, his movements a blur as he sliced and cut.

"I can't find Rebekah, they've taken her!" Niklaus cried out.

"We will find her, brother. I promise," Elijah replied, his gaze fierce and determined.

Niklaus could see the fires from the longhouse, the smoke rising into the sky. His family's home was burning, and the village was being pillaged and raided.

Elijah pulled his younger brothers into an embrace, his hands on their shoulders, "our father and mother have been stuck down, I could not save them,"

"Finn?" Kol asked, his eyes darting around, looking for the eldest brother.

"Gone," Niklaus replied.

The three brothers looked at each other, the weight of their losses settling over them. Elijah pulled his younger brothers into an embrace, their foreheads touching.

"I will find Rebekah, I promise. Niklaus, find Y/N, get her to safety," Elijah instructed.

"But brother-" Niklaus began.

"Now!" Elijah roared.

Niklaus and Kol exchanged a glance and nodded, and Elijah took off in one direction.

Niklaus and Kol began to search the village, but all they found were the bodies of their people, dead and dying.

The sound of your screams caught Niklaus' attention, and he rushed towards the noise, Kol close behind.

They found you, being held by a raider, he was ripping at your clothes, and you were fighting him with all your might.

Kol saw Rebekah being loaded onto a cart and he rushed after it.

Niklaus' vision turned red, and he charged at the raider, pulling him off of you and tackling him to the ground. His blood was boiling, and he couldn't stop his rage.

He slammed his fist into the raider's face, again and again. The sound of bones crunching and the taste of blood filled his senses. He attacked him like a rabid beast and he watched you get to your feet and lunge at another raider, cutting him down with just a wood axe. He smiled and laughed at the sight, the goddess Freja possessed you, beautiful and deadly.

He heard the sounds of Gerda's screams and watched you chase after her. He went to follow but was knocked over by a blow to the head.

He rolled over, the world spinning around him. He tried to stand, but he stumbled and his vision blurred. It was like everything was moving in slow motion, and silence fell.

He saw you being dragged away, kicking and screaming. He saw Kol, fighting a few paces away, his movements becoming slower and sloppier as his wounds took their toll. But he had saved Rebekah, she was helping him stay upright, the two of them fighting back to back.

He saw a raider raise his axe to strike Kol, and he saw Rebekah push him out of the way. Blood burst from her face as the blade made contact. She fell to the ground, clutching her head.

It was as if Thor himself had struck him with lightning, he forced himself to stand, roaring with pure rage. He grabbed a spear from the ground. He hurled it, watching as it impaled the raider, a look of surprise and pain on his face as he fell to the ground, dead.

Niklaus rushed towards his siblings, grabbing them and dragging them to their feet.

"Go!" He shouted, picking up Rebekah and dragging her towards the tree line, Kol close behind.

He looked back, trying to see you, but you were gone.

They stumbled into the woods, the sounds of the raid fading into the distance.

"Where's Elijah? Henrik, Gerda, Y/n?" Kol asked, panic in his voice.

Niklaus didn't reply, the weight of his sister and the wound in his side making it difficult to breathe.

"Niklaus, where are they?" Kol repeated.

"I- I don't know," Niklaus panted, stumbling over a branch.

The trees loomed above them, the darkness of the forest threatening to swallow them whole.

They continued to run, the sounds of the battle growing distant.

"We will find them. But first we must get Rebekah to a healer, she will die if we do not," Niklaus stated, his voice low and determined.

"We can't just leave them," Kol protested, his voice cracking.

"You don't think I know that!" Niklaus yelled, louder and angrier than he meant to.

Kol was quiet, the only sounds were their labored breathing and the crunching of leaves beneath their feet.

They walked for what felt like an eternity, the pain in Niklaus' side growing worse with every step. The rapidly falling snow making it hard to see.

Niklaus could hear Kol sniffling and muttering to himself, his younger brother was barely holding on.

He was struggling too, the guilt and pain eating away at him.

He had failed you.

{Part Two} {Part Three} {Part Four} {Part Five}

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bones4thecats · 9 months ago

Text

OL! S/O Defends Angel from Valentino

Type of Writing: Random Idea Characters: Valentino, Vox, Carmilla Carmine, and Alastor Name: OL! S/O Defends Angel from Valentino Idea-Gifter: Random Thoughts

A/N: I'm sure you you can tell that Alastor is one of my favorites because of how long his part is in comparison to the rest. That and I love torturing Valentino, he needs something to scare him straight. I vote in Season 2, Niffty or Alastor scares the shit outta him again

⚠️ Trigger Warnings: Swearing, Mentions of SA, and Death ⚠️ Spoilers for: S1 ⚠️

✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

Bat-Demon! Reader ; Little Brown Bat

❣️ You had been in business with your boyfriend for quite a while, and you understood barely anything of how he treated his workers

❣️ Specifically, how he treated Angel Dust

❣️ Angel and you had gone back to the years when you were alive, working together within his family's mafia. Though, the he went by the name Anthony instead of the drug-induced one

❣️ And while you were used to his very flirty and shameless personality, you could read people like a book. You were so good at reading people, that even Alastor noticed you and would praise you on your abilities

❣️ So, when you noticed Angel walking out of his dressing room after Valentino with his eyes blasted open and a small amount of blood on his arm, you began to question your boyfriend

❣️ And in retaliation to letting it sit, you waited until the rest of his employees had either retired for the night or had left the studio

❣️ Grabbing your pen and a piece of paper before writing a note and teleporting it to your friend Rosie that you wouldn't be able to join her and Alastor for tea that night due to some last minute changes, you readied yourself

❣️ You had noticed that Angel and Valentino had walked into his room earlier that afternoon and hadn't come out for around an hour

❣️ Because of your earlier suspicions, you mentally prepared yourself for any kind of sight. But to amount of time to prepare could help fix what you had seen

❣️ Kicking open the door when it wouldn't open, you eyes shot open in shock as Valentino laid upon Angel, torturing the poor spider-sinner to pieces with his touches

❣️ Your pupils dilated, covering your entire eyes as your wings flared up in anger while you hissed with your teeth bared. It was at that moment you realized you had pulled and knocked Valentino down and stood in front of Angel Dust, defending him

❣️ Protecting him

❣️ Valentino stood up in anger, yelling at you for what you had done. But once he saw just how mad you were, he froze in fear. It was at that moment he remembered, he was no longer the top dog here. You were

❣️ Bats are known to tear apart and feast on moths such as himself, and while he never has seen your full demon form, he now regretted ever looking at you. You were truly horrifying, much like your friend the Radio Demon

" If you ever, ever, dare to touch Angel Dust in such a way; I will tear your soul apart and allow Alastor to blare your screams across Hell for all to hear. I'm sure he'd be fine with it... he was with the last three who disobeyed my warnings. "

❣️ Your boyfriend tensed as you stepped closer and pulled him down by his wings to look into your eyes;

" Am I clear, Valentino? " " Y-Yes, ma'am. " " Good. Now get the fuck out. And to make sure you truly understand my warning, I want you to get rid of Angel's contract. Whether you like it or not. " " But I can't just- " " Must I repeat my last warning? " " No. "

❣️ With that word, Valentino pulled out Angel's contract, the pink chain wrapping around the spider-demon's neck then starting to fade away as the contract faded into nothingness, like it always should've been

" Good boy. And by the way, we're done. I am not going to ally myself with someone as heinous as you. And that's coming from someone who is friends with the Radio Demon. "

❣️ Valentino, now your ex-boyfriend, glared at the ground as your demon-form cooled away as you teleported Angel's things and yours before leaving in a cab to the Hazbin Hotel

" That son of a bitch will know his place. And that little whore will also observe how I'll teach them to obey me. One way or another, I will get my hands on them... no matter the cost... "

Technology-Demon! Reader ; Cyber-security

📺 All Vox has heard for days was about how much of a 'little bitch' his spouse was, and how Valentino wished he had murdered the Overlord long before they gained the rank

📺 To say the technology-demon was upset about the claim was an understatement, rather, he was beyond pissed that the moth-Overlord had the audacity to say those things about his S/O to his face

📺 He had been gone for a few meetings for a couple days, and when he arrived again only to find his room bare of anything related to you got him worried; what had he done?

📺 Grabbing his phone, he dialed your number, already preparing his questions for you.

" Hello? " " Y/N! Where in the name of everything unholy are you?! I come home from two days of work only to find all of your stuff gone from our room?! What did I do wrong? "

📺 He could hear another voice in the background, and he could also hear you using your powers to create something and his mind began to run at 400+ miles an hour

" Who is that? " " It's Angel Dust, y'know the guy who works for Valentino. Or rather, worked for Valentino. "

📺 Okay, now you've officially lost him. How would Angel even manage to quit working for the moth-demon, all the Vees knew that Angel Dust had been sighed under contract for Val to own his soul, how would he get it back?

📺 Vox quickly connected the dots; you were a cyber-security demon. And you were also an Overlord. It was in your blood to protect those that you held dear, whether it be information or another being, you always guarded it

📺 So, it would make sense for you to see danger in how Valentino treated Angel Dust, so, you would've stepped in to defend him, resulting in a meltdown from the Overlord, causing you to leave with your friend

" Where are you guys? " " I can't say, Vox. But, I can meet you sometime soon. Just, not right now. Not while Valentino is still ripe from our discussion. "

📺 Now, to say he was getting annoyed was a hint of a overstatement, he could understand why you didn't want him to know. You understood how he thought better than anyone, you knew that somehow he blabber about where you and the sinner were, resulting in Valentino attempting to kill you both

📺 Vox sighed and gripped his VoxTek phone tightly, making a small crack noise echo from it and through his sound-grabbers he used for ears on his TV-head

" Understood. But, how about tomorrow? Or next week? Whatever works, dear. " " We can try after tomorrow, I want to help Angel settle. " " That's fine. But- please be safe. " " When am I not? " " Just!- Just stay safe, damn it. "

Dancer-Demon! Reader ; Contemporary Dancing

🩰 She was surprised when you had come home with the spider demon she learned was named Angel Dust one night

🩰 You had small cuts on your legs while Angel had many different injuries on him, and when she noticed how you were trying to keep the sinner alive, she ordered for her followers to help heal him while she took care of you

🩰 While Carmilla healed you up, she had asked why you brought home Valentino's worker, claiming that he was supposedly staying at the Hazbin Hotel and not somewhere else

" I had walked in their to hand Valentino some paperwork I needed him to fill out in order to manage the territories, but when I noticed he was gone and that Angel's door was cracked open, I got curious. "

🩰 She looked up at you as she wrapped more bandages around your midsections, prompting you to inhale slightly before continuing your story

" And when I heard the cries of Angel Dust's while Valentino's crude and horrid mouth spewed those nasty words as he continued his touches on him, I just- I felt the urge to protect him, as if he was our daughters. "

🩰 Carmilla smiled slightly at the mention of her daughters. She knew you were protective of them, and her to a degree, but hearing that you had the urge to protect him and them, the parental urge to protect the three, it just made her happy

🩰 Before she could finish her reply, her daughter Odette walked in and told her that Angel Dust was resting in a spare room and that Clara was just making sure he was okay

🩰 The powerful Overlord smiled and nodded to her daughter, allowing the blonde-demon to slip outside to allow you both to continue your conversation

" My love, while I am happy that you would protect Clara and Odette as your own. I am quite puzzled. Why would you risk yourself just for some random sinner you had no closeness to beforehand? " " I'm not sure myself, I just moved without any hesitation, like you did during Extermination last year. When you protected the girls from the angel. "

🩰 Her eyes slightly widened at the mention of that day, the day that she realized an exorcist could be killed by the same weapon that they yielded

🩰 But, she smiled again and pulled the ties out from her hair, allowing the two spikes to fall down behind her back. She was getting ready to rest for the night, after all, dealing weapons was tiresome

" Y/N, I understand why you protected him. And yes, it is quite similar to how I protected the girls. But, remember, do not fight with pure blood-lust, fight for those you care for. " " I did. For Angel Dust. " " Understood. Now, how about we rest for a while? After all, performing with your kind of dance-style would make you tense when dealing with such an arrogant being. "

Mammal-Demon! Reader ; White-Tailed Deer

🔘 Alastor knew that you viewed many members of the Hotel as dear friends or rarely family, though you seemingly had been getting closer to that flirty spider-demon as of late

🔘 What was his name again? Ah, right. Angel Dust, like the old drug

🔘 Your husband also knew just how protective you were of those close to you. He remembers vividly watching you maul some random demon because he tried touching Niffty

🔘 Ah, what fond memories!

🔘 But, when you had come back to the Hotel with cuts alongside your arms and one prominent one against your eye, his ears trailed backwards and his antlers began to slightly enlarge

🔘 He speed-walked up to you as Charlie dealt with Angel's injuries with Husk and Vaggie's help, dragging you back to your shared room

" Darling, what in the name of Hell happened? " " It was nothing, my love. " " Bullshit. Who did this to my beautiful spouse? Names. "

🔘 Alastor stared at you with his pupils slowly changing into dials. While he knew that he wasn't going to scare you fully, he noticed how you held yourself against his gaze; strongly but with some hesitation

" Dearest, names if you don't wish for something truly bad to happen to whoever I suspect is behind this treachery. "

🔘 You sighed and began to slouch, making your husband's eyes widen and ears to twitch up in surprise, you never slouches like this unless you fought against some exorcists in the Extermination

🔘 He sat beside you, laying his microphone staff on the end of the bed as he grabbed your chin lightly, pulling it for you to look at him. And he asked you the question, this time with a far more gentle tone, a soft tone of radio music playing in the background as his smile lowered just slightly

" Y/N, do tell me. I just want to know who had harmed you in such a way. " " ... Valentino. "

🔘 The sound of a radio screeching echoed through the Hotel, putting everyone in a state of slight fear, that sound was never something to take lightly when it would come from the Radio Demon

" As in our fellow Overlord, Valentino? " " Yes. " " And what pray tell did that sloppy wretch do to you, darling? Well, you and Angel Dust. " " Well... I had arrived to bring Angel back to the Hotel, since I needed to speak to him about stuff, but when I noticed he was still inside, I went to go grab him. "

🔘 Alastor nodded along as you spoke, his smile had almost formed a frown at the mention of V Tower, the shit-showy building that his arch-enemy Vox and his little allies lived inside of

" I had walked to his dressing room and when I heard the sounds of Angel's cries, I couldn't stop myself from going crazy and beginning to torture the soul of Valentino's. But, he is still alive. I didn't want Vox up my ass about something like that... especially about someone so- so fucking shitty. "

🔘 He returned his full smile and hummed in agreement. He wasn't fond of most of his fellow Overlords, the only ones he really didn't hate would be Zestial, Rosie, Carmilla, and you

🔘 Alastor then hugged you, playing a small tune, a favorite of yours, and stood up with you in his arms before kissing your forehead

🔘 You were the only person he had ever felt any kind of feeling towards in years, and he wasn't going to let some fucking bastard tear your joyful self from him like nothing. Not if he had a say in it that is

🔘 But, he can put his blood-lust and wish for revenge behind him in favor of comforting you in the form of a small dance and sing-along with you in your bedroom

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thenixkat · 3 months ago

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[this contains spoilers]

[ID: Two panels from Dungeon Meshi featuring Laios, Senshi, and Chilchuck.

Panel 1: Laios says, "Does that mean I have to spend the rest of my life… feeling slightly hungry all the time?"

Panel 2: Senshi replies, "Aye, so it seems." Chilchuck: You have my sympathies. Laios: T-this can't be true… /End ID]

[ID: Three panels from Dungeon Meshi featuring Marcille, Laios, and Senshi.

Panel 1: Marcille: Is it painful? Laios: Well, no… it's just the constant feeling of only being about 40% full.

Panel 2: Laios: I'd like to eat a little bit more. Senshi, could you serve me another por-…

Panel 3: Senshi stares at Laios while holding the empty pot of the stew that Laios just consumed. /End ID]

Just still thinking about how being constantly hungry would fuck with someone's head. Like he says here that it's the constant feeling of only being 40% full but like, he's been feasting for seven days and nights. Man just finished a whole post of stew intended to be eaten by five people by himself and had another whole pot of stew before that one. So that's feeling only 40% full when he should be feeling stuffed as a turkey.

How bad is that hunger when he hasn't eaten anything? Would it be unbearable then? Painful? Feel like being starved?

Or is it a flat 40% fullness feeling no matter what? Could he go several days without eating and not notice until his body gives out b/c he didn't feel any hungrier?

#man is very lucky that that 7 days/nights of feasting didn't kill him

(Fyi I'm not fine with people making eugenics-flavored comments on my post like 'death would be preferable' there are real people in the world who have disorders that mean they can't feel full. Implying that their existence is nothing but torture is yikes, so keep that kind of mentality off of my posts)

#nix meows #dungeon meshi #described #laios touden #spoilers #senshi of izganda #chilchuk tims #marcille donato #izutsumi

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aquilapolariz · 1 year ago

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the ocean's mercy (portgas d. ace x reader)

Summary: Ace encounters an ocean of memories and thoughts that seem to drown him. Someone needs to pull him out of the sea and help him navigate it.

Notes/Warnings: Minor spoilers for Ace's background and minor spoilers for Wano (all of them are literally just name drops), angst with comfort! Requested by anon

Word Count: 2.2k | Read below the cut or on Ao3 here!

The Moby Dick was filled with cheers and liquor as the crew watched Ace single-handedly take down a pirate crew. Pride swelled within you, joining in the shouts and claps of your pirate brothers and sisters.

Ace landed back on the ship with a dramatic thud, hopping onto the railing, and then jumping onto the deck.

Ace was reliable but reckless, fiery and confident. His tattooed back was facing you, Whitebeard’s Jolly Roger on display to Ace’s friends, enemies, and everyone in between. But really, when it came to Ace, there really was no in-between. He loved like there was no tomorrow and saved pure hatred only for those he believed deserved it: those who hurt the people he cared about.

His shoulders, strong and sure, slouching only when he squatted on the edge of the ship, were laid back in satisfaction. His chest was puffed out with no signs of exhaustion on his face. He shined bright like the sun, his radiant smile reinvigorating the crew, which prompted them to grow louder and drink even more rum. It seemed like nothing could ever shake Ace or his unwavering resolve. The air around him was full of certitude, as if only the strongest of earthquakes and tsunamis could weaken his unfaltering spirit.

And disasters that were big enough to shake up Ace were few and far between.

A disaster of that magnitude ended up being Marco offering Ace the position of Second Division Commander. You raised your eyebrows at Ace’s hesitation. For a full week, he didn’t give Whitebeard or Marco a proper answer.

The great Fire Fist Ace is never uncertain, or so you thought.

+++

Ace made everything look effortless. From making his crewmates laugh to punching enemy pirates or falling asleep in any situation, Ace made living life look easy. But he was only human. And just like every human, Ace contained multitudes that were hidden beneath his facade.

“Looks like we’re spending more time together, huh?”

“Guess so,” you said inattentively. “Though you are a big shot now, Mr. Second Division Commander. Who says you’ll have the time to spend on me?”

“As my own boss, I say so. I gotta get to know the Second Division better than anyone else.”

“Well, cheers to that,” you responded, your glass clinking against his as the party celebrating Ace’s promotion commenced.

You didn’t tell Ace — or anyone else for that matter — that you saw him pacing outside of Pop’s door for an hour the night before.

+++

Even from the ship, you could see that his feet were in the sand, but his mind was somewhere far away.

“Hey, Ace,” you uttered, quietly approaching him.

“Hey,” he replied, his eyes regaining their vibrant glow as he turned to you with a captivating smile. “Not enjoying the feast?”

“Hard to enjoy it without you,” you shot back.

“Codependency at its worst,” Ace laughed.

You sat down next to him, the sunkissed sand filling in the spaces between your toes and enveloping your feet like a warm embrace. “Why aren’t you on the ship with everyone?” you lightly chided, “it’s a commander’s duty to spend time with their crew, no?”

“Wasn’t really feeling it today, I guess.”

“Was it something Teech said? I swear that guy doesn’t know how to shut up.”

“If I was bothered by Teech I would’ve left this ship long ago,” he chuckled as he looked away from you. Ace’s hearty laughter was like a wave that regularly washed away your worries. But this time, it didn’t.

You took in the view he was facing: a shoreline that never seemed to end. Before you joined him on the beach, Ace had been staring at the sand for what felt like years. Within the minuscule grains, Ace could see the faces of a young Sabo and the legendary Gold Roger. He blinked and those faces morphed into the purple-haired Otama and the crying face of Yamato.

These sands of doubt and time did nothing to ease the tension in Ace’s body.

“Despite how close you are to everyone, it still feels like you keep people at arm’s length. You said you needed to get to know your division more, but how about letting the division know you?”

“There’s nothing to know.” Ace feigned offense at your skeptical expression, “What can I say? I’m a simple guy.”

“A simple guy who Whitebeard allowed to take a division commander spot?” you questioned.

“Exactly! What you see is what you get.”

You snorted. “What I see is a devil-fruit user, who has a misspelled tattoo of his name and doesn’t know how to wear a shirt.”

He let out a dramatic sigh. “Contrary to popular belief, I know how to spell my name.”

“That’s odd. I’m not getting that from what I’m seeing.”

“Then what do you get from what you see of me?”

“I see my second division commander. Reliable. Cares about his friends and his family to a fault.” You paused, but Ace kept nodding, urging you to go on. “You’re just eating all these compliments up, huh?”

“Whattttttttt? Nooooo!”

“I see a stubborn idiot”— you mentally celebrated a small victory when Ace’s lips instantly turned to a pout — “who’s too kind.” He squinted at you. His expressive face never seemed to get old. “Too kind to the point where you never want to be vulnerable.”

The tension in his face all but vanished, and he suddenly turned away.

Despite always seeming larger than life, this was the smallest you’ve ever seen Ace. With every wave, the sea crept closer and closer to where the two of you were sitting until the salty water washed over the tips of your toes. Ace recoiled and scrunched his face at the sudden weakness he felt, even if it was only for a moment. Ace seemed like he would be pulled in by the rising tide and sink down into the sea if you left him alone—not because of his weakness as a devil fruit user, but because of his oft-hidden weakness as a human. Even Ace was not immune to the endless pools of self-doubt.

So you put your hand on his shoulder, scooting closer to Ace to close the gap between the two of you, trying to ground him and prevent him from falling into the siren’s song of sadness. He thought about your words. Too kind to the point where you never want to be vulnerable. You keep people at arm’s length. Arm’s length is still pretty close, he always told himself. He turned to you and your face was mere inches away from his, brought closer by the hand that clung to his shoulder now. You were much closer than arm’s length. But for some reason, this time, it didn’t feel close enough.

“I know no one ever asks you this but, what’s wrong, Ace?”

He stared at his wet feet. “The sea takes my strength, y’know?” Of course you knew that. And of course he knew that that wasn’t what you were referring to.

“It’s always a surprise when the tide comes in, isn’t it?” He asked cryptically.

You frowned. Ace never spoke in riddles.

“Is it, though? We’re pirates, we know how the ocean works,” you reminded him.

“We know the tide will always rise and fall, but in the New World it’s a little more difficult to know exactly when.”

You hummed realizing that Ace was right. “It's constant, true, but it’s also constant change.” You stared at the ebb and flow of the water, falling into its visual rhythm.

“And as pirates, we’re always at the ocean’s mercy,” he added. It always surprised Ace when memories of the past washed over him, seemingly at the most unexpected and unwanted times.

You shook your head with a smile. “With the help of the wind, a trusty ship, and an able crew, we can defy even the roughest of waves.” This time, the seafoam seemed to form the faces of Luffy, of Whitebeard, of Marco, of you. “Without the ocean, how would we sail to all these islands and live the life we do? The ocean isn’t our enemy.”

Ace mentally cursed at himself for getting caught up in his thoughts and, dare he say it, regrets. Memories of the past, just like the tide, aren’t always out to get him, it seemed. The waves fell back into the ocean, suddenly much less threatening.

Ace let out a sigh of relief. He mentally thanked you for pulling him away from an ocean of spiraling thoughts. He should’ve known that you would leave the feast to look for him once as soon as you noticed he was gone. As much as he tried, there was no escaping you. Was there any point in still trying to? “It’s nice to have such a reliable crew,” Ace said coolly.

“It’s nice to have such a reliable commander,” you replied without missing a beat.

Maybe he would let himself be selfish, be vulnerable. Maybe he would share the weight of his past with you, little by little. He reached across his chest to place his hand over yours, your touch lingering on his shoulder. He was a fool for thinking he could keep you at arm’s length for forever. He drew in a deep breath, his brows furrowed, as if debating whether to speak. You squeezed his shoulder, reassuring him of your presence.

“Sabo,” he blurted out. “I had a brother named Sabo.” You raised your eyebrows, trying to process his sudden words. “The extra “S” in my tattoo is for him.”

“Had?” You asked. His dark eyes bore holes into yours. Full of life and depth, you couldn’t look away. You felt like you were at the ocean’s mercy. The bottomless urge to know and explore every part of it was pulling you in, more than ever before.

“He died when we were young. That’s why it’s crossed out.”

You gasped, recoiling away from him, pulling your hand away, his eyes narrowing almost immediately. “I’m so sorry for always teasing you about it. I shouldn’t-”

He tousled your hair and you couldn’t help but lean into his touch. Just like how the tide is bound to the shore, there was always an unseen pull between the two of you. With Ace’s words lingering in the salty air, that pull became more discernible. “No need to apologize. It always made me smile. I know for a fact that Sabo would’ve joined in on your jokes. He’d probably ask me why I bothered putting an ‘S’ in my name instead of getting an entirely separate tattoo,” he laughed.

You let out a sigh of relief. There it was. Your ears were filled with his rich laughter that washed away your worries— your worries about him and about accidentally hurting him. “Hmm…that would be a good question. You’re really not making a good case for yourself, Ace. You sure you didn’t come up with this excuse after you messed up your tattoo?” you playfully quipped.

“No! You don’t believe me?!”

You shook your head with a smile. “I believe in you. Always have, always will.” Ace watched you as you began to stand up, trying your best to dust off the sand on your legs.

“How can you say that?” Ace asked curiously, hugging his knees to his chest. He was thankful that you were no longer facing him, that you wouldn’t see him with his shoulders slouched, looking so small. Your eyes were fixed on the horizon across the vast surface of the ocean.

“Say what, exactly?”

“That you’ll always believe in me?”

You walked closer to the water, willingly letting the waves wash over your feet. “There’s nothing that you can do that will make me not believe in you,” you stated as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

He stared at your back. He took in the way you so easily walked into the ocean that he thought was so dangerous before. “What if”, he paused, taking a deep breath, “what if it’s not what I do, but who I am?”

There it was again, you noticed, Ace speaking in riddles. “You’re you. That’s more than enough.”

“You’re saying all I gotta do is exist? And that’s…enough?”

You spoke to the merciless ocean: “You exist and I see you. All of you.” You turned around. Ace looked up at you, the sounds of the waves lapping seemed to be an echo of your words, as if the whole universe was trying to get through to him. You reached your hand out to his. Taking it, you pulled him up to his feet and dragged him closer to the water. Both of your ankles were completely submerged, but neither of you minded. Feeling some energy flee from his body, Ace felt weak, but was that such a bad thing? He squeezed your hand, the warmth of it standing in stark contrast to the shocking cold water around his feet. No, he concluded. Being vulnerable wasn’t so bad, especially when it was with you. Because you really did see all of him: the weak parts, the strong ones, and everywhere in between. “To see you is to always believe in you,” you whispered.

You brought your gaze back to the horizon and Ace followed suit. With your hand in his and the waves now lapping against his knees, he couldn’t help but feel gratitude. The merciful ocean had brought you to him, washing up on the shores when he needed you the most.

#one piece #one piece fan fiction #gn!reader #ace one piece #reader insert #one piece fanfiction #gender neutral reader #portgas d ace #portgas d ace x reader #ace x reader #one piece x reader #one piece reader insert #iz writes

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the-eye-of-the-dragon · 5 months ago

Text

(CW: canon-typical warnings for the game In Stars and Time, also spoilers) (Now also on AO3!)

The village of Bambouche is completely silent at this hour of the night, even after all the ruckus of the evening. It won’t be long before the fishers are up, getting to work before the sun rises, but for now the whole town is catching what few hours of sleep they can.

Lucky for them, you think, staring up at the wooden ceiling.

It’s not like you aren’t tired. When you finally got there, the village cooked up a feast for you and your family members, and the celebrations went on for hours. It was fun! And you finally got to meet Bonnie’s sister! Bonnie was so happy, and that made you happy too. After such a long and fun day, you're ready for some rest.

But…

Every time you close your eyes. You remember.

You aren’t sure why you can’t stop thinking about it. Maybe it’s because it was such a busy day. You don’t have the energy to stop yourself from thinking about things you don’t want to think about. If you can just get some rest, then you’ll be able to ignore it again.

Maybe it’s because you’re not in the same room with everyone. It’s nice to be in a real bed after weeks on the road, but the rooms the villagers had to offer were too small to fit everyone. So Bonnie isn’t here. To remind you that they’re fine. If they were here, it would be fine.

Maybe it’s because every time you saw Bonnie looking so happy, you flinched, because… because how could this be real? You’ve never seen them that happy before. What if it was just a dream? What if it all got taken away again? What if somehow you loop back and you’re there with the King and Bonnie is—Bonnie is—

You feel fingertips gently brush against your hand. You flinch, but don’t pull away. Instead, you turn your head to the side.

Isabeau is watching you from his side of the bed, a concerned crease in his eyebrows. He blinks a few times, like he’s just woken up.

You realize your hands are shaking.

You smile. “What’s up, Isa?”

Isabeau frowns at you. He seems to hesitate, then slowly shifts to fully cover your hand with his. “Sif, are you okay?” he asks, his voice quiet.

“I’m fine.” The words roll off your tongue as easily as breathing. Your hands are still shaking.

Isabeau looks at you for a moment, then sighs, blinking the last of the sleep out of his eyes. “Let’s try that again. What’s wrong, Sif?”

“Nothing! Really, there’s nothing wrong.”

“Sif.”

“Why would anything be wrong? It’s been a really fun night! Everyone here is so nice.”

“Sif!”

“And we found Bonnie’s sister, and we’re still together, and Bonnie’s happy and fine and everything’s fine—”

“Siffrin!”

The harshness in Isabeau’s tone cuts you off with a jolt. He softens immediately, meeting your wide eyes with a worried gaze. “You’re doing it again,” he says quietly.

What does he… Oh. Right.

You are. Of course you are. Why did you think you would change? Why did you think that somehow, after all this, you would do better? Be better?

You swallow down the thought. Breathe in. Breathe out.

Just tell him what’s going on. It won’t kill you.

“It’s—nothing, really, I’m just—I keep remembering something that happened. During one of the loops.” You exhale. “It didn’t stick, so it doesn’t really matter.”

Isabeau’s hand is still resting on top of yours. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asks gently.

“No.”

“Okay. But you’re gonna anyways, right?” Isabeau says, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “For your ol’ pal Isabeau?”

There’s a beat, but you can’t quite hold back the snort that escapes you. “My “ol’ pal”? Is that what you are?”

“Your ol’ pal,” he repeats with a grin. “Your best bro. Your good homie. Your bosom buddy. Just two guys who share a bed and hold hands in the middle of the night.”

You laugh, and his face lights up like he’s won the lottery. He’s beautiful.

You wonder if he’ll ever stop looking at you like that. You hope not.

The quiet of the night presses back down on you. You can feel his gaze still on you, but you can’t bring yourself to meet his eyes anymore.

“Tell me about what happened?” he asks again, his voice soft.

You breathe in, and out. “There was—” you start hesitantly. “In that loop, we—the King was—I couldn’t—”

Each word feels like pulling teeth. You can’t get it out. He’s watching you, waiting, and you want to tell him, but it’s all lodged in your throat, it’s stuck, and if you pull it out, if you say it, it will make it real—

No. No, you can do this. Start somewhere else.

“I had been… trying to learn more about the King,” you manage. Slowly, carefully, you start unwinding the story from there. You tell him about how you needed to learn more about Time Craft. About how you started talking to the King when you fought him. About how you realized the King was from the island north of Vaugarde. From your country. About how you thought you could reason with him, since you understood him. You talk, and he listens, nodding along as the words spill out of you and into the night. You build the story up, letting yourself be swept along as you tell him everything that happened, everything that led up to that point, and then…

And then you tell him.

The words aren’t lodged in your throat any more. They’re the opposite, pushing and falling over each other in a desperate rush to get out. You can hear the quaver of fear in your own voice as you describe what the King did, what he did to Bonnie, and you know you’re saying too much now, he doesn’t need to hear all this detail, but you can’t stop. You can’t stop until all the words come pouring out of you, one long torrential rush that finally, slowly, tapers away.

You look up at him.

Isabeau is staring right at you. Completely horrified.

You’re a monster you’re disgusting how could you do this why would you tell him you let Bonnie die! You let Bonnie die! You’re disgusting you’re awful you shouldn’t have told him now he hates you, he’ll never look at you like that again, he hates you, because you let Bonnie die you let Bonnie die and it was your fault your fault your fault your fault your fau—

Warmth suddenly envelopes you. It takes you a moment to realize that it’s Isabeau, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you in tight against him. You can feel wetness on his cheek.

“Sif…” he says, his voice hoarse. “I’m so, so sorry.”

You don’t answer. You don’t know how to answer. What is he sorry for? Sorry because he can’t stand to look at you anymore? Sorry because he’s going to leave?

But he doesn’t leave. If anything, he holds you tighter.

You have to ask. That’s what you’re supposed to do now, isn’t it? You have to ask, so he can tell you, and you can get it over with.

“Isa…” you whisper.

He pulls back suddenly, and you shiver as the cold air surrounds you again. “Sorry, was that not okay?” he asks. “I know you’re still not used to touch but I just couldn’t… after hearing that…” He trails off as he takes in the look on your face.

Your hands are shaking again. “Do you hate me?” you whisper.

“No,” he answers, immediately and firmly. “No, Sif. That wasn’t your fault. The King was a monster, but he’s gone now. And Bonnie is safe.” His eyes are starting to well with tears again, but he presses on. “Bonnie is safe. But I’m sorry you had to go through that, Sif. It must have been horrible. I…” He seems to run out of words, but he must have seen something in your face, because he leans in again, wrapping his arms back around you. Slowly, this time, giving you space to pull away.

You don’t pull away. You reach around him and grab fistfuls of his shirt, clinging on tight.

He’s murmuring something against your hair. You can’t make out the words anymore, but you don’t think it really matters. Just the sound is enough.

It feels like there’s a clamp around your throat, tightening with every breath. Your eyes sting. But you don’t cry. You don’t think you can, yet. Those tears will be even harder to get out than the words.

But you managed the words.

And your family is still here.

#in stars and time #isat #isat siffrin #isat isabeau #isat isafrin #isafrin #isat spoilers #isat fanfic #my writing #fanfiction #“oh i'm not going to write anything for isat i don't have any ideas” *blacks out and wakes up with this in front of me*#siffrin is really fun to write...

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fantasydreamland · 5 months ago

Text

Gossip

margaery tyrell x fem reader

Sequel to Handmaiden

(tho can be read separately)

Summary: Margaery is now married to Renly Baratheon. There are whispers about him and another man but what happens when people begin to notice how close Margaery seems to be with her handmaiden.

Notes: 18+ ONLY!!!, wlw, smut, fluff, possible spoilers

x Based on a request x

word count: 1656

masterlist

“You look enchanting, my lovely rose.” You say as you help with the final touches of Margaerys wedding gown.

It was the day of her wedding to Renly Baratheon. Although they cared for and respected eachother, neither Margaery or Renly felt romantic feelings towards one another. They both had an unspoken understanding that they would allow eachother to privately explore wherever their hearts did lead. You knew about Renly and Loras, Margaerys brother. They attempt to conceal their affections for eachother but it was quite obvious to most and there were whispers about them among the court.

You had become that with Margaery. Your heart soared from the way she returned your affections, just as in love with you as you were her.

“Thank you, (y/n).” She gives a partially fake smile through the mirror.

“Dare I ask what’s wrong?” You say softly.

She sighs as she smooths her dress out in the mirror. “I think we both know the answer, love.” She says in her deep sarcastic tone, giving you a smirk afterward.

You let out a big sigh and nod as you continue to smooth out the fabric of her dress.

“It could be worse,” you say as her eyes meet yours in the mirror. “You are at least blessed enough to have a husband who would allow…” you give a shy smirk as you roll your eyes.

“My personal interests…” she finishes for you as she smirks and turns around so you’re face to face, so close her breath fanned over yours.

She gives you an all knowing look making your breath get caught in your throat. Her hand brushes your cheek as yours find home gently on her hips. “That is true. But I don’t believe any husband could contain me from you, my love.”

Before you could respond her lips are on yours, giving a long soft kiss. You part and gaze at eachother with a lustful look.

She gently pulls away and smooths her dress and hair. “Well�� I suppose I should go get married now.”

She gives you a faint smile and you give a small curtesy in return before following her out of the room. The ceremony was quick and the feast was actually very enjoyable. Margaery and Renly sat together but they hardly looked at one another as Renly chatted the night away with Loras sitting beside him, and Margaery had her full attention on you standing off to the side by her. The lack of affection between the newly wedded couple did not go unnoticed.

At the end of the night you walk Margaery to her wedding chambers. As you turn the last corner through the empty hallways Margaery quickly pushes you against the wall and pulls you into an all consuming kiss. Your tongues vigorously clash together and you cup her cheeks as she holds you firmly by the waist, pushing her body against yours on the wall. The overly passionate kiss ends within a few seconds and you look at her with a surprised and heated look.

“I suppose I needed to get into the mood…” she says lowly with a smirk. She gives you a small nod goodbye before she enters her chambers alone.

A few days had passed and things returned to some form of normal. Margaery and Renly slept in their own chambers again. Margaery gave you a small room close enough to her you could easily sneak away into her chambers most nights.

Although you shared most of your love secretly at night, Margaery loved to tease you with affection in semi public settings. It was also just hard to keep your hands off eachother through an entire day. You were completely enamoured with her so it just made it all the more thrilling for you both.

You knew there were whispers about Margaery and her handmaiden. That she is far more friendly with you than most usually are with their handmaidens. At first the idea of this bothered and embarrassed you but the more time spent with Margaery the less you cared what others thought. You were still both cautious enough to make sure these would remain rumours. However, the bashful smiles and light touches did not go unnoticed by others.

Margaery had a late afternoon tea with her grandmother in the gardens. Most people had retired back inside. By the time they finished the only people who remained in the gardens was Margaery, her grandmother, and their handmaidens. She and her grandmother say goodnight with a hug and kiss on the cheek.

“Lady Olenna,” you curtsy as she gives you a nod and returns to the castle leaving you and completely Margaery alone.

“Apologies, my love. I didn’t expect her to arrive so late for afternoon tea.” She apologies once her grandmother is completely out of sight.

“Do not worry, my lovely rose.” You take her hand in yours. “Any time spent with you is worth it.”

She smiles and lightly squeezes your hand. “Thank you, love.”

She looks around at the empty gardens and quiet courtyard as everyone on the grounds had gone inside while the sun was setting.

“It seems we have time alone right now…” she smirks and gives you an all knowing look.

Before you can object she pulls your body against hers and your noses brush as she hovers her lips over yours teasingly. You want to be logical in such a public place and pull away, but the way she clouds your mind makes you lean in. The kiss is gentle at first and quickly becomes heated and passionate.

She pulls away and leads you over to the stone bench just behind some flowers and nudges you down to sit. She gently positions herself on her knees in front of you and takes your face into her hand before kissing you again. As the kiss continues she starts to hike up your skirts.

“My love, please, not here…” you pull away and begin to protest.

She ignores your pleas as her lips move to your neck and she finishes hiking up your skirt enough that she could slip underneath. Before you even have time to comprehend what she is doing, her mouth is on you and you bite your lip hard trying to contain your moans.

Margaery continues to unravel you with her tongue as your cheeks burn up and you look around with in a panic, your vision blurred from pleasure. There was no one in sight, everyone had returned inside for the night but you still tried to stay alert as anyone who walked by this part of the garden would surely catch you. As you get closer to your peak you find it harder and harder to contain your screams.

“Oh gods… my rose, please. I cannot- I cannot stay quiet.” You pant.

Margaery ignores you and continues to relentlessly work her tongue on your most sensitive spot. She slowly inserts her fingers and that triggers you to see stars. You quickly cover your mouth as a final scream escapes you, even through your hand you were sure someone could have heard if they were in the area.

She comes out from under your dress and looks up at you with a huge smirk as you look down at her with flushed cheeks.

“That was far too dangerous, love.” You say, panting out of breath.

“What is life without a little risk?” She teases as she carefully stands up and dusts off her dress.

She reaches her hands out to help you stand as she pulls you up into a passionate kiss. Your hands move into her hair as she cups one of your cheeks, holding your waist tightly with the other hand. She moves her lips down to your neck harshly kissing your pale skin, no doubt leaving small marks. Before things can go any further you lightly push her away.

“The hour is getting late, my lovely rose.” You say with your fingers twisting a strand of her hair.

“You’re right, my love. Let’s head off to bed then.” She gives you her classic devilish smirk hinting that you were not finished with eachother yet. You spend the rest of the night tangled in the sheets together.

The next morning Margaery went to enjoy breakfast with her grandmother in their favourite spot, the gardens. There were a few other ladies of the court at the table chatting away as you helped pour Margaery’s tea.

“I swear to you someone was getting intimate right here in the gardens last night!” One of the women suddenly said, causing you to overfill and spill the tea.

“I’m so sorry, my lady.” You say as you quickly gather cloths to clean up the small mess, cheeks burning red.

“That’s quite alright.” Margaery smiles at you and gently touches your arm for a moment.

The brief show of affection between you had the attention of all the women at the table. They passed questioning glances between eachother as you left the table to stand back over to the side.

“How would you even know such a thing? No one would be out here that late.” Another woman asks, resuming their conversation.

“Believe me, I know. By the sounds and moaning I could hear… it was obvious!” The first woman replied.

Your eyes meet Margaery’s as you both blush and quickly look away. Lady Olenna looks between the two of you and smirks to herself, knowing full well what’s transpired. She knew her granddaughter well, if the clear affections she has for you wasn’t already obvious, the small red marks on your neck were.

“Did you see who it was?” The other woman asks.

“No, but whoever they were they have quite the man to make them scream like that.” She smirks.

All the women start giggling at the joke and you and Margaery make guilty eye contact, laughing along.

#margaery tyrell x reader #margaery tyrell #margaery game of thrones #game of thrones #margaery #margaery x reader #margaery got #margaery smut #game of thrones margaery #margaery x sansa #wlw #shows #wlw fanfic #wlw smut

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dreamingalto · 7 months ago

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I was slightly bored and couldn't decide on what to do... and then I remembered the Hunger Games Simulator existed.

And I have been watching too much Dan and Phil lately...

One thing lead to another and I eventually ended up with the following:

The Phangry Games

Naming logic went something like this: Hunger to Hungry. Gotta insert the infamous Ph at the beginning. Phangry.

Also yes Pastel Phil is accidentally named Punk Phil I didn't notice the mistake until after I began.

And it turned out 1000% more entertaining than I ever thought it could be.

So right off the bat, we have BIG Dan and Craftie Dan planning their fishing trip while Hiatus Dan is staying in character and fucking right off.

Then a couple of them are fighting for bags but the bloodbath is staying pretty safe right now.

In fact, there is only 1 death during the bloodbath.

Thought that meant that Day 1 was going to be a slow start but I SPOKE WAY TOO SOON! First, one of the craftie boys bites the dust to an infection of all things. Apparently HE doesn't provide medical care for infections.

Interactive Introverts Phil also tried to get rid of the current Phil but he managed to escape. So really, no harm no foul.

Then the Acid Rain started and DAMN DAN AND PHIL (spoiler: especially Dan) CAN NOT SURVIVE ACID RAIN VERY WELL AT ALL!

The day ended with only 11 survivors. 7 Phils and 4 Dans. PINOFs, Punks, Crafties, and WAD Era have all been completely eliminated!

At this point, I decide I am rooting for the 2009 boys, Sister Daniel, or COTY and Revival (AKA the Current/2024) Phil. But I was also just immensely amused at how quickly the simulator popped off this time.

The first night was pretty quiet with no deaths or anything occuring. Some of the Phils snuggled up together while Revival Phil snuggled up with 2009 Dan.

Then almost immediately on Day 2, a group with both the 2009 Boys, COTY Phil, and Sister Daniel actually raid Revival Phil's camp. So 10/10 on the betrayal there 2009 Dan.

It stays quiet the rest of day 2. AND INTERESTINGLY ENOUGH ON NIGHT 2!

Phil STOP TRUSTING 2009 DAN HE LITERALLY HELPED RAID YOUR CAMP EARLIER!

But besides the whole trust and betrayal plot with those two, we have both of the hiatus boys deciding that it was time to start the hiatus for everyone else.

Hiatus Phil going for the more strategic kill as Pastel Phil is only Phil who has a kill up to this point.

Day 3 brings the feast. And just like BIG Dan tripped and died during the acid rain...

Coming out of the closet apparently involved tripping out of the closet.

The feast also included the continuation of the Hiatus Boys kill streak with them getting rid of half of the remaining Dans.

I really apperciate Hiatus Dan's commitment to lore accuracy.

This left only 6 tributes for the rest of Day 3.

Which turned to the final five tributes almost immediately with 2009 Phil finishing off the TATINOF era team.

All that is left in the Final Five is the 2009 Boys, the Hiatus Boys, and Revival Phil.

Night 3 is pretty quiet. But Day 4 ends up leveling the playing field with Hiatus Phil accidentally eating toxic berries.

Nothing in particular happens on Night 4 EXCEPT for the fact that 2009 Dan is now snuggling up with Hiatus Dan.

AND WITH A TASTE OF HIS OWN BETRAYAL MEDICINE FROM THE BEGINNING OF THE GAME, Hiatus Dan tries but fails to eliminate 2009 Dan in the morning of Day 5.

After the failed attempt to eliminate 2009 Dan, Night 5 is actually pretty quiet. But on Day 6, Hiatus Dan sets his sights on the 2009 team again.

This brought us to the final three. 2009 Dan and Revival Phil, who both have no kills so far. And Hiatus Dan, who has brought a hiatus to at least three other Dans/Phils.

I don't have that much faith in either 2009 Dan or Revival Phil, but anything can happen in this simulator.

And on Night 6:

Revival Phil, in a bit of an ironic twist of following lore accuracy, put an end to Hiatus Dan while 2009 Dan actually ended up on fire.

No I am not sorry for that last sentence.

THIS MAKES PHIL THE WINNER OF THE ENTIRE PHANGRY GAMES!

The simulation turned out a lot more dramatic than I have experienced in the past (with the whole underlying Trust/Betrayal Plotline that ended up emerging with the final three) and was so funny to go through.

Here is a link to the simulator in case this post reminded you this simulator existed and you wanted to try it for yourself.

(The above link should load up the DnP Season as shown in the first image but it might not work after around three months due to the websites saving policy)

#dan and phil #dan and phil games #daniel howell #phil lester #amazingphil #phan #the phangry games #edit: accidentally hit post while I was finishing adding all the alt text #thought I accidentally deleted the whole post for a moment and was a little upset #be careful editing long posts on tumblr mobile lol.#heydanandphil #<Idk if it will start showing up in the tag but there is no way in HELL I am retyping out this whole post

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littlejuicebox · 1 year ago

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Highharvestide Day

(Astarion x Female Reader)

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This is the fluffy twin to my other mostly-smut piece An Early Highharvestide Feast. Setting: Several in-game spoiler warnings, 4 years after BG3, "good" ending, Unascended Astarion x Cleric Reader Notes: Took a break from my WrenxAstarion fic to write this Thanksgiving-themed 2-part story. I hope you all have a wonderful Thanksgiving surrounded by friends and loved ones and all the warmth and comfort of love and life. And as always, I love to see comments about what you liked in the story, it inspires me for other fics! And if you like my writing, please check out my passion project: WrenxAstarion. Rating: PG-13 Word Count: 3K

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You are a ball of nerves as you place the final touches on the table settings. It’s such a silly thing, you think to yourself. These people have seen you with crimson drops of blood splattered across your face and broken bones poking out of your flesh; they’ve watched you violently behead a Drow and smelled your musk after a week without a bath. And yet, here you are, meticulously straightening the cutlery, hoping to impress your merry band of misfits. Not that any of them care, and you know it, but you cannot help yourself. You want to give them the best, just like you always have.

The staff are fluttering about the dining hall, placing vases around the room according to your exacting instructions. You smile at the containers filled with blooms from your own garden, the very same arrangements you’d been working on the night prior before you were interrupted by your husband and more... strenuous activities. You’d fallen behind schedule from his distraction and had to enlist the help of the staff to finish the arrangements off earlier today, which Astarion had considered a win for his side in your ongoing fight over trying to remain humble (you) vs. taking what you deserve (him). Absently, you thought that the arrangements weren’t quite as perfect as they would have been if you’d done them yourself... but the small sacrifice had been worth it, in the end.

Astarion saunters through the heavy oak doors of your dining hall, Scratch in tow. The dog was practically your husband’s shadow, nearly glued to his thigh at all times, and as much as the vampire pretended to be annoyed, you noticed even now that his hand was absently brushing against Scratch’s ear as the pair headed toward their favorite woman in all of Faerun. He is carrying an ornately wrapped package in the crook of his arm as he meanders to your side, eyebrow cocked slightly as he examines the room. “Darling, everyone will arrive within the hour, it’s time for you to dress.”

Your eyes gloss over the tables one more time, checking for any final imperfections, before you turn to greet your husband with a kiss on his cheek. “Yes, my love… and what is that you’re holding?”

Astarion chuckles, glancing down at the bundle in his arm, feigning nonchalance. “What dear, this beautiful package? Oh… nothing, really. Just a small Highharvesthide gift for my beautiful hostess.”

He turns the package over to you with a chaste peck to your lips, and you shake your head in amusement at the rakish man. The silver-haired elf tries to hide his anticipation and anxiety by gripping softly at the scruff around Scratch’s neck, but you can feel him eyeing your face for signs of a reaction.

It’s become commonplace that Astarion brings you a present for nearly every significant occasion; spoiling you with any number of ostentatious things you wouldn't dare to purchase yourself seemed to be his love language. For your first anniversary, he’d filled the bedroom to the brim with countless rare, night blooming plants for your garden. You two had made love surrounded by a canopy of flora and the sweet aroma of flowers, and he'd asked the staff to plant all of them on the grounds the following day. It had been a beautiful gesture, and marked the start of your ongoing infatuation with your garden.

But you do know how long your husband mulls these gifts over in his head before finalizing his decision. The mere suggestion that you are not thrilled by his selection would crush Astarion's sensitive heart; he quite literally revolved his existence around you in so many ways. You are easily pleased, of course, by any gift from your spouse… but you are always sure to adamantly express the feeling to your love, less he get the wrong impression.

You place the gift on the table and unwrap it to reveal a beautiful, mulberry-colored gown. The dress is made from velvet, and the neckline drops into a sharp V. Delicate gold embroidery follows the neckline down to the center of the gown, trailing to the hem; the same pattern is echoed along the cuffs and up the sleeves of the piece. Atop the dress sits a dainty golden circlet, the metal fashioned to look like vines, tiny garnet gems positioned in a setting reminiscent of flower petals, the jewels appearing framed as the flower pistils. It’s all breathtakingly ornate, and you gasp in a mixture of surprise and delight as your fingers run along the golden thread.

“What do you think?” Astarion asks, head cocked to the side as he watches your reaction. You can sense the smidge of trepidation in his tone as he tries to hide it from you.

“It’s absolutely perfect, my love.” You turn and beam at him, watching as the subtle signs of tension ease from his jaw and eyes. “Thank you, truly. I don't think I could've envisioned a more perfect gown for tonight. I am meant to wear it tonight, aren't I, my Star?”

“Well, I was so hoping you would, my dear.” The vampire responds, all fangs and flirtations as he closes the few inches of distance between your bodies and wraps his arm around your waist, planting a smattering of featherlight kisses below your ear before whispering. “It will give me such a delectable view of your collarbone all night… and I might need the distraction when the wizard starts prattling on about Tara for the millionth time.”

You laugh and roll your eyes at your husband before grabbing his hand in yours and squeezing. “It's really a gorgeous ensemble. You've outdone yourself, once again. Now let’s go and get ready… I can hardly wait to see everyone.”

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You are dressed in your new gown and circlet, Astarion standing just behind you as you two ready yourselves by the front entrance. His doublet is a golden tone, highlighting the embroidered details in your own gown; his chest serving as your background. Even though it goes unsaid, you know the decision on his part was intentional; Astarion's keen vermillion eyes never miss a detail. You had sneakily designed something for your husband, which he’d been given as your both dressed. You knew full well that he’d had a gift planned for weeks and you would never dare to be the one empty-handed; he’d received a beautiful set of cufflinks in the shape of your initials, made from solid gold. The vampire fiddles with his gift as he waits, glancing down every so often to admire the gesture with a small smile and significant affection.

The Duke is the first to arrive, pulled in a horse drawn carriage with several guards and a beautiful half-elven woman by his side — his betrothed, Euphemia Gauthier. You curtsy to Wyll before he takes your hand and laughs. “Such formality from an old friend?”

He wraps you into a hug before moving to Astarion and clapping a friendly palm upon the man’s back. “I trust you two remember my beautiful flower, Euphemia?”

Euphemia smiles as you both turn to her and offer your greetings. You know her to be from old noble blood. She is undeniably graceful, well-spoken, and kind. By all accounts, she is Wyll’s perfect match. Her mega-watt smile turns in your direction, and she takes your hand in hers as she addresses you. “Lady Acunin, have you given further thought about my betrothed’s offer? As you know, Counsellor Atherwinde will be retiring next year, and my darling Wyll is growing anxious to have you take the spot.”

You feel Astarion’s eyes bore into you as a flush spreads across your cheeks. You hadn’t mentioned the offer to him, since you were still mulling it over in your own mind. It came with several obligations and the unfortunate need to step further into the public eye. There would be influence and the ability to advance so many of your political interests, sure. But was it worth the cost? The vampire's fingers gripped into your waist for just a moment, a silent signal to you that he would not be letting the matter rest.

You aim to say something, but Astarion cuts in, speaking towards the half-elf woman; the slightest pitch in his tone, however, lets you know every word is directed to you. “Lady Gauthier, I am sure my beautiful wife is giving the offer the upmost consideration. Who better to fill the position than the woman that saved us all from becoming mindflayers… I can’t think of a single soul more fit in all of Faerun. And I am certain that Duke Ravengard and Lady Ancunin would be aligned. It sounds like an excellent opportunity and one that would be quite difficult to pass up.”

Wyll is positively beaming at this response, practically taking Astarion’s words as a guarantee of acceptance. “Enough of this political talk for the evening. We will have many more nights to discuss… but for today, let’s enjoy the company of old friends.”

-----

Everyone else arrived quickly after Duke and soon-to-be Duchess Ravengard. Gale by teleportation circle, Lae’zel and Shadowheart together on horseback, Karlach carrying a barrel of cheap booze that she unceremoniously placed in the center of the dining room (to Astarion’s dismay), and Halsin on foot with a dozen children following behind him.

The event was lively and filled with an excited, jovial air. A pianist had been hired for the occasion, and the rich sounds coming from the keys mixed with the soft crackling of fireplaces added beautiful background noise to the dining room. Every sconce in the house was lit, and the various candles around the dining room, their wax colored in an array of autumnal tones, provided a beautiful, homey glow. The entire setting wrapped you and your friends in a blanket of warmth and comfort.

Night took over the manor, and the flowers inside their vases bloomed, almost as if on cue, as the food was brought about. The spectacle brought forth several compliments from your friends, lighting your heart aglow. It would have been tradition for you and your husband to sit on opposite ends of the long mahogany dining table, but you had quickly waved off that formality amongst your closest friends and instead sat on Astarion’s left. One of his hands remained clasped firmly in yours most of the night, while his other hand held a golden goblet repeatedly filled with wine. He'd dined on several chalices of animal blood earlier that day, but a plate was still placed in front of him for show. Halsin's cantankerous brood sat at another table parallel to the adults. They were creating quite a ruckus and tossing scraps at an excited Scratch, and you chuckled while thinking the beast was living possibly the best day of his life.

Karlach told of her time in Avernus, and the many efforts Dammon made to fix her engine once and for all. Astarion had helped Karlach secure another position by contract with Zariel, one where she was not actively fighting in the hells… but it still was not the perfect solution, and she was only granted a few weeks of reprieve every year. After a few more years, she would hopefully be out of the hells for good... if Dammon managed to pull through on a permanent solution so she could remain on the material plane. Something told you that Dammon was quite driven by yearning for your red friend and spent all day and all night working to turn Karlach's dream into a reality, and you prayed every day to your gods that his experiments would be a success.

Shadowheart and Lae’zel had spent much of the past four years with the cleric’s parents and traveling around the Sword Coast. The unlikely couple hinted at a possible wedding in the near future. Astarion couldn’t help but chuckle beside you at the irony of it all, a small smirk on his face as he locked eyes with you. But he held back his silver-tongue, knowing he had no right to judge, since he'd initially held a blade to the throat of his beloved.

Gale delivered a most interesting piece of information. He stated he'd pursued many tomes and scrolls and had finally come across a documented successful case of the Wish Spell not more than a month ago. He’d sought out the sorcerer named on record and found the elven man at his residence near Candlekeep. Gale did not feel he was quite prepared to perform the spell on Astarion without disastrous results, but he spoke about the sorcerer with reverence and infatuation akin to the tone he’d once taken when telling of Mystra. You didn’t press further, knowing Gale would reveal everything in his own time, but Astarion shot you a knowing glance before, somewhat surprisingly, genuinely thanking the wizard for his continued efforts and raising a glass to their continued friendship.

Halsin was proud to announce his new community was thriving. Several of the tiefling children your group had rescued were growing to be active members of the society and expanding their efforts. You were thrilled to hear that Mol had turned out to be quite the leader, and Halsin’s influence had pushed her toward benevolence. Arabella was reportedly doing quite well in her studies of the Weave, and spent her breaks with her friends. Halsin hinted at a need for further aid from the city, which both Euphemia and you implored Wyll to look into. The two of you exchanged conspiratorial glances as Wyll gave a good-natured sigh and shot a look that practically said, ‘Women, am I right?’ to a bemused Astarion from across the table. But the Duke promised Halsin with a hand to his heart that he would bring it up at the next meeting.

Astarion had spent most of the night in relative silence, apart from a chuckle or quip dotted throughout the conversation. It was clear he was happy to be in the presence of friends and listen to their exploits, and though he wasn’t particularly loquacious that evening, the soft smile that stayed plastered to his face as he drank from his goblet caused you to make a mental note to host more events within your home. He’d never acknowledge it, but his condition had the poor side effect of being a dreadfully isolating experience, and the man quite enjoyed the company of others. He claimed to need only you in his life, but you knew that was just the expression of romantic love and loyal dedication that overflowed from his heart. Perhaps it was a slant truth that he wanted to believe, despite your knowledge and understanding otherwise.

When people began their departures, everyone was fully sated and thoroughly drunk. Lae’zel and Shadowheart were the first to bid their farewells to the others and stumble drunkenly to your guest chambers. As you watched them walk away, you were all but certain they were about to commit some deplorable actions between the silken sheets you’d put out for them. Your suspicions were confirmed to be correct when the rest of you heard someone bang into the wall with a moan before several giggles and loud shushing gravitated down the hall.

Karlach heaved a heavy sigh as she stood, knowing full well that her guest room was located right next door to the couple's and lamenting the fact that she would have to listen to their incessant lovemaking all night. She had plans to go visit Dammon in the morning, and turned in shortly after Lae'zel and Shadowheart. She took her time hugging everyone around the room and placing a sloppy kiss on Astarion's cheek, intentionally and effectively ruffling his feathers. You'd always felt that, apart from you, Karlach had been the vampire's favorite campmate. The instinct was always reaffirmed every time Astarion allowed Karlach to smother him with affection and, although he acted annoyed, he always let a smile reach his eyes for a moment before slipping the perturbed mask back into place.

Wyll and Euphemia made you promise them to give an answer by the start of the New Year and you reluctantly agreed to the terms as the Duke helped his betroathed into the carriage and bid you both farewell with plans for dinner at his home in a few weeks time.

You’d become quite enamored with a sweet girl named Winifred that had joined Halsin, white wildflowers adorning her red hair. She was not but ten and already showed significant talent for healing spells, as displayed when a tiefling child pulled out a loose tooth at the children's table and began bleeding quite profusely. She gave you a hug as you bid your goodbyes to all the younglings, and you promised Halsin you would stop by within the next few weeks to show her a few more spells. He thanked you both and then called to the children, all of them following obediently behind the druid like a gaggle of ducklings behind their mother.

Gale was the last to depart, opening another portal as he turned to the two of you. “I will keep you both abreast of my progress. Watch for my scrolls. And please come to Candlekeep soon… I would like to introduce you to both to Tharren; he’s eager to meet the vampire I’m hoping to aid and our famed heroes of Baldur’s Gate.”

The wizard presses a platonic kiss to your cheek and wraps Astarion into a hug, the vampire reacting to the embrace like a cat responds to being held by their least favorite family member - stiff, awkward, but otherwise accepting. Your love even relents toward the end of the embrace and wraps his arm around Gale in response, for the first time ever, before the wizard steps away. Gale’s eyes flit between you both as he waves and disappears in a flash of blue light.

You stare at the spot where the portal just dissipated, a slight drop in your chest as you take in the absence of your friends. There is a soft moment of silence that you sit in with your husband, the first moment of quiet all night. Astarion pulls you toward him as a breeze runs across the lawn before he places a kiss in your hair. He murmurs into your ear before pressing another kiss along your cheek. “My darling, I will let you have your night… but tomorrow we will discuss Wyll’s offer, yes?”

You nod and hum in agreement, knowing you cannot outrun the conversation forever. But for tonight, all you desire is to bask in the afterglow of beautiful memories and the warmth of your husband's love. The silver-haired elf spins you and places soft kisses along your collarbone, which he’d been pointedly admiring by almost vulgarly running his eyes along your chest at every opportunity. He trails up to your neck, resting his lips for a moment on that familiar spot at the crook of it before snaking his tongue out to subtly trace over the faintly raised puncture marks.

“Now, my sweet, let’s head to our bed chambers. I’d quite like my dessert. I’ve been staring at that darling neck of yours all night and it’s taken almost all of my control to not splay you out on the dining table and take you in front of our closest friends… though I do think a fair few of them would’ve enjoyed the show. If not for the children, who knows what I might’ve done?”

The flush in your face rises, aided by the heavy amounts of wine and brandy you’d consumed that evening. Astarion makes his way up to your lips and delves his tongue into your mouth, soft at first, but with growing intensity as the kiss lengthens. Before long, your legs are wrapped around the vampire as he carries you to your bedroom, fully intent on making love to you until the sun rises and eternally thankful for his little treasure that the gods placed in his path when he least expected it.

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