#Fic: Unsullied

[k4marina]

— xi. A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms || Heart of the Dragon

synopsis: a one handed man comes to join the fight for the realm, a new knight of the seven kingdoms emerges, answers are given, and the dead march closer

warnings: got-cannon themes/violence/and language, angsty, swearing, not proofread, shits getting dangerous.

a/n: decided to add my own twist to planning and tbh idk why they didn't think to do what i said. working on the next episode as we speak as well as a classic "tony starks kid" fic, so if you're interest keep your eyes open.

series masterlist || next part

11.6k word count

game of thrones x modern!fem!reader

[gif is mine]

The news spread early in the morning that Jamie Lannister had arrived at Winterfell. He’d came with the many men who also traveled all throughout the long nights from other parts of the continent to fight against the army of the dead. The castle, and its inhabitants, had been thrown into a frenzy as the news spread leaving behind a million other questions.

Was he really here to help or is this another one of the Lannisters lies? Why is he all alone? Where are the other reinforcements? And if he’s here then– what about Cersei?

Three tables were set at the front of the hall. One at the front, one on the left and the other on the right. Jamie Lannister stood in front of us, like a criminal on trial, while a wall of Unsullied and Stark soldiers stood behind him at attention ready for their Queen’s command. He looked tired and disheveled, no doubt from riding North all day and night, and wore modest leather and wool clothes, stripped of any Lannister gold, aside from his hand.

At the head of the room, Daenerys sits in the middle while Jon, Sansa and I are sat at her sides. To the left is another table where Varys, Missandei, and Jorah sit while Tyrion stands to the side, his eyes downcast. And to the right, Ser Davos, Lyanna Mormont, Lord Yohn Royce, Alys Karstark, and Brienne of Tarth sat. The floor is set, the mood is heavy, and everyone’s on edge. Jamie stands there, awaiting whatever was to come towards him.

“When I was a child,” Daenerys’ tone is cold and unwavering. “My brother would tell me a bedtime story about the man who murdered our father.” 

Silence hangs in the hall, no one daring to speak. The plethora of guards behind Jamie keep their eyes trained on him, daring him to make a wrong move. 

“Who stabbed him in the back and cut his throat. Who sat down on the Iron Throne and watched as his blood poured onto the floor.” Daenerys keeps her eyes trained on him, completely unwavering. “He told me other stories as well. About all the things we would do to that man once we took back the Seven Kingdoms and had him in our grasps.” 

She pauses, everyone hanging off of her words. 

“Your sister pledged to send her army north.” 

Jamie swallows, sneaking a glance towards me. “She did.”

“I don’t see an army. I see one man. With one hand. It appears your sister lied to me.” 

Tyrion looks up to his brother and Jamie looks back, both of them powerless and terrified of the ramifications. Jamie swallows down his nerves. “She lied to me as well. She never had any intention of sending her army north.” He then turns to me. “You were right.” 

Daenerys turns her glare towards Tyrion for a brief moment, chastising him for the idea in the first place. 

“She has Euron Greyjoy’s remaining fleet and 10,000 fresh troops. The Golden Company from Essos, bought and paid for. Even if we defeat the dead, she’ll have more than enough to destroy the survivors.” 

I leaned forwards, “what do you mean the Golden Company has sent 10,000 troops? We stopped you from looting Highgarden. You’re dirt poor compared to the other houses in Westeros. How did she manage to pay for them?” 

Jamie hesitates, “she sold them a dragonskull.” 

You could hear a pin drop in the hall. Everyone turns their head in utter shock towards Daenerys, even some of the guards. Anger oozes off of her, fire in her eyes and her hands gripped the arms of the chair. 

“Which one?” She’s not asking, she’s demanding. 

“I don’t know.” Jamie licks his chapped lips. “It was small, no name, one of the few that were left.” Then he meekly adds, “the big ones wouldn’t fit on the ships.”

I scoffed loudly in utter disbelief and anger. I cross my arms over my chestplate and lean back in my chair. I don’t have to turn to Daenerys to know she was equally, if not more angry. “If you don’t kill her, then I fucking will.” 

“I promised to fight for the living.” Jamie double downs. “I intend to keep that promise.” 

Quickly, Tyrion jumps in hoping to help ease the tension in the room.“Your Grace,” he walks closer to the table . “I know my brother–” 

“Like you knew your sister?” She quickly snapped.

“He came here alone, knowing full well how he’d be received. Why would he do that if he weren’t telling the truth?” He tries to persuade her and show her that Jamie had true intentions.

“Perhaps he trusts his little brother to defend him, right up to the moment he slits my throat.” Daenerys stares down at the Lannister. 

Tyrion glanced at Jon and I, hoping one of us would side with him and vouch for his brother. 

“You’re right.” Sansa finally speaks, keeping her eyes steady on Jamie. Daenerys turns her head towards the red-head as she speaks further. “We can’t trust him. He attacked my father in the streets. He tried to destroy my house and my family, the same as he did yours.” 

“Do you want me to apologize?” Jamie interrupts to defend himself, though I doubt that it was a wise decision. “We were at war. Everything I did, I did for my house and my family. I'd do it all again.”

“The things we do for love,” Bran– who’d be seated to the right of Sansa– repeated.

All eyes fell on him while his remained on Jamie who stared at him wide-eyed, almost scared and ashamed of what those words meant. He subtly takes in a breath, but I could tell that what Bran said had shook him to the core. 

“So why have you abandoned your house and family now?” Daenerys draws the attention back to her. 

“Because this goes beyond loyalty.” He glances back to Brienne momentarily remembering those words she’d said to him in the Dragon Pit. “This is about survival.”

Tyrion turned to Daenerys who’s still debating what to do with Jamie when Brienna abruptly stands and takes a step towards her friend. 

“You don’t know me well, Your Grace.” She moves to stand beside him. “But I know Ser Jamie. He is a man of honor. I was his captor once, but when we were both taken prisoner and the men holding us tried to force themselves on me, Ser Jamie defended me and lost his hand because of it.” 

She turns to address Sansa next. “Without him, my lady, you would not be alive. He armed me, armored me, and sent me to find you and bring you home because he’d sworn an oath to your mother.” 

Sansa considers Brienne’s word, knowing well that she wouldn’t be saying all of this if she didn’t mean it. Brienne wasn’t the type to just vouch for anyone, she valued honor and integrity the most. “You vouch for him?” 

Brienne nods, confident. “I do.” 

“You’d fight beside him?” 

She holds her head up and stands straighter when she answers. “I would.” Jamie watches, touched, that Brienne held him in such high regard, despite his shortcomings.

Sansa takes a beat to carefully make her decision. “I trust you with my life. If you trust him with yours, we should let him stay.” 

Daenerys turns her gaze towards Sansa, stunned that she’d sided with Jamie despite all he’d done to her and her family. Weren’t they just on the same page?

“What does the Warden of the North say about it?” Daenerys turns to Jon who sighs. 

“We need every man we can get.” It’s clear that he doesn’t like him, that’s something Jon has always made note of, but if we’re supposed to fight as one force against the dead then having him stay is the right decision.

She turns to me next. “She’s honorable and she’ll keep him in line. And he’s one of the best, if he’s around then our chances are a lot better.” I leaned in closer, “besides, he was a key figure in all of this the first time and his usefulness still stands. We need him.” 

Daenerys gives me a subtle nod and I turn to look at Jamie. “The more the merrier.”

The room falls silent as Daenerys takes each of our words into consideration. It was clear that she would agree– she’d done it before– but her concerns still lingered in her mind. “Very well.” 

Tyrion exhaled in relief and Jamie looked grateful. She gives Grey Worm– who’d been standing at the left edge of the table– a nod and he picks up Jamie's sword and roughly hands it to him.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” he bows his head, and despite addressing her corectly, there’s still some of his signature sass behind those words. 

Daenerys stands up and the rest of the room follows. Sansa leaves first and Daenerys goes to speak to Jon, but he leaves right after, unable to look her in the eyes. I sighed inwards as last night's conversation with Jon was still hanging in my head. Daenerys turns to leave, rounding the table and out through the main doors of the hall with Tyrion, Varys, Missandei, and Jorah behind her. She passed Jamie– who bows his head– without sparing a glance. Brienne’s the next to go and the others soon followed after her, leaving through different exits. Jamie's eyes linger on Bran’s who eventually asks the Maester to help him to the Godswood, leaving just the two of us.

I round the table, stepping towards him. “I told you not to trust her, but you did.” 

He nods, looking down. “You did. But-”

“But what? She’s pregnant and she’ll do anything for her child? Is that it?” I say, unimpressed. “Have you forgotten her behavior after Tommen killed himself? Your baby-boy took his life and she had the audacity to blame him for it. That woman isn’t a mother, she’s a murder. She’s killed at least a dozen of Robert's bastard kids just so her own bastard kids wouldn’t be affected.” 

I paused knowing that me berating him isn’t going to do much of anything after all, he was a Lannister. “Go,” I waved him away. “There’s armor at the forge, find whatever you can. It’s no Lannister gold, but it’s good enough. We’ll be planning our attacks later today in the library, so if you’ve got any bright ideas, you know where to find us.” I craned my neck side to side, rolling out the knots from all the heavy armor I’d been wearing. “Time is running out, the Night King can be here any moment. There’s no point in going back and forth on useless shit.”

I walked out the room, leaving Jamie standing there. There was too much to do in too little time and I was close to losing my mind. I walked down a hallway when I spotted a maid walking. 

“Do you know where Lady Sansa is?” 

“She’s in the library with Lord Royce, My Lady.” She replies meekly. 

I smiled, though it doesn’t do much to calm her nerves. “Thank you.” I turned and headed for the library. I’d already managed to get one Stark girl on our side (however much that may have been) and now it was time for the other. After Jon, Sansa held the most authority in Winterfell, and it was clear that she wasn’t the biggest fan or Daenerys and I. If I could find a way to get her at least a bit more friendly with us then our future plans would go a lot more smoother. The door was open and I could hear two women speaking inside. I stepped in closer and realized it was Daenerys and Sansa. They’re sitting at the table, Sansa’s hand on top of Daenerys’s clearly having a bonding moment. 

“I'm here because I love your brother and I trust him, and I know he's true to his word. He's only the second man in my life I can say that about.” 

“Who was the first?” Sansa asks. 

Daenery smiles, “someone taller.” 

They both giggle with one another, like two ladies gossiping over tea about knights and Lords, and whatever else they did during this time. 

“And what happens afterwards? We defeat the dead. We destroy Cersei. What happens then?” Sansa’s tone shifts from happy to something more serious and anxious. 

“I take the Iron Throne.” Daenerys says as if it’s set in stone. 

“What about the North?” Sansa tries to pry. “It was taken from us, and we took it back. And we said we’d never bow to anyone else again. What about the North?” 

Daenerys’ smile fades and her mood shifts to a more serious one, but before she can do anything I made my presence known.. 

“Well you’ll be Warden of the North and Lady of Winterfell.” Their head snaps towards my direction, surprised. I walked closer to them. “The Stark bloodline will continue through you, my lady.” 

“What about Jon? He’s Lord of Winterfell.” Sansa frowns. 

“Don’t worry too much about him. He said it himself, he didn’t want any of this. But you, you’re the eldest daughter of Ned Stark. You may look like a Tully, but you’re a Stark through and through.” She doesn’t say anything, clearly confused, but I could tell that she was intrigued– just the slightest, but enough for me to keep going. “After the Great War and after we’ve dealt with Cersei, we’re all going to need each other's help to rebuild the country. Three hundred years ago, the Seven Kingdoms were unified for a reason. This is the reason.” 

Sansa looks down at her hand over Daenerys’ thinking when the Maester interrupts us. 

“Apologies, my lady, Your Grace. There’s someone waiting for you in the hall.”

––

We’re led back to the hall where none other than Theon Greyjoy is standing, surrounded by many Ironborns. Daenerys looks pleasantly surprised while Sansa looks stunned at his unexpected arrival. Theon glanced towards her with a similar expression. He turns his gaze away from her and walks up to Daenerys and bends the knee.

“My Queen.” He bows his head.

“Your sister?” 

“She’s taken the Iron Islands in your name.” 

“And Euron?” I ask. 

“Yara has him in a cell, awaiting execution, My Lady.” 

“Why aren’t you with her?” Daenerys asked. 

Theon turns his gaze towards Sansa, who has tears brimming in her eyes. “I want to fight for Winterfell, Lady Sansa. If you’ll have me.” 

She rushed past Daenerys and I and quickly wrapped her arms around Theon. He carefully wraps his own arms around her and the two share a very touching moment. They savor it, eyes misty and arms tight. The last time either of them had seen each other was after Theon had helped free Sansa from Ramsey Bolton’s sadistic grasp.  Sansa’s the first to pull away, tearfully smiling. She doesn’t have to say anything aloud as her answer is already known. The reunion is quick and we exchange some more words. Daenerys and I excused ourselves to give the two some more privacy for them to catch up. 

Daenerys decides to go find her advisors and I decided to go walk around the castle grounds to clear my head. Like the past few days, the place is filled with people. A group of children sat huddled together with wooden bowls and spoons in their hands as they quietly ate their meals. Men and women worked hard to dig up trenches and set up traps for the dead.

Time was running out. Each minute that went by was a minute the undead marched closer to us. Despite the impending doom, we were still underprepared and soldiers were still making their way up north to fight alongside us. Hopefully, the added numbers would help us in somehow overpowering the undead. Compared to before, when it was only Dany’s armies and the northern armies, we were better equipped this time. We had the Dornish and the Westerland armies on our side now, allowing us to have an even better chance against the undead than before. 

So many died whilst protecting the realm, regardless of how big or small their roles were. The God of Death came for many that night, but ultimately the living had won, but only by the skin of their teeth. If everyone hadn’t played their parts then the dead would have won, no doubt. It was sheer luck and the God’s taking mercy on them that they’d won.

Like the days before, people worked tirelessly in the snow, digging trenches and fortifying the wall. I walked around the dirt path towards the northern part of the castle, where we assumed most of the fighting would take place. Traps were being dug out and tested for their effectiveness and what to improve on. 

I glanced around one last time when I spotted Jon talking amongst a group of men. I stepped closer to him once they’d left to carry out their tasks. “You haven’t talked to her.” 

He glances at me, but isn’t surprised at my words. After what I’d seen him do in the hall this morning, Jon knew that I would be coming. “I’m busy. I have men to command.” He’s quick with his responses, yet also defensive. It’s clear that what was revealed the night before weighed on his mind and wanted to keep his mind off of it.

“And you can’t leave them for a few minutes to talk?” I walk over and stand in front of him, stopping him in his tracks. 

“We’re at war with death, time is something that we don’t have.” He brushes past me and helps out a couple of men unloading another wagon of dragonglass.

“We’re always at war.” I leaned against the wagon with my arms crossed. “Jon, we have to do this now. The longer we let this be, the worse the fall out. Trust me, just a couple of minutes and then it’s over. Alright?” 

He paused and considered my words. Truthfully, he wanted to tell Daenerys immediately, but feared the fallout. His identity, regardless of how much he denied it, was a threat to her and her claim and whatever they had between each other. He breathes out his nose giving me a glance. “Alright.” 

I give him a small smile when out in the crowd a red headed woman catches my eye. “No fucking way.” Jon frowned and followed my sight to find where, or rather who, I was looking at. “Fuck is she doing here?” I asked no one in particular. 

Jon spots Melisandre dismounting a horse. “The Red Priestess?” 

I nodded, keeping my eyes on her. She hands the reins off towards someone else and walks into another crowd and disappears from view. “She's supposed to come,” right before the battle begins, “later… much later.” 

Suddenly, a horn is blown in the distance, signalling that riders from the Wall had arrived. Jon and I brushed past a group of people and into the northern courtyard where more soldiers worked in fortifying the castle. Heavy wooden gates are opened and a group of men– presumably the last of the Nights Watch– walk in. Sam, who’d gotten here before us, pulls a man wearing all black leathers and a heavy black fur cloak into a tight hug. Jon follows after them, smiling to see his friend��� Eddison Tollett– the current Lord Commander alive and well. He goes for a hug when someone rushes into him, knocking him a step back.

“My little crow,” Tormund gives Jon a big and probably suffocating hug. The nickname is affectionate and reminiscent of when Jon used to be in the Night’s Watch and lead them. 

Jon smiles, holding his friend close. “I thought we lost you.”

The wildling man cocks his head, “almost.” Tormund pats Jon’s back and lets him go, letting him embrace his other friends. Just as I came close, Tormund turned to me, “Lady Dragon!” 

Before I can respond, the winds almost knock out of me as Tormund tackles me into a hug of my own. Surprised, I wrap my arms around him, patting his back. He pulls back, allowing me to breathe again, and has a big goofy smile on his face.

“Good to see you too.”  

“Is that Dragon Queen here?” 

I nodded and his grin grew wider.

“Is she tall?” 

I laughed, “no.” What’s up with this guy and being tall? 

He frowns, confused. “Do dragons like small riders?” 

“Jon’s a dragonrider too,” I pointed out, surprising Sam and the other man.

Unphased, Tormund looks at Jon and then back at me. “He’s short.” 

“I’m not short.” Jon argued. “I’m average height.”

“No you’re not. You’re short.” 

“Alright, alright, that’s enough.” I hushed the two before they could go any further.

Beric, who’d been behind the others, steps forwards and shakes Jon and I’s hand. The six of us stood around in a circle, the light-heartedness simmering off a touch as the mood shifted to a more serious one.

“How did you meet?” Jon asked Edd.

“We met up at the Last Hearth.” Edd replied, glancing at the other two men who he’d come with. 

“The dead got there first,” Tormund answers. 

“The Umbers?” I asked, despite already knowing the answer. 

“Fighting for the Night King now,” Beric replied. Jon turns to me, giving me a nod as a thank you for not letting him send any more men out of Winterfell. 

“We had to travel around to get here.” Tormund says. His voice drops a pitch lower. “Whoevers not here now is with them.”

They give a few more details. Tormund, Beric, and the other men of the Night’s Watch had just narrowly escaped the collapse of the Wall. They fled Eastwatch with the Night King hot on their trails, all the way to Last Hearth where Edd and the rest of the Night’s Watch had regrouped to gather supplies and help facilitate the evacuation of the castle. However, the undead were far too quick and within a day they were on the horizon of Last Hearth, making steady progress towards Winterfell.

Solemnly, Jon asks, “how long do we have?”

“Before the sun comes up tomorrow.” Tormund replied. 

The realization hits Jon and I and a shiver runs down my spine as time ticks down. Jon and Sam share a glance, the pair talking with their minds it seemed. Soon, very soon, death would be at our steps. It was almost time, and yet we weren’t as ready as we hoped. 

Tormund looks around behind him, searching. “The big women still here?”

None of the others replied, but I did “Brienne? Yes she is.” 

Jon breaths out after taking a moment to collect his thoughts. “We need to get ready.”

––

We’re all standing in the library. The room’s lit with dozens of candles, all emanating an orangy-yellow hue. A hearth is lit for warmth and light as the sun creeps below the horizon and the cold sets in. We huddle around a large square table in the middle of the room with a large drawn aerial map of Winterfell castle and its surrounding lands laid over it. Various markers are laid out by the northern castle walls in battle formations, each respective group representing the various armies that have joined forces together. In front of them are dozens of small rectangular white and gray markers that represent the Army of the Dead. There’s an overwhelming amount laid out, nearly taking up the entire upper fourth of the map, as a way to show just how many there were and how easily outnumbered we were. 

“They’re coming.” Jon’s voice is firm as he speaks. “We have dragonglass and Valyrian steel. But there are too many of them. Far too many.” He looks at each and everyone of us in the makeshift war room. “Our enemy doesn’t tire. Doesn’t stop. Doesn’t feel.” 

At the very front, in two groups, were the Dothraki riders. Behind them, and between the fortified walls, were the Unsullied forces and the catapults that were made that they would operate. To the right, were the mish-mash of northern forces and the handful of Dornish and Westerland armies as well as those who’d traveled North to fight alongside us. And to the left, were the Aryn forces with the remaining Stark combined forces behind them. Within the castle, there were few groups for reinforcements and added protection around the castle crypts. The few– but powerful, Mormont soldiers were stationed inside to help facilitate and protect the castle gates while also making sure that everyone who wasn’t going to fight were all in the crypts.

Jon, Sansa, Arya, and Sam stand by the south side of the castle, by Kings Road, while Daenerys, Jorah, Tyrion, Varys, Grey Worm and I stand by the eastern wall. Theon, Alys Karstark, Brienne, and Jamie stand across from us and Tormund, Ser Davos, Lyanna Mormont, and Lord Royce stand where the undead army is placed. Behind Jon, besides the lit hearth, Bran sits quietly and watches on as the planning is finalized.

Jon stands slightly hunched over the mapped table. “We can't beat them in a straight fight.”

“So, what can we do?” Jamie asks. 

“The Night King made them all.” Jon makes a face, recalling his encounter with the entity Beyond the Wall. He glances over to Jamie as he answers. “They follow his command. If he falls,” he pauses, but everyone knows what he’s trying to say. “Getting to him may be our best chance.” 

Jamie furrows his brow. “If that’s true, he’ll never expose himself.” He’s not pessimistic, just realistic, his years on the battlefield both as a soldier and strategist behind him. If slaying the Night King was the way to end all of this, he’s not going to be there on the front lines. 

“Yes he will.” 

Everyone’s head turns to Bran as he speaks up, sure of what he was saying. “He’ll come for me. He’s tried before, many times, with many Three Eyed Ravens.” Something about the way he says it– with no emotions, but total reassurance sets the tone to a more ominous one.

“What’s a Three Eyed Raven?” Alys Karstark asks aloud for most of everyone. 

“They’re greenseers,” I explained, recalling back the chapters I’d memorized whilst I was in school. “They hold the memories of past and present; everything that’s ever happened and is currently happening. Three Eyed Ravens date far back to the Children of the Forest, they even share the same powers as them.” 

Everyone's attention shifts back to Bran, somewhat– but not quiet– understanding his role. 

“Why?” Sam asks the second question. If all Bran could do was see the past and present with his ravens, then why is he such a threat to the Night King? “What does he want?” 

“An endless night.” Bran turns his glance towards Sam. “He wants to erase this world, and I am its memory.” 

 Sam somberly takes a look around the room. “That's what death is, isn't it? Forgetting. Being forgotten. If we forget where we've been and what we've done, we're not men anymore. Just animals.” He turned back to Bran, “Your memories don't come from books. Your stories aren't just stories. If I wanted to erase the world of men, I'd start with you.”

“How will he find you?” Tyrion asks. 

“His mark is on me.” Bran pulls back the sleeve on his right arm, revealing four red-ish brown lines on his skin. It looked as if someone had tried to grab and pull him so tight that it left deep bruises all the way to his bones. “He always knows where I am.” 

“We’ll put you in the crypt, where it’s safest.” Jon decides. 

“No.” Despite his even tone, Bran is firm in his answer. “We need to lure him into the open before his army destroys us all. I’ll wait for him in the Godswood.” 

“You want us to use you as bait?” Sansa says angry.

“We’re not leaving you alone out there.” Arya agrees, doubling down. The two sisters stood firm in their resolve. In no way were they going to let their baby brother, regardless of his abilities, come face to face with a being that’s already made a threat to his life before and those who came before him.

“He won’t be.” Theon catches everyone's attention. “I’ll stay with him. With the Ironborn.” He turned to Bran, who'd covered his arm again, “I took this castle from you. Let me defend you now.” Bran doesn’t reply, but gives Theon one nod as a thank you. This was going to be his redemption.

Jon, who’d been quiet for some time, also gave a subtle nod towards Theon– his own thank you for risking his life for his younger brother’s safety. 

With that, Ser Davos decided to continue forwards. “We’ll hold off the rest of them for as long as we can.” 

“When the time comes, Ser Davos and I will be on the walls, to give you the signal to light the trench.” Tyrion adds on.

Daenerys frowns, against the idea. “Ser Davos is perfectly capable of waving a torch on his own. You’ll be in the crypt.” 

Tyrion looks at her determined, ready to protest. “Your Grace, I have fought before, I can do it again. Alongside the men and women risking their lives.” 

“There are thousands of them and only one of you.” Daenerys puts her foot down. “You can't fight as well as they can, but you can think better than any of them. You're here because of your mind. If we survive, I'll need it.”

Understanding, Tyrion nods, but I could tell that he was still against it. Something in him wanted to fight alongside everyone, like he’s done before, but despite that, he knows that Daenerys was right. 

“The dragons will give us an edge in the field.” Davos said. 

“If they're in the field, they're not protecting Bran.” Jon glanced over to his own advisor. “We need to be near him. Not too near, or the Night King won't come. But close enough to pursue him when he does.”

“Dragonfire will stop him?” Arya turned to ask Bran.

“I don’t know,” he replied honestly. “No one's ever tried.” Arya looks back, her expression a mix of worry and disappointment.

“Dragonfire will kill wights, but not the White Walkers or Night King.” I chimed in. “Fire will kill the wights, so use whatever you can to light them up, which I’m sure goes without saying.” I turned to Jon, “do you have what I asked for?” 

He nods and motions for the Maester to hand me a cloudy glass bottle. It had a rag, presumably scrapped fabric, shoved halfway down the bottle with about an inch and a half worth of fabric hanging out. The other end was swimming in some unknown liquid.

“This is a molotov, doesn’t look like much, but packs a punch. To use it, you’re going to have to light this end–” I point to the bit of fabric sticking out, “–on fire, but you’ll have to act quick once you do. The fabric will catch on fire and travel all the way down to the bit that’s in oil. So light it and toss it at the dead, preferably when they’re near the castle walls. The bottle will shatter on impact and the fire will go everywhere.” 

No one says a thing as they process what I’d just shown and said. Jamie, who had the same confused frown on his face as his brother, opened his mouth to speak. “Where did you even come up with the idea for that?” 

This time, it was my turn to frown. Don’t tell me molotov cocktails aren’t a thing yet. “It doesn’t matter, what does is that these things,” I lightly shook the bottle and the oil swished around the, “are going to help us win.” 

“How is it going to do that when we can’t even kill the Night King with fire?’ Sansa asks aloud, not fully convinced of the plan.

I glanced towards her. “He’ll die either by dragonglass or Valyrian steel. Someone will have to get close. His generals are the same.”

“Gernerals?” Sam asks surprised, taken aback. How can an undead army have commanding officers?

“The White Walkers. They’re the ones who control the wights. In theory, you get one of them and you knock down a chunk of the undead army.” 

“How many are there?” Arya asked. 

I gave a half shrug, “I don’t know. Craster's son’s– the ones he sacrificed to the Night King– were most likely turned into White Walkers and the Night King’s generals.”  

“And I’m assuming that they won’t show themselves to us like the Night King.” Ser Davos says. 

“No.” I replied. “But if we want to make a dent in their forces we need to get to them, and if we want to end it quickly then we need to go against the Night King.”

Silence falls over us as the realization hits that this was it, this was our one shot– our only opportunity to get this right– or else we’d all be marching in the Night King’s army down to King’s Landing and knocking on Cersei’s door.

“We’re all going to die.” Tormund says. He glanced towards his right to Brienne. “But at least we die together.” She says nothing and looks back down at the map, but his earlier words still linger in her mind. 

‘Let’s get some rest.” Jon dismissed with a deep breath. 

One by one, everyone left to do their own thing, believing it to be their final night alive, wanting to make the most of whatever they could. I turned to leave, leaving behind Jon and Daenerys, and Tyrion and Bran in the room. Unknown to me, Jon comes walking out behind me, clearly still avoiding Daenerys. 

I reached out for his arm, halting his steps. “You still haven’t done it?” I couldn’t help the annoyance and surprise in my voice.

“I can't," he doesn’t bother looking me in the eye. “I have to get ready, we have too–” 

“No, all you have to do is have one conversation with the woman you love. “ I firmly cut him off of his excuses. “Jon, a dead man marches towards us ready to kill us all. Don’t let this be in the back of your head and pull you away from this. Don’t live with any regrets, not while this could be our final night alive.” 

Just as he was going to counter, Daenerys walks out of the room. I give his army one last firm squeeze and then let go of his arm. Jon looked between us and I lightly nudged Daenerys towards him when I walked past her. I don’t have to look back to know that the long awaited and strung out conversation was going to take place.

I retreated to my room to have a moment to myself as the hours dwindled down and everyone began to grow more anxious. Everyone knew their place and what they had to do, it was only a matter of time before the fight for humanity was at our doors. Women, children, the old, and sick all hunkered back down to the crypts while soldiers made up of men and women from all over the continent got ready and lined up in their posts.

I was in my room, having a quiet meal of rabbit stew, bread, and a small apple tart. If this was going to be my last meal then a little bit of dessert wouldn’t hurt, right? The hearth was lit, keeping me warm and a glass of wine in front of me that I’d leisurely sip whenever I’d catch my hands trembling or thoughts spiraling. 

Truthfully speaking, I hadn’t thought this through (no shit, right?). When I arrived here and declared to Daenerys that I’d help win her the throne, it was merely out of self preservation and sheer hubris. In all honesty, I was way in over my head (guess hindsight’s 20/20). Riding dragons, fighting in battles, making alliances, changing the course of history with absolutely no care about its ramifications in the future. I thought that I had some sort of invisible plot armor around me leading me to think that I had nothing to fear.

But I’ve survived this long haven’t I? 

But this was different. This was actual life or death. 

ābrar iā morghon

And I was fucking scared. 

My body trembled with fear. Mind racing with a hundred different ‘what-if’s,’ that I couldn’t shake away. What if I actually die here and now? What if Daenerys dies? What if Jon dies? What if the Night King wins? Then it would all be my fault. If I hadn’t gone and stuck my nose into all of this then humanity would’ve lived like before. But then again, I couldn’t take all the blame. 

I didn’t choose to come here, I was brought here– dragged through the fabric of time and thrown into one of the most dangerous and tumultuous periods in Westerosi history– all for a reason that I still haven’t figured out. So, if anything does happen, then it wouldn’t be my fault. I was someone in an unimaginable situation who had to do anything that they could to survive.

Bang!

I jump up in my seat and whip my head around to the door slammed open and Daenerys standing in my doorway, fuming and glaring at me. 

She knows. 

“Did you know?” She demands from me. But there was no point in asking, she already knew my answer. I knew practically everything. 

I calmly set my spoon down against the rim of the warm wooden bowl and stood up slowly. The wooden chair screeched against the stone floor and the hearth lightly crackled filling the silence. 

“Know what?” I walked past her and over to the door, peeking out and looking both ways to make sure no one was there before closing and locking it shut. 

“Jon.” She spits out his name. “About who he really is?” I walk over to the side table and pour a glass of wine for her, but don't give it to her just yet. 

I set the cup down and turn to face her. “I did. It’s a major part of Westerosi Studies and Targaryen History.” 

Her eye twitches, “is this a joke to you?” 

“No it’s not.” A joke? Honey, I’m having a quarter-life crisis over here and you’re asking if I’m joking? 

“Why wasn’t I told?” 

“You didn’t need to know at the time.” 

She scoffs, “always with your ‘you didn’t need to know’. How do you know what I should and shouldn’t know?” 

“Because I just do.” I huffed, crossing my arms. “If I told you within a week of meeting me that your allies would die one by one, your dragons would die one by one, you would have spiraled. Yes, Jon is Lyanna and Rhaegar’s son. Yes, he has a better claim than you. Yes, if the people knew his true identity then they would champion him. If I had told you his real identity– that he just found out yesterday may I add– that’s what would’ve gone through your mind.” 

I let out a shaky breath and reached over for my own glass of wine, gulping down the red liquid while I calmed myself. She stays silent and watches me set the glass down, but her anger is still there.

“Be honest with me, swear to your dragons and your people, if you knew who he was would you have welcomed him like an ally or would you have sent the dogs on him? Would you have given Jon a chance?” There’s no sarcasm in my tone, no bite or defensiveness, just me calmly asking her a simple question. 

Daenerys stares at me, her anger slowly dissipating. She’s stuck between her stubbornness and my reasoning. She clenched her jaw and sighed, letting go of her pent up anger. She knew I was right. If Daenerys knew who Jon was before meeting at Dragonstone she would have dealt with him like he was the enemy and not like an ally. She would have lost the North and ultimately we would have lost the Great War.

“Daenerys,” I said her name softly. “Do you know how long I’ve been here?” 

She lightly furrowed her brows. “No.” 

“Almost eight months.” My answer weighs heavily. “In eight months I haven’t gotten one lead as to how I can get back home or why I was brought here. Frankly speaking, I’m stuck here. So why would I try to do anything hurtful towards you, knowing what you’re capable of. I have no lies, no false narratives or hidden agenda’s– all I have is the truth. Why would I risk it all to lie to you?” 

Her face contorts between guilt and sadness as my words sink deeper into her consciousness. She’d been so caught up in her campaign that she’d overlooked my own footing in this world. She lets out a deep sigh and walks over to sit on the foot of my bed while I reach over grabbing her glass of wine.

“You’re right,” she says, face buried in her hands. “I shouldn’t have any reason to doubt you. It’s just.. I’m so close, so close. And it seems every time I take a step forward something gets in the way.” She takes the glass from me and I go to sit next to her. “And the way everyone looks towards Jon, it just makes me second guess myself.. if I’ll be accepted by the people here.” 

I wrapped my arm around her shoulders, bringing her in close. “You are and you will be a great leader. Don’t ever doubt yourself, you’ve come a long way and have done great things. Do you have any idea how loved you are throughout Essos? The Dothraki named you their Great Khaleesi, only recognizing you as their leader, so many years later. The former slave cities have raised statues in your honor and hail you as their savior. You’ve grown so much from where you started, don’t give up now.” 

Daenerys’ face softens around the edges at my reassurance, but a sliver of self-doubt still lingers.

“Trust me, people still praise you. They still remember you as a liberator and a great leader who did the impossible. Don’t ever doubt yourself, okay? The people of Westeros will come around, you just have to give them some time.” 

She sighs out a breath she’d been holding since her talk with Jon. “What do I do then?”

“Turst.” I squeeze her arm gently. “Don’t overwhelm yourself and trust in those around you. It’s tough, but you’ve gone through the worst already. Just one more hill to climb over and then you’ve done it.”  

Daenerys sits silently, but listens closely. All her life she’d fought for survival, she’s had to jump over hurdles to get to where she was now. It wasn’t totally out of left field for her to feel how she did. This wasn’t supposed to happen, the dead were just a story that parents would tell their kids– not a real threat to all of humanity.

 “Alright. I will.” 

It wasn’t an ideal relationship. This all started as a difficult deal; I helped her and she gave me protection. But slowly, it grew into something more familial and authentic. We had only one common ancestor and hundreds of years in between us, but we were the closest family either of us had right now. Maybe if I really was from this time and truly born as Daenerys’s sister I could have helped and protected her from the cruelty of the world. 

“Go to him.” I quietly said. 

“To who?” 

“To Jon.” 

She frowned, “but what about you?” 

“Don’t worry about me.” I stood up, bringing her up with me and walked the two of us to the door. “It’s our final night alive,” I opened the door, “go be with him.” 

She waits for what feels like minutes, but what was only a few seconds and just stares at me. Then, she wordlessly warps her arms around me, pulling me in. I sighed and embraced her back before letting her go. With a final look, she quickly walks down the hallway and back towards Jon. I sighed out once she turned the corner and turned back into the room. Quietly, I grabbed Dark Sister and fastened her across my hip and then I slipped Aegon’s Dagger, that Daenerys had let me hold onto, into its place. 

I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Visenya’s armor glimmered red from the candlelight and fire from the hearth. I stared at myself, taking in my appearance. Eight months ago, if I were to be wearing anything remotely similar I’d look out of place, but now, it looked natural. My face, that used to have some roundness, was slimmer and had harsher shadows thanks to the environment around me. I tried to picture myself from before all of this, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t picture who I was before all of this– a University student in King’s Landing from the modern world.

I peeled away from the mirror and left the room, closing the door behind me. I mindlessly walked down the halls hoping to clear my head when I ran across someone who could give me an actual answer.

“Melisandre.” 

The Red Woman stops walking, turning towards me. “Lady Vellarys.” 

“We need to talk.” 

Understanding, but albeit confused, she quietly leads me to her room. The door closes behind me and she stands in front of the lit fireplace. 

“What do we need to talk about?” 

I take in a deep breath. “Eight months ago I traveled to Dragonstone for a school project.” She frowns at my words. “I walked into the Dragonglass caves and passed out. When I woke up I was alone in the cave. I stepped out of the cave and was brought here, in the past.” 

���Lady Vellarys, what are you trying to say?” She asked, sounding very skeptical of what I was saying.

“I am from the future. I’ve read– no, I’ve studied all of this. The Great War, the Long Night. I know who dies and who lives and what happens afterwards. I even know what you’re going to do tonight. You’re going to enchant the Dothraki’s swords and then you’re going to walk out into the freezing snow and take that off,” I point at her necklace, “and you’ll be your true age and wither away in the snow.” 

“How do you know this?” Her body shifts to a more protective stance, shielding herself from what I was saying

“Because I’m from the future, I know what happens. And I want to know why I was brought here in the first place.” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I’ve looked everywhere I could. Every goddamn scroll, book, ancient text and I’ve found nothing. And now you’re my only hope before you have to leave.” I let out a shaky breath, “please, Meslisandre.” 

She stares at me, taking in my wild story, that she somehow found believable. Maybe it was how adamant I sounded or my behavior towards what was taking place that she’d noticed since our first meeting. She knew there was a reason why she felt something different about me, but she was never able to put her finger on it.

“Why?” I ask. “I need to know why… please.” Melisandre looks down for a brief moment and I feel like ripping the hair out of my head. “And don’t tell me that this is all the ‘Lord of Lights’ doing. I need answers, Melisandre, and we both know only you can give them to me.” 

“I can, but I don’t think they will be the answers you are looking for.” 

I swallow, nervously, “I don’t care. I need to know.” 

She’s silent and I start to think that she doesn’t believe me. “Very well.”

She reaches into the open chest at the foot of her bed, pulling out a knife decorated in silver and jewels, its Valyrian Steel glows in the candle light. She then reached over to me, her ice cold hands sending goosebumps up my arm, and led me to the lit fireplace.

Her grasp loosens and travels down to my hand, turning it palm side up. Her eyes find mine, determined to do what I’d asked. She’s searching for something, doubt, uncertainty, but finds nothing. I had thought that her eyes were a deep amber color, but the light from the fire shows that they’re a deep red.

“I must warn you, you may be left with more questions than answers.” Her voice is firm and lower in pitch.

“I know.” I nod, firm in my decision

She gives my hand a squeeze before she starts chanting in Valyrian under her breath. Her left hand brings up the blade and places its sharp edge horizontally against my palm. I suck in a breath as she swiftly cuts into my hand. Beads of blood start to pool out of my hand and she moves my hand to the fire, tipping it and letting the blood flow from my cut and into the fire. 

The room grows hotter and I could swear that the flames get deeper. My eyes shift to Melisandre who’s staring deep into the flames in some sort of incantation. The longer she stared the more on the edge I got. 

What was she seeing? Was it something bad? Good? Why is it taking so long? Am I going to die? 

Her grip on my hand tightened for a moment– as if she was seeing something she couldn’t believe– before she broke out of her trance. The room got cooler, back to his regular temperature, and the flames died down to their original hues.The silence in the room was palpable. No one said a word. Mellisandre kept her hold on my hand, though more relaxed now, her eyes stayed on the burning flames. My heartbeat thumped loudly in my ears and my breathing grew shallow as I waited for my answers. 

“You were brought here for a reason, a reason you already know.” She began. “The Lord chose you to help the Prince Who Was Promised.” 

“I figured that.”

She pauses before speaking again, careful with her words. “I don’t know if you can go back.”

“What?” I pulled my hand away from hers, not caring about the cut and the blood dripping down. “What do you mean? You said that the Lord shows you things– Melisandre– what did you see?” 

She furrows her brows, thinking back at what she was shown. “I saw you, brief moments of you in the future. I saw you marry, have children, age. Y/n, you live the rest of your life here. Not once did I see you go back or if you could go back.” 

I felt my chest tighten and I stepped back, anxiety filling my veins. 

“No.” 

My body moved on its own, walking out of Melisandre’s room and down the halls and then outside. Tunnel vision kicked in, my eyesight narrowed and everything became muffled as if my head was underwater. The winter cold and my bleeding hand were all forgotten as my feet carried me until they couldn’t. I collapsed onto the snow covered ground, feet aching and heart thumping loudly in my ears. 

I could feel its eyes on me, looking down mockingly. Leaves fell down around me, my hands fisting the snow below me. There's a pounding in my head and an ache in my palm. My vision slowly clears and my hearing returns. I could hear the wind rolling past me and its leaves rustling.

I lifted my tear rimmed eyes up and to its eyes.

“You brought me here and it’s your responsibility to bring me back.” I spat just loud enough for it to hear. “Do you enjoy it? Messing with people's lives? Using them as pawns for your own enjoyment?”

Hot tears streamed down my face and my dried bloody hand came up to wipe them away.

“Bring me back. I’m doing what you want me to do– I’m helping her– just like I’m supposed to. You have to bring me back home. You owe it to me.”

The red leaves on the Weirwood tree swayed as the cold wind picked up again. Its carved face only looked down on me, almost as if it were belittling me even further. This wasn’t how this would end, it couldn’t. I had to go home.

––

The hearth is lit, along with dozens of candelabra's, in the castle's Great Hall. The room is dim despite the amount of candles burning. The tables from before have been cleared away and pushed up to the sides against the walls and the chairs have been shoved into a corner. Two, though, are pulled out in front of the hearth, basking in its heat and warmth. Tyrion Lannister sits on the right and his elder brother, Jamie Lannister sits on the left chair. They each have a goblet of wine in their hands, casually taking sip after sip. 

Out of the blue Tyrion speaks almost reminiscing, “I wish father were here.” 

Jamie blinks back, surprised at what his brother had just said and if he was hearing him right. Tyrion– the man who killed their father– wants him here? Tyrion catches the confused expression on Jamie’s face and talks further to explain himself. “I would love to see the look on his face when he realizes his two sons are about to die defending Winterfell.” 

Jamie takes a beat, but snorts out a chuckleand lightly swishes the wine in his goblet in circles. “That would be something to see.” 

The old wooden chair creeks when Tyrion shifts to look behind him into the dark and empty hall. “I remember the first time we were here. First time I saw this all.” Jamie cranes his neck back to see what his brother was looking at. 

Tyiron turned his head to Jamie, “you were a Golden Lion.” He subtly puts on a voice as he says the ‘title’ aloud. But then he shifts, “and I was a drunken whoremongerer. It was all so simple.” 

Jamie glances from his lap to Tyrion, giving a quick shake of the head. “It wasn’t all so simple. I was sleeping with my sister, and you had one friend in the world.. that was sleeping with his sister.”

“I was speaking in relative terms.”

“Do you miss it?” Jamie asks. 

“Of course I miss it.” Tyrion replied quickly, thinking fondly to back then– before all of this.

“Well my Golden Lion days are done, but whoremongering is still an option for you.”

Tyrion shakes his head, “it’s not.” There’s a weight towards his words and memories he doesn’t want to remember, “things would be easier if they were.” 

Jamie watches his little brother raise his goblet. “The perils of self-betterment.” Tyrion says. Jamie raises his own glass and the two drink.  

Behind them, the heavy doors open and then shut. The two Lannisters turn their heads to see Brienne and Podrick enter the hall. Jamie’s quick to his feet, “My Lady.” 

Brienne walks closer with a hand resting on her sword and Podrick to her right. “Oh, we didn’t mean to interrupt. We were just looking for somewhere warm to–” 

“To contemplate your imminent death.” Tyrion stands up from his chair, “you’ve come to the right place.” He then moves to the right where a table with extra goblets and a pitcher of wine were placed. “You want some of this piss? It’s not bad, it’s not good either.” 

“Thank you, my lord.” Podrick moves towards Tyrion, but Brienne stops him. 

“I don’t think that’s wise. The battle might start at any moment.” Podrick looks a bit down, as if he’d just been caught with his hands in the cookie jar, but then she speaks again. “Half cup.” 

Tyrion pours a glass for Podrick, but overfills it causing it to spill onto the floor. The two glanced at one another, stifling their laughs like two students in the back of the classroom. Podrick takes the goblet and takes a hefty sip while Tyrion moves to fill his own glass. “And you?” 

“No, thank you. I should try to get some sleep.” She replied. 

“You really think any of us are going to sleep tonight?” Jamie asked, pulling up the extra chairs. “Join us,” he motioned towards the new seating arrangement. 

“Alright,” she glanced towards Podrick, “just a bit.” She sits down on the left hand side of Jamie. Tyrion walks to her, pouring another glass, and hands it to her right when another person walks into the hall. 

“Well what do we have here.” 

“Ser Davos,” Tyrion calls, “join us.” 

“No, not for me, thanks.” The older man briskly walked past them and towards the lit hearth. “Came here for this.” He turns around so that his back faces the fire and takes in the much needed heat after being out in the snow for so long. “Figured I could wait to die freezing my balls off out there,” Brienne backs stiffens as she feels someone approaching with their eyes on her, “or wait to die nice and warm in here.” 

Tormund, who’d been right behind Ser Davos, comes up to the left side of Brienne, staring at her. He waits to speak when she looks at him. “This could be our last night in this world, you know.” 

Jamie silently watches the exchange, sipping on his wine. 

“Yes, well I’m glad you’re here.” Brienne replied, but quickly corrected herself. “Here– fighting with us– glad you survived Eastwatch.”

“Would you like a drink?” Tyrion asks, now standing by the tale. 

Tormund raises what looks to be the end of a mammoth husk, hollowed out and full of whatever he’d been drinking. “Brought my own.” He then shifts his attention towards Jamie, who’d been silently watching, and sizes him up with his head tilted towards the side. 

“They call you King-Killer.” 

Jamie, who had to look up to look into Tormund's eyes, squinted his eyes. “I’m sure someone does.” 

“They call me Giants-Bane. Want to know why?” 

Jamie glanced at Tyrion while Tormund reached over to an empty chair and dragged it over to the smi-circle of occupied chairs. He sits down, eyes locked onto Jamie. “I killed a giant when I was ten. Then I climbed right into bed with his wife.” 

Ser Davos glanced towards the Wildling, curious to see where the story would go. 

“When she woke up, you know what she did?” 

Jamie tilts his head, telling him to go on.Tomund leans in for added dramatic effect, “suckled me at her teat for three months, thought I was her baby. That's how I got so strong– giant’s milk.” He brings the horn up to his mouth and loudly starts to drink from it. Brienne eyebrows drew together in a surprised and disgusted expression as she watched the liquor spill out of the horn and down Tormund's chin and clothes and to the floor.

Jamie glanced at Tyrion as to say, what is this guy doing? Tyrion gives him an ‘I don’t know face’ and turns back to the Wildling. The gulping and occasional groaning was echoed by the hollowness of the horn, adding to the awkwardness of the whole ordeal.

Ser Davos peeled his eyes away from the horrid scene and moved away from the hearth, “maybe I will have that drink.”

Eventually it stops and everyone settles down into their seats. Tormund sits a little closer to the fire with Brienne to his right who has Jamie to her own right. Tyrion sits in between Podrick on his right and Ser Davos to his left, who’s sitting next to Jamie. Everyone’s cups are filled as they stare into the open flames of the hearth. There’s an oddly comfortable silence as they all sit there, sharing their final moments alive with one another. There’s an air of tension and fear in each and everyone of them, but also a sense of relief that at least they weren’t alone. 

Tyrion’s first to break the silence. “It’s strange isn’t it? Almost everyone here’s fought the Starks, at one time or another. And here we are in their castle, ready to defend it. Together.” 

“At least we’ll die with honor.” Brienne comments. 

“I think we might live.” Tyrion replied, honestly. Davos and Podrick share a glance and then they both start laughing. 

“I-I do.” Tyrion replied, quickly. “How many battles have we survived between us? Ser Davos Seaworth; Survivor of both the Blackwater and the Battle of the Bastards.”

“All without a shred of combat ability.” Ser Davos adds.

“Mm.” Tyrion turns to his brother. “Ser Jamie Lannister, fable hero of the Siege of Pyke.”

“Fabled loser of the Battle of Whispering Wood.” Jamie stands up to pour himself another cup of wine.

“Hear, hear!” Tyrion shouts. “Ser Brianne of Tarth. Defeated the Hound in-” He pauses, correcting himself. “Pardon me, Lady Brienne.” 

“She’s not the Ser?” Tormund says, confused. He turned around to Brienne. “You’re not the knight?”

Brienne’s face slightly hardens and she turns to him to give a curt reply. “Women can’t be knights.”

“Why not?” He frowned. 

“Tradition.” She replied. 

“Fuck tradition.” Tromund stated bluntly. 

She keeps her expression firm and just shakes her head, “I don’t even want to be a knight.” She catches Podrick staring at her, the both of them knowing that she’d just lied then. Throughout their journey together he could see how much she’d wanted to be a knight. She was good– very good, and so very deserving of that title.

“I’m no king. But if I were, I’d knight you ten times over.” Ser Davos smirked at the Wildling’s' wholesome declaration.

There’s a beat of silence and then Jamie looks at Brienne as if he’d just realized something important. “You don’t need a King. Any knight can make another knight.” 

Jamie places his cup on the table, next to the pitch of wine. “I’ll prove it.” He unsheathed his sword and walked to the middle of the room, holding his sword out. Everyone watches carefully, and he turns to Brienne. 

“Kneel, Lady Brienne.” 

Brienne scoffs, not believing the one handed Lannister afterall, he’d been drinking for however long there was no way he was being serious. 

“Do you want to be a knight or not? Kneel.” He asked, seriously. He doesn't sound drunk, far from it actually. He knows what he’s doing, he’s resolute in it.

She glanced back at Jamie who tells her to come over and kneel again. Everyone’s eyes are on her, eagerly waiting for her to get up. She looks over to Podrick who reassures her to go one. She doesn't move right then, she only gets up when she looks back at Jamie who gives her a reassuring nod. Slowly, she walks to the middle of the room, opposite of Jamie and kneels before him. Wordlessly, the others slowly stand to watch.

Brienne, now growing misty-eyed, stares at Jamie as he begins.

His grip on his sword– Widow’s Wail– tightens in his flesh hand. He lifts the sword and places the sword on her right shoulder. “In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave.”  

He raises the sword and places it on her left shoulder. “ In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just.”

He places the sword on her right shoulder again. “In the name of the Mother, I charge you to defend the innocent.” 

He lowers the sword to his side. Slowly, Brienne raises her head up and locks eyes with Jamie.

“Arise, Brienne of Tarth, a knight of the Seven Kingdoms.”

Terry-eyed, Brienne stands up, and the two share a small moment together before the room bursts into applause and cheers. Tormund claps his hands loudly and Tyrion raises his glass in a toast.

“Ser Brienne of Tarth! Knight of the Seven Kingdoms!” 

She smiles, tears of joy in her eyes. Wordlessly, she thanks Jamie who nods, smiling at her. The applause continues on and another round of drinks are poured in celebration. Once settled down, everyone sat back down in their chairs and conversations started to flow again. Eventually, though, people get tired.

Jamie lets out a groan. “We’d better get some rest.” 

“No,” Tyrion almost whines. “Let’s stay a bit longer.” 

“We’re out of wine.” Davos gruffs, placing the pitcher down and sitting back down. 

“How about a song?” Tyrion suggests. “You must know one.” He looks to his left, “Ser Davos?” 

“You’ll pray for a quick death.” 

Tyrion chuckles and turns his attention to the newly knighted Brienne. “Ser Brienne?” She shakes her head prompting Tyrion to turn to Tormund who also shakes his head with an almost animalistic growl. 

Suddenly, Podrick starts singing ‘Jenny of Oldstones’. 

“High in the halls of the kings who are gone, Jenny would dance with her ghosts. The ones she had lost and the ones she had found, and the ones who had loved her the most,”

Somewhere in Winterfell's quarters Sam and Gilly lay in bed together with Little Sam between them. The two lay awake, staring at each other, sharing a brief moment before its ripped away.

“The ones who'd been gone for so very long,”

Out in the crowded courtyard, Sansa and Theon sit opposite to each other, sharing a brief moment before it all began. There’s a lit candle between them and two bowls of stew and a plate of bread. A quiet dinner with the person who’d saved them when they needed it the most.

“She couldn't remember their names. They spun her around on the damp old stones,”

In the hallways closest to the forge and smitheries, Gendry peacefully sleeps on a pile of rags with Arya laying next to him with her back turned. While he sleeps, she lays awake after the two had shared a rather intimate moment.

“Spun away all her sorrow and pain. And she never wanted to leave,”

Outside, the Unsullied start walking out of the courtyard. Missandei and Grey Worm walk together before he stops her, turns, and kisses her. It’s meaningful, both of them pouring out their love to one another, but also desperate, wanting to take as much as they could from the other person in such a brief moment. Grey Worm pulls away, and Missandei hands him his helmet. He grips it tight as he slips it over his head. Missandei pressed her forehead against Grey Worm’s helmet, savoring this last final moment. He then turns to leave and marches with the Unsullied, Missandei watching as he leaves.

Near the front gates of the castle everyone gathers for battle. Jorah rides on his horse and gazes at the horizon to only see darkness and the treeline. The Dothaki riders rode into position behind him. His hand tightens around Heartsbane, House Tarly’s ancestral sword, that was gifted to him by Sam only a few hours ago. 

“Never wanted to leave. Never wanted to leave. Never wanted to leave,”

Down at the crypts Jon and Daenerys stand together, admiring his mothers statue. Jon looks down at her, holding her close to his chest. Daenerys brings her hand to rest by his heart, but Jon grabs ahold of it. He says something to her, and she smiles slightly. She looks back at Lyanna's statue and says a few words that prompts Jon to lean down and capture her lips in a kiss. 

“Never wanted to leave. Never wanted to leave,”

I walked out of the Godswood forest, the cut on my hand now scabbed over and the blood around it now dried. Just as I reached the gates, the horns that would signal the dead approaching were blown. I rushed over to the already designated spot to meet the others. When I had arrived Jon, Daenerys, and Tyrion were there, looking over the ramparts into the darkness.  

Orders were being yelled out as soldiers quickly got their positions for the oncoming battle. Jon breathes heavily, and shifts his gaze to Daenerys. She looks equally as determined as him, ready to fight for the realm and face off the dead. She shifts her eyes to me and then wordlessly walks past us with the two of us following after her towards where the dragons were waiting for us. Tyrion watched the three of us depart and then turned his attention back to what was in front of him.

Up ahead, along the path to Winterfell an icy haze covers the ground, growing ticker even more. The mangled legs of a dead horse trot forwards. At the top the dead stallion was a White Walker, staring off to where Winterfell stood. Another White Walker mounted on a dead horse falls into line beside him, and a line of them emerge, all of them being Craster's sons and, more importantly, generals in the Night King’s army. Behind him, the Army of the Dead slowly comes forwards. It stretches far and wide, hundreds of thousands of undead wights. Slowly, but surely, they marched closer and closer to Winterfell.

@wotcherpeak @music-luver25 @your-favorite-god @radiantdanvers @cluelessteam @daenerys713 @ministark @laanswife @idohknow @jromanoff @bdudette @bitchyfestivalbouquet @glitteryobjecttaco @cantbecreative @lovelyteenagebeard @the0twst0shrimp0mc @sucker4seresin @marytargaryen @naneko31 @9tailedfoxfire @iilsenewman @ivyrose9194 @coffee-is-my-oxygen @mysterypotatoink @bitchycolletorvoid @nattysplatty @wifiatthetrainstation @nymeriiiia @llynx7 @pookynknowntranger @riley-625-bell @myathegoat @evilunicorns4minions @honeycola-umbra @nen-nyy @agentdead @fanboilingwriter @sualocin @bintangbiru @talilosha

comment to be added to the taglist

[therapyandprozac]

Title: I Can Fix Him (or Highway Handjob)

Rating: Explicit

Words: 900

Warnings: Light Gun Play, Handjob, Blowjob, Teasing, Pet Names, A Cheeky Pussy Slap For Fun, all while he is driving a car (Don’t blow and drive y’all, just read about it ;))

Description: Okay, soooo…when I first heard Taylor Swift’s “I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can)” this fic started writing itself in my head (yes it took me this long, I’m bad at this guys.) A hand job on the highway at consensual gun point. No name for him as usual, but I was thinking of Dean or daddy J. Miller.

————

You’ve been the interstate for hours, you look at the GPS and see not a turn for miles. Looking over you see your man with one hand on the wheel and the other on your thigh. He happily sings along with the radio, while you just watch him from the passenger seat. Cheekbones highlighted stunningly with every smile, the sun shining through his lips as he sings along with the ever shifting radio. His profile is forever painted in your mind, along with that voice and the smell of his cigarettes. Such a shame that that long, thick, and truly beautiful neck remained unmarked and unsullied. As you stared at the bare triangle of flesh between his ear, jaw, and neck.

You imagined the sounds he would make as you sucked a deep, delicious, maroon hickie into his succulent skin. He's rarely not strapped and normally it makes you feel safe but today…it’s having a different kind of effect. This morning you watched him get dressed, laid his holster on the bed and you were able to get a good look at the holster and the colt .45 tucked firmly inside. You haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since you got in the car, well that and other things. You look out the windshield seeing a large sign that says “Waco 50 miles” and you decide to go for it. You lean over the armrest and lick up his stubbled neck to his ear, immediately he blushes completely surprised what you just did. You bite his ear gently and he’s about to speak when you cover his mouth with your hand.

“Just drive.” You whisper against his skin, you feel him smirk under your hand. Unbuttoning and unzipping you pull him out of his jeans, he’s growing harder as you pull him free from its restraint. “Good boy.” You moan against his ear and grip his cock, moving your hand steadily. His eyes roll involuntarily for just a moment, you smile seizing your opportunity.

“Eyes front.” You hiss. Teasing him is so much fun, but when he can’t do anything about it, it is so much better! He growls which you knew was a warning, but you just keep pushing with a smirk. Increasing your speed up and down, you enjoy the little sounds that he can’t force to keep quiet. “That’s right.” You whisper against his ear, eliciting another groan from deep within his chest. You moan in his ear, teasing him is so much fun you think to yourself as his cock jolts in your hands.

“Trust me I can handle my dangerous man.” You whisper into his ear, biting the lobe gingerly. His right hand leaves the wheel and crosses his body to his hip. You suck in a sharp breath knowing exactly what he’s reaching for.

“Are you sure about that, doll?” His cold tone matched the icy gun barrel now tucked firmly beneath your jaw.

“Yes,” you wink, pull the gun to your lips and kiss the tip of the barrel before leaning down to kiss the tip of his well loved cock. Taking his entire length in one go, his hand finds your hair and lets you expertly suck him. Your right hand snakes from your lap, where you’ve been attempting but failing to palm yourself through your jeans, you play with his tender balls rolling them between your fingers.

“Don’t even have to guide you, ahh look at you kitten, deepest throat I’ve ever ha-AH oh babe I’m goi-” before he finishes you go as deep as you can. Pubic hair tickles your nose as you lose yourself on his cock, forgetting you're in a car, on a six lane highway, you go for gold. Humming around him and swallowing around his shaft he cums hard, eyes glued to the road as the most distracting thing in the universe is completely gorging herself on him. Swallowing every drop, you kiss up his sensitive shaft feeling it twitch, well spent in your hand. You place a quick kiss and than a cigarette between his lips and light it up, he chuckles before inhaling a deep hit and fingering his cigarette. The smoke billows from his thick lips as he looks over at you, slowly shaking his head he says nothing but takes another drag.

“That was dangerous, but hot so mind blowingly hot.” Another long hit has you captivated on his mouth and how his lips wrap around the base of the lit cylinder. “Cannot wait to eat you out my sweet girl.” He laughs at the way you squeeze your thighs together, reaching his large hand over to your thigh and sliding you over to the very edge of the passenger seat. His hand reaches and perfectly cups his thick fingers over your cunt, gently shifting his fingers and watching you wriggle under his grasp. “The moment we walk through that door I want these jeans off, understand?” A question brought home by a harsh slap to your covered pussy.

“Yes daddy!” A gasp as you jump in your seat. ‘Oh it is gonna be a fun night.’ You think to yourself as he continues teasing you.

[divine-misfortune]

The hoes asked for more virginity kink Aether, with a side of corruption kink, and honestly I fully blame @iamthecomet because of that fucking Aether/Phantom fic from a while back (comet you know what you DID!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I haven't been okay and or normal since.)

I made a post a long while ago about Alpha being Aether's first, just had to take the fresh quint after seeing him so painfully and obviously lusting after Omega for so long. Had to dangle every filthy detail he knew about his mate over Aether's head. It's Alpha's fault he's like this, taking such visible glee in pushing Aether into every new feeling. His new vessel is so sensitive, so unexplored, and he tells him as such.

Aether realizes it with Dew, when he moans into his mouth and flinches from his big hand palming at him through his slacks. The feeling is surprising and it confuses him, Dew looked like a deer in headlights that day - flushed and panting, straining and leaking in his boxers, brows pinching upwards as he stares back at Aether. The naivety in his pale blue eyes makes something dark and sick claw at the back door of his mind, a beast fighting for its way in to wreak havoc on the water ghoul trapped between his body and the wall.

He shushes the surprised whimper Dew questions him with, the doubt muffled in a kiss fueled by greed. A desire to take what can never be given back.

Promises of 'I'll take care of you' 'I know exactly what you need', and 'you'll feel so good' to soothe away hesitation. The final nail in the coffin is when he squeezes Dew's cock and begins to stroke him through the suffocating fabric, his little body twitching and reacting without his permission as Aether whispers 'you trust me, don't you droplet?' Dew's dick jumps in his hand and he knows he has him even before the shaky, feeble nod.

The first time is intoxicating. He wishes he could defile Dew's innocence over and over and over. Dew indulges him sometimes, plays demure and sweet the way he once did genuinely. It scratches the itch for the most part - Dew is a good actor after all.

But sometimes the greed rears it's ugly head.

Aether tries to keep himself in check but it's hard. All the siblings he passes in the hallways reeking of virtue yet to indulge in the most pleasurable cardinal sin. His teeth itch to become acquainted with all of that unsullied flesh.

The hardest, most strenuous test of his will is when they bring the new summons to him after their arrival. Still unaccustomed to their bodies, moving awkwardly and carefully like they don't quite understand why every part does what it does. He's tasked with assuring they're healthy, that nothing went awry in their arrival, and of course he does. It's his top priority after all! He's been professional each time but his mind wanders on him, that he can't help.

He eyes the warm untouched body with a hunger that none of them pick up on at the time. New summons hold no shame, no learned sense of modesty yet, unknowingly teasing him with every inch. There have been a few times he's dared an inch too far, brushing softened cocks in passing or kneading more than necessary at breasts under the excuse of examination. Makes his heart race and his body ache with desire, horribly aware of the way his dick sticks to his thigh, a feeling becoming more uncomfortable by the second.

The second they are whisked away Aether is fumbling with his zipper. Growling as he tugs at himself, hunched over his desk with a hand flat to the surface, nails digging into the wood. The idea is wrong and he should be ashamed for wanting it but all Aether can do is want.

He wanted to take them, all of them. Introduce their bodies to addicting sensation. Mold their wants to align with his own as they simply don't know any better.

Aether knows the position he's in, how trusted he is, and truthfully it only makes the desire to corrupt more voracious.

He spills into the waste basket with a groan, and the beast is satiated briefly with fantasy, but for how long it will remain that way he can't tell.

[lovelyladyabsinthewrites]

Game of Thrones Fic List

🖤= tw:dark content

🍑= smut

📚= series/multi-part

💌= requested

For Whom the Bell Tolls (Margaery Tyrell x Baratheon!Reader)

A glance and a sassy comment. The more time you two spent alone together, the less of a sister you became to one another. It wasn’t your intention to fall in love with the wife of your brother. You had never really felt bad about it when Maragery was married to Joffrey, but now that she was wed to your sweet Tommen. . . You couldn’t do that to your sweet lion.

Between Saints and Sinners (Sandor Clegane x Reader)

It had been years since you last saw Sandor Clegane. Years since you had last been in employment at Lord Baelish’s brothel.

A Stark Bride (Aegon Targaryen i x Stark!Reader)

Aegon Targaryen reduced your father, Torrhen Stark, to a mere lord. The Targaryen conqueror had taken the title of king for himself. You wanted to depise them, those beautiful Targaryens with their lavender eyes and silver tresses. But they were beautiful. Terrifying and beautiful just like their dragons.

Promises (Oberyn Martell x Reader) 🖤

Having witnessed the brutal murder of your family, your uncle Oberyn is the only one to fend off your nightmares and the only one you could ever feel an attachment to.

Shedding Skin (Arthur Dayne x Targaryen!Reader) 

You wouldn't let your brother Rhaegar humiliate you. No. Faking your own death, you travel to Dorne and there shed your dragon skin to become a new person. A happier person.

A Touch of Gold (Margaery Tyrell x Stark!Reader)

If Renly was to have a lover, then Margaery wanted one as well. And she decided that it just had to be the visiting (y/n) Stark.

Gold and Red (Jaime Lannister x Reader) 🍑

How could you bring yourself to have sex with your child husband? Jaime, however, was a full grown man.

Stupid, Pretty Little Things 🖤

She was the only gift Joffrey wanted for his name day. And Joffrey would be damned if anyone forbade him to what was his.

Targaryen Daughters 

After so long staying safely hidden in the privacy of a Sept, you discover your younger sister Daenerys is very well alive. Alive and with three dragons.

A Good, Mean Dog (Sandor Clegane x Baratheon!Reader) 📚

The Princess and the Hound. What a story that would be

Horns That Hold A Crown (Rhaegar Targaryen x Baratheon!Reader)

The only daughter of Steffon Baratheon, and to Aerys you were th eonly suitable bride for his son Rhaegar. Your previokus engagement to Ned Stark was broken. Now you found yourself the bride of a dragon instead that of a wolf.

Ruined Hallelujah (Margaery Tyrell x Baratheon!Reader)

You had expected such a move from Robert, maybe even Stannis, but never from your brother Renly. He was well aware of your affair with Margaery, even supported it. Yet he had married you off to Robb Stark, King in the North.

Misfit (Daenerys Targaryen x Greyjoy!Reader) 🖤

Nightmares, your nightmares were filled with the blazing symbol of a kraken. As you travel with your siblings to Meereen you hope Queen Daenerys would be willing to help you in defeating Euron.

One True Queen (Rhaegar Targaryen x Targaryen!Reader)📚

What he had done was the greatest insult to you. One that you thought he would never do. You knew he loved you with all his heart, that was certain. You were his sister and his wife. However, that all changed when he took Lyanna Stark as his second wife.

Knight in Blue and Red (Rhaegar Targaryen x Tully!Reader)

You wanted to be in charge of Riverrun when your father died, but because you were the third and youngest daughter of Hoster Tully that was highly impossible. You would show him. Show him that you would be a better successor than your brother Edmure.

Belladonna  (Young Robert Baratheon x Reader)

With the death of his father, Robert Baratheon found himself the young lord of Storm's End. A new lordship requires a wife.

Dragon (Daenerys Targaryen x Reader)📚

She had trusted her Unsullied with her life. That was why when one attacked her with a knife she doesn't have him killed. Instead Daenerys wants to get down to the problem. Only when she removes the Unsullied's helmet she is met with the face of a young girl.

A Lion’s Vow (Jaime Lannister x Stark!Reader)💌

This game the both of you played was your only real entertainment in the mess that was the Red Keep. Knowing it’s true nature, your father attempted to keep you close to his side. Reminding you not to trust anyone easily, especially those that belonged to the House of the Lion. 

A Mouse in a Lion’s Den (Rhaegar Targaryen x Lannister!Reader)📚

A little mouse surrounded by ferocious lions? It didn't look to be a good situation, even if those lions happened to be your family.

Exiled (Arthur Dayne x Reader)💌

You run into Ser Arthur Dayne in Essos. Along with a dark haired, gray eyed child.

Glow (Daenerys Targaryen x Reader)

Why she had taken a liking to you among all the others she had freed, you would never know. You had been a personal whore for one of the masters and had gotten pregnant. There were many others like you. Your story was nothing special, but Dany had found you worthy enough to be her close companion. There were even times when you thought that maybe you could be more than her companion.

The Doe That Chases the Hound (Sandor Clegane x Baratheon!Reader)

Normally in a hunt it was a hound’s duty to chase down deer. You went against the natural order of things. This time it was the doe who sought after the hound.

Crimson Lady (Ramsay Bolton x Bolton!Reader, Sansa Stark x Bolton!Reader) 🖤

Sansa should have known better. Of course she'd be every part of a Bolton as her brother Ramsay was.

Loveless (Rhaegar Targaryen x Targaryen!Reader) 🖤💌

There was nothing Rhaegar could do about your sudden engagement. Try as he might, he couldn’t persuade Aerys to marry you to him. It didn’t matter that he proclaim his undying love for you. Didn’t matter how you got on your knees in front of the iron throne and begged him to reconsider. Instead of mercy, the Mad King simply laughed at you.

Just For You (Ramsay Bolton x Reader) 🍑💌

The cruel Ramsay Bolton has an unknown side to him. Not just for anyone though. Only for the maid whom he loves to taunt. 

From the Ashes (Rhaegar Targaryen x Lannister!Reader)📚

A year has passed since (y/n) and her brother Jaime fled from King's Landing to the vast and foreign world of Essos.

Mine First, Mine Last, Mine Even in the Grave (Ramsay Bolton x Reader) 🍑

Even at such a young age, Ramsay was proving a difficult and willful child. He was somewhat twisted in nature that sometimes disturbed his mother. However once he laid eyes on the little baby, he immediately grew attached to her.

Birth of Dragons (Aegon i Targaryen x Targaryen!Reader) 📚

It wasn’t fair of him to choose a favorite between his sisters. Fearless Visenya, playful Rhaenys and loving (y/n). Above them all he secretly placed (y/n) close to his heart.

The Most Impossible Battle (Robert Baratheon x Targaryen!Reader) 🍑

Robert hated all Targaryens. Wise words from those close to him though make Robert Baratheon give in to the idea of taking (y/n) Targaryen as his bride.

Wrap Around (Oberyn Martell x Martell!Reader) 📚🖤

Oberyn was beside himself at the return of his baby sister (y/n). For a year she had been off in Essos, experiencing the rest of the world outside of the safety of Sunspear. Now she was returning to Dorne. Returning to Oberyn.

By Any Other Name (Margaery Tyrell x Reader)

Another Life (Rhaegar Targaryen x Stark!Reader)

Lyanna watches Jon from atop of the courtyard's parapet, her eyes crinkling with pride as she watches Jon best Theon Greyjoy at the dance of swords. Every victory Jon made resulted in him outgrowing the label of bastard. He was so much more than a bastard of Winterfell. Not even Catelyn saw him as such. Many were so shocked when the news came that Ned had brought back his bastard one day. In fact Cat had shown up at Winterfell by his side as he held the infant in his arms, for she was one of three that knew the truth about Jon Snow. 

What We Sow (Theon Greyjoy x Greyjoy!Reader) 🍑🖤💌

This was his home, a place where the salt of the sea and the cries of seagulls were a constant presence and where you were. Waiting so patiently as always. His queen, his sister, his wife. He'd been dreaming of the moment when he'd be reunited with you after so long. 

Omission (Theon Greyjoy x Stark!Reader)💌🍑

Robb wasn't being dramatic when he claimed your change toward Theon. From innocent children to teenagers, everything happened so fast that you weren't really able to comprehend what was going on with your own head. When Theon first arrived to your family, you were a small child. You and Robb grew attached to him immediately. For so long you saw him as a brother. Then it just stopped the moment you bled.

Hummingbird (Petyr Baelish x Baratheon!Reader) 💌

Surly Creatures (Visenya Targaryen x Reader) 💌

YandereMama!Visenya Series I , II , III , IV , V

[ceilidho]

just finished reading take me home for the first time (amazing delicious chef's kiss tyyyy queen) and this is lowkey insane but i was thrilled to see "antediluvian" bc i weirdly loooove that word and i feel like maybe i even learned it from reading one of your other fics? do you remember if you've used it in other fics of yours? sorry i'm insane

I don't know if I've ever used it before, but @/yeyinde definitely has if I haven't!! it's a gorgeous word though. i heard it for the first time back when i was in university and taking a class on Paradise Lost, and it's been creeping around in the back of my mind ever since. prelapsarian is another gorgeous word (slightly different senses obviously given that one is about unsullied man and the other is more to do with the actual land itself, or customs, pre Flood, but still very cool).

[humble-pigeon]

WOO ok ok i absolutely FLEW through my re-read of book one & i have to say i felt the same if not more excited and immersed this time as i did reading it first 3 years ago 😭😭😭 I don’t know if knowing the plot beforehand informed my experience but it wasn’t as jarring this time around??

Like when the pet ring was introduced, of course it’s still nasty that Nicaise is THIRTEEN, I think Pacat intended to evoke disgust but in terms of the outward debauchery, it’s stuff you’d find in the likes of Game of Thrones & speaking of, the slavery aspect in Captive Prince really reminded me of the unsullied in GoT??? Like when Missandei tells Dany, ‘they will throw themselves on the sword if you command it’—it’s giving that level of subservience with Erasmus for instance.

ALSO book one very much introduces the political landscape and enforces how SICK and manipulative the Regent as a character truly is LIKE THE MAN IS VILE and I actually think it is so necessary that this picture was painted so we could enjoy the journey and growing love between Damen and Laurent in the books to follow.

EEEE i cannot wait to continue on to Prince’s Gambit.

This is inspiring me to write fic again 😭😭😭

[neros-w]

a softly made pact - a Sumeru meta post

ao3 version here

I promised way back that I’d do an entire breakdown on my thoughts and research notes on my Sethos fic, come disrupt this silence, which was an exploration of Sethos’ characterization, motivations, and deep insecurities. I then ended up having to do some college stuff. But, college isn’t starting for at least 3 more weeks so here’s me getting into the grove of things.

This ended up being an analysis of Sumeru’s Archon quest and the nation’s ideals as a whole (desert and forest), but it still ties in to my thoughts on my fic and Sethos characterization so if you wanna read it, feel free.

I have several key points to discuss in this breakdown namely the concept of the Rtawahist darshan’s Illuminationism, the worship of truth in Sumeru, and the faith of the Temple of Silence. I suppose the easy way would be to break it down in chunks of how I started each of my chapters for the Sethos fic. But I’ll shuffle them around for overall cohesion.

Again, like my breakdown on my notes on hope or nostalgia, hover over or click underlined or hyperlinked text for further information or my sources. I’ll likely be linking to my references directly through those tooltips.

Also, spoiler warnings for my Sethos fic. If you wanna read it beforehand, go ahead. And general spoiler warnings for Sumeru’s Archon quest, character story quests, A Parade of Providence, etc.

destination

Sumeru’s culture

As is apparent for any discerning players, Sumeru is steeped in influences from the Islamic Golden Age and philosophies from Western Asia.

The Akademiya as an institution is inspired by the scholars of old, all of whom had constructed colleges and spaces for all walks of life to share their observations and synthesize their learnings into writing.

Sumeru’s culture is centered on the the pursuit and refinement of knowledge. Learning and wanting to learn is such a big part of the culture that the first friends we meet in Sumeru are those who are eager to learn— Collei who wants to be a capable forest ranger, Haypasia who wants to connect with Irminsul.

Humans in Teyvat (and in real life) understand, by order of pedagogy, that knowledge must be unsullied by the voices and opinions of others— critical and unbiased, that the truth must be universal and all-encompassing— universizability is a concept deeply ingrained in philosophy.

But these ideas, as they are human ideas, are supposed to be complex, flawed, and nuanced. Knowledge that is biased is still true, as are truths that are complicated and tangential. This is what Nahida meant when she said that Kaveh’s understanding of truth and wisdom is almost perfect because he believes that the truth isn’t meant to be pigeonholed into digestible concepts. From Kaveh’s story (Old Sketchbook (unlocked at Friendship Lv. 4)):

Know that truth has never existed for the sake of individuals. The logic of the world coexists with nature, and this will not easily change whether it is interpreted as such or not.

In essence: the world does not exist for humanity and deluding ourselves into thinking otherwise is folly.

Sumeru’s faith

At the metaphorical level, Sumeru’s god and Archon is truth, the amalgamation of knowledge in Teyvat, personified. Nahida, Rukkhadevata, and all incarnations before them are beings of old dating back millennia that are susceptible to the whims of erosion and external tampering. Yes, the truth has been tampered with but it is true nonetheless and to deny it is foolish.

It’s what you do with the truth, what your values and prior experiences tell you, is what really matters. That’s wisdom.

There’s a reason why the constructed god made to replace Nahida, the God to be Saved (「正機之神」, in EN they localized this into “Shouki no Kami, the Prodigal,” but philosophically speaking, this removes it of its context), is one with the title “the Everlasting, Omniscient, Lord of Wisdom and Mercy.” This is what the Sumerans see as sacred— a god that knows all in its wisdom. But this is misguided. What this is is a separation of the text from its context, a wisdom that must be rational, critical, clinical and unfeeling.

But because it is artificial, human-made, it can never be perfect. The god itself views itself as fallen and broken and one that is the perfect object of salvation, yet hasn’t been and stays within that broken state unwilling to make moves of its own towards salvation.

Nahida and her predecessors, as the chosen Archon of Sumeru, signify not just the amalgamation of knowledge, but also the willingness to accept loss, change, to learn from others of their volition. This is why the Archon has to grow, learning and wanting to learn is part of the wisdom.

This is also reflected in Nahida’s overarching story in the Archon quests, fearing that she’s not good enough as Archon because she lacks the knowledge of what all the other Archons have done up to that point. She can’t access Irminsul from her cage, so she continues to let herself be caged, afraid that her actions thus far are not Archon-like. She doesn’t know any better so she doesn’t do anything about it.

deflection

The Rtawahist darshan

Nahida’s caged existence and playing at godhood for the past 500 years can be easily compared to Plato’s Forms, his shadows in the cave. She rescued countless through miracles, convened with them in their dreams, spoke in riddles and metaphors. But never once has she manifested physically or visually to these children. No one knew what Lesser Lord Kusanali looked like beyond the sages. These miracles and dreams are what she thinks is godhood because these ideas are what godhood is in stories and scriptures told to children in Sumeru.

This concept is the root of Rtawahist’s teachings— there is a reason why Haypasia, Setaria, and Azar are important NPCs in the Archon quest, all part of the Rtawahist darshan.

The Rtawahist darshan, according to the Parade of Providence (Act I - Comings and Goings, Opening Festivities) quest, centers itself on Illuminationism, astrology, astronomy, etc.

From the Western standpoint, it’s hard not to be a little confused by Rtawahist’s teachings because the other darshan are rather straightforward— Spantamad is about geology and the elements, Amurta is about biology and ecology, Vahumana is about history, archeology, and etiology, etc.

So, what the hell does fortune-telling and getting high for a couple days have to do with astronomy? Well, you gotta remember that this is a fantasy setting and that the sky is fake.

Spantamad, Vahumana, and Rtawahist all have the most in-game conceptual overlap. As mentioned by Layla in the Parade of Providence (Act II - Beginnings and Endings, Competition on the Sands):

Do you ever get the feeling that the Ley Lines have a regular flow, similar to the way that celestial bodies follow fixed orbits? If we were looking down from on high, I wonder whether we'd find that the Ley Lines are just the reflections of the stars upon the earth? Not all astrological phenomena can be directly observed. Some are deductions based on other details that we know. It's the same situation with the Ley Lines. The parts of them that are hidden underground can be identified via elemental energy, sound, and other phenomena.

Rtawahist, then, is focused on the flow of fate and how to interpret it. This is why Mona Megistus’ Steambird columns are such a big hit (Layla Voice-Overs, About Mona) in the darshan, why fortune-telling is common, and why its scholars train via Satyavada Life to try and connect to Irminsul. The truth is the flow of events past, present, and future— in the lay of the land, the politics of man, and the stars that tell us everything.

Illuminationism

Illuminationism, you see, is an Iranian metaphysical philosophy that takes great inspiration from Plato’s Forms, Aristotelian teachings, and period-appropriate Islamic mysticism. Persian Philosopher Shihāb ad-Dīn Yahya ibn Habash Suhrawardī, often just called by Sohrevardi (though that’s really just where he’s from. In this, I’ll be calling him Shihab al-Din) was the one who penned and expanded on the idea in his less than forty years on Earth.

The philosophy itself, though I am perhaps butchering it in an attempt to narrow this down, is centered on the idea that an individual’s essence, their light, is a reflection and refraction of a one true light and essence (God). The light every being has can be refracted and reflected onto others, and it trickles down on and on. Our lights affect each other, but all our lights come from the same source.

The one true light, in Shihab al-Din’s philosophy is essence incarnate, the truth, God. And the rest of us, though we cannot create light, can most certainly emit an essence that is similar or close to God, just in our own forms or versions. Thus, in reviewing, you can hypothetically trace back to the truth of all things if you follow the trail (given that you don’t get lost in doing so. See: Azar).

Which isn’t necessarily the point. This is why one of the Akademiya’s six sins (originating from the Temple of Silence (Temple of Silence Member, Djer)) is investigating the origin of words.

The point of Illuminationism, in real life and in-game, is to understand the trajectory of light, seeing it from all angles to understand what it’s saying, where it came from, and where it’s headed. As I’d explained in my Sethos fic, studying the stars and connecting to Irminsul isn’t about controlling your fate or bemoaning it, it’s about how you see your fate going forward and how you react to it, having the knowledge and the wisdom to use that information.

direction

Now, I’ve discussed the Akademiya extensively throughout this breakdown and haven’t once touched upon the desert.

Amun, dead as he is, is long-forgotten for two specific reasons.

First: forbidden knowledge.

After learning about what happens moving forward from Nabu Malikata (thus causing her death (Weapon Ascension Material, Oasis Garden’s Truth), the pain of her loss and the futility of his dreams (Staff of the Scarlet Sands) led him to trying to attain forbidden knowledge in order to fulfill them.

It’s unclear whether this knowledge is abyssal, from beyond Teyvat, or erased Irminsul knowledge, but the memory and glory of Amun and his rule was erased en masse when Rukkhadevata erased the forbidden knowledge of it to save the his people from its effects.

Second: the Temple of Silence.

Say what you want about plot contrivance, but the fact that the desert mercenary groups like Ayn al-Ahmar and, well, most of the modern-day desert dwellers, were ignorant of the cause of Amun’s death and the Dendro Archon’s involvement with it is also due in large part because of the Temple of Silence.

Kasala’s final act, as Amun’s priest, was to plead to his people, Amun’s followers, to respect the Dendro Archon, to live in harmony with the forest dwellers and to cease the in-fighting. This plea was buried under the sands for centuries. But the Temple knew about these events, and even had records about Apep (Temple of Silence Member, Asenath).

Now, it’s unclear whether Kasala was part of the Temple of Silence (he has the Tighnarian headdress), but I operate under the idea that he wasn’t, and thus his philosophies and motivations differ greatly from Hermanubis’ which was largely upheld by the Tighnarians that followed him (because he was allegedly a Tighnarian himself) into the Temple of Silence.

All that to say, Hermanubis’ philosophy on the truth is that some of it must be kept tightly under wraps to maintain order and prosperity.

This is why the Towers of Betrayal remain “Towers of Betrayal” even though they were once infused with Rukkhadevata’s power and, once activated, can create small oases to battle against the Withering. No desert dweller knows about these, not even Temple members (Temple of Silence Member, Djer). Desert dwellers refuse to tamper with them. The temple doesn’t even try. These tombs, temples, plinths, and towers aren’t reactivated until the Traveler comes along, and the histories behind them remain undiscovered to most of Sumeru.

Studying these towers would lead to questions, “Why build them?” “What was it that King Deshret found?” “What caused the Withering?” Discovering the answers would lead to the spread of forbidden knowledge again.

Sethos and come disrupt this silence

As the actual leader of the Temple of Silence, Sethos is stuck between the importance of tradition and the need for progress.

Bamoun’s deal with Cyrus had proven to be a setback for the Temple, as (for reasons unknown) Hermanubis’ severed fragments led to the deterioration of the Temple itself. But that’s mostly an allegation. The real setback was the previous leaders’ choice to isolate themselves, the Temple pulling away from the Akademiya and the forest, and the desert.

The desert dwellers, after this period of isolation started, rapidly grew ignorant of their histories and learnings, knowledge and wisdom only passed down through traditions from a leftover faith of a mad god. Since no one but scholars were doing tomb spelunking, none of the desert dwellers were to interpret the structures and murals about their own history for themselves (Golden Slumber, An Introduction to Indoor Archaeology).

This is not to say that the Akademiya was not at fault for what became of Aaru Village— they certainly have their fair share of in-game ethnocentrist propaganda— but like Nahida, the desert dwellers weren’t willing to dig and delve deeper of their own volition, eventually stagnating after centuries of believing and operating under the Akademiya’s lies.

Sethos’ introduction to the canon should, hypothetically, usher in a new era for the desert’s narrative.

He’s aware of what the Temple needs and has a finger on the pulse of the Akademiya’s culture and customs. Yet, he is a young man with the burden of leadership at a young age, one starved for interaction after spending most of his life (Sethos Voice-Overs, More About Sethos: V) in isolation at the Temple. Add in the recent loss of his grandfather, his innocence, and his remaining nostalgia for the authority of tradition over progress, and you have a character who has the potential to overturn the lived experience of all desert dwellers ready to go off at any moment.

A majority of his character stories are centered on hearing other people’s stories, only sharing things about himself only to insert a bit of doubt into his storytelling. He loves looking at the stars and seeing reality reflecting itself over and over upon humans’ fates. As in his Vision story:

Along the way, Sethos spotted two more beasts — one large, one small — lying dead at the bottom of a cliff. Looking at them from a distance, Bamoun remarked, "Most likely a parent and a child. The larger one was probably chasing the smaller one, trying to drag it back, before it too lost its footing and they were blown down together." "They were with that pack of beasts just now... But weren't there quite a few smaller ones? This large one died trying to save just a single one, and now the other small ones will be left unprotected. The losses far outweigh the gains... It shouldn't have taken the risk," said one of the other members, shaking their head. Trying to rescue your children first from quicksand, then a storm... It sounded like an almost impossible task. Sethos had noticed, though, that Bamoun had been staring at that spot the whole time, as if it had reminded him of something. But in the end he said nothing more. Having survived the disaster, the group slowly departed, with Sethos bringing up the rear. Before leaving, Sethos glanced back down at the scene below to regard the unsuccessful beast one last time.

Nothing is said in this Vision story that means anything in particular to Sethos in that moment, but you can see the mysticism in Sethos’ perspective, of seeing meaning in moments and actions that aren’t his but could reflect upon his own life. Of Bamoun looking at a dead pair of Sumpterbeasts with no particular expression, pondering those left behind, and Sethos making the connection to Bamoun’s inevitable death and departure and how that would affect him and the Temple.

No one is saved in this sacrifice. This is just avoiding one death to walk into another. Sethos receives his Vision quickly after this interaction and you, the reader, are supposed to infer what this means for Sethos’ character that he found this remarkable when receiving a Vision.

As I was writing my Sethos fic, I was mostly critiquing this lack of exploration into his character in fan works and canon. His introduction in Cyno’s second story quest and his unique perspective injects a much needed nuance into all that was left after the end of the Archon quests. The mysticism on top of the empirical is important, the symbolism that he and Cyno embody, the priests of Sumeru’s desert and forest.

Because Nahida’s liberation doesn’t mean desert dwellers’ lives have become easier.

Azar, the corrupt sages, and the Farrokhazadan were overthrown and put into community service; Ayn al-Ahmar is in charge of guarding Setaria for the revitalization projects for the desert; and, the desert dwellers are now in charge of their own futures moving forward.

But.

Dori Sangemah Bay still owns most of Aaru Village’s lands, a disruption so massive the people of Aaru Village can’t even build a public library. (Kaveh Hangout Event, The Price of a Wish)

There’s still the undeniable fact that it’s very very hard to get resources (and people!) past the Wall of Samiel, an idea they introduced in Dehya’s trailer before the end of Act V but never brought up again.

The ethnocentrism in Akademiya texts and scholars is still narratively uncontested.

These ideas are not changed just by freeing Nahida and letting her be Archon, but it’s a step in the right direction that Hoyoverse has yet to write a narrative for even with Sethos’ introduction.

So I ended up picking up the slack with my fic.

Take it or leave it.

conclusion

This was a huge breakdown of a lot of my thoughts on Sumeru’s ethnonationalist politics, the Sumeru Archon quests, Sethos, and Sumeru’s cultures.

Hopefully I wasn’t too overindulgent in writing these that I ended up glossing over some things. I’m pretty sure I’ve written down most of my thoughts as eloquently as I could but it’s also 3AM and English isn’t really my first language so. Grain– no, chunk of salt.

Comments are appreciated! Tell me what you thought and if you have thoughts of your own.

[eri-pl]

Silm reread 23: the War of Wrath

Scheduling this reread post for the @morgoth-into-the-void-week. :)

So first, we are informed that our narative frame's source is the exiled Noldor (and Sindar, if I understand correctly), and they did not join the army marching North. They only learned the events later, in Aman.

So the host of the Valar was separate, the Noldor and the rest did not fight in the War of Wrath? At all? Why?

Also, I feel like this invalidates some fics, but I may be wrong. Anyway this feels strange.

The warriors "took shapes", so there were many Maiar in the army, I consider this confirmed, because I don't see how it can be read otherwise. [Unless translation messed it up]

They fight in Anfauglith, according to other sourced it lasts 50 years or so. wow. Also, the two armies are huge.

A few Balrogs escaped.

The Edain (the few that remained), in contrast to the local Elves, did join the war. Huh again. why the Elves did not?

Also, most Men were at the wrong side and the Elves hold a grudge about it. Even though, if I understand the text correctly, they themselves did not fight.

Morgoth is scared. How surprising. Winged dragons make a debut, but it soesn't help much. Earendil + all kinds of birds kil Ancalagon.

Oh, and speaking of birds: Elwing is on the ships, I would assume, with the Teleri. I would be very not surprised if Elrond and Elros meet her and they all have a long talk, and this is how the kidnap fam is dismantled (not leaving them with Gil-Galad, but letting them go to their actual mother. Who later sails back and then Elrond joins Gil-Galad. But this is purely a HC based on who was where.)

Only a few Balrogs and dragons escape (so that we can have some monsters in SA, or even, as we know, TA). The power of the Valar reaches deep into earth and cleanses it, I guess. Still, I am pretty certain that the Valar weren't there personally, just their Maiar.

Morgoth runs away, does all kinds of cringe cowardly stuff, nobody listenes to him, I have some second-hand embarassment reading this. The translation says his feet were cut off, which iirc I heard is kind of "Balrog's wings" thing, also for sake of Eonwe not looking bad I prefer to imagine just a regular "throwing him to the ground". ("but his feet were hewn from under him, and he was hurled upon his face" — English-savvy people, what do you think?]

Anyway I feel sorry for him, yes my brain is like that.

He is chained and his crown is replaced by a copy and stolen by Sauron for sake of appearing in Amazon's series reforged into a collar. I want to know by whom it was reforged, but the book does not tell me. Either some Valar were there (they can effectively teleport, from what is said in other places), or the reforging happenned in Valinor after Morgoth was taken there (the text doesn't sound like it), or some Maia of Aule did the reforging. It would be interesting if it was Curumo. Surely touching the thing won't influence him in a way that will bear its ugly fruit much later…

Also the Silarils are freed and glow under the sky. Hmm. They were not taken to Valinor, so the reforging clearly seems to take place in ME. So, was Aule there or did some Maiar do it?

"the two Silmarils […] shone unsullied beneath the sky; and Eönwë took them, and guarded them." Argh, because the Polish translation has it sounding like "were given to Eonwe to guard" I wrote a whole paragraph that now makes no sense. :/

Also, yes, clearly no Valar are there, it's the only logical reading.

All the Elves are summoned to Aman, as we know not all are enthusiastic, and we get to our guys Maedhros and Maglor (apparently without the twins now).

They don't go to talk to Eonwë, they send a messanger. Which sadly makes that one fic non-canon.

I wrote a long, convoluted "yelling on Maglor and hyping about things I should be writing inseat of just hyping" tangent, so I'll indent it, so you can skip it more easily. [Instead of deleting it. :) ]

My. guys. OK, I can get Mae who is crealy overriden by trauma here. But Maglor. My guy. Makalaure Canafinwe Feanarion. My. Guy. I get that you feel guilty towards your brother and all that, and he is triggered and "who knows what terrible things the Valar would do to us if we go against them. They would hang us from the mountain and nobody will come to save us and—" but my guy. You really would help him more by leaving him and just surendering to Eonwe. Also, my guys, this was already said, but you both get the -1th prize in category of "logic and basic inductive reasoning (if He hears us once, He will hear us again, and if not, the problem is not a problem)". But I get it, trauma turns the thinking brain off. Anwyay, Maglor, my guy. you are the worst at "being right". Becasue you are right but you do the wrong thing anyway,. MY GUY. I want to kick you. I am serisouly worried. I know the fandom wishes you all the best and ten times more, and so do I, but. My guy. You do need to put in some work. Because "having others solve your problems" never worked for you. So, I'm sorry but you will be put in Awkward Situations until you finally go against your family. Yes, this is harder when said family is dead, but we'll find a way. I know some people need help first, but ok you will have [or whatever tense] spend quite a lot of time in Rivendell first with your lovely kidnap-son but then you have to start behaving like an adult who makes his own decisions. And stop being codependent. And yes, in order to do that I am going to put you in the weirdest, awkwardest situations and also kinda scary situations ald many kinds of situations. And no, you are not going to have a glorious beautiful moment of redemption, because you're too much of a poet, you would focus on "how to describe it in a song" too much and miss the point. Also, I like giving my guys awkward situations, because, honestly, we deserve them quite well. So. you will feel like an idiot and do something so awkward that you will blush while explaining it to your dead brother and you won't be able to look him in the eye. Because. My guy. Don't worry though, you aren't even having the worst of my creative side. But. My guy. Seriously. You are a complete idiot (affectionate) and I want to kick you (affectionate).

Back to the reread proper.

So, those two. They sneak into the camp, in disguise. The camp awakens…. how did all the camp suddenly awake? Also, they are ready to die, the book says it, so @dfwbwfbbwfbwf it is canon and not only for Maedhros.

Eonwe lets them go freely, because… he is that kind, I guess? And/or knows that it will work out.

Maedhros (says the book) realized that Eonwe was right ant soF lost the right to the Silmarils. Also he is pretty clearly not in control of his actions (but he did maneuver himself there tbh)

Maglor is also burned and can't stand it, and we get the fan-loved Silm change-from-other-versions of "he wanders the shores so that we can write fanfiction of him". I want to hug him. But, also: Maglor you [beloved] fool.

Lot of Elves sail West, the Silamrils are gone and will not be joined until the world breaks (poor babies). The Elves from Belerians (the Exiles? the sindar? Both) live on Tol Eressea, and the Valar forgive them and Manwe loves them. the Teleri forgive them and the Doom is lifted.

OK, but then why do they live on Tol Eressea only???

By choice (more home-like)? To not pollute Valinor proper with their marring-influenced presence? Because the Vanyar threw a collective tantrum (yes, I hc the Vanyar to have some faults)? Just temporarily?

All of those make sense to me.

A list of Elves and again we are reminded that Elrond and Elros are very cool and special. (They are.)

Morgoth is thrown out the Door of Night into the timeless void (so probably not just outer space). Oh, the Valar did it.

So he was taken to Valinor.

I wish there was a fic on how scary-awkward-weird it was for the sailors of the ship that took him. OK, tbh there was probably more Maiar than Teleri, if any Teleri. But. It would be interesting. Especially with the Teleri having almost no experience with Morgoth. He is more like a legend to them, I think. So, scary-weird but also "hey, we are important and we'll be famous" maybe. Or maybe Ulmo just dragged him there.

There are guards on the walls o the world (huh?) and Earendil is keeping watch, which is strange considering that we are also told (in a place I can't find now) that Morgoth will not physically return (with a strange caveat). So, anyway: Morgoth gone but his lies are here still.

Quenta Silmarillion ends, we get a small … not even teaser, but after-the-credits paragraph about "hey maybe something will get Seriously Better but we don't know, Manwë and Varda probably know and Mandos did not tell anyone".

[kitnjon]

I've never watched the show and I've not read the books, but I have been CONSUMING Jonsa fic for almost a month now. Like, a lot a lot of fic of this pairing. Some are sweeping epics, some or short and sweet, and some are just a could thousand words. One thing I've noticed, though... in all the stories I read, no one poisons the Dothraki horses. No one uses tripwires or caltrops. For all that horses are amazing animals, they are also... stupidly delicate. One slip on frozen rock causing them to break a leg? That's one less horse. They are on foreign soil, eating foreign plants, and they're NOT going to eat a poisonous weed or lizard? Take out their horses and then the Dothraki are reduced by morale as well as resources. I also don't see fics that talk about taking out the invading army (Daenerys, Dothraki & Unsullied) by way of Frey. Sure, there's going to be collateral damage - especially if the smallpeople doctor their own food rations to poison the invaders - but Pyrrhic victories are a time honored tradition no mattered where you're from, and after Daenerys burns winter food in the Reach, I'm not sure that the smallpeople wouldn't think it'd be worth it just so their friends and neighbors don't have to deal with them in the Spring. I get that it still leaves Daenerys with her dragons, but she'll also be constantly looking over her shoulder, no where will be safe, every bite of food or sip of drink will be suspect. I guess I'm asking for recommendations for fics with guerilla warfare with Jonsa as the main pairing if you have any - please and thank you!

Hey, welcome to Jonsa Fandom!

I am so sorry but I can't remember any fics which went with this approach :( But tbh it has been a while since I read multi-chapter show canon fics. From what I remember most fics either had Dany's allies eventually turning against her or killing her dragons...

But tagging this as Jonsa in case others may know any.

[just-antithings]

it's not just me that sees the whole "you shouldn't ship canon aroace characters" as a weird regurgitated version of an old fandom argument of "you can't ship A and B together, they're straight!" right...?????

and also like. can i just say as an aroace how fucking patronizing that argument sounds? there's levels of nasty with that but one main issue that pisses me off is the implication that characters made in a fictional work that isn't even, to my knowledge, officially published or monetized in any way (so fanfics, fanart, etc) is some kind of highly sought out commodity that must remain unsullied for the starving aroaces in the community

they should get off their delusional white knight horse and let fans create whatever they goddamn want. if they actually cared about aroace representation, they would support Actual Creations with that rep instead of shitting on someone writing an ao3 abo smut fic ffs

.

[balrogballs]

You mentioned you're a writer irl and having read your fics I'm not surprised! It makes me ridiculously happy to know that published authors still have the time/energy to write fanfiction (aka the only form of written literature that is still Innocent and Unsullied, if you ask me) I dream of being published myself. Any words of advice for an aspiring author? (more specifically, how does one get a literary agent?)

Thank you so much and yes absolutely! I always, always have time for fanfiction — I think some folk, especially in the literary fiction genre, tend to look down their nose at it and say it isn't "real writing" but my hill to die on is that a) it is real writing, and b) prior to the deal I never published a thing irl, and didnt do an MFA but have written fanfic since I was 12 and it genuinely is the way I developed my writing style. Will put the advicey bit under the cut

(disclaimer that I'm not Agatha Christie 2, I am simply little old balrogballs, so my advice defo isn't expert or even particularly qualified hahaha 🥹)

(below bit is as per my experience with litfic, I'm not sure which genre you write in but it may be a little different with genre fic, and more different still with non fiction)

The querying phase is genuinely hellish, and the biggest zone for rejection, with many of the top top agents not even reading query letters let alone manuscript. My main piece of advice here is — look for upcoming/new/fresh agents at established agencies, and submit to them. Whilst they themselves may not have a lengthy track record, they would be operating in an environment that would support them with established contacts, editor introductions, training in negotiations etc, that make it more likely for you to get a good deal.

Anecdotally, my agent is very established, and represents multiple Booker winners and a Nobel winner — understandably, she hadn't even read my manuscript when I first submitted to her, she pressed reject at query stage after reading my letter. A couple months later, I submitted to a fresh intern at the same agency, who wasn't repping litfic, but she passed the manuscript to said top agent and I got an offer within the week though my agent probably won't take intern recommendations anymore because imagine representing Booker winners only to have some deranged 25 y/o debut drag her into a meeting about elf sex fanfics...

But yes generally speaking, it definitely helps to look out for smaller fish in, er, famous ponds!

Other than that, I'd say really pore over agents wishlist (usually on the agency's website or the Query Tracker site — latter is VERY useful as a resource) and hardcore tailor your cover letter to align with it as that's the first impression they get. Also, if you're based in either US/UK, query in your country as the first port of call before switching over to the other side of the pond. But if you write for an English speaking audience and don't live in either of the above, you can query in both US and UK!

Hope this has helped, and v sorry if it's too long I am simply unable to ever stfu

[f1-stuff]

harem...

I knew rissa would want that one asfdhfgsh (here's the previous snippet of this fic that I shared last year). And below the cut is another little 650-word drabble.

(Warnings for the sort of insensitive language you'd expect from royalty about a bed servant? I guess? 😅 As well as my limited Spanish knowledge - anything written in Spanish is meant to signify that Charles doesn't know what it means)

The prince trains often and hard, nearly every day of the week, practicing his swordsmanship with his cousin or his instructor, Rupert. Sometimes, even the king, though much more rarely. Charles always accompanies him to these training sessions, prepared with facecloths for him to wipe away perspiration and water to keep him cool. The prince sometimes thanks him, smiling in gratitude or, on rare occasions, adding a wink that inspires Charles to blush.

He often...overhears things. It’s a consequence of (almost) always being in the prince’s company, along with his curious nature not allowing him to shut off his ears. Especially not when Charles is the topic of conversation.

“Have you had a taste, then?” the prince’s cousin, Duke of ____, asks him one day. ‘Gusto’ - it’s the same word in Italian.

“Taste?” The prince asks.

“Of the boy?” 

Charles flushes, despite his best efforts, focusing harder on the ground at his feet to feign unawareness. It’s possible they aren’t referring to him...

“‘The boy’ can hear you, tío,” the prince says. So much for that theory.

“You are evading the question,” the duke says, and Charles can hear the teasing note in his voice, but doesn’t dare look up to confirm. “I don’t understand you, cousin. You are gifted a lovely creature like that, a bed servant trained for a king, and you consign him to the role of a glorified assistant.”

The prince doesn’t respond, but Charles can see him practicing his swings and stances from the corner of his eye. He doesn’t have to work hard to imagine the impatient frown on the prince’s face. He’s seen it enough times while he responds to tedious letters at his desk in the late hours of the night.

“Is it because he’s un gabacho?” the duke asks, and the prince only huffs in response.

Charles doesn’t know the word, but he’s heard it applied to him before. He wishes he could talk to Valeria, continue their Spanish lessons or even just spend time in each other’s company the way they used to. He misses her, perhaps his only true ally in this place. He’s convinced he has her to thank for the prince’s decision to reassign him. Otherwise, he might’ve ended up in the kitchens or stables, or worse, cast out of the palace completely, condemned to a life as a beggar or in a brothel, without any other skills to make a living.

“I’m not amused by this topic,” the prince says, his tone bored.

“I am,” the duke says, laughing. “Come now, cousin. Do you not agree that he’s at least pleasing to look at?”

“I’m bored of this, Caco. I’ve told you to leave it.” The prince’s voice is hard now, annoyance lacing his words. Charles glances up long enough to see the duke raise his hands in surrender.

“I’m only curious, cousin. But I’ll leave it. For now,” he adds, a smirk in his voice. But then his tone grows more serious. “But know that I am not the only one with such questions. If you continue to show indifference toward the boy, you might find others are tempted where you are not.”

“What does that mean?” the prince asks, in a dangerous tone.

“I think you know,” the duke says. “No one would dare insult you by laying a hand on a bed servant of the Crown Prince. But he’s not your bed servant, is he?” There’s a beat of silence that feels loud, heavy. Then, the duke continues, “A creature like that will not stay unsullied for long, cousin.”

Silence again, then the prince says, “I do not care where the tontos in this palace stick their pollas.”

“Your words say one thing, but your face says another, my friend.” The duke doesn’t give the prince a chance to respond, though. “Come on, cabrón. Let us cease talking and begin swinging.”

“Finally,” the prince says, but he sounds far less enthusiastic now than at the start of their session.

WIP Wednesday

[vindictusoverlord]

It’s a Jhin fic. Have fun degens👀

TW: depiction of murder, harsh language, sexual themes.

Kinky(?) stuff!: choking, orgasm denial, oral, slapping, biting, dirty talk(kinda).

Word count is 6,100. It’s a biggin.

God speed, soldier.

————————————————————————————

"Ah," Jhin coos, relishing at the heavy thunk! of his last victim. Under his breath, he recites to himself; "My cacophony... the diminuendo... an opera of death... truly exquisite..."

It was all the musings of an inspired lunatic and it danced on his tone, bobbing delicately like a swan on the water, but it defined his chaotic nature entirely— he was a heretic of classical theatre.... Despite this, you had found that you were just like him, anyhow— twin flames sharing the same sick, perverted proclivities and an affinity to a dramatic bloodstained curtain call— it only made sense that you'd find yourselves wound up like this after another one of Jhin's flawless masterpieces. Such a remarkably stunning signature on a heap of corpses and all the while, Jhin stood untouched and unsullied before them. He blew the smoke off his pistol as he gazed below, sending a misplaced chair tumbling over with his foot to admire his handiwork.

"You've outdone yourself, Jhin," You removed your mask as you spoke, wiping off the splattered blood with a handkerchief, trying to alleviate his anger with your smile, and placing your palm on the small of his back. "Really, it was a beautiful performance."

The man holsters his weapons, spinning them with a certain theatrical flair as he does so, and adjusts the collar of his shirt. "It would have been different had you not been here," He says, tone heavy and dark like the narrator to a story, but the cadence hinted that he was pleased with your show tonight, even if he was horribly angry at the men below. "My art would be nothing if not for you."

"I hardly did anything at all. Please, save your flattery." You grin coyly, admonishing the false humility, but Jhin laughs anyways, seeming to accept that you were, in fact, just fine. Though he had always found it peculiar, he admired your consistent sense of dignity and grace on the battlefield. It was a recurring behavior that you displayed— that is, shifting all the credit of a smooth job to him— when it was truly you who set the whole gig up. But nonetheless, and despite his mixed opinions on the matter, Jhin knew it was best not to argue it, but rather to focus on the task at hand.

While you fish around the bodies for your throwing knives, Jhin turns away from his artwork to finish what you had both come all the way there for— an entire shipment of shimmer and the blueprints of an illegally built underground warehouse, as they all tended to be. The two of you slowly load up the truck with the heavy boxes of drugs, securing them down with tarp and straps, before making the two hour trip back to your client's base of operations.

While the driver careened down the interstate, you found yourself thinking about the choices you've made thus far. It felt as though it may have been getting old, working for chump change and constantly moving; always at the mercy of the dangerous political climate. On the other end, it seemed as though Jhin didn't much care for the result of a mission or why he was there in the first place, but rather focused his attention to the clean kills and the adrenaline rush he got from it. You felt somewhat similarly if you were honest, but the pay was important if you were both to stay alive and in hiding. As two of the most wanted criminals in Ionia, odd jobs like this were hard to come by and bounty hunters were plentiful. You took it upon yourself to be the eyes and ears while Jhin was better at talking and finessing, and between the two of you, your chemistry was undeniably successful. Had your doubts been even slightly mitigated by this success, though, perhaps you wouldn't be thinking so often of leaving with your resident maniac in tow.

Even when you handed over the documents to your temporary employer, listening to the excessive palaver while they unloaded the cargo, you felt confident and secure in your partnership with Jhin the Virtuoso, and he felt the same in you. Rarely did he come to trust anyone. But you... well, you had an electricity to you. A particular kind of panache. The first of its kind to catch and hold the killer's eye, and likely the last. Jhin had great plans for you as his partner in both crime and in love, and he endlessly daydreamed about those deviant fantasies of ruthless killing and depraved splendor upon a bed of thorns and gold. Frequent dreams of staining the goose down duvet with the bloody theatrics of your trophies and images of your exquisite countenance twisting with prodigious ecstasy blinded him— oh!, indeed, all of that he wished to share with you alone. Jhin had a plethora of scenes he wished to enact with his beautiful accomplice, and as you sat beside him, absently tapping your pretty fingers on your leg, he had half a mind to show you those perversions right now—

"Jhin," You snap in front of his face. "Are you okay?"

He inhales sharply. He hasn't even realized the two of you had finished up so quickly, let alone that you were already home. Jhin's thoughts consumed him, inspired by the way you peered over at him with those deep (e/c) eyes full of curiosity.

"Yes," he says, confidence oozing off of him. "I'm fine. Let's get this going, shall we?" It was so frustrating to be pulled out of such a tantalizing spectacle, but he begrudgingly lets the thoughts drift to the back of his dirty mind, nodding his acknowledgement at you before following your lead out of the vehicle.

As you said your goodbyes and shook hands with the driver, Jhin's eyes wandered to your plump behind. He gave his farewells as well, of course, but as they parted ways and you began your steady march just a short pace ahead, Jhin returned his ardent stare. As quickly as they had been suppressed just moments before, the debauched musings collided with him once again as they had for the last few hours. He counted the steps until the two of you entered your temporary home, timing them just perfectly with the clicking of your rubicund heels. Soon.... He thought, I'll give her a show of a lifetime... another timeless masterpiece for the ages...

You felt Jhin's heavy gaze on you, prickling your skin into a subtle shiver. It was often that you pondered whatever spiraled about in his warped mind, but his disassociation didn't phase you much more than peaking your endless curiosity for this man's inner machinations. Even as you fumble with the key, you can't shake the feeling that something was wrong with Jhin, as he had been a bit off since you had announced the recent contract to him. He had an innate sense for those kind of things, so it left you on edge to know that even he was skeptical.

But for now, you'd enjoy each others company in the warmth of your humble home. Nothing else mattered for the next few days while you both rested, restocked, and recouped.

As the heavy door opens up, you enter the room, allowing yourself to finally unwind as Jhin struts past you. After sliding off his shoes, he sets his things down while you close and lock the heavy door, making your way quickly to the large restroom. You were caked with blood and dirt and, seeing as though you were both germaphobes, you couldn't wait to wash the filth down the drain.

"(Y/N), my dear," The man says. "Might I join you for a moment?"

"To wash up?"

"Don't play dumb," Jhin finally removes his mask, setting it carefully alongside his personal items. "To admire. I'll wash up later in the evening."

"Of course," Despite your perceived confidence, your heart slipped into a new gear. He nodded to your acceptance of his request with a smile, staying behind to allow you a moment to fill the tub, but never taking his eyes off of you as you stripped away the soiled fabric, tossing your mask and cloak into the laundry hamper.

He adored your figure, tracing every inch in his minds eye, even if he'd seen it bare many times before. It never ceased to leave him speechless. His feelings had been confounded to an infinitely constricting noose around a proverbial neck, and as you peeked over your shoulder and sweetly smiled at the killer, Jhin felt it tighten even further.

The hot water felt nice on your submerging body. You hadn't realized how sore you were from the scuffle earlier in the day, and having almost been killed this morning left a sour taste in your mouth. Unseen cuts and bruises stung while you sank slowly into the tub, suppressing a grimace as you come to rest at the bottom of the deep basin, enjoying the bubbles that rose up to your neck and surrounded you. Jhin enters the room shortly after, a glass of wine in both hands, and takes a seat on the side of the tub. He passes one to you, a grin curling his top lip.

"To a job well done," The man taps his glass against yours, savoring the sweet wine as he sips from the rim, humming a song to himself as he rises back to his feet. You simply relax back in the tub, scrubbing down your skin with a washcloth and enjoying the rich tone of Jhin's voice. You sit in silence for a while, simply enjoying one another's company while he sings to you, and before long, he speaks up again.

"Do you have anything else in store for us this upcoming week?" Jhin asks, leaning against the sink counter, amusing himself while you bathe. An air of insouciance lingered about his contemplation as he did so, eyes glittering with childlike mischief.

"Hmmm," You mull it over as you rinse your hair out, brushing through the tangles with your fingers. "Not that I'm aware of." Having finished, you rise up from the tub, bend over to pull the drain, and wring your hair out with the plush towel.

Jhin curls his lip upward. "Lovely. Then I'll have you all to myself."

"Oh, you have plans, do you?"

He says nothing, rather letting his silence speak for him as the glass finds its place onto the countertop. He watches you from start to finish, enamored by the seemingly menial task of drying yourself down. You hang up the towel, your hair still leaving little droplets along your skin, before sauntering carefully towards him.

"You know," Your voice is a soft purr as it comes out, calm and collected. "I'm really quite fond you, Khada Jhin. You do know that, don't you?" Your fingers run up his dress shirt, the fabric still pressed firm and starkly clean, from sternum up to around his shoulders, intertwining yourself into his warm embrace. His cologne was decadent and made you feel love-drunk, the floral musk driving your mind to dangerous places.

"But of course I know." He coos. "I am the luckiest man alive, after all."

You rise to your toes and place your lips softly against the crook of the man's neck, briefly sinking your teeth into the flesh before moving on to another, lower spot. Jhin hums his pleasantry, acquiescing to your painful leisure, and tightens his grip on the edge of the counter.

You enjoyed his white-knuckling— the way he held back and bit his silver tongue; how he melted into you like wax; when his lips parted and he sighed, the air thick with tension... You continued down, showing him just how much you loved him; gradually unbuttoning his collar, loosening the tie, and then the placket. You left neat kisses along his pale, scarred skin, raising goosebumps along the surface. Jhin releases a careful hand to caresses your cheek, desire apparent in his focused eyes. His lips twitch when he lifted your chin up with only his forefinger, forming something of a crooked smirk. His normal tepid expression, characterized only by the mask he wore to disguise his heart, was replaced by a sense of passion and, hidden behind his gaze, an exhausted restraint.

Jhin nudges your nose with his own, softy falling into your lips. His breath tasted of wine, bittersweet and boozy, but his touch was soft and deliberate. You melted against him, submitting to your yearning, but Jhin remained surprised nonetheless. You ruled him, every part of him— you, the deliverer of divine retribution to his physical and spiritual being; the one that took his life into your hands— and his soul flickered and faded with every touch, lingering on the timbre of everything you said, just as your tongues did. They mimicked a decadent crescendo until you both needed a breath, stealing the oxygen from one another like it would suffocate you to disconnect for even a moment. And like comets, you were destined to meet again, and so you did, with his hands pressed onto your waist and hips and one your own against his chest, the other making its way down to the bulge in his slacks.

And you both fell back into the other.

The tide of idolatry was all consuming. As Jhin kissed you, it felt as thought you were ascending— almost like falling upwards through the clouds— as you fell deeper in love with the maniac. Just like the first time you had shared a kiss, you felt the distinct shock through your core every time since then. Those rampant butterflies that almost made you nauseous, the furious beating of your heart, and the dizziness that fogged your mind kept you going back for more. Endlessly craving more.

As if he read your thoughts, a slender hand wrapped around your neck and you hummed into his embrace. Jhin pulls away after a moment, his lips grazing against yours, and following instinct, you lean forward, longing for all of him. His other hand, breaking away from your hip, pulls his belt out of the loops and slides behind the waistband of his trousers. Jhin unbuttons them with a simple flick of his thumb and forefinger, letting you to unzip them yourself, and then returns his hands to the countertop. You drop to a squat before running your fingers along his waist band, lingering on each peck you give his abdomen. Jhin watches intently, seemingly mesmerized by your finesse, and, almost as if he forgot how to breathe, his exhales hitch on an absent thought with every breath he takes in.

You slowly drag the smooth fabric from his slender hips, biting softly onto one side of his undergarments and tugging with your hand on the other, only closing your eyes when you return upwards to leave a trail with your lips along his prominent pelvis bones. His member softly presses against the side of your face as you led your kisses to the base, lingering there for a moment to take in his warmth and the scent of his cologne. Mesmerized by his simple beauty, you peer up at him, relishing the sight of his vulnerability as if it were a drug.

"I've been thinking about you— this— all day," Jhin whispers. The light catches his face in a way that accentuates the sharpness of his features and softness of his skin. He was, by most accounts, a very average looking man, only his demeanor setting him apart from the crowd. He was fairly inconspicuous without his mask, though he hated to be without it, but his almond shaped brown eyes held a certain frigidity and authority-- a professionalism, almost-- and his skin was no longer pallid as it had been when you had met. The honey colored warmth in his gaze captured light and turned it auburn like muted fire or an endless horizon— simply full of life.

You bat your eyes at him, feigning innocence. His confidence faltered when you did that, staring up at him through those pretty eyelashes, eyes wide and full of wonder. The way your gaze gleamed with mischief made him let out a nervous chuckle, one that made his cock twitch with anticipation.

"Just sit back, my love." Making eye contact, you let your tongue drag along the underside of his cock to the tip, amusing yourself with the subtle twitch of his hooded eyelids. "Let me take care of you."

He always acted like it was the first time you touched him, as if it was the stars and sky falling right above him in a perpetual performance. Jhin, who put out an air of arrogance and wise experience, was simply a man after all. And every man had a weakness.

Jhin bit his bottom lip as your tongue twirled around the head and ever... so... slowly... inched down as if to absorb him in his own pleasure. Your lips wrapped delicately around your teeth to protect his flesh as you moved forward, flexing outward as you gradually pulled back, creating a suction that forced a soft moan from your fragile lover.

You, the kind woman that you were, took your time building up your tempo, enjoying the soft grunts Jhin elicits, and begin to glide your hands up his thighs. Your fingers softly prod around his package, wrapping around to cup his balls as the tip of his shaft passes down your throat. You hold it there for a few moments before shifting back, returning to your original tempo, but this time, you go all the way down to his belly, grazing his happy trail with your nose. Jhin lets out a sigh, instinctively twisting his fingers in your wet hair. He knew he was at your mercy by the way you moved your tongue so expertly and pulled those degrading noises out of him. It was as if your intention had been solely to devour him soul first. Unbeknownst to you, had that kind of unity been an option, Jhin would gladly let you.

The churning knot built up quickly in the pit of his stomach, raising a pressure below that made it hard to breathe out against his soft moans. The dirty gargling noises that erupted from your throat had him biting his lip far too hard, his head thrown back to whisper his pleadings with the gods, and somehow even through all the pleasure, he softly thanked them, too.

You wrapped your free hand around the remaining length of his cock, pumping back-and-forth in unison with your mouth, capturing it all within the depths of your greedy throat. None of him would go untouched, unloved, or ungrateful, and you were going to make sure of that. You would love all of him down to the molecules of his very being until the day he died.

And as you took all of him in, pressing your nose against his belly over and over, Jhin bit down on the sleeve of his shirt. It had begun to slip off his shoulders, the sleeves just long enough for him to try to suppress his raunchy melody within the fabric. But his legs began to buckle, his arms flung back to the countertop to keep him from falling, and your momentum didn't stop. You kept it up, eyes closed to bring forth your earned prize, and the sheer thought of you forced the man to utterly submit to your presence. You could feel the flexing of his restraint on your tongue as he held back as strongly as he was able to, but before long, Jhin would meet his limit.

The man leans forward ever so slightly as he snakes his hand around your throat once again. His fingers tread lightly along your skin as they wrap around it, pressing into the flesh. His breath hitches as he feels the girth of his cock sliding down, and out, and back again, amazing himself by how well you could take in his length.

"Oh, fuck..." he murmurs, tightening his grip in your (h/c) locks. "How do you... do that?" Jhin hums as he struggles to pull you off of him, eyes dull and weak as if he was simply a puppet and you were the marionette. You noticed a string of spit hung from your lip to the tip of his curved dick, licking your lips seductively up at his bewilderment.

"No more?" You ask, obediently placing one hand in your lap to play with yourself.

He chuckles— exasperated— eyes flickering between the placements of your hands. "Look what you do to me... it's simply... not fair." He spoke quietly between labored breaths, meekly gesturing at his cock now drooling with pre-cum. His hand finds its place there, long, slender fingers dividing to hold his flesh at the base, accentuating the curve.

"Fairness is a construct," You move closer to his proud member, making eye contact with him as you plant kisses along the his hip bones and his stomach, holding onto his hip with one hand to keep him in place. "If life was fair to all of us, we wouldn't be on the run. And we," You gaze up at him, deviance dancing like demons across your expression, haunting your erotic smile. "Could do whatever we wanted."

Jhin shudders at the sight of you below him, toying with your pussy as his cock stood erect against your flushed cheek. He enjoyed the chase you presented his way as if you were a mouthy slave to his wishes, your sexual deviancy a lure to reel him into a whirlwind of eroticism.

His fingers brush gently through your hair, smoothing out the chaos he had made in it just moments before. "Stand up for me, my rose," Jhin coos, his words flowing off his tongue like poetry. "I think it's your turn, now."

With a quick nod, enticed by his intent, you rise to your feet and take Jhin's offered chivalry. He places your wet fingers onto his tongue, locking eyes with you as he closes his lips around them. His tongue swiped off your juices, delicately dancing along each of the two fingers as he cleaned them up. You couldn't help but sigh, a mewl following shortly after, when you slowly pull your fingers back out. His seduction worked every time, and the image of his face buried between your legs, squished by your thighs until he struggled to breathe... but that intense climax would be worth anything.

"Ready?" He asks.

Baffled, you simply nod.

He leads you to the neat and organized bedroom, shirking off his white dress shirt along the way. He turns and captures you within his arms, positively bursting with passionate affection. You couldn't help but giggle as he did so, becoming ensnared in yet another embrace of his lips. The man slowly walks you back to the bed, never once breaking the contact when he lifts you up onto the mattress. His tall form looms over you, and those same kisses become sloppier as he makes his way down your body.

You feel his slender fingers graze against your skin, down from your shoulders to your breasts. His large palms cup underneath, one hand pressing softly against your hardened nipple, while his tongue plays on the other. Jhin's eyes are closed as he just slightly touches his bottom teeth against the sensitive skin. You grip the duvet under you, trying desperately to hold back the electricity that flowed through you. You could feel the small smile he let slip out, his adoration peeking out through his long, dark eyelashes, and he continues moving down.

The way his hands felt on your skin stirred goosebumps on your skin. They were calloused on his fingertips— a signature sign of a musician— but the smooth palms kept an arch to them that applied just the right pressure as he touched you. As his hands slid slowly past your hips and down to your thighs, he allows his thumbs to just barely brush against your sex while he works his kisses downwards. Before long, Jhin has you wriggling in his arms while he teases you, hushed gasps escaping as you squirm. You prop yourself up on your elbows, pouting your lips and furrowing your brow in protest.

His eyes are narrow, thinned with tension, and he takes it as his sign to brush his lips gently against your heated sex. The man's tongue softly slips from his lips, making a small circle before he kisses your womanhood again. He flattens it out, carefully watching your expression as he goes to work, twirling and flicking in an improvisational dance that landed every move. He kept a consistent pressure and suction on your clit as he always did, skill simply unmatched, volleying the flatness and extending the length of his tongue.

Jhin presses his palm into your lower stomach, sinking it in and holding it there. While he does, his free hand slides his index and middle fingers along your opening, coating them both with a mixture of your juices and his saliva before slowly— oh, so slowly— inserting them into you. He allows you to acclimate, always having loved the tightness and the way you gripped his fingers, humming his praise into your sex.

You let out a soft moan, something more akin to a drawn out, breathy "fuck!", as his long fingers curl upwards, seeming to beckoning you from within. The pads of his fingertips firmly tapped against the spongey part of your sex, curving in and out with a leisurely pace. It felt as though he was coaxing your heartbeat, and it seemed to follow without much hesitation. It descended through your chest, making friends with the butterflies, as it found its home there amidst them. Your breathy moans matched the thudding, decadently rising in pitch as Jhin pushed and pulled his fingers. The pressure built up quickly and formed a fiery heat that began taking root within your depths.

Jhin, of course, knew what you liked and he knew it well, only slightly picking up his pace once your body had flexed, then relaxed and slowed down-- and when it tensed again, he repeated this process, counting to four in his mind to keep a consistent pace.

"Jhin, please..." You beg, a pathetic expression clear as daylight on your face. "I want you—"

He smiles, not stopping his pace and replacing his tongue with the padding of his thumb, swirling it in quick circles, as he speaks. "I know," he croons, melodic in his tone and ever so satisfied with your reactions. It almost sounded like he was placating you, begging for your orgasm as if he wanted nothing more than your body contorting against him.

"I'd like you to cum for me first. Will you do that, my love?" Jhin whispers.

"Yes," You nod weakly, unable to hold from setting your head back down on the duvet. "...sir."

He smiles, going back between your legs with the same fervor. "That's my good girl."

Naturally, you lay back and bring your hands up to fondle your breasts, squeezing the buds softly as you begin to cross over the brink. It takes a few more minutes as you ride your hips into him, taking greedy steps towards the edge as tears formed in your eyes and your thighs cramp from the shaking. Jhin throws his arm over your leg, using a part of the weight of his body on the other to keep them separated and to hold you still as you slip into bliss.

He wouldn't stop until your mind was numb and empty, until your eyes rolled back and your body twitched uncontrollably, letting a pool of drool hang by your cheek. Jhin couldn't hold back from that kind of torture. It was, for him, another pure form of art he performed only for you. And while you lay there squirming, your sweet voice filled the room with a music he could hear every day, all day, for the rest of his natural life.

Your head was spinning, face hot and slack. Your climax had you in a chokehold, lasting longer than you had expected it to. The white hot heat that took over you seared your skin like a brand, marking you forever as Jhin's.

"My sweet girl," Jhin licks his lips, crawling on top of you. "You are so beautiful like this." He positions your legs on either side of himself, cupping your cheek as he kisses your trembling lips, his tongue tracing the soft flesh before he dives back into your embrace. You taste yourself on his breath— the tangy sweetness of your love made you sweat— and you wrap your arms around his shoulders tightly, afraid to let go.

Jhin positions himself at your entrance, tracing his length over your sex before he poses to enter, kissing your forehead before he does so. "Do you want it, my darling?" He hums sweetly, just mere inches from your ear.

"Always," You whimper, barely able to bring yourself to say much else. The fog of his presence held your mind in a bird cage, and it was a helpless, thrashing creature all the while. "Please."

Gradually, he pushes himself in, lowering the tip of his cock into you with his thumb, bringing his hips closer to meet yours. You inhale as his length enters you, the fullness making your breath hitch. You were still so terribly sensitive, arching your back to feel it all— as Jhin gently began to rock his hips, your hands instinctively press against his bare chest. Your fingers traced carefully over his scars, letting them take their place on his collarbone.

"You're doing so well." Jhin's voice is gruff, his kisses dotting your neck and forehead as he speaks. The man brushes the hair from your face, mild and deliberate as he makes his way through the routine. He treated you as if you were a delicate flower on the cusp of a spring bloom, pressing his forehead to yours, clearly relishing in the meek mewls he was able to earn as he picked up his pace.

Jhin pulls back, scooping your legs up onto his left shoulder and straightening his back. He looks so tall and overpowering here, the coldness in his gaze still lingering amidst his dark stare. You couldn't completely take away the sadistic side of the killer, but you loved to see his aggression every now and then.

He picks up his pace, pumping in and out, every move calculated, breaths intertwined as he gazes lazily down at you. He filled you perfectly, the curve of his cock greeting your depths. It was almost as though he could read your mind; the way Jhin's fingers snake in between your thighs while he moves matched your thoughts. He makes quick movements, deliberately toying with you with a fiery fixation on the way your expression contorts.

The man watched as your eyes rolled behind your eyelids, lip quivering against your labored breathing, and he just loved the way you used your hands against the mattress to push yourself back against him. He loved the curves of your body, decorated with your numerous scars. They were a sign of a warrior, uncontested through your countless battles, and while he imbibed your intoxicating aura, you grew ever louder as his pace picked up. The aggression turned primal when his fingers grazed your neck, the melody of skin-to-skin impact filling the thick air. His manicured nails just barely scratch the skin, sending ripples of goosebumps across your body. A crooked, sadistic smile seems to crack across his face, and without any warning, Jhin sends a hearty smack! against your bottom.

And gradually, he slows down to an agonizing pace. He gyrates his hips ever so slightly before moving his callused palms over the length of your body. You sigh out your grievances, something of a mixed bag of pleasure and annoyance, and his brows furrow. Jhin's face shifts, once something so perverse and barbarous, to the warmth of a hearth, or the color of yellow daisies. He was gracious and charming, like the story books would say, but his tone-- a gruffness in his voice-- was the stark opposite.

He leans over, the fingers of one hand clasped on your neck and softly tapping in succession, and whispers, "Who do you belong to?"

"Only you." You murmur it back, only just barely audible, but he smiles as he releases you.

"Show me,"

And so you adjust yourself, slowly making your way to the edge of the bed. Jhin sits down, surveying your every move, but one leg after the other, you lower yourself onto his lap. He holds you, chest to chest, covered in a sheen of sweat. Your breathing was discordant, a tribute to the wild look in your eyes. His, however, were heavy. They were shrouded in ambiguity, a darkness lurking just beneath, and when his lip twitched at the left corner, the air pulled taught once again. Tension could be cut with a knife... But this, well, perhaps not even a bullet could pierce through.

Your stomach churned. All the while, your heartbeat sped up. The man before you was unequivocally methodical about everything he did, even when he brushed the hair from your face and tucked it behind your ear. Without much control, your body squirmed at his touch, much like the shaking of leaves in a breeze. It was a shudder that washed away reality-- one that swept away all of the stress of life. Here in Jhin's presence, you felt as though the moon wasn't so far away. That maybe, just maybe, you could touch the dust upon its surface.

Jhin allowed you to lower yourself onto him, slowly rising and falling as the tide. His broad palms spread out against your bottom, lifting ever so slightly while you move, and his lips... They leave a trail along your shoulder, down to your collarbone, and... back up your neck. The man softly bites into your skin, a groan departing from the floor of his diaphragm.

That guttural noise... so primal and inviting... it always provoked something of a beast within you. A devil that yearned for submission.

Jhin hadn't expected you to push him back so roughly, but his eyes trailed your body as you sat up straight and dug your nails across his bare chest. He didn't react much aside from that and preferred to observe. He loved your lust for power and the way you took what you wanted. It was so aligned with his own methods, and initially what drew him to you, so with every movement and shaky breath that left your chest, he, too, rose to that peak of pleasure. It started in his throat, down to his lungs and all the way to his palms, closing in on his innards, and the to his toes. It consumed him in the same way it consumed you.

He came before you this final time, whimpering so, so very softly, but the moment felt like forever and nothing all the same, like the world was stuck in a volleying limbo. You let your hands drop beside his head, reveling in the quivering darkness hazing your thoughts. It was an absolute wash of warmth that drowned you out like a monsoon— the way Jhin held you in his arms as you both shivered, moving your hips ever so slowly in mesmerizing circles to capture his essence within you.

Tepid fingers twisted together behind his head, absently fiddling with the ring that adorned your left hand, and mind clear... absolved, almost. The man hugged you tightly against his chest, his complexion dewy, heart beats colliding in unison. You sigh outward, satisfied and relaxed, and that feeling of butterflies returned, rushing through your core to make you hum your satisfaction to your lover.

"You inspire me." Jhin croons, so soft and calm as he pants, and runs his fingers across the edge of your jaw. He was riding the bliss of his orgasm, floating high amidst the clouds.

You breathe in the romance, exhaling when you meet his lips once more. "And you..."

He smiles and your heart flutters.

"Complete me."

[babblingbear09]

How the Cleanse Works

This was an…interesting season, but I’ve been trying to mull over the ending and see if anything at all made sense.

The siblings all let themselves get consumed and erased from the timeline to stop the constant cycle of apocalypses. Sure, whatever.

I had two questions from that:

1. What about the other Marigold children?

2. How did that affect things from ALL timelines?

For the first, either the writers forgot, or it was because in this world, Reginald removed Marigolds from all the super powered kids and only our crew got it back.

But, the Cleanse wasn’t just to end their world; it was to end all alternate timelines (which I feel like we learned in Loki and Deadpool is the wrong choice but that’s besides the point.).

My impression is the Cleanse wasn’t just consuming that world, but would grow to consume all timelines. In that process, it would eventually eat all of the timelines but the one where the Marigolds weren’t released. It can’t eat that one because there are no Marigolds to react with. So all the super powered children were consumed, just off screen. And all that was left was the unsullied timeline.

I guess that works. But it’s still not the ending I would have wanted for these characters. And still leaves so many unanswered questions like:

1) Why didn’t their kids still existing cause another world ending paradox?

2) What do their families think happened? Some other Gill family still existed so now there’s doubles

3) Why does the main timeline feel so uncanny valley? Why did Commission founder Five apparently only recruit from one town and year since everyone showed up at the end? Are we sure this isn’t some weird afterlife?

4) Who created Oblivion + the Train Station

5) What was Jennifer’s back story (showed up on a tank and a squid, knew about the Cleanse)?

+ more! If you have any answers, I’d love to hear them! Or just read all the amazing fix it fics I know are coming.

[dexterkronos]

[TøP AU OC] The Citizen Draped in Shadows

"They say there is a tradition within D.E.M.A, one that calls for the destruction of all knowledge of those who become Goners. However, what is to say the living haven't experienced that torment too?

The feeling of being isolated - as if erased from the world itself - is all too common of a thought for Isabelle. As one who walks her life unseen through the crowds, she knows more than expected, but feels less attached than desired. No one notices her, or no one cares, and for a while, she thought it was easier... her dreams were her own, unsullied by the whims of others.

But when certain people start appearing in her surrounds, drowning the city in more silence every passing day, Isabelle is spurred to face someone new... and answer the questions posed long ago..."

How long is she willing to go unseen?

What would spur her from her stagnation?

When will she finally her fate into her own hands?

[ID in alt text]

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Well then, I think my previous attempt to post this bugged out so I'm trying again. Introducing my main character for my upcoming "Reflections On a Two-Way Mirror" fic; Isabelle!

Corpsebearer's render was a great testing ground for Isabelle's, as I wanted to sell the forlorn turmoil she would be plagued with in a simpler setting. The lights are symbolic, but for what... well, that's for the fic to dictate. Assumptions are welcome in the meantime.

The idea of having someone "vanish" from the world is also something I want to explore in the fic, as the Bishop Isabelle belongs to is Listo. According to some theories I read, he seems to line up with abandonment or being forgotten, so I wanted to try lean into those themes for this character.

Questions are welcome and first chapter I'll likely be posting within this week.

[elfroot-and-laurels]

OH OH what is In dreams?? 👀

In Dreams is a fic for Lord of the Rings Online of my absolute most favorite story cutscene which happens…in dreams. A little snippet below:

“What you must do is still up to you, my friend. Though I fear you will find that there is naught you can do to stave off the inevitable.” The calm on his face infuriated her.

“Then what—” Candaith interrupted her, abrupt and disinterested, and his words were ones which she did not expect, but which Lanadhiel felt after that she should have.

“What of the sons of Elrond, you ask?” Anxiety gripped Lanadhiel’s heart, her lungs, and her hand flew back to the ring strung about her neck as everything faded and rippled once more, the landscape growing hazy and indistinct. Out of the gloom shone a gem, bright and unsullied in its light, though the figure that bore it on his brow remained in shadow.

“Elladan,” Lanadhiel breathed out his name, and with one hand still on the ring, she reached out the other hand, as though without control. It was as if he could hear her, but not see her, and Elladan looked up, deep brown eyes clouded by the shadow that enveloped him. A grief, a doom, seemed upon his shoulders, and was writ on his features, and it paralyzed Lanadhiel, so that she stood there, one hand clutching the still cold chain and ring around her neck, the other held in front of her. Mordirith’s words echoed in her ears. The distance between them seemed insurmountable, as though the wide sea stretched out before her, despite the fact that she could almost touch him if she stretched just a bit further.

Elladan turned then, as though reacting to a voice, and Lanadhiel saw then the bloodied sword in his hand, the dirt and grime of battle that covered him, and a fear even deeper than before wrenched a gasp, a strangled cry, from her lips. The figure of Elrohir approached, and the shadow that hung about his twin, for reasons Lanadhiel did not know, reasons she feared, was absent, though he seemed to be struggling to carry another figure on his shoulder, a figure that was blank and indistinct, on the edge of her awareness, like a figure at the edge of a circle of firelight. Elladan opened his mouth, and though he was shouting, she could see it, Lanadhiel heard no words. She felt the whoosh of air, though, that followed his quick turn; she could have sworn she felt the fabric of his cloak brush against her hand. But he ran into darkness, toward his brother, and was gone.

When Candaith spoke again, Lanadhiel was aware of the tears that tracked down her face.