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merakiui · 2 months

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タコの花嫁。

yandere!azul ashengrotto x (female) reader cw: yandere, nsfw, non-con, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, arranged marriage, oviposition, breeding, royalty au note - in an effort to bring peace to two warring sides, you are engaged to the sea queen’s son.

If anyone is to blame for the abysmal diplomacy between the Land and the Sea, it would be your ancestors. Pompous and foolhardy, they thought they could rule the grand seas stretching out from the harbor, beyond weather-worn docks with their rotted, seaweed-strewn planks and briny fetor. The ocean was vast, unexplored territory—a dangerous, deceptive beauty harboring life far beneath unruly waves.

And your ancestors intended to claim it.

Sailors would recount tales of fishfolk—uncanny creatures who looked more marine than the two-legged mammals of the land. They’d raise mugs, each overflowing with ale, in drunken merriment, terrifying themselves with the mysteries of the deep, dark sea.

“It ought to give ya a proper scare straight to Davy Jones himself!” they’d say, voices lowered conspiratorially. “Soon as yer candle goes out and all ya’ve got’s the moon to guide ya… You’ll hear ’em slip through the water if yer listenin’ well enough.”

“You ever go and spy one up close?”

“I’d sooner see the Devil himself and let him keelhaul me before facin’ those cursed beasts!”

“The cut of their jib ain’t so pretty. Enough to give men like us a fright and we’ve seen all sorts of somethin’.”

“Monsters, I say! Monsters!”

Festivals were held to keep these beasts at bay—to prevent them from gathering the courage to creep up onto the land. Every year, during the summer solstice, pits were hollowed on the shore and bordered with stones. Flames licked towards the sky, red-orange fingers clawing for purchase amidst the stars above. Townsfolk would sing and dance late into the eve, bellowing songs passed through the generations. Children would skip up and down the beach, torches in hand, and cry out an old chant: “Fish for you and me are meant to stay in the sea! Should you see one on land, may the Heavens strike it down with a gentle, loving hand!”

Their excitement did well to ward off the fishfolk. Sometimes the lone child would spot one in the distance, peeking out from between the rocks before diving back under in a splash.

On land, humans were safe. On land, the fishfolk couldn’t catch them.

It was different in the sea.

Ships were destroyed in terrible tempests. The waves tossed them around as if they were nothing. Many sailors would find their demise at the bottom of the ocean, torn to shreds with shattered skeletons. Viscerally brutalized, they died with secrets on their tongues—secrets of the strange fishfolk who’d drag them down, down, down to a watery grave.

On one cold February afternoon, the octopus prince was brought into the world. In shadowed fathoms, a grand celebration was held. After so much time—misfortune after misfortune—one fry survived out of the entire clutch. He was round and soft and small, colored blue from exertion and fighting through the tug of the current to reach home. The Sea Queen met him halfway and embraced him, ecstatic tears in her eyes, for a mother’s love is stronger than any political power.

“My little Azul,” she said, stroking a hand along his cheek, “how precious you are.”

No ships were sunk; no lives were lost. It was a peaceful day for both the Land and the Sea. And it would continue to be so in the future. Every year on that same February, it was made a day of peace to honor the little prince.

A day of life, not death.

It was on that same February eleven years later when you were tossed into the frigid depths like a hatchling cast out of its nest. Similarly, your birth had been a wondrous occasion. Your parents brought five boys into the world, each just as adored as the last, but they had been hoping for a daughter. It was a miracle when their fervent wishes were finally granted. You were spoiled as all daughters often are, pampered and doted on by your family and the palace staff.

Your brothers, though protective and caring, were a troublesome and rowdy bunch. Kyffin was the eldest. Two years younger was Emyr, and another two years behind him was Owin. A year younger than him were twins Morcan and Martyn. They picked on you as all immature boys often do when caught up in sibling rivalries, aiming to be the only one their parents see. To prove themselves as the best, the strongest, the wisest.

So it was with a half-cruel heart that Emyr tossed you into the waves from where he stood in the rowboat.

“Only way to learn is with exposure!” he called down to you, watching as you struggled against the push and pull of the sea.

“C-Can’t!” you shouted back, choking on salt and flailing about. “E-Emyr, I can’t—can’t swim!”

“Don’t be silly,” Owin added with a sweet smile. “It’s how we learned. That old sod threw us right in. You’re lucky it’s us and not him. He was awfully mean with it, wasn’t he?”

“Terribly so.” Emyr watched your struggling a moment longer and clicked his tongue. He held the oar out just before you could slip under, and you clung to it with shaky hands. “Come on—let’s get you up here. You’re not gonna get it today.”

“Fin got it on his first try.”

“Fin gets everything on his first bloody try.”

Relieved, your heart pounding like a drum, you peered up at your brothers. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get it…”

“Nothing to apologize for. You’ll get it one day.”

“We’ll keep trying until then. And once you do, we’ll throw you a big party.”

“Really? Will you really do that?” Your expression brightened, but your brothers’ faces darkened. They saw the shadow before you did. Saw the webbed hands reaching out, the serrated teeth glinting in a sinister smile.

And then—

Owin leaned over, his arm outstretched. So fluid was his motion that it took you by surprise. “(Name), grab on! Hurry! Before—”

The rest of his warning was muffled by the water. You hardly had any time to brace yourself when you were yanked under, your nails raking across the wood of the oar as you went with the force of the pull. Salt stung your eyes when you cracked them open, peering frantically at blurry surroundings. Teal-green specks slid silently through the shadows, mismatched eyes flicking over your form. And then there was a high, raucous sort of chittering. Like a dolphin’s cry, loud and piercing. You squeezed your eyes shut and pressed your palms against your ears.

It only lasted a few mere seconds, but it felt like an eternity trapped in the coils of a creature you couldn’t comprehend. One moment you were holding your breath and the next arms were hooked around your torso, and you were pulled up and into the belly of the rowboat. Your hands flew to your throat, and you coughed up seawater while Owin patted you.

“It’s fine. It’s…okay,” Emyr muttered, his voice shot through with fear. It was the most shaken he’d ever sounded.

Blood fogged in the water, staining the tip of his harpoon. He gazed down at his hand. A deep, jagged gash ran angrily from palm to wrist. He hissed and closed his fingers in a tight fist.

“We gotta get back,” Owin was saying, still rubbing soothing circles into your back. “I’ll row. You rest.”

“Not good,” Emyr said instead, shaking his head in dismay as he watched your attackers retreat.

“We’re still in our waters, right? We didn’t go past the boundary, did we?”

“Let’s hope not.”

“We didn’t, right?”

“Let’s hope—” Emyr paused, collecting his words. “Let’s hope those monsters were in the wrong.”

“Father’s gonna kill us.”

“If not us, the monsters.”

Both brothers looked towards you. Your tunic was torn, stained through with saltwater and blood. You shivered all the way to shore.

Following that mishap, an official meeting was called between the Land and the Sea. The King—your father—met the Sea Queen at the border. He stood proud on his ship, peering down at her with fire in his old eyes.

“Your Majesty.”

The Sea Queen was just as formidable as those who came before her. Her tentacles unfurled as one, and if you looked at them long enough they almost seemed to take on the shape of an obsidian-colored crinoline.

“I believe my mother and your father made the terms quite clear all those years ago,” she said, a wave lifting her to meet the King at the deck of his ship. “So then, with that in mind, there should be no reason for us to meet under these circumstances.”

Emyr and Owin stood just behind their father. You peered through their legs at the Sea Queen, silently amazed. You’d never seen anyone quite like her before. At least, not a real person. You’d seen her in storybooks, depicted as a fearsome beast with devilish features, and though there was something intimidating about her gaze and build she appeared understanding enough. Her grey skin was sleek in the morning sun, her long, silvery strands tied up and pinned with an ornate hair ornament. She looked beautiful in a magical, enigmatic way.

“I couldn’t agree more,” came the clipped response of your father. “Alas, misfortune has brought us here.” He stepped aside to allow her to behold Emyr’s bandaged hand. “Harm has befallen my son and daughter. I suppose you might have an inkling as to why they find themselves in their current state?”

She frowned, but you couldn’t tell if it was out of sympathy or some other emotion. “Perhaps one of them can give reason to the wound now marring one of my subject’s sons.”

Your father glanced overboard at the snake-like merman cradled in the arms of another merman. They looked near-identical, their features unmistakable. He glanced back at Emyr, his gaze hard. “Go on then. Explain yourself.”

Emyr stepped forward. “With wholehearted respect, Your Majesty, it was out of self-defense. Your kind—they attacked us first.”

“You were in our waters!” one of the mers exclaimed, pointing a clawed finger towards Emyr. “It’s all your fault Jade got hurt!”

Owin hurried ahead, his hands gripping the taffrail. “He’s playing it up! It was a graze!”

“He could’ve died! You almost killed him!”

“That is enough,” the Sea Queen said, jutting an arm out to silence both sides. “I understand everyone is hurt here. Our feud lies in misunderstanding.” She gazed at you next. “Little one, we have yet to hear your story. Do share.”

You glanced at the guards, at Owin and Emyr, and then at father. He nodded encouragingly. “U-Um!” Shyly, you approached the Sea Queen. “My brothers were teaching me how to swim. I don’t know anything about whose water is whose. I just wanted to learn how to swim.” You met the fierce scowl of the mer holding his twin brother and quickly looked elsewhere. “He grabbed me before my brothers could pull me up.”

“Because you were trespassing. Anyone who tresspasses ought to—”

“Floyd.”

At the not-so-subtle warning in his father’s voice, he shut his mouth and snarled. His brother—Jade—was handed off to their father, who assessed his state with a frown.

“He will live, but it will take time for him to recover. My son is right. Your son could have killed him.”

“Just as your sons could have killed my sister!” Owin shouted, glaring.

Floyd stuck his tongue out, remorseless.

“It is impossible to know which side is in the wrong,” your father began, turning towards the Sea Queen. “Seeing as both have been injured, I am willing to apologize on behalf of my sons.”

“What?!” Owin’s head turned towards his father. “You’re bloody mad! Have you not seen—”

“Father,” Emyr interjected evenly. “We have nothing to apologize for. We were within our waters. We had no ill will towards the others. It was completely innocent.”

The Sea Queen hummed her contemplation. “The boundary was drawn for a reason, decided upon by those who came before us, and yet it does more harm than good. It is not for safety’s sake. It is to keep us divided—to ensure that neither side will ever know peace.”

“And you’re implying that we get rid of it?”

She nodded, quite serious. Everyone looked on in equal parts shock and disbelief. “Why do we continue to fight? It does nothing but open old wounds, rendering them incurable. Innocent lives are lost in petty squabbling. And for what?”

To that, no one could offer a smart reply.

“Therefore I propose peace. A union to welcome a new era—one in which we embrace one another as allies without animosity.”

“A union?” Your father raised a brow, suspicious but willing to listen. “I suppose it would be beneficial. My people would be free to travel the seas at their leisure.” “And mine would no longer have to live in fear of being thoughtlessly slaughtered and taken as trophies.”

“Unbelievable,” Orwin muttered.

Emyr elbowed him. “Knock it off.”

“We’ll collaborate on a contract. One that dissolves the invisible boundary that has been the cause for so much suffering. In order to attain true peace, I shall offer you my only son.” She glanced at you and then back at your father. “Your daughter shall marry him when they are of age.”

“What?! No way! Ew! Gross!” Your voice came out shrill and you shook your head in protest. “I don’t wanna marry an octopus! No, I won’t do it!”

Your father stood in front of you. “She’s my only daughter. If something were to happen—”

“Which is precisely why I bring up this engagement. Should they be betrothed, we as their parents will promise to uphold peace to give them bright futures and they will act as the first example of a human-mer alliance. Unions between humans and merfolk are unheard of, but is this not the best way to foster harmony between the Land and Sea?”

“I won’t do it! No! Don’t make me marry a gross—” Emyr gathered you in his arms, holding his uninjured hand over your mouth.

“Let the grown-ups talk.”

Owin frowned. “I still don’t agree with this…”

Your father mulled it over, his eyes glazed in thought. “Very well. We will create a contract—an official peace treaty.”

Both leaders shook hands and planned to convene at the end of the week to discuss further.

You watched the mers depart, each one slipping under the sea. Floyd was the last to go, staring at you with a mean sort of vitriol. And then he, too, dove under.

“He didn’t mean it, right?” you whispered to Emyr after your father gave the order to turn the ship around and head for land. “I won’t have to marry an octopus, right?”

Emyr could only offer a commiserate frown.

“She’s a brat,” Floyd spits. “Stupid, evil Two Legs.”

Jade chuckles and runs his fingers over the scar. “I consider it an honor.”

“Yeah, well, I think it’s messed up. She’s the reason you can’t ever swim naturally again. While she’s up there in her pretty, little tower, safe and sound, you’re still hurting.”

“It’s not as much of a hindrance as you may think. I’m not weak, mind you.”

Floyd grumbles. “Still. She’s mean.”

Azul gazes up at the palace, sighing dreamily. “She’ll be my wife someday. That’s what humans call it, yes? Husband and wife… What wonderful words.”

It’s been one year since the peace treaty. Since then, humans and merfolk have made an effort to get along. This is the second time Azul will be meeting with you. He’s nervous. The first time you went out to sea to greet him, and he’d gotten so anxious that he inked right then and there. His mother entertained you from where you sat in the boat with your personal guard. It was a mortifying experience—one that had taken him months to recover from.

Now he’s going to try to meet you in the shallows. Try is the key word here. He’s scared, all three hearts beating as one. Is it too late to reschedule?

“I can’t believe you’re actually okay with this. You that lonely?”

Azul turns to scowl at both twins, but it’s mostly directed at Floyd. “I never asked you to tag along. Leave me alone.”

Jade smiles. “And let the Queen’s little prince swim to his death?”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Sure you can. But what about when Two Legs gets ya? What then?”

“She wouldn’t do that.”

Floyd rolls his eyes. “You saw what her brothers did to Jade.”

“Because you tried to kill her.”

“Because she was in our territory!”

Azul huffs and pushes him away with a tentacle. “Regardless, we’re supposed to be on good terms now. You’ll break the contract if you try anything dangerous.”

“He’s right, Floyd.”

“Ugh. Whatever.” Floyd turns away, stubborn. “This is lame. I’m not stickin’ around.”

Jade lingers long enough to observe the way Azul lights up when he spots you on the stone steps. And then he disappears beneath the water.

Barefoot, holding your dress up and out of the way, you pad across the beach.

“Why are you here? I’m busy. My brothers are taking me into town.”

The smile that had been fighting to break out on his face frosts over. “Oh. I… Um…” Azul fumbles with the conch shell he’d collected on the way here. A gift for you. He made sure to study human speech patterns in the months leading up to this meeting. He’s fully prepared! And yet you look so displeased. “F-For you! I found it…”

You stare at the shell clutched in a dark tentacle. Tentatively, you reach for it. “Why?”

“Ah. W-Well, my mother says gifts are an important part of any bond. In the sea, we give gifts to the ones we care about. To friends and family and o-other halves…”

You turn the shell over in your hands. “We’re not friends.”

“Not yet,” he tries, but you shake your head.

“You ran away from me the last time we met. That’s not very friendly.”

His face flushes blue and he opens his mouth to argue, but nothing comes out. It wasn’t on purpose.

You’re already turning on your heel. “I don’t have time for this.” You toss the shell over your shoulder. Azul watches it land in the sand, just out of his grasp.

“W-Wait! I… I want to talk to you. Please don’t go. You’re going to be my other half one day, so I’d like to—”

But you’re already dashing across the beach to get to the stairs.

Azul deflates against the rock. Tears overflow in floods. Is it because of him? Is he to blame? Why don’t you want to be his friend? Is it because of the peace treaty? Why?

Why? Why? Why?

Azul doesn’t want to think negatively of you. Humans are sensitive creatures. He reads up on them in the palace library, poring over literature and textbooks in an effort to better understand you. But as the months pass and you seem to simply tolerate him for the sake of the alliance, he begins to suspect something.

It’s made apparent the next time he sees you, where you walk right past the beach to catch up with your brothers. He hides behind the rocks, two blue eyes following your figure until you’re out of sight.

Floyd was right. You are a brat.

And yet he can’t hate you.

On the eve of your eighteenth birthday, Azul meets you in the shallows.

Nowadays you send letters, preferring strained long distance over the personal intimacy of face-to-face relations. These exchanges are purely diplomatic. But now that he’s asked to meet with you, a rare occurrence, you’ve deigned to greet him in person. It’s the least you can do after he’s gone through the trouble to travel here. It’s been so long since you’ve seen him that he’s almost unrecognizable. You remember the round, baby-faced octo-mer from your childhood. The one who lounges against the rocks is leaner now—his features defined, jawline as sharp as his eyes. They cut through the gloom to find you.

“You wished to see me?” You’re in your nightwear, a silky gown with an even softer robe. A cool breeze blows across the beach, and you wrap your arms around yourself for extra warmth. “Azul?”

He hesitates, his gaze trailing up your legs. You’ve also changed a lot in the time you’ve been apart. You’ve grown taller, filling out in places he didn’t know humans could fill. What he’d give to hold you… His mother says he needs to be patient. Fickle thing that you are, you’re the reason he’s spent six years trying to appease you through letters—to win you over and be anything more than that “annoying octopus” you’re doomed to marry. Perhaps it would have been easier to act just as you do if it weren’t for the fact that he’d been elated at the premise of having someone to love. When his mother broached the idea in the days following her meeting with the Land King, he’d stared at her with wide, excited eyes.

“There’s a human girl who wants to be my friend?” he asked, to which his mother smiled and nodded.

More than a friend, actually, but then all he was focused on was finally getting to experience the one thing he’d never known or had: friendship.

Sighing, he foregoes formality and holds out a necklace. It dangles from the tip of his tentacle. Strung on a dainty, silver strand, pearls wink back at you under the moonlight. Azul averts his eyes, his cheeks a pleasant periwinkle.

“Happy birthday…”

“Oh.” You move in closer, taking the necklace from him. His tentacle pursues you, twining delicately around your wrist. “Um… What is it? Do you need—whoa!”

Azul tugs you closer. The sea laps at your ankles. Beneath a tapestry of stars, you meet his azure stare. His features are set with a determination you’ve never seen before.

“I want to start over.”

“Start over?”

“I’d like to be on friendly terms with you. We’re so cold. Distant…” Azul frowns, seeming unsure of what to say or do next. The tentacle laced around your wrist like a bracelet tightens its hold. “We’re to be wed one day. I want to make this work.”

You blink at him. He thinks he may have gotten through to you, having finally broken through layers of stone and ice, but then your nose scrunches and odium shimmers in your gaze.

“That’s impossible. I’m a human. How am I supposed to live with an octopus?” You shake him off with a huff. “I’m not sure what our parents think this will accomplish. I don’t want to be a pawn to be moved around for the sake of peace. I’m my own person.”

Azul’s expression sours. His lip curls up into a sneer. “Well, I don’t find it very enjoyable either. You’re not the only victim in this scenario.”

You exhale an exhausted breath. “Azul, I appreciate the gift, but it doesn’t mean anything if you’re only giving it to me to curry favor.”

I wasn’t, he thinks, but he doesn’t say that. Admitting it would be a weakness. Admitting it would mean coming to terms with an unrequited opinion.

“At least one of us is making a conscious effort.”

“At least one of us isn’t trying so hard. It’s pathetic.”

“You’re not obligated to accept my goodwill.” He smiles, smug. “Yet you do every time. I’d wager you enjoy my materialistic affections.”

“As if.” Despite this, you hold the necklace out of his reach when a tentacle flexes towards it. “It’s mine now.”

“So you are fond of my ‘pathetic’ ways!”

“I’m not!”

You jerk away with a vicious scowl, but your foot catches in the sand and you quickly find yourself tipping backwards. If not for the tentacles that coil around your waist to steady you, you would have fallen on your rear. Your chest heaves with adrenaline. Stunned, you stare at Azul.

“You…caught me,” you breathe, lips parted in awe.

“Did you think I’d let you fall?” He cocks his head at you, grinning playfully. “Why, I’d never! Unless it’s me you’re falling for, in which case I gladly welcome the—”

“You’re such a pest.” Untangling yourself from his grasp, which he allows without scrimmage, you step away from the water’s edge. He watches you secure the pearls around your neck, and his hearts stumble in his chest when you point an accusatory finger at him. “Don’t delude yourself with foolish nonsense. I have no interest in you.”

With an indignant harrumph, you start towards the palace.

“May we meet here tomorrow?” Azul calls out after you, testing his luck with what little chance he has.

“Don’t push it.”

“I’ll wait for you.”

“Good. Keep waiting, dummy!” You break into a sprint, hurrying off into the shadows.

Azul smiles at the empty beach. Whether or not you like him, it doesn’t matter. You’re to be his one day. You’ve always been, ever since he was eleven.

He’ll wait, even if you won’t show.

Ostensibly, twenty-one years wise, you’re getting married today.

Your gown is just as exquisite as your hair and makeup. Pearls cling to your throat and arms—classic wedding attire for merfolk. A thin veil shields the scheme in your stare.

This was an inevitability, but you’re determined to fight it until the end. No matter how quickly time seems to pass, you’ll do everything you can to stall and slow it.

Gripping a sharpened dagger in a resolute fist, you drag it through the long, sprawling train of your gown.

“As if I’d marry an octopus,” you grumble, cutting fine fabric until you’re permitted smoother movement. Gazing at yourself in the mirror, you scowl. “I’m no one’s bride.”

By the time the maids arrive to check on you, you’ve already stolen out the window.

The rowboat sways on choppy water. You’ve watched your brothers do this enough times to have the technique engraved in your memory. Your arms strain with the oars, every muscle screaming in protest, but you fight through the pain. The palace looks smaller and smaller with every passing minute. Eventually, you’re so far out that the land is but a mere speck.

It’s going well. You’re escaping towards a better future—a future without the octopus prince.

You glance towards the horizon. Your boat undulates with the waves.

You’ll miss your brothers, your maids, your personal guard…

Water slops over the edge. You yelp, startled. Have the seas always been so rough?

Despite everything, you’ll miss your father.

Just as you think this, your boat rocks to the side. You grab onto the edge to steady yourself, but it’s already too late. It tips over and you go with it, careening into the sea with a noisy splash. Twin shadows cut seamlessly through the murky water. You catch sight of a yellow eye before you propel yourself towards the sky, coughing and heaving once you break the surface. You grab onto the overturned rowboat, your dagger clutched in one hand.

You search the surface for them, eyes flicking to and fro in a frantic panic.

Somewhere… Anywhere… Where are you?

And then you find them, peering at you from the other side of the boat.

“Go on then,” you spit, glaring. “Kill me.”

Floyd bares his teeth at you. “This time I ain’t gonna leave a scar.”

“You know we mustn’t. That’s not why we’re here.” Jade smiles at you, but there’s something in his eyes that unnerves you. “Your Highness, you should know it’s poor manners to leave the groom on his special day.”

Floyd circles you restlessly. “S’not fair we gotta be nice when you’re so mean.”

“I’m not going to marry him.”

“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice in that matter.”

“What’d Azul ever do to you?”

You attempt to answer that before realizing the truth. Nothing. He’s done absolutely nothing but be kind and understanding and patient. And I took that, chewed it up, and spat in his face.

“If you used that brain of yours, you wouldn’t have thrown yourself to the sharks. We can’t get to you on land.” “But it’s fair game in the sea,” Floyd finishes, every syllable dripping with pride. “Stupid Two Legs.”

“I’m inclined to agree. You’re not the brightest human. A pity.”

“My brother should’ve gutted you when he had the chance. Maybe then—”

You see the whites of Floyd’s eyes when he strikes, launching himself at you with a clawed hand, sharp, pointed teeth aiming for your jugular.

This is it. You’re dead.

…or not.

The searing pain never comes, nor does the impending laceration. You cling to the boat and watch dark tentacles rise from the depths to close around Floyd, ensnaring him in a firm hold. He thrashes, snapping his jaws like a deranged beast.

“Let go of me, Azul! Lemme at her! She’s a bitch! I’ll kill her!”

“There will be none of that.” Azul tuts. “I don’t intend to marry a corpse.”

Jade swims over to you. “My feelings aren’t hurt in the slightest, Your Highness. If it weren’t for your status and connection to Azul, I’d have disemboweled you ages ago. Quite a relief for you, yes?”

You swallow your horror, allowing him to detach you from the boat so that Azul can turn it over. A tentacle curls around your waist, lifts you from the water, and places you back in the boat. You stare at your hands. They’re trembling. You can hardly hold the dagger properly.

It takes some convincing and a lukewarm apology from you, but Floyd promises to be good. He doesn’t do anything as you’re pulled back to shore, but he does stare at you for the duration of the trip, his eyes tracking your every movement. You press yourself into the belly of the boat, defeated and riddled with anxiety.

Your father isn’t pleased. When you see his enraged expression, the debate dies on your tongue. “You are to marry the prince,” he seethes, pulling you aside, “or else you jeopardize the peace of our kingdom.”

You’re washed and fitted in a new dress. Guards are stationed at all possible routes to prevent another escape.

When you walk down the beach to meet Azul in the shallows, your veil shields the sadness in your stare.

The ceremony carries on without incident. Floyd watches from the water, lurking like Death. You speak rehearsed vows in robotic monotone, mindlessly floating through the rigmarole like it’s second nature. Azul smiles at you through it all, sweetly smitten.

It’s a nightmare lived in real time.

Humans and mers alike congratulate you, cheering for this momentous occasion. Your tongue is numb by the end of it all. You’ve expressed faux gratitude so many times that it hurts to even force the words. And now, as night descends and the party kicks into full swing, you’re left reflecting on the day.

Freedom feels so far away. You’ll never know it again, will you?

Azul guides you away from the crowd. Firelight grows dim with the distance. Eventually, you find yourself taking refuge in a tiny inlet cut into the beach. A rocky outcrop hides you from the moon’s spotlight.

“I’m not upset,” Azul murmurs, curling a tentacle up your leg. “But Floyd is.”

“His brother’s the one who hurt me all those years ago.”

“That was before the union.”

“I’m not letting it go.”

“Perhaps not now, but you will. One day.”

You don’t believe him.

“Our people are at peace. Aren’t you pleased, my love?”

You shove him away, gathering heaps of your dress to walk in calf-deep water. “I’m not your love.”

“Legally, you are.”

“That means nothing to me. Absolutely nothing.”

Azul sighs. “Even now, after everything, you’re still trying to flee.”

“For good reason. I don’t want to be tied down.”

Azul inches closer. Another tentacle wraps slyly around your ankle.

“You’re so beautiful. I feel like the luckiest mer in the sea. To be able to call you my own… My beautiful bride.” He pulls you closer. You resist weakly. “Now that we’re alone I can finally tell you the very thing I’ve thought of ceaselessly for years.”

A tentacle slides up your leg, straying closer to your inner thigh. You flinch away.

“Azul, wait. I don’t want—”

“I love you.”

You squirm in his hold, attempting to thwart the tentacles that grab at your every limb. You trip over yourself in the process. This time Azul doesn’t catch you. Water laps at your dress, soaking through at once. He’s radiant beneath the moon. Dreading his touch, you scoot as far from him as you can get in the water, hoping to reach land. Azul seizes your wrist and pulls you into his arms. You fight him with more force.

“No… No, let go of me! Release me!”

“Why should I? You’re mine now. Is it not customary for a married couple to consummate their new bond? We do something similar in the sea.” A tentacle brushes your veil back so that he can look upon your pretty face. “I’d take you to a quiet space in the seagrass, lay you down in the sand, and then—”

“I don’t want that! No!” You lash out, swinging blindly. A tentacle shoots out to stop your arm before it can smack him. “Azul, please—”

“I was patient. I waited and waited in hopes that you might warm up to me. I cherished you in silence. I learned your language. Your customs. Your habits. I wrote to you. Traveled to meet you. And yet you look at me as if I’m a monster…”

It’s not the devastated look in his eyes or the edge in his voice that scares you. It’s the startling gentleness with which he handles you. Tentacles loop around your body, exploring beneath your gown. You wriggle in discomfort, yelping when suckers brush against the frilly garter secured around your thigh. Azul hums and holds you up in his tentacles, using two to spread your legs so that he may slide it from your leg.

“I wasn’t forceful. I courted you kindly. You accepted all of my gifts. You wore them proudly and I thought—I knew you would love me, too. You were mine from the moment our parents signed that agreement. And if you leave me, you’ll break a political promise and then our kingdoms will go to war and I’ll be sure to collect the heads of your family first. Each one of them, and you will watch as I bring ruin to the kingdom you love so fondly.”

“N-No… Please stop. Please.”

“I’ve waited ten years for you.” A tentacle hooks around your panties. You thrash again, shaking your head at him. He remains unconvinced, watching with gleeful eyes as your nudity is revealed to him. “And aren’t you an angel? Oh, you’re so pretty…”

Like your hopes, your panties are cast aside.

The tip of a tentacle prods curiously at your pussy. Your breath hitches.

“W-Wait! You… You can’t.” His eyes find yours, and you swallow the rising sob. “T-That can’t go inside… It won’t fit. It won’t—”

Azul smiles. “Of course it will. The human body is capable of marvelous feats.”

Even though it’s pointless, you struggle. “I can’t! Please… Azul, I’m scared. Please don’t do this…”

A lone tentacle slides into your hand. Thoughtless, you hold tight.

“My love, there’s no need to cry. I’m not going to hurt you.” He brings you closer, kissing your tears away. “I’m here for you. I’ve always been here, even when you didn’t seem to need me.”

You hiccup, your chest heaving. It’s not lonely for long, for he pulls your dress down your shoulders. Your breasts spill free and are quickly cradled in cold hands. Azul watches your expression with an intense focus while he rolls your nipples between his fingers. You grit your teeth, refusing to respond. But then the tentacle between your legs finds your clit and a sucker affixes to it, suctioning slowly. You gasp and throw your head back, bolts of pleasure racing up your spine. It happens in a white-hot flash. You slacken in his grasp.

Azul laughs, astonished. “Did you cum? Already?”

“Nooo,” you whine, closing your hand around the tentacle once more. Another one strokes your cheek. “You’ve had your fun. Now let go of me…”

“What a silly demand.”

He tugs on your nipples. You groan, lashes fluttering. “Ooh… Stop. No, stop it… Don’t touch there. Not—haa… Not there!”

“You’re so sensitive.” He drags the underside of a tentacle along your cunt and shivers. “And so wet… Is this your season? Do humans experience such a thing?”

You’ve no idea what he’s referring to, but before you can dwell on it he leans down to take your perky bud in his mouth. Your free hand grabs at his hair, pinning him to your chest. His tongue laves across it, warm and wet. You shouldn’t enjoy it so much, and yet you can’t stop yourself from crying out.

He hums against your skin, beaming like a devil. You can’t hate him. He’s your husband. He’s yours. You shouldn’t hate him.

You’re falling apart in his tentacles, grinding down to chase the bliss provided by the underside of the appendage clinging to your pussy. The sinful squelch of skin on skin fills the quiet inlet. The scent of sex and salt intermingles. It’s wrong and it’s right. It’s instinct, carnal and corrupt. Azul groans against your breast, your teat between his teeth.

“Az—ooh!” You tug on his hair, insatiable. Your brain is fogging over with lust. You don’t want to lose yourself in this madness. You can’t. “N-No more… No more.”

But he’s not listening. He pinches your other nipple between his fingers, and that’s all it takes for you to unravel.

In the aftermath, the tapered tip of a thicker tentacle squirms between your thighs. Mindlessly, you spread your legs and lift your hips for him. It presses in shallowly, a jarring experience.

“Not inside—don’t! You can’t!”

Azul pulls away from you, his expression scrunched in woozy ecstasy. “Why not?” he mumbles, smiling stupidly. “You’re my bride. It’s only fair…”

Before you can bicker, he kisses you. His tongue pursues yours in a sloppy tango. You lick into his mouth, desperate and dazed. Lost in a sea of salacity, shipwrecked on an island of forgotten inhibitions.

The tentacle pushes through rings of tight, slick muscle. Tears spring to your eyes. It feels weird and foreign, so unlike your fingers. He holds you close, minding his strength and pace. It fills you slowly, reaching places you’ve never been able to feel. The lust numbs your senses and gives way to something animalistic—a base desire you’ve suppressed. Azul rocks the appendage deeper until it’s pushed up against the entrance to your womb, squeezed snugly in your warm walls.

“I-It’s in…” you mumble once he’s broken the kiss, a strand of saliva connecting your mouths. “It’s really…inside me…”

Azul kisses your cheek and pets you with a tentacle. “We were made for each other.”

Surely not, you think, but it feels so when he draws back and thrusts in. Maybe he’s right.

He fucks you gently, savoring every single sound you make. He tells you he loves you, whispers it over and over like it’s prayer. You nod dumbly, grabbing at his hand to hold it. The both of you are gasping in unison, chasing cloud nine. In just a few more deep strokes, his tip bullying its way to your womb, he finally finds his end. A thin substance fills you up in plentiful amounts. Distantly, you think it’s water until he drags your hips further down. Your mouth drops open in a strangled scream as something round and gelatinous passes through. It settles in your womb, and you know right away that it shouldn’t be there.

You panic. “W-Wait… Wha—Zul… Stop… No, I don’t want—”

“It’s all right,” he breathes, his mouth on your shoulder. He soothes you with soft shushes and even softer kisses. “You’re okay. I’m here.”

You dig your nails into the tentacle curled in your palm just as a second orb squeezes through. He groans, his eyes squeezed shut.

“Finally…” He pants, a wobbly smile stretching on his delirious countenance. “Finally, my love, my dear—oh, my beloved bride!”

He cradles you like a mother would a newborn. You lie there as he fills you, your voice hoarse from babbling and bewailing. These things—little orbs of jelly—are stuffed into your womb, and by the time you surpass twenty you lose count and blank out, trembling through yet another orgasm. You’re not sure how many more he has left or how many more you can possibly fit. It feels too good to think about that.

“Bigger. They’ll get bigger. You’ll look so pretty—round and full and soft.”

Dizzy, you glance at the bloated dome that is your belly. Your gown strains over it, an impressively deceptive size that you almost mistake for pregnancy. That’s when it clicks. Eggs. These are eggs.

“I’ll make sure they survive. All of them—as many as I possibly can. I’ll stay by your side. I’ll keep you content. I’ll fill you with love—so much love—an abundance of it, and you’ll never know emptiness again,” he rambles, resting a tentacle over your distended middle.

It’s not just a senseless sweet nothing. It’s a promise.

#yandere twst #yandere twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere azul ashengrotto #yandere azul x reader #yandere azul ashengrotto x reader #yandere azul #n/sfw #tw: noncon #tw: breeding #tw: oviposition

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prythianpages · 1 month

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Catching Fire | Eris x Reader

summary: When word of Sawyer's nightly endeavors reaches Beron, he summons you both to his office. Meanwhile, Eris is away on a secret mission where he discovers a troubling truth about you.

warnings: violence, mentions of blood and homophobia (bc Beron is an asshole toward his son); A hint of dark Eris torturing your father

a/n: This is part five to my Like An Angel Series, where Eris falls in love with his brother's betrothed. I do try to write each imagine as a stand alone but I don't think this one can.

Eris moves with silent grace as he steps out from the shadows and into the grounds of your family’s home. His father had sent him to Dawn to handle some unfinished business with Nuan so of course, he took advantage and paid the Night Court a visit too. Now, on his way back home, he decided to stop and pay your father a surprise visit.

Determination burns bright in his eyes as he observes the guards patrolling the perimeter. He reaches for his bow and arrow, placing an enchantment over the sound. Each arrow released is laced with a poison, weak so it doesn’t kill but strong enough to knock someone out for hours. A slight smirk plays at the corner of his lips as the guards fall one by one.

Given his status, he knows he could’ve requested to see your father at the gates and easily been granted it. But it’s important that no one but your father knows of his visit.

Eris allows the moonlight to guide him down the cobblestone path, leading to the entrance of your house. He uses his magic to unlock the front door and slips in.

The hour is late but Eris keeps his senses on high alert, in case there are still servants lurking through the halls. Your house is great and vast, adorned with expensive furniture and sculptures. One would think this was a lord’s house and not a merchant’s. He can’t help but notice the fabrics wrapped around some furniture and the random boxes littering the floors. Some boxes are filled with stuff, others still empty. Almost as if your father is planning to move.

He stops for a brief moment when he finds himself in the sitting room. Torches line the walls, enveloping the room in a dim glow. It’s bright enough to discern the family portrait hanging on top of the mantelpiece. Immediately, his eyes are drawn to you. A softness envelops his features, his heart skipping a beat.

It’s only been a couple of days since he had to leave the Forest house and he misses you already.

As he looks at the painting, he admires how the artist managed to capture the brightness of your presence well. Beside you stands an older female, unmistakably your mother. The resemblance between the two of you is striking and the notable absence of resemblance in all ways to the male seated in the portrait leaves Eris feeling a sense of relief.

He forces himself to carry on, tearing his gaze off the painting. His keen senses guide him down a certain hallway and as he walks forward, he takes in every detail. It becomes apparent that the portrait in the sitting room must have been the most recent, for older depictions of your family adorn the walls of the hallway he traverses, each one offering a glimpse of you through the ages.

When he finally reaches the door he was looking for, he takes a deep breath and then reaches for the handle.

Casting a glance toward Lady Raelynn, you take a deep breath and then mimic her stance. True to her words, she had taken it upon herself to teach you how to shoot a bow and arrow. Her movements are graceful and effortless as she notches an arrow onto her bow.

“You’re so good at this,” you say in admiration when the arrow hits its target.

“I’ve had centuries of practice, my dear,” Lady Raelynn smiles warmly at you, easing her stance. Though subtle, a hint of sadness flickers in her russet eyes once more, causing a pang of guilt to tighten your brow.

During your first practice session, you had asked her why she pursued archery, dancing around the real question you had meant to ask…How did Beron allow it? Considering the strict standards of the Autumn Court, you're certain that archery wasn't deemed appropriate for ladies such as yourselves.

Her answer had been short and simple, “it saved my life once.” You’ve heard some stories from the war centuries ago, how Lady Raelynn’s family estate was attacked by Hybern’s forces and she was the only one to escape. You didn’t ask any questions after that, sensing it was a sensitive topic.

“Your turn.”

You nod and then steady yourself. This time, you’re relieved to find your hands steady, lacking the nervous tremble that plagued previous sessions. Slowly, you draw the string of your bow back and then release. It sails through the air, missing the target by a small margin. With a sigh, you lower your bow. You were so close.

“Is that the best you got?”

Your head whips around. You recognize the voice but still, you can’t help but hope maybe you heard wrong. Reality deflates your hope as your gaze falls upon a disheveled Sawyer. Some irrational part of you had been clinging to the hope that it was Eris. Even though he had left a note for you in the book he promised to bring you, telling you he would be gone for a week. The note had burst into ashes after you read it but the words he had written were still engraved in your mind.

Angel, I’m afraid I have some business to partake in for the next week. Allow my book to keep you company and reach out to my mother, should you need help. Until then, I’ll be thinking about you and those sweet lips of yours.

-E

Sawyer lets out a tut in disapproval, pulling you out of your thoughts. He seats himself on one of the lawn chairs in the gardens, squinting at the blinding light of the sun. His hair is a mess, bags under his eyes are heavy and the clothes he wears are wrinkled and not fitting for a male of his status. If High Lord Beron could see him now, you fear what would become of him.

“Sawyer.” Lady Raelynn says in what appears to be a warning, a frown etching onto her features as she takes in the sight of her son.

Your nose crinkles as the stench of alcohol and something else reaches you. He must’ve gone out. Again. When you had bargained with Sawyer and offered to cover for his night endeavors, you hadn’t expected how frequent they would be. Sawyer was becoming reckless, as if each night closer to your wedding drove him further and further into despair. You weren’t handling it well either. The judgmental looks sent your way often followed by scoffs and rude comments as you walked around the Autumn estate weren’t helping your situation.

“What a shame,” they’d say. “I heard Sawyer hates her.”

“There must be something wrong with her. Or him.”

“Clearly, she’s not worthy. I doubt she’ll last long.”

Your fingers tighten against your bow. You didn’t care that Sawyer had no interest in you nor for the rumors that circled around him of his preferences. It was the fact that he was being careless with his actions and you worried about what it would mean for the both of you, if the High Lord finds out.

Sawyer’s lips tug up into a smirk. He leans back onto the chair, grabbing a ripe red apple from the basket of fruit laid out on the table beside him. With newfound focus and determination, you raise your bow. You’re thinking before even acting, and in the blink of an eye, the arrow is soaring. It pierces straight through the apple in Sawyer’s grasp, sending it flying and pinning it to a nearby tree.

“I was going to eat that!”

Your eyes widen in surprise, the bow falling from your grasps and onto the floor. You didn’t miss. Your mouth parts, the beginning of an apology about to roll off your tongue. Not toward Sawyer but toward Lady Raelynn.

“Good aim,” she says before you can even speak, soothing your worry.

She then approaches Sawyer, a disapproving look on her face. She brushes his hair back and gives a small tug, tilting his head to look up at her. “Please go bathe and freshen up before anyone else sees you. Or worse, your father.”

Hurried footsteps draw near and immediately, a tight knot twists in your stomach as a servant who cannot look any of you in the eyes comes forth. She keeps her head bow, shaky hands clasped before her.

“High Lord Beron requests Lord Sawyer’s and Lady Y/n’s presence.”

It's already too late.

Eris’s teeth clench as he reads over a letter that had been left in an open box atop your father’s desk. It’s a letter addressed to his father and as his eyes skim through the page, he feels a dark heat seeping into his bones.

Dear High Lord Beron,

By the time this letter reaches you, I will be far out from your grasp. I sense you’ll be angry but I urge you to not bother looking for me. The thing you seek most is already with you. It’s been with you all this time, coursing through my daughter’s veins. The essence of the sundrop flower lives within her. Not the original intention but when my wife found out I planned to sell it to the highest bidder, she decided to foolishly take matters into her own hands.

Attached to this letter is a journal where I’ve kept all records of the sundrop flower and my daughter. Do with this information as you will. She’s all yours now.

Best wishes,

Jareth

Eris's hands are immediately reaching out for the journal that lies in the box, fingers tightening around it so harshly his knuckles are turning white. He opens it, eyes skimming over the pages and reads just enough to know what’s so precious about this sundrop flower.

When he closes the book, he’s furious. It was no surprise to him to confirm that your father was not a good male. However, it was surprising that he sold you, his one and only daughter, out. He probably killed your mother, too. With the journal still in his hand, he quietly finds and sneaks his way to your father’s room with an urge to seek out more answers.

The sun is beginning to rise when Eris makes himself comfortable on the grand armchair. It had originally been facing the window but he moved it to face your father, who was currently still sleeping. A muscle in his jaw tightens at the peaceful expression on your father’s face.

Not wanting to waste any more time, his magic yanks the covers off from your father. Your father jumps to wakefulness with a startle, eyes wide and frantic as he sits up in bed. The blood leaves his face as he spots Eris.

The heir to the Autumn Court reclines on the armchair as if it were his throne. There’s an air of practiced arrogance around him. He’s dressed in a fine suit, every thread woven with the finest fabrics of deep navy, highlighting the richness of his crimson hair that cascades around his broad shoulders. His amber eyes, gleaming with an unsettling intensity, pierce through the dimly lit room with an almost predatory glint.

“Call for help and I’ll slit your throat.”

“Lord Eris,” your father breathes, blinking back at him in surprise. His gaze lowers to where Eris’s ring clad fingers tap on the journal in his lap. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“I came to relay a message from my father. I’m sure you’re well familiar with his impatience. But then, I found this,” Eris says, holding up the letter he found and taking pleasure in the fear that flashes through your father’s eyes. “Planning on going somewhere?”

It’s eerily quiet as you and Sawyer step into the High Lord’s office. You pray to the Cauldron that the glamor Sawyer placed over himself is strong enough to mask the evidence of whatever he got himself into last night. But as you turn around to face Beron, your heart sinks to your stomach. The pure anger simmering in those brown eyes of his is enough to let you know he sees right through it.

“Father, I can–”

You flinch, curling into yourself as a loud cracking sound echoes through the room followed by the sound of Sawyer’s body falling to the ground. He grunts in pain, struggling as he turns on his side to sit up. But a sharp kick from Beron sends him back to the floor, his head banging against the floor.

“You continue to disgrace this family,” Beron seethes with another powerful kick and you hear something crack. “Tarnishing the family name I spent centuries bringing up! Where is duty? Where is honor?”

Sawyer’s brown eyes light with an indignant fire. “Fuck honor,” he manages to spit out, setting Beron alight.

Tears sting at your eyes as you watch the scene unfold before you in horror. You knew the High Lord of the Autumn Court was cruel and violent. But this? And toward his own blood? This was unforgivable. Unjust and absolutely terrifying. It confirmed all your suspicions over the bruises and scars you'd seen on Eris.

Oh, Eris.

A scream catches in your throat and your entire body freezes as Beron continues to unleash his wrath on his son.

“I’ve been generous in offering you a solution and you dare make a mockery out of it?”

“There is no solution for who I am,” Sawyer cries defiantly, despite the blood trickling from his mouth.

The hurt, the agony in his voice tears at your heart–

“I dare curse the Cauldron for making you the way it did!”

“I don’t.” You’re taken aback at the firmness of your own voice.

Beron turns to you sharply, your words reminding him of your presence. You swallow thickly but stand your ground as he walks toward you. While Sawyer has not been the kindest to you, he does not deserve any of this. If anything, you now understand him more. Why your marriage came to be, why Sawyer hates you. It has your heart aching for all the suffering he must’ve endured and is still currently living through.

“You,” he hisses with a pointed finger. “You just marked your death sentence.”

Fear creeps into your heart and a sickening smirk begins to form on the High Lord’s face. He can sense the terror filling your veins. Still, you hold his gaze, though it’s threatening to burn you alive at any given moment.

“You’re undeserving of all the blessings the Cauldron has bestowed upon you," you say.

A harsh slap sends a stinging pain to your face. Your body stumbles backward but Beron holds you steady, gripping onto your arm. His nails cut through the thin fabric of your gown and pierce into your skin. His other hand grips your face sharply by the chin as he studies you.

“What a terrible disappointment you are. I would kill you right now but much to my discontent, I have to wait until after the wedding,” he threatens and then lets out a dark chuckle that sends shivers down your spine. The way he’s looking at you. You’re almost sure he’s thinking of all the ways he’ll enjoy torturing you to death. Your body is screaming internally in panic and there’s a strange sensation stirring in the depths of your chest.

“You could’ve had it all, you know? What every female of your status wishes for. Money, jewels, a good family name."

“No,” Sawyer groans out, keeling over. “None of this is her fault. It’s all mine. I was careless. Eris warned me but I threatened her to stay silent.”

You release a breath you didn’t know you were holding as Beron releases his cruel grip on you. He turns back to Sawyer, who remains on the floor and you’re quick to come between them. A foolish move but you worry Sawyer doesn’t have it in him to take any more blows. Nor do you want him to.

“I do not care who is at fault for I am putting the blame on both of you anyway. But,” Beron pauses to lift a finger. “Let this be clear to you both that this is a warning. One more mishap from either one of you and it’s over. You think you know pain? I will have you longing for something as sweet as pain.”

Beron looks over at you both, delighted in the sight of your trembling form and his son, who remains on the ground. Bleeding. He’d say his message is pretty clear but just in case...

“Oh. One more thing,” he says as he makes his way toward the door. His hand grasps the door knob but he pauses, wanting to make sure you hear his next words well.

“There will be a bedding ceremony at your wedding.”

Eris wasn’t above inflicting pain onto your father. He meant it when he said he’d do anything to keep you safe. What a harsh twist of fate it was that the person who helped bring you into this world was also the same person content with you leaving it.

Your father didn’t deserve you. Eris feared he, himself, did not deserve you either. But he’d be damned, if he allowed the ruthless hand of fate to have you at its grasps.

This thought crosses his mind as he gazes down at your own father’s hands. Eris had brought your father to his study, forcing him to sit at his desk while the Autumn heir loomed over his shoulder like an oncoming storm of darkness.

His hands reach for his belt, where he keeps his favorite dagger sheathed at all times. “What hand do you write with?”

Jareth’s body tenses. He turns his head to look up at Eris with wary eyes. “My right, my Lord,” he replies with quiet hesitancy.

“Good,” Eris says. The only warning Jareth got before Eris brought his dagger down, piercing through your father’s hands. He muffles his scream with his free hand as he twists the dagger further into his skin. “That means you won’t need your left hand anymore.”

“Here’s what I need you to do if you wish to live.” Eris roughly pulls Jareth’s head taut to his chest, forcing his gaze upwards. The hand at Jareth’s mouth lifts and finds its place against his throat. Eris gives a tight squeeze in warning.

“I need you to write a letter to your daughter. Confess the truth. Apologize for all the wrongs you’ve done. Then, you pray to the Mother that y/n has it in her to forgive you… because I sure as hell never will.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Jareth mutters hurriedly, desperate to live. His right hand shakes as it finds his quill, eyes glistening with fright under the intense gaze of Eris.

How pathetic, Eris sneers quietly as he sits himself on the chair directly across from Jareth. Though small, he needed to put some distance between them both. He fears if he didn’t, the primal instinct urging him to protect and defend you would consume him whole.

Eris leans back into the chair, bringing the journal filled with details of your father’s twisted experiment with you to his gaze. Every so often, he casts a glance toward your father, who continues to scribble words down with haste. The more and more he learns of the truth, the more it sickens him. And the more he wishes to give in to that primal instinct, to unleash the beast that lurks deep within him.

But he knows how much it’d hurt you if he killed your father. Even if your father deserved it. Ironically, Eris can only pray to the Mother himself that you would find it in you to forgive him for what he has planned for your father instead.

After what feels like an eternity, Jareth lets out a deep exhale. “Done.”

Eris lifts his gaze, slowly taking in the sight of your father like the calm before the storm. The older male’s face has turned ashen, coated with a sheen layer of sweat that Eris can scent.

The Autumn heir rises from his seat, leaning over to take a brief look at the contents of the letter. The corner of his lips lift into a sinister smirk.

“Looks like you won’t be needing your right hand either.”

Eris watches from a distance, bright flickering flames casting an eerie reflection in the darkness of his eyes. Your house is catching fire with a ferocity that thirsts to devour everything in its path. The letter your father had written to you is secured into the breast pocket of his coat along with the journal.

It all makes sense to him now. Why on that night he rushed to comfort you, you had not been concerned at all with your bleeding hand. Why the scar on his lower abdomen had magically disappeared after you touched it that same night. Why the yellow flower you had embroidered and proudly showed him looked familiar. Why your father would refer to you as a flower a lot. Why his father was obsessed with obtaining it for himself.

The sundrop flower surged through your veins.

A long, long time ago, it was whispered that a solitary drop from the Cauldron had spilled over in what is now known as the Dawn Court, giving birth to the radiant sundrop. The golden flower was no ordinary bloom as it possesses the ability to heal any ailment or injury. It blooms at a different location within the Dawn Court every fifth century or so. A phenomenon carefully overseen by the reigning High Lord of Dawn. As it is rumored that whoever beholds the flower is immortal, for nothing can harm or kill them.

Eris has no idea how your parents managed to not only find but obtain the flower before Thesan could. The sundrop is a divine creation, blessed by the Cauldron itself. A divine creation whose essence is intertwined with your very being. As Eris’s thoughts drift back to you, he feels a stirring deep in his chest.

His hand instinctively reaches for his heart, his breath catching as a tumultuous wave of emotions washes over him. Fear, panic, anger—all swirling within him. Yet not his own. No, these emotions are coming from you, echoing loudly through the bond.

A sense of foreboding settles over him. Something is terribly wrong.

a/n: Sorry for the lack of Eris x reader interactions in this one and the lack of softness this series usually holds but it was necessary to build up to the future parts. The next part will make up for it. Hope you still enjoyed! and also hoped you enjoyed the continued Tangled references lol and the one quote from the Avengers as well as some House of Dragon ones. I know a lot of information was dropped in this part so if you have any questions, just let me know. There's just three more parts to this and the bond snapping for reader is coming soon 👀

tagging: @fabulouslyflamboyant5 @fxckmiup @stormhearty @skyesayshi @sfhsgrad-blog @crazylokonugget @evergreenlark @secretlyhers @mybestfriendmademe @ib525, @96jnie, @kennedy-brooke, @scooobies, @sillysillygoose444, @lilah-asteria, @glitterypirateduck @thatsassyhufflepuff @acourtofbatboydreams, @mal-adaptive-dreams, @dandelionfairyyy

if you asked to be tagged and I didn't, please know it was a mistake and just let me know again so I can add you!

you can find a sneak peak to the next part here

#eris x reader #eris x you #eris x y/n #eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra x you #eris vanserra x y/n #eris vanserra imagine #eris vanserra fanfic #acotar imagines #acotar x reader #acotar fanfiction #eris vanserra angst

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wingedhallows · 2 months

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if i can still breathe; sirius black

pairing: sirius black x reader | 0.9k words plot: you encounter snivellus and his death eater friends alone, sirius isn't happy about that prompt: "if i can still breathe, I'm fucking fine" authors note: i noticed yall like bloody works and i happen to like writing bloody things. & i feel generous today :) here u go

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You knew you were in deep shit, such deep shit, it made your fingertips tingle. Severus and his little friends had their wands pointed at you, your wand tightly grasped in your own hand.

You stared at them, a small smirk on your face. “You don’t think you’ll win this one, do you?” Severus laughed, wand waving around like a flag. Oh how you wished he would’ve waved a flag ‘cause you weren’t going to go down without a fight. How well faught that fight was, you didn't know.

With a shrug of your shoulders and a confident grin on your lips you answered him. “I think my chances are good, Snivellus.” The thing is, you weren’t confident at all. They were five and you were alone. Was that fair? No, but did little Death Eaters ever play fair?

With a flick of his wand he send something your way, you deflected it with a small gesture of your own. “Come on now, Snape.” You chuckled, sending a nonverbal spell right back.

“You’re not going easy on me now, right?” He grew red in the face and took a step forward. “Big words for someone who’s all alone.” Mulciber snarled. You shook your head and sent another quiet spell their way, sending one of Snapes little soldiers off his feet.

“I think I can manage.” Without a warning, Snape sent a spell towards you.

“Rictusempra.” He had yelled and suddenly you were on the floor in a fit of laughter. It felt like thousands of ants were crawling up your skin to tickle the absolute shit out of you.

Just as the spell wore off you could feel a foot in your stomach, knocking the air out of you. You doubled over, choking on air. A hand connected with your face, blood pooling from your lip.

“Bitch.” One of them spoke as other limbs connected with your body. You curled up in a ball, desperate to protect yourself in any way possible.

“Severus, there’s someone coming.” One of them spoke and in a matter of seconds they were gone, your cowering form long forgotten. You relaxed a bit and let out a breath as you could feel the blood and bruising kick in. The pain spread through your body and you were sure you’d cashed a few kicks to the head as well.

“Y/N?” Lily was by your side in secondary, hands not sure where to tend first. “Fuck, Y/N?” James’ voice sounded as well. They both dragged you to your feet and tagged you along.

“Who-”Snape and his little Death Eater friends.” You whispered, head pounding. You couldn’t open your eyes, the light of the torches all around sending a stinging ache to your brain.

“Bathroom.” You muttered and Lily hushed James away as you both made your way to the nearest girls' lavatory. “Go get him.” She had said and James knew right away who she meant, your boyfriend.

You didn’t protest, you knew how Sirius became when you tried to hide things. He was protective of all his friends but you were different. He loved you and he wouldn’t take lightly what Snape had done to you. You didn’t want him to. You’d enjoy whatever Sirius was going to come up with to bully the slimy slytherin.

You hunched over the sink, catching your breath. “I think some ribs are broken.” You spoke, more to yourself than to Lily. She sighed and got to work, you needed her to mend to your ribs, it was hard to breathe. You looked at yourself, the mirror was unforgiving. Your hair was all wild on top of your head, matted with blood.

Your nose, forehead and basically your whole face was smeared with blood. They got you good, you weren’t going to deny that. It was cowardly still, to attack you like that when they could’ve used magic. Just like what Death Eaters are like, cowardly.

“You can’t-”The fuck I can’t” You heard your boyfriend before you saw him in the mirror behind you. “Y/N?” He stumbled inside, face worried. You turned around with a small grin on your face, not to scare him more than necessary.

“Sirius, babe.” His eyes widened before he rushed towards you, hands held out for you. “I’m fine-”Stop lying to me, you’re obviously not fine.” He grabbed a piece of paper by the mirror and desperately tried to wipe some of the blood off.

“Sirius, love.” He closed his eyes and hung his head to calm down.

“If I can still breathe, I’m fucking fine, okay?” He nodded and embraced you in a gentle hug, his lips placed a gentle kiss to your scalp. There was no space to argue for him. "We're fine." You whispered.

“I’ll make’em pay.” He whispered in your hair. He pulled apart and placed a hand on your bruised, bloody face. “I fuckin’ hope you do, baby.” His lips pulled in a small grin before he wiped some more of the blood off your face.

“No one touches you like this unpunished, especially not Snivellus.” You nodded and winced as your ribs snapped in place. “Sorry.” Lily whispered, face apologetic. “I’ll murder him.” He whispered and you barked out a laugh.

“I might as well.”

#harrypotter #hp fanfic #marauders era #marauders imagine #the marauders #sirius black #sirius black x reader #harry potter angst #harry potter fanfic #sirius black angst #sirius black one shot #sirius black imagine #sirius black fanfic #lily evans #james potter #severus snape #the marauders fanfiction #the marauders era #the marauders fanfic

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kastlequill · 4 months

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iii/v. unearth without a name: the parent forced to eat its young before it grows

pairing: keegan p russ x f!reader word count: 3.2k synopsis: the third time you hallucinate keegan tags: whumptober, psychological warfare, injury, electrocution, brainwashing, hallucinations, hurt no comfort, established relationship, ghost!reader, 4+1, no y/n warnings: canon-typical violence, torture ao3: read here ← prev | next →

III.

Things didn’t get much better from there. In fact, the torture only worsened.

The passage of time remained a disorienting illusion at best, but you were certain that you’d been in this hellhole longer than the less-than-professional portion of your relationship with. . .

With Keegan.

It hurt to think about him. Well, it hurt to think about any of the Ghosts, men who you had seen as your crew, your family, but matters surrounding the sergeant in particular were infinitely more painful. They had each promised you one thing and one thing only: short of death, they would sooner lose a limb or two than abandon you. He, however, had gone a step further, all but vowing to follow you to the ends of the earth.

Of course, Keegan hadn’t exactly said as much, for such a confessional manner of speaking was beyond his realm of expertise. Still, it was difficult to dispute the torch he carried for you when one took into account the way he slipped his treasured rations of dried jerky into your back pocket, or how he gave you his undivided attention both in the field and in the privacy of his own quarters.

Anybody with a pair of workin’ eyes can puzzle you idiots out in five seconds flat , Merrick had said once. Makes the rest of us sick. Sick, I tell you.

Unfortunately, reality was often disappointing. And you were starting to believe that the only person who’d ever been wholly honest about their intentions with you was Rorke.

The day you first had this passing thought was the day you officially relinquished your already-slippery grip on sanity, mind finally at a loss. Because nobody of a sound mental state would consider their captor, interrogator, and torturer to be a pillar of truth or a beacon of honesty. Nevertheless, he wasn’t the one who had given you false hope, nor had he been the one to abandon you here, leaving you to waste away and rot. From the get-go, this monster of a man had detailed the exact terrors he would inflict upon you and then subsequently followed through on his words.

A part of you—the worn-down, bone-weary, hollowed-out part of you—respected that.

“Why don't we start the day off with a bang, hm?” Rorke strapped your wrists down to the arms of the wooden chair in which you currently sat. Giving a sharp tug, he tightened the restraints until a tingling numbness radiated throughout the meat of your fingers. “Get the blood flowin’, so to speak.”

In your peripheral, two Feds were hooking you up to some sort of death machine, which looked like an entanglement of wires and an array of dials. Malnourishment slowed your ability to assess and process new information, so you couldn’t muster the energy to investigate whatever damage they had planned for you.

Resistance was futile; at this point, the pain was inevitable, and the suffering was unavoidable. You possessed no power, you had no leverage, and you were losing faith in your comrades fast. Combined, it was a sure recipe for disaster. Yet, you had no choice but to see all this chaos through until it’s likely-bloody conclusion.

Rorke took a seat in a chair of his own, positioning himself just a few feet across from you. Close enough to intimidate, but not within kicking distance. To calm your racing heart, you focused your attention onto the deep scar that sliced his left brow and trailed the contours of his face before abruptly stopping at the edge of his jaw.

Your sense of curiosity briefly flickered to life, and you wondered if it was the handiwork of another Ghost. Maybe Merrick, your methodical, war-horse of a captain? Or the Elias Walker, known to you only in the form of tales told by his remaining men?

Regardless, the image of the healed wound birthed in you a furious desire to bestow a matching mark on the unblemished side.

“First order of business,” the ex-Ghost began. “The Walker boy. Logan. Is he back in it again, runnin’ amok with that sorry brother of his? Haven’t seen either of their ugly mugs in a while.”

During the previous winter, you’d learned some of the details surrounding Logan’s capture and escape, both of which had occurred prior to your recruitment. Keegan had always been pretty tight-lipped about the subject, usually dismissing it altogether by redirecting you to ask Logan personally. And so you had.

What he divulged had sickened you to the core.

Although he wasn’t a big talker, Logan Walker had unveiled the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth in a series of short fragments over the course of several weeks. His recounts weren’t always delivered in chronological order, for he occasionally jumped around as trauma poured out of him like an unleashed dam. He had spoken of the isolation and the disorientation, of the physical beatings and the mental lashings. Of reliving his father’s death again and again, of the apparition of his brother shouldering him with the blame.

The most harrowing part, however, had been the brainwashing. The manipulation of the mind and its contents, the rearrangement of orderly thoughts, beliefs, memories into a locked state of disorder. Forcing the self to become a foreign object in its own native vessel. You had thus far managed to avoid undergoing such disfiguration. Still, considering Logan’s experience mirrored yours almost exactly, it was safe to assume that you wouldn’t remain unscathed. But where his strength and sheer tenacity had foiled Rorke’s plans, you weren’t optimistic that you’d be able to replicate his success.

Even so, no matter the evils lurking in your future, you scorned the prospect of willingly revealing any information that could be used to harm your teammates. Especially Logan. Dying would be less of a burden on your soul than condemning him to this hellscape for a second time. He’d already endured it once; to curse him twice would be beyond cruel.

Perhaps you were a tad bit self-sacrificing. You ignored the bitter, unwelcome voice from within that questioned whether the Ghosts would do the same for you if the roles were reversed.

Finally ready to reply, your head jerked to the left, then to the right. No.

A harsh exhale escaped his nostrils, like Rorke had expected the small defiance but was nonetheless disappointed. He snapped his fingers.

“Wrong answer.”

To punctuate the detached statement, a sudden current of what could only be described as concentrated lightning flowed into you. Your nerves caught fire, and every single muscle housed inside of you responded by contracting painfully. The sensation caused your joints to lock, stunning you into submission.

You felt your eyes roll back, but you willed them to refocus, threats all around. It was the sole method of motion still under your conscious control, for the rest of your body was seemingly trapped in an electric prison. However, when you glanced up at Rorke, a blurry figure to his left stole your attention instead.

Brows furrowing, you blinked rapidly to wash away the hazy features you had grown to love, but the mirage of Keegan remained. You would’ve noticed the sharp sting of an injection, so, unlike the previous two instances, this particular hallucination hadn’t been induced by drugs. It was a break in the pattern.

I’m going insane. Great.

“I wouldn’t lie if I were you. We’ve got ways of verifying, y’see, so cut the shit.” A nasty, blood-curling grin spread across Rorke’s lips. His soulless vessel swelled with delight as he unleashed another cruel stream of words. “Those sons of bitches can’t be worth all this. You’re nothing to them. Nothing. They didn’t think twice ‘bout sendin’ you off to die an undignified death, alone, and yet you wanna protect them?”

He shook his head and clicked his tongue, the expression on his face morphing into a strange mix of disgust and pity. “What a damn waste.”

Another snap, another electric shock. Those two Federation technicians must have increased the number of amperes or the voltage, for this wave trumped the previous in its overwhelming intensity.

God, you weren’t built for this. Sure, all the Ghosts had to undergo conditioning and interrogation training. But Merrick, Keegan, Hesh, and Logan had been navigating war and its unforgiving brutality for almost their entire lives. In contrast, you’d been a plain and ordinary civilian up until the moment Keegan dragged you out from beneath a pile of rubble not even three years ago.

For your dauntless comrades, who had confronted and conquered Death many times over, a little electrocution was indeed light work. For you, however, it wasn’t so.

Perhaps an additional year of experience would’ve solidified this weakness into something ironclad. Keegan had been giving you private lessons after sunset in an attempt to speed the learning process along, but your capture had indefinitely suspended such sessions. Thus, here you would remain, unrefined and incomplete.

At present, clouding your vision with the view of your torturer was more preferable than seeing the resigned disappointment on your lover’s war-painted face.

“Y’know,” Rorke mused, “the Federation could use a soldier like you. Someone with your kind of loyalty.”

You temporarily forgot your vow of silence and gave a derisive snort. The loyalty you had for the Ghosts hadn’t been acquired through material means; no amount of promised money or power in the world had a chance of swaying you. Bonds born of bruises and blood were damn near impenetrable and immortal.

That level of devotion couldn’t be fabricated or repurposed.

“Now, now, there’s no need to look so sour.” He bared his teeth, donning a devilish smile. “We’ll have you singin’ a different tune soon enough.”

This is it, you thought. This is where things get ugly.

As if the steaming pile of shit that Rorke had already dumped on you wasn’t bad enough. Still, objectively speaking, the brainwashing Logan had described would be leagues worse than even the most brutal torture you’d withstood yet. Because it wouldn’t just entail physical duress; your mental faculties would be taken hostage and subjected to radical change.

“We can do this the easy way, or the hard way,” he challenged, cocking a single brow. “Choice is yours. I’m partial to the hard way, myself.”

No answer left your lips, which was in and of itself an answer. One that elicited a sigh from Rorke and an eyebrow raise from Keegan.

“Hard way it is, then. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

You steeled yourself for a third wave of electrocution, but nothing could mitigate the calamity brought on by the hot coils that cascaded down your spine and traveled outward to your limbs and digits. It lasted for several seconds, minutes, hours. An eternity.

To what limits did Rorke intend to push your mind and body? A muddled sanity and crippled form would be of no use to him, surely. So what did he hope to gain?

Probably nothing special. Some people just want to watch the world burn, Keegan had told you at the beginning of your acquaintance, not long after explosives had free-fallen from the sky.

And Rorke fell squarely into that category.

“How d’you think this ends? In walks a Ghost or two, and then off into the sunset you go, happily ever after?” He sneered. “Like hell.”

The wave of his hand brought on another current of heat lightning, setting your skin aflame. You clenched every possible muscle in your jaw as he ducked down to meet your unfocused stare. Upon making contact, your fatigued eyes fluttered shut to replace the image of him with total darkness.

A fruitless endeavor, really. The hatred carried by his gaze and the imposing outline of his figure were both irreparably ingrained into the very grooves and folds of your brain.

But despite how he haunted your sleep and consumed much of your waking thoughts, Rorke had miraculously failed to eradicate your willpower in its entirety. Still, he had failed to isolate and exploit your Achilles’ heel; still, he was ignorant to the fact that the root of your motivations surpassed standard camaraderie. It would thus take more effort on his part than electric torture to excavate said root.

You were not yet at your breaking point. And you refused to allow today to be the day you finally cracked underneath his reign of terror.

For a moment, the pit was silent. Then came the dreadful murmur of his long-awaited epiphany.

“Ah, I see what this is,” Rorke said, tone giddy and ominous. “Tell me, who’s the lucky guy? Which one’s got you actin’ all stupid?”

Your heart stopped.

Fuck.

“Can’t be the quiet Walker, he doesn’t seem the romantic type. And it can’t be his mouthy brother either, too busy tryin’ to avenge the death of his old man. Merrick, well, the fella don’t really swing that way, if y’catch my drift. So, by my count, that just leaves. . .”

Heedless of your wishes, your lidded stare flicked to Keegan’s impassive face. Rorke hadn’t the faintest clue about the subject of your hallucinations or even about the fact that you were currently hallucinating. Nevertheless, the break in eye contact was sufficient evidence to betray you.

His gaze narrowed. “Bingo.”

You forced yourself to refocus on the non-imaginary man across from you, but the damage had been done.

“Keegan P. Russ, you sly sonuva bitch,” he muttered. Rorke pursed his lips and whistled in approval. “How’d he win you over? Did he call you pretty, say you’re special? Was he your knight in shining armor?”

In truth, Keegan hadn’t even needed to lift a finger to successfully woo you. Caring for him was as easy as breathing, and it had come so naturally to you that, without him, you felt a bit like a fish out of water. You couldn’t attribute this evolution of your relationship to a singular, specific instance; rather, an aggregation of stolen moments and intimate gestures had resulted in a mutual desire for more. But, to prevent whatever was mounting between yourselves from jeopardizing the team dynamic, the two of you had agreed to take things slow.

Maybe too slow, in retrospect. This hush-hush, test-run of a relationship had lasted a mere couple months, terminated prematurely by the man who was currently trying to fry your brain. Now your time was up, and much of Keegan would remain a mystery to you, forever undiscovered and unsolved. Still, you couldn’t bring yourself to regret any of it.

You couldn’t bring yourself to regret him.

“Oh, this just keeps gettin’ better and better. I’m gonna have a whole lot of fun with you,” Rorke drawled, cracking his knuckles. A wave of apprehension washed over you, and he grinned at the horror that was surely etched into your face. “Don’t worry, I won’t kill our dear ol’ Russ.”

Relief surged within you, rejuvenating some of our deadened spirit, but the feeling didn’t last long. Nothing remotely good ever did down here.

“You will.”

Two little words, two little syllables shattered the illusion of Keegan, and with him went any remaining actionable hope. Try as you might, you were unable to reconjure his presence, incapable of reconstructing the facial features you had once loved to trace as he slept. Already, the pain had begun to distort his image in your mind’s eye, like how a digital photo album might be corrupted by malware.

Perhaps it was for the best. Perhaps you should compartmentalize your memories of him, of the Ghosts, and of the resistance into tiny boxes, sealing them shut then storing them far, far away. Not just out of Rorke’s reach, but out of yours too.

Because, ultimately, time was on the side of your enemies. Your body would erode first, followed by your sanity and ending with your soul; such was inevitable. Recognizing you were powerless to circumvent this fate, you instead sought to curate the information that would be revealed to Rorke once he finally penetrated your mental bastion. If you purged anything to do with the Ghosts from your memory bank, then the knowledge you possessed couldn’t be weaponized against them.

The only way you could counteract Rorke’s plans was by forgetting the life you’d built alongside Keegan and the others. Even as you now sat tied up and riddled with convulsions, you were thinking about the four soldiers who had become your home, about how to protect them. Any strategizing you did was to discern a method of silent survival for their sake, not yours. Never yours.

You tried to stave off the bitterness that crept deeper into your heart.

“Conserve your energy. You’ll be needin’ it for what I’ve got planned,” the older man advised, though his sinister chuckle contradicted any notion of good faith. The metal legs of his chair scraped against the ground as he pushed himself backwards and stood to his full height. “And it should go without saying—”

Rorke let the sentence break off and linger in the tense atmosphere. During these sessions, you’d learned that the older man had somewhat of a proclivity for theatrics. The ex-Ghost derived sick pleasure from randomly dropping bombs of intel on you to instigate a reaction, or from watching you struggle to persist in spite of the various mental and physical agonies he had inflicted.

A true sadist.

“None of those sorry bastards are gonna barge in and save the day, so give that dream up already. You won’t be found. I mean, how’re they s'posed to find what they ain’t even lookin’ for?”

The sound of retreating footsteps meant Rorke had finally taken his leave, marking the conclusion of this interrogation. But, as the two remaining Feds prepared to conduct another bolt of electricity through your depreciating body, you knew that the prescribed torture had only just begun.

You hung your head and stared unblinkingly at your bound wrists, at your traumatized fingers, still twitching from the aftershocks. Tremors born of fear, pain, rage. Rage at Rorke, at yourself.

At Keegan.

In a kinder world, perhaps Keegan would’ve been around to hold your hands in his, to soothe your scorched flesh with a gentle, mindless rub of his thumb. A fierce longing for him gripped your heart, yearning for that Keegan who could glean your emotional state at any given moment as informed by the mere hitch in your breath or the rhythm of your pulse.

That Keegan, who let you crawl into his arms and steal his warmth on harsh winter nights, no questions asked. That Keegan, who caught the glazed-over look in your eyes whenever certain topics arose in conversation and thus tried to distract you by playing a game of I Spy, your favorite childhood pastime. That Keegan, who had once nearly broken a man’s wrist for daring to grab the collar of your shirt; he’d been the perfect picture of Death-incarnate, a fierce protector with his stone-cold warning and intimidating stare.

This Keegan, however, was all too different.

Because this Keegan did not come to your rescue. No, instead, he had left you here to die.

tbc.

#keegan p russ #keegan p russ x reader #keegan russ #keegan russ x reader #cod ghosts #cod x reader #cod keegan #call of duty #whumptober #fic: unearth without a name #my fic

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from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras · 2 months

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OK, people were very nice to me yesterday about my latest absurdly niche blorbo: Guthláf of Rohan. I wrote a little story about him (it's below and it's only 500ish words). But I feel like I can't post it in isolation without explaining myself a little better first.

The fact that he's Théoden’s banner bearer is the only detail about Guthláf’s life in the canon. But just that by itself was enough to grab my interest because I took a class on ancient warfare in college, and one of my major takeaways was that the flag bearers were often the bravest and most selfless guys in a battle. They were highly visible, highly vulnerable, and highly prized as a target for the enemy. That's not an encouraging combo, and they had an appallingly high casualty rate. And yet, the ones who pursued it did so willingly and considered it an honor!

Although Guthláf's name literally means "battle survivor", he did not avoid the flag bearer’s usual fate. He’s listed among the fatalities at the Pelennor Fields (along with Halbarad, the only (?) other named flag bearer in the books). So I wrote the drabble-ish story below about Guthláf’s experience of his own terrifying job. (I also, of course, have a full head canon about his personal life—how he spoke Rohirric with a rural accent that stood out in Edoras, how the early loss of his family drove him toward recklessness, how he was maybe in love with fellow obscure blorbo Wídfara, etc.—if anyone is interested! And I decided that he's the tall, blonde drink of water on the left below, who I believe is otherwise unnamed and is too young to be Elfhelm or Erkenbrand.)

Anyway. Story (ish) here:

Alone among his éored, Guthláf carries no weapon. In his left hand, he holds his shield, his one and only means of protecting himself; in his right, he carries his banner, a charging white horse on a field of deep green that whips furiously in the cold wind above his head.

Alone among his éored, Guthláf does not strike blows. His war is fought not with strength of arms but with strength of spirit. He has only to keep himself going long enough to let his banner do its work. To signal the direction of the charge and mark the vanguard of the attack. To be the rallying point around which scattered troops coalesce. To lead the way, like a torch in the dark, so that those behind know where to follow. He has only to keep that banner flying, set high and stark against the cool blankness of the winter sky, so that every Rohirrim heart can see that they are yet unconquered, that victory still lies ahead.

Alone among his éored, Guthláf can never hide or blend in. His banner draws the eyes of foes just as easily as friends. His every move is visible. Noted. Tracked. Hunted. The hope he kindles in his fellow riders is equaled by the hatred he inspires in their enemies, and there is no greater blow such an enemy can strike than to bring him down, to achieve with the death of one man the turning of a tide that can change the fate of thousands.

Alone among his éored, Guthláf has no hope that he will survive unscathed to see old age. Banner bearers don’t last long in times of war, and Guthláf is his éored’s fourth bearer in five years. He has only to walk the streets of Edoras to be confronted with the reality of how the lucky banner bearers end their days–empty sleeves tied up where an arm used to be, angry red scars across unprotected faces and necks, canes and crutches that will never fully compensate for crushed legs, twisted spines, shattered hips. The unlucky ones end instead in hastily raised barrows, resting eternally in the sometimes distant and friendless lands where they finally slid from the saddle, bloodied and broken and desperately looking for a loyal hand into which they could pass the banner before everything went dark at last.

And yet, Guthláf wanted this job. He fought for this job. It means everything to him. Because even as he rides to his death, charging into battle on his gray warhorse with his banner streaming brilliantly in his wake, he has never felt more alive. He has never felt so much bigger than himself. When he carries his banner, he is no longer just Guthláf, son of Hulac. He is instead the spirit of Helm, and Eorl, and Frumgar and all the great warriors of old. He is the sound of thousands of hoofs thundering together across an open plain. He is the sight of the jagged white peaks towering over the lush green and gold grasses of the Mark. He is Rohan itself, not just a man but an idea. And an idea can never be slain. When he carries his banner, Guthláf becomes immortal.

#lotr #lord of the rings #tolkien #rohan #guthlaf #guthláf #barely canon favorites #obscure lil’ blorbos #forth eorlingas

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vexwerewolf · 29 days

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hey, I’m a friend of @bulletkin on discord and I was wondering if you have a good Enkidu build in mind. We are a team of five, with a risky close range (me, enkidu) a support (swallowtail) a long distance big guns (deaths head), a mid range NHP and pilot duo (Pegasus, it’s complicated but I am happy to elaborate) and a tech attacker (hydra). you may have noticed that I am the only (full) close range mech, and unfortunately I am really good at exploding. Do you have higher level Enkidu routes/suggestions? I’m trying to get my movement up and be more debilitating when in close combat. Thanks!!

-- HA ENKIDU @ LL6 -- [ LICENSES ] HA Tokugawa 3, IPS-N Tortuga 3 [ CORE BONUSES ] Reinforced Frame, Heatfall Coolant System [ TALENTS ] Nuclear Cavalier 3, Hunter 2, Skirmisher 2, Combined Arms 1, Duelist 1 [ STATS ] HULL:4 AGI:2 SYS:0 ENGI:2 STRUCTURE:4 HP:28 ARMOR:0 STRESS:4 HEATCAP:10 REPAIR:5 TECH ATK:-2 LIMITED:+1 SPD:4 EVA:10 EDEF:8 SENSE:5 SAVE:13 [ WEAPONS ] Integrated: Plasma Talons Integrated: Fuel Rod Gun FLEX MOUNT: Torch FLEX MOUNT: Assault Rifle [ SYSTEMS ] Personalizations, HyperDense Armor, Deep Well Heat Sink

I call this one War Without Reason. It might not hit your "movement up" goal, but it will hopefully fix your exploding issue.

The maths works out like this: frames with 0 or 1 Armor don't benefit as much from the +1 Armor that Sloped Plating gives as much as they do from the +5 HP given by Reinforced Frame. We're going to pump Hull to 4, which in addition to +8 HP gives us that sweet +2 Repair Cap as well, and stacked with the +2 HP from Personalizations and the +3 HP you get from Grit, that takes us up to a truly absurd 28 HP.

Then, we use HyperDense Armor from the IPS-N Tortuga. This gives us Resistance to both damage and heat from all sources beyond Range 3 - which is the effective range of our Plasma Talons. Against enemies who don't have a way of Shredding us or otherwise bypassing Resistance, we effectively have twice as much HP. Sure, it leaves us Slowed, but once we get into the Danger Zone we have Speed 7 so it barely matters. It also protects us from heatgun enemies trying to slag our reactor.

Speaking of which, once we get into the Danger Zone - which we can do reliably and safely given that we have a Torch and our Overcharge never goes above 1d6 - our build really gets going. The first two ranks of Nuclear Cavalier turn on, we gain access to Plasma Talons and if we start a turn still in the Danger Zone, we gain Resistance to heat from Deep Well Heat Sink, meaning we can overcharge on the cheap and our Torch only gains us 1 heat.

We have two reliable sources of soft cover: whenever we're engaged with an enemy, we gain it, and whenever we take a turn without harming anyone, we gain it. This increases our survivability against ranged attacks.

We have Hunter 2 for one specific reason: you can now throw your fucking Plasma Talons at people, effectively extending their range by 2 spaces. Since Thrown weapons are still melee attacks, this doesn't violate the prohibition on ranged attacks from All Fours.

#lancer #lancer rpg #lancerrpg #lancer-rpg #enkidu

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sagau-my-beloved · 1 year

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Death At The Hands Of A God

Warnings: general sagau, imposter au, light descriptions of violence/gore, you die/are killed (by Venti), angst

It seemed as if the rain was particularly heavy, almost unusually so as it fell in sheets, occasionally catching the light of the moon, making it look no different than strands of silver.

That should have been a sign, the rain, the fog, the agitation of the weather. Mondstadt hadn't faced a storm this bad since before their current Archon, even the winds of Dvalin paled in comparison.

Venti was so ignorant not to pick up on the clues laid out before him by his own nation as he trudged through heavy rain, his bow at the ready and a sinking feeling in his chest.

He would never say he disliked the rain, despite what unpleasant memories linger in the back of his mind from those times. But everything carried a harsher weight when was faced with his current task, one assigned to him by no other than his creator.

Venti stopped to rest a moment, leaning against a tree for partial coverage, though it did little to shield his already soaked clothes. He felt something heavy and unpleasant in his chest as he reflected on the situation, an unshakable sense of wrongness, one that clouded his mind and dulled his senses. You were what he was after, you who posed a threat to the divine order simply because of your face.

He thought back on his creators’ honeyed words, a sickeningly sweet tone that he had never heard them use before, not that they very commonly addressed him at all, which made this particular summons out of place, a mixture of excitement and worry bubbling in his chest as he walked through their temple. To kill someone impersonating them, that is what they ordered him, hinting at the possible consequences his nation may face if he didn't comply with the utmost enthusiasm, the threat of which rang particularly loud when faced with what they had done to other nations in fits of anger.

He knew deep within him that this wasn't remotely justified, that he might as well be punished alongside you if the crime was simply stealing a face. If only you chose to look like another human, or even an Archon, he would have taken your mimicry of him as a complementary. But alas. Those feelings were pushed down and covered by the vow he made to his nation, one born of nothing but love and a promise for a brighter future.

Venti had considered alternatives, confronting you with your motive, begging you to make yourself scarce, making his own judgement on your reasons and framing his response accordingly, but those were all fleeting thoughts, quickly pushed away as soon as they arose. He couldn't get attached, he couldn't afford to think of you as human, and he certainly couldn't afford it getting back to his creator that he failed them.

He had heard about your existence from other sources, apparently being so bold as to walk directly into Mondstadt. You weren't met with pitchforks and torches, his people were more civilized than that, but the hostility was as sharp as a knife. You had left of your own accord after having no luck obtaining food or a place to stay, he had only heard after the fact from gossipers drinking late into the night, the faces of which were forced into his mind as he once again thought of his creators’ threat.

Venti was pulled from his thoughts due to a subtle noise, one almost unnoticeable through the heavy onset of rain, but it was there. A branch and a pile of leaves, something big enough to break them, and no one in their right mind would be out in this weather, except...

He swallowed what little apprehension he’d not already buried, reverting his mindset to something it had been five hundred years ago with the quick draw of his bow. The Archon saw you in the distance, just as soaked as he was, clothes tattered and foreign, scared. A quick death was the least you deserved, one free from suffering, and maybe your next life would be more forgiving.

He aimed for your head, a clear shot even now, but it seemed the moonlight that glinting off his bow caught your attention as you quickly turned your body to face him in a defensive stance, eyes wide, fearful, as if you could see what was about to come to fruition.

Your mouth moved, only fragments of the noise it produced were carried to him, broken syllables and muffled notes the very wind urged him to listen to.

You had said his name.

Venti faltered before the arrow released, for the first time in centuries, its' path no longer as steady or sure as it had been.

It hit your throat.

Venti's legs were moving before he consciously realized, forcing his body to where you fell, as if collapsing in on yourself, until he could finally see you clearly, drenched in rain and golden liquid, mixing together indiscriminately as they soak into the ground below.

There was a feeling of shock, which developed in his throat first, spreading evenly throughout the rest of his body, as if it were in his bloodstream. He looked at your terrified expression, a pained and now lifeless one, holding only fragments of the fear you felt.

What had he done.

Venti felt himself fall to his knees, hands immediately going to where his arrow lay firmly lodged, feeling for a pulse in an act he knew to be worthless.

"No. No, n-no— no. Please!" His voice cracked as his mind caught up with what his eyes were forcing him to behold.

You were the divine creator, Teyvat's one true God, and he had—

No. He couldn't even think it, the word that was on the tip of his mind carried nothing but pain, anguish and insufferable heartache, the likes of which he hadn't felt, well since...

Without thinking, Venti wrapped his arms around you, laid his head on your stomach, forced his eyes closed, and prayed. For your return, for forgiveness, and if not for any of that, then simply for a form of retribution.

He hadn't realized he'd started crying, tears and rain alike falling from his face onto your form, pooling at his eyes until the world around him became harder and harder to see.

The position you both rested in was not unlike that day long ago, forever etched in his memory and resurfaced through reflections.

Was this simple his fate? To find himself holding in his arms the corpse of someone he loved so dearly, over and over again. Was it written in his very being that all good things would be torn violently from him with little care to how it left him shattered, scrambling for the pieces of what little piece of mind he had left.

There was no coming back from this, no form of atonement. He could feel the shackles encasing his wrists, invisibly tying him to this moment, to where you had stood alive moments prior. His days of living freely died with you, forever encased in the space between where your souls had briefly met, and it was no more than he deserved.

It was only a moment later that your body was gone, dissolved into the stardust it was born from, slipping through his arms and carried by the wind that no longer obeyed him. That didn't stop him from reaching desperately, gasping and clawing at the air for what remained, heart in his throat as he begged for mercy, for anything but you depriving him of your vessel even after death.

You couldn't really be gone, not fully, you who so powerfully morphed this world from willpower alone, who disappeared for an infinite stretch of time only to descend again. Even if your vessel may have been no stronger than human, your soul was as old and powerful as existence itself, it would linger on in whatever form it had existed before, watching, waiting.

He would be ready for when you decided to give this world a second chance, he would wait an eternity and more to see your face again and repent a thousand times over, bear any hardships in the time between only to fall to his knees in complete acceptance at whatever you deem an acceptable punishment when faced with your light again.

But first...

It seemed as if there was a loose end to tie up, a deceiver bearing the ultimate sin, one much more deserving of his arrow, and one that would suffer a fate worse than death in your name.

Venti roughly brushed the tears from his face, eyes darkening as he shakily pulled himself from his knees, feeling as if his body couldn't decide between flying or collapsing.

His ‘creator’ would soon face all the fear and pain that was forced upon you, the wrath of a god who had lost everything for the second time, a goal he planned to pursue till his dying breath.

#genshin impact #sagau #genshin venti #sagau impostor au #genshin angst #my attempt at imposter au cause why not #I didn't realize there was like no dialogue until editing whoops #kind of set up so that I can do a part 2 where you come back and we get that fun dynamic #don't know if i will tho #also hi #it's been a minute #how you guys doing #school sucks that's how I'm doing #despite that I'll probably be posting another oneshot tomorrow #not as sad thankfully #anyway yeah this was more just a self challenge to see if i could do imposter au without breaking the characterization I've got going rn #luckily he's just so full of trama that i can make constant references to that to help tie things together #anyway lantern rite how we feeling

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whumpsday · 7 months

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K&J: Kane's Whumptober Bites #12

Chronological masterlist / Writing order masterlist

content: vampire whumpee, broken bones, begging, burns, torture, multiple whumpers, sadistic whumpers

@whumptober Day 12: Red / “I’m up, I’m up!”

Kane’s breaths came ragged and worn, his arms trembling as he tried to push himself back to his feet. His legs were both broken by now, red pooling beneath him.

The blood-slick floor only made it that much harder. What with his trembling, his body screaming at him to rest as if that was a viable option, the heel of his hand slipped and he came crashing down to the concrete once again.

“Oh?” the hunter on his left piped up, interest piqued. “That all you got in you? Come on, aren’t you supposed to be some fearsome thing? You’re a vampire!”

“No!” Kane cried, terror seizing his heart. “I just– I just need a minute! A minute, that’s all, sir! Please!”

“Go ahead.” The hunter waved him on graciously, and Kane reignited his efforts to stand. If he could just get himself leaning upright against the wall, if that could be good enough–

His partner took a drag from his cigarette, a human invention Kane had come to despise since learning of it. He had no doubt that it would kiss his skin when the hunter had finished it, though at least the burn would be mild compared to silver. Hardly the least of his worries.

“It’s done,” this one argued, gesturing at Kane’s pathetic form as he desperately pushed through the pain that coursed through his whole body, chest heaving. “C’mon. You owe me ten.”

“Give it a minute! Jeez!” The first hunter crouched down, level with Kane, still struggling to lift himself off the floor. “What’d I say? You wanna go out there, vampy?”

Kane sobbed, managing a shaky nod. “No, sir,” he forced out, “I’m trying, I’m trying, please, it hurts!”

“No one gives a fuck. Get up.” The hunter stood back to full height effortlessly.

“I’m giving it five minutes,” his partner announced.

Five minutes or he’s forced outside to burn. It was a low-stakes bet to the humans, but everything to him. He tried again and again, making no attempt to hold back his cries of pain.

His legs wailed in protest as he forced them up, bent at awkward angles as he tried to balance himself against the wall. Blood painted it as he clawed at the rough surface, but it wasn’t rough enough for him to hold himself up, and his legs just couldn’t support him in their state.

“Two.”

Kane choked on horror, his time dwindling. He couldn’t go out there, he’d do anything to avoid the sun, anything–

He dragged himself, his starved body just light enough for his weakened arms to pull along until he reached the bars. Something he could grab, something he could pull.

Kane grit his teeth and grabbed the bars, the silver instantly searing into the sensitive flesh of his palms and the undersides of his fingers. He shrieked, pulling his hands back with a fitful sob.

“Clock’s ticking!” the hunter betting on him shouted.

Three quick breaths, as deep as he could make them. One, two, three.

He grabbed the bars again, the familiar smell of burning flesh returning as he attempted to hoist himself up. He couldn’t get himself quite standing, his hands weeping out and his legs only becoming more deformed by the second as he tried to force them into functioning, but he was close. He could be called ‘upright’, given a generous-enough interpretation.

“I’m up, I’m up!” he cried, tears blurring his vision as the skin on his hands turned angry and red to match the useless blood covering the floor.

“Is it, though?” the hunter with the cigarette asked.

“Please!” Kane sobbed. He couldn’t do better than this, he couldn’t. He just needed to stay out of the sun.

“It totally counts!” the other hunter agreed, and for a man who had smashed his legs to smithereens minutes earlier, Kane had never felt more grateful to him.

“Fine, fine. You win.”

Kane released the bars, torched hands falling on top of the rest of his broken body as he collapsed to the floor. It seemed as though every part of him ached with agony, but he knew exactly how much worse it could get.

He didn’t even flinch at the cigarette pressed to the side of his neck.

#whumptober2023 #no.12 #red #i'm up i'm up #oc #fic #torture #burns #cigarettes #broken bones #kanes whumptober bites #kane and jim drabbles #whump #my writing #begging #vampire whump #vampire whumpee #multiple whumpers #sadistic whumper

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blueraineshadows · 11 months

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Hi Anon! 👋 I have taken a screenshot of part of your request, I hope you don't mind. Mainly because it has spoilers, and also the length. I really hope you see this!!! Brilliant request 👏

Sebastian Sallow x F!MC - dark/angst/fluff/eventual smut/multiple chapters 🔞 NSFW

No Light Without Darkness - Part One

The wailing from the cells was particularly bad tonight, the mournful cries echoing off the dark stone walls of Azkaban prison. A torch was lit in Sebastian's cell, the flames throwing flickering shadows across the floor, but it was cold, the fire an illusion of warmth. He had forgotten what it felt like to be warm.

He leant his head back against the wall, his arms balanced on his knees, his bare feet filthy against the stained mattress. He tried to remember how it felt to lay on something soft, to be clean, but all he felt was chill and hard stone. The very air he breathed was ice and shadow, empty, dripping with malice.

He had been staring into darkness for so long that it was beginning to feel like that was all he would ever know.

Outside the waves crashed against the smooth prison walls, the air filtering through the slit for ventilation had the tang of brine to it. He used to love being near the sea. Now, the waves were nothing more than a constant drone, another monotonous noise along with the hissing groans of the Dementors.

Sebastian tried to probe gently at the boy he used to be, the small part of him that was buried deep behind the thick shield he had mentally erected around himself. Every once in a while he tried to remember him, but it was becoming increasingly difficult. That part of himself was shrinking. Soon, he feared he would be wailing along with the others who had finally let go of their grip on reality.

He fancied that death would be kinder, and it wasn't the first time he had thought of it.

After five years, his inner strength was beginning to crack, the weight of the cold misery and horror that was Azkaban was slowly breaking him. If you were to ask him, and he could find the will to speak, he would say that it was no more than he deserved.

....*....

The Auror office was abuzz with activity. A major bust had just gone down and there were plenty of prisoners ready to be shipped off to Azkaban to await trial. MC stood in the office of her superior, hands clasped behind her back as he congratulated her on a job well done.

"You're one of our best, MC, and once again you didn't let me down," Jenkins said.

She bowed her head a little. "I appreciate you giving me the chance to head the raid," she replied. "Bringing down that poaching ring was a long time coming. I'm just glad we pulled it off."

"All thanks to you and that wonderful magic of yours," Jenkins smiled. He didn't smile often, but when he did, you knew you had done a good job. "Now, I want you to be on escort duties to Azkaban tonight. That ring leader is a nasty piece of work, and they will need you to keep him in check. Are you alright with that?"

MC felt her stomach clench a little. She had never set foot in the prison before. Not only had it never come up as a duty since becoming an Auror, she also felt trepidation. The horrors she had heard of the place since taking up position here at the Auror office slid through her thoughts. The heavy chain of her guilt squeezed tightly around her ribs at the thought of who was in Azkaban, who she had let down all those years ago. She had failed him in the worst way, being too late to stop it, pulled away by the responsibility of Ranrok, and then he was gone.

Sebastian's imprisonment was the biggest, most crippling regret of her life. She had never fully healed from the loss. Her heart was broken. She had even pulled away from her friends, not wanting to risk anyone mentioning his name. Even Ominis she had pushed away, as much as it hurt to do so. She was selfish, she knew. But self preservation was almost second nature after spending most of her life alone. She had let Sebastian in and lost him. Keeping people at arm's length saved her the pain of any loss. She didn't think she could carry any more.

However, despite all of this, MC looked at her boss and nodded, pressing her guilt and painful memories down. "Not a problem, Sir," she said, firmly. "I will make the trip to Azkaban."

....*....

As soon as MC's booted feet landed on the stone floor of Azkaban, she could feel the utter bleakness that permeated the very walls. Keeping her expression one of calm authority, she prodded her prisoner with her wand, shooing him in the direction of the processing office. They were following another Auror with a prisoner. Holloway was much more experienced in visiting the prison and led MC along through the cavernous corridors. The human wards of the prison had faces harder than the stone walls. You would have to. MC wasn't sure she could stand it, day in, day out. Her stomach twisted up at the very thought of it. How was Sebastian faring under this overwhelming cold misery?

Lost in thought about a boy she had once known, maybe even loved, she was taken by surprise when her prisoner elbowed her harshly in the side and made a run for it. MC lost her footing and hit the floor with a thud. She scrambled back to her feet, flustered and angry at herself for letting her concentration slip. Where the prisoner thought he was going to go, she had no idea. This place was inescapable. Holloway gave her a look, and MC gave her a nod of assurance. "I'm on it," she said.

She took off after the prisoner, wand out.

The poaching ring leader was a nimble little bastard, running swiftly despite the bindings at his wrists. MC cast a spell to slow him but missed, he dodged neatly and rounded a bend. MC ran, boots thudding on the cold stone. Torches lined the walls trying to lift the gloom, but a heavy darkness hung in every corner, the weight of the atmosphere attempting to suck MC down into the ground. She sucked in a breath and chased after the prisoner.

Inmates were picking up on the activity as she tried to hit him with another spell. Screeching and the clattering of pans against iron doors echoed down the corridor. MC ran past cells, filthy hands reaching out from the barred doors, mouths shouting abuse or glee at the chase.

Dementors were beginning to gather above her, swirling and drifting, the hiss of their breath like slippery ice. MC fought against the drain on her emotions, the feeling that all the light she had ever known was being drawn out through her skin.

Finally, MC had her prey in sight. She summoned the Ancient Magic and threw it full force down the length of the corridor, the white and blue glow filling the space. It spread upwards and outwards, chasing off the Dementors as though she was the embodiment of a Patronus spell.

The blast hit the prisoner in the back and he fell forwards, landing hard on his front and sprawling on the stone floor, out cold.

MC arrived next to him, panting, the aura of her magic receding and swirling to nothing around her feet. She kicked the prisoners foot with her boot. He was still alive, just. Assassination of prisoners wasn't exactly forbidden, but it was definitely frowned upon. "Nobody runs away from me like that," she said. "Nobody."

Now all she had to do was get him back to the processing office. Ignoring the shouts from the surrounding cells, MC stood back and aimed her wand, ready to cast Levioso on the unconscious prisoner. She paused, a prickling sensation on the back of her neck.

Immediately, she spun, wand up ready. The blood drained from her face, despite the way her heart jumped and began to pound at a ridiculously fast pace. In front of her was a cell door, and through the bars, locked on the other side, stood a man. He wasn't moving, his face blank, emotionless, his arms hanging loosely at his sides as he stared. His hair was an unruly mass of locks, limp and filthy, his face lean, harsh almost, but she knew who it was. How could she not?

"Sebastian." Her voice was strained, a breathless attempt at speaking aloud a name she hadn't said for years.

He didn't move, didn't even react. He blinked, slowly, staring at her with eyes that seemed empty, soulless.

Her heart crushed in on itself. She remembered a time when those eyes would light up with mischief, a smile at the edges. There was none of that there now. Just empty orbs, and it turned her legs to jelly. The realisation of how much those smiles had meant to her sharpened painfully now that his face was void of any emotion at all.

MC lowered her wand with a shaky hand. Tentatively, she took a step towards his door. He still didn't move. By the time she was right in front of the bars, her heart was in her mouth, her eyes begging for him to recognise her. She took hold of the cold iron with one hand and reached through the bars with the other, reached for him, but he was too far back from it.

"Sebastian, it's me," she said, softly. "Please..."

His chest was rising and falling rapidly with his breaths now, his eyes wide as he stared at her face. She pleaded again, arm outstretched as far as she could reach. A flicker, the briefest flicker of something in his gaze as his eyes dropped to her outstretched hand. Slowly, painfully slow, his hand moved towards hers. She licked her lips, fingers straining, the tips tingling in anticipation for his touch.

Just before they made contact he paused, his gaze darting up to her face. She sucked in a breath at the raw, savage pain in his eyes, there and then gone. He snatched his hand back from her, backing up quickly until he staggered onto the stained bed against the wall.

She shook her head. "No, Sebastian, it's alright. Please..."

But he turned away from her, curling up on the bed, his hands over his head. The sight tearing her heart into shreds.

Running footsteps down the corridor made her withdraw quickly from the door despite her reluctance to do so. Nausea swam dangerously in the pit of her stomach - to be this close to him and yet so far. She couldn't breathe, her eyes stung with the need to bawl and yet, she couldn't tear her gaze away from Sebastian's huddled form.

It was her fault. It was all her fault.

....*....

When the surge of blue and white had blasted down the corridor, Sebastian had turned his head towards his cell door. Somewhere, in the back of his shadowed mind, he recognised the magic that had caused it.

Limbs stiff from sitting in the same postion for hours, he had crept from his bed, shuffling forward. He saw the man drop to the floor, the smack of the impact not even registering as he drew nearer the iron bars. When she appeared, he almost flinched. His brows drew together in a quick flash of memory, the line of her jaw, the way she strode up to the body on the floor. He knew her. Something about her made that hidden part of himself, the boy he was, become restless.

He mapped out the slender form, the clean look of her, the scent of her filling the space like nothing had for time upon time. Something deep in his gut stirred. He paused, afraid to move any closer in case she disappeared. A few more minutes to just look. He just wanted to look.

And then she spun to face him, wand out, her gaze hard. He froze, his stone shield firmly in place, while he cowered behind it. The seconds seemed to stretch out even longer as she stared at him, looked at him with eyes that threatened to crumble all the hard work he had put into his shield.

The sound of his name on her lips almost made him move, but he held firm. His fear was a bitterness in his throat. Then her hand was reaching for him, long slender fingers that he thought may have run through his hair, the thought made his scalp prickle strangely. She was speaking softly, pleading with him, his name spoken in such a way that sounded odd to his ears.

Warm, safe.

He realised he wanted to touch those slender fingers. He wanted to touch them so much it physically hurt. He reached for them. They looked soft, so soft.

MC! That was her name. The surge of memories that flooded him was a torrent, powerful and suffocating. He snatched his hand back, overwhelmed, frightened. No, she shouldn't be here. Why was she here?

Panic seized him and then he was falling to his bed. He was underground, fire and death, she was screaming. Green light. No!!!

He hid from her. From the memories. It hurt, oh Merlin, it hurt.

....*....

Her rented room in London was small, practical and did what she needed it to do. She had lived here for a year now, ever since taking up the role of Auror for the Ministry. She supposed it was home, but tonight, in the depths of night, it was a prison. A prison of her own guilt and pain.

She lay on her bed, arms wrapped around herself, the image of Sebastian so broken and lost shredding her to pieces. It had been a while since she had allowed herself to cry over him, but tonight she gave herself the luxury. She bawled into her pillow, shattered for him, for herself, for the innocence lost.

For hours she lay there, still dressed, empty, her mind going over and over everything from that time when they had been just kids. Kids with no clue what they were doing, but with so much to carry on their shoulders.

She had let Sebastian down five years ago. Let him down in the worst way, and she would never forgive herself for it. But, she couldn't just ignore it either.

MC knew where he was now. She had access to him, whenever she wanted, her Auror license was her ticket in and out of Azkaban. Her heart sped up. She could see him again, if she wanted to.

And she wanted to.

To be continued... Part Two

#hogwarts legacy fanfic #sebastian sallow #mc x sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow fanfiction #blueraineshadows

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rise-my-angel · 5 months

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Heart of the Great Wolf

28 - The Clash of Three Kings

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

Length: 16.9k

Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, mentions of past character death, descriptions of gore and violence, smut, oral (m receiving), p in v, slight exhibitionism kink

Notes: No crazy revelations occured right at the end of the last chapter right? Nah, I'm sure everything is fine and dandy as always. Previous Chapter Here, Series Masterlist Here

The sun was shining so abnormally bright it verged on painful to look at, but through the harsh squinting you persisted through the brush. A strange overcoming of determination within your veins the closer you got washed over you, the memory of what came before having you go faster as you traversed the terrain towards the mouth of the mine.

Hardly what would normally be called a mine, it was more a series of tunnels which as soon as were accessed deep enough, housed a shining variety of a kind of rock little spoken of by any except for you on this very island. Surrounded by life of the once Targaryean dynasty it was impossible to avoid their impacts left on Dragonstone. Their mark left on the castles with fire, dragons, and three hundred years of using this place as a second spot to rule over away from the capitol.

You scarcely ever had a reason to use such aspects of that childhood home. To you, it was not a terrifying island that one homed the infamous dragon riders and conquerors. But an isolating home that left you with no real friends to speak of, a big and vast castle home that made hiding away too easy. The terrain of jagged cliffs and curtain hangs that lead from impenetrable shore rocks as a shield from the outside world leading deep into the woods that homed the volcano of Dragonmont. Yet to you, it wasn’t that which you spent time in.

It was the curiosity of tunnels underground and in caves and mines which sparked your attention. You had no friends nor siblings, and little lived near the castle that were not other adults or children just too old to want to play with a five year old. So you explored, and that was how you found the tunnels, and in those tunnels, you learned the trickier the climb down, the more you found. One day, you had tossed a torch far down the middle of a shaft to see how far it went, and as it thudded against the bottom you saw shining rocks that looked like crystals that had you learn to climb all alone to find out what they were.

You liked exploring the mines as a girl with no friends and nothing to do, but now as you approached one of those very tunnels, it was not the adventure you sought.

It was the very shining crystal like rocks that were spoken to be an answer to a freezing horror far beyond the North.

The four of you were deep into the woods surrounding the outer borders of Dragonmont, coming close enough that looking high in the sky your neck would crane up with a squint to see the increasingly warm air was also thick and heavy in your lungs due to the smoke smoothly simmering from the very top. It had done so since you were born, you hardly noticed it despite Theon, Ryk and Tormund glancing at the other with questioning gazes at how little it winded you.

Many of the entrances were not easily accessible. Dragonglass had never once been mentioned in the books of Westerosi history to be of any importance, so it all sat underground as a natural deposit the realm cared not to trade. The only times it was whispered such tunnels were used was in the very beginning of it’s existence which mattered. The Doom of Valyria had survived none but the family named Targaryean, and with them as they fled brought with them both dragons and dragon eggs.

Deep underground found by none were rumoured to be hatcheries that sat so hot under the volcano that it was the only place they could be born, their dragons. The volcano ran deep under the depths of the water and so it couldn’t be as simply as that, but also no such thing had been found. Once they took over the lands by force and death, their dragons were instead bred from which they could use them the most, and the Dragonpit of King’s Landing was created. The space of the island and how little could be grown or harvested there, it made no sense to you to think raising such terrors of the sky could be sustainable.

Most of Dragonstone’s biggest import were harvested crops, grain, vegetables and freshly kept livestock to feed with. It was a place built to terrify, but it seemed the Targaryeans had begun their dynasty of unsustainabiity so early that a lifeless rock of heat and brimstone was seen as a place to raise such creatures. If their eggs hatched under the grounds of Dragonmont, you could only think how foolish it was to do so. Whatever tunnels which existed once, were no more then crawling spaces that would terrify the untrained, and certainly not to drag eggs in to hatch and hope they survive.

Coming up to a jagged formation of stones sat against a rolling cliff side, you had been the first to get off your horse. Tying it to a tree without a word to your three companions as you begun to walk around the area with narrowed, squinting eyes to seek out signs that this was one of the spots you left behind.

“What are we looking for exactly?”

Tormund had called out to you, but you scarcely heard. It had to be here somewhere, you thought. A set of feet all walked over to where you looked at the stones, as they looked with a raised eyebrow and confused expressions. Only it took not much longer for it to come to your vision, a small carving at the very edge of a stone had you crouch down by it, and without a second word begun to pull the heavy rock out. Tossing it with heave down to the side, and there one sat.

All three men came to your side glancing into the darkness as you somewhat tried to see in, only to lean back out, gesturing to Theon to grab you the bag by your horse. Tossing some of it to he and Tormund from what was inside, “Should be something in there to make a torch of.”

As you somewhat climbed partially into the smaller entrance, body half inside with one gloved hand braced at the top as you looked around the sight. It was too dark for any to see properly once deep enough, but you knew these tunnels so much it was like it had been lit up already.

Turning back, you reached out as Theon handed you the lit torch and finally all watched you lean back under and half inside to see, and then the faintest of a grin fell over your lips. Moving the rest of the way in, you had not waited for the three to follow as you walked along the top surface, torch high as you continued along, lighting up small loose torches that had sat untouched the years between this visit and the last in here, having left them yourself when still exploring.

“Not exactly what I imagined when you said there was a shit ton of it.”

Looking back partially towards Theon with a raised eyebrow before your face fell flat. Picking up one of the torches you handed it to him while adding to its fire, as Tormund kept the area lit with another.

Walking up to the edge you leaned close and tossed the lit flame down, gesturing for them with a nod to peak themselves. As the flames landed down far at the bottom of the cavern, there was a twinkling glow around it that flashed up to your eyes in some spots. Tormund’s eyes were wide and a tinge of impressed as his voice muttered out, “Better start climbing then.”

There were rings dug deep into the stone along the drop down, places as it to slide a torch within to see as multiple climbing digs were embedded along as well. “Some of these I put in when I was still a girl, be sure to check they are stable before stepping down onto any.”

Tormund himself eyed Ryk climbing next to him with a condescending grin plastered, “Hear that, Longspear? We got no way of carrying you back up, means if you fall, best try and die when you do it.”

Rolling your eyes with a tinge of playful, you and Theon flickered your glances with amusement as you all made your way down. This one, was far easier. The rocks more forgiving of any tools, there was light and no need to keep so quiet as your time could be taken all of your own choosing. Each descend far enough, you and Ryk at each end would stay back to move your only two sources of fire down to each new metal hold you both would stake into the cave wall, intending later that very day to fill them all with proper lighting along with the rest of your work.

You had intended to do this first part alone, simply getting here and making any sources of light to see a path but you had been seen awake far too early for any soul by Tormund. He had noticed the distance in your eyes that spoke of something he realized had no clues given to him over it, and your only admission that there was just much to think about that made you struggle to sleep was begged to be dropped.

So he woke Ryk, or moreso, dragged him out of sleep with force and rumbled to him about not sitting around on his ass. Theon didn’t sleep well either, but he never did anymore. So when he had found you by where one of the guards guided him to the kitchens in the confusing halls, he had come across you gathering water. “You’re up way too early.” He had jested.

You rose an eyebrow at him, before nodding at his own person with a flat, “So what are you doing here then?” Unlike Tormund, you knew Theon could see something had not just woken you up, but something had kept you up and for how alert your eyes were, you were awake since before the sun dawned over the sea. You had mentioned getting an early start on the tunnels, and that sorted that out.

Telling you to not leave before he could grab what he, himself needed. Not asking if he could help or join and you didn’t even think about it. A strange little trio of climbers was this group turning out to become. And luckily for you, two of them were dynamic enough to speak most of the silence, and Theon had found it easier over time to converse more like a normal person and spoke for you on the climb down the cave wall.

But there was something in your eyes that Theon didn’t know, and it was odd to him at this point between the pair of you that he found something he had no clue how to read between your stoic expressions.

He also, were he to be honest much later on, wished he knew before hand that when he would wake up some hours after you all took off, Jon would have not a single clue where you had gone all day. He would’ve at least requested a guard inform him rather then let the King in the North be blindsided by it, but once you were focused heavily on something, you tended to forget many details of the world around you.

But as all four reached the bottom of the cavern, Theon and Tormund stood by the other and only when the torch light beside both of them from Ryk and yourself came to light up more of the sight, did the visions around come into view of the reality. The walls grew darker as the lower it had become and around the four of you was a shine.

The walls were high and paths off shooting from high up and low down, but everywhere were darker spots of stone that weren’t quite fitting with the rest. In large chunks deeply framing the cave walls with twists and turns and edges that spiked out with jagged amounts it all sat around looking far more dark and otherworldly then even the black stone made of the castle above. Looking all around each of you walked the bottom, you handing up the torch in your hand and snatching up the one laying at the bottom still flaming away. Stabbing another metal loop into a chunk of normal rock you hung it up on another wall, each man around you with a quiet in their eyes.

Your head turned high, and the reflective glass like rock stared back as if hiding another world in it’s depths below the dark and heavy air of the lands. None heard your breathless whisper and none needed to, you could feel the necklace sitting against your chest and that was all you needed. “I told you I’d take you down here one day.” Her bright eyes were clear as day as you could almost smile imagining Shireen by your side with wonder as she looked around the ethereal cavern.

“So, what now?”

Your body turning back to the three men as Tormund glanced to you. Chest rising and falling heavy with a deep inhale and subsequent exhale, you pulled out a bag attached close to your side and tossed it to him while your other hand pulled out rope hiding along under the back of your cloak. “We start digging paths around the tunnels.”

Ryk glanced up curiously, “How many tunnels lead into here?”

Shrugging you knew of many but lost count of many others. “More then I’ve ever explored. This isn’t the only one either, there are caches all around the island that don’t even lead into the other. But this was the biggest one to start with that I know my way around well enough.”

There was no more reason to stand around in awe, you all had a long day ahead of you.

The fact that few seemed to even question where you were didn’t sit well with him. Those all working in the castle of Dragonstone seemed to find nothing out of the ordinary that you had not appeared anywhere within the walls or the grounds.

It didn’t quite feel good, waking up that morning to find not only were you not still laying in bed with him, but then Jon couldn’t seem to find you anywhere and once more he was keeping down a panic of something he was trying very hard to keep to himself. It was in his eyes though, and as he finally came across Stannis he was fairly certain he did a poor job of hiding it. His rough, low tones did not make the matter any less subtle to the keen eyed Baratheon.

Both stood near the other by the giant table, what seemed to be the room used most from the Baratheons as the meeting hall, the very top room of the main Stone Drum tower. Carved and painted to look just like Westeros from Dorne to the Wall, Jon had been there first. A guard escorting him to where he was told Stannis would like to meet with him having not a clue yet where things in this confusing mess of a castle were. Running his hand along the surface with narrowed eyes before coming to the end of the table.

Some feet behind him was the splashes of the sea and morning sun shining onto the surface, lighting up where Dorne had been placed by the edge. Only moments before, his curiosity had him picking up a wooden figurine that had been dropped close to the Prince’s Pass. A wooden dragon figure had been cracked and split down the middle as the other lay alone whereas everything else on the board was placed with careful precision.

“I don’t need them to believe me, but as long as we’re here I’d rather give them the chance to help instead of sitting in the dungeons as prisoners.”

He and Stannis disagreed on bringing Aegon and Jon Connington up from their cells to discuss any terms of peace. “You are optimistic, too much so. You asked of them for cooperation and they forced your men to the shores to fight, why would they change their attitudes now?”

Jon however, felt not the grudge or anger many expected of his enemies but instead an understanding in his eyes were bright as he willed the man across from him to listen. “If Aegon wants to leave, fight other battles for the Iron Throne then he can leave. But they won’t stop at coming for us, they’ll come for them as well too. At least give me the chance to explain that.” Stannis looked doubtful, and Jon’s tone was a bit lighter if quieter as he leaned forward. “He could be a useful ally.”

The rigidness that responded however was unconvinced. “If he’s his father’s son the only use he would be is rotting in a dungeon as far from any crown as possible.” Jon only challenging him on if he wasn’t, and Stannis looked almost through him for a moment to think. “I would very much doubt he is any different, but you are right. We can give he and Lord Connington that chance.”

Nodding, in agreement, Stannis gestured to his own men to bring Lord Connington up. Seeing Jon’s questioning gaze he simply explained, “He will be the easier starting point. There is something of bad blood between Baratheons and Targaryeans, after all.”

He hadn’t had as much of a look at Aegon as he had Connington, but Jon still couldn’t help but try and envision the man he came here in claimant of. How similar were father and son, and how much of those similarities would prove to be foreboding once more? His voice barley above a whisper as his fingers dug into the table where he kept himself braced against. “What was he like?” Stannis looked to him with a flat expression save for a raised eyebrow, “Rhaegar Targaryean? Everyone talks about what the Mad King was like, but..”

He was once more envious of your families ability to remain so steady and unaffected by anything, when Jon could hear his fathers voice telling stories of his Uncle, his Grandfather. The ones he would never meet and how it was their deaths that started the war. Or how he struggled to ever bring up his sister, Jon’s Aunt, the one whose kidnapping was the catalyst for the war to have come. Those pains never really went away for his father, and truthfully, the entire family as well.

Now the only remaining child of Eddard Stark and not even the one called Stark in name, and yet all that pain fell onto Jon’s shoulders. It felt odd to think.

“It differs depending on who you ask. Most who served under him would think of him as charming and brave.” Somehow Jon thought to himself, he doubted that. “If you asked my brother Robert, he would have told you he was a monster. An abomination that some twenty four years later still made him just as angry as he did when he was alive.”

Jon’s eyes were far away, a glazed over distance trying to reconcile such drastic ends. “And you?” A hum of question leaving Stannis’s throat. “What would you say about him?”

It wasn’t however a casual feeling which sat in Stannis’s eyes even though he tried to portray it in his even tone. “It is as I said. There is bad blood between House Targaryean and Baratheon, and that bad blood did not end with Robert. You seem very willing to cooperate with the boy, and his father has wronged your family more then my own.”

He could be angry, but he also knew that wasn’t where his anger lay. It wasn’t trapped within vessels of a past he would never know, it was in the present he needed to protect. “If he isn’t anything like Rhaegar, I want to give him a chance to prove it.”

It was difficult to read, but it seemed as if a bit of pride sat behind Stannis’s eyes. “You are a more forgiving man then most.”

Jon only felt his knuckles strain against the flexing pressure he leaned against them with. “No, I’m not. But I am patient enough to give him the benefit of the doubt first.” Not to which he would say it out loud, but he was glad he never saw the fight between Aegon and you. He wasn’t so sure he would have that same patience had he seen the dragon against you as such.

He had asked enough people in the castle, he didn’t need to come off as over protective in front of your own father by asking where you were, but it itched inside Jon’s chest not to do so anyways. He couldn’t let himself spiral, not to obsess over the fear that every single dark, and perverse thought which came pouring out of his mouth the night before had chased you away. You had responded more eager then what his heart could handle. He couldn’t stand there and let himself lose control over it, not now.

Not in front of what was about to be a meeting full of no doubt awkward discussions of the North, as he knew he was the only firm source between he and Stannis to portray the extend to which this issue was not the North’s alone.

But it still lingered in fear as the two of them waited. Had he said something in such raw honesty that in some way over stepped your marriage to Robb? Had he simply been too vulgar with you? Or worse, too rough? Not a single spec of the world existed that night other then the two of you entangled together in front of the fire, but perhaps in the light of morning it was too much for you to look back on.

Maybe Jon thought, he needed to ease up with you. That perhaps it was his intensity which scares you.

It was a blessing which none here cared about keeping up proper appearances. Deep underground was boiling enough without the amount of movement you all were doing, coating you in sweat, grime, and occasionally blood if you weren’t careful enough. Most of the day was spent either climbing along the walls, or on your stomach or back pulling through tight tunnels to map out in detail.

The open spaces only grew to be more vast. A dark glass like stone that shined black as if it were reflecting right off of the night sky, and sat all around in crystal like formations along the walls as if growing on there. You wondered how much it would shine and glow were the sun to open up inside of these walls.

Not every rock was made of Dragonglass, but it was painted so heavily along the walls you felt utterly surrounded by it, despite the heat however every touch to your skin was cool.

Currently, you were perched on a small tunnel space, trying to carve out the simple rock against the walls so it was easier for one to crawl though, knowing it opened up from what the flames hinted at was a vast cavern which you suspected led to much more. Not too far from you was Theon, digging supports into the walls making climbing much easier then the free kind you all had to do to get to this point.

Somewhere off in nearby tunnels you could hear the muffled bickering of Tormund and Ryk as any chuckling or laughter boomed off the walls and echoed all up to the surface.

“How do you know so much about all of this?” Turning your head down and to the side from where you had been reaching up, you almost coughed as you accidentally let some of the gravel fall too close to your face. Raising your eyebrow with a grimace, Theon gestured around him. “Dragonglass, how’d you know this was all here in the first place?”

Hands dropping down to the stone below, you glanced up to where you could see the circling of torches finally having lit the cave up to see without issue, the licking flames all fading in brightness the closer to the surface and further the black dragonglass faded into merely dark stone. Dropping your gaze back to him only briefly as you returned to your task. Voice a bit far away even in there. “I used to explore these tunnels often as a girl. There wasn’t much else to do on Dragonstone and I didn’t have any friends, so I started working my way through these tunnels.”

You had missed something a bit sad behind Theon’s eyes, but it was there in his softer tone. “So you spent your days crawling and climbing through mines hoping to what? Find something special?”

Huffing a laugh, you winced trying to knock out a more difficult stone in the way which was attached to the edge of dragonglass, a very difficult kind of rock to cut through with the tools at hand. “Those in the villages say that the Targaryeans built rooms in here, places to hatch their dragon eggs near the heat of the volcano, lit by never ending fires and wooden pathways which long rotted to the ground. I only ever found more cave, no dragons, no magical rooms. Just rock and tight spaces.”

“You believe that? That something special made their dragons hatch here?”

You huffed another strained laugh, not even looking at him. “Not for a second. Most of them were born in Kings Landing during their dynasty. No great fire, no volcano, just a dragonpit to hatch their eggs in. If Dragonstone was so special, they would have been breeding them here far before Valyria fell.”

You were beginning to regret keeping your skin of water so close to the ground, squinting down to decide if the path was worth it before ultimately deciding to just endure. Theon had begun working away at the stones and spikes once more, speaking through the hammering. “Would have loved to see one, though.”

“No, you wouldn’t have.” His head whipped over to you, but you shrugged before turning away again as you elaborated. “Robert destroyed most of what the Targaryeans had left, but under the Red Keep in their own tunnels there is still a massive dragon skull. Must have thought it too big, or it was an artifact and so he hid it away. But it was huge, could stand up in it’s mouth and still not reach top to bottom.” Grimacing as you tore off finally a more difficult piece, you sighed out. Dropping your arms to look at Theon properly. “If you ask me, something that big flying around breathing fire? We’re better off them all being dead.”

“You really think so?”

Instead of the amusement he expected, there was nothing but a darker glint behind your eyes as you saw fire. Wildfire exploding before you in bright greens that had men screaming and clawing at their own burning skin, and that was nothing compared to what it was said dragonfire could do. “Dragons don’t plant trees. They don’t create, they don’t build. They destroy. Creatures like that, have no place in the kind of world people like us are trying to fight for.”

Your voice was rough, a gritting that grated against you throat like sand as you begged for water and a soothing honey to warm it down as you continued, finding Theon’s eyes properly. “Dragons only know death and destruction, and as soon as they were gone, Targaryeans had nothing left to trick us into thinking they were special. They aren’t special for being able to ride dragons. Nothing is special about controlling a creature whose only purpose is to destroy.”

Your mind floating off to a thought you had come down here so early in the morning to avoid. A thud came from one of the higher tunnels, Tormund making his way out and calling your attention over. “How many places do you have shit stashed around this place?” A scattering of old tools now sitting in an ever growing pile.

You almost found it in you to laugh, “I was down here all alone most times. I wanted to make sure I always had tools and ropes in case I ran into issue with what I climbed down with.”

Tormund shook his head in his own amusement. “If I wasn’t sure Snow would skewer me in my sleep for it, I’d have told these other two to piss off hours ago, pretty crow.”

If Theon was posed to defend you, it was almost nice for him to see how easily you laughed and how relaxed you responded with no hesitation or fear of any real intent behind the words. “The day is young yet, Tormund.”

The manner in which Jon Connington was looking at him, continued to make him feel a slight bit on edge. Glancing up on multiple occasions with a squinting gaze that bordered on something like curiosity or leaning towards judgment. All three men at least were able to stay calm and steady during the course of their discussions, but it seemed that the Southerners continue to have no reason to believe in the things whispered beyond the wall.

“I’m not the one who needs convincing. You’ve taken the island for yourselves, I can’t stop you from doing whatever you want here nor have you given me a reason to care. But if Aegon doesn’t agree to it, then that’s where this all ends.”

Trying to be reasonable was more difficult then Jon initially imagined. Connington and Stannis seemed to be the pair at odds as long as it was the two of them in the room. One firm in his dedication to his King, the other a stubborn King himself motivated by harsh belief. They wanted to make this once more about the Iron Throne as if that was what mattered and Jon could feel the frustration in his veins rising.

Glancing up at Ser Davos, both men shared a glance with the mutual understanding that they were all getting nowhere. Cutting into Stannis’s response, Jon raised his voice over to overpower the whole room instead. “Lord Connington, I was the one who wrote to him. I asked for peace, to stay here together beacuse what I’m fighting for has nothing to do with the Iron Throne. None of this had to happen this way, we could have all stood here and talked this out yesterday but it was Aegon who forced us to fight.”

Connington’s eyes narrowed slightly, a strange wonder still behind them that was beginning to make Jon wish Ghost was with him. Commonly whatever intentions were behind someone’s eyes if Jon didn’t catch it, and you weren’t here to catch it, then Ghost would. But as he spoke, he peeled his eyes from Jon to look once more at Stannis. “Yet you failed to mention the ally at your side was also a King fighting for that same throne. Doesn’t sound like the peaceful course of action to me.”

Not wavering once, Jon had no care for the insinuation. “I don’t speak for Stannis Baratheon. He joined this fight of his own choice, not mine. And this is his home your men invaded.”

“And I suppose then it has nothing to do with it also being your wife��s girlhood home either.” His tone was doubtful and sharp but it clearly took both Jon, Davos, and Stannis back for a moment.

Stannis glanced quickly towards him, but Jon had to keep whatever he thought that look meant internalized. “All that meant is that she and Stannis know this castle, this land. We knew whatever fight there was, would be short if we had two of them who knew this castle in more detail then you or I ever could.” If Jon simply didn’t address it then he didn’t have to fight off the echos in his head from coming to consume him in fear of it being a step too far.

“Marry me, let me take you home and marry me. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

Gods help him, Jon was so deep inside of you when that came clawing out of his mouth. He wasn’t supposed to pressure you into that, didn’t want you to assume he wished to replace Robb. But you had felt so good around him, and he had been pounding into you so roughly at that point he was barley in control of what he was saying. Nearly anything could’ve come out of his mouth.

Jon at least considered himself lucky that the worst, most lewd and unhinged parts of those thoughts still remained locked away in his head like a caged animal. If he scared you from his arms last night, he dared not think what giving into those desires entirely would terrify you of.

Connington didn’t look convinced, but he also didn’t argue back on that point. Taking a moment to think before his eyes remained on the table at first. “This is not an agreement to work together,” eyes flickering back up between the two men. “But should Aegon decide he finds utility in this..cause of yours, then I would be willing to broker an arrangement with my men to be of some assistance. Only, if Aegon agrees though. Otherwise we are going to have a problem on our hands.”

Nodding to Stannis very subtly, the man himself moved to speak to a pair of his guards as Jon and Connington looked at the other. Your name slipped from the laters mouth, “May I ask why she did not attend this meeting? Seems odd for a Queen not to be present for such a matter.”

Luck found more on it’s way to Jon’s side as Stannis's tone was flat, smooth and without a hesitation. “She had other duties which needed attending too.”

Whatever hints of an intensity reminding Conning so heavily of Rhaegar, were no longer shining clear in his eyes. And he felt uncomfortable with the fact that he felt relieved at such a sight.

Jon Connington could see without any doubt however, that Aegon was in some of the worst of spirits as he accompanied guard to get him. Eyes narrowed and angry that struggled to let up even when one came into sight of the other. Standing up quickly, he approached the iron bars in an instant. “Are you alright?”

He was taken back. Not the question he was expecting from Aegon, his head jolting back a little bit before shaking his head. “I’m fine, been through far worse then this. Are you alright?” Putting more emphasis towards his own fairing.

Aegon swallowed harshly, shrugging one shoulder even though his voice was as rough as gravel. “Good as any humiliated prisoner can be. Suppose all the men out there had a good laugh at my loss.”

Connington’s eyes felt a bit, tinted something washed over with a sorrow as he stepped forward. “Listen to me- Aegon.” His voice growing louder with no room for question. Not a way a man speaks to a King, but rather like a father to a son, and both parties didn’t speak of how they both felt it. “You’ve trained your whole life to be a leader, but you aren’t a soldier. You’ve never fought in a battle before last night, and you were up against an opponent who spent three years fighting in a war. No one, on their side or ours thinks that’s funny.”

For a moment he almost sounded like the child Young Griff used to be, muttering and not quite looking him in the eye as he crossed his arms over his chest. “How am I supposed to convince my people to see me as their King, if I was beaten by a girl the first battle I was in? Would my men follow me now knowing I couldn’t even lead one charge to victory?”

Stepping towards the bars more, Connington rested one gloved hand on the it, wrapping around the iron and dropping his tone, hoping to catch Aegon’s eye. “And I was the one who surrendered to protect you. Yet they still are listening to me just fine. Every good leader fails before he succeeds, and you have only just started. This does not dictate your future, only right now.”

Aegon nodded, and the quiet sat between them for a moment before quietly speaking up once more, “May I ask why you are walking free and I’m still locked away?”

“I’ve spoken to our new hosts.” Aegon raised a half unamused eyebrow, catching back only a glimpse of a smirk on one side of Connington's face. “Jon Snow and Stannis Baratheon have something they would like to propose. A deal of sort, for peace. I want you to hear them out, what they have to say sounds extraordinary but the choice will be up to you.”

As the guards opened the cell door, he spoke louder and this time there was no mistakening the playful but stern tone which most only heard from that of a parent “Aegon, this time when I tell you to follow your first instinct, make sure it’s actually yours. I’m asking you, I’m not asking Rhaegar.”

Only seen by the guards down in those dungeons, as the door opened, both men found the other in a hug that felt far too much like father and son for whose actual son Aegon was supposed to go back being.

If Jon were being entirely honest, this was the ugliest room he had seen by far on Dragonstone. To which judging by the look he shared with Ser Davos beside him, he was not the only one who thought so. The room was wide, tall ceilings above and much of nothing around. Only a large space of grey and black stone as it led up to a small set of stairs and what seemed to be the ruling seat of whoever was lording over the island.

Many years ago, back when you had come to Winterfell after moving with your father to Kings Landing long term, he had asked you if the Iron Throne was as immense and threatening as the stories all spoke of it. He remembered so vividly the flat expression on your face and how utterly monotone you had said it. “It might be the ugliest chair I have ever seen in my life.”

It was spoken to be high in the air and full of swords and spikes melted from those won in Aegon the Conquerors invasion. Many steps to reach just the seat as it loomed over all in the Red Keep. You hadn’t described much of what it truly looked like, but you ensured him it was as disappointing as it was ugly.

The seat at the front of the Great Hall, was the ugly chair Jon always imagined. A window behind it shaped like the face of a dragon and the seat covering much of it was a jagged formation of black stone that had but one flat surface smoothed out into it to sit on. It was almost a bewildered amusement at how different this place was then Winterfell.

There wasn’t even a singular, elaborate seat for lords like this. In Winterfell, the main hall was just a hall, every table, bench and chair looked all the same and there were seats enough where his father would sit that had many other beside him for council as well. This wasn’t suited for that, only for demand and control. Hard too, imagining either you or Stannis even sitting on that chair to do anything.

Much of Dragonstone Jon found, felt like it was created by a people who saw themselves as gods and the more he looked the less he liked any of it. But the final judgment seemed to be lurking around the corner waiting to be brought up.

Stannis coming to join, there was a lack of calm which was the last as they waited before. Ser Davos looked between both men, before glancing to his own attire. “I’m starting to think I’m not wearing nearly enough armour for this. Are we bracing for a fight or a meeting?”

Jon’s voice almost echoed in the vast space of the room. “If he’s willing to listen to what we have to say, there’ll be no need for another fight.”

“Not as if the boy would win.” Jon and Davos both turned to look at Stannis, who only held a glint which almost showed a hint of pride in his eyes.

At least someone was proud of you for that, Jon thought. He certainly wasn’t. Once more the thought crossing through his mind of how little he understood how it was Robb handled it. Every new mark or cut you got in combat only made Jon that much more on edge about having you anywhere near a fight.

He should be proud, and deep inside of him was, how you had gotten yourself this far. But he couldn’t see passed a vision of you soaked in blood. Jon deliberately avoided putting any pressure on your ribs last night, and the sight of the blues and purples Aegon clearly had hammered into you. Aegon was lucky Jon had a far better handle on his temper then he once did.

In a way, all three King’s seemed to stand as opposites. Aegon with a rich and ornate dark armour painted black with a bold red of a three headed dragon draped across the chest plate dramatically, his hair longer like Jon’s, but flat and dyed a stand out blue. He also reached much closer to Stannis’s taller stature. But he was hesitant, something light in his eyes that shined a bold blue matching his hair. He looked like a King but his eyes more like an unsure boy.

Jon on the other hand, knew he looked not much like a King. His armour no more extravagant then any Northerner fighting by his side, only his own House shown just by the small sigil of two direwolves facing one another carved to blend into a small middle of his chest plate. In contrast Jons longer black curls were tied all the way back as matched the grey so dark in his eyes it would appear black in the right light. He stood shorter then Aegon, but with the weight of a leader on his shoulders that the others could see radiated something of authority. That, and Aegon had no sword of his own at this point, while the white wolf pommel of Longclaw sat proud at Jon’s side.

Stannis however, blended into the room. Greys and Blacks in his wardrobe much like what you dressed in the times of war he know knew you in, and were he to stand still he might have disappeared into the walls, and Jon was fairly certain was intentional. If Jon stood as the opposite of what Aegon presented himself as, Stannis stood apart from the flash of what the Targaryeans showed off with.

And Jon knew, Stannis was exactly where you got that habit from too.

The men accompanying them introduced Aegon as he had approached almost as if meant to intimidate with it’s enormity. “I present his grace, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, Aegon of the House Targaryean, the sixth of his name.”

It felt like posturing, standing with men of the Golden Company at his back like guard dogs. The only one who stood on the other side of the parties, was Ser Davos. He and Jon shared a look almost speaking silently in a confused question of were they supposed to return the gesture?

Davos, without the decorum of what had just been presented, and if perhaps, just a bit of purposeful simplicity rather then any dramatics. “This is Jon Snow, King in the North. And-”

Aegon interrupted, his voice which sounded more sure and confident then which was spoken of in his eyes directing his attention first to Stannis. “Stannis Baratheon. The King who now stands in my way of the Iron Throne. I have heard much about you, some good, much bad. For someone claiming to be King it seems you are not much known as a popular man.”

If that was a slight, Stannis budged not even part of an inch in care. His voice stern and cold as it was any time he was commanding the room. “Being well liked alone does not make you a King. It only makes you a fool enough to believe that is all it takes to succeed as one. My brother Renly was popular, stood against me and as soon as he passed, all of his bannerman came to my side and have been as loyal since. I do not need my men to like me, to trust me to lead them.”

Aegon looked him in the eye, and there was something held back in his tone that did not speak of the same command. “And once the people have seen the rightful heir return to claim his throne, I am certain we will see which one of us holds the true loyalty of the people.” Stannis barley raised an eyebrow and as Aegon turned his attention to Jon, he knew it was possible the steadfast in how unaffected Stannis was had shifted the air in the dragon to something less confident.

But that confidence did not leave Jon feeling the same. In fact, there was anger in what came out of the dragons mouth. “Now, forgive me, I have not been in Westeros for some years, but I could have sworn that the last King in the North was Torrhen Stark. Who bent the knee to my ancestor, Aegon, the first of his name.” Oh did Jon ever feel a rising heat in his veins begging to lash out. “In exchange for his life and the lives of the Northmen, Torrhen Stark swore fealty to House Targaryen in perpetuity. Which if I am not mistaken, means forever.”

The last time he saw Robb was in the courtyards of Winterfell, a small smile on his face as they both stood younger and naive of the pain and blood to follow their separation.

“The next time I see you, you’ll be all in black.”

If he focused enough, Jon could still feel the last hug he ever shared with his brother, his closest companion his entire life. And he felt angry. He knew what Aegon was doing.

Jon’s voice was a deep, angry rasp with eyes flashing to match. “I wasn’t there, I couldn’t tell you what my ancestor did. But you and I both know of the King in the North before me, the one the North chose first was my brother. Robb Stark was the King they declared after three hundred years of your families neglect of my people.” Robb died for the North, and not for a second was Jon going to stand there and let this stranger insult his memory.

Aegon was playing a game though, a game which he knew too many lords and ladies of this country thought was the way to gain power, but Jon only grew more visibly angry this time as he spoke. “An oath is still an oath. You mean to break faith with House Targaryean-”

Jon’s voice this time, did echo through the room. Stepping forward as his own face twisted in an anger as he shut down whatever this was supposed to be. He was not a Stark in name, but his father had four sons, not three. He still had Stark in his blood. “Break faith? Your grandfather burned my grandfather alive, he burned my uncle alive. Your own father-” Not many had heard Jon both yell or speak with anger before and clearly Aegon was not prepared for it.

“Your family has been wronged by mine, I know this. But I am the last of my line.” Connington’s eyes narrowed, as he looked to Aegon but he ignored that look and pushed forward speaking to Jon.

Stannis however, did catch the look given and when both men caught the others gaze, there was something unsettled as Connington realized it. There was one other Targaryean, and if Stannis knew about her, then likely you did too. And Jon Connington did not feel good realizing how little Lord Varys had shared about these people to him beforehand.

Aegon continued, and Jon looked no less angry. If Aegon stood taller in height, Jon stood far taller in demeanour and was much more intimidating. “Our two houses were allies for centuries, and those were seen with peace and prosperity. A Targaryen sitting on the Iron Throne and a Stark serving as Warden of the North. I am The Last Dragon, Jon Snow. Honour the pledge your ancestor made to mine. Bend the knee and I will name you Warden of the North, like your father-”

None noticed, but Ser Davos almost smirked. If purposely leaving Robb from his recounting of history was enough to make Jon this mad, then that final comment was the last of his patience. “I'm not standing here arguing about this. There’s no time for that, I don't time for any of this. I mean no offence, your grace, but I don’t know you.”

This time, it was Stannis’s turn to find the amusement. Never once in their disagreements did Jon Snow ever use “your grace” in a drawn out, mocking tone.

But he continued, stepping closer once more to Aegon as his eyes burned darker in black. “As far as I can see, your only claim to the throne rests entirely on your father and grandfather’s name, and my father fought to overthrow the Mad King. No amount of your empty apologies will make right what he did to my family. And certainly not what your father did to my aunt.”

The room was quiet. No one spoke for a moment after that. If there was room for sorry in Aerys Targaryean burning Jon’s grandfather and uncle alive, there was not a single solitary room for forgiveness for what Rhaegar had done to his aunt Lyanna.

Connington spoke after some quiet, Aegon and Jon not taking their eyes off the other the entire time as one brewed with a hesitant uncertainty and the other a deep, hardly contained anger. “King Stannis, I find it odd you are at this mans side. You hold to a claim to the Iron Throne through your brothers lineage, and yet how can you be the one true King of the Seven Kingdoms if you stand next to someone who has stolen the largest half of your Kingdom from you?”

It wasn’t Jon who saw Robb that time, it was Stannis. And the mistake he spent a very long year and a half regretting.

“I did not come here to fight, I came here to find any way to a truce...we have been dragged through the muck of your southern wars for far too long.”

He was calm though, and firm. “The North has been in open rebellion long before Jon Snow was King in the North. His brother Robb Stark claimed Northern independence first and I was ready to fight against him for it. Yet I am fighting at the side of his brother, the next King after him beacuse he has shown me that the true enemy lies far beyond that of King’s Landing.”

Aegon broke eye contact with Jon, and looked to Connington. So this was what he was to prepare himself to hear it seemed, but there was still enough spite from the past twenty four hours that something less then pleasant came rolling of his tongue instead of tucking it away, despite knowing he was better then petty insults. But it came out anyways. “And what does some bastard falsely calling himself King have any right to tell men like you or I what to do?”

You had always called him Snow in playful teasing, and always with a true affection. Focus on that, Jon told himself. Focus on how that never mattered to you, and you made it easier to feel like it shouldn’t matter to him. Don’t stoop to Aegon’s level he warned himself.

Ser Davos it seemed however, was the one who took up the mantle normally taken up by yourself in Jon’s honour. Defending him against leaving his image as nothing more then a bastard boy.

“I know little of your life, your grace, but allow me to shed some light on his if you are so unfamiliar. Jon Snow is the first to make allies between wildlings and Northmen. He was named Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. He was named King in the North. Not because of some blood or birthright. He has no birthright, beacuse he is a damn bastard. But all those hard sons of bitches you fought against chose him as their leader because they believe in him. His brother didn’t name him his heir for any rights or honour, he did it beacuse he believed in him as his brother, as just a man who does the right thing.”

It felt odd to Jon, hearing someone lay out their belief in him so blatantly, without prompt or question and he found little he could say to stop it. What would he say, he spent his entire life hearing people talk about him in the exact opposite manner, he had no idea how to take such praise.

“All those things we’ve told you about, Lord Connington? He faced those things. He fought those things for the good of his people. He risked everything, took a knife to the heart, gave his own life-”

Wide eyed and almost panicked did Jon turn to Davos and he stopped in a second. The air along the room suddenly turned strange as it was Jon, Davos, and Stannis all in a silent heavy air of something that seemed more serious then a story or rumour.

Jon Connington had told Lord Varys if this King really died then he could come to his shores like a man and show him his heart himself, but he didn’t ever actually expect this as a reaction to such a crazy story to come up.

But Jon took charge and swung the topic as far from what scars lay deep over his heart as possible. “I have seen things you would never imagine, your grace. Winter isn’t coming, it’s already here and if we keep standing here debating whose king of what, everyone we know will die before winter's over, if we don't defeat the enemy to the north.”

You had told him that day on Bear Island that leadership suited him, that his talk alone of the threats to the North were impressive and he hoped that was not just mere flattery. Aegon looked at him, a squint in his eye of curiosity instead of judgment. “And what is the enemy to the north exactly?”

Jon was blunt and no one on his side gave any remote hint of joke or a lack of seriousness. “The Others. They’re here. I’ve seen them, I’ve fought them and even killed one. And they are coming for us with an army of the dead and if we let them get passed the wall and we have no way to protect our own, the only thing that’ll be left to sit on the Iron Throne will be a frozen corpse, and all you’ll be ruling over is a graveyard.”

Aegon's voice was far away as it was breathless in nerves. “The Others have been dead for eight thousand years.”

Stannis was the one to respond, a tone just as heavy as Jon’s beside him. “They have been asleep for eight thousand years. Now they aren’t.”

His tone even, not quite skeptical but something that wasn’t convinced yet not dismissive either as he looked to Jon. “If your raven is to go by, I presume you think such an answer lays beneath the mines here on Dragonstone? What exactly is hiding under the rocks that has you believing it can beat these things?”

“We can destroy them by burning them, and we can destroy them with dragonglass. That’s what I came here for, not to challenge you on this claim or that claim.” The roughness in his tone was one which sent shivers down Aegon’s spine and a steadfast anger in Jon to force people to listen for once. “I’m not asking us to get along. I’m giving you the chance to help fight for the living, fight with us. The same thing is coming for every single person in this realm whether you believe me or not. This is an army that won’t leave the dead on the battlefield. They will just raise them back up to fight against us.”

It was quiet, and one last challenge was left on Aegon’s lips. “And you come to me with this story, and expect me to believe it without a shred of proof. If you want my help, Snow, maybe you shouldn't have come here with an army, and their damned family.” Aegons eyes meeting the dark and unblinking harshness of Stannis's.

Jon’s eyes narrowed. If he was to be so stubborn, he could always drag Aegon beyond the wall and let him look into the eyes of the Others himself. He was tired of this, tired of this nonsense. Of people looking at him and his people like they were crazy, only believing in scary bed side stories. Jon and Tormund lost a lot of good men, women, and children that day in Hardhome, and it had him clenching his jaw painfully that it felt as if these Southerners would have to force such a nightmare to happen to them to finally listen to him.

Only, just as the three men stared the other down did an echoing sound crackle through the hall. The great doors kept watch by guards on the outside slowly begun to crawl open as the sunlight peeked in properly across the darkness of the stones. But as all men in the room turned to realize who had walked in, only one found intention. After all, it was only the night before the fresh wounds on both their persons were placed there in that very same room.

The Great Hall stood as empty as it was tall save for a small group by the main steps of the Lord’s seat above. The easiest to spot was Aegon, the hair a bold blue as eyes to match looked over with a rough contempt as you begun to walk into the hall, as Aegon himself begun to descend the small set of steps to the same level as yourself.

Whatever quiet words were shared between the men behind him, it seemed the conclusion they came to was to once more let you and Aegon face off with one another. An anger in his eyes towards you matched yours to him.

You had no real weapon on you and from what you could see neither did he, but the sharp flash over both your eyes were cutting enough. Only the echo of footsteps was heard in the hall as you both met in the middle. Floods of fury and fire brewed between you both as there was nothing else in sight but the eyes of a son trying to seek the same control that tore down the family before him.

Breaking the silence first his voice was more quiet then you expected, keeping the echo away and fluttering only enough that you could be heard here and no more then whispers elsewhere. “The Queen in the North graces us with her presence. I am relieved you could take the time out of your busy day to discuss such important matters.”

Your face however, much like Stannis before you, moved none. A cold look shining from your eyes as a stern expression set itself in stone just before a glare. You hardly raised your tone above a slight whisper, dripping in a frustration at his tone. “It is no business of yours what I do with my time, in my home, Targaryean. I do not answer to you.”

“Who do you answer to, the King in the North? Or considering you were the one to attack me last night, perhaps he’s more merely your guard dog.” If he wanted to rile you up, someone should have informed Aegon that the only thing that could truly have you in such dire straits is the memory of a pale blue eyes attached to a slimy voice that coated your skin in more filth then you knew even now how to wash away.

Your eyes drifted across his person with only a barley noticeable narrowed of eyes before meeting his, nodding to his chest plate. “Am I the first to carve a dent into that?”

His jaw twitched in it’s clench, and a condescension rolled from his very aura. “Every great warrior has to start somewhere, doesn’t he?” You could feel the pulsing of the cut along your person he left, as you looked at him, and see once more the rage behind his eyes as he looked to you as nothing more then a monster to abolish from once you came.

“And yet the only ones the Seven Kingdoms ever speak of are your own kin. Strange how only greatness comes from you and none else ever get the chance to prove their worth.” Robb had spent three years winning a war of so many sides falling all onto his shoulders to burden, and he emerged as a great King and yet all any will speak of him is the tragedy stolen from his life. Aegon’s ancestors were all remembered for their victories, and yet your husband lay scattered across the Riverlands and none will remember what led him there in the first place.

Aegon almost smiled though, and you found yourself hating it. Perhaps you were finally understanding Robert so long after his death. “My family is the blood of Old Valyria. We were the great dragonriders who conquered these lands. We are destined for such fates by birthright, by blood-”

“Your dragons destroyed these lands.”

He seethed visibly, and you did in your blood and poured from your eyes that he caught himself. All eyes were on you, but enough feet were apart between that no danger was to intervene from but you felt them all the same and could not quell that feeling rising within your chest. And yet, your voice softened to something that he didn’t expect. Something genuine.

You knew the story too well, and were he true or not to such a claim, it was his family that were the forgotten ones of the rebellion. “I imagine it's difficult for you, being here. Being so close to Kings Landing. It was cruel, and vile what was done to your mother, and your sister too.” It was so well hidden to most not a soul would have caught a waver in his throat. “They didn’t deserve what happened to them, no one does.”

The breathless vitriol was not to blame, and you wouldn’t. “Yet your uncle did nothing to stop it.”

Robert Baratheon wept no tears and sung no songs for Elia Martell and Rhaenys Targaryean. He saw Elia as a dead Dornish woman to be forgotten, and Rhaenys as nothing but the offspring of what so many years alter was his mortal enemy, but you knew when to defend him and when not too. “Tywin Lannister did all that. Aerys Targaryean opened the gates and he sacked the city, his men did that to your family. Robert cared not about their remains but it was not his order to brutalize and dishonour them like animals. I know too well, no one deserves such fate.”

If Aegon saw anything in your eyes, he found no capability to bleed sympathy for it, nor did you expect any too. You wanted it to be not your life as well. “And yet you think my father deserved his. No one cared to provide justice for my mother and sister, but you demean me for wishing to find that very thing for my own father.”

You stared right through him. The question in your mind finally answered. Had Jon Connington ever admitted to Aegon that his father kidnapped Lyanna Stark? Had he admitted he raped her? No. The answer was no. There was not a world you could imagine someone finding a softness over the long deaths of a mother and sister he never knew, but idolized a father who committed such atrocities had he thought they were truth.

“That is what you think? That true justice is redeeming the image of Rhaegar Targaryean to the very people whose lives he ruined beyond repair?” He swallowed again, and you felt something choking your throat as your eyes refused to blink despite the sting. “That includes you, Aegon. He left you in that city too, under the control of a father he knew would not let your mother and you both leave.”

Aegon flushed, something uncomfortable in his own lungs scratching away at his defences. “That boy was not me. That was some tanner’s son from Pisswater Bend whose mother died giving birth. His father sold him to Lord Varys for a jug of ale, and Lord Varys gave that boy to my mother, and took me to safety.”

You didn’t blink, but you did feel for the sorrow to come. “And Rhaegar left you to die in that city with your mother and Rhaenys all the same. Tanner’s son or not, it was you he thought he was abandoning. And that’s the man you wish to be?” He swallowed and a redness almost poked through the colours behind his eyes as something bordering pity and empathy came into you and your voice. “I pray to the old gods and the new that you find it within yourself to become anyone but him. Dragons died for a reason, and it’s better we let it stay that way.”

Walking passed him, you brushed against his shoulder enough the material of your dark cloak ran across the overtly ornate design of his and Aegon didn’t turn to you in the slightest with any other word. You left early to think, and returned with that very thing shoved in your face to overwhelm the rest of it. All you could focus on to stay composed, was to wash off the grime of such a day, and start your work.

Maybe the rest would leave you alone until you wouldn’t break the second you were faced with that same wonder that stunned you the night before. There were no similarities when you looked at Aegon, but you found fear asking you of looking over to double check in case it was too obvious to ignore upon looking his way, but resisted such an urge. Not here, not in front of all these people.

You could feel Jon’s grey eyes following you the entire path as you left the Great Hall.

The path down to the level of the beaches was much faster this way. Many winding stairs were a steep but direct path down to the shores, the black stone leading into the dark rocks surrounding the landscape as only but small caverns and overhangs led to the sand surrounding out to the Narrow Sea.

The climate was much more forgiving as your back current sat against such large rocks that blocked the path and sights around as your hair blew in the winds along with the flowing skirt of your dress as if asking to carry you up and whisk you across the waters to lands unknown. But instead you sat in the quiet as evening sun had begun to set behind you, leaving the skies ahead in a beautiful golden yellow turning almost light shades of a pink.

Were you on the other side of the island, you would have held the object in your hand up to the setting sun, the books you had been scouring through spoke of dragonglass as being able to see the brightness in the sky without pain. Should you look up at it through what Maesters called obsidian. Instead it sat less shining or reflective in the shard twisted and turned in your hands. Your eyes narrowed slightly as you looked over it, trying to find any reason this was the thing which held answers to the realms foreboding danger.

The ones being in your home once more brought to you felt nothing but like burdens at the rate this past day had brought. Fire, death, bloodshed, memories of painful pasts trying to force their way onto those not responsible in the present and an overlooking thought which threatened to consume you should you let it toxify in your mind too much.

You only had a dream. You couldn't rely on that as truth.

It wasn’t until the sounds of footsteps gently approaching hit your ears did you register that you had been cruel. How would it have felt were it you? He had every right to be angry at you for it, but as he chose to settle on the sands with his back against the rock beside you there wasn’t anger which waved off him.

For a moment Jons eyes watched as yours did at the water, but not too long passed between until he gently opened his hand out to it. Silently you gave it to him, only then did the strength to look at him find you. Your eyes following as his brought up up to look closely at and yours continued that path to find his face.

A few smaller scratches sat across his cheek from what you could see at this angle, but all else as you looked at Jon did you find was the same thing you’d always seen looking at him. Nothing hiding inside but the man you love. And you felt more cruel yet a sighing relief at such a fact.

“Theon told me what you had been doing all day.”

You nodded before realizing he wasn’t actually looking to see it. Only leaning a bit closer so that you could feel his arm brush against yours as you spoke quiet by his side. “I have some assembling a number of men now, and come morning they will start on the mine we worked on today. The longer it takes us to start, the longer it takes us to get home.”

Jon ran his thumb over the flat end of the shard, eyes foggy as his voice was rasping at a distance trying to gently murmur your name, but you beat him to it with a heavier heart then you think he suspected. “I’m so sorry.”

Finally his eyes met yours, the grey in them washing over with something confused but also upsetting in a way. “Sorry? What would you have to be sorry for?”

Your own were already with a bit of a red sting, and your cracked throat wavered in speech. “Leaving you like that. After...after the night we had and then you wake up alone and I’m gone all day..it was a horrible thing to do. You would’ve never done it to me, I shouldn’t have done it to you.”

Jon put the shard of Dragonglass down without a second thought, turning to look at you more and it made you feel so much worse at the ease in which the hurt sat in his bright eyes. One of his hands coming up to run along the side of your face until reaching your cheek. “I only want you to tell me what I said or did that you didn’t like next time instead of avoiding me.” Your brows furrowed in confusion as he ran this thumb back and forth over the gentle skin. “Last night, I clearly did something to scare you off. Was I too rough?” He hesitated before swallowing harsh but he looked back into your much more stinging red eyes. “Was it what I said about marrying you?”

You hadn’t realized you were shaking your head until the motion was urgent, hand flying up to grasp at his and finding yourself pushing the fabric between his sleeve and glove to run your own thumb along his pulse. The other turning to face him more as you shifted more onto your calves, “No, it wasn’t you. You didn’t do or say anything wrong..I just..I couldn’t sleep and I didn’t want to wake you and later I just..”

“Got carried away?”

You nodded, letting go of his wrist as your own dropped into your lap. A shy glint hiding behind your eyes that caught Jons attention much more. The truth was not far off, but there was a medium you needed to pull him too. “I didn’t mean to worry you, I’m so sorry.”

But Jon didn’t need anything else, he didn’t want an argument or a detailed answer or even for you to grovel. Instead choosing to pull you into his side, your head finding a home resting against his shoulder as you were leaned into him completely. One of your arms wrapping around his instead of letting him keep it across your back as the other rested along his forearm. Another quieter whisper from your lips passed the air against the wind and waves. “You were perfect, I’m sorry I made you worry you had done anything wrong. I promise it is the opposite.”

For a good moment it was quiet between the two of you, the world never allowing you such quiet moments together it felt like. Not ones you could enjoy so freely. Never would you have imagined sitting on the shores of Dragonstone with Jon, being free to cuddle into his side with no scare of being caught. It was hard to get used too, being allowed to be seen as his.

Jon was quiet when he finally spoke, “You don’t have too.” Your brows narrowed in question but didn’t move away from him. “Marry me, I mean. I shouldn’t have said it, I’m not trying to pressure you into it or..” His eyes closed for a moment and the weight was felt mutual between both of you. “I don’t want you thinking I’m trying to replace Robb.”

If his voice had rasped out quietly, your own whisper was breathless and somehow even quieter after a good minute passed in the winds. “I don’t love one of you more then the other. Robb will always be part of me, and there wasn’t a second I was with him where what we shared wasn’t pure. He deserved to be loved and I wanted to be that for him. But you deserve to be loved as well.”

Pulling his arm through the gentle hold you had, Jon properly wrapped an arm around you and tugged you right up into his side, your hands drifting across his front. One closer to his waist and the other drifting up and down where you both knew the scars sat. His voice a husk in your ear, “You can keep your name.” A hum left your throat as Jon turned to bury part of his face into your hair like a crutch of muffling support. “You took Robb’s name when you married him. You should keep that. There isn’t much honour in going from a Stark to a Snow.”

This time you pulled from him with something frustrated in your eyes, and a wide insecurity in his that was softer then he had any right being. But as you sat there, your heart begged and pleaded. He did everything for everyone else, and for once you weren’t going to let him deny something that he never thought he’d have. “I became a Stark when I married Robb, but marrying you means I’m marrying you. You’re a Snow, which would make me one. That’s all there is too it-”

He swallowed harshly, a tear in his voice from years of something he tried to bury. “I can’t ask you to do that. Or make you force that onto our children.” Shaking his head slightly, he fought between pulling away from you and burying his face in your neck but chose to stay quite still, looking out to the waving tides rippling gold across the waters. “I used to be so scared of getting you pregnant. Always fighting how much I wanted to know what being with you would be like, and how much I knew any child we accidentally had, would be a Snow. How much everyone would look down on you for it, hate me for ruining your honour. How much everyone would judge whatever son or daughter we had for what I did to you. That’s why I wasn’t ready that day, why I hesitated. I couldn’t stop thinking about how I’d be ruining my own child’s life just beacuse I wanted to be with his mother.”

That day was still vivid for both. You had found fear that was normal for woman, whatever gentle and innocent touches and pleasure you had explored together were nothing compared to the act itself of sex. You were too scared of it at the time, and you hated the idea of disappointing Jon beacuse of it.

“I had a lot other boys didn’t, but it didn’t change that being a bastard was lonely, and miserable. I thought, that's no life for a child. Would always think that whatever children you had deserved so much more.”

You had never really spoken about it, not so directly, but the panic in your veins of that moment and what you begged of Robb in that anxiety and hurt never left you. It never left you how much your desperation had scared him, and how much you both looked to the other with such love and hope when he assured you.

“Tell me we’ll love him, our son, tell me that we’ll both be here to love him.”

The way Robb pulled you into his arms, resting your face soothingly in his neck as his hand ran gently across your then smooth, healthy stomach with a son named Ned.

“We will love him, together. It’s not just you and me now. It’s us. All three of is, now and always.

Your own voice cracked and it caught Jon’s attention, the sting in his eyes whipping over to yours as you now were the one looking to the sea. “When I finally told Robb I was pregnant-”

“Finally?” You turned to him slightly and he pushed passed the water in your eyes to as, “You said when you finally told him. You kept it a secret?”

Nodding, you wiped at the tears. Fruitlessly knowing more would fall in their place. “We were deep in the Westlands, marching onto Harrenhal, Theon had betrayed us..Catelyn had went behind our backs and released Jaime Lannister,”

You continued on, but that was simply one more tidbit of a story Jon knew not a thing about. A memory that did come to him though, was the only time he’d ever spoken to him. At the time, he thought he was being mocked. Speaking to him like a boy who knew nothing of the world and that he was a fool for taking the black. But he also had mentioned you.

Telling him he hoped Jon had gotten a “Nice, good pretty eyeful of her while you still have the chance. Beyond the reach of the law once you swear your vows, right? Do one last dishonourable thing with such a pretty girl before you never can again.”

Turning to look intently at you, he did briefly feel shame thinking how beautiful you looked with tears running down your cheeks. Letting yourself express your heart so painfully when alone with him in ways you so rarely ever let yourself even feel. “I was so scared he was going to be mad. That I was adding one more thing onto his shoulders but then I told him..and for the first time in a very long time..I finally felt like home. I felt like I found something I truly wanted.”

But he knew, you didn’t just look shocked that day these visions collided at the same instance, you almost looked devastated. “All I could think of was, how much I didn’t want our child to ever grow up the way you were forced to. That no matter where we were or what our lives looked like, I wanted our son to have Robb and I there for him, to know he was always loved no matter what.” You inhaled shakily before finally coming to what was caught in your throat. “You never had to be called a Stark for me to love you, and me being a Snow, our children being a Snow doesn’t change that. We’ll love them together, and that’s what matters. Anyone else has a problem with their name, we could always throw them off the top of the wall.”

Jon actually laughed, a bright charming smile as he laughed deeply. You had been spending too much time with Tormund.

Turning your face by your cheek to look at him, you found one of your hands reaching to run gently along his facial hair at his jaw in return. Running his thumb along your cheek before his voice came out low but full but in a tint of playfulness, “Don’t imagine Stannis and Selyse are going to be very happy having their grandchild be called Snow.”

Leaning so your breathe would dance along his skin as you spoke, you moved the touch on his jaw to run light as a feather across his bottom lip with a breathy laugh. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I’ve never done anything that’s made them happy before, no reason to start trying now.”

Jon shook his head, but was the one to pull you into a kiss first anyways. Cupping the back of your head as it almost instantly was more heated then the tears on your cheeks would ask for. Only pulling from your lips long enough to murmur against them with a chuckle, “We are a mess, aren’t we?” You breathily laughed into him back, letting him return right back to kissing you deep enough you had to settle your hands on his shoulders to keep from falling back.

Wrapping an arm around you, Jon beckoned you to stand up with him. Only giving perhaps half a second for you to keep steady on two feet before that arm moved to your hip, and his other hand slid to hold you partially by your jaw and neck as he pushed you into the rocks behind.

Crowding you in an instant his kiss deepened, already leaving you feeling breathless and lightheaded against him. His lips were always so utterly soft and yet they also were so rough with you, leaving a tingling against them as he bit at your bottom lip before kissing you deep once more. Your hands slid up his chest and wrapped gently behind his neck. His tongue gently running across your lips and yet as you went to grant him permission, Jon pulled back enough to bite your lip to pull a gasp.

Only sliding his tongue into your mouth as you did so, the hand on your neck tilting you up to surrender to him. Tongue brushing with yours and hand pulling your hip more as he pressed his hips into you. He swallowed the whine with a growl as you felt him harden beneath the layers. Jon pulled more and more whines into his mouth from you, kissing you rougher and deeper every instance after he would grind his covered cock into you harsher. The hand on your neck moving down, reaching to your other hip and almost shifting you both to be at his mercy.

Slightly now leaning over you against the rocks behind, your hips pressed into the front of his as he pulled back from your lips. Red and swollen as his eyes black scouring the bite marks he left against your own lips. Consuming you with his dark, unmoving eyes as he knew you were growing more wet under the simple layers of your dress. One hand pressed beside your head as he leaned in, his cock twitching against you as he grew harder and harder every rut.

His voice rasped deep and sultry as his eyes looked sharp and narrowed down at you, “Always loose my mind with I’m with you..” Leaning more so his lips brushed against yours but still stared you down, his strength alone enough you couldn’t move away from him if you tried. If the twitch of his cock spoke anything, he enjoyed that you looked almost on the air of intimidated, only able to breathlessly gaze up at him in a needy awe as you burned the more he grinded his hard, covered cock against you. “I get anywhere near you,” The hand on your hip grasped the skirt of your dress as you whimpered at the force and yanked it up almost exposing you entirely were Jon not right against you, “All I can think of is how I shouldn’t have any duties that aren’t burying my cock deep inside you.”

You knew Robb said things like that to be vulgar, to tease how weak it made you. But you shivered at the darkness in Jon’s eyes, and how he almost barely seemed to register he said anything. That all this only spilled out of his mouth not to rile you up, but beacuse it was so deep in his brain that it came out on instinct. It didn’t used to be this intense between you, but all your brain told you to do was submit.

Submit like a good mate and let your White Wolf do whatever he wanted, but there was something else still hiding in your mind. Something that knew he’d never ask for it again. He never asked in the first place, but you desperately wanted to give back. Make Jon feel good beacuse he deserved to.

So your hands at his chest gently pushed him back. Not enough to move him or to even give you much in the way of room. But enough to press a light kiss to his lips and a tender loving one on his neck as you whispered, letting your hands run down his chest. “I want to make you feel good first.”

His face twisted slightly as if not realizing what you meant as he rasped, “You always make me feel good, darling.” But that wasn’t what you meant, and Jon only grasped it as he muttered a very light, almost inaudible, “..fuck..” as you so gently and almost with a pure and innocent softness bright in your eyes, let him keep you pressed tight against the rocks as you dropped to your knees.

Jon swallowed harshly, closing his eyes for a moment before looking up to the sky as if pleading for mercy as you ran your hands so gently along his thighs and hips like a massage. Not moving at all to pull him out until he looked back down at you, that same plead silently asking you to get up for him but you stayed kneeled. “Jon,” His hand ran along the sides of your hair, “Please, will you let me make you feel good? Can I suck your cock?”

Inhaling deeply, Jon’s jaw clenching so tight he ran hand along your hair now cupping the back of your head, he seemed to not risk anything, saying nothing. Only nodding yes, as he raked along your hair as you so carefully moved. Only giving enough room to pull his cock out as it already sat hard, red and leaking cum. Gently, you licked almost like a kitten at the thickness along him, before running your tongue and lips down the length of his cock with as much gentle touch a you did everything else.

Something burned in your chest, desperate to just show him a pleasure he always deserves but so rarely ever let himself have. Slowly letting your tongue brush the length of his cock before licking his tip once more. Eyes sliding shut as you slowly took him into your mouth, a deep grunt trapped in his chest trying not to lose it. Ever so slowly, you let the saliva build up in your mouth as you took him inch by inch, your hands flexing as you held by his hips.

You almost had no choice but to take him deep, so little room was behind you including his hand in your hair. Jon was breathing heavily above you to keep collected and feeling like he wasn’t succeeding. A low hum in your throat vibrated against his cock, something that both overwhelmed your senses letting him slide deep into your mouth but truly didn’t want to stop.

Almost two thirds of the way, you begun to bob your head along him, sucking him as with each slide inside your mouth deep did Jon’s hand on your hair tighten. Not controlling your movements, but almost keeping himself grounded as his muscles tensed.

He was heavy on your tongue, and your jaw already aching from the stretch but you whined at the feeling of him deep enough that it once more tested your inner panic. Taking the rest of his cock until he reached the back of your throat, your nose pressed against the coarse hair around the base of him you slid almost all the way of his length before smoothly gliding back as deep. Each pull back on his cock you sucked him with your own need making your thighs ache to press together.

There was something about being with you that made Jon feel as if you continued to bring things out in him he never knew would rile him up this much. Being outside, one could come across the two of you, and see their fierce and headstrong Queen so willingly down on her knees before the King in the North. Something perverse in Jon almost found the idea of someone catching you two like this appealing. As if it made him feel ever more turned on, as if he dared anyone to catch you both, fighting the fantasy in his veins if someone did see.

You wouldn’t even know if someone was watching, not while you were soaking his cock deep in your warm mouth, and he wondered if you two were caught, would Jon even try and pull you off him?

Or would he let the possessive wolf inside him, force them to watch, knowing that seeing you so eagerly sucking Jon’s thick cock would be the closest any would or could ever get to having you for themselves. Jon knew if he were a worse man, he may have chained and gagged Ramsay and forced him to watch you give everything to Jon that the vile man tried taking violently from you.

Take you apart with every bit of sanity you had left until Jon’s touch was all which would keep you tethered to the earth. And only killing Ramsay once he finished watching Jon take for himself, everything that the man wrongly thought belonged to him.

If it were possible, the image of getting caught as Jon was slid so deep in your mouth, or just as he came heavily down your sweet, sensitive throat, made him almost throb harder.

He still was trying to stay quiet, couldn’t bury his grunts or growls in your kiss and all he could do was try and not to shove your head right back down to take his entire length. Gritting his teeth as his knuckles turned white gripping your hair, he felt himself clawing closer and closer to the end.

You felt his cock throbbing in your mouth, and you only felt both the desperate beg inside to give you a moment to breathe but also finding yourself more eager to help coax him to that end. Wanting him to feel good the way he always insisted doing for you instead.

Murmuring your name, Jon was trying to pull you off his cock and through a rough husking tone he hissed out as your mouth soaked him, “You- gods you really want me like this, you want me to spill down your throat?” Like he couldn’t comprehend why you would actually want to swallow his cum, the thick, warm seed that you had no logical way of explaining in the moment, that you desperately needed.

Only, just as Jon begun to call out your name, he throbbed inside your mouth and looked down at you with a clenched jaw breathing heavily. “You’re too good to me. So fucking good, my beautiful girl..you don’t have to do this..I just..fuck, I only need your cunt..”

But as you took him deeply, you felt him pull your head close to his hips, once again pressed right up against the dark hair around the base of his cock, and this time it was your whimper that did him in. A gentle hold on his hips and a tender moan around him had Jon shake. Spilling deep down your throat with a rasping growl of your name, his hand kept you pressed as deep as he could sink in your mouth but he almost massaged your hair, raking through it more gentle then he had any right being as he fed you all of his thick cock’s seed.

You moaned and the muffled gag of you trying to swallow all of him, feeling almost more worked up at how good it felt and how wet it made you, to feel him spill so deeply down your throat and into your stomach.

But he wasn’t done once he pulled you off, no, this time Jon yanked you up to your feet. Shoving you against the wall as he hovered over you, pulling the skirt of your dress up only enough to grasp hold of the thin fabric covering you from him.

In Jon’s mind he couldn’t hear or see the world around him, only you. And the feeling of your covering soaked did Jon hide his face in your neck. Biting and kissing roughly as he tore the fabric off of you, pressing you into the rocks more when you whined against him.

One hand moved under the flowing fabric to run his cock along your soaking wet entrance while the other cupped your cheek, pulling you into an urgent kiss. Jon sparing not much time before he sunk his cock as deep as he could. Using his hold to shove you more against the rock, keeping one of your legs bent up and wide as he never pulled any more then a few inches out of you.

Your insides twisted like a coiling metal ready to snap as Jon kissed you, your own hands unable to do anything but grasp at his shoulders. All but forcing your lips to part so he could slide his tongue in your mouth, Jon begun to thrust up into you, but this wasn’t the slow start he took his time with.

He kept a hand behind your head keeping you against the mercy of his kiss as the other kept you stretched wide for him as Jon pounded into you. Were the tides and waves not mixing with the covers of wind, someone might have heard the desperate sound of Jon moving to kiss down your neck. Not even with bites, just presses of lips as he felt his heart desperate to just have you close.

Cock pounding into you fast, and somewhat rough especially keeping you on a gasping, pleading edge of his name as the sensitivity of your walls were dragged along once more. Every time his cock was deep you felt no more breathe in your lungs. Hands urgently pulling his hair loose, Jon shifted you up more so you could bury your face between his hair and in his neck and holding onto him tightly with little more then moans.

He asked nothing of you, only holding you there as he fucked into your soaked cunt almost coating his cock even more with your own wetness that were he to have you alone in a room would have been a beautiful soaking sound each time his hips slapped into yours.

It looked like nothing more but a desperate, fast and rough fuck but Jon held you and you held him back burying the other to hide close. Jon holding your head close hiding in your hair as he felt you clench around him and only then did he pull back enough. Making you look at him as you were dangled on his cock asking to let you cum, Jon’s eyes less black and more of a needing grey as he whispered roughly and raspily to you, “It’s alright, darling, you can let go. I want you to cum for me, I promise, please cum for me..I need to feel you, I need you so much..”

Your head only nodded as something close to tears wanted to fall at how raw his voice mixed lust and a gentle need while his cock sped you towards an orgasm and as soon as you gasped, grasping his hair and pleading his name did he find his own end only seconds after your own orgasm snapped bright and flooding passionately within you. Clenching hard around him whimpering his name meekly.

Spilling deeply inside of you as you clenched and soaked his cock, he kept you on him the entire length sunk so deep inside you as he shook against you. Both burying your faces into the others neck and hair until you felt every last bit of his thick, warm cum spill deeply inside.

Breathing heavily against one another, Jon kissed you gently when you whimpered as he pulled out of your cunt. Your skirt dropping back down to cover you while you gently pulled away from him enough to cover him back up properly as well.

Still breathing heavily, your hands fell to his waist as Jon’s ran along your hair before tilting you up for a kiss. Not greedy or pushing, but an intimate kiss that spoke of love you had so long had to pretend never existed. Pulling away to press one against your forehead before resting against yours with his until he knew you were calming back down to earth.

His voice was strained and rough as he spoke quietly through a gentle laugh. “Seven hells..I don’t know what came over me, I'm sorry..” You laughed back more freely, a charming brightness in his eyes as you both laughed against one another much more innocently for the desperate fuck just seconds earlier.

You ran your hand through his hair, looking up to his bright grey eyes. “Why do I suspect you aren’t actually that sorry?”

His grin grew brighter, kissing you once more as he whispered playfully against your lips. “Probably beacuse I’m not.” Leaving another kiss to your lips, and then to your forehead as he tilted you down to leave it there, your hands pressed along his chest before he pulled you into his arms.

If Jon had decided he was sure about one thing, it was what he said after everything was settled the night before. Brewing moontea for you as he had you lay under the sheets to relax, knowing no matter what you claimed of feeling fine, he had gone more rough then he intended. Telling you almost casually, that he wasn’t getting you pregnant for the first time anywhere but his own bed in Winterfell.

He was however, as the two of you made your way back up to the castle, considering to what degree of uncomfortable a conversation would it be to go back to Maester Pylos so soon. There was no getting around that he was going to know that perhaps Jon had an appetite for you a bit more high and demanding then what the man was expecting on the first request for it.

Jon knew he felt eyes, but had no idea that there had been more then one pair, watching the entire time you had been passionately wrapped up in each other along the isolated shores of Dragonstone.

One pair of eyes that almost crawled like a spider, but the other was one that none could guess.

#jon snow x reader #robb stark x reader #jon snow #robb stark #game of thrones #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf #jon snow x you #robb stark x you #jon snow imagine #robb stark imagine

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divine-knight-hand · 1 year

Text

Mining Pains (Haley x Reader)

Haley Masterlist || Full Masterlist || Read on AO3

Pairing: Wife!Haley x Female Farmer!Reader

Summary: After reaching level forty-five of the mines, it’s time for Pelican Town’s favorite farmer to fight for the safety of her wife, Haley.

Warnings: Slight gore (Nothing too scary, tho), a teensy bit of angst, and fluff all the way.

Word count: 3,182

Dividers by @cute-sushi-roll

“Haley, I would really prefer if you were back home, where it’s safe.” I insisted. As much as I enjoyed my wife’s company in the mines, I’d never brought her past level forty, and we were currently on level forty-four. I was wary enough going this deep into the mine system on my own. Bringing Haley with me would be a whole other battle.

Usually, I brought her along with me when I needed to grab basic materials like stone, coal, or copper for the farm. I would gather these while fighting off monsters, and Haley would hold torches in the darker areas of the mines, sometimes wielding a slingshot when things got a little hairy.

This time, Clint asked me to gather some iron for his tool upgrade service. I obliged, and Haley was more than eager to insist on coming with me. Being the pushover that I was when it came to making my wife happy, I reluctantly agreed.

I donned black overalls over a long-sleeve red sweater, with thick brown boots. Haley wore a long-sleeve light blue sweater with her favorite pink skirt over a pair of light blue leggings, with some pink sneakers.

With our outfits picked out, and our spelunking gear gathered, we headed into the mines by Robin’s house, and It was only by sheer luck that we hadn’t run into anything intense yet.

She spoke up as we approached the ladder down to the next level, “Don’t worry about me, honey. I want to help you. Besides, it’s like an adventure!” She squealed on the last sentence, clearly excited.

Once we made it down the ladder, I felt a small wave of relief at the sight of the elevator, accompanied by its usual light-hearted ding, as if it was happy to see me, too.

Haley skipped ahead, “How much iron did Clint ask for, anyways? Do you think he needs a lot?”

I paused to check my backpack. Clint asked for five iron bars. So far, we only had enough iron to make three.

I sighed to myself and responded, “Just a little more. We shouldn’t be too much longer.”

We advanced deeper into the cavern. The air was still and dank, untouched by the crisp winds above surface level. I would have considered this place serene, had these walls not housed some of the deadliest monsters in Pelican Town.

“AH!” Haley’s scream snapped me out of my thoughts. I realized that I fell behind as we walked, and I rushed over to where Haley fumbled for her slingshot, nervously shuffling away from a small green slime.

I chuckled, my heart slowing back to a normal pace as I drew my sword and slayed it in one slash. Me and Haley then both jumped back to avoid the resulting splash of green slime.

“Yuck.” Haley stared down at the slime spattered against the floor, “That was a close one…”

“You’re telling me.” I sheathed my sword before approaching her and placing my hands on her shoulders, “I assume this means you’re okay, then?”

Haley smiled at me, “Yes, honey. I’m okay. I promise.” She leaned forward until our foreheads touched.

I closed my eyes and sighed, “If you say so… but I’d still like to take you home.”

I felt her arms snake their way around my waist, “Don’t worry about me. Please.”

My eyes fluttered open and I could see that hers were still closed, like she was waiting for something. She was waiting for me.

I traced my thumb along her jaw, feeling her shudder under my touch, “Haley…” I breathed.

Suddenly, a wispy blue fog slowly rolled in to cloud the air around us, and I heard a distant squeaking. Damnit!

Haley felt me freeze and her eyes flew open, “What’s going on? Are you- AHHHHHH! BEHIND YOU!” We jumped apart and I turned to see a swarm of bats flying straight toward us, the squeaking sounds growing in volume as they neared us.

I turned back to Haley and grabbed her shoulders, slightly shaking her to emphasize my next command, “Haley. Elevator. Now. Go!”

She quickly nodded and I let go of her so we could run to the elevator. I instantly regretted my choice of shoes. Though my boots were great for crossing rocky terrain, they were also heavy and slowed me down significantly. Haley, who made the smarter choice of a light pair of sneakers, sped ahead.

I looked over my shoulder to see the swarm gaining on me. Damnit! When I turned to look back ahead, I saw Haley reach the elevator and turn back to me, fear etched into her features as she saw that I still had ground to cover. I knew then that if she waited until I made it into the elevator to close the door, we’d be stuck with a bat-filled ride to the surface. That would have been less than ideal. I had one idea left to keep her completely safe.

“Close the door!” I shouted as I slowed to a walk.

“What?!” Haley went pale in the face, “Are you crazy?!”

“Just close it!” I repeated.

Haley shifted with discomfort, “But-”

“CLOSE IT!” I roared. I never really liked yelling at her, but this was really important. I had to get her to listen.

Haley jumped at my shout, looking a little sad before finally obliging and closing the elevator door. It was all up to me now.

I quickly turned and unsheathed my sword, ready to take on the giant ominous swarm that approached me. Here goes nothing.

I flicked my sword in a quick circle before swiping at the mob in front of me. Three bats drew back and squeaked in pain. The rest of the swarm approached me, some coming at me from the side. I quickly dodged backward before lunging at the mob in front of me. I nailed two more bats before one of them snuck behind me and bit my arm.

I let out a yelp, more out of frustration than pain, and smacked it away with my hand, stomping it into the ground when it fell. Those few seconds were all the swarm needed to distract me before they saw an opportunity to swoop in and strike.

Three bats bit and clawed at my other arm, the one I was holding my sword with. I dropped it in surprise, giving three more an opportunity to attack my left side.

All I saw was a blur of black, accompanied by the occasional pair of red eyes. One scratched my cheek. Several bit my legs. I groaned and fell to the floor, unaware of how bad my injuries were or how much I was bleeding out.

The bites were so deep, I felt a jolt of pain blast through my body with each one. As the bats grew bolder, the bites and scratches grew more frequent.

I desperately looked at my sword, lying tantalizingly close to me, yet too far to be of any actual use to me. I strained against the bats to reach for it, only to receive more bites and scratches on my outstretched hand.

Tears sprung to my eyes as the stinging sensations continued to grow in intensity. I began to feel dizzy, almost unable to focus on anything. The squeaks were deafening in my ears. I struggled through blurry vision as the black blobs continued to bite and scratch me.

“Come on.” I softly coaxed myself as I began dragging myself toward my sword. The bats must have sensed my newfound determination, because their bites and scratches began assailing me with more speed than ever before.

I gritted my teeth against the pain and kept pushing myself, moving closer to my sword. I was finally able to grab the handle, and I picked up my sword to turn it against the attacking swarm.

I slashed against the swarm, scaring them back long enough to be able to rise unsteadily to my feet. Once I somewhat gained my footing, I continued attacking the bats, and they began dropping like flies. Some kept trying to sneak up on me from behind, but I saw them and was able to turn and slash them each time.

Finally, I defeated the last bat, and I sat in the newfound silence of the cavernous room around me. The fog rolled away, leaving me in the middle of the carnage I created. After fighting what felt like a million bats, only about eight corpses lay around me.

I hissed at the sudden jolt of pain in my body and looked down. My outfit had numerous tears all over it, decorated in between tears with blood and dirt, and I was actively bleeding from places that I often overlooked on normal days. My head swam, and I fell to my knees before crawling toward the elevator, still dizzy from battle.

“Haley…” I groaned, “Haley… It’s safe now.”

The door opened and I heard her audibly gasp, “Oh my Yoba! What happened?!” She helped me into the elevator, an action that ignited the pain all over me again. I couldn’t help but let out a loud groan, “We have to get you to Harvey.”

I leaned my head against the cool wall of the elevator as she pressed the level zero button, “It’s late. He’s closed…”

“Trust me.” Haley insisted as the doors closed, “I think he’ll take this emergency call.” The elevator began to move and she crouched over me, “Where does it hurt?”

I looked into her eyes, willing myself not to drown in the ocean blue as I groaned, “Everywhere…”

The sad look returned to her eyes, “This looks really bad. I don’t think I can walk you to the hospital like this.”

I raised my hand and cupped it against her cheek, “Haley…”

She held my hand and I winced as a stinging sensation came alive in it. I then watched as Haley slid my backpack off my shoulders and dug inside.

“A-ha!” She pulled out a roll of gauze and got to work on my overalls, quickly dropping them around my hips before raising my shirt over my arms. Her resulting gasp bounced around in the small elevator.

I looked down to see that I looked a lot worse off underneath my clothes. My bra somehow remained intact, but blood oozed out of all the bite and scratch marks that covered me. I shuddered as the cold air brushed against my skin. It almost relieved the pain. Almost.

“Hold still.” Haley began wrapping my arm in gauze, “Hopefully, this should slow your bleeding until we can get to Harvey.” She shifted to begin wrapping my torso before adding, “I think I saw this in one of those doctor shows, once.”

I chuckled at this before wincing at the motion. All I could do painlessly was watch as my wife poured over me, focus knitting her brows. Damn! She looks sexy when she’s focused.

I accidentally let part of my idea slip out of my mouth, so Haley heard, “Mmn…Sexy…”

She looked at me and raised her eyebrows, “Oh, Yoba! You’re delirious already?!” I wasn’t really concerned. I just wanted her to kiss me… Maybe I was delirious.

She finished wrapping my torso and other arm before helping me back into my clothes, “Sorry! There isn’t enough to do your legs.”

“Sssfine…” I mumbled.

She then helped me to my feet and wrapped my arm around her shoulders, and we stepped out of the elevator as soon as the doors opened.

I leaned against Haley’s body, trying, with extreme difficulty, to keep most of my weight off of her as we left the mines. The sky was dark, but little stars in the sky lit our way through the darkness. All was quiet. All was calm. It was nice.

As we walked, I caught a whiff of something and turned towards Haley to take a deeper sniff. Somehow, the scent of her shampoo survived our trip into the depths.

“Strawberries and cream…” I sighed into her hair.

“I know it’s your favorite shampoo of mine.” She softly giggled as we passed Robin’s house.

A beat of silence passed as we approached the community center. Haley sighed, “I was so worried in there.”

“Hmm?” I stumbled before Haley quickly caught me and we kept moving. My legs hurt so badly. It felt like they were getting pricked and stabbed over and over. I just hoped we were close to the hospital.

“You were defending me while I just stood around doing nothing.” She frowned, “Just shows how useless I am.” I squinted as the darkness and my dizziness worked against my eyes, threatening to hide my wife’s face from me.

We were nearing Pierre’s general store as I tried to reassure her, “No… You’re not…”

We finally made it to the door of the hospital and Haley knocked harshly on the door, “Don’t worry about that now. We’re here.”

I let out a deep sigh, frustrated that my body was giving out, unable to keep up with my mind. It was a miracle I didn’t pass out already, but that wasn’t enough for me. After a heartbeat of silence, Haley knocked again.

“Harvey!” She called, “Harvey! Please, come out!” She knocked again, “Harvey, please!”

I wanted to be able to hold her and reassure her that everything was alright. That I would be fine and that she was the exact opposite of useless. That I appreciated her trying new things with me, helping me on the farm, and even joining me in the mines. I wanted to say that I loved her so much that the idea of not having her around could drive me crazy.

But all I could do was watch as the hospital door slowly cracked open and the edges of my vision slowly went black, “Haley? OH MY YOBA!!!” Harvey’s face contorted with pure shock and horror once his eyes landed on me, “What happened to you two?!”

“I’m fine!” Haley responded, “It’s her! She needs help.” Every voice began to sound like I was listening to it from underwater.

Harvey opened the door and beckoned us inside, “Come in! Let me help.”

The black at the edges of my vision slowly rolled in, and my body began to feel heavy.

“Alm.. th… ay?” Haley said something that was really difficult to hear, “...d on… St’a… ttl… thr…”

All I could do was softly sigh before everything went black.

━━━━ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ━━━━

When I came to, I found myself on one of the hospital beds. Haley sat next to me, holding my hand. It was bandaged up, along with the rest of my body. Other than the bandages, the only thing covering me was a lightweight blanket.

“You’re awake!” Haley teared up, “I’m so happy!”

“What happened?” I didn’t think I had the strength to bring my voice above a mumble, yet.

“Harvey had to do a blood transfusion.” She brought her other hand to hold mine in both of hers, “But he was struggling to find a match for you.”

A match? Someone in Pelican Town had the same blood type as me? My mind raced, “Who was it?”

“He’s in the other room.” She was dodging the question.

“Haley.” I tried to bring her back on track.

“Harvey’s giving him some cookies and juice to get his energy back up.” Clearly, that didn’t work.

“Haley…” I tried again.

“And Harvey says you should be up and running again in as little as a few days. Isn’t that great?” Damn! She’s persistent.

“Haley, please! Answer the question. Who was my match?”

Haley sighed, “Okay, okay… You matched with Alex.”

WHAT?! I refused to believe it. There was no way Alex would help me. Last time I checked, we didn’t particularly like each other.

“I know it’s hard to believe,” Haley started, “But he’s a good person.”

“Color me surprised.” I dryly remarked.

“Forget that,” She dismissed, “Though I expect you to thank him later.”

“I will.” I sighed.

Haley just chuckled to herself, “I know you will. You’re very kind.” I smirked at her before she continued, “You’re very kind to me, at least.” She brushed some of my hair away from my face, “What did I do to deserve you?”

“Haley,” I started, “Don’t say that.”

“It’s true!” She frowned, “You got hurt really badly, just for me.”

“I couldn’t bear to live in a world where I let you get hurt.” I pulled her hands up to my face to give them an affectionate kiss, “You mean the world to me, Lee. Remember that.”

“How?” Haley sniffled, tears collecting in her eyes again, “All I’m good for is taking stupid pictures, reading magazines, and going shopping. I’m useless! No, now I’m worse than useless. I’m a burden! How could you love someone like me? How could you risk getting hurt this badly for me? I try helping out in the mines to make myself useful, but look at what I did.” Her tears began spilling over her cheeks, “This is all my fault.”

I decided to take this moment to sit up. I groaned at the pain of the movement, but it wasn’t bad enough to keep me down, “Haley,” I framed her face with my hands, “None of this is your fault. You are precious to me. That’s why I wanted to protect you. By the way, your photos are beautiful. They’re works of art. It’s a wonder they aren’t in one of those magazines you like reading.” She sadly smiled, and I wiped away another tear with my thumb before continuing, “And I would take you shopping an infinite amount of times if it meant getting to see that little sparkle of joy in your eyes when I get you a cute new skirt. You don’t have to earn my love, Lee. You had it from the moment I laid eyes on you.”

I pulled her in and kissed her on the cheek before resting my face in the crook of her neck, “You are not a burden. You’re the love of my life. You’re my highest privilege.”

I felt her wrap her arms around me, and it barely hurt when she did, “You really mean that?”

“I do.” I kissed her again, before trailing rapid kisses around her face and neck, breathing in between each one, “I do. I do. I do. I do…”

She softly giggled, “I love you.”

I broke my streak of kisses to look her in her eyes, “I love you, too, Lee. I love you so much.” I kissed her forehead, “The moment I make you believe otherwise is the moment I’ve failed as your wife.”

“Impossible.” She smiled, “You’re the best wife in the world.”

“Thank you,” I smirked, “But I think my wife is a lot cooler than yours.”

A light pink dusted her cheeks as she giggled, “Maybe we can settle for a tie?”

“Maybe.” I held Haley to my chest and we both sighed in content and comfort, “Maybe…”

#stardew valley #haley stardew valley #haley x reader #fluff #a bit of violence #romance in the mines

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