#being a rider is already part of him without him knowing
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Kamen Rider Geats (2022)
Episode 39
#kamen rider geats#sakurai keiwa#kekera#kamen rider tycoon#I love how he jumped to save people even though he’s not a rider anymore#he’s just keiwa but he’s still a rider by heart#i love tycoon#all the people who hurt him betrayed him and manipulated him need to get out of his life tho#he tried to live a normal life this time bc that’s enough trauma and danger he and his only family went thro by being a rider#but he still wrote it on paper#being a rider is already part of him without him knowing#GIF
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regency era!ghost x reader au (part 3)
The social calendar brought you and Duke Simon Riley together once again, this time at the annual charity horse race organized by Lady Montague. The event was held on the expansive family estate, where the elite of the ton gathered to watch, place bets, and socialize in the exhilarating clamor of neighing horses and cheering spectators.
You stood by the paddock, watching the horses being paraded before the race. The sun was warm on your face, and the air was brimming with excitement. You had always enjoyed the thrill of horse racing, and today was no exception. As you chat with friends, discussing the prospects of the various riders, you feel a presence beside you.
Turning, you find Simon standing there, his eyes fixed on the horses. He looks as stern as ever, his jaw set in a hard line.
“Your Grace,” you say, bowing your head slightly. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Lady Montague was quite insistent,” he replies, not bothering to look at you or greet you properly. You huff at his impoliteness, already wanting to rid of him. “I couldn’t refuse her invitation.”
“Of course,” you say, a hint of sarcasm creeping into your voice. “It’s your duty, even at a charity event.”
He finally glances at you, his eyes narrowing. “Yes, duty. Something I believe you understand, though our interpretations seem to differ.”
You bristle at his tone but keep your composure. “Is there no place where we can avoid bickering, Mister Riley?”
“I could ask you the same, my lady,” he shoots back, voice gruff.
Before you could retort, Lady Montague’s voice rings out, calling for everyone’s attention. The races are about to begin, and you move toward the grandstand, taking a seat with a group of your friends. To your dismay, Simon took a seat not far from you; you turn your nose up, trying your best to ignore him.
The first few races pass without incident, the crowd cheering and clapping as the horses and riders thundered past the finish line. When the final race of the day was about to start, the crowd grew quiet, everyone on the edge of their seat to see who would win their bets.
The race began, and you found yourself caught up in the excitement, leaning forward in your seat as the horses sprinted around the track. Just as the horse in the lead was about to cross the finish line, another horse stumbled, causing a chain reaction that sent several horses and their riders crashing into the ground. Gasps and shouts filled the air, and you stood up in shock, watching the chaos unfold.
Without a second thought, you hurry down the grandstand, making your way toward the track to see if anyone was seriously hurt. As you reach the scene, you see Simon already there, helping one of the fallen riders to his feet.
You spot another rider struggling to get up, your heart pounding in your chest, adrenaline coursing through your veins.
You start to push through the crowd, but before you could make your way towards the rider, Simon steps in front of you, blocking your path.
Despite your urgency to help the injured rider, Simon's abrupt intervention halts your progress, and frustration bubbles within you. You lock eyes with him, ready to demand an explanation for his interference, but before you can speak, he raises a hand in a commanding gesture.
"Wait," he says, his tone firm and authoritative. "It's too dangerous."
Your eye twitches at his presumption, your concern for the injured rider outweighing any patience you might have mustered. "I can't just stand by and do nothing," you retort, your voice edged with frustration.
"You could get hurt," he says, his voice low and stern. "There's a difference between helping and being reckless, my lady."
"And you think I don't know that? Don’t lecture me about recklessness,” you reply, your voice equally low but sharp. "I can’t just stand by and do nothing."
You attempt to move around him, and he grabs your arm gently but firmly, his grip insistent. His hand feels hot against your skin. “Please, trust me on this,” he implores, his voice resolute. “I can’t believe you are so stubborn that you would try to put yourself in harm’s way without thinking.”
"I am thinking!" you snap. “I’m thinking about those riders, the horses, and—"
"And not about your own safety," he interrupts, his voice rising. "Which is exactly my point."
You go silent at that, swallowing your words.
Simon presses his fingers into the flesh of your arm a little more firmly, but not uncomfortably. “I understand your desire to help, but rushing in without a plan only adds to the chaos. Let the professionals handle it.”
You hesitate, torn between your desire to help and the logic in Simon’s words. Taking a breath, you relent, biting your tongue and acknowledging the truth in his words. “Fine,” you concede, your voice tight. “But only because it’s the sensible thing to do.”
Simon nods, a flicker of relief passing across his features as he lets go of your arm. "Thank you," he says, his voice genuine, though still laced with his usual aloofness. With that, he turns on his heel and starts directing the crowd.
As Simon takes charge, organizing the crowd and ensuring the injured riders receive prompt medical attention, you step back slightly, watching his authoritative demeanor with an apprehensive appreciation. You can't deny the effectiveness of his approach.
And, despite his usual arrogance and abrasive demeanor, there was something undeniably compelling about the way he handled himself in this moment.
Your gaze lingered on him, the lines of his face etched with determination as he barked orders at the crowd, his every move calculated and precise. For a brief moment, you found yourself seeing him in a different light, the harsh edges of his personality softened by the gravity of the whole situation.
Unexpectedly, Simon's gaze flickers to your direction, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. You quickly avert your eyes, a faint heat flooding into your face at the sudden rush of self-awareness.
You’re left feeling both unsettled and strangely captivated, and you can’t help but wonder if there was more to the Duke than met the eye.
part 2 < > part 4
#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost x reader#simon riley x reader#simon ghost x you#simon ghost x reader#simon riley x you#simon ghost riley x you#simon “ghost” riley x reader#simon “ghost” riley x you#hyperactivelyme#*ੈ✩ simon “ghost” riley
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All Alone - Xaden Riorson x Shy Scribe Reader
Prompt:
I hope you like this! I am definitely not use to writing for a shy quiet reader, but I think this works!
Requests are open if you guys want to send any more in!
The Archives we’re practically empty on the weekends. It was my favourite time to be down here on duty. No one to disrupt me as I wandered around, putting away the books from the week, or trying to find requests for cadets from the other quadrants. The best part was being able to do some reading of my own if there wasn’t much to do.
It was getting later in the day a lot of the other cadets had left for the day. There was only another hour or so left until we could close the door to the other quadrants, so I wasn’t fussed about being on my own inside while the other cadet sat out the front. A loud knock pulls me from my thoughts. I almost think I’ve imagined it, but it happens again. This time louder and more deliberate. I walk back to the centre of the Archives to see a very tall figure standing in the door. His eyes are already on mine as I peer around the corner of the bookshelf. Weird, the cadet at the door should be helping him. I make my way over to him, and as I get closer I realise it’s one of the Wing Leaders of the Riders Quadrant. The son of the rebellion leader. Xaden Riorson.
“Seems your other cadet has abandoned you.” He says as I stand in front of him.
I stick my head out the door, and the seat where another cadet should be is completely empty. Great. They must have walked off without telling me. I was going to half to report this. I look back at Xaden and feel small under his gaze. I had never had much to do with the riders myself, usually opting to be further in the archives and dealing with more difficult book requests. But every time I saw one of them, I just wanted the interaction to be done. They honestly scared me. And the way Xaden held himself, it was hard not to be intimidated by him.
“So it seems. How can I help you wind leader?” I say softly as I bow my head.
He chuckles at me, my eyes slowly moving up to meet his. Even his gaze was intimidating. I swalloed nervously.
”You don’t have to be so formal with me.” He tells me casually.
”You are of a higher rank. I must show respect.” I tell him, causing him to chuckle again.
”Always one for the rules you scribes.” He tries to joke, but I keep my expression neutral. “I have a list from one of the professors for some books and scrolls for next week if you can help me.”
He holds out a piece of parchment with a long list of books and scrolls. This would take me a while to do. Especially on my own. If the other cadet hadn’t left without telling me, I could have this done easily.
”I can have this ready for tomorrow. I’m afraid I am the only one on duty with my other cadet no longer here.” I tell him nervously, worried as to how he will react.
”How about I help you then?” He offers with a tight lipped smile.
I shake my head. “Y-you don’t know where anything is.”
”Then I shall carry everything and reach anything you can’t. Now come on, I don’t want to get locked in here.” He places his hand on my shoulder and guides me back into the archives.
I go to object but the look he gives me tells me he is not budging and I just nod my head and lead us to where we need to go. Xaden does exactly as he says. He grabs a trolley, loading it up with the books I grab and hand to him. And when I am unable to reach something, instead of grabbing the ladders or stools we would usually use, he reaches over me to grab it. Every time he stands right next to me or behind me, my breath catching in my throat as my heart skips a beat. I swear he chuckles a few times, almost as if he can hear it. With his help, it takes no time to grab the books and scrolls he needs for one of his professors. Even quicker than if I had another scribe with me. None of the scribe have the height of Xaden. He had the body and build of a fighter. He takes the trolley from me once we grab the last book on his list as he leads us back to the doors that will take him back to the riders quadrant. When we get to the door I quickly do another check to make sure we grabbed everything on it. I was half expecting Xaden to protest, but he doesn’t. He leans against the archway, arms crossed on his chest as he watches my every move. Happy I have picked everything I turn back to him and hand him the list with a bow of my head.
”Everything should be there.” I tell him quietly.
As he takes the list from my hand his fingers brush mine, I pull them back quickly causing him to laugh at me.
”You seem nervous. Do I make you nervous?” He says quietly as he takes a step towards me. Backing me up till my back hits the trolley.
”N-no.” I stutter out.
”You sure?” He whispers as he leans down.
I gulp as I stare up into his onyx eyes. Were so close I can see golden flecks in them. They’re gorgeous. The clock tower rings out across the college, signalling the hour. The doors to the archives groan as they start to slowly close. And I swear Xaden looks annoyed at the interuption.
”I should probably let you get inside.” He whispers leaning closer. “Can’t have you getting stuck out here with the big scary dragon rider.”
His arm skims my waist as he grabs the handle of the trolley behind me. And as if he is completely unfazed by the interaction, he pushes it away and heads back down the corridor, leaving my frozen in my spot.
“I’ll see you you next week.” He calls over his shoulder before rounding the corner. “Don’t get locked out.”
His words snap me out of my trance, barely making it back into the archives before the doors shut behind me.
#fourth wing#fourth wing fanfic#the empyrean#xaden riorson#the fourth wing#xaden riorson x reader#xaden x reader
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My Lady Strong (II)
Aemond had always been protective of his neice, obssessed even, insiting on keeping her sheltered, and purley his, he never let her stray far and following the incident at Driftmark, Aemma was rarley without Aemond as her shadow. How will the kind, sheltered girl fair in the dance of dragons?
word count: 1,911
CW: violence
Fem!oc x Aemond Targeryen ( can be read as x reader)
Masterlist | series masterlist | previous part | next part
disclamer: i do not own any of claim any of the A song of ice and fire characters, all rights belong to GRR MARTIN, all characters are his except for my OC
A/N thank you soo much for all the likes on the last post, I hope you all enjoy this one!
laughter filled the Godswood as Aemond chased after Aemma, circling the weirwood tree.
Their friendship was admired around the keep, the girl adored by all. Somehow keeping her sweet nature following her brother’s ‘prank’, though she had become timid, often hiding behind Aemond, and never letting go of his hand.
Aemond adored this, he wanted her to be utterly dependent on him, and she was. She listened to what Aemond said, often refused to do something if Aemond did want her to or was unable to come.
It was why her mother considered a match between them following the birth of her newest brother, Joffrey. Aemond had already demanded he one day become her sworn sword once he had completed his training, and she doubted he would accept Aemma’s marriage to anyone but himself.
“Aemma!” he ran up to her, picking her up and spinning around before they fell to the ground in a fit of giggles.
He sighed, turning to his side “My father wishes for me to start attending dragon lessons”.
“Then I shall come also” Aemma declared, grabbing his hand, “then once we have learned we shall claim a dragon together!”
“But Aegon and your brothers will be there” Aemond spoke, trying to deter her.
“so, you don’t want me to come?” she pouted
“of course, but… they’ll be there… and they are nothing but cruel” he insisted “ I do not want them to torment both you and me over having no dragon”.
“But we are Targaryens, so what if we do not have a dragon… we are dragons!” she laughed, “please Aemond, I could not bear to part from you”.
“It will only be for a few hours”
“And what am I to do?” she got up “Wait and sew? No, I shall come!” she demanded
All Aemond could do is sigh in defeat. Though he really he wasn’t sad about it, it was not like he wanted to part from her either.
Her brothers hadn’t expected her to show up. Much to their disappointment, she had kept her distance from her brothers and Aegon for the past year. Truth be told they did not expect the prank to become what it was, to make Aemma cling to Aemond more and more.
At dinners, she sat between their mother and father, eating as fast as possible, and on the odd occasion their grandsire called for a family dinner she would place herself between Aemond and Helaena. not uttering a word to her brothers or Aegon, running away when they were near.
And yet today she showed up, hand in hand with Aemond.
When they had heard Aemond was to start attending lessons in the dragon pit, Aegon had come up with the idea, the prank. And Jace and Luke being the jealous brothers they were more than happy to pull it.
All three of the boys regretted their prank on her and had made efforts to reconcile, all failing, miserably. And this prank would become not just a prank on Aemond, but a prank on her also seeing as her Aemond were an extension of one another, much like a dragon and its rider. what one felt, the other did too. They could almost read each other’s minds, always knowing what the other was thinking or saying.
“Aemond, we have a surprise for you.” Aegon announced, as Jace finished with Vermax.
“Do you have one for me too?” she asked, shyly.
Aegon’s eyes softened, it was the first time she had spoken to him in gods know how long and though he would not and admit it , Aegon had grown a soft spot for the brown-haired girl. “No Aemma, but I’m sure you and Aemond could share” the last part caused Luke to giggle before running of to fetch whatever the surprise was.
“What is it?” Aemond asked, grabbing Aemma’s hand tighter and pulling her into him as Aegon wrapped his arms around his shoulders.
“Something very special” he winked.
“you two are the only ones without a dragon”.
“indeed” Aemond nodded.
“And we felt bad about it, so… we found you one, Aemond” Aegon announced.
“Found one? Where?” Aemma asked, excited for Aemond, they had always agreed to share a dragon, should one manage to claim one.
“The gods provided” Aegon stated simply, before Jace and Luke came running forward, a rope in hand…. and a pig attached to it.
“Behold…the pink dread!” they announced, as Aemond and Aemma’s face fell.
"Be sure to mount her carefully, the first flights are always rough" they laughed.
Aemond ran off, Aemma was quick to follow.
“The prince Aemond and princess Aemma” a kings guard announced dragging them into queen Alicent chambers.
“Aemond, Aemma?” the queen questioned. “What did you do?”
“they did it again” Helena spoke.
“After how many times you've been warned, must I have you two confined to your chambers?
“They made me do it” Aemond insisted
“as if you needed the encouragement” Alicent shakes her head “Your obsession with those beasts goes beyond understanding.”
“they gave him a pig” Aemma shouted, seeing Aemonds frustration
“A what?”
“They said they found a dragon for me… But it was a pig.” he looked down “they said we could share it”.
“You will have a dragon one day., both off you” Alicent reassured.
“He'll have to close an eye.” Helaena whispered lowly.
“I know it”.
“They all laughed… they even made a tail and wings for it!”
Only Aegon received punishment from the prank, her brothers were let off her mother and grandsire deeming it childish fun and teasing, much to Aemma’s disappointment .
She returned to the cold shoulder, refusing to even acknowledge their presence, not that she did that much before.
The rift between the two families grew even further, rivalry between the mothers spreading towards the children. This time not for the throne, but for Aemma.
Aemond was always with her, the only time they did have with Aemond alone, was their swordsman lessons. Lessons which Aemond had begun to take his lessons with Ser Cole seriously, taking on the role of being Aemma’s defender and protector.
“Keep your feet light and your hands heavy.” Criston ordered.
Aemma stood above the training yard, watching beside her grandsire and the hand.
“This is the stuff, Lyonel…. Lads that learn together, train together... knock each other down, pick each other up. They will certainly form a lifelong bond, wouldn't you agree?” her grandsire spoke, a proud gleam in his voice.
“That is the hope, Your Grace.” Lynol strong agreed, “should the princess be witnessing this, your grace?” he questioned, looking towards her. She had brought a book to read Viserys, though she doubted she could sway his attention away from his sons and grandsons.
“I wish to watch Aemond, lord strong, he had wished to show me his progress” she announced, looking down proudly at Aemond as he swung his sword at the strawman.
“Ahh, let her stay, it is rare I get to see her without her shadow as is” Viserys laughed.
“of course, your grace”
“I've won my first bout, Ser Criston.” She heard Aegon gloat. “My opponent sues for mercy.”
“You'll have a new opponent then, my Lord of the Straw.” Cole spoke “Let's see if you can touch me… You and your brother” he nodded to Aemond.
“Weapons up, boys… Give your enemies no quarter” he spoke, focusing all his attentions on her uncles, as her brothers stood to the side, before greeting Ser Harwin.
“It seems the younger boys could do better with a bit of your attention, Ser Criston” Harwin spoke.
“You question my method of instruction, ser?”
“Oh, I merely suggest that method be applied to all your pupils.”
“Very well.” Ser Criston sneered “Jacaerys, come here…You spar with Aegon…Eldest son against eldest son”
Harwin scoffed “It's hardly a fair match.”
“I know you've never seen true battle, ser, but when steel is drawn, a fair match isn't something anyone should expect.” Cole snarked “Blades up… Engage.”
“grandsire” Aemma mumbled “it’s hardly fair”.
“oh, its just boys being boys Aemma” he dismissed, focusing on the yard once more.
She averted her eyes, focusing back on her book. Lynol strong too focused on her, his eyes watching her, assessing her. His gaze was soft, but he looked at he as if he knew something she didn’t.
“Lord Strong?” she spoke “would you like to read with me?” she asked, flinching at the sound of metal clashing.
“of course, princess” he nodded, a small smile on his lips.
“You dare put hands on me?” she hears Aegon scream, capturing her and Lynol attention.
“You forget yourself, Strong.” She hears Cole spit out “That is the Prince.
“This is what you teach, Cole? Cruelty... to the weaker opponent?” Harwin scoffed
“Your interest in the princeling's training is quite unusual, Commander” he snarked back, moving in closer saying something she could not hear. Though it must not of been pleasant judging by the punch Harwin landed on her face.
“Stop!” she screamed, flinching away and burying her face in her hands.
“Stop this!” her grandsire repeated, as guards dragged Harwin away from Coles laughing bloody face.
After that everything changed.
Her mother grew desperate, having ser Harwin sent to Harrenhal. He was close to their family and his departure seemed to deeply upset her mother and Jace. she was not too bothered, her mother’s attention now lied in the new babe, Joffrey, and council meetings. She was looking for more and more support, Harwin outburst, and marriage offers seemed to be the best way to secure them.
“I wish to speak. Be seated.” Her mother spoke up, as the small council meeting was pulled to a close “I have felt the... strife... between our families of late, my queen.” She spoke to Alicent “And for any offense given by mine, I apologize. But we are one house. And long before that, we were friends.” Alicent nodded. “My daughter Aemma will inherit Dragonstone after me, I propose a marriage between Aemma and your son, Aemond, the pair are already attached at the hip, let them be the glue that once binds our two families. Ally ourselves... once and for all, let them rule Dragonstone together”
“A most judicious proposition.” Viserys agreed, smiling.
“Additionally, if Syrax brings forth another clutch of eggs, both Aemond and Aemma will have their choice of them, uh... a symbol of our goodwill.”
Alicent nodded, considering. “Rhaenyra” she sighed, looking down. She wanted time to think.
“Oh, Seven Hells. Um...”
“My dear... a dragon's egg is a handsome gift.” Viserys spoke to Alicent.
“The King and I thank you for your offer and we will consider it duly.” She nodded, dismissingly “You must rest now, husband.”
“Yes.”
“The proposal is a good one, my queen. We're a family. Let us put aside these childish quarrels. Join hands and be stronger for it.” Viserys spoke, as they made the way to his chambers.
“yes, Aemond and Aemma shall be pleased” she nodded, “but she is desperate” she sneered “She feels the earth washing away beneath her feet and now she expects us to ignore her transgressions and for me to marry my son to her...” she hesitated, “only daughter”
“Alicent” he sighed, “we agree, on the betrothal?”
“yes” she sighed, keep her beloved daughter in her grasps and she shall have Rhaenyra eating out the palm of her hand.
next part
Taglist (bold wouldn't let me tag)
my lady strong: @aemondssuit @idonotknowenglish @sydneyyyy18 @wondergal2001 @whitejuliana1204 @meowtastick @bellaisasleep @tinykryptonitewerewolf @sarahkimtae @winchesterfamiliebusiness @iiamthehybrid @zzz000eee @spookydaddy01 @melllinaa @ateliefloresdaprimavera @dreamingofyourmoons @aleemendoza2425-blog
HOTD: @targaryenmoony
Aemond: @blossomedflowerofluv @violet-potter
#aemond targaryen imagine#aemond fanfiction#aemond targaryen smut#aemond targeryen#yandere hotd#yandere aemond targaryen#ewan nation#aemond targaryen x reader#house of the dragon#house of the dragon smut#aemond x oc#aemond smut#aemond the kinslayer#aemond fic#aemond targeryen x oc#aemond targeryen x fem!oc#hotd smut#aemond x reader#aemond x targaryen! reader#house of the dragon aemond#aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen x female reader#dark aemond x oc#dark aemond targaryen
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This post is going to cause controversy here on radblr. I already know that, and I'm ready for it. But there is something that I've just got to get off my chest, here. It's been bugging me for a long time now, but for the longest time, I couldn't quite find the words to describe my feelings.
Here's the thing. It's not that female separatists are wrong, necessarily, with regard to their arguments about male violence. OSA women like myself are at a greater risk of interpersonal violence from men, intimate partner violence does make up the majority of domestic violence statistics, men are the most likely people to rape or murder us, and yes, living without men therefore probably would improve straight and bisexual women's lifespan/overall quality of life in most cases. BUT. The way many female separatists (who are most often lesbians) go about presenting their arguments is not only unnecessarily rude to women who have done nothing to deliberately harm them (and, when it includes such colorful monikers as "dick worshipper" and "cock rider" in it, reasonably comes off as an attack), but it includes many of the same tactics that homophobes use against LGB people to make their point. I'm sure that homophobes doing that stuff to you is hurtful, but I'm also at least 99% sure that heterosexual women who are radfems (or rad-adjacent, if you prefer) aren't the ones leveling those attacks, and don't therefore deserve to be responded to with such ferocity. Two wrongs do not, in this case, make a right. And it needs to stop.
For example, you ask?
Acting like heterosexual relationships must be purely sexual, with no actual love involved whatsoever.
I see LGB people complaining about homophobes doing this to them all the time. "You think our relationships inherently obscene or kinky because you can't picture us actually being in love; all you can think of is the sexual part! You think a sizable chunk of the population is incapable of love or human connection, and that is dehumanizing!" Yes, I have no doubt in my mind that it is. But then look at what you do when you try to call out heterosexual/bisexual women for being with men, and you are doing exactly the same thing to us. You talk about OSA relationships, and the first and, often, only thing you ever bring up is the sexual aspect of them. The word "love" almost never comes up. It's like it doesn't even occur to you that OSA women might actually fall in love with or have very deep romantic feelings for their male partners, not unlike you, as a lesbian, may have or have had towards any girlfriends you have ever dated, any women you have ever crushed on, or, if you're lucky, your wife. Now, do OSA women have sex with our boyfriends or husbands, if we have them? Of course we do! Have you ever had sex with your wife or girlfriend? Or, if you're single, would you, if you had one? Of course you would, and you know it! Does that negate your feelings for her, somehow? No? Your relationships are not purely sexual just because there is sex involved? Then why would you assume that sex being involved would make heterosexual relationships suddenly be only sexual? Also, news flash: vibrators exist. So do dildos. Or women (including het women) could just use their fingers or a pillow. There are many ways for a woman of any orientation to get off without a man if getting off is all that she's after. If she is choosing to be in an actual serious relationship with a man, it's most likely because she's in love with him. You are trying to convince her that there is something more important for her to consider, in spite of her feelings. So, perhaps instead of insinuating that she is some kind of sex-obsessed slut who is screwing over her entire sex deliberately for the sake of a few orgasms, you can start start there, instead.
Acting like other people's sexual orientations can be changed (not yours, of course, just, you know, everyone else's).
I see homophobes acting this way towards LGB people all the time, claiming that the sex(es) you are attracted to is a choice somehow, shaming you for preferring the "wrong" one (or the "wrong" one at the moment, if you're bi). Which, personally, has always struck me as kinda weird, because they never seem to apply the same logic to themselves. They never stop to suggest whether their own orientation is a choice or not. I guess it's pretty obvious why they won't, because then it comes down to two possibilities: if they are with strictly the opposite sex by choice, then it's very probable that they are actually bisexual, and behave as they do towards gay people due to internalized homophobia, whereas, if their strict opposite sex attraction is not a choice, then they have just admitted that their own orientation is innate, so why would they assume everyone else's not to be? It makes no sense. And incels will take it a step further, yelling slurs at lesbians for only wanting to have sex with other women instead of them. It's all pretty fucked up and illogical, and just for the record, I think you all deserve much better. Of course your sexuality isn't a choice. And yet... I mean, I can't even begin to count how many lesbian separatist blog posts I have read full of women acting as if heterosexuality is a choice. "Ew, moids are ugly, dicks are gross, what's wrong with you, why would you choose that?!" Newsflash, gyns: we didn't. That's just our sexual orientation, and we didn't choose it any more than you chose yours. We may still choose to be celibate in spite of our orientation, or, if we're bi, we might still decide to only date other women. But we will still always have the capacity to be physically attracted to/fall in love with men, and for those of us who are straight, we can only experience that with men exclusively. That's just the way it is. We can't control that; it's innate. Some of you, upon grappling with this fact, immediately jump straight to the incel way of doing things and begin slinging the aforementioned colorful monikers (ahem, sexualized anti-woman slurs aforementioned in this blog post) for only being attracted to men instead of you. It actually smacks of sexual harassment, and then you wonder why so many straight women stop following/won't follow you. Or, leap right into calling us lesbophobes because we don't want to take sexual harassment like that from anybody, man or woman alike. Call me crazy, but the last time I checked, a "lesbophobic woman" was a woman who hates lesbians for only being attracted to other woman, not a woman who simply refuses to date/sleep with you. What, you have a right to bodily autonomy, but straight/bisexual women don't?! And yeah, I know, I know. "Stop comparing us to incels! Lesbians aren't predatory!" Well, true, most of you are not. The vast, overwhelming majority of you are completely fine and normal. But I always give the side eye to any notion of an entire group of people (any people) being all perfect, pristine angels carte blanche (a scant few people in every large enough group are going to be creeps), and if a scant few of you don't want to be compared to incels... Well, then maybe you should stop behaving like them. Because, when you explicitly resort to their same tactics, even I get the ick off of a few of you, and I'm probably the least homophobic straight person I know. 🤨🤨🤨
They call you "c*rpet m*ncher", "qu**r", "f*g", "d*ke", etc., over your orientation. You then call women (who probably didn't even call you that!) "dick worshipper", "cock rider", etc., over ours.
Enough said. Do I even need to point out (again) that these are almost all just a bunch of sexualized, anti-woman slurs? Do you really think that this is going to bring women over to your side, as opposed to just driving them away? And do you actually think that your female separatist movement is going to have any kind of major societal effect if you would rather drive women away from it, rather than bringing them in? It won't have any impact that way; it will only die out. And, look, I don't think that homophobes should be treating you like that, either. They most definitely should not. I have no doubt that them slinging those slurs at you constantly over your sexual orientation (which you can't control) is extremely hurtful and probably even scary for you. You deserve so much better than that. But, again, last time I checked "lesbophobe" means someone who hates you for only being attracted to other women, not a woman who refuses to date/sleep with you, and, from what I can tell, radfems appear to be, by and large, very pro-gay. Even when we, ourselves, are not. So, it seems very unlikely to me that we're the ones calling you names like that (unless you can show me receipts or something, in which case, go ahead). Until that happens, it occurs to me that people of all sexual orientations are pointing fingers, accusing each other of being sex-obsessed perverts, and calling each other names because, idk, maybe the drama is more interesting to some people than minding their own business? Or they literally can't wrap their minds around being attracted to that sex, so they attack anyone who is? Idk, it all seems very juvenile, and I should think there would be better ways to tell someone that some aspect of their lifestyle is unhelpful to the movement and/or mentally unhealthy to them than merely resorting to often sexualized mudslinging attacks. Honestly, no matter what your views on female separatism or sexual orientation are, can we all just agree to a ceasefire on the relentless mudslinging on all sides?? Please??? This is middle school shit, and it's really getting annoying. Everyone. On both sides. You're like a pack of schoolyard bullies. Stop it.
Again, I'm not saying that female separatists' arguments against dating/sleeping with/marrying and/or having kids with men are entirely wrong. Male violence is a problem for a lot of women, and refusing to be in relationships with them probably would reduce it greatly. But acknowledging heterosexual and bisexual women as being capable of romantic love towards whichever sex(es) we are capable of experiencing attraction to, acknowledging all sexual orientations as something innate that can not be changed and not a choice, and refusing to resort to juvenile mudslinging attacks will not take away from those facts in any way. So, I guess I just don't see what the reasoning is for so many female separatists to refuse to even consider them?
#radfems please interact#radfems please touch#radfems do interact#radfem safe#proud radfem#proud radical feminist#female separatism#sexuality#lesbian#bisexual#heterosexual
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those targ stans comparing Rhaenyra's strong boys to Jon are the absolute worst
Like, on one hand, I do see why people defend them. It wasn't their fault they were born to such unfavourable circumstances. Its not easy to grow up being conflicted about who you really are, and as much as Rhaenyra loves them, its clear she does not prioritize them over herself.
But theres more problems then that. The biggest point against them is the incident with Aemond. First of all, I don't condone the actions of Aemond when grown up since he is certainly unhinged, but here he was what? 10? 12? Somewhere around that age, and he felt he needed to claim Vhagar, the biggest dragon, after her riders death because that was the only way he felt he had to prove his worth in this family. For kids who are not sure if they were bastards, the Strong boys have never indicated once that they felt that desperate to prove something for their place in a family. Aemond telling his mother that him losing an eye is alright because he "gained a dragon" is heartbreaking. He thought losing his eye to claim a dragon was the only way to prove himself. When have the Strong boys ever indicated they felt that desperate?
Secondly is the attack itself. Aemond was alone and ganged up on. He was attacked by multiple people at once whom clearly brought items to attack him with, and him calling them bastards should not have illicted that violent of a responce. It is NOT normal to wound someone so bad they lose an eye during a fight between young boys.
Without knowing Myachs face yet, Robert phrased it best when the worst that happened was Joffery got bit in the arm by a wolf the size of a dog. "Damn it, children fight. It's over." But Cersei escalates this by propgating Jofferys lies and publically paints Arya out to be a wild animal. And we all knew then that Joffery was in the wrong in a much less serious situation (unless your Myach).
But here, the wounded child, was the one the other kids attacked themselves, and then allowed their mother to take charge and demand he be tortured. She accuses Aemond of starting a fight they know they instigated, and then allowed their mother to demand torture for a boy saying something that was already a rumour.
We all look at the adults in that situation but the Strong Boys mutilated Aemond and then allowed their mother to lie about what happened and demand torture for something he merely said in anger.
Now part of the issue is that Jace and Luke especially have essentially, no real individual character. Much like Baela and Rhaena's lack of character development, they are mostly a duo who dont stand on their own. Season 2 will change that for Jace obviously, but all we have seen of the boys in the most prominent scenes with them is a willingness to use aggression and allow their mother to violently lie for them to cover up their own wrongdoings.
Other then being bastards, the Strong Boys have literally no comparison to Jon Snow. They were called and raised as highborns. Those boys were literally involved in inheritance debates. They have massive privileges every other highborn does.
Jon grew up a known bastard and that literally dictated his entire life as lesser then the siblings he grew up with. He is nothing like them because he fought for everything he has and it's still nothing compared to what those boys were given for absolutely nothing.
Also, Jon never cut another boys eye out in a fight when they called him a bastard. Literally the first time we see him get that violent is trying to stab Ser Alliser, and that was for insulting his fathers honour after said father was arrested for a treason Jon knows is likely untrue.
Jace hopefully will have better development this season, but as it stands, he and Luke both were the kinds of people who wouldve spat down on the likes of Jon Snow.
And those bad traits come from where else but Rhaenyra herself. I don't support shitting on them because theyre bastards but most people who don't like Team Black get painted as bastardphobic regardless. Its a weak argument to disavow giving by looking at real critiques, and just going "oh youre just supporting treating bastards badly why should i listen to you"
As if people like me literally aren't massive Jon Snow defenders, who support Jon staying a Snow and being proud of who he is rather then him feeling like he needs a truename to be of value.
I mean people get angry just seeing them being called the Strong boys. Like use your eyes, people. They look just fucking like Harwin theres not a single drop of Laenor anywhere near those kids apperances.
I'm not trying to just diss the Strong boys, unlike what some fans will paint any criticisms as. Its all just really messy. You just cannot discuss them without Team Black throwing a tantrum.
#house of the dragon#hotd#game of thrones#a song of ice and fire#asoiaf#anti team black#anti targaryen#anti targ stans#anti rhaenyra targaryen#anti rhaenyra stans
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letters from samara - g.t.
Garrick Tavis x reader (Angel!)
part of my Valentine’s Day celly! 💕
words: 1.0k
🏷: FOURTH WING AND IRON FLAME SPOILERS, part of my Garrick and Angel series, so read that first for context! no other warnings, just kinda soft and sad.
Someone drops a thick envelope onto the table in front of you. “From Samara. They said it was important.”
Samara. Brennan had told you that’s where Garrick and Xaden are. Your hands shake as you open the seal, but you relax at the familiar slant of Garrick’s handwriting.
My angel,
I will start with what I know you’re most worried about: I am alive, I am safe, and so is X. He’s brooding in the corner of the room right now -- he’s not taking it well being apart from Vi, but command has allowed them visits every two weeks for Tairn and Sgaeyl’s sakes.
We both miss you more than words can describe. I wish I could have said goodbye before we left, or that we could have taken you with us, but X wouldn’t hear arguments from anyone. I have never seen him that serious about anything before.
I’m so sorry, angel. For all of it, everything. You didn’t deserve to be put through any of that, and I know how deeply it hurt you. It was terrifying to see you that way, so drained and cold. I can’t imagine what it felt like.
Promise me you’ll take care of yourself, my love. You are the most kindhearted person I’ve ever known, and I love that about you, but you have to think of your own needs as well. You deserve peace and rest, especially now. Sleep in as long as you want, make time for your meditation. I’m sure the gardens would appreciate your attention as well; I swear you could make roses grow in dry sand as long as you smiled at them every day.
I couldn’t bear to burn anything of yours, knowing that your heart still beats. I kept the things I thought to be most important to you and took them here with me. I will return them to you as soon as I can, but they are a comfort to me now — my room here feels like it did at Basgiath, with little touches of you scattered around. I keep watching the door, thinking that any moment you’ll come knocking to walk to class with me, or if I reach across the bed in the morning, you’ll be beside me again. I don’t know when I’ll see you next, but I know in my heart that I will. There is nothing and no-one that could keep me from you.
Yours always,
G
On the sheet below, another.
Until I can lay by your side and tell you about my days, I’ll keep writing to you about them instead.
Being here feels like being a fresh cadet all over again, but different -- bottom of the food chain, getting the shifts nobody wants, but at least we don’t have to constantly prove our strength like we did in our first year at Basgiath, and we already have our dragons.
One of Chradh’s relatives is here, which is cool. I think they’re cousins? They look damn near identical. I walked up to the wrong one on the flight line the other day -- thankfully the guy has a better sense of humor than Chradh, but I’m never making that mistake again.
Every rider here seemed to know exactly who we were when we arrived. Some of them have been more subtle with their distaste for us than others, but nobody’s been dumb enough to try anything -- probably because we look like we can fight, and because Sgaeyl is fucking terrifying, even more so now that she’s separated from Tairn.
I just got off a 12-hour patrol shift, and I’m exhausted, but it’s hard to sleep without you here. I don’t think we’ve ever been apart this long in our lives. Being without either of you has never even felt like a possibility before; it’s always been us three together through the good and the bad. Someday it’ll be like that again, I know it will.
Brennan is the best mender I have ever known. If you choose, he can help you strengthen your ability, but please don’t push yourself too far. I need you to be in one piece when I get back.
There are three more sheets underneath, one in Xaden’s rough script and two more from Garrick, the last dated four days ago -- likely the day he’d sent it.
You realize what an incredible risk it was to write to you at all. It wouldn’t take a genius to put together that X is Xaden, that you’re hiding in Aretia, that you’d faked your death, or rather that your friends had faked it for you. How many hands did these pages pass through to reach you? How many others out there are on your side?
You bring a hand up to cover your yawn, realizing how tired you are. The sun has gone down, a small mage light the only thing illuminating the corner of the study that you occupy. It’s likely nearing midnight.
“The letters and the books will still be there in the morning,” Tab says gently. “Sleep. You’ve had a long day.”
You look down at the torn piece of fabric you’ve been staring at for the last four hours. It has not yet sewn itself back together, no matter how hard you concentrated or “cleared your mind”, how gently you touched it. You’d even asked it nicely, but it did not dignify you with a response.
You set the letters aside for a moment, stacking up the books that you’d found in the house’s library about mending and placing them in a neat pile in the corner of the table you’ve been sitting at every evening for the last week. You fold the black cotton into quarters, setting it atop the pile -- you’ll try again tomorrow.
You can’t help but smile as you tuck the letters back into the envelope, brushing your fingers over the wax seal.
Garrick is right, this is the longest you’ve ever been apart, but as you gaze out the window into the starry sky, holding the letters he’d written you, the distance between you doesn’t seem that far.
#garrick and angel#garrick tavis#garrick tavis x reader#mine#fourth wing#fourth wing x reader#reader insert#trying to write as gare was a Challenge lol
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Hiding in plain sight
Warning: non con
Part 2
Full fic on Ao3 ☺️
- - -
A/B/O AU Lucemond where Aemond goes into rut at storms end after Luke presents in lord Borros hall and chases him down. Arrax doesn’t die but his wing is badly injured and Luke is too weak from heat to run.
Aemond lands Vhagar and hunts him down by his scent, eventually finding and nonconing him. The silver haired man has gone fully mad from rut by this point, treating Luke as if he’s a rag doll. Senses mute to everything but the smell of newly flowered omega.
Luke closes his eyes as his uncle relentlessly thrusts into him. Suddenly, he feels a deep pulling sensation in his chest. Just then he realizes Arrax is close enough to watch what was happening, reaching out to Luke through their bond to comfort him.
His beloved childhood companion knows he’s being hurt and doing what little he can to help.
It devastates him further.
Once it’s over, Aemond who is still not in his right mind leaves Luke without a second glance.
Luke breaks down. Not only is he an omega making him ineligible to be lord of driftmark, but his maidenhead has been stolen, leaving a very slim chance for a political marriage to be negotiated. No one wants a soiled omega.
To make matters worse Aemond is a prime alpha, a rare breed which are few and far in between. His seed will take, no matter how much moon tea Luke drinks.
He’s now broken and will likely swell with a bastard. He refuses to face the shame and humiliation that will come not only to him but his family. His mother can’t win if her reputation is stained once more.
A barely breathing Arrax shakily flys back to Dragonstone without his rider, leaving the entire realm confused once they receive word.
The blacks and greens alike are convinced Aemond killed the young prince.
Aemond goes half mad as he isn’t able to recall anything past Luke entering Lord Borros hall.
“A son for a son” Daemon whispered as he held his grieving wife who had fallen to her knees once news of their son’s disappearance and possible murder reached them.
Nine months later Luke is living his life as a simple fisherman in a small village away from the madness of war, tucked away in a loving community where who sits on the iron throne doesn’t matter.
Luke gives birth to a healthy baby boy with the help of local midwives. A babe with mahogany hair and chocolate eyes just like his mother, but with the face of his father. Osferth, Luke breathes as he rocks his bundle of joy. Who knew something so beautiful could come from a joining so cruel.
After five wonderful years rumors begin to spread of the lost prince living as a fisherman in a small village with a brown haired child. The whispers are baseless and unreliable, but a grieving Corlys must see for himself, he won’t be able to go on knowing there’s a chance.
Two years later as Luke sets up his small stand to sell the morning’s latest catch while Osferth runs around with the other village pups, a cloaked man greets Luke as he’s cleaning his stock. The brunette looks up from his chair to see his grandsire standing above him, frozen in place with tears in his eyes.
“Oh how you’ve grown.” Clorys whispers as his vision blurs with tears.
Hours later over a hot cup of tea, Luke tells Corlys the entire story from his presentation to how excruciating giving birth had been. Nearly bursting into tears when he recounts Osferth’s conception. His grandsires initial reaction is to gut the one eyed Targaryen, but Luke stops him. He has a good life here, away from the lies and fighting. His son will grow up happy and able to live life as he pleases without the cold emptiness of duty and sacrifice.
Corlys hesitantly agrees, but only on one condition. Luke and Osferth will move to Pentos where Corlys has a small property they can live in, spacious and beautiful but still cozy. He will pay for everything they need and visit as much as possible, he’s already lost so much time with Luke, he refuses to miss out on his great grandsons childhood.
Lastly, he will legitimize Osferth as a true Velaryon.
Luke is a little nervous but agrees on his own condition, Corlys must keep everything he knows a secret.
ten years later everything is just as peaceful as it had been before. Luke created a small garden that he spent his free time in while Osferth who had bloomed into a kind omega just as his mother, had taken to the culinary arts. Making him and Luke delicious, creative meals with many of the ingredients Luke grew.
It’s their own little slice of heaven, that is until one day two knights claiming to be sent by the princess rhaenys break into the property and force both omegas to come with them.
Apparently his grandmother heard whispers of Corlys housing an omega along with a bastard child he privately legitimized and came to her own conclusion.
“You are to be presented at court to queen Rhaenyra as per princess Rhaenys request.” The man says, looking Luke up and down like a common whore, not recognizing him as their prince.
“Mother, what’s going on?” His son asks with wide teary eyes.
Luke kisses his sweet boys forehead three times as he lets out a soothing croon. He’s always had a feeling this wouldn’t last, but stupidly hoped it would.
Time to face the music
#lucemond#aemond x lucerys#a/b/o#omegaverse#exuse any errors its like 3am lol#wanna write this but I already have too many fics on my plate#drabble
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Little Witch The last kingdom x reader
Chapter 5
Next chapter -> H E R E
Series Masterlist -> Here
Type: Series
Summary: Your journey leads you to a town, where you plan to meet Astrid.
Warnings: 18 +, mature themes, abuse, injury, underwear shopping.
Sun breaks across the previously grey sky. It gives some indication to what time it is. You’ve been travelling since the morning. According to Finan it should only be half a days ride to the next town. You would estimate that the group had been travelling for two hours already.
For two hours you’d been in front of Uhtred. Pinned to the front of the saddle due to his size. Caged in by his thick thighs and strong forearms. It would almost be enjoyable if your back would cease its torment.
During your time spent with Steffen he had tried everything to make you break. His ideas weren’t often repeated. Giving you a glimpse into how sick and twisted he could really be. On one of your last days with him, he’d taken a whip to your back. Creating lacerations both long and deep all over.
Even now you were sure they were still open. You had no time from then till now to treat your wounds. Despite Uhtred being your master, you weren’t completely comfortable with him. Not comfortable enough to tell him about said injuries. It was hard to picture Uhtred being a healer of any kind. His talents lay elsewhere.
As far as country roads go, you are convinced this is the most boring. The trees all look the same, the grass is green, the road is a worn yellow colour. Every clop of the horses kicks up dust and continues to fill the air with sound of their hooves. It’s become background noise at this point. You wonder if silence would be better in some cases.
Your eyes glance to beyond the trees that line the sides of the road. Seeing more green grass, ferns bushes and finally flowers.
You see a bunch of pink and white tulips. Growing in a dominantly brown area. They stand out and attract your attention immediately. You know white tulips are Astrids favourite. Pink tulips being your own. The colour is one of your favourites. Reminding you of the sky before night, turning various shades of pink. It takes you back to your family’s farm.
Although the thoughts fill you with sorrow, a strange part of you wants the flowers. A reminder maybe? Of a happier time. Or maybe just because they are beautiful.
You look beside you, seeing all riders preoccupied with thinking. Even Uhtred, as you turn to look behind you, is busy with his own thoughts. Eyes glossy and attention elsewhere.
You decide that now is the time. You put your hands under Uhtred’s arms, holding loosely to the reins. With a tug up his hands have come off, giving you change to move your legs. You swing your right leg over the saddle and slide off the horse. Without stopping you dart into the woods, hearing Uhtred dismount behind you.
Your heart pounds as your feet beat against the floor. Dodging trees in your path as you make your way through the woods. Finally you see your tulips and drop to the floor. You’ve picked three pink and four white by the time Uhtred puts his arms around you. Putting you over his shoulder in one swing.
You grip tightly on to your flowers as he carries you back to his horse.
“You are quite the runner little witch.” He acknowledged, while you stay silent. Happy to have your flowers.
When you reach his horse you can see the rest of the group on guard. Expecting some threat to jump from behind Uhtred.
Instead of saying anything he turns around. Showing you over his shoulder, flowers in hand.
“Flowers?” Finan asks incredulous, “All that for flowers?”
You nod, “They’re pink.”
Your response elicits a huff from the Irishman. It brings a small smile to Uhtred’s lips. Though he hides it from you.
You feel Uhtred’s arms tighter around you this time. Making sure you won’t get the slip on him again. Silence falls over the group once more.
Aftwr a few more hours the town starts to appear. First you see more frequent houses, some farmers of both crops and animals. Then you see small groups of buildings, small villages. Then finally the town. It had a wooden fence surrounding it. Guard manning the gate and walking the fence in rotations.
Uhtred and his group pass without problem. The Lord being well enough known in this town that they show him respect. He’s welcomed in and told where to find lodging.
Uhtred halts his horse near a stable. The stable hand coming out to greet him quickly. The men remove their bags of valuables and hand the horses over to the boy.
You see Uhtred take rope out of his bag, holding out a hand expectantly. You’ve seen this in your vision, so you’ve got some idea to wear it’s going.
He ties the rope around your wrist, acting as a sort of bracelet. Then wraps it around a few times before tying the rope around his own wrist. The short length of rope means you can’t get far away without him knowing.
“I won’t have you running away now Witch.” Uhtred tells you. The last word attracts the attention of the stablehand. The boy looking around curiously at you. Quickly turning when he sees Finan and Sihtric’s glare towards him.
Uhtred leads you around the town beside him. The five of you trek through alleyways and streets alike. Passing many people as you go. None wearing the dark blue cloak you are hoping for.
Uhtred stops you when the group reaches a market square.
He turns to Finan, “I have business with the witch. I’ll meet you at the ale house soon.”
Finan is more than happy to oblige. Leading the way for Osferth and Sihtric.
With tulips still in hand you walk beside Uhtred through the streets. You notice how they seem to have gotten busier. More carriages, more carts, more people. At some point Uhtred had reached down for your hand. Finding it easier to manoeuvre the two of you around. The feeling makes you smile.
You pass through a maze of Stalls. Each covered in a different banner. They sell all sorts of trinkets on the table. From gold and silver to seeds and bread. You see all kinds of gemstone captured in metal on tables filled with jewellery.
You’re lead through the maze. The man attached to you seems to have an exact location in mind. He’s found that location when he stops in front of a stall that’s more hidden to the crowds. A woman stands at the front of the stall, looking over a variety of fabric samples.
“Elenor, it is good to see you.” He greets the woman. She looks at the two of you. A new spark lighting in her eyes. Her face has aged, her hair beginning to grey. But her smile could belong to a young woman. It lights her face and the world around her.
“Uhtred!” She cried, moving around the table to hug him.
“My lord, I did not expect to see you again.” She admits.
He pats her gently on the shoulder. Moving back to reveal you to her.
“I came in needs of your skills.” He tells her. While motioning to you.
She looks you over with appraising eyes. Looking over your rubber ‘shoes’ and black ‘dress’. Her face turns sour as she looks at your tattered clothes.
“My, my,” she repeats again. “Uhtred, you think too highly of my skills.”
He laughs, “Nonsense lady. You are the best seamstress in England. You could surely do something.”
She turns again. This time looking over your body, not your clothes.
Without your knowledge she is estimating your sizes. Mentally working out measurements for dresses and cloaks and shoes and robes.
“I will try Uhtred. What do you need?” She asks. Moving back to her table to look at the various fabrics she has.
You watch with surprised wonder as Uhtred’s words flow into an order. He points to fabrics and names a gown he wants made from that. You hear him mention a cloak and shoes and finally nightwear. A part that makes you blush, as he points to the more lacy of the fabrics for those choices. You had no idea Uhtred was so knowledgeable in womens clothes. You would tease him if you didn’t feel so grateful for it.
“Hmm, a large order like this will surely cost Uhtred.” She mutters, looking over her ribbons and fabrics.
“It will be no issue. Here,” he pulls money out of a coin bag attached to his belt. “Take this as a part of what is to come.”
She smiles, retreating to her tent. The large black tent is set up behind her stall. Blending into the background. As the flap opens you see a whole work room of dresses and gowns galore. The sight makes your eyes widen.
A tug on your wrist has you moving back through the market maze. Back to the square where you started. You take a new path to the Alehouse. The roads less crowded on this part of town.
“Thank you Uhtred.” You tell him, trying to meet his gaze.
“I can’t have my witch looking like a beggar.” He brushed you off. Trying to dirty the kind gesture.
You see through his act and can’t help but feel a little happier. The tulips in your hands are still surprisingly intact. It reminds you that you need to be looking for Astrid.
Among the carts of traders you see her. Her cloak is down and her hair is flowing around her. While she stands out from the crowd, the market is much too busy to keep an eye on her.
The constant pull from Uhtred makes it no easier to see her. Even with your frantically moving head, moving from side to side. When you leave that particular street you realise it’s hopeless. Not while you’re attached to Uhtred.
So you sigh and decide to wait for another opportunity.
The air inside the alehouse is hot from the crowd inside. The walls trap in the shouts and laughs and belches. The sounds bouncing of the stone walls.
Uhtred leads you to a table in the corner. Sihtric and Osferth are already sat. You see Finan at the bar, seeming to be flirting with the barmaid from the way he leans against the bar and speaks in low tones.
“Sit witch.” Uhtred commands when he sees you stood there staring.
When your sat he pulls at the rope on his wrist. Loosening it in his end, then uniting the knot around yours. It brings small relief to have your wrist unbound. You place your bunch of flowers on the oak table. Taking a moment to rub your now free wrist.
When Finan returns he looks very proud of himself. He carries two metal tankards, you assume for himself and Uhtred. Sihtric and Osferth already nursing their own.
The group talks amongst themselves. Talking of plans for when they reach Coccham. Some plans of new buildings for town, or their next adventure. You tune most of it out. Still trying to find an opportunity to go and search for Astrid.
When they men have moved on to their second tankards and are well on their way to getting drunk, you decide to make your move.
“I need to piss.” You say, hard in your resolve and leave little room for embarrassment or a smile. You hope the crude nature of your request makes them believe your lie.
It brings a choke from Osferth and a laugh from Finan.
“You will piss later.” Uhtred tells you. Brushing you off.
You frown. You need him to let you leave, now.
“Either I leave and find somewhere to go,” You pause. Making sure he sees the seriousness in your eyes. “Or I piss here.”
Finan stops his laughter with his hand as he watches Uhtred for a reaction.
His brows furrow, feeling as though you hide something more.
“Fine, you can have your piss. If you go anywhere else other than to piss, I’ll tie you to my bed post for the night.” Your eyes widen at his hushed words.
Trying to give little away as you nod. No matter where you end up tonight, you need to see Astrid. So you grab your flowers then stand and leave. making your way to the main town square again.
When you leave the men pull their heads closer, ready to question Uhtred. It’s clear from taking the flowers, you lie about where you plan to go.
“I think she plans to leave Uhtred.” Sihtric suggests. Keeping his voice low as he leans in towards the Lord. He knows his friend plans to keep you in their company. For obvious reasons he sees that you have the potential to be useful.
Uhtred nods, “That’s why I plan for you to follow her.”
Sihtric huffs, shaking his head. The last thing he wants to do is follow you anywhere.
“A monk would be spotted too easily from the crowd,” Uhtred tries to reason. “And Finan has no knowledge on being quiet.”
The comment causes the Irishman to jab him playfully. Sihtric relents, finishing his tankard in a few swallows and following you out the door.
He follows you as you wander down the street of the alehouse. Missing plenty of communal latrines on your way. Clearly you are not going to piss like you say. The sight makes his eyes narrow, feeling more suspicious of you.
He watches as you reach the town square. Looking around almost desperately, pink and white tulips in hand. You stop looking and almost run down towards an alleyway.
He follows at a distance. Positioning himself at the mouth of the alley so he can both see and hear what you do and say. But stays close enough to the marchants that he doesn’t look like he’s spying on you.
You almost tackle Astrid as you embrace her. Your eyes start to leak when you realise you can hold her again. From your time at the covenant, she had become a sort of second mother to you.
She wraps her strong arms around you. The action making you feel young again. Before things took such a turn.
“Hello (Y/N).” It’s the first time in a long time someone has used your name. Not witch, not lady, not anything other than your name. It fills your body with warmth.
“Oh Astrid, so much has happened. There’s so much to tell you and little time.” You practically sob. Burying your head into her leather chest plate.
Under her dark blue cloak she’s adorned in armour. The sight not unusual for the Dane. She often wore clothes similar to those seen on the battle field. You felt the hilt of her sword against your hip.
“I know little star,” you earned the name from all your stargazing. “The Elders have seen your struggle. They know of your parents death, of your killing of Steffens men, they know of Steffen. Child I am sorry for the pain he has coursed. But I have come to give you a message from the Elders.”
“They have told me of what they see. They say you travel now with your true master, Uhtred of Bebbaburgh. Is this true?”
You nod pulling away from the woman. Holding your flowers tightly in your fist.
“I am glad you have found protection. The Elders tell me to warn you of Steffen. He continues to hunt for you. He plans to take you to his bed and break your bond to Uhtred.”
You think you should be unable to feel shock at this point. You knew that was his plan for you. You just don’t expect him to still be hunting.
“They want you to know about your bond to a master, specifically Uhtred,” she paused looking around. “They have seen a future union between the two of you. One of marriage.”
You face heats and you feel dizzy. Between you and Uhtred? The man that practically hates you? He is your master and nothing more.
“If a seer and their master bind,” she raises an eyebrow so you can see the meaning behind her words. “Their bond cannot be broken. He will stay your master even if Steffen tries to break your bond. You will stay forever attached to Uhtred.”
It’s hard to process the new information. You would do anything to make sure you don’t lose your bond to Uhtred. But sex?
You’d never done anything with anyone before. You’d never had the chance. But now you find out that having sex with anyone but Uhtred will break the bond between you two. Leaving you masterless. Your sight would be uncontrolled. Who knows where it might lead you.
How would Uhtred feel about this. He seems to care very little about learning anything about you. He calls you witch, not your name. Yet he still keeps you with him.
“I also come bringing gifts. This dagger is for you. It’s small and light and easy to conceal. You can do so in this leg scabbard.” She pulls the dagger from her bag, handing it to you.
She also pulls out a pot of what looks like a herby paste. “This is for your wounds. You must apply it once daily for the next few week. Or else they will become yellow and poisoned . May Steffen rot in Niflheim the puny bastard.”
Her insult makes you laugh, as pitiful as it is. You dry your tears, handing her your flowers.
“Thank you little star. You are too kind. I must leave now. The seers have sent me elsewhere.” She tells you. Putting the flowers in a pocket of her bag.
“When will I see you again?” You ask, voice weak, afraid of her answer.
She wipes your face, “Do not cry baby seer, fate will have us meet soon. I am certain.” She hugs you a final times before leaving the alley.
When she is out of sight you steady yourself against the wall. Then begin to sob, loudly. You slide down the wall, collapsing to your knees. You wish for the life of your mother, your father, to return to you. You wish Steffen would leave you gone. You wish your new Master and his friends cared for you more. All while feeling the horrid cuts along your back against the cold stone wall.
You take many deep breaths to calm yourself. Feeling the tears drain out of you, along with the last of your energy. You wish to be in bed, sleeping. Back on your families farm. You wish for your only worries to return to feeding the horses and collecting the harvest.
But that was not the case. Now you needed to get up and deal with your situation. It would not be solved sitting on the floor of a dirty alley.
So you get up, brush your tatty dress off, and begin your walk back to the Tavern.
#angelsworks post#uhtred the last kingdom#osferth the last kingdom#the last kingdom osferth#the last kingdom x reader#sihtric the last kingdom#the last kingdom#the last kingdom series#finan the last kingdom#dark
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Benny Gecko headcanons
disclaimer: these are all my personal headcanons for him, no worries if they don't align with yours! everyone's interpretation of this guy is different, and that's pretty cool imo :3
5'7" and wishes he was taller.
Bisexual (I mean, look at him)
Trans man
Changed a lot (maybe the most, out of all the Boot Riders) after becoming the Chairmen, both mentally and physically. "Ciao to the old ways, baby - time to swing in style. If the shoes fit, you wear 'em." He adjusted the fastest out of all of the Boot Riders/Chairmen, as well, adopting his new persona flawlessly - from the wardrobe, to the vocabulary, to his new dreams of one day running the city himself. He molded perfectly with the Vegas lifestyle, gained weight once he wasn't walking through the desert for days on end and had every meal already secured, and thanks to the New Vegas Medical Clinic, was able to medically transition. He thrives off of the luxury, but has to pretend he doesn't miss the old Boot Rider days sometimes.
Mostly, what he regrets about transforming the Boot Riders into the Chairmen is the loss of some of their camaraderie. There's a different kind of companionship, of ride-or-die bonding that comes with being one of a band of nomads, relying only on themselves and each other to survive the harshness of the desert. The Chairmen are still incredibly loyal to one another; the sole reason no one other than Bingo opposed Benny's choice to move into the Tops once he was the leader - not enough to physically do anything about it, anyway. But some of that closeness they used to have was lost. Benny grew distant from the rest of his tribe, rising to great heights as the leader of the Tops, the one in charge - even being adopted as House's protégé - and leaving the others in his dust.
(this is pretty much canon but) he never had a second thought about agreeing to House's offer. He never thought for a second that the Boot Riders shouldn't become the Chairmen.
Trust Issues™
Terrible at controlling his facial expressions, often pulls involuntary faces (grimaces, scrunching his face/nose, pouting, grinning humorously, etc.) (all very briefly, just a split-second reaction to something or nothing) - often there's nothing going on that would elicit such an expression; it just happens involuntarily.
Gets random muscle spasms throughout the day, mostly in his hands or feet/legs. He'll accidentally hit/kick stuff, knock stuff over, or drop anything he's carrying.
Likes to sit on the floor while he eats, but doesn't like other people to know that. He'll sometimes lock himself in a bedroom or bathroom just to eat on the floor without being given funny looks.
Gets along best with Arcade, out of all the companions/roommates living in the Lucky 38. Has semi-frequent spitting matches with Cass that start out genuinely spiteful, but eventually transform into the one way they really bond: sibling-esque bickering. They get into a fistfight pretty early on, though, after Benny makes the mistake of calling Cass "Whiskey Rose" after learning that she hates it (dick move on his part, to be fair, but did he deserve his nose broken?).
Struggles with mental illness, has hallucinations and delusions that he takes medication for (which he gets from the New Vegas Medical Clinic), but has a very low alcohol tolerance as a side effect; he tends to avoid drinking.
One of his delusions is that the city of Vegas is somehow actually, truly alive, and it chose him specifically to rule it, to lead it to a new glory - a new independence. He believes he, and he alone, can run the city the way it was meant to be run - the way it needs to be run.
Maria was given to him as a gift from House, along with the checkered suit, the wingtip shoes, and the keys to his new home: the Tops Hotel and Casino.
Even before becoming the Chairmen, living the rich man's life in Vegas, Benny had a liking for the finer things in life. Especially nowadays, he appreciates spending the extra caps for the finest of the fine, smoking a distinctive, expensive brand of cigarettes, wearing his nice suit even on a trek through the desert, etc. His favorite food is oranges, another notably expensive thing to regularly eat (they aren't exactly common in the wasteland), part of the reason why he loves them so much.
One of his favorite ways to show affection toward someone is by peeling an orange for them, handing them slices one by one.
Speaking of affection, Benny is very showy, often cheesy, in how he shows it. The grander the gesture, and more importantly, the bigger the reaction it garners, the better. He loves surprising his partner, with anything from gifts to kisses.
His breath usually smells like cigarettes and oranges, very occasionally with a hint of alcohol.
Drinks water out of wine and champagne glasses, partly for the expensive aesthetic, partly to hide the fact that it's only water that he's drinking.
Very intelligent and cunning, but tends to be short-sighted. He has these big, great plans, but overlooks the finer details, and ultimately ends up failing more often than not. (See: plotting out the courier's ambush and murder, but neglecting to ensure they were actually dead; figuring out how to (with help) reprogram an entire Securitron, but then double crossing the person who helped him; successfully sneaking all the way into the Fort, with the Platinum Chip in hand(!!!), but getting caught because he didn't wear a helmet so as to not mess up his hair, etc.).
Sleeps around; canonically a pretty boy, very much plays into the persona of the smooth-talking, sensual, gorgeous casino-owner. Either intentionally or not, his good looks can't be denied as part of the reason the Tops is as popular as it is. Who doesn't want to patronize a casino with a charming, handsome owner - who can often be found hanging out on the ground floor, overlooking the tables, talking up whoever will listen? There are some rumors, shared in a hush underneath the rolling of the roulette wheels, the overhead swing music, that Benny is the town bicycle; rumors of people he's supposedly had a fling with. He's a regular Casanova.
Paranoia™
this man is doomed by the narrative and it's making me insane
His hair is curly, but he styles it with so much gel (gotta look like a 1950s gentleman, y'know) you can't tell, save for the single curl that always seems to fail to remain smoothed back. Living with Daisy (my courier six!), especially during the recovery after Benny is rescued from the Fort, he wears his hair loose, which Daisy particularly appreciates (she loves when he lays his head on her lap/chest and she plays with his hair; much nicer when it's not all crusty or greasy with hair gel or spray).
Small feet
Canonically disappears for days - sometimes weeks - at a time, deciding on a whim to wander who-knows-where around the Mojave and be alone for a while. Brushed off by the others back in Vegas, namely by Swank, as "a cat needing some time to swing," but they get worried when the days turn into weeks. No one really knows where he goes. All they know is that in seven years, he hadn't ever failed to return - the Fort changed that (in my game, he was held captive there for several months).
Loves physical contact as a way to show affection, loves hugs, hand-holding, massages, and people playing with his hair. So does Daisy, which makes for a pair of absolute lovebirds once they're living together; they're inseparable, pretty much always touching one another, even if it's just a hand resting on the other's shoulder or waist, an arm around their shoulders, hand in hand and side by side. They're practically glued at the hip.
Bottom™
Runs his hands through his hair as an anxious habit (maybe the reason for the aforementioned loose curl), taps his feet, and bites his lip, often to the point of bleeding. He tries to be subtle in his anxious stimming, but if you know him, and know how he acts, you'll always be able to tell when he's nervous.
Used to be married to Swank, but after too much changed - after Benny changed too much - when the Boot Riders became the Chairmen, they divorced. It was Swank's idea, coming to Benny's suite one night and explaining honestly how he felt, how he felt things would continue to change moving forward, and how he realized that, in order for things to continue going smoothly, the nature of their relationship needed to change. Swank wasn't going anywhere - he had Benny's back, and nothing would change that - but he couldn't, in good conscience, continue to be Benny's husband. Too much had changed; he felt like Benny was trying to hide their relationship, treating him differently in front of others, even the other Chairmen. It didn't feel right.
Still calls Swank by the name he had before they became the Chairmen.
Never stopped wearing the wedding ring Swank gave him; switches it to his right hand after he marries Daisy.
Writes little letters, (like "Thanks, baby") and attempts to write little poems, for his partner. His . . . unique vocabulary comes across in writing, but the romance of said writing is . . . debatable.
Good leader. Like it or not, he earned his place as chief of the Boot Riders, and kept up that leadership position after the transition to the Chairmen, for seven years and still going strong when the courier comes and messes everything up.
Has big dreams, big, big ideas and hopes and ambitions. Sometimes, they're too big. Sometimes, they end up with him falling flat on his face when he tries to reach too high, to admittedly dangerous unattainable heights. Does that stop him from trying? Fuck no.
Terrible nightmares and night terrors, goes on long walks outside (usually staying within the city limits) when he's scared at night.
#i do have more but this post is getting pretty long :D#and that's pretty much all that i have in list format; the others are more detailed paragraph analyses#can you tell i am so so so normal about him#benny#benny gecko#fallout new vegas#fnv#new vegas#headcanons#benny x courier#benny x swank#swank#swank fnv#boot riders#chairmen
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"If it isn't spicy, it doesn't have any taste" a jovier fanfiction.
A short fanfiction about John trying Mexican food.
“How are you?” John asked again, for like fourteens time in the time that they had been riding and Javier was starting to grow real tired of it, of John's compassion, something he had never thought he would feel tired of, but oh well he had been wrong, turned out it could be very, very annoying.
“I told you, I am fine,” Javier replied and nudged Boaz forwards into a gallop to avoid John asking the same question again and again and again… Even though maybe if he did Javier would tell the truth.
It was strange being back in that area, he hadn’t been there for years, many years. To be honest he had avoided it because the home he had left behind was just on the other side of the creek and from time to time he could glance over at the country he loved and had fought his heart out for. He didn’t have fond memories of the borderland but right now it was the closest he could get to home and to his culture that had crossed over into the land he was now trapped in. It was one of the new places he could get a taste of home without risking his family’s life.
Some parts of the area around Tumbleweed looked so much like Mexico that he began to wonder if he had accidentally crossed the border. Even though he logically knew he hadn’t, those small momentary pangs of fear for his family were enough for him to jump out of his skin, that was why John was there, to ground him, though he didn’t know that… Or maybe he did.
Asking John to join him on his ride down to Tumbleweed had been hard and scary but John had said yes immediately, Javier feared that he had seen straight through him.
“So where exactly are we going?” John asked as he rode up next to Javier, suddenly breaking out in a cough at the dust kicked up into the air by the galloping hooves on the ground.
“Don’t die now,” Javier let out a short laugh and pulled back to a slow canter. “We are going up past Tumbleweed and out towards the tip of the land, there is a small house there, back when I lived in Mexico it was known as a meeting place.”
John raised a brow. “For what? Gangs?”
Javier shrugged. “Mostly, but not only gangs, for any Mexican who couldn’t cross the border but still wanted a piece of home. I didn’t go there when I first ran because I was scared to run into someone who might know me, but now? I miss home, all the time, and since we are camping up near Blackwater we are closer than I have been in years so I wanted to take the chance and at least get a good meal in. No offense to Pearson but his food is quite boring.”
John snorted slightly. “Yeah, it is, am I gonna be allowed to go into that place though?”
“Nah, but I got an idea.” Javier’s eyes narrowed and he pulled down into a walk as a rider came down towards them on the road with a wide grin on his face. “John.”
“I know,” John replied as he prepared himself for whatever mischief this fella was out for as he placed his horse across the road, making it impossible for the two of them to pass and forcing them to stop.
“¿Qué haces saliendo con un blanco?(What are you doing with a white man?)” The man yelled at Javier with amusement in his voice.
“Nada que deba saber. (Nothing you need to know about)” Javier replied in annoyance, glancing at John who already had his hand by the holster of his gun. “Muévete, no hace falta que esto acabe sangrientamente. (Move along now, this doesn’t need to end bloodily)”
“Muévete, no hace falta que esto acabe sangrientamente. (No, of course not)” The man replied mockingly as he nudged his horse forward, slowly making his way towards them. “Diviértete con tu Americano (Have fun with your American),” he whispered to Javier as he passed by, grinning widely from ear to ear before kicking his horse into a gallop and riding off.
“Culo (Asshole)” Javier muttered to himself as he watched the man disappear.
“What was that about?” John asked as he looked between the disappearing figure and the annoyed Javier.
“Nothing,” Javier replied and turned the two of them off the main road, up a small hill where a single tree stood in the dusty desert. “This should do.”
John looked around. “I don’t see a building.”
“It is a two minute walk from here,” Javier replied as he jumped off Boaz and tied him to the tree. “You stay and I will go get the food.”
John raised a brow. “From the restaurant?”
“Yes.”
“You are going to take the food from a restaurant… Out?”
“Yes.”
“Alright then…” John said as he jumped off his horse, taking a moment to take the worst dust off his custom-made saddle. “I will wait here then.”
It didn’t take too long before Javier returning, holding a plate of food in each hand with a wide smile on his face as he walked over to John. “Now this is real food!
“What even is that?” John let out a small snort of amusement as he saw the three hard bread-like things lying on the plate that Javier gave to him. It looked like a sandwich except the bread wrapped around the meat and greens on three sides instead of just smashing them together.
“Tacos!” Javier grinned as he sat down next to John. “Good food from my home country. You are about to experience heaven, brother.”
John chuckled as he grabbed one of the tacos, trying to keep the filling from spilling out as he brought it to his mouth and took a bite out of the crunchy shell, immediately pulling away as his mouth began to burn. “Oh my god- What is that?”
“The meat! It got flavor!” Javier replied with joy as he watched John reach for his water. “If it is not spicy, it doesn’t have any taste.”
“I don’t think I will ever taste anything again,” John coughed as he held a hand over his mouth. “Oh god-”
Javier grinned as he took a bite out of the taco. “This is real food.”
----
I have never eaten tacos in my life.
#john marston#rdr john#rdr2#rdr2 community#rdr2 fanfic#jovier#rdr2 john#red dead redemption 2#rdr2 javier#javier escuella#red dead redemption community#red dead fandom#red dead redemption two
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‘Open My Eyes to Everything that Closes My Heart’
(very little use of ‘Y/N’)
2k words
General warnings (the first link on the SERIES MASTERLIST) apply to future chapters.
Character representations are the lightest and darkest colours available through the software I’m using. If you would like to see your skin shade, please let me know what you look like and give me an example of your skin colour via asks. Unfortunately, I can only go a little heavier in weight (about 30lbs more).
SERIES MASTERLIST
PLOT
You were a Belaerys, with the Blood of Old Valyria in your veins, future Queen of Sothoryos. Up until eight years before the Dance of Dragons, everyone thought the Belaerys family was gone after the Doom. You were well-respected by everyone except most of the Greens. Despite that, you were officially given a seat on the new High Council. The Hand, Otto Hightower, was trying to bring more countries to their aid, but his excuse was to bring peace between countries. Planning to wed you to Daeron, the Small Council of the Greens are shocked when Aemond refuses to offer you Daeron in order to take you for himself.
CHAPTER ONE
Aemond had heard about you. Three years older than Aemond himself, they said. He was told Princess Y/N Xochital Belaerys would be arriving and she was to be convinced to join the Greens in their fight to keep the throne. Bringing in more dragons could be the deciding factor in the war to come and they were the only other family left who were dragon riders. It was thought that all Belaeryses were dead, but your family had made it to the opposite end of Sothoryos, with your ships & dragons and the family had been there ever since. There was a recently acquired map of Sothoryos brought to the table. It was made up of one giant continent and clusters of islands. Your country had been secretive for centuries, but the Greens and the Belaerys family both needed allies. So you went to King’s Landing, and there was already talk of wedding you to Daeron, the youngest son of Viserys I Targaryen and Alicent Hightower. Though they weren’t very happy about the situation.
Otto, referring to your peoples’ “lascivious behavior…lack of morals”, said that Loicato bastards keep both parents’ names, and royals are given middle names. Men and women can have as many as three plural marriages, and they even marry same-gendered partners. That part especially caught his attention. For as much as he wished he could explore that part of him, his desire for men as well as women, would not dissipate over time. It only got stronger. He really wished he could visit the home of the future Sothoryi Queen.
Otto cleared his throat to make sure Aemond was paying attention. “While she’s here, get her to see why being a part of this family will be beneficial to her people as much as ours. You must convince her to take Daeron as her husband.”
Aemond stared at Otto with his piercing gaze. “I am to play matchmaker for my brother? Does Daeron know? Why doesn’t he do it himself?”
Alicent answered him, “Yes, your brother knows, but he isn’t here and he won’t be back for a while—”
“Your brother is making sure our allies stay our allies.” Otto interrupted.
“Without having himself to offer in marriage?”
“It is much more important that we secure Sothoryos.”
Though kind of annoyed, Aemond was always ready to do as he was commanded. “When?”
“Six days time.”
Aemond was to meet you on the beach. He saw you from the keep just as you landed. You had been wearing a hood and mask to protect your face while flying, but you had removed it. You were getting off of your dragon when he finally approached. Your saddle was attached at the base of her neck; fitted for her enormous size. It was made of hemp, lightweight and strong, lined with caiman skin. It was the richest, most brilliant blue he had ever seen. But he also knew that you knew magic, as they did in Valyria, so he wondered if it was enchanted with some spell or other.
Your dragon was named Molcajete. She was black with dark purple markings. She was at least 20% bigger than Vhagar. Not to mention, she was very particular about who she would let get near her. Approaching your beast might be extremely difficult, if not deadly. Usually only when you asked her not to hurt them, would she allow someone to get close. But Aemond didn’t know that about her.
Molcajete never bothered leaning to the side to allow you to dismount easily, so you’d come up with the idea to use a rope, attached to the saddle. You wrapped the albaca fiber rope around your armour-clad arm and jumped off. It caused Aemond to start before he saw the rich violet - the shade of your banners - wrapped around your arm, holding you safe from a fall. It would have been painful without your leathers and armour. You dropped your feet to the ground and tossed the rope out of your way before removing your gloves, hood, mask, and cape. You didn’t see Aemond walking toward you and startled when he asked you how your flight had been. Your dragon whipped her head around to see what scared you and roared in Aemond’s face. He was shocked, to say the least, but he wasn’t scared.
“Molcajete…” You saw Aemond’s eye patch and immediately knew who he was. “This is Prince Aemond.” You stroked her, “I’m sure the prince didn’t intend to frighten me.” Molcajete looked at you as though she was listening carefully. “Kostilus, lykirī.” (‘Calmly, please.’) When she relaxed and looked away, you gave her one last command. “Hegnīr. Sōvēs.” (‘Like that. Fly.) With that, Molcajete walked away, beat her wings, rose into the air, and flew off. She sent back what can only be described as a sandstorm, from the beach sand, in her wake. You used your discarded cape to cover yourself and the Prince until it stopped.
Aemond could see your family coat of arms clearly emblazoned on a flag hanging around the dragon’s neck, once she was in flight. Purple Dragon Spitting a Blue Fireball, with a Blue Macuahuitl underneath, on Yellow. You were dressed as though you were going to battle. Your hair was dark grey (no doubt from the mix of Valyrian Belaerys blood with whatever people lived in Sothoryos) with blue-dyed tips. Aemond remembered his grandfather saying that Añil blue was only made is Sothoryos (it had become popular in Essos and Dorne) and royalty often used the blue to dye their brows and hair. You also had a septum piercing, painted the same colour as the tips of your hair. Your eyes were lined with an enchanted coal and they were an exquisite shade of purple with flecks of gold. They sparkled in the afternoon sunlight like so many stars in the night sky. He thought he was in love with you already.
“Kostilus?” (“Please?”) Aemond’s hands were behind his back, not even breaking a sweat over the dragon being annoyed with him.
“You have to respect them or they won’t respect you. We don’t actually have power over them, as so many dragon lords once believed. It’s a partnership.”
Aemond smirked, “Where did you find such a lovely dragon?”
“She chose me. In order to get a dragon, my people have to befriend one first, or have one born for them. Then they build a bond while training the dragon. And, as often as possible, manage to get a collar around it themselves, as well as try to mount it. After that, you make as many attempts as possible to ride it without a saddle. When you succeed, you have a dragon. This is to prove to the dragon that you’re not weak. Only once have I witnessed someone give up, but he did lose a leg, which would make riding a dragon near impossible.”
“That’s how I first rode Vhagar.”
“Then you’re already Sothoryi. Perhaps we should give you a middle name to set you apart from the Westerosi.”
“Your family is from Valyria, Princess. Why does she have a different name?”
You chuckled, “I may not even be half Valyrian at this point, as my family hasn’t kept the blood as pure as yours. Her real name is ‘Molcaxitl y Texolotl’, which is ‘Mortar and Pestle’. I shortened it to make it a little easier for the common tongue, but I mostly call her Molca.
Aemond nodded in agreement that it was a good name, then motioned for you to accompany him, “I thought Sothoryos was unlivable, and yet I was recently told of your existence.”
“When your original home is destroyed and you feel that you have nowhere else to go, then you find it within yourself to go further than Jaenara Belaerys.”
“Tell me of your home.”
“It’s mostly thick jungles. There’s a desert and plains, clear blue sea water, and beaches of pink, black, red, white, and green.”
“Black?”
“Yes, my Prince.” As you walked together, you continued, “My family went back to Valyria five years ago to see what remained. I had already been and told them there was nothing left, but they were determined. Then we went to Dorne. I assume the Hand found out about us from there.
I wanted to stay out of it for my people but my father, King Maegor Coatl Belaerys was convinced to elect me to send here. And my brother, Prince Baelor TezcacoatI Belaerys, to Dragonstone. Now my father is determined that we join the rest of the world. As well as save the dragons.” He remembered hearing about how all of your dragons were laying, but not one egg had hatched. He thought you meant to attempt mating some of the Belaerys females to one or more Targaryen or wild males.
You both walked for a few steps before you began your short version of how you found Molcajete. “I was in The Summer Islands and I saw a lavender and blue one fly overhead. I decided to search for it. The last Belaerys dragon died ten years before I found Molcajete. Gaelithox was mine, but he was old. Very old, but that made him a great beginner dragon.”
You laughed, but Aemond stopped you. “You mean to tell me, you’ve ridden more than one dragon?”
“Is that not customary here?”
“I’m not sure anyone has ever tried.” He began walking again, with you by his side. “Tell me more.”
“Well, two is the most any rider should ever have at once, and that’s if you ride every day. I came across a small island off of the southern coast of Asshai, which the dragons used as a nursery. Most of them are half Vhagar’s size. I followed a different dragon, white with orange markings, from Asshai to Ulthos, where there were at least seven dragons living. I went out every day for weeks and weeks, often bringing things to make them happy. I sang and spoke to them in Valyrian. One day, I used the command ‘Māzīs’ and Molcajete came to me. I didn’t even know there was one as big as she is, but the second she poked her head out of the cave, I knew she was going to be huge. It was still weeks before she let me ride her.”
“She’s even bigger than mine. How did you do it?” Aemond turned to look at you carefully with his one eye.
“I talked to them.” You could tell he was suspicious. “She allowed me to put a collar made of rope around her neck.” You leaned in close to him, “I held on really tight. That’s how it’s done where I’m from. First, you learn to ride without a saddle.”
“Were you frightened?”
“I was terrified when I first rode Molcajete. She’s young at heart, still. Took me on all sorts of twists and turns before she let me take over.”
“She must be at least as old as Balerion when he died.”
“Or older than Balerion would be now. She’s of Valyria.”
“How do you know?” You smirked at him, not wanting to give away all of your secrets. Aemond thought about how Molcajete flew away. “And you let her fly freely.”
“From what I was told, the pits aren’t big enough. She’s well-fed and usually only attacks if she’s threatened.”
“Or if someone threatens you.”
“Of course.” You turned into a hall. “Besides, I couldn’t bear forcing her into the pits when a dragon’s favourite thing to do is fly.”
Aemond began scheming. “Could you show me this island?”
“I could, but you won’t find them there. They’ve found a new place somewhere to nest and live, because too many people found out about them.”
Aemond quickly switched to getting to know you more. “What’s your full name? I assume you have one, like your father and brother.”
“Princess Y/N Xochital Belaerys, future Queen of Sothoryos.”
A twinge of disappointment struck Aemond’s chest. “You’re to be married?”
“I am to be Queen.” You stopped to face him. “I was chosen by my people to be our head. We have over a hundred members in positions of power, but my word will be law. It’s better to have a content citizenry. Better than rioting and anarchy.” You paused to remember a revolution you’d witnessed. “Trust me.”
He noticed the somber look on your face. “You’re right. It’s much more desirable to have satisfied subjects.” He held out his hand and you took it. He led you on your walk. “You should teach me your language, so I can learn what your name means.”
“Uel nimitsach se amo miatlamantin.” (‘I can teach you a few things.’) You winked at him as you continued ahead of him.
He thought, for once, someone new and exciting had come to King’s Landing.
TAGLIST
@ilikechocolatemilkh
CHAPTER TWO
SERIES MASTERLIST
#aemond#aemond targaryen#aemond fic#aemond one eye#aemond smut#aemond targaryen fanfiction#aemond targaryen smut#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen x you#aemond x reader#aemond x you#hotd aemond#prince aemond#aemond fanfiction#daemon#daemon targaryen#rhaenyra targaryen#belaerys
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The Lost Sister - Part 5
Synopsis: Xaden is known as an only child due to his sister who 'died' during the Rebellion. Little do they know she didn't die and has been so close this entire time.
Garrick Tavis x OC
A/N: Thank you for all the love on this little series guys! Literally makes my day seeing you guys interact with it. Little bit of a shorter one, but I hope you like it.
Been thinking about maybe taking requests? Obviously I am still quite new to this so I may not be good at writing everything. But if you have any ideas feel free to throw them my way :)
The Lost Sister Masterlist | Masterlist
Challenges only happen once a week, so the next few weeks I continue to feel Imogen’s gaze on me every time we’re in the same room. Which is only a few times a day for meals and battle brief. But every single time I feel her eyes on me, watching my every move. I get the feeling the only reasons she hasn’t tried to start a fight already is us being on the same squad, and the fact I am Xaden’s sister.
As we stand around the mats watching the matches take place, I can practically hear my heart beating in my ears. I know I can hold my own on the mat, but something about the prospect of me being called up with Imogen terrifies me. The boys have assured me its nothing and I am over thinking. But the looks they give each other, mainly Garrick, do not convince me in the slightest. And despite how many times I had asked Garrick directly, he would not budge. I hadn’t talked to him or the others in the last few days, mostly keeping to my fellow first years in my squad. I wasn’t the only one who had noted their annoyance at me ignoring them. With Violet and Rhiannon commenting on it. Multiple times Garrick had tried to get me alone between classes or at the end of the day.
The moment I’ve been dreading is here. Emetterio points a finger at Imogen and I with a smile on his face. “My two best female fighters. Lets see what you can do.”
I’m kind of glad Garrick and Xaden are busy with their own fights to see us called up. But Bodhi is not. He goes to move but I give him a look, trying to convey I do not want him to interfere. He falters for a second before nodding and staying in his place. He’s probably going to get an earful from Xaden and Garrick later. But I don’t care. I need to know why she’s been acting the way she is. And if Garrick and Xaden get involved before the fight starts, they have the power to call it off.
Imogen starts circling the mat as if I am her prey. As if she’s out to kill me. As much as I would like to think my squad and being Xaden’s sister keeps me safe, the reality is people die in the riders quadrant. Nothing keeps you safe here.
”You need to keep away from what’s not yours Riorson.” She spits out at me.
What's not mine? Her eyes flick to Garrick a few mats away who is still focused on his fight to see Imogen and I have been paired up. That’s when it clicks. There is either history there, or she wants him. And here I come, essentially back from the dead and either put a divide between them, or wrecked any hopes she had of being with him. She’s jealous. And honestly who wouldn’t be. As per usual he is fighting without a shirt on, and its definitely a site to see. All the girls near his mat are watching him. She thinks I’m his. If only her words were true.
I don’t get a chance to respond back. In a blink of an eye Imogen has run at me and starts berating me with punches I can barely keep up with. Occasionally she gets a hit on my ribs, stomach or the side of my face. She’s coming at me with every thing she can. She tires for a second and I step back before launching a well placed kick to her stomach, sending her stumbling back before I am on her again. She not as lucky as I was when it comes to blocking punches and I manage to her a few decent hits on her. One of them lands on her nose, sending blood down her face and across the mat.
I vaguely hear male voices yelling that sound like Garrick and Xaden. But I block them out, focusing on the fight at hand. My luck runs out and she gets a well placed knee into my stomach causing me to double over, earning me a knee to the face and a sickening crunch to my nose. The familiar taste of blood trickles into my mouth. She pushes me to the ground and I have enough time to shield my face before she’s punching me again. Someone tries to pull her off but they are pulled away. I use the distraction to flip us over so I am on top. She comes at me with her knees and elbows, and manages to get a foot up and kick me off her. I land on my back and my head hits the hard ground in stead of the mat with a loud thud. I barely hear Imogen approaching me with the ringing in my ears. I look up in time to see her foot coming for my face, barely rolling out of the way in time. Her eyes flare with anger as I get away and am able to get back on my feet. I need to end this fast. The knock to my head has definitely given me a mild concussion paired with the knee to the nose I received earlier. If she gets another good hit on me I’m done. I need to win this to get her off my back.
She screams and runs at me with all she’s got. I can use her anger against her. She won’t be thinking straight. I plant one of my legs between hers, duck under her arms and use my ground foot to pivot around her locking my arms around her neck in a choke hold and locking both her legs between mine. My extra weight throws her off and we land on the mat with her on top of me, but I manage to hold on.
She claws at my arms and tries to kick her legs out. It takes all my energy to keep her locked in place. But slowly I feel her become weaker and weaker. Around the mat others yell for her to fight back and yield. If she’s anything like me, she wont yield. This is personal. After another minute her arms fall away and she passes out in my arms. I don’t even hear Emetterio call the end of the fight due to the ringing in my ears. But I know its done. I push her weight off me and do my best to sit up.
I look to my right and see Imogen coming to on the mat next to me covered in blood from where I got her in the nose earlier in the fight. We just stare at each other for a few second before she nods her head at me. Once we’re both healed and recovered I’ll have to find her and talk to her. A few other second years come and help her up and lead her towards the doors, most likely to the healers quadrant.
I go to stand but a big pair of arms wrap around me and pick me up as if I weigh nothing. I don’t even have to look up to see who it is as their familiar scent invades my senses despite my nose feeling like it should no longer work. I look up into Garrick’s hazel eyes as he walks with me bridal style in his arms out the doors and towards the healers quadrant.
Part 6
@riorgail @going-through-shit @fw-gt
#fourth wing#fourth wing fanfic#violet sorrengail#xaden riorson#garrick tavis x reader#the empyrean#bodhi durran#garrick tavis#garrick tavis imagine
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very tender hurt and comfort with Vash tending to your wounds please? Maybe Reader has a lot of scarring and this is the first time Vash is seeing it? Pre relationship please so theres full of yearning and unspoken intimacy JDBSIDJJAHDIDHDJ I WANT THIS MAN SO MUCH HE HAS TAKEN OVER ALL THOUGHTS
Hi, dear anon! I am so so sorry, this request literally has been sitting in my inbox for 2 months and not because I didn’t like it, but for the opposite reason! I’ve been writing and re-writing it many times, and because I tend to go overboard with angst/hurt-comfort stuff when it comes to Vash, it turned out to be just 1000 words of fluff. Yeah, sorry to all the guys who requested fluf and got angst and vice-versa. Seems like I’m not good with requests, maybe will change the submissions to suggestions later. Anyway, hope you’re still somewhere out here nonnie and you can see this!
Warnings: mentions of scars and wounds, reader without specific body parts descriptions, Vash calls you a fem!gendered word in french once though, slight pining, fluff
There’s a sudden loud laugh, shuddering of the glasses and the next moment you’re laying face down on the sandy soil in front of the saloon. Your Thomas got freaked out and yeeted you over his head right into the dirt. For real? You’ve felt a sharp unpleasant pain on the left side of your body – your cheek, belly and a part of hip and knee burnt. The inside of your mouth tasted like sand, dirt, and humiliation. You spat and saw particles of blood in your spit. Wincing, you stood up, Vash’s hands already caringly holding your elbows.
“Hey, you’re okay there?” You turned to the side to see his concerned face that grew even more so when he saw the deep scrapes on your cheek. Wolfwood placed a hand on your shoulder as he passed through you to the saloon entrance with a chuckle: “That’s a pretty nasty fall for someone who claimed to be the best rider out of us, sheriff”. You could just growl at him pettily, hearing Vash’s scolding above your head as you tried to dust off your clothes as best as you could before entering the building.
Just great…One thing you’ve been confident in was your Thomas riding skill and you made sure to tease Wolfwood ‘cause of his clumsiness with saddle. You didn’t know what was wrong with those two men, but they both were so much better than you with everything: their shooting skills and physical prowess were not a joke, and you’ve felt a tinge of bitterness every time one of them roared to you to stay back or run away (which most of the time you didn’t listen to). But nevertheless, you’ve been so used to being one of a kind, the strong one, the clever one. The promising young sheriff of your town. Well…the town that doesn’t exist anymore, but still!
Waving off Vash and his attempts to check up your bruises, you went straight into your room for the night once you’ve booked them. This soured your mood a bit – the jeans were dirty and ripped now, the bruises were pretty big, even if not really deep, Wolfwood for sure will tease you back relentlessly, and Vash saw you falling so ungracefully…ugh. Deciding to be a grown up about it, you went for a shower, which made you feel better and decided to sleep off your bad mood. Surely, with a new day it’ll all feel like a funny incident to remember sometimes and laugh about, right?
You heard soft knocks on your door when you’ve been drying off your hair with a towel. “Hey, that’s just me. Wanted to check up on you if you don’t mind?” a sheepish voice spoke, muffled by the door. Of course, he would do that…
Opening the door you saw a tall blond standing there, already in his nightclothes, with a small med kit in his hands, which he shook a bit before your face. “Ummm…I know you don’t wanna, but it’s still better if we treat your wounds, you don’t want to get an infection and then nasty scars on your pretty face, right?” Pretty, is it? “Vash, I have my fare share of scars, I don’t really care about them, but if it makes you happy, sure” you stood aside from the door, letting him inside.
Sitting beside you on a bed, Vash started cleaning the skin around your scratches with antiseptic, leaning awfully close to your face for you liking. He seemed to be preoccupied with a task, making ‘tsk’ sounds like a concerned mother would. You’ve felt a tinge of warmth at this thought, not daring to dart your eyes to the side and concentrating on breathing calmly.
“Show me the other bruises” Vash asked, and you obediently lifted your shirt to reveal the biggest one that marred your skin from the upper stomach to the hipbone without giving it much thought. Seeing your friend’s cheeks and tips of the ears turning pink, you decidedly pulled it back. “Um…that’s fine. Thanks for worrying about me, I can just do it myself” you smiled reassuringly at him.
“Oh, sorry, I..didn’t mean anything like that. Just noticed that you already have some scars there. Did you get hurt a lot?” you chuckled as you raised your shirt once again for Vash to continue with his medical care. “Well, even though it’s just a silly nickname now, I used to be sheriff for quite some time. Yeah, I have some. Some are knife wounds, some from gun shots, maybe now some new from falling off Thomas” you tried to end it on a funny note, but Vash only frowned and placed a hand on your shoulder. “You know you can stop anytime? It’s not like you must continue to live such a risky life… You can find a nice occupation suitable for une jeune fille like you. Settle in a relatively calm and nice city? Wouldn’t it be better?” He said as if coaxing you, his voice soft and dreamy.
It was your turn to frown at his words. “You know I would if it was something I wanted, right? I never wanted such a life, especially not now, not when I…well… when I’m doing something important and helping you out. And I’ll ask you out of my room if you raise this topic again, okay?” Vash shook his head and chuckled, pressing his fingers, covered in healing balm to your bruised belly. “I surrender, sheriff. Please, spare this pitiful outlaw!”
You laughed at that, his fingers somehow burning your skin way stronger than the deepest abrasions.
#vash x reader#trigun x reader#vash x you#trigun x you#vash headcanons#trigun headcanons#lion writes#vash fluff#not proofread at all we die like rem
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SLOW IT DOWN: LEE JUYEON pt 1
✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩ ✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩ ✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩ ✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩
# Slow it down, make it bouncy, 지금부터 fly좀 다른 spicy, 청양고추 vibe
✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩ ✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩ ✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩ ✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩
a lee juyeon x reader imagine
contains mature themes e.g risks, violence, dangerous driving, suggestive themes reader discretion is advised.
✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩ ✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩ ✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩ ✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩
hi (your name) you’ve been invited to play RACEFORTIME!
… \
Do you accept the invite YES OR NO?
✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩ ✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩ ✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩ ✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩
… \
CONGRATS! you chose the right option and escaped permanent elimination let me search for a party to put you in…
… \
FOUND! you are now apart of party 11.. enjoy the game…
“y/n i know you didn’t just join that fucking game” kevin, your best friend looked over your shoulder to the computer screen resting on the desk beneath.
“why not? it looks fun.” you replied with a chuckle watching as his face exploded in horror.
“it’s not fun until you’re either- you know- killed by it or I DONT KNOW killed doing something for it.” he choked on his words slightly, pacing the room and throwing his hands dramatically in the air.
“that’s just a myth, some people just get addicted to it and end up being killed because they go to far.” you rolled your eyes, turning around to scroll through the game rules.
"that's because you literally cannot the leave the game! do you not remember johnny? he tried to leave the game so he could go to his math exam and suddenly dropped dead in the theatre?- LISTEN i’m not even meant to mention that in case they end up coming for me for talking about it! why? why did you do thi-”
“listen kevin, it was my idea and johnny already had existing health problems it was just a coincidence, plus since school is over i’m bored and want some fun in my life.” you laughed at the boy’s concern and patted the top of his peachy little head.
“listen if you do this to yourself i want no part in it. you might be my best friend but i’m not risking my life for that game.” he sighed, but was shortly cut off by a jovial tune that hummed from the speakers of your laptop.
…/
hey! (your name) you have your first task to complete! remember there’s clues all over the city! don’t skip any pointers!
../
- find the key hidden in a mailbox the west corner of 67th street
…/
- your mode of transport is linked to a chain and lock near the bike shelter on west avenue.
../
- hop on and join a specific competition in town as a rider and win
…/
- meet player #109 without explicit mention of racefortime
../
you have 3 hours to complete!
./
WIN OR LOSE? good luck!
✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩ ✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩ ✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩ ✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩
“kev, you have to take me to 67th street now.” you turned around with a glimmer of adrenaline lighting up in your eyes.
“i’ve literally just said i’m not getting involved.” he folded his arms in an indefinite refusal, but softened his posture as your soft puppy eyes shone back up at him.
“i can’t drive! and there’s no way i’d get there in time without you. plus if things were like you said, wouldn’t i die if i didn’t complete the task.” you were using his own words against him, in a cruel way but yet you found it still unconvincing that a game had some sort of sorcerers ability to kill people
“fine. but that’s it! i’m out.” he grabbed his car keys, observing the 2:58:54 that lit up both your phone and laptop screen.
——
kevin drove you into the city, picking up speed wherever he could as the dark night had settled in and by the time you guys had reached 67th street the timer hit 2:36:43.
“it could be any of these mailboxes y/n! this is a death wish!” kevin put his face in his palms out of stress before exhaling and parking his car on the curb of the west corner.
“it’s a branded game kevin, there has to be a clue somewhere.” you laughed observing each mailbox, as you strolled past them until you saw a smiley face sticker with the eyes crossed out with graffitied handwriting which read “good luck!”.
“calabunga.” you smiled, using the lever to open the box and retrieve the black key placed inside. “let’s go.”
kevin huffed as you sprinted back to the vehicle eager to feel the adrenaline seep through your veins.
——
kevin dropped you off at west avenue, giving you a hug before explaining his reasons for not being able to stay.
“take care of yourself and don’t get hurt. please call me if you need me.” a line he had gotten used to saying at this point considering your lifestyle he was used to your flighty antics. but it seemed like this time you’d gone a little too far.
there were multiple bikes chained up near the bike shelter on west avenue, but it wasn’t like you had time to eliminate each one. one motorcycle stood out in particular, it was jet black, clearly a brand new build with a huge silver smiley face pad lock attached to a clunky metal chain on the side.
you inserted the key in hopes of it being the right one and sighed in relief when the chain loosened and lock burst open.
“nice bike.” a butter smooth voice hollered from behind you, you turned to see a pink haired boy behind you, covered in tattoos and piercings.
“thanks. just got it.” you replied with a chuckle, pushing the bike forward out of the shelter.
“do you know how to ride it?” he asked cocking his eyebrow up slightly.
“not really but my dad used to ride em, so it can’t be there hard.” you laughed nervously, swinging your leg over the seat and settling on board.
“how about i drive you into town, since i think i can see what you’re playing and you take it from there?” he suggested, watching your face contort as you battled the decision in your head.
“i don’t know. i think i’ll be fine.” you replied, not trusting his sinister appearance and judging eyes.
“how else would you get there without having a clue how to ride it?” he made suspicious eye contact with you, his facial expressions seemingly trying to tell you something.
he’s a player.
he must had been told to pick you up and take you into town.
“ah. i get it. yeah, sure you can take me into town.” you smiled, clocking his nervous movements and sigh of relief at your acceptance of the offer.
“thank you.” he puffed out in gratitude quickly hopping on the bike, and handing you the singular helmet hung on the side.
“do you not need this?” you asked hopping on the back behind him. he turned around with a look on his face that read “are you serious right now?”
“no, who where’s those? now quick we only have 1 hour and 50 minutes.” he shrugged off your words and with that he started the engine, waiting for you to pull the helmet over your head and place your hands around his waist before speeding off onto the main road into town.
——
hollering, yelling, the sound of smashed bottles and a heavily a intoxicated crowd lit up the nightlife in town as they all gathered round main street gearing up for one of the most exciting street races in town.
pulling on the brakes, the pink haired boy slowed arriving at the riders bay at the beginning of the street, there were multiple boys who were just like him, accessorizing in tattoo sleeves and thick silver jewelry.
“okay, the main race starts in 10 minutes. don’t talk to anyone, there’s some wrong people around here.” he told you within a genuine tone, seemingly as he frowned.
“why are you-” you were about to ask why he was telling you this information before he started the gas on the bike again.
“i’m sorry.” he spoke just above a whisper in remorse.
“for what? you’re not stealing my bike, are you?” your tone rose slightly, eyes lighting up red in the reflection of the brake lights.
“RIDERS GEAR UP.” a loud voice chanted through a megaphone as each motorcycle began lining up down the street.
“i have to.” he laughed, driving away from you as you attempted the run after the boy.
“shit.” your legs soon grew tired and it was no use running after him at this point considering he was driving away at what felt like 90mph.
if what kevin said was true, you were dead.
you had no bike to race with and time was ticking down like sand, 1:05:34, the clock on your phone read with a sad smiley face beneath it. “uh oh” a robotic voice echoed through your speakers. it knows my bike was stolen?
you shrugged it off, watching as girls jumped on the back of their boyfriends bike ready for the race to start. you ran past each rider, asking if you could just by any chance, hop on the back of their bike for the race. but you knew you couldn’t mention the game, or the time you had left in your phone and most of them refused laughing at you pathetically.
“hop on mine.” a sultry sweet voice beckoned from behind you, a jet black haired boy with sharp facial features and a silver lip ring faced you, seemingly catching a glimpse of your phone screen which read 1:0:30.
without a second thought, you stuffed your phone in your pocket and slid on to the back of his bike.
“thank you.” you sighed in relief, looking around for a helmet to wear but there wasn’t one. “do you not have a helmet?”
“RIDERS YOUR RACE BEGINS IN… ” the megaphone voice echoed through the street, riders reviving their engines and the crowd spitting, hollering in excitement.
“no. just put your arms around me. hurry the fuck up there’s no time.” his tone grew serious and you rushed to wrap your arms around him as the traffic lights flicked between red and amber.
“READY.”
“SET.”
“GO.”
each driver released their brakes, shooting down the street at speeds above 100mph with no fear of consequences.
that rush of adrenaline you craved, rushed through your vessels as the motorcycle sped through the night, passing each street lamp at exhausting speeds, eliciting high pitched whistles and screams from the crowd behind the barricade.
the kind boy driving you wasn’t rushing yet, he capped his speed at 90mph for the first lap falling to the back of the hoard of vehicles crowding at high speed.
“we’re behind. we have to win.” you yelled into the boys ear over the overwhelming sound of roaring engines.
“i know but just wait until-” he shouted back but was largely cut off by the sound of screeching metal and a silencing crash as two riders brutally collided.
“THAT. that’s why you want to be behind.” he silenced you as you looked back gobsmacked at the fatal scene. shards of metal and bike parts still flying in the air almost decapitating you and the boy.
it was almost the final lap, riders being eliminated by obstacles one by one, crashing and setting fire to their vehicles.
turning the last corner, the boy picked up speed, racing towards the front of the competition, neck and neck with the rider beside you. looking to your left you saw the familiar pink haired boy, racing on the stolen bike towards the finishing line. he smirked, leaning to his right and almost clashing with your vehicle.
“Juyeon doing charity work? Awhh.” he cooed over the racketing sound of his engine, giving a name to the boy that had helped you enter the race.
“Fuck off, thief.” you hollered back, watching him smile and and shake his head, eliciting an overtaking match between Juyeon and himself.
00:00:30
“Juyeon! We have 30 seconds left!” you shouted over to the boy in front, he nodded and ramped up the speed one more time.
with that, the pink haired boy fell behind, the finishing line within arms length, the thrill of winning biting at you.
a tacky horn sounded as you crossed the finish line,
00:00:00
YOU WIN!
your phone screen lit up with digital confetti, the flash light turning off in a staccato pattern as the bike came to a hault.
“Yes! We win!” you squealed, hugging the boy as a thank you, he smiled slightly looking up to something with a cocky grin.
“Yes, we did indeed.” he spoke mysteriously, you followed his eyes up to the large billboard screen on one of the skyscrapers in the city.
both yours and juyeon’s face lit up on the big screen with a banner that read:
“POWER COUPLE? RACEFORTIME BIKE RACE WINNERS”
you covered your face in embarrassment, shying away from the camera as juyeon wrapped an arm around your shoulder smiling and waving - eliciting the crowd of girls gathered around with their phones to squeal.
“remember to upvote me, as your favorite player!” he said into the camera, giving it a heart which contrasted his dark mysterious appearance, leather jacket and piercings.
your phone began to chime with notifications, follows on instagram, messages from classmates, and a score in the top right corner began to rise.
Congratulations! (your name), you’ve surpassed 1000 supporters on RACEFORTIME.
“you gain popularity from this?” you asked curiously watching Juyeon smile back down at you.
“hell yeah. you’re talking to the most popular guy in the game.” he showed you his screen with a proud glint in his cat-like eyes.
player #109: JUYEON LEE
WINS: 25
SUPPORTERS: 1.3m
“what’s your name?” he asked clicking on to the search bar of the app.
“y/n.” you replied with your name and username, a banner notification popping up at the top of your screen to say he’d followed you.
“thanks by the way, juyeon.” you smiled at him, watching him check his bike for scratches crouched on the floor.
“no problem, if you need anymore help let me know. it’s hard to survive this game.” he spoke solemnly, looking over his shoulder at the pink haired boy sat at the sidelines with his head in his hands.
as you began to walk off, you looked up to see kevin stood at the sidelines with a look that replicated death itself. an appalled, gobsmacked “o” for lips and eyes sunken in fear.
“you’re so dead when we get home.” he whacked you over the back of your head slightly, and escorted you back to his car despite distressing that he wasn’t coming to pick you up at all.
you turned back one last time to catch eyes with the mysterious juyeon lee, hopping back on to his motorcycle yet still watching you walk away.
you waved shyly, seeing a smile creep on to his face before he lifted his hand to wave back.
hopefully this wasn’t the last time you’d see him.
✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩ ✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩ ✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩ ✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩
hello my daisies !! dedicated to @winterchimez for a late bday present <3 ahhh i love this concept so much and hope you enjoyed too!! this is one of my favorite storylines yet <3
✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩ ✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩ ✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩ ✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩
#the boyz x reader#the boyz fanfic#the boyz imagines#kpop imagines#the boyz#the boyz x you#tbz#the boyz fluff#the boyz angst#the boyz juyeon#lee juyeon#juyeon imagines#tbz imagines#tbz scenarios#kpop#kpop fanfics#kpop fanfic#tbz fanfiction#juyeon fanfic#kpop x reader#kpop scenarios#ateez fanfic#ateez#the boyz drabbles#the boyz ff#the boyz suggestive#the boyz au#juyeon
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Heart of the Great Wolf
16 - Ashes of Various Grey
Pairing: Jon Snow x F!Baratheon!Reader, Robb Stark x F!Baratheon!Reader (Past)
Length: 16.1k
Warnings: Angst/hurt comfort, character death, mention of child death, description and threats of violence, mental duress, execution, smut, oral (f receiving), p in v, possessiveness
Notes: The length is absurd because I have zero self control, but hey part 4 starts today. Previous Chapter Here, Series Masterlist Here.
Shireen had always been as fascinated by the Targaryeans as she was fearful of them. Many years she had spent asking and wondering if the dragons carved into stone of the ornate castle would one day come to life, always in a fear. Yet you could recall the books she had on them, her favourites always being about Aegon’s conquering. Part of you had always wondered if it was growing up on Dragonstone that caused the interest. The volcanic rocky terrain that surrounded your home, the impossibly beautiful yet terrifying design of the castle itself with dragons atop pillars and towers. All mixed with the looming not so distant history that you and her grew up in the very place that homed the dragon riders that would soon conquer the lands.
You never cared much for it, not for the stories, not for the dragons and not for the oddness of the Targaryeans and their strange and unseemly ways of life. But she did, Maester Cressen once said that teaching her to read was a terrible idea since it took him days to get her to pay attention to any other lessons once she started understanding the words of history. She yearned for adventure, and you had always spoken of many and the older she got the bigger the adventures were promised. Dragonstone was no place for a girl like her to grow up but you made it work as best you could to see her smile.
You told yourself it was hypocritical. You had refused to let the Nights Watch and Wildings burn Jon’s body and yet you let the same fate be that for your baby sister. Trying to tell yourself that the Targaryeans burned the bodies of their dead, and following a ritual of something that fascinated the girl was one last indulgence of her passions. But part of you, knew it was childish desperation.
You didn’t do what you had done, for them. Not for the red woman, not for her god, and not for whatever visions she saw in the flames that demanded a sacrifice. You had given her a death that would end the suffering she was laying in. Almost unrecognizable from what her own mother let happen, kept asleep with essence of nightshade solely because the pain alone could end her. She cried and begged to you it was a mistake, but she let it happen. She allowed Melisendre to drag your sister onto a pyre and only cried for it to stop when her screams became too much. She died without knowing you came back to her, and it was their fault. It was your mother and this red priestess that whispered in her ear.
But perhaps burning her, wasn’t just for Shireen. You woke from what felt like the dead to a life with none left in it. Robb and your son dead without you, most of his and your family dead across the lands and finally as you found your way back to some, you found just more death. She had said burning that of King’s Blood was a sacrifice needed, and perhaps if there was the slightest chance giving Shireen to the fire would find a way to bring your father back maybe you should just do it. She was already gone, and burning bodies was the way the far North did things now but perhaps a tiny helpless part of you wondered if it would bring Stannis Baratheon back.
You had no idea if he had died hating you, still thinking you as a traitor but perhaps it would be easier to look at the cold hateful eyes of him, then it was to look at nothing left but quiet.
One day had been spent thrown back into the duty of a leader and yet every single choice you made was done alone, done out of desperation, and every single thing just felt like you were nothing of a leader that the King’s once around you were.
The cold of the night was painful, stinging your face and hands as you walked through the tunnel hearing the whirling of wind ting in your ears. The sheet of white in your arms was all you’d allow anyone to see. She didn’t deserve to be remembered this way, she deserved to be remembered as the girl she once was.
Coming to the end, the land opened up to a vast clearing that led into the darks of a forest you had seen in your dreams. The fire was no ceremony, no ritual to be done. Small enough for a girl.
Your mother stood beside Ser Davos on the right in front of him, and you could see Theon and Edd standing a smaller distance away keeping watch. None said a word as you approached. Your eyes far off as your lungs refused to even breathe. Gently, you knelt down to lay her on the flattened pyre. Running a hand over where the top of her hair lay under the sheet. She deserved more then this.
Coming up to your side, Tormund held a torch as he crouched beside you. Most wouldn’t speak a word in such a situation, but you found a small appreciation in how comfortably he approached you. Voice low and grumbling as he watched. “Why bring her out here to do it?”
There was a gentleness in the way you looked and touched her that was uncommon of most everyone he had met. You wanted to smile at the memory, but you felt only the way the dagger so easily slid into the base of her skull. “She had never even left home before this. She always dreamed of adventures and the last time I saw her, I’d promise to take her on one.”
He had told Jon once that once they burn their dead that’s it, there’s nothing else to it. But then there was the anger in finding his body, the way Edd had closed Jon’s eyes as he spat that some fucker had butchered him. And now in the way you looked like this was the one last tie to the world before you faded away forever, you weren’t speaking to him really. The whisper for the girl under the sheet.
“I know it’s not where I said I’d take you. I’m sorry I couldn’t fulfill my promise, but beyond the wall is as far as either of us have ever been. A small adventure is still an adventure none the less, right?” Leaning down you pressed one last gentle kiss to her forehead before Tormund handed you the torch.
Both standing up, you placed it down onto the wood before backing away to stand to the left of your mother and Davos. The flames lit and burned in flickering quiet, the crackling of wood all there was to hear and none of the screams that haunted the night before in the chaos.
Your face was still, unmoving and in life’s previous you’d have wondered if you looked cold and uncaring but you knew the tears slipping from your eyes as you watched the fire consume more of her, they all could see. Your pain sat right in the colours of your eyes and as you looked into the flames you saw nothing. Whatever visions were said to be there, you only found the last of those who held your heart and a life of darkness alone in the hours of the next morning to await what was left of you.
The only ones left were three of you. Edd continued to watch, and would make sure you got safely behind the wall once you were ready to go back through the tunnel. Tormund had no reason to stay with you as you watched, but you were glad he did. None of this should have mattered to a man like him, but in his own mind, Jon mattered to him and you mattered to Jon. Which meant you were someone who mattered to Tormund now.
The only other friend you had left was in Theon, but there was betrayal, pain, and blood in that history. At least in Tormund the pain that greeted in less horror and agony then the other.
Neither man said a word as the remains of the fire smouldered and little was left in it to be recognized by any. Uncaring of the remaining heat, you knelt down and gathered a handful of ash and bone left behind in a small pouch keeping it in the same pocket a small paper flower sat as well. The final thing you could do for her, was keep something of Shireen with you for wherever this tormenting life had in mind for you.
She wanted to go with you on grand journeys and you would take her there.
Left alone as the gates closed behind you, you leaned against the back of a wall and looked up to the glow of the moon. The yard mostly empty as scattered men kept their distance and words to themselves. The tears were still fresh, but you did not wipe them away. Let the gods see you cry for the last of those you love they tore away from you.
Maybe they would finally see fit to end such cruelty.
The stars shined bright in that cold. Mocking you for how much the world around you was the same without having a place for you anymore. Like no matter where you searched, no matter what you did or spoke, part of you had been ripped away so deeply that night and you found nothing to heal it. Nothing that gave you purpose and it all felt futile, like more then people you loved had died, but as if you died and the part of you which came back was just like this night.
It looked clear, the skies beautiful and bright but there was nothing within you but the bitter cold in your lungs and a missing purpose. The path to your fathers quarters was hollow. Gently draping the coat over a shelf, and sitting down in the dim room at his desk felt even worse. The letter weighed so heavily in your pocket that taking it out and tossing it’s folded contents onto the desk almost felt like a shift that left you lightheaded. With it you gently laid both the little flower under what was left of her on the desk as well.
“I will cut out your bastard heart and make her watch.”
“Let you freeze to death next to the bastard who loved you so much.”
The voices passing back and forth in the forefront of your mind as your fingers reached up to where you had laid Longclaw out on top. The pommel even in the light of only the window’s moon, the red jem shined against the carving of the wolf. Jeor Mormont had seen so much in him, that he had the bear remade not just into a Direwolf, but into Jon’s Direwolf. Had given him a sword that once his families for five centuries, and then so betrayed by his own son sat with the man for over twenty years.
He had seen something in Jon that had him dedicated to giving it to him, but felt worthless under your own touch. You had earned nothing, but as long as you were here it seemed it was entrusted in your care. The people looked at you in a silent reverence at the person long thought to be dead and all you had done was make decisions you had no way of knowing if they were even decent.
You had never had to lead like this alone. You hadn’t led anything in over a year, and now you were to do it by yourself and maybe it was a test of how incapable you were. A high ranking man of the Night’s Watch executed under your command only a day after their Lord Commander was murdered, who was supposed to take charge of a mantle so few understood.
His closest companions heard enough about you to trust, but you weren’t Jon and you couldn’t be a leader like him. As you ran your fingertips over the carved teeth you felt that twisting in your stomach that had you put any food in it, may have come right back out. But much like since you found yourself awake, you had little desire for anything but a sleep that never ended.
A scratching at the door is what finally grabbed your attention, scratching and whine that you knew could only come from one animal. As you opened it, you were nearly tackled by Ghost who was suddenly far more energetic then he had been since you arrived. Reminding you more of the puppy you left him as then the unusually intense and aggressive demeanour he had all day.
Leaning down slightly you ran a hand over the side of his face as he whined. Turning in place and beckoning you to come with him, and a whine that seemed more urgent then before. Looking to the outside nothing you could see looked dire but you felt an inkling in your stomach that felt more confusing then sickening.
Glancing back inside, you grabbed Longclaw keeping it tight in your grip as your other hand closed the door behind you. “Alright, it’s alright Ghost. Show me what’s wrong.” Your voice was low and steady but your heart pounded as the direwolf led you down to the ground level and over to the one place you didn’t want to be.
Opening the harsh doors, a few stragglers noticed the grimness of the sight and wondered just what the Direwolf was leading you into but the idea hit both them and you. The stairwell into the main halls of the ice cells was just as it was before. Saving itself from a pitch black only from scattered torchlight.
Your steps echoed against the stone as your breath increased in nervous pants the closer you got to where you didn’t wish to see at this moment. But the cell door, was slightly open and you stood frozen beside Ghost. He just look up at you with another whine, your hand gripping the sheath with one hand and the other tightly against the sword’s mantle as you finally walked forward.
You had told them, you’d handle it. You would deal with the consequence of not burning his body and now it seemed as your final punishment you would have to deal with it now. Dreams long passed of bodies raising up with eyes just as blue as the figures in the night you dreamt of, along the cries of infants. You knew the stories, and you knew the threat that had taken over the worries of all this far North.
It was now though that you’d face it for the first time and it couldn’t be towards a worse opponent. But as the slight open door came into your eyes, you could see nothing outright. Pushing it open only enough that it let you slip inside and Ghost behind you, you didn’t notice you had lived this mistake before as a girl. Outside in the training yard of Winterfell and then too, you hadn’t thought of checking corners or watching for what was coming up behind you.
Stepping towards the iron bars which still had yet to be locked, there no longer was anything there to keep guard. And that was the problem. Your eyes widened, and your heart felt painful inside you as you looked to where you knew for sure you had left him but there was no one.
Ghost had walked to the other side of the room, your eyes glancing to meet his red ones with a sharp panic until it swelled into a fear that sent you turning around, your grip on Longclaw loose enough you almost dropped it. The heavy metal door you walked in though, right behind you now, slammed shut with an echoed thud.
Turning in place though, you could see a hand press down on the lock before you met their eyes. Eyes, that weren’t a crystallized blue, but a grey so dark they appeared almost black.
Neither of you spoke a word in that moment, your heart stopped in your chest as your muscles all shook in such a shock it glued you in place. Just as he looked only with colour and life breathed back into him and far less dead, Jon looked at you with as much of an intensity as you felt.
Instinct told you to fight in fear of what was warned to you, but nothing of what was to be seen was found. It wasn’t a standing corpse in front of you, but just an older, more wild Jon Snow as alive as you were. His own eyes were as incapable of staying in once place as yours, but his feet stepped forward towards you.
Both your breathing was heavy as you dared step forward as well and yet still you saw nothing dead in his eyes. Just as full of words and emotions as he always lived in them and they looked over you as your mouth parted open in words that refused to speak outloud.
You didn’t know when you dropped the sword, but it now lay useless on the ground as you and Jon stood so close in front of each other you could feel the warmth he always gave off even in a place so cold as this. A pain in his eyes that almost looked like he would fall apart was too much, but yet your own found the same place that sickened you hours ago.
Your fingers reaching up, and just as they did before, gently pushed the edges of his shirt aside and ran gently over the wound over his heart. Only this time there wasn’t cold under it, but that of a beating heart as your breathing picked up heavier. Trailing down over the others they were as real as they had been before.
Jon’s own hand reached up, causing you to pause but not look away. Pushing the material up and up until his large, calloused hand ran over the just as mortal, deep scar across your stomach until his palm laid almost flat across it. Like he knew exactly what he was looking for and as your head rose up to look at him, there was such a deep seething anger in his eyes as he looked where he was touching.
Finding the others gaze, you searched for something to say, but your heart was so heavy and so flipped around inside you stammered silently as he looked at you the same. Such a silent whisper in your voice yet it felt like it screamed in the small room. “You were....”
His voice sent something running through your veins, something that burned and shivered down every inch of your nerves as you finally heard it. That deep, low rasping husk of a voice that could entrance you, roughly looked at you with his own pain behind it, a hand still on your own scar. “So were you.”
Not another word was let out though, or even a thought for you finished. Only a moment passed between you, before Jon’s hands reached up to cup both of your cheeks.
Taking you by suprise, he pulled you up while he also leaned down to meet, Jon roughly pressed his lips to yours and suddenly that burning turned into an overwhelming scream in your head. A feeling that took over and shoved out every other thought and sense, as you meekly steadied yourself with hands at his waist. His lips were rough with you, demanding but refused to give you any space to breathe before he turned your body himself and you were shoved roughly into the wall beside you.
Jon pressing his own body tight against you as he moved to hold your jaw and keep your kiss as deep as he could while his other hand ran down and in a second, only pulled from you to suddenly yank your shirt up over your head. The cold of the cells striking over your skin as Jon gritted his teeth in a hiss as his eyes trailed over your bare breasts. You looked at him with a need that you hadn’t felt in such a manner in your entire life, folding instantly into him as he roughly kissed you once more.
His hands reaching up and grasping at your breasts, groping tightly and running his thumbs intently over your nipples until he heard you whine against his mouth. You arched into him as your core already burned at the touch, Jon biting at your lip until you gasped. His tongue slipping into your mouth before his hands gripped and teased you more roughly at how easily you explored him back.
Your own hands suddenly reaching up to shakily rip open the rest of his shirt before trying to move against his demanding kiss and intense touch to push it down his shoulders. Jon never breaking the kiss as he helped shove the material off for you. Your hands running freely along his shoulders and chest before wrapping up around his neck and running into his curls.
Jon cupped the back of your head the second you even tried pulling back for air, refusing you any reprieve as he squeezed every inch of skin his other hand ran along. Kissing deep and increasing in demand as your breaths turned to moans gifted right into his own mouth.
Touch leaving you, Jon ran his hands down until he reached your pants and just as he pulled from your lips, both of you matching in growing red, swollen from his roughness and panting in desperation, he suddenly knelt down. Yanking the material straight down and off your legs. All but throwing your boots to the side and leaving you bare for him in the freezing cold.
You didn’t even consider the scars and horrid marks so blatantly left on the inside of your thighs, as before you could say anything Jon didn’t come back to your lips. Stayed knelt on the ground before pulling your legs as far apart as he could. Gripping your hips to pull you to him, and in a second of confusion for you it was soon replaced with a gasp of his name.
This..you didn’t know about what this is. Had no idea what he was doing but Jon’s mouth leaned up to run along between your legs. His mouth was hot and his tongue licked along your folds up to your clit that had you arch against the stone and hands pressing harder into it as you shook. Jon kept his mouth against your cunt like a true wolf starved from the world as he gripped your hips tightly. Refusing to let you escape him, his tongue ran across your clit before sucking slightly at the tiny bundle, making you jump and cry out his name.
You couldn’t contemplate what Jon was even doing to you, as any slight hint of you trying to pull away from something boiling fast inside of you he yanked you back to him tighter. You knew you were just soaking him from how easily you grew wetter and wetter and it mixed with his tongue running flat along your folds before you cried more.
His hands having pulled you wider open for him, and his tongue reaching to lick inside of you as you stuttered out gasps with no way to speak. Only letting you go long enough to snatch a hand of yours he guided it to run through his hair, and the second you let your nails scratch along his scalp Jon shook against you. The vibrations of his growl against your cunt soaked him more as it spiked a screeching and burning pleasure inside of you. His facial hair burned against your skin, making you desperate enough to want to beg for mercy.
Just as he refused for your lips, he never allowed himself a second to tear way from licking into you as if he could sense every single angle and manner which brought the most moans from you. Truly a wolf that had been starved for weeks and finding something worth dying for between your legs.
Your orgasm passed through you without any warning, you tensed in his hold and hand grasping his curls tighter as he shoved you hard against the wall and ran his tongue across your folds, inside as it pressed along something gaspingly sensitive and back up to your clit. Your core snapped and you begged with nothing but pleas of his name that made him groan and growl into you more.
But he didn’t give you a second’s reprieve. He seemed to lick every sound of wetness between your legs and now the pressure build to the point you almost started to panic. Jon’s grip too strong as he licked so much inside you that he found every way to tune you like an instrument until tears slipped from the corners of your eyes.
Both hands dug into his hair as he pushed you into the wall more and almost forced you to hover just barley on your toes with hands braced against your inner thighs. Letting him press his mouth against you entirely as he dragged you right from one orgasm into another as he refused to let go until he tasted every bit of what you soaked him with.
As your legs shook in his hold, Jon finally pulled away. Rising up with one hand gripping your jaw to tilt you up to his mouth, the other made quick work at tossing off his own pants. Your hands gripping his shoulders as he purposely kissed you with a sloppiness that forced you to taste what heavy wetness you left on his tongue as he ran over yours.
Barley leaving your lips as he moved enough to kick what was left of his own clothes somewhere behind him before tilting your head more up to his mercy, words brushing against your lips that pulled a whine from you, “I love the way you taste.” Before kissing you again and pressing his body tight against you into the wall.
His cock was as hard as the stone scratching at your back. Jon’s hands unable to choose where to stay on as he let himself grind into you, his cock slipping between your legs to move along your entrance.
You writhed into him back as Jon once more returned to his determined goal of keeping your lips pressed against his. As your hands reached behind his neck, Jon suddenly shifted, hoisting you up by your thighs as you kept them partially wrapped around his waist as he held you in his arms against the wall.
This was not the hesitant almost of years ago. As soon as you felt the tip of Jon’s cock press against your clit, he slid along you and with the wetness you soaked his mouth with and how much his own saliva soaked you, there was no resistance.
You cried so loudly into his kiss at the burn. One single push inside you and you could truly feel how long he was and how almost too thick his cock was to handle, how stretched you open for him. You shook in his arms but Jon never wavered in holding you. Letting himself slide as deep as he could inside of you without pause.
He wasn’t fast and impatient, instead keeping you so close to him as he pulled his cock slowly out of you to the tip before slowly once more sliding right back as deep as possible. Your head slammed against the wall behind you as you whined and Jon’s face fell into your neck as you felt him bearing his teeth in deep pants of his own.
His cock was slow as he slid it in and out of you, but just enough to have you feel delirious should he let you go now. Even in this cold, sweat begun to run lightly across both your bodies as he pulled his face up to look into yours.
His eyes black and lips swollen and parted before a particularly deep thrust had his eyes shut and teeth grit together in a hiss. You couldn’t see, feel, or think of anything but Jon like he consumed every inch of your soul as he fucked you.
Just as before, it started out of nowhere but this time your walls soaked his cock, clenching so tight around him Jon’s groans turned to deep growls as he had to fuck up into you harder to slide his cock as deep as he could everytime. Your foreheads pressed together as tears fell freely from your eyes and you could barley breathe but he kissed you everytime you were sure you could handle his fucking and stole you right back to being so out of breathe you held him tighter as the dizziness set in.
Sliding so smoothly in and out of you with such slow and deep strokes against a sensitive wall inside you, Jon’s breathing begun to stutter himself before kissing you again and licking inside your mouth just as his tongue did inside of you and in the same slow overtaking lack of mercy which your orgasm snapped, burning as it spiralled in from his touch.
You grasped onto him so tightly as you tried to cry into his mouth but he stole every breathe and word as he kissed and fucked you slowly through it. His cock pushing up into you with slightly harder thrusts until he pressed against you so tightly you felt only his lips, cock and his chest and none of the world existed beyond that.
Jon shook in your touch, his cock throbbing deep inside you before holding your lips to his with a hand at the back of your head. His cum was warm, unusually warm. One arm still holding you up, as he had you pressed tightly against the wall, Jon forced the leg he held onto, to widen as much as he could make you, as his cock spilled inside you. His cum was also thick, you could feel it was so thick that it matched the almost painful way his cock so largely filled you. But it was a lot, enough of him filled you that it tried to slip down your legs but he stretched so tightly it could only stay deep inside you.
As he slowly fucked the rest of his seed into you, you could feel he was still hard. In an instant your world spun, as he turned you around and pressed you hard into the cold ground. Your legs still spread wide as he pushed them far as they could go, and he looked over you with a need in his eyes as you had in yours. The greyness almost glistening as his chest heaved, your eyes looking over the stab wounds as his found the deep scar on you.
You had seen most of him before, but not like this. His cock was long, and like his seed, he was thick enough it intimidated you even now and making you shudder, clenching around nothing, the sight of it soaked from you and tinted white from his own cum still inside you. Jon gripped his thick base and pushed himself back as deep as he could inside of you. The mix of his cum and yours making the sound almost shameful at how wet it was.
Your muscles all tensed at the large push inside you, his cock running firmly along your sensitive walls as you cried out. Jon’s eyes flew down to where you were joined, watching him slide deep inside of you before his hand rose, pressing against the scar and pushing down firmly that made you jump with a spark of wild desire before slipping to hold your hip.
His other hand tightly gripping your hair before moving to lean down and kiss you once more as this time, he fucked you a little faster, but with much harder thrusts. The force used made his skin slap loudly against yours and you gripped his hair tightly while against his lips.
He pulled away, almost lovingly raking through the back of your hair as his own dark curls brushed against your skin, your jaw and neck was red from how much his facial hair scratched raw against your skin just as it burned still between your legs.
Jon hovered over your lips, his cock never stopped his pace as he fucked into you rough and just less then fast enough that it made you clench so tightly around him he needed to pound harder just to stay so deep inside. His voice rough, and his northern accent so thick it slurred. “You’re so beautiful,”
You gasped as he was pulling you to another orgasm, this time it would be much more powerful as you felt his cock so deep and the sound of his skin against yours with a rough slap each time but soaking wet to the obscene. You pressed your forehead against his as you lost everything that wasn’t his touch, his voice, anything that wasn’t Jon fell away.
Voice wavering as tears fell freely from the mix of pleasure so overwhelming that his cock almost made your cunt burn in pain but you craved every second. “I missed you, gods, Jon I’m sorry I-”
His lips shushing you between more gentle kisses that did not match his cock’s pounding, how tightly his one hand gripped your hip to force you to take his rough pace. “Shh, shh, I’ve got you, darling, I know. I missed you so much,”
Jon could feel the pressure around his cock growing and he knew you were losing it, shifting you to hold your head into his neck as he buried his face into your hair as he fucked you a little faster with every passing second. Low murmurs into your ear of how he missed you, how he was the sorry one, how beautiful you felt and just as you clenched tightly around him you arched up with a true sob.
Something inside you burst around his cock and you knew you were truly soaking him but it felt as if you were underwater and nothing around in the water did anything but drown you in a pleasure that burned in agony through it’s orgasm.
Your nails with a mind of their own in desperation, clawed down his back as he groaned into you. His cock thrusting shallow but deep as he left the rough pace and shamelessly sped towards filling you once more. A trail of two sets of nails raked across his back bright and red but you were covered in bruises that fit his hand and mouth perfectly as he pushed back your soaking orgasm to his.
Jon came much more that time, spilling inside you deep and the slick wetness around his cock and filling you with his warm, thick seed as his hips never stopped until there was nothing left. For a moment, you both held the other, panting with something close to tears even in his own eyes but you were too far gone to comprehend.
Pulling out of you, you whined against Jon but he kissed you gently. Turning you slowly to press your back against his chest as you tumbled into him. His arms tight around you as you muttered distressingly, “I can’t, I’ll wake up and you won’t..” But while your eyes shut and voice mumbled, Jon nuzzled the back of your head.
“Sleep, darling. I’ll be here, I promise.”
Something in Jon’s mind almost worried this wasn’t real as much as you did while falling asleep finally, but he also knew something more. He knew he had watched you through Ghosts eyes, lived as the very direwolf that sat in the corner almost keeping guard of you two. If he knew that was real, then Jon could finally let himself actually sleep for once assuring this was real too.
He could feel the heart beneath his wounded chest slow against your back and he felt the deep scar across your stomach as he too finally fell asleep. Something inside him was feeling like yours, something that looked to the other and felt consumed by their presence.
Something about finding you again, that had Jon feel like a true wolf. Risking going rabid and crazed if he let you slip from him this time. When his eyes slid open to the room, with Ghost at his side as he finally felt his mind properly settle, suddenly all he could think of was finding you. Desperately sending his companion out to bring you here as he felt like a mad man at finding himself truly back in his own once murdered body.
But then you walked in, and that wolf snapped. If direwolves mated for life, Jon couldn’t really know, but he did know as he fell asleep finally, that this wolf certainly did. Ramsay Bolton’s manic letter had accused Jon of stealing you, “Give me my bride back.” It had said.
You weren't his bride, you weren’t Ramsay’s and you never would be. As soon as Jon woke back up in his true body, something inside him couldn’t stop the nagging question. Why did it feel like you were the one who brought him back? Why was he consumed in his new life with you, but he also wondered if you somehow were feeling the same.
Eventually, you both would have to face everyone. Walk up those steps and they would see the impossible before them. The time could come where those remaining would see the remains of a murder walking on two feet, those who watched the crime and those who mourned but none expected Jon the way he was now.
But right now, you both struggled to bring yourselves to walk into that realization. Partially dressed, Jon’s back was leaned against the wall as he kept you perched in his lap. Neither with a shirt on as both of you ran your hands over the scars of the other. Both trying to find an explanation in the other but Jon was persistent. “No one survives something like this.” You tried to argue but your name slipped firmly from Jon’s mouth as his eyes narrowed up at you on his lap. “I saw it, I saw you. You were dead.”
It made sense in your heart but not your mind. “That isn’t...it’s not possible-”
His touch was soft as his hands shifted to your waist, yours gently resting on his shoulders while he leaned his head back onto the stone to look up. “It’s not possible to survive these either.” Nodding down to his chest, your eyes narrowed with your face twisting harshly as you ran your palm flat against them. They felt like yours. Not quite healed, but not scarred either. Like they just existed without being part of your living body. The wounds like they were dead but everything around it alive underneath.
Jon watched you for a moment, his voice low as he spoke again. “Maybe these dreams, these visions I’ve been having. Maybe they were trying to tell me to find you, protect you before..” You both swallowed. You couldn’t talk about that now, neither knew when you should. You watched his eyes soften as you ran a hand gently over his jaw, the coarse facial hair scratching your skin before they moved to gently run along the length of his curls. “Whatever brought me back, we might need to consider it that it brought you back too.”
You bit your tongue as the nerves rose but instantly Jon leaned up, pulling you to press his lips to yours gently, trying to soothe those nerves instead of letting them fester. He still knew you far too well. You swallowed harshly as your mind ran too fast in too many directions, “So, the gods what? Keep me alive just so I could come here? See you dead just long enough to think I’ve lost everyone?”
He hummed, unable to stop his hands from running along your skin as long as he was this close. In truth neither of you understood enough to say what this was. All was known that Jon felt a bit different in this new life. Like something more dark and possessive lived inside of him and he was consumed with you until he had you in his arms. He felt as if he was going to lose his mind in the time between sending Ghost to find you and seeing you step into that cell.
Even now, he took you twice in the early seconds he woke up. Your breasts currently littered in marks from his teeth and bruises from his mouth, he had yanked you up onto his lap as he desperately bounced you rough on his cock, him sitting up and burying his face into your chest smothering the growls in him. Barley awake compared to him, you were at his mercy, his cock fucking up into you as hard as Jon’s grip on your hips moving you himself to fuck you down onto him, letting him take you in whatever demand he wanted. Pushing past both your first orgasms without ever stopping to let you come down.
He was a man possessed, something terribly animalistic in his heart as he felt a screaming, dark desire to spill deep inside you, to fill you up again as soon as he did the first time. You, yourself had felt as if you were burning up on the inside until he was inside you again. Like something was deeply tethering you to him.
The feelings were calm, much calmer now but there remained something between you that was difficult to explain. Like in your new life, you only found purpose after seeing the other again but for Jon it just took far less time and torture to get there. You knew he was angry, wanting to demand everything that happened to you, but it wasn’t the time for it.
His own clothes back on, Jon was before you helping put your own shirt back on neatly as he tilted your chin up to look at him. Gods help him Jon was about two seconds away from just pushing you back onto the ground and taking you all over again, but the dark look in your eyes was focused on something else as you pulled away, reaching down to hand him Longclaw.
Both of you held onto it for a second as he watched you closely, “Out of all the ways for things to end between me and him, it’s hard to believe it was you of all people who did it.” Your eyes wide as they looked at Jon asking how he knew but Ghost had walked over to nudge at Jon. Smiling at him while strapping it back around his person, “I could see things through Ghost...or was controlling him. It’s hard to explain but it was like as soon as I died I could see and move through him.”
A whine coming from Ghost had him kneel down, running a hand along his fur as the two looked at one another. You were to afraid to bring it up yet, like saying his name would destroy whatever had been created in this little, dark room together but you think you understood it. You had watched a strange almost abnormal ability to control a direwolf before.
“Wish I could say I’m glad he’s gone but at least that part of my humanity came back with me.” He knew about Ser Alliser Thorne, he knew it wasn’t vengeance but justice you were seeking for him. “If yesterday didn’t scare the others into making up themselves for what they’ve done-”
“Then seeing you now sure will.” Looking up to you with a more serious look, Jon stood back up and pulled you into his arms for a moment. Only for a moment, as quite quickly, you both were nudged in the legs by Ghost, causing you both to turn to him with a laugh. “At least one thing does make sense to me. If you were somehow living inside Ghost, it would explain why he was so..intense and aggressive yesterday but far more of a large pup now that I remember”
Jon held you one hand gently at your jaw, the other your waist as he looked back to you, waiting for you to meet his eyes before you both felt the air turn much more heavy and tense. “You told them today is a fresh start.” You nodded slowly, a hope that it didn’t make him mad but his expression never changed. “Why?”
Your hands struggled to land on him, much like that night in Winterfell like despite the closeness seconds before you were now afraid to touch him. “Everything they said, about the North, about the Others. I spent over four years with a war and it’s aftermath having dreams and visions of what was happening but I didn’t understand any of it. But...now I do, and I think even the men who betrayed you need a chance to realize that was well.”
Jon watched you closely, his voice low but assuring. “Then we give them that chance.” Almost leaving for a second, Jon hesitated before pulling you back with a gentle call of your name, “Theon...”
You shook your head firmly, a stern look with no room for question. “He’s paid for what he did. He’s paid the cost and then far more then what he deserved. And he’s the only reason I made it out of Winterfell alive. He’s with me and right now I would leave it at that.”
The relief in you as Jon never doubted your word, giving a nod. “I won’t pressure you, but eventually I am going to need you to tell me what happened. What he did to you.” He, you both knew, meant Ramsay. “Not right now, but we can’t avoid him forever and I need to hear what he did from your mouth, because if I have to hear it from his, I may not end up letting him even finish a sentence.” His hands tightened on you, before you finally reached up to run along where his scars behind the black shirt sat under.
He would. You knew it. Ramsay loved to use information as torment in and of itself, and that letter...either Jon finds Ramsay first or he brings himself and the rest of the Boltons men here. But he’ll mock him with every torture his words can summon, it was just his cruel nature at work.
Was it fair to assume the worst? Some considered it so. You had followed Ghost to the Ice Cells in the dead of night and quite some time had passed and none had seen you. They all knew what was down there by now, and all of them feared what the worst might mean.
Ser Davos Seaworth had shared a moment with the large wildling, Tormund. Discussing that they may need to begin forming plans for the worst, knowing now that there were bigger threats on the horizon and the remaining wildings and Night’s Watch could not just stand by and wait for whatever threat to attack from one side of the other.
Jon Snow’s last stand had been the choice to fight for not just the North he now guarded, but the North that was his home, the North that the woman he loved was trapped within. He had made it known he considered those beyond the wall to belong to the realms of men, and now he had remembered truly that his duty was to those south of it as well.
He had died for that conviction, and if that damned letter was right, without King Stannis Baratheon now they had to face the idea that you too might not come back alive from the cells if it had been this long. Tormund had said it was by nightfall most men turned to the blue eyes of the dead, and that the only things he’d ever seen kill them were fire, and that sword of Jon’s.
Some said you brought it with you, others weren’t sure. If not, and if you couldn’t grab a torch in time, they were going to have to find a way to continue this on their own and they didn’t like their chances.
Only, they didn’t have too.
The large pure white direwolf emerged first. Thick metal doors opening as he walked out onto the yard first, and caught many eyes. But, what followed Ghost was enough that every person in Castle Black stopped and watched. You were still you, but you also walked beside a figure that they had seen dead the day before.
He looked exactly as he did before, scars still on his face red from their freshness, Longclaw strapped to his side as it truly belonged, and even more striking, eyes just as grey as they were before that night. No blue, no sigh of death, no fear from you except the dark looks on both your expressions as the men all gathered close.
Whispers begun right away. The North’s previously thought dead Queen, had disappeared in the dark of night and reemerged hours later with the once dead Jon Snow alive by her side. Davos had seen the body himself, but there was no sigh of the dead to fear in the man. Just the man himself, and you.
You were in rough shape the morning the Greyjoy had brought you here, but you were darker, angrier, and missing part of the life he knew in you as a girl that he wondered would ever come back. You refused to speak on what happened at The Twins, refused to speak on the whispers of you being dead and only said “As you can see, I certainly am alive right now.”
But he saw Jon Snow dead, and the ones who hadn’t, either murdered him, watched him be murdered or had the trusting word of his closest companions and the woman he died for. But here he was, speaking to his men as much of a leader as he saw before.
Davos tried not to look to where he knew the red woman to be. He had no idea what you could have done to bring this man back, but knew he did not want her of all people having any place in what was to come. In any of it. But as Jon stood on even ground as his own men, you stood beside him as your eyes blazed in a mistrusting rage towards the same woman Davos was ignoring.
Edd and Tormund both walked closer to the pair, sharing looks of bewilderment at the other. Both had seen things they never in a lifetime thought would be true, but this was something else. This was a dead man standing before them but not in the same horror’s Tormund and Jon himself had witnessed at Hardhome.
He had found a lot to admire over the past few years of the crow, and over the past few months in particular stood out. Never would’ve thought possible, but somehow he both admired the man more after watching him lead the crows to defeat the free folk. Somehow found himself being the man doing the growing and changing afterwards.
He had heard him talk about you once they finally found common ground that day in his office. To Tormund, it seemed a bit stupid. You were in love with the girl first, you snuck around for six years with her and then you let your fathers make her marry your brother and you go off and vow yourself to the crows instead of fighting for her. He could not understand either of you, but now looking at the two of you he knew no other explanation then somehow you found a way to bring him back from the dead.
That is some power between you two only gods are supposed to have, if you asked him.
As he spoke, the same deep rasping voice came out, but a tinge rougher with more of an anger behind the words. A darker tint floated around Jon Snow, and it would never quite go away, but no question, those who knew you before could also could see it in yourself as well.
“Most of you should know, two night’s ago twelve of our own took it upon themselves to betray a brother. Lured me out alone, cornered me, and stabbed me in the chest and heart. Then threw me into an ice cell thinking they could get away with it if they hide the evidence.”
A glance up from where you stood beside him, you could see Olly pale and full of a shocked kind of fear in his eyes. A look that was shared by a number of others who had seen it themselves first hand. The boy had your word, but the same would not be found for others.
“Nine of you came forward yourselves, admitted your part. Except three.” Drawing attention to you, the way the eyes watched you both was far easier then yesterday doing it on your own. “Ser Alliser Thorne planned and carried out my own murder, and then paid the price for his crimes, but two of you didn’t. Two men who once stood by my side as Lord Commander.”
The yard quiet as this time, you had already named them front of everyone the day before but still, they found no courage to step forward until this time, the one who named them was the brother they killed.
“Othell Yarwyck, Bowen Marsh.”
There was quiet until a path begun to turn, men shifting in place to draw all attention on the two older men so white they just may have passed out if not for the bitter cold keeping them alert. There was no need for yesterday’s demands, and this time, it was Jon who saw men that once voted against him force the two to come to his feet. Shoved onto the ground as they looked up at him.
You promised a fresh start, but for those who confessed before you did it for them. You executed the man who did this to him, but Jon knew better then anyone both of them had shoved their knifes into his chest and watched him bleed out. And never had the courage to speak up when confronted.
Jon would stand by your decision for the others, but you would stand by his decision for the two of them. “This fight is bigger then us, bigger then our disagreements, bigger then our vows. I’m not leading these men to fight for nothing but the wall.” His face twisted slightly, tone almost irritated that some of them hadn’t understood the grander image yet. “I want you to look me in the eye and tell me that there’s no room in our vows that means protecting the North, the whole North, or the people we love in it.”
The men found nothing in glancing at you. It wasn’t you they betrayed, and it wasn’t them they were to answer too. Their eyes tearing up to Jon’s in hesitancy, neither finding the bravery to speak. Voices that did speak up were men scattered in the crowd, perking up from different points and picking up in fervour. Words of “murderers”, “dirty traitors” all the way up to “hang them” as still the men found no courage to truly face the man they ended.
It was Edd who stepped forward enough to capture attention, something barley held back in his expression of awe and relief. “What is to be done with them, Lord Commander?” A point in his voice, make sure any possible descender know, he is still in charge, he is still the leader they chose.
Stepping closer to them, Jon’s eyes narrowed sharply as he found more anger in his disgust at their cowardice. His head nodded back to your distant stillness, “She was kind enough to show you mercy.” His grey eyes bordering on a black as his tone lowered to something rough that made them shiver. “But I’m not. You have until sundown to make peace with yourselves.”
Multiple men stepped forward, dragging the remaining two men to be tossed away. For a moment, there was a tense quiet as they all looked to their somehow undead leader, and bless Edd for stepping forward first to break such still heavy air.
The two friends hugged, and the gates opened to the rest of them approaching their brother, and the scattered wildlings joining too.
You could recall the day you left Winterfell. Hearing behind where you stood Jon and Robb saying their goodbyes and how wrong it felt to accidentally intrude on it, the same felt deep in you now. Stepping back slowly as men all approached Jon before something in the pit of your stomach needed to walk away entirely. These were his people, not yours. You still didn’t belong here.
You weren’t quite sure where you were even headed at all until reaching far into part of a dining hall, dim and empty as the mass of men were outside. You could feel your heart pounding but nothing to explain why or even the senses to tell yourself to breathe. It was as if the world was dizzy and your chest ready to burst open as your palms braced on a counter. Your eyes shut as you leaned over hearing the blood rushing in your ears.
It all felt too much all in one instance. The strings, the blood, the warm blue eyes turning to terrifying pale ones, all swirling into bodies and fire and her and him and all of them as the night before screamed in your head and deafening you until a gentle hand found it’s way to your upper arm.
Flipping around with a desperate gasp of air you found Theon flinched back slightly, for only a second did you try and tell him not to sneak up on you but you only felt the world fade and twist in colour before slinking to the ground. Your back pressed against the counter as Theon slowly knelt in front of you. “What can I do?” His voice quiet but a concerned plead as you felt like the world spun in your mind.
You shook your head almost choking on the words of not knowing, eyes stinging with water trapped behind them until an old trick came to Theon’s mind. Stepping away from you you heard thuds and shuffling but you could only hear a mixture of voices. Voices of Jon, of Robb, of Shireen, of your father and the mocking words of Melisendre that day in the Westlands.
Heart stopping yet racing all at once until Theon returned with a large mug shoving it into your hand and just moving you to drink. “Come on, all of it, let’s go.” Ale rich and bitter but you let it sink down as you slammed it on the ground before letting your head fall against the wood. The world still spinning as your eyes remained closed but it all eased up as Theon spoke. “You alright?”
Taking a deep breathe before nodding, you moved your feet to sit flat on the floor knees closer to your chest as your head dropped into your folding arms. You felt Theon shift to sit next to you, it was never often him all those years ago that would see spirals of panic this way but he’d seen them once or twice enough to recall what they looked like. And the memory of having you down something alcoholic to simmer it out or maybe just to distract you for a moment still worked luckily.
Voices spoke muffled in the distant outdoors before you finally felt your heart grant your feet back on the earth and mind lifting such haze. Your arms remained folded against your knees but you raised back up as he could see you wipe back whatever tears fell with the back of your hand, frustrated furrow of your brows that they even fell in the first place.
He leaned over quietly, as if hiding with a whisper in the empty room of your name, dropping any formalities or titles in the moment, knowing right now you just needed a friend. “What the hell happened?”
You looked forward at a spot on the floor, a shrug in your shoulders with a weak voice. “I don’t know, I have no idea what I had done. He was dead one moment and alive the next. I...” You didn’t know how to say it, you didn’t want to even think of that night not the blood not the fire or the strings or the chanting but something about last night felt true as you spoke. Voice meek like a confused child, “I don’t think he’s the only one.”
Theon’s brows furrowed, but you couldn’t look at him as you spoke. “Something’s been so wrong with me since that night, something inside me felt so twisted and missing like I never really survived. As if I’ve been walking around barley alive until last night, and now it’s all right here and it’s too much at once but...” Finally, you looked at him.
A far away concern in his eyes that you knew wasn’t judgment, but just not understanding. You didn’t expect him too, you think only person in the realm will understand it now. “I died that night, Theon. I know I did, I felt it...I died beside him. But it never felt like I woke up until..”
“Until he did?” His head gesturing outside vaugley as you nodded. “Could be why you came back. You couldn’t stay dead because you needed to be here to bring him back.”
You shook your head, letting it thud back behind you once more. “Given this a lot of thought, Greyjoy?”
The smile wasn’t really genuine, but the light tone in your voice that accompanied it gave a little perk to him, as if for a second it was just the two of you years ago. Teenagers in Winterfell that snuck into the kitchens to have a drink way passed when anyone was supposed to be awake. “One of us should.”
He nudged your arm, you nudged his back. The panic and tears were still staining your face and soul but in the quiet it was a tad easier to swallow down. “What is it the Drowned God speaks of? What is dead may never die?” You looked at him with an unconvincing half smile. “What does he say about those who bring a man back to life?”
Reaching beside him, he dragged a mug of ale back over to you with a second for him. Nudging you to take a sip. “Nothing. Think it might just be you two.” For a moment it was quiet before he asked “Do you think he’s lying about your father? Ramsay?”
Biting you lip harshly before you took another sip, “I couldn’t say. He’s a commander, an excellent one. But I’ve seen more then enough commanders take knives to their hearts to feel any kind of optimistic about it anymore.” The ale was bitter, but Theon was right, it helped bring you down a little bit even if it was the sake of distracting your mind. “If he isn’t, he died thinking I hated him. If he is, then he will hate me anyways.” His eyes narrowed in confusion as your heart felt heavy. “The wrong daughter came back.”
A fleeting wish in Theon that maybe those thoughts had found their way out of your mind, but in the quiet of the room you still voiced the same. His head dropped, face twisting downward. “You’re still his kid. No parent wants to outlive their kids.”
In the quiet of the room, your head tilted slightly to the side, almost resting on him if only just a few inches closer. “What about you? You’re here when you could be making your way back to Pyke instead of being with me still. Your father would want to know you made it out of Winterfell alive.”
His heart in that moment felt far away, much like your own. “My real father lost his head in King’s Landing.”
Little seemed to change, the outside was different, the people not as cruel and the circumstances to get here were something of chaos, but in here it was the same as back there. You and Theon still held this strange dynamic, a bond that was rooted in feeling out of place in the world amongst your own people and your own blood. Your voice was just as quiet. “Some days I wonder if mine did too.”
You had to guess where he may be, though logic ended up telling you to search your quarters. A strange place to look for him, if considering what his position really is here. Your fathers quarters just as cold and dim as the way you left it the night before. No sign of life beyond you and Theon as you walked in but your eyes remained sharp. You had a feeling he was in here, but you weren’t with such energy to hunt.
Coming around to the desk, you ran your hand over the leather of the grey overcoat hanging across it you barley paid attention to before. Grasping it gently in your hand as you pulled it up, you could see it on him. Not magnificent of a wardrobe, much of similar things but they all were very striking of your father’s appearance.
Looking up you caught Theon watching, both of you turning away in an instant. You swallowed as you nodded over to the table near the back. The things on there clearly that of a young girl, “Could you..”
You turned away as he walked over to take them out of your view. Eyes drifting to the window up to the clouds of the winter day as you tugged the leather over your person. Too large to do up, without swallowing you, you kept it open and at least felt the leather warm you the slightest bit more then the only soft material under it before.
The first of papers on one side containing raven scrolls large and small, papers with too many numbers and listing details to count. One in particular still catching your eye, words you read and reread far too often and yet even now you felt just as awful thinking of it’s contents as before. Fingers tracing over it’s edges before a shifting across the room and a startle from Theon had you stand up suddenly.
“Seven hells, what are you doing hiding in here?”
Stepping around, Theon looked startled but annoyed as he looked at the now exposed Olly hiding in a corner. His face pale and hands shaking that fear you saw in him yesterday at that very desk back with a much larger looming fear. “He was dead, I stabbed him I know he was dead.”
Your jaw set, tilting your head slightly to Theon to continue on you stepped towards the boy, a hand outstretched. Pushing him lightly forward from his back as you led him back to the main room. Away from where you couldn’t handle being around Shireen’s things. Sitting back at the desk, you leaned against it to face him.
“What did you do?”
Your face still and unblinking for a moment before you came to an honest answer. “Maybe I didn’t do anything. The gods may have just decided he wasn’t supposed to die and made it so.” Your brows narrowed as he looked distant in his gaze. “Olly-”
“He’s going to hang me too.” You sighed, eyes fluttering shut for a moment as you crossed your arms over your chest. “I put a knife in his heart, if he sees me, he’ll hang me.” Opening your eyes you shared a flicker of your eyes with Theon, almost as if asking each other if you thought it was a possibility. But you couldn’t, it seemed like a different person who would do such a thing.
Olly’s circumstances didn’t make what he did to Jon any more acceptable, but there were unavoidable truths in his age and what drove him here to take in account. Executing adults is part of being a just leader, but children was...
“Do you know where Riverrun is?” Both looked at you confused only getting an eyebrow raised back to him until Olly nodded yes. “Our army was garrisoned there near the end of the war. River Lords had attacked Lannister forces without our knowledge and they took two teenage boys hostages. Not much older then you.”
Theon didn’t know any of this either, leaning against the wall to watch as you yourself turned further away for a moment. “I spoke to them, gained their trust, gave them food and water. They were prisoners, but they were still boys who weren’t the ones responsible for the war. They were good kids, really. Then in the middle of the night, five of our own men dragged them from their cell and murdered them just for being kids of the enemy.”
You could see them, the way they were laid out in the hall that night and the tension so thick in that room that radiated fury. If you let yourself, you could still hear Robb yell that they were just boys.
“The King had four of them hanged, took the head of the one who planned it himself.” Crouching down to look at him closely you could still see how young he really was. “We executed five of our own men, and lost the support of one of our own bannermen’s houses as a result of that execution. And we did it because they were grown men who murdered two boys your age. We did it because they were under our protection and murdering them was treason.”
“Kill me and be cursed.”
Push the thought from your mind, push it all back. You couldn’t. Not now, maybe not ever. Exhaling deeply you leaned in more to make Olly meet your eyes. “Some might argue it’s justice the other way around. But I don’t see it that way. Sometimes...” Both men in the room watched you look over to Theon. “Sometimes what we think is justice leads to things which are far worse.”
He had many things to hate you for in your life after him, but you couldn’t imagine executing a thirteen year old boy would be something wherever he was, he would look at you any more favourably for. If indeed, there was anything left he’d be even remotely alright with. Not now, not after last night.
“But you are going to have to face him. You can’t avoid that, and you shouldn’t. The last thing you should do right now is hide from him. You came to me yesterday, told me the truth all of your own choice. Don’t make him have to come to you.”
So why were you up here hiding from Jon as well? After everything why was it you still felt that lingering dread that he wouldn’t want anything to do with you? Unable to tell if it was the worry of disappointing just one more person with who you’ve become, or the pit deep within you of guilt at how desperately attached you felt last night.
Leaning forward so his forearms rested against his knees he looked down before finding your eyes, a doubt of his own painted across. “Why are you helping me? After everything I did, you cut off Thorne’s head when he confessed.”
Circling around you placed yourself back behind your fathers desk, fingers tapping at the wood before settling. “I have a soft spot for giving those who have wronged the people I love, another chance at life, you could say.” Flickering slightly to the side, you didn’t properly look at Theon but you both could sense the other’s gaze. Two years ago you nor Robb wanted anything but bring him down from the North and take his head but now you wouldn’t want the man going anywhere else.
Pausing you leaned forward, hands clasped together. “I betrayed my own father.” Olly’s eyes rising to you in confusion, you nodded to the desk. “Stannis Baratheon was my father, I was his eldest daughter and he raised me to be his heir. Gave me a proper education, let me spend many years in Winterfell and Kings Landing to learn as he was, and then the Lannisters took Ned Stark’s head.”
This time you purposely didn’t look at Theon, you never spoke of it, but the day you all found out you had visited Theon in his tent. Things everywhere were thrown around and a few bottles were smashed on the ground. Nothing truly had been right since that day.
“Everyone expected me to go to his side. Join my father, the rightful King and fight for his claim, but instead I sided with Robb Stark. I sided with the man I married and when they declared him King in the North my own father declared me a traitor.” His eyes dropped a bit, Olly being from the North himself had long heard of the two of you. “I cannot deny what I did, I was a traitor to him. What I am saying is, we all do bad things. We all do things many consider horrible or monstrous, but it’s what pushes us to those circumstances that matters when facing judgment.”
A knock at the door had all three of you raising your heads up, Olly looking from the door to you with a barley concealed panic as Theon went to open it. First only Ser Davos walking in causing no alarm until it was the one who came behind him that made two hearts jump for very different reasons. Having changed into something without the traces of his own blood, and black fur around his shoulders that made him look large and imposing.
Instantly you gestured for Olly to come around the desk to stand behind you, doing so with a jump as you could see him try to remain steady. His grey eyes unblinking as he moved to stand beside Ser Davos on the shame filled yet terrified ones of the boy.
Jon wouldn’t go against your choice, he understood it likely better then you. He knew what Olly had come from, and he knew too well that putting his anger on the boy would be misplacing the ones who knew what they were really agreeing too. He could still recall having that final knife shoved into his heart, but he also could see the confused, angry pain in the tears in the boys as he did so.
As you sat there, it was an odd feeling for him. He once could recognize Stannis Baratheon without ever being introduced his name because of how much he could see you in the man. Now though, it was as if he could see Stannis in you as if he didn’t know you first. You had left in the noise earlier and now looked at him with something very held up, very guarded in your eyes that he didn’t like.
Something about his connection with Ghost had him once wondering if this strange phenomena was what being a warg was, and then his spent over a day in his direwolf’s body and consciousness when he finally found you again. Too much of the day now he had been torn between the nature of his new life, and how something deep within him knew it was through you that he could stand here now. The other was burning and obsessive being able to touch you in ways he for too long thought was a dead gone dream.
But then you sat there, looking at him like you weren’t sure if you wanted to be here trying to put that wall up he knew came from Stannis himself. Only his wasn’t a wall, just his nature and with you it was hiding you away from everyone else. Jon wondered, did you realize how well he still knew you, did you even know yourself anymore. His voice was rough and low as he spoke, “It’s time.”
He didn’t need to ask he knew you would join no matter what you were trying to ignore. You glanced to Theon, indicating something with a more narrowed glance before the man left with the quickly joining him out the door with Olly as Ser Davos followed in a thoughtful silence, the sounds of distant shouting and footsteps heard in the distance. Looking at each other for a moment, Jon turned and closed it completely shutting the world out. Gloved hand still on the wood as he faced away from you, his eyes shut as he inhale deeply.
“They all think you had something to do with bringing me back. And I don’t think they’re wrong.”
Turning back to you, your eyes were set to the floor with something that he could feel the sting sitting just behind them. Only a mutter left in it, “I can feel it. As if it’s screaming at me like I’ve found any kind of a purpose, for the first time since...” Your words died right in your mouth and it only left you more uncomfortable as you sat there.
Everytime Jon had to share you with the world, it made things between you that much more difficult to overcome. Only now, the weight of so much in this world bared down on both of you and only brought you together after forcing you to lose everything. Jon hoped Robb could somehow see how much he meant to you, hoped that he didn’t hate him for always holding part of your heart.
But he had it for so long, so far away from you, that it was possible to Jon that you forgot what letting it share between you both felt like. “I know it would have been different for you, I don’t know how long you were..”
The shatter in your tone made him want to go to you, but the stillness and harshness in your distant unfocused eyes had him stay. You’d just flinch back from him at that moment if he tried. “It was the same night...” You sighed, running a hand over your forehead before resting them both on the desk, hands clasped against your lips. “It could have been minutes, or hours, but it was long enough to throw me in a cage and for them to...”
Whatever was on your lips next left with something that swam over your eyes like it was about to make you sick, and Jon felt a similar sinking feeling that it was about Robb. That the details you were forcing back down your throat would only serve to hurt him as well.
He could see you bite your tongue even from where was before you. Your name falling so gently from his lips before you stood abruptly. Making your way towards the door and breaking the quiet tension between you both as the cold air rushed in. “We shouldn’t keep your men waiting.”
That damned letter was on the desk in the seconds he was left alone in the room. The letter that started all of this, and the one that woke him from a slumber of refusing to involve himself with the realm. He didn’t read it as he gently picked it up, but he certainly took it with him. As he descended upon the awaiting crowd. You now standing grim and tall much like your father by the platform, standing by his choice no matter what you would’ve done or not done the day before.
Only hours ago Jon had you in ways he never thought would be blessed to him, and yet now you looked at him like you would shatter if he ever got that close again. He couldn’t let you walk away, like being too far from you even sent his head spiralling and an aggression in his chest rose. A barley contained growl within as if he was an animal watching his mate in pain.
Jon felt consumed with something darker in this new life and yet surrounding all of it was a burning possessiveness to keep you close. Jon just didn’t know how to quell that great strengthening desire in him, nor did he know how to keep you by his side without chasing you off. Just his gaze on you was enough to startle you out of the room like a frightened deer. But he could feel it in his heart, he sensed it that night.
The pull to find his body once more as if he could feel his mind being pushed back to where it belonged and all he could think or feel as it happened was you. And then his eyes opened once more in his own body with Ghost at his side and he knew it was you his heart was once more beating for. Beating because of.
But Jon also had no idea what you had truly been through, the extent of the night Robb died and what led you into the captors of the Boltons escaping with barley your sanity. Perhaps you just needed time, but Jon needed you. The darkness was coming to devour them all, a night that never ends and Jon had seen first hand the death which would follow if no one did anything about it.
It was on his shoulders now, but Jon couldn’t do it without you. He didn’t want to either.
Draped in blacks and furs, scar over the skin right beside his eye still red and imposing as the snowflakes fell across the wildness of his curls. Jon stood tall as he faced the two men who had yet to find any redemption or remorse. They had watched what you did to the man responsible, and now Jon would finish what you started.
His eyes dark as he looked up, their hands tied together and noose around their necks with looks of contempt from all three men standing there. Jon’s a seething and quiet outrage as Yarwyck spit, “You shouldn’t be alive, it isn’t right.”
You stood only a few feet beside Jon, his voice rasping deep as he didn’t turn away from them. “Neither was killing me.” Eyes flashing to down in that cell, the first time you pulled the edges of his shirt to the side to trace over the wounds deep in him and how they later felt flat against your palms as he knelt over you.
Bowen Marsh was pleading with more regret but no apology. “Would you let my mother know, she still lives in White Harbour. Tell her I died fighting the wildlings.” It wasn’t her Jon had issue with, and it was his duty to listen to the mens final words and requests. He gave a nod in agreement to his request, and their fate was sealed.
He let them go loose, and it took minutes for the sounds to stop. Jon had told them he wouldn’t give them a death as merciful as you had to Ser Alliser, and yet he felt little guilt. Looking to you, it was hard to tell if there was regret or shame in your own eyes.
A power of the gods had told them that Jon Snow should not be dead, and it was through you they chose to do so. You could argue against the idea, but you both felt that deep pull. Loving one another was just part of who you were for so long, but this wasn’t just that. This was something darker, something more desperate and protective that Jon knew would be impossible to keep away from this time around.
You could feel her eyes on you, watching with a shocked curiosity that you knew would lead to answers you already dreaded. You knew what you had done, what you had felt and what was said about such powers in her god. Her intentions for one man, but it flowed through you to bring back another.
Men all around this camp wanted to speak to you, had things to address and questions which needed answering but none of them were what you could handle. Not today, maybe not tomorrow or ever by this state of your mind. Not until one final thing was done.
When none had seen you part, none followed, she finally did.
A small fire finding itself lit as the remains of the hanged burned before the brother, the leader they betrayed and the men who now remained which stood with him. A few stragglers remained about, and it was them who helped you up.
The steps towards the lift were sturdy but you felt even there the cold wind of night increasing over your face. The long leather across your back and arms at least sheltered the warm better then everything else on you. Closing the gate behind you, you leaned against the back with your hands braced against the wood as you looked to the rising view of Castle Black.
The darkness of the North you knew in front rose up and the fires lighting below dimmed. Enough of the days clouds had scattered as the moon shined bright, but the crackling and gears turning around you were loud. The floor not shaking, but uneasy under your feet as you raised higher then most had ever been before leaning your head back eyes slipping shut to await the stop.
You knew in the morning, Ser Davos would seek you out and speak the words you wished you could throw into the mud. Where your place was now you did not know, but you did know it wasn’t that and it never would be. Your father did not come all the way to the Wall thinking it would help the Iron Throne and if he truly died in attempts to reclaim land from the Boltons that was not for anything but the North either.
A North that he turned away to your face and not. A North all his side called you a traitor for siding with, you had no place in his plans then and you could not see taking up them in his memory as right or fair. A new purpose needed to be carved before the swirling agony of panic inside you had you leap from these heights. This was far taller then the stone walls of Winterfell. This jump would certainly kill you.
The tops of the wall were higher then most, only opening up in carved spots to look out too as braziers laid about that had the stragglers within. Some men only watched you with a silent fear as you passed, others with a nervous mutter of a title you had not heard in a long time. Coming around the corner was an empty opening, but high enough the sky lit the trees below.
The wind was utterly freezing as it blew the edges of your coat and the strands of your hair around behind you. Your eyes widened a bit and the cold stung them, but the sight was as magnificent as it was invoking of terrifying. You had been out there, just barley and yet with no idea this was truly what lay beyond.
Only, the cold grew within your bones and for just a moment the dark of the night enveloped you with blues and cries of an infant in dreams long passed. Images of this sight but in the daytime flashed through your eyes and pretty red hair flashed through your mind and instantly you closed your eyes to push them out.
For too long you had been nothing but a problem in his life, something keeping him down and even now your very name in Ramsay’s hand caused his death. Even in his new life you had no idea if you belonged in it or if he wanted you in it. In the throes of the night it wasn’t even a thought that was all just a passing passion but now in the quiet and the freezing high dark you could hear him.
Hear how much he wanted to break you case any others wanted to play with his new toy. The vile spitting in your ear of mocking that ruined the memories of the only man who before then had taken you like that. Ramsay ruined all of it and you felt like a stupid child for thinking the kind of man Jon had become would care at all to take on your pain as his burden anymore.
If your true purpose in such a new life was just to be there to bring him back then you fulfilled that and should leave the realms to those who still deserved to fight for it. You felt her before you saw her, something that creeped up your spine and wrapped their tendrils around your neck speaking whispers of fire into them.
Not dressed much better then you, Melisendre stood beside you looking out to the far North with something less knowing on her face. A quieter shock that permeated her person and a tone quieter then such certainly held the night before. “The Lord of Light works through you, your grace. A power that should not belong to any. I merely speak to the Lord and he answers with his own power if he sees fit, and I do with offerings and practices he desires and yet it was you who he chose the one to bring back.”
Your eyes glared to her before returning back to the windy darkness. “What do you know about it?”
“Many have seen the wounds on your person, and none of them think you should have survived it. But I know you didn’t, your sights in the flames was death but here you stand.” Neither noticed the figure leaned against the cold walls of ice some feet away with keen ears. “The Lord brought you back himself, so you could be the one to bring another back.”
Your tone was low and filled with much ire, “And yet I didn’t have to burn any alive to accomplish it. What does that say about this god of yours.” Melisendre watched you curiously, the sight of Jon Snow as alive as he was dead hours before was a shock. He was not the name in the visions and flames she sought to revive. No images of her King showed death but it was death spoken of him, offering the princess as a final sacrifice was needed.
Appearing, you had taken away that chance and the Lord would not consider burning her body the offering, but you had done it at your own hand and that was the blood he decided would bring this man back. He accepted your offer, not any else and she could not help but consider that only someone of once death could bring back another in such a way.
“I think it means the Lord intends to keep you alive, that the flames showed me the truth. The King will return to us, because you have returned to him, the wolf at your side.”
For all her calm, she didn’t expect the move and you didn’t quite either. In a second, you had the woman pinned roughly to the wall with a small but sharp blade pressed to her stomach. Just barley scraping the fabric as you leaned into her with fury in your eyes. “Don’t speak to me about what your Lord intends. You looked me in the eyes, told me of a future with my husband that was ripped away from us by his own men.”
There was a hitch in her breathe, it seemed drastic pain sent more then just the King’s Baratheon into such a violent push. “I spoke the truth, it was not any fault of mine that he did not show me which wolf you would be at the side of. We do not choose our destiny.”
You pushed a little harder, blood rushing in your veins as your muscles screamed at you to act but you just stared at her with unmoving stillness. “Do not speak to me about my destiny, you have no right now or ever again to tell me what future you think I should follow. He was my husband, the only thing he fought for was his family and his people. You have no right to have any part in his memory. Or anyone else I love.”
Not easily persuaded by her words or allure, and Melisendre knew that too well as you dragged it a little down her stomach. “Do you feel where that blade is? Where it would go into you if I pushed a little further? That’s where Roose Bolton stabbed me, three times in this very spot. I bled out in minutes, having to watch him shove the same blade into Robb’s heart as we died beside each other.”
The figure just beyond felt that pain in his own heart, more ways then one but truly an unsettled feeling at how similar their ends were in wounds and betrayal. And how you were at the centre of both.
“I lost everything that night, and I have no idea where it is I belong in this life anymore. Maybe my destiny was to just be here and bring Jon back, but it cost me my life and my sister. Don’t you dare tell me that everything the North lost was just because you think I was with the wrong person at the wrong time. Don’t you dare tell me that.” You didn’t hide the tears, not as they ran down your cheeks and not in the anger they soaked your voice in.
The shaking in your hand from the burning in your nerves was too angry. You knew one more word from her and you would push this too far. Pulling back with a shaky inhale you ran a hand over your mouth before stepping away.
“You leave tonight.” Quiet and barley audible over the wind but she heard you and so did he. “You dragged my sister up onto a pyre and almost burned her alive for your god. If the only thing that brought Jon back was what I did then that is my weight to bare but you put her there. You put the King’s only living heir, the daughter he loved more then anything as a sacrifice to bring him back.”
Stepping in a way that you weren’t quite in sight before you turned back to her.
“You served my father well, but you will not serve me nor any in the North. You leave tonight, and if I ever see you in these lands again I will show you exactly how getting that scar felt. Only I don’t presume your god will see to keep you alive for it.”
Finding his grey eyes as you stepped out, you could see pain in his. You lost Robb but so did he, and he didn’t deserve to have you around to make that pain worse. You did enough damage to Jon Snow as it was. You said nothing as you walked away but he saw the desperate tears in your eyes as you saw them threatening to fall behind the anger in his.
Standing at the top of the landing, palms both leaned forward and braced on the wooden railing as she looked back to you for one last time. You knew all Melisendre found was contempt. She had tried to speak to him in your leave, but found nothing more of comfort.
“You put Shireen on that pyre, not her. Which means that little girl’s blood is on your hands. If I ever see you anywhere in the North, or anywhere near her ever again, I’ll hang you myself.”
You felt him beside you as she left. Both once dead, brought back for the other side by side as the moon fell high over the sky you thought for a moment, that it felt normal to be beside him like that. But just as the thought came to you, so did the guilt, so did the blood, and so did the twisting lies of Ramsay as he took you in ways now that only two men you ever loved had you.
And you felt sick. Jon was looking at you, but you both knew you were trying to not look back and you wished you never interfered in his life in the first place. Unable to shake the thought that Jon simply would been better off if you left him alone. He didn’t need you to bring him down just as he found true leadership for the only cause that mattered. Both of you could feel something rotting and dreadful inside of you that day you separated on the Kingsroad and only now did that feeling stop for good.
Somewhere in the dead of night, he wondered if it just might be the gods trying to tell you both, that you and Jon Snow hadn’t just wanted it, but that you had truly needed to be together. He couldn’t find reason to chalk up these dreams, these visions, and the way only you brought him back to all but coincidence.
He just needed to find a way to make you believe that. And more present and urgently, he needed to know exactly what Ramsay Bolton had done to you, to twist your fears of Jon’s love into this such terrifying doubt inside you.
#jon snow x reader#robb stark x reader#jon snow#robb stark#game of thrones#asoiaf#a song of ice and fire#jon snow x you#robb stark x you#jon snow imagine#robb stark imagine
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