#and the white wolf mantle

[haciapla]

Kitchen - Traditional Kitchen Inspiration for a sizable, traditional, enclosed kitchen remodel with a farmhouse sink, recessed-panel cabinets, white cabinets, quartzite countertops, beige backsplash, subway tile backsplash, paneled appliances, and an island in a u-shape with a dark wood floor and a brown floor.

[duffmckaganfc]

Dining Kitchen Charlotte Example of a large classic u-shaped medium tone wood floor and brown floor eat-in kitchen design with a farmhouse sink, beaded inset cabinets, white cabinets, granite countertops, gray backsplash, marble backsplash, paneled appliances, an island and gray countertops

[finnyprotectionsquad]

Traditional Kitchen in Boston Inspiration for a sizable, traditional, enclosed kitchen remodel with a farmhouse sink, recessed-panel cabinets, white cabinets, quartzite countertops, beige backsplash, subway tile backsplash, paneled appliances, and an island in a u-shape with a dark wood floor and a brown floor.

[celeberoticafanfic]

Kitchen - Dining An undermount sink, beaded inset cabinets, white cabinets, granite countertops, a gray backsplash, a marble backsplash, stainless steel appliances, an island, and gray countertops can be seen in this large, elegant u-shaped medium-tone wood floor and brown floor eat-in kitchen image.

[specss00]

ALTERHUMAN SLANG DICTIONARY

MAMMALIAN

Got on my back paws - got on my hands and knees. Like how animals can stand up as a trick.

ex: yeah, i really wanted that necklace, i had to get on my back legs so she would get it for me.

Showing fang - standing up for yourself/being assertive. 

ex:  he’s really tough, and he’ll show fang at just about anything.

White eye - going crazy/really scared. Like how animals show the whites of their eyes when very agitated.

ex: haha, i saw how scared you were during that movie, you went all white eye at the end!

Howling at the sun[wolf/werewolf] doing something completely ridiculously/incorrect

Ex: dude did you see how that movie ended? Mc was really howling at the sun

Could hear someone purring[cat, any other purring animal]  noticeably becoming relaxed around someone/something

Ex: I saw you with your new plush yesterday, I could really hear you purring

Treetop chaser - (herbivorous) someone who chases unattainable things.

ex: they’re way out of your league, don’t be a treetop chaser

Bellycrawler - someone overly submissive.

ex - you have to stand up for yourself, don’t be a bellycrawler and let them take advantage of you.

Downy - young, referring to the soft fur of young animals. 

ex - she shouldn’t be out til midnight, she’s still downy!

Sit on your wag - means the same thing as swallow your smile.

ex - i got accepted into college, but my sister wasn’t, so i had to sit on my wag.

Go for the ruff - do something harmless/gently.

ex - the shirt was really ugly, but i went for the ruff so i didn’t hurt his feelings.

Flea - an insult meaning antikin, or a bigot in general.

ex - oh, you have him in your class? Be careful, he’s a total flea.

AQUATIC

Riptide Rider - (aquatic) someone who lives dangerously.

ex: stay away from her, she’s a riptide rider, you’re bound to get hurt.

Current crazy - someone who just follows other people, same as flock brain

ex: my brother joined the football team, and now he’s all current crazy.

Bottomfeeder - an insult for a low-class being.

ex - the boys at my school are such bottomfeeders, they make all the girls uncomfortable.

Floater - an insult for a superior or snobby person.

ex - ugh, they’re such a floater. They brag about their promotions ALL THE TIME.

Seen the whale fall - someone who is very experienced, now become a word for old among younger aquatics.

ex - my gramps has really seen the whale fall, he’s almost 95!

Play remora - like devil’s advocate, because remoras stick close to sharks.

ex - i don’t wanna play remora about this, but i think he was lying.

AVIAN

Flock brain - (avian) someone who can’t think for themselves. 

ex: ugh, she’s only hanging out with them now, she’s being a total flock brain.

A hummer with an eagle - (avian) someone who is clearly out of their depth.

ex: are you sure you can handle advanced classes? No offense, but you’ll be a hummer with the eagles.

Mantling over [smth] - [avian] being possessive, traditionally over food items 

Ex : Sarah is really mantling over that burger menu, I tried to take a fry and she almost bit my head off...

All preened up - [avian] well dressed, well groomed, the state of satisfaction and confidence that comes with A Good Look

Ex : Wow, Eric was all preened up this evening. I don't think I've ever saw him take this many selfies. 

And just for fun...

Going for the rattler - [roadrunner] choosing the hard or dangerous option, with expectation of either great fun or a great reward

Ex : "Huh, this park offers either a canyoning session over rapids or a day in the sun near the lake" "well I'm definitely going for the rattler" 

flare(s) my wings - (avian) makes me tense/nervous/angry 

"i don't like him, he always makes me flare my wings" 

makes my wings flutter - (avian) makes me happy/excited

"pasta always makes my wings flutter"

im pretty sure "ruffles my feathers" is a preexisting one

messy wings (with no time to preen) - (avian) having a bad day/stressed (and haven't had time to cool down)

"yeah today my wings are so messy and i haven't had time to preen"

Having a blood feather - [avian] being particularly irritable 

ex : Don't bother with this guy, he's been having a severe case of blood feathers. He'll jump at you for anything.

Riding the updraft - [flying creature] taking advantage of good opportunities, being lucky in life, having an easy time.

ex : I've been really riding the updraft recently ! Got both a promotion and a new car! 

Beak agape - [avian] furious, about to throw down.

ex : Jesus, this dude really left me beak agape. The audacity to say that !

Feeling clipped - [avian] feeling restless and anxious, like there's no way out

ex : Honestly these last few weeks have left me feeling clipped, between the news, and being dropped from my job. 

REPTILIAN

Makes my scales itch - (draconic) said about something unsettling or that just feels wrong deep down, a gut feeling that something's wrong

ex: We should get out of here. This place is making my scales itch.

Blow fire - (draconic) be extremely angry about something

ex: Did you hear what went down the other day? John was really blowing fire at Derek over that one.

Rattle someone's scales - (draconic) to unsettle or upset someone

ex: Can't stand that guy, he really rattles my scales. 

Cloudy day - (reptilian) usually used as a question, if someone is acting tired or unusual. Like how reptiles need the sun to stay warm, if it’s cloudy, they can’t warm up.

ex: woah, cloudy day? You look like you haven’t slept in months.

[mechaknight-98]

Apprehension (NSFW) FT Hanni

Author’s note: A request I finally found time to finish up. Same world as The Momo fic.

You had heard about the wondrous healing properties that Priesteses of Amora had but were unsure of them until you decided to visit one.

Your approach is patient but labored. As you hobble into the monastery the first Priestess approaches you. She has long jet-black hair big amorous eyes and plump lips she smiles at you.

The white-garbed Priestess begins to speak to you, "Hello Traveler you look weary. How may I help you?" you breathe in and swallow your pride.

"I came to your Monastery for healing as it's reported that this is the best in the land," you say. The Priestess smiles before letting you in. You follow her steadied by your walking stick that has accompanied you on many journeys. As you enter the monastery you begin to see others in various states of harm and duress being attended to by women, of all ages and sizes. this puts you at ease as you follow the priestes.

she turns to you as you walk and she slows down.

"Tell me about yourself. I can see you carry a great burden, but what else ails you?"

You feel compelled to tell her the truth as is magically influenced, "I am a warrior blessed by Ira but when I was tasked with hunting the one we call the 7-eyed serpent. I failed as his attack broke my body and left me pallid and in squalor. So I have been trying to undo his damage but as you can see. the damage he has done has been irrecoverable. I came here as my last resort," you explain as you make eye contact with the priestess. She frowns, then responds

"Well Wolf-blessed I am glad you came, and although I wished you came earlier we will still be able to mend you. After all who will save us from the devourer of gods?" the priest says to you calmly. You nod as she leads you into a room full of food and drink.

"Before we heal you we must know you. the easiest way to do so is by sharing a meal, and our names. Allow me to go first. My name is Hanni. what is yours wolf-blessed?"

"My name is Achilles." You say Hanni smiles as the two of you share a meal, and you begin to grow closer physically and emotionally.

"So Achilles tell me about your dreams?"

"Well I um," you stammer. Hanni looks at you with bright eyes and a soft heart. you ease in her presence.

"I wanted to be a Painter but for my family, I discarded my dreams to be a Knight. Despite the honor and wealth, it garnered my family. I still wish to spend my days painting, but with the Seven-eyed serpent on the loose, I can't." you explain.

As Hanni places a steaming bowl of stew in front of you, the rich aroma fills the air. The room is warm and inviting, with sunlight streaming through a small window, casting a gentle glow on the rustic wooden table.

you take a moment to savor the food, the flavors a comforting balm to your weary soul. you look up at Hanni, who is watching him intently, her eyes filled with curiosity and understanding.

"My family has always been dedicated to the path of the combatant," you begin, your voice soft yet resonant. "My father was a knight, as was his father before him. It was expected that I would follow in their footsteps, to uphold the family virtue and protect our lands."

Hanni nods, listening intently. "And yet, you wished to be a painter," she says gently, prompting him to continue.

"Yes," you admit, a wistful smile tugging at your lips. "Ever since I was a child, I found solace in art. The colors, the textures—they spoke to me in a way that the clang of swords never could. But my family... they saw painting as a frivolous pursuit, a distraction from duty."

Hanni tilts her head, her dark hair cascading over her shoulder like a waterfall. "I understand the weight of expectations," she says softly. "My family has served the goddess Amora for generations. My mother was a priestess, as was my grandmother. It was always assumed I would take up the mantle."

"Was it your choice?" you question, your curiosity piqued.

Hanni pauses, considering her words. "In a way, yes. I do find joy in healing others, and in bringing love and compassion into the world. But there are times when I wonder... what if I had chosen a different path? Something not laid out for me by tradition?"

your eyes meet, a shared understanding passing between them. In that moment, you are not just a priestess and a warrior, but two souls navigating the complexities of their own desires and responsibilities.

"You know," Hanni continues, her voice thoughtful, "our paths may be different, but they are not so dissimilar. Both of us have had to sacrifice parts of ourselves for the sake of others."

you nod slowly, absorbing her words. "It's true. Perhaps that's why I find it so easy to talk to you. You understand the struggle."

you both sit in comfortable silence for a moment, the only sound the gentle clinking of their spoons against the bowls. Then Hanni speaks again, her tone playful yet sincere.

"Maybe one day, when the threat of the Seven-eyed Serpent has passed, you can paint again," she suggests, her eyes twinkling with hope.

You chuckle, a lightness returning to your spirit. "And perhaps you will find a way to weave your own dreams into your duties here."

You share a smile, a bond forming between you that goes beyond words. As you two finish your meal, Hanni reaches out, taking your hand in hers.

"Whatever happens," she says softly, "know that you have a friend here, and perhaps even a partner in exploring what lies beyond our duties."

You squeeze her hand, gratitude and warmth flooding his heart. "Thank you, Hanni."

After sharing their dreams and struggles over the meal, Hanni leans back in her chair, her eyes reflecting a mix of admiration and curiosity. The afternoon sun casts a warm glow over the room, making the moment feel almost serene.

"Achilles," she begins, her voice gentle but inquisitive, "would you tell me about your encounter with the Seven-eyed Serpent? I can only imagine the courage it must have taken to face such a creature."

Achilles hesitates the memories of the battle flooding back with vivid intensity. He takes a deep breath, his expression shifting to one of solemn reflection.

"He was unlike anything I had ever faced," you start, your voice steady but tinged with an edge of lingering awe.

Hanni's eyes widened as she asked, "The Seven-Eyed Serpent is a man?"

"I think so, or maybe a malevolent spirit possessing an armor.," You explain. Hanni's eyes widened in shock as you continue

"The Seven-eyed Serpent... it was as if I was confronting a force of nature itself. The sheer size of it was overwhelming, and its eyes—each one held a different kind of malice, a different shade of intent." Hanni listens, captivated, as you continue, gesturing with your hands as if painting the scene before her.

"The battle was one-sided from the start," you explain. "We were a band of skilled warriors, but even our combined strength felt like a drop in the ocean against the Serpent's might. It struck with the force of a thousand dragons, each blow like a tempest of destruction."

You pause, as your gaze grows distant as if reliving the moment. "Its scales were harder than the toughest armor, its breath like fire. We were outmatched, and I knew it. But we fought with everything we had, driven by the hope that our courage might be enough."

Hanni leans in, her eyes wide with empathy and respect. "And yet, you survived. You faced the Serpent and lived to tell the tale."

You nod, a faint smile touching your lips despite the somberness of the memory. "Barely. Its attack shattered my defenses and left me broken. But in that moment, as I lay there, I realized that survival sometimes means more than just enduring the physical battle. It means learning from defeat, finding strength in vulnerability."

Hanni reaches across the table, her hand resting on your arm, offering comfort and solidarity. She notices the scars, and damage still present in the limb ."Your bravery is undeniable, Achilles. And your journey is far from over. Perhaps here, at the monastery, you'll find the healing you seek—not just for your body, but for your spirit as well."

as Hanni finishes smiles and says, “I like you and I think I’ll take you on Achilles,” she inches closer to you

Hanni smiled at you as she cradled your face in her hands. The softness put you at ease as she kissed your forehead.

“You’re safe with me Achilles.” She says bringing you close to her chest. You feel the room begin to heat up with magic energy and it stirs a fire within you of desire and want. Hanni breaks her embrace as you look into her eyes. The soft pools of the brown team with a desire for you as she begins to kiss you. She traces over your body as magic wraps around you mending unhealed tendons, bones, and cartilage. When you break the kiss Hanni smiles.

“Take me Achilles.” She says. You smile before kissing her again her lips are puffy but sweet. They remind you of pastries from your home island. Her tongue swirls and tastes you as the kiss deepens. You moan distracted as she has her way with you. She disrobes you first before placing your hands on her chest. You massage her clothed chest mesmerized by it. "Oh yes, Baby keep going Hanni moans as she removes her bottom robes. She gives you a lurid look as she impales herself on your cock

“Oh my, your sword is so big!” Hanni exclaims as she takes you in you smile as you pick her up and rut into her. Drinking off arousal Hanni moans as she does you notice more of your wounds healing. Hanni smiles. “This is the power of Amora. Each priestess of hers is granted a partner for life.” Hanni explains. You laugh as you thrust. Hanni stifles a moan by pouring.

“Why are you laughing?” She asks annoyed.

You laugh saying, “So you’re saying we’re wedded now?”

Hanni connects the dots and says, “I guess you’re right. We are!” She moans as your cock continues to ravage her.

“So as my wife what do you want to do after this for our honeymoon,” you ask.

Hanni smiles and says “A retreat where they can’t find us. Where we do whatever we want?” Hanni says as her walls clench on you tighter and tighter.

“I’d like that.” You say as you cum inside of her. Hanni moans reaching her high as you continue to fuck her through her orgasm.

Weeks later

The afternoon sun poured through the tall windows of their secluded villa, bathing the room in a warm, golden glow. The gentle sound of waves lapping at the shore outside provided a soothing backdrop, a perfect harmony to the tranquil setting within.

Hanni sat comfortably on a chaise lounge, her posture relaxed and graceful, her gaze fixed on the horizon. She wore a simple, flowing gown, its light fabric moving softly with the breeze that drifted in from the open window. Her hair cascaded over her shoulders, catching the sunlight and framing her face with an ethereal glow.

Across the room, you stood before a canvas, his brush moving deftly, capturing the essence of the scene before you. Your eyes flicked back and forth between Hanni and the painting, your concentration evident in the furrow of your brow and the slight curve of your lips as you worked.

“You make it look so effortless,” Hanni remarked, her voice gentle and filled with admiration.

You paused, your gaze meeting hers with a tender smile. “It’s easy when the subject is as captivating as you,” you replied, your words sincere and filled with affection.

Hanni blushed, a soft pink tinting her cheeks. “I never imagined I’d be a muse,” she said, her tone playful yet touched by genuine wonder.

You chuckled softly, returning focus to the canvas. “You’ve always been my muse, Hanni. Even before I realized it.”

As you painted, the room seemed to hold its breath, time stretching as the two of you became lost in the moment. The sound of the sea, the warmth of the sun, and the gentle rustling of the curtains created a cocoon of peace around them, a world that existed only for you.

After some time, you stepped back from the easel, assessing your work with a critical eye before nodding with satisfaction. “Done,” you declared, wiping your hands on a cloth.

Hanni rose from her seat and crossed the room to stand beside you, her eyes widening as she took in the painting. It captured not only her likeness but the essence of the moment—the serenity, the love, and the subtle magic of their honeymoon.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered, turning to you with tears of happiness glistening in her eyes.

You wrapped your arms around her, pulling her close. “Just like you,” you murmured, kissing the top of her head.

Together, you stood in silence, wrapped in each other’s embrace, content in the knowledge that this was only the beginning of their journey together—a journey filled with art, love, and countless moments of shared wonder.

[rise-my-angel]

Heart of the Great Wolf

1 - Wolves of the Lone Stag

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

Length: 16.1k

Warnings: Slow Burn, Strained parent-child issues, mentions of minor character death, secret relationship, arranged marriage, injured/sick child mention, smut, p in v, slight dom/sub dynamics, loss of virginity

Notes: Reader is firstborn daughter of Stannis Baratheon, based off the show but will include direct book elements, slight canon divergence. First Chapter is really long due to set up, subsequent future chapters won't be quite such a massive read. Chapter Two Here.

Travelling along the Kingsroad was far longer and more tedious with this company. Normally you would spend only so much time on here from White Harbour, most of the journey done on sea. Yet now, there were far too many people and it’s leader insisting on treating the journey as it’s own adventure. By the time you reached Winterfell it would be a month on horseback and no one to entertain your morose demeanour. Though perhaps you had to consider that it wasn’t just the company of the others that was less then ideal.

You had the supposed misfortune of being the daughter to the less favoured of the three Baratheon brothers. Robert, King Robert to those in public company, was a more complicated man. A mix of a man who successfully kept the peace for over twenty years but also was as unhappy on the throne and was unafraid to show it. He did however, have enjoyment in wine, hunting, and did hold a jovial laughter that kept people around him.

Your other uncle, was much more agreeable. Renly was the youngest of them and was charismatic and well liked. He was naive, not really a man suited for leadership but he did the best with what he knew to do. Closer to your age, you often found yourself spending time with him and it was right now that you were annoyed he chose to stay back in Kings Landing. A month with the King, his own family and the entire royal brigade and not one of them knew how to get a smile from you.

That was a trait from your father no doubt. Stannis Baratheon was the middle child, and he was easily the most disliked. He was cold, distant, unemotional and seldom allowed laughter at his table. He took his job seriously, more seriously then the King did his sometimes. In his prime, he was a proven battle commander and he never lost that. Robert was a warrior and he was happiest as such, but Stannis had never stopped being a commander and whether it made him liked or not, it taught you to be who you were now.

A Lady of the House Baratheon, firstborn daughter to Stannis and heir of Dragonstone was your current position and you were taught to uphold that name. Often found with a flat expression, close to a scowl as you walked the capitol you found nothing to enjoy there. Not that Dragonstone was where you’d find happiness either. The only place that had never been your home was the one you felt it in.

You had turned eight when your father had begun sending you out. Brought up, he ensured you had a Lord’s education as well as what all girls were taught. If you were to take up the mantle after him, he wanted you to learn from those that would teach you to be like him. That was when he sent you to Winterfell for the first time. Not a friend of Lord Eddard of House Stark, but your father did respect him the most. Two men both stern with upholding honour and justice, always doing what is right and what is honourable rather then what they wanted.

You spent seven months in Winterfell, and it was the first time your mother and father hadn’t been there for your name day. At the time, it made you sad but you had long since gotten over it. Over more then a decade had passed since your first stay in the north and many name days had been spent there with no word from your family. Well, at least your parents. The only family member you spoke too and more fondly with then Renly, was your baby sister. Shireen Baratheon was not just the light of your life but your fathers too. Some used to say that you were the only one who could make Stannis smile but you were nothing compared to how he smiled at that little baby.

You were fine with her being the favourite, she was your favourite family member as well.

Not long after baby Shireen had beaten a bout of horrific illness, your father had been summoned to Kings Landing. The King telling him that he was of no use to the realm shut away on Dragonstone, and he was to come to the capitol and sit on the small council as Master of Ships. He had taken you with him, and thus your new home was the wretched city full of backstabbers and manipulators.

Back and forth you went from Kings Landing to Winterfell, each stay growing longer and each stay you grew closer to the Starks then you did anyone in the Red Keep. Lord Stark was the perfect example of a good leader, warden of the North and inspired nothing but loyalty amongst the northerners and made you as welcome as anyone in his home. You followed him around most days, learning from him, watching how he handled diplomacy and made his lessons your own.

It was that how you got to know his ward, Theon Greyjoy. A rambunctious lad who listened diligently in formality and was crass and brash outside of that. You knew he would hate Kings Landing but often found yourself at your fathers side wishing the smart ass was next to you, nudging you with his elbow every time you were too closed off for your own good. It was easy to forget that he was technically the Starks prisoner, he fit into their family, the north as well as you did.

Not quite a leader as you were being taught to be, but you were confident once he had the chance to prove himself, you’d expect great things from him. You’d gotten a raven from him while on the road, and in his usual style he spent some time making fun of you for having to be “shacked up with the lamest of the three”.

Right. The reasons your company headed to Winterfell. The King had one, you were being forced into another though. The news shocking you as Stannis told you of your new duty the night before you left was double. That he was leaving for Dragonstone and you were to return to Kings Landing with Lord Stark and serve as acting Master of Ships in his absence.

He wasn’t just dumping his responsibilities onto you with no explanation of his distant behaviour and secrecy, your father had also dumped a marriage onto you and told you that you were to marry and come back. As if he didn’t just dictate your entire life to be like his. “You will marry the Stark boy, and with or without him you are to return in my place.”

Trying to reason with him, “You’re expecting me to have, what? A night maybe two with my new husband and then leave for however long you decide?”

Not even the slightest change of expression, but there was a twinge of regret in his eyes that was soon covered up. “I didn’t decide this alone. My brother, our king, has decided it with no room for question. I’m sorry, but you’re a Baratheon. You’re my daughter. And sometimes our duty requires us to marry not for love, but for the good of the realm.”

You had spoken to your betrothed since the announcement, but had yet to see him in person. A major reason as to why you wished Renly had come with you. Have someone to ease your nerves on the months ride, instead you were entirely on your own lost in what you were losing.

After all, you received a raven from not just Robb after the announcement. And it was that second one, and the finality of it’s contents that shattered the still remaining rosy dreams you once felt as if you had a lifetime to indulge in. Who your betrothed was, wasn’t the upset in any way. It was the unavoidable conclusion of the love in your heart that simply wasn’t allowed to be.

As the party approached Winterfell, your heart begun to race.

The crisp cool air on your face that once relaxed you, only stoned it further into a solid expressionless pose. Reminding yourself that you weren’t just here as yourself, you were to represent your father and you wouldn’t do so by falling apart. You rode into the walls right up near the very front alongside your craven of a cousin. He represented the luxurious royal side of the family, and you the steadfast duty and justice.

The House guard stood all around the courtyard as well as many people who simply worked close by or wanted to just see the King. Riding into the main area, you refused to look. The Starks all stood with their closest men behind them but you looked nowhere but above the heads of everyone with a straight back atop of your horse.

The carriage which carried the Queen and the other two of her royal children filed in and revealed the King following suit. Your eyes forcing to stay nowhere but him, and it struck part of you that his deep scowl seemed to just be a trait that was shared amongst much of this family. As your party stayed atop their horses, you watched everyone near kneel down as Robert was assisted off his horse.

Watching him make a straight line towards the Starks, he stood in front of the kneeling Lord Stark beckoning him with his hand to stand. Everyone around them rising in toe as you watched the two old friends look stoically at one another. The quiet in the courtyard as everyone waited.

King Robert, it seemed, left posing the stoic formality of the Baratheons to you. Looking down at his friend’s frame and casually commenting, “You got fat.”

Two magnets, designed by the gods to be brought together your eyes met without any thought. His grey ones widened with a playful glint and a raise of the sides of his mouth as if to say, “He got fat?” You, broke just as easily. Quirking your eyebrows up slightly, trying and failing to cover a smirk as you flickered your eyes in gesture to the King, agreeing with his silence as you both instantly looked away from the other. Knowing neither would smother such a begging grin if you kept glancing at each other.

Robert greeting each member of the family, making polite chat with the Stark parents you climbed off your horse. Your head angled enough to see your cousin, Joffery, staring at the direction you just had with a smirk you would describe in private as slimy.

You weren’t the only one with a betrothal in mind for your King, but it was the other Stark which would suffer. Somehow whatever genes made the Baratheons so respected, had skipped Joffery in every single capacity. He was more Lannister then he was his father, and not even with the decency to be like the one lion which you could speak to without agitation.

You couldn’t say Sansa was the one you got along with the most, but watching the way the prince looked at her, you pitied what she couldn’t possibly know she was in store for.

“Take me to your crypt, I want to pay my respects.”

Cersei Lannister, the Queen, barley made an effort to toss any level of genuinity in her voice. “We’ve been riding for a month, my love. Surely the dead can wait.”

Her term of endearment sounding as fake to your Uncle as it did you, he ignored her and summoned Lord Stark anyways. The Queen glaring as they walked away, and directed it towards the youngest Stark daughter, Arya as she without any care of properness, asks where the “Imp” was. The Imp being the Queens younger brother, Tyrion.

Were you to be honest, as you unpacked some of your things from your horse you could only think of one place he would go. And he certainly would not find such a place inside the castle walls. Seeing the Queens twin brother, Ser Jaime of the Kingsguard to “go and find the little beast.” Holding another smirk back, you heard footsteps approaching.

Not the ones you normally would expect, he wouldn’t come to you here. Not now, not in front of the royal family, all these people, and certainly not after learning you’ve come here to marry. Instead, the voice that spoke behind you was the only other person you’d care to see, calling your name.

Robb Stark, Lord Eddard Stark’s eldest true born son stood tall behind you. His northern accent deep and thick, and drenched in a soothing warmth that always felt comforting yet unfitting of the cold he lived around. Turning to face him, you could still see the trailing remnants of the Queen and her children in the distance.

Play your part, your fathers voice told you. With a slight nod of your head and a smile you clearly amused Robb with such a proper curtsy. “My lord.”

A raise of his eyebrows, he had less care of hiding such a smirk. “Is that how we are playing it, my lady?”

You had to bite your tongue to keep from smiling, but still failed somewhat. Robbs smirk growing more playfully smug as he watched you lose your static composure. “I don’t know what you mean, my Lord. I am here with the royal company, we are nothing if not with our courtesies at all times.”

Dropping the act, Robb rolled his eyes and stepped closer. “Well if you’re people have a problem with it, they will just have to get over it.” Pulling you into a hug, you felt part of your racing heart and screaming nerves settle a bit.

You’ve known Robb since that first visit when you were eight. No matter what you were both being shoved into, he wasn’t anything near a stranger. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you to his chest as your face was snuggle tugged into the deep browns of his cloaks fur. Soft as anything, they helped sooth your heart more and he seemed to hold you for as long as it did his as well. His voice low in your ear this time, “We’ll talk in private.”

Pulling away with a deep inhale, you nodded. Face falling back into a stoic composure. It sometimes took you a little bit to drop the harsh demeanour you lived with once you got to Winterfell, but with this company in toe you felt bad that the Starks weren’t going to really get you in any relaxed form. Nodding at Robb you fell quiet, but he was happy to take up the mantle with enough volume for those around to be satisfied with. “Let me help bring your things up, my lady.”

In the corner of your eye as Robb slung the heavier of your bags over his shoulder and you insisting on carrying at least the lighter one, you caught sight of his mother. Lady Catelyn Stark, originally born to House Tully, was something of a complicated relationship for you. You admired her in countless ways, and you saw her more as a mother then you did your own for many years growing up. But there was no mistaking the slight rift that was caused by the only other member of the family you were closer too then her eldest son.

That one though, was nowhere to be seen. You both knew full well that such a meeting was going to have to happen in private, and you hoped you would find time to sneak away from the feast tonight to get it. You two had to talk, you needed to talk to him before you marry or your resolve might crumble.

She watched you and Robb politely walk through the court towards the main doors. Describing their home as a castle felt odd after living in both Dragonstone and Kings Landing. The Starks castle in Winterfell was home in your heart, not a fancy collection of stonework designed to impress. Robb had written that the news came as surprise to all of them, that Lady Catelyn had tried to protest saying that the King shouldn’t just force this on you.

Her husband had to remind her, that they married of duty and look where they are now. You hoped that your companionship with Robb’s brother had not soured her opinion of you being capable of being a good wife. Robb didn’t have your heart the way he did, but he would be the one to keep it from now on and you hoped Lady Catelyn wouldn’t hold it against you.

Falling in love with Robb was not the impossible, in fact he could make that quite easy.

Making small talk of the trip here as you and Robb passed a numerous amount of servers and maids scurrying about the halls, you were thankful for how well you knew him. That the tensity in his stature would only relax the second the door would shut and you both would drop this growing painful act.

Your room was in a corridor away from the main family, closer to where Theon stayed. Many times the main four of you would stay in either his or your room to drink, laugh and get into trouble all without the keen ears of the Stark parents. Your room in Winterfell was a place that you could stop being the daughter and first born heir of Lord Stannis Baratheon, and just be you.

The room had been freshly cleaned, new sheets draped on the bed frame as well as a cozy fur begging you to plop down onto it with a sigh and a nap to boot. Robb dropped your bag down by the window, holding his hand to take the one in your hands to join it. Turning to you, he watched as you let out a shaking sigh.

Your face dropping, finally free to shine in a tinge of shame and exhaustion as you sat down on the edge of the bed, your palms flat on your thighs. Opening your mouth to speak, he cut you off with a sharp edge. “Don’t apologize.” Your brows narrowed in question, but Robb paced over to lean against the wall across from you. His arms crossed casually in front of his chest as he looked into your eyes. “You were about to say sorry for all of this, and I don’t want to hear it.”

Head dropping, you bit your tongue more and nodded. Hands clasping together in a fidget before returning to rest flat on your thighs. His eyes shined blue, and out of the sunlight his hair looked far closer to a Stark brown then it did a Tully Red, if your heart didn’t weigh a thousand pounds you might have spent more time admiring him. “I just,” Sighing again you looked away, unable to cope with the unblinking seriousness in his eyes. “I only found out before you did. I don’t want you thinking I asked for this, or am trying to force you into this.”

Robbs sigh wasn’t defeated, but annoyed. You hadn’t the courage to look again yet. Your name slipping from his tongue with a seriousness. “No one here thinks that.” Glancing up at him, you felt your resolve slip even more. “No one.”

Not that Robb would have any reason to suspect it, but you were desperately hoping that one person in particular didn’t think that out of everyone. Robb took a few steps forward, hoping to beckon you to look up at him, but instead chose to sit down next to you. Enough space between you to not be intrusive. Your voice was small, quiet like a whisper and you knew this was not the words of a proud lady, but just a girl. “He hadn’t even brought up marriage in years. Not since..”

You faded off, both of you know what you were going to say but luckily Robb knew that reliving it would not make you feel any better. He leaned closer to you without breaking your personal space. “Your father has talked to you about marriage more then he has me, at least. In some ways you’re more prepared for this then I am.”

Laughing out, you didn’t turn to see the soft smile on his lips at the sound. “Oh I doubt that. You haven’t had the pleasure of meeting my parents. Between them, and being around the King and Queen’s marriage? It it weren’t for yours I’d assume every married couple is bitter and unloving to the point of near contempt.”

A breathy laugh leaving him, you were thankful once more that at least your husband to be was someone whom you didn’t have to hold you thoughts around. Robb leaned back on the bed, his palms outstretched to rest against the furs and look at you partially from the back and side. “We could get separate beds if it makes you feel better.”

Your eyes narrowed playfully at the mocking in his tone. Quick to turn around with the intention of snarking back he took you by surprise. Lurching forward to wrap his hands around your waist and drag you back with him, both of you laying now back against the bed as he respectfully moved his hands from you. His eyes shined with laughter however, and it loosened yours enough to laugh out loud.

Playful words sat at the tip of your tongue, but what came out was far from it. “It feels like he’s planning something,” turning to look at Robb’s profile against the light coming from the window. “My father. He and Lord Arryn have been doing something in secret, and he kept me away from it on purpose. Both of them seemed to be worried about something, and then...”

“Then he died.” Lord Jon Arryn, Hand of the King and a long time friend of both the King Robert and Lord Stark had passed from a fever that took him in one night.

You nodded. Glancing up to the ceiling as your hands rested along your stomach. “He was fine one day, and then he just...not even a day later was when my father called me to his office. Told me everything, about coming here, about your father, then just..ended the conversation with this.” Your eyes narrowed as you recalled the sternness of his rasp.

“You’re to marry the Stark boy then return here in my place. I won’t have any more questions on the matter.”

Robb was lost in thoughts of his own, tone light yet distant when he spoke up. “He wants my father to be Hand of the King. He hasn’t even been in Kings Landing since the war.”

You understood why. Not just the horrors inflicted on Lord Starks father and brother, but it was a den of vipers all wanting you to play a game that a man like him would want no part in. None of the Starks belonged there, too good for a disgusting place the capitol was. Sighing yourself, you shrugged. “He’ll hate being there as much as my father does, as much as I do. At least I’m the Kings niece I’m supposed to belong there.”

Robb turned onto his side and you followed suit. Your dress hardly made for proper warmth like his attire was, but the Queen insisted that you dress properly to impress your to be husband. As if the man in question hadn’t seen you covered in dirt, mud, bruises and knocked you into the dirt countless times over the years. You didn’t feel like yourself anywhere but here, and yet with the royals all here you still didn’t feel like yourself.

Just a plaything meant to look pretty and play the part. For once, you felt like a normal highborn lady you supposed. Born and bred to be a wife that's born to breed. You were looking at Robb, and yet you reminded yourself with a lurch of your heart to push back the other face in your mind.

Later you told yourself.

Robb’s voice was low, soft, and with an affection that at the very least, wasn’t unusual for him. “You haven’t belonged there in a long time.”

Your tone dropped quieter then his. “Where do I belong then?”

To his credit, it wasn’t with himself that he said. “Here. You belong here.”

By nightfall you still hadn’t seen him. You’d seen many of the others. Arya being the first, practically running past Robb into your room and leaping into a hug with zero sense of formality. You knelt down somewhat to meet her with a loud laugh. With a zillion questions about if you’re staying, did you know, does this make you her sister, you were blissfully reminded of the only other girl who held your heart like that.

Shireen wasn’t a trouble maker like Arya had a tendency to be, but they had a similar spirit. She felt as much like your sister as the one back on Dragonstone was by birth. Sansa had to call her away, annoyed as ever and with a fluster as she addressed you. The paintings of a crush all over her face from the blonde haired fowl faced cousin, and you wished it was any other boy Sansa was to be promised too.

Well, as Robin Arryn briefly popped into your mind you laughed to yourself. Maybe not any of other boy. Starling the handmaiden attending to your dress as you shook your head in apology. You could dress yourself easily for a normal night in the North, but alas the Queen insisted that you impress your husband to be. As if he wasn’t someone you had known for over a decade as one of your very closest friends.

You did however, stop them fervently as they reached for your hair. The Queen could dress and paint you up like a doll and you wouldn’t really fuss at the treatment, but you would rather cross the wall and throw yourself into a frozen lake before you’d let any of those southern up-dos go anywhere near your hair. If judging by the look you got from the Queen during the feast, she wasn’t pleased in any way, but then again she rarely was ever pleased by anything.

Sat next to Robb during the feast, you were thankful that he and the other guys at the table treated you like they always did. To a degree, it was a bit off putting by your much more distant attitude but judging by the glances you made to the Queen they gathered enough that you were more on guard. The hall was filled to the brim with people, ale, music and laughter.

Off in the distance you could see King Robert laughing with a group of men, and his hands happily exploring a woman who was most certainly not his wife. Most didn’t care, and the ones who did never would say anything. He was King he could do what he wanted. Lady Catelyn much to your sympathy was stuck up at the main table sat next to the Queen herself and struggling to find any conversation that didn’t make the woman utterly miserable.

“Out of all the Northerns, you get stuck with this one?” Theons voice rang out, a lightness in his eyes and ale in his veins. You leaned your elbow on the table and pointed at him with a playful raise of your eyebrows.

“At least this one’s pretty, Greyjoy.”

Laughter from all around the table, and even finally sneaking one from yourself. Theon would sometimes flirt with you, but never in a serious manner. It almost was a game. He would start with a flirtatious comment and it quickly spun into who could jokingly insult the other more after you deny him with a snarky remark first. “Aye, but you’d get some nice experience with me.”

Robb tossing a ripped piece of bread at him with a half hearted protest of his own experience, but you leaned back in your seat bringing your mug to your lips. “What experience is that, exactly? Paying women to pretend to moan for you isn’t exactly what I had in mind for my wedding night.”

Pushing it back down, if you joked about it you didn’t have to think about the reality. With no experience of your own, you weren’t immune to the whispers of girls and women of their nights with pain and blood. At least you would get one single thing right come time for that part of the wedding. You almost didn’t though, and the longer you kept trying to not think about it, the more you felt yourself looking for someone you knew wasn’t there.

You had to talk to him, but the first day in Winterfell was just far too busy for it thus far.

Opportunity luckily, arrived in the form of Arya being unable to behave. You and Robb had been joking and laughing about something when the sight of food flinging from another side of the room caught your eyes. The food in question splatting directly onto Sansa’s face as she yelled out indigently.

The quickness of Arya smiling and going back to pretend as if she didn’t do anything got a laugh out of you, but also drew the attention of Lady Catelyn. Gesturing to Robb over, his face fell more serious as he brushed a hand over your lower back as he stood up. Grabbing Arya around the sides and hoisting her up. “Time for bed.”

Glancing around the room, Lady Catelyns eyes elsewhere, as was the Queens. Lord Stark talking to who you recognized as his brother Benjen and now Robb gone you took the opportunity you really shouldn’t have. Standing up, you made your way slowly to the entrance, downing the last of the ale before slinking out unseen.

Or rather, unseen by all but the watchful eyes of a golden Lion.

Alone for once, you allowed yourself to be annoyed. The chill of the air hit you with a sting as you were entirely undressed for the cold of the night. Not even graced with a seat at a lower table, no he was put out here as if his existence was so offensive to anyone but her. His birth wasn’t his fault, and as much as you admired and liked her?

It never failed to chip away at something angering in you, how Lady Catelyn treated Jon Snow.

You heard his voice before you saw him, but it the second voice that took you by surprise. “Did I offend you? Sorry. You are the bastard, though.”

Lord Tyrion Lannister in your sights slowly walked up to Jon, who was faced away from you. There was a bluntness in his words but also a sympathy in his eyes. Leaning back against a stone wall, you watched in quiet.

“Lord Eddard Stark is my father.”

And yet, just as so many liked to remind him, Lord Tyrions words were those that many have said in response. “And Lady Stark is not your mother. Making you, a bastard.”

Watching him with narrowed eyes, you held back any defence in your blood. Likely he was the only Lannister which you didn’t entirely distrust towards him. Jon Snow had more then enough people ensuring him he would never be like his brothers and sisters.

Your arms crossed over your chest, and breathe visible in the cold you listened to the man tell him wear what he is like armour. Jon, however, did not seem to be in such a mood. His voice was low, a thick northern accent that came out more like an entrancing rasp then Robb’s warm soothing one. It also, was lined with that of a temper you knew the older Jon got, the more he struggled with. “What the hell do you know about being a bastard?”

Fingertips itching to reach out, but you stayed put. Listening to Lord Tyrion’s final comments before departing to whatever plans he had for the night. “All dwarves are bastards in their fathers eyes.”

Jon wasn’t heartless, nor stupid. Somewhere inside him, you knew he sympathized with the Lannister but being shut out of a feast in the cold, on top of what you knew was looming? Jon had little room left to care about simmering that temper.

Lord Tyrion caught your eye as he passed, a tilt of his head and question in his eye you simply looked flat and unblinking. He wouldn’t say anything, but that didn’t mean he didn’t store his curiosity about your sudden watchful appearance for later.

Slowly approaching, you called out only once the sound of doors closing behind you left the courtyard in silence from the muffled party behind you. “Think he’s dead yet?”

Spinning to face you at the sound of your voice, you hated how unable you were to quell your heart looking at him. Walking towards him, you saw Jon put the sword away entirely before circling around to meet you halfway. It took less then second for both of you to glance around, watch for the no eyes any could see before he closed the rest of the gap.

Scooping you up into his arms, almost spinning you in place as you both held the other tightly. “I missed you.” Your voice muffled in this luscious dark curls, he put you down gently on your feet. His hands on your upper arms still before glancing up. Changing his mind, he turned. Pulling you along with him with a hand on your lower back.

Jon was the only man who could silently drag you away into a dark corner in the dead of night and you wouldn’t question him in any way, shape or form. Neither of you said anything, but out of everyone Jon was the one person who you didn’t need it with. Both of you were always on the air of more quiet, and it was never more appreciated then alone with the other, never worried about having to fill the air with talking to be comfortable.

Once you had reached far enough away, Jon led you into a small building, mostly empty save for some storage and one lit lantern. Door closed, he turned to face you once more with silence. His eyes begging to say too much, but neither of you could handle it in that second. Once more you found the others arms. This time, the desperation was felt both ways.

Both of you letting your eyes shut, and your hands rest freely and yet far to intimate to be platonic as you stood together. It was minutes before he pulled back. One hand resting on your waist and the other back on your upper arm. He watched as your hands wrung together, afraid to touch him. You hated how gently he always said your name, forcing you to look up and meet his eyes.

One of you had to say something, and you ripped the bandage off first. “You’re really joining them?”

His nod was confident, and it broke your heart that much more. “The St-”

Shaking your head you felt your eyes sting, you hated feeling this way. “Don’t give me that.” Your fingers twitched wanting to reach out, and he caught the movement. “Don’t tell me what you think everyone else wants to hear.”

Was his response a diversion from the truth, or an answer you didn’t know for sure. “You’re marrying Robb.” Like no other, Jon could tell right away that you bit your tongue in anxiety. The hand on your arm moving up to gently trace over the side of your jaw until he felt you relax under the touch. “I’m not mad at you. Neither of you really had a say in it.”

Ever so slowly, you hesitantly left your hands drift forward until the very tips of your fingers rested against his stomach. Much like earlier with Robb, were you not wracked with too much in your head, you might have paused to enjoy the feeling of how sturdy and firm his muscles had grown. Instead you let your head hang, knowing he wanted you to look at him. “And you feel like The Night’s Watch is the only place you belong?”

Were you anyone else, Jon would have pulled away in frustration. But his time with you was limited, and his hands always ached to touch you when you were near. “It is now.” Head rising up to look at him, your brows narrowed. “You’ll marry him, go back to Kings Landing with my father and sisters, and leave me what? Here with the brother who gets the one thing that used to be mine, and his mother who hates me?”

Something rushed up, and an anger almost yelled out instead of reason. “Jon, I’m not trying to leave you behind.”

He sighed, jaw clenching as his hand on your waist held you a slight tighter. “No. You’re doing your duty, and I’m doing mine.”

For a while you both just stood there, looking at the other. In your heart, you felt stolen from, but your mind reasoned for the best. Just as the silence between you was too much, Jon slowly leaned in.

Your back pressed against the wall and he having moved to crowd you against it, his head dipping down enough as you exhaled shakily. The nerves in you, always managing to make him smirk. But just as you felt the others breath on your faces, a door in the distance opened. Music and laughter and the sounds of a group making drunken rackets paused Jons movement.

If it were any normal day, you’d just say not here.

But you and Jon knew better, in a few days, he would stand in the godswood and watch you marry his brother. And soon after that he would join a group that cut your love off from him for life. You couldn’t kiss now, and not ever again.

It didn’t stop either of you from seeing the other after the night was over. But with the royal company here, with you and Robb spending more time together, you only had time to see each other in the secrets of the dark. What made that much harder though, was how little suddenly anyone looked forward to a wedding.

Bran had climbed the walls and towers thousands of times with a firm grip. And yet, while climbing the one tower which no one use in decades, Bran somehow fell so far to the ground, no one yet knew if he would wake up.

And amongst all that, the Queen insisted, “We still have a wedding to put on.”

The entire family was on edge. Maester Luwin has monitored him closely, and Lady Catelyn even closer having not left his side. You didn’t blame her one bit. It was before anyone else was really awake when you went to go see her.

Slowly peeking in, asking if it was alright you come in for a moment and you were thrown back over ten years ago. Looking at your own mother, Selyse, and how broken and lost she was as Maester Cressen warned her to prepare herself for Shireen to be sent away for good.

Walking by her side, you sat gently on the bed beside Bran. It was cruel. Only a boy of ten, and with the softest, most adorable little face you’d ever seen and yet he lay in bed broken in too many ways. If he woke, he’d never walk again. You thought to yourself, maybe if you were to be a proper northern, you should start praying to the Old Gods. Because it certainly seemed like praying to the Seven had done nothing. It left your baby sister disfigured for life, and so far they seem to have left Bran a cripple should they even allow him to wake.

Laying on the other side was his yet unnamed Direwolf. Hardly more then puppies when you first arrived, you had been shocked to see how they had grown. Sitting asleep by his masters side though, you hoped he would bring little Bran any comfort.

Lady Catelyn was silent beside you, working away on something you hadn’t quite understood. You didn’t ask, you weren’t a mother and you didn’t want her to have to explain her grief to you. Your hand gently ran over Brans wrist, your thumb feeling his pulse weak but still beating if you pressed firm enough. “My sister had greyscale as a baby.”

You felt her look up at you, but your eyes were trained on the adorable boy soon to be your brother. “My father bought her a doll from a merchant, and next thing we knew it was spreading fast over the side of her face. She was just a baby she didn’t even understand what was happening to her, but we all did.”

You felt your eyes sting, but forced them back with a harsh swallow. “I’ve never heard my mother cry like that. She lost four boys in the womb, and yet that was the most I’ve ever seen her cry. And my father?” You stumbled. Voice coming out harsh, and cracked slightly from the pressure to appear steady. “People used to say the only thing that he would ever smile for is me, but they don’t understand. They didn’t see the desperation in his eyes, how far and hard he searched to bring people to Dragonstone just for a chance to save her life. And none of them saw the tears in his eyes when he was finally allowed to hold her again.”

Reaching up with your other hand you ran your hand over the side of Brans face, brushing some hair to the side. “I’m sorry. Me and Robb both tried telling them to put it off, but the Queen insisted that a wedding might do everyone some good.” She tried saying your name, but you interrupted her. “It’s okay if you don’t come. If I were a mother, I don’t think I’d leave him either.”

Looking back at her, there were tears in her eyes and a soft smile that broke your heart. Your relationship with her was always complicated, but in this moment, all you saw was what no one had given to your mother when it was Shireen.

Leaning over to her, you hugged her tightly. The pain in her heart evident in how both weak yet tightly she hugged back. Pressing a kiss to her forehead you spoke quietly, “I’m sorry.”

Passing by the busy servants and suspiciously watchful Queen you paid no mind to the preparations that were to be for you tomorrow. At first it had felt like you and Robb were to be wed for some unknown plot of your fathers, but now it felt like a distraction.

Don’t look at the broken boy in bed, look at the happy couple. For their own pain, you had to hand it to the three of them. Lord Stark, Robb, and Jon truly what Starks were made of. Strong willed, and keeping calm acting as a pillar for the much younger and more worried siblings. Arya clearly a big influence on her direwolf Nymeria, as the wolf was agitated and struggled to sit still the past days. On multiple occasions, you found the wolf almost trying to rile up her own siblings to varying success.

Her and little Rickons direwolf Shaggydog had the most energy. As if getting out their tension by chasing and play fighting. Sansa’s Lady was truly an apt name. Stuck by her side and was poise and put together, only getting in the way to provide any comfort to the redhead in what Sansa thought were moments no one was looking.

Grey Wind was as strong headed as Robb. Their mother gone, he had taken up the mantle of leader of the pack and seemed to be a calming presence for the others. Much like how Robb’s confidence in ensuring his siblings Bran would be alright, provided such comfort to them. The more time you spend with Robb during the day, the more used to Grey Wind you got.

He grew larger then the others, a gorgeous mix of greys and browns in his colour and the more comfortable with a new closeness which Robb grew with you over the past few days, the easier it was for Grey Wind to come to your side when not with his own master. Lord Stark had joked that they seemed to sense you were about to become a wolf yourself.

It was the final direwolf however that you enjoyed the most. Pure white with striking red eyes, Ghost was smaller then the rest but quick and silent. He made very little noise if ever, but was always aware of his surroundings. Keeping out of the way without sacrificing his watchful canine eyes from their view, and listened to his master better then any of them.

Jon and Ghost it seemed, were one in the same. From the same family, but not truly one of the pack as the others were. While the others followed their master like an animal companion, Ghost and Jon were almost like friends instead. Certainly he took Jons feelings around people seriously, considering that as you sat out in the godswood while the moon set itself up in the night sky, you were suddenly almost thrown off balance.

Looking down, the small white direwolf had leaped into your lap. Leaning up to give your cheek a lick before settling in. You scratched at his back, “I don’t know what you’re asking for, but I’m getting up in about ten seconds.”

“Maybe he just likes how soft you are.” Looking up, you utterly failed to fight back both the fluster in your eyes and the embarrassed smile that you tried to hide, turning away from him.

Jon’s curls looked more wild and free again, growing out quickly from the clean cut given before your arrival. The wilder look suited him better. His cloak around his shoulders had a bright closer to white fur around him that you knew first hand was warm and comforting. Coming to sit next to you, he reached over and ran his fingers over Ghosts ear, making him shake his head with a barley audible huff at being disturbed. You both laughed gently, were it not a wolf in your lap, a commoner would mistaken you both for that of a couple with their newborn.

You were to be married tomorrow, and in two days you and Jon would part ways for what could be life for all you knew. Two days, but tonight was your last. Tomorrow you would be Lady Stark, wife of Lord Robb Stark, and there was no room in that duty for another or fairness in your heart.

Leaning against his shoulder, you knew in the eyes of the old gods there was no judgment as you rested your head there. His arm coming to pull you into his side as he looked down to you, your own trained on Ghost.

More then once you and Jon had almost kissed, it would be too easy. To fall into it again. You didn’t fall into it the first time, it was just a bond that always existed. The last time you had ever kissed, was when you came close to giving him something else.

The opportunity was right there, and no one would have been there to stop you, but neither of you were people who could so easily push past the honour you were raised with. Deep down in his mind, Jon knew you could never just marry someone like him, not for who you were. He just didn’t expect to come to the finality of it all, only months after almost having you.

Not that he told it to you, but there was a smugness in Jon that said that at least if he had one thing over Robb, or two, was that he was your first kiss. Knew what your lips tasted like, and knew what a cruelly addicted sight your bare body looked like. Though, not if he asked you, you’d say that wasn’t a perk.

Reminding Jon that he was muscle and you weren’t. Only receiving a dark, undoubtedly lustful look as he muttered that your softness is exactly what he dreams about before kissing you, having pushed you back into the furs of his own bed.

A far off moment, sitting together now, cuddled with his cloak around you against the Weirwood tree for the last time. “We never had a chance did we?” Pulling back, Jon tried looking at you with a slight question in his narrowed brows, but you just continued to run your fingers gently over the slumbering Ghost. “I mean, being with you is easy. It’s always been easy, but being together?”

Resting his chin on the top of your head, he breathed in deeply. “No. No we never had a chance.”

The truth didn’t make it hurt any less. But you weren’t children anymore. You would marry Robb, return to Kings Landing and serve on the small council at the Hand of the Kings Side, in place of your own lord father and Jon would become a man of the Night’s Watch.

In what world did those two things have a chance at crossing over?

Turning your head, you rested further into his neck and his warmth was unyieldingly comforting. “You know right? Even if I don’t say it?”

Jon had enough, moving to pull your face up to look at him by your chin. “I know. And you do too.”

Your heart skipping a beat you smiled partially, “You know it’d be a whole lot easier not to kiss you if you weren’t so handsome.”

Smirking, Jon pulled you closer. Your back more pressed against his chest as he wrapped the edges of his cloak around your front, hiding the blissfully unaware Ghost from the cold air. “Oh I’m handsome, am I?”

Rolling your eyes, you relaxed in his touch. “I’m not blind, Snow. It’s an unfair thing about you Stark men, you, Robb and your father, all way too handsome for your own good.” You had always done that. Included Jon when referring to the Starks without question. It was something that only his youngest siblings would still do, and that's just because they weren’t yet mature enough to truly understand why he was treated different.

You were though. You knew why, but you and him were always the closest even before the messy feelings of early teenage hood started to take place, and since then you were only more steady in that belief. He was a Snow, but his blood a Stark. And no matter what he called himself, he would always have the blood and integrity of his father. “Should I be worried? Marrying my brother, and running off to Kings Landing with my apparently handsome father?”

Pinching your sides, you tried elbowing him but Jon was far stronger and held you still with a laugh, your voice high and defensive. “I didn’t mean- sorry next time I’ll call your family ugly, alright?” With a pause, it slipped out before you could stop it. “Jealousy another Stark trait I should be worried about?”

You could feel the smirk still plastered across Jons face in his voice at your ear, “When the girl looks like you, any man with half a brain would be jealous of letting you go.”

It was far later then you should’ve been awake, but peeling yourselves apart for the last time was too difficult. It was quiet for a while, nothing but the quiet hums of the woods to pass the silence. His voice rasped in your ear, a small shiver down your spine at its closeness. “Where’d we meet?” He chuckled at your blatant confused face. “If we had a chance, in another life where’d we meet?”

“Are we not still us?”

You enjoyed hearing him so light and casual, it felt like I’d been months long amount of days since you’d seen such casualness. “No, well I mean I’m still me and you’re still you. But we’re not highborns, no titles or duties. Just two people somewhere in the kingdom, where’d we meet?”

Eyes squinting in thought, you considered something that was the opposite of the horrible paranoia of Kings Landing, and far from the darkness of Dragonstone. “I hear Highgarden is beautiful in the summer.”

Jon nodded against your head, “Alright. So you’re a bar maid in Highgarden, and I-”

Laughing loudly you tried pulling away, “Excuse me, why am I a barmaid? Isn’t this a fantasy?”

With such a tone of seriousness you felt light at how easily it came to him, as if it was something he’s thought of before. “Yes, and if you’re a bar maid it means I have an excuse to pull this pretty little bar maid in Highgarden down onto my lap as she passes by.”

“That’s aggressive of you.”

“Maybe this particular bar maid makes me aggressive.”

Back and forth you went, what is job was, how you’d fall in love, if you stayed in Highgarden or travelled the realm elsewhere. How many kids you’d have to which you certainly had protests as to how easily Jon kept raising the number each time he mentioned it. By the time you had planned out a new life, it was late enough that you needed to go back.

You needed some sleep, and Jon wasn’t the only brother who you wanted to talk to before this was all over.

Ghost lept out of your lap and shook his fur out on the ground as you both watched him with a fond smile. Looking back at him, you held onto his wrists and he your waist. This time, neither moved in or even tempted the idea of a kiss.

Raising a hand to cup the side of your cheek, he ran a thumb over the soft skin. “Don’t look for me in the ceremony.” Before you had a chance to spiral, he leaned down to meet your eyes more level. “I’ll be there, but don’t look for me. You’re going to be Robb’s now, and I want you to be okay with accepting that.”

Nodding, he made you promise out loud. “I promise.”

He nodded once. “You’ll be each others tomorrow, and I’ll be at the wall. I want you two to be there for each other, no matter what. Besides, it’ll be easy.” You tilted your head. “Robb’s easy to fall in love with, and I think it’s impossible not to fall at least a little in love with you.”

The hug you shared wasn’t the last before you departed, but it was the last one just for you.

He sent you off first, not wanting you to linger with him on your mind. Jon needed you to be okay with being Robb’s, and he himself, needed to just get through these next few days. He had an entire life at the wall to grieve about you.

The handmaiden was quite mad at how you ignored her. Something about the Seven, not seeing the bride but you went towards Robbs anyways. You were to be married at the Weirwood under the eyes of the old gods, it didn’t matter what the Seven wanted anymore.

Not quite dressed up, Theon looked you up and down as he opened the door. “Didn’t think you were that much of a bore.” You pushed him out the way with a roll of your eyes, he laughed as he closed the door behind him. You were glad that the northerners weren’t so dramatic.

With his mother tucked away with Bran, he escaped what would’ve been her insistence of shaving and another trim. His facial hair growing thick and his curls much more Tully Red in the daylight. “I want to ask you a favour.”

Nodding once, he said anything. Taking a step to you as you sighed out shakily, hands ringing together, he said your name as he came into your space. Looking up at him, you sighed out again. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

Taken back, his eyes narrowed in curiosity. “That’s not a favour.”

Somewhat flustered, you pulled away. Sitting down on his bed, unable suddenly to send away the thoughts of the very next time you’ll be in this room. “I- I don’t want you thinking I don’t want this, or you, but we didn’t plan this, or talk about it before it happened, and now we’re here and,”

Robb knelt down to your level, not yet touching you in your panic, but speaking slow and in a low, comforting tone until the edge fell from your lips. His steady energy slightly bringing you down a little bit as you tried again. “My parents are miserable together.” Your hands started to wring together in front of you, “They barley tolerate each other, I’ve never seen any love between them. And same with my Uncle. He and the Queen basically hate each other I’m shocked they could stand each other long enough to have three kids together.”

His brows narrowed as you put it all together. “Everyone I know whose married for duty, married because they had to...I think your parents are the only ones I know who ended up happy, who actually love each other.”

Robb leaned in slightly, “Are you worried you’ll never love-”

Shaking your head you felt the anxiety in your chest boil up like never before. “Robb, look at me. I’m Stannis Baratheons child, daughter of the supposed most miserable man in Westeros in the most loveless marriage, are you sure you’re okay with marrying me?”

There it was. The first true hint of insecurity that you’ve allowed yourself to be honest with since you had been told of this arrangement. Two out of three Baratheon Lords were in miserable marriages, and when you looked at Robb, you hated the idea that you were forcing him into just another of that cycle.

The girl in you wanted to cry at losing one love, and the woman in you hated yourself for possibly dragging another into something he’d come to hate. You’ve known Robb for as long as you’ve known Jon, and you watched him grow into the man he is now. Both of you could do great things together according to Lord Stark, but what if you were too much like your father to ever inspire love?

Robb stood up, sitting down next to you as he turned his body close. Your name falling easily from his lips. “You’re not your father. No- look at me. You are not him, you’re not any of them. I’ve known you since you were eight. You’re stubborn, and strong willed and always willing to do what duty asks but that isn’t all of you. I’ve also seen you laugh, get into trouble with me more times then I can count, you care about my little sisters and my brothers like their yours too. My father already sees you like your his own, and despite everything, I know my mother does too.”

Running a hand over your hair, he watched tension in your shoulders deflate ever so slightly. “I’m not worried about marrying you, because I know what I’m getting myself into. And no one can tell me to be happy about it, but I am anyways.”

Gently you raised your hand, enough to slightly lay over the arm Robb had flat on the bed, your thumb finding this pulse, unlike little Brans, his was steady and strong. “You shouldn’t be. You get told your marrying me, and then the day after I get dragged back to Kings Landing with half your family for who knows how long.”

Your heart raced, as Robb twisted his arm, holding your wrist the same way you were his. An easy, charming, boyish smile on his lips. “And we’ll have the rest of our lives to make up for it.”

Deep in your mind, you wished Robb would make this harder. You wished he wasn’t so easy to be charmed by, but you knew him too well to trick yourself into thinking he wasn’t being genuine or honest. “So about that favour...”

Narrowing his eyes, there was a flush in your cheeks that you hated was making him smirk. “What about it?”

You sheepishly tried pulling away, but he yanked you closed by is hold on your wrist. Looking down anywhere but his face you felt like a little girl again, only that time you didn’t have to be the one to ask for it, Jon kissed you before you knew what was happening.

Robb though? Oh Robb knew exactly what you were trying to ask, but was almost sadistically enjoying the process of making you say it out loud to him. You flushed more at what other implications this potential side of him would bring. “I, okay I’m not some innocent flower.”

He raised his eyebrows and you smiled indigently, “I mean, I’m still- I haven’t- shut up.” Robb was flat out laughing at that point but let you fail at getting this out with composure. “I know you’ve been with women before, physically..”

“Does that bother you?”

Shaking your head no, it was no lie. You may have to get used to the idea of being married to him, but again, you weren’t blind. You had eyes, you knew exactly what women saw in Robb Stark. “What I’m trying to say, I’ve kissed someone before but not you.”

Much more serious, Robb clearly did know what you were asking, but watched with his gorgeous comforting blue eyes intensely as you whispered. “I don’t want our first kiss to be in front of all of them.” His family, the royals, all those you didn’t know, the old gods, and even Jon. A first kiss in front of him felt too personal, to intimate.

Moving close, you felt his breathe on your skin. “Do you want me to kiss you? Here?”

The room slipped away though, Robb’s voice was so warm and so was he. The hand on your wrist moved to rest at your waist while the other hand slid to the back of your neck, holding you firmly. His lips would brush against yours if either spoke, but he waited for a single nod before kissing you.

His kiss was different. Soft, but coaxing. Like he knew what was holding you back, and just let you fall into it on your own. It was simple and gentle at first, but as soon as you let out a tiny sigh, something in Robb slipped for a moment. Kissing you again, harder this time. His hands tighter and his kiss a little deeper.

Leaning into his front, your hand found the back of his neck and into his curls, and your other against his chest as if they always knew what to do. It wasn’t until you let out what might just have been a small moan, Robb close to pulling you into his lap did he pull away. Pressing a kiss to your forehead and running his hand once more over your hair.

“Can you live with that? For the rest of your life?”

Robb smiled softly at the very new venerability in you. Pressing one more kiss to your cheek, he knew you didn’t mean only having a kiss. But was he happy with such a kiss was your question. “Wait until tonight, I’ll tell what about you I’ve been fantasizing about living with.”

The grin on Robbs face as he pulled away wasn’t the charming boyish one earlier. No, this one was far more that of who he was really, a wolf. A wolf who looked you up and down and made you realize that Robb Stark just might not be as dashing and honourable as he’s led you to believe.

A thought that should’ve made you nervous, but as you walked back to your room, ready to let the girls doll you up and argue about not touching your hair, you started to think that maybe that wolfish grin, actually excited you.

Just when you thought you were going to die of a heart attack, your to be lord father gave you a reason to have a whole new panic. The ceremony was more fancy then any of you involved wanted, not the Starks nor you, but your own father insisted on marrying you off with the royals in toe.

He wasn’t here. Your mother neither. Both of them, Lady Catelyn and Selyse were either sickly or caring for the sick and weren’t here, but Ned Stark was. He was here, and your own father wasn’t. Stannis was not a consistently comforting father, but part of you felt hurt that he wasn’t here to see his oldest daughter, his own heir, marry for the first time.

Instead, the man who had seen you raised half your life here, the one who would be your father by marriage once this was done was the one who approached you. Looking out into the distant woods as you clearly struggled to hold your nerves back. “I didn’t think this was the thing that’d worry you so much.”

Spinning around, Lord Stark reached out to steady you with a chuckle. “I’m sorry, I just...this is a lot..was it this nerve wracking when you married Catelyn?”

Not pushing you towards the woods, he stood beside you an arm around your shoulder as he rubbed your upper arm gently. “Terrifying. I’d rather face a thousand armed men then get married in front of all those people. I certainly wouldn’t have wanted someone as delightful as the Queen at mine either.” You huffed a single laugh out and swallowed the rest. “And I know I certainly wouldn’t want the person I love watch me marry someone else.”

Blood in your veins froze, your heart stopped and nothing but nausea flowed up your lungs. “I-”

He wasn’t even angry, or disappointed. He chuckled with a fondness. “I’ve seen you spend half your life here, sweet girl. Watched you grow up alongside my own sons, and I’ve watched Jon be in love with you since the first day you ever arrived.” If you cried, you’d mess up the annoying amount of makeup they insisted on, but you felt a sob in your chest. “You made him happy, and he made you happy. For a time, a long time I thought that was enough. But I also know for a fact that Jon never saw marrying you as an option. He always was painfully aware of who you were.”

You felt the stinging, and you stood still in his hold. Forcing deep breaths to push away the panic.

“There’s a good number of things I regret about how I raised him. It doesn’t feel good knowing that he’s always felt inferior to Robb and now the woman he loves is marrying him too. If I could do it again, would I even be better. Force Roberts hand harder, be more honest with Cat, let him just be a Stark and there’d be nothing in his way for you. But I didn’t do that, nor do I know if I ever should’ve.”

Looking down, your arms crossed over your chest. “I don’t want you to assume I’m just thinking of Jon while I’m with Robb, it’s not that. I’ve known Robb for just as long, and we’ve always been just as close, save for, you know.” His hand was soothing like a true fathers comfort running up and down what he could reach of your arm.

“Here’s whats going to happen. I’m going to walk you out there to my son, you’ll kneel together before the Weirwood and pray and when you rise you’ll be a Stark. Part of you will always be a Baratheon, but you’ll also be our family now. And no matter what, wolves always protect those in their pack. I’m not going to assume the worst of you, because I know you better then that. You and Robb will be good for each other, and just because losing Jon hurts doesn’t mean I don’t think you’re not willing to love Robb.”

Looking up at him you frustratingly wipe at the tears, and he pulled you into a hug. One that you hadn’t felt in a very long time. It had been too long since you felt the hug, the love of a real father. Muttering into your hair, you could feel the same smirk that you could always sense on both brothers. “Besides, I can tell you for certain, having one night with your spouse before being dragged halfway across the country will do wonders for your heart.”

You laughed a lot at that one. Pulling away he looked you over, gently wiping away the rest of the tears on your cheeks. “Come on, sweet girl. You have a wolf waiting for you.”

If you were being honest, it was a blur. There were so many people, and most of them you’d never want present at your wedding in any lifetime. The golden hair of the Lannisters mocked you, the bored and judgmental sneer of your cousin annoyed you, and the silent watching of an Uncle who you barley knew anymore, but you were thankful that this wasn’t in a sept.

The crowd silent, no words spoken by anyone except you and Robb. He looked tall and fierce, curls shining more red in the peeking sun through the leaves, eyes bright and blue like the sea as he looked at nothing and no one but you. The fur around his shoulders making him look large like the wolf he was said to be, and soon it too would be yours.

Whatever small words you exchanged, you heard none of it but the blood in your veins. Thankful when Robb took your hand and knelt down with you, facing away from the crowd. The Seven was what you were raised to pray too, but you were a wolf now. And the wolves answered to the Old Gods.

A fate you were perhaps always meant to have, feeling much more heard in your silence of the Weirwood then you ever did in a sept. Eyes open, looking up the carved face at the same time, the crowd was silent, Robb grabbing both your hands to stand as he kept your eyes.

Draping the very fur he wore over your shoulders, he gently pulled you in with two fingers under your chin. This kiss was far softer and fairer then the one you shared in private, but this was also all your anxiety could handle. And Robb knew it.

Were it a more jovial occasion, it was tradition for a northern groom to carry the bride to the feast but Lord Stark had the sense to give you two a moment alone and King Robert was more then happy to direct the crowd to where the wine and food sat.

Your heart racing, Robb gently held your waist with his forehead pressed to yours. Eyes both shut as your hands rested on his chest. You left tomorrow, so all you had was now and tonight.

It’s what he demanded of you, and what he wanted, but it didn’t change the fact that it hurt Jon Snow a great deal to watch you marry his brother, and not once did he ever see the transfixing beauty in your eyes.

You didn’t look at him once, and Jon couldn’t get to the wall fast enough.

Truth be told, the first big laugh you had was at the sheer idea of your father here. Meals with him, there was no laughter or rambunctious behaviour. Just silence, diplomacy, and the mind numbing dings and clogs of Patchface. No joy in a meal under Stannis’s watch, except for the fool himself. Patchface there who was only lucky enough to be in a job, because gods help her, for whatever reason the fool made Shireen laugh.

You couldn’t imagine your father here. The drinking, the laughter, the never ending line of food, talk, and fun. Truth be told, you and Robb spent little time there. You glanced nervously at him more then once, and in your bubble of privacy he would rest a hand on your thigh firmly and a whisper in your ear to at least eat something.

Arya tried many times to come and talk to you, but Sansa yelled at her each time. Telling her to leave the two of you alone, the three of you girls would be in Kings Landing together anyways.

King Robert, on now one too many drinks made an innocuous comment about beds, or sex, or something vaguely incoherent and you and Robb looked to the other. You wide eyed and nervous, but there was something in his that settled it. Leaning to your ear, his voice felt like a rumble. “Normally I’m for tradition, but I’ll be damned if I let this lot see any of you like that.”

One of the men in the crowd had seen you like that, but with the way Robb looked at you, for once, Jon hadn’t crossed your mind. Too much nerves, too much wine, and a fat load of worry about being in a mans bed proper for the first time.

By the time the crowd noticed, Ned just chuckled at Roberts comments about the bride and groom slipping away before a gods honest tradition. “I told Cat I wasn’t going to let their be a bedding ceremony because I didn’t want to hurt someone on our wedding night.” Shrugging one shoulder, he grinned almost proud. “Glad to know my son’s the same.”

The worries of what was to come, ended up being broken slightly by the fact that as soon as Robb opened his door, Grey wind was sat in the middle of the bed. Large body splayed out like it was already bed time. Rising his head up at the sound of the door, you ended up bursting into laughter at Robb having to tell him twice to go.

Shutting it behind the growing direwolf, Robb shook his head something snarky on his tongue that died as he looked to you. Draped in his furs, furs that made you look far smaller and the gentle almost innocent look as you stepped around his room. You’d been in here countless times, slept in here countless times, but never like this.

Trying desperately to hold back your nerves, you looked out the open window focusing on steadying your heart. But the warmth of Robb enveloped your back as he reached over you, closing the windows and sealing you both alone. The crackling of a fire almost enough to hide the shaky breathe as Robb gently ran his hands down your arms.

Resting both on your waist, Robb wrapped one around your stomach, pulling you into his chest. He didn’t let you ruminate on the worry, dipping his head to level his mouth with your ear. “If you don’t want this, I need you to tell me.” Freezing in his arms, he spoke almost quieter but it raged so close to your ear. “We don’t have to do anything, but you need to be honest with me about it.”

You felt light on your feet. You’ve never heard this tone from Robb before, never so intimate in your ear and the deep rumblings of his voice felt as if something strong inside was being held back. The act itself scared you, it always had. But another part of you wondered if you should be fearful of the young wolf behind you, or if that fear excited you.

The arm around your stomach rose up, tilting your head to turn slightly to the side, enough that part of him was within your sight as he murmured your name. “I know you’ve never done this before, is it just that, that scares you or is it me?”

Shaking your head fervently, you startled him. “No, no it’s not you. It’s just- I should know what to expect by now but,” Taking a deep breathe you shut your eyes. “The girls in Kings Landing all talk about men and their first time like it’s painful, violent.”

Robb chuckled deeply, vibrating through his chest into your back and down between your legs. It was a dark laugh, and you felt overwhelmed at how little you really considered what he might be like. “It’s only painful if the man is a worthless, brute who thinks getting off is better then getting their lady off.”

Was your chest heaving with you hard you felt yourself breathing, your eyebrows raised and lips slightly parted you felt more waves between your legs and having it all be because of Robb was more then enough to leave you speechless. Reading your body like a book, Robb leaned down more, brushing his lips against your neck. Grinning at the sigh you unknowingly let out.

Turning slightly more you could see him a bit better. “Will it hurt?”

Smiling like a predator, he pulled you closer to him. “Only if you want it to.” Laughing at your breathless expression, asking why some women would want it to hurt. He moved a hand to your hip and pressed his lips closer to your jaw. “Don’t worry. If you want it, we’ll get there. Tonight’s not about that though.”

Suddenly pulling away he yanked his cloak enough that it slipped from your shoulders and pooled onto the ground. Turning you in his arms, Robb gripped the sides of your dress tightly in his fists before pulling it up and off you. The fact that you let him do that, not telling him how little you had on underneath might have been a dangerous idea.

Usually such a dress was worn with layers underneath, and yet, all that remained on you was that which covered your most lower regions. Your softness, plush skin, and tits all on display. Holding your hips, Robb closed his eyes breathing deep for a moment. “For a girl whose never done this before, this is awfully naughty of you.”

Indeed was the charming boy no longer here, but a man, a wolf looking at his mate like prey.

Swallowing the pounding in your heart, you reached up to Robb, slowly pulling layers up and off of him for yourself. His hands were much more confident then yours were currently, but he stood still watching and letting you undress him at your own pace.

Staring was impolite, and yet Robb didn’t mind as you looked at his chest now totally free. Just as your fingers reached for his pants he snatched your hands. Raising them in the air as you gasped in surprise.

“This is about you. Lay down for me.”

Watching you with dark eyes, you couldn’t ignore how intensely he looked you up and down as you lay back on the top of his bed. Your palms bracing you up before being tossed back down as Robb suddenly climbed up the bed and over top of you. A hand on each side of your head as he leaned down to press a soft kiss to your lips. “Do you trust me?”

Without even considering it, you answered the raw truth. “Always.”

One hand reached up, grabbing your jaw roughly as he pulled your lips back to his. This time he kissed you nothing like before. His kiss was rough, demanding and deep. Guiding your every move and commanding that you obey. He tugged your hip with his other hand up to press into his own and as you gasped, he slipped his tongue into your mouth.

Lightheaded, you surrendered to his touch. As if all will of your own bled out onto the bed leaving nothing but Robb to command you as he pleases, and yet the idea didn’t scare you the way it was described by others. Your hands reached up and grasped his waist, a small sound leaving your mouth into his.

Switching between tasting you with his tongue and biting at your lips it, Robb let go of your jaw and ran it behind your head and grasped your hair tightly. Pressing his body down firmly, his hips naturally rutted into yours. He smirked as you gasped.

The rougher he kissed you, the more your hands moved on their own. Reaching behind his neck and wrapping around it to sink into his hair he ground his hips into you harder. A gentle moan leaving you, Robb left your lips, running the same ferocity down your neck. His lips and teeth no doubt leaving marks that a proper lady should be ashamed of.

He didn’t quite stop, kissing down your neck more until he reached your breasts. Grinning at how hard you were breathing, he stopped that right in it’s tracks as his hands cupped your chest. A needy cry left your lips, turning to a longer moan as Robb ran this thumbs over your nipples. Just as one hand grasped one, did he lower his mouth to bite at the other.

Pleasure shooting through you, your back arched into his body and limbs felt like they seized from the pleasure. His teeth switching between a gentle nibble and a harsher bite just to pull a gasp from you, he played you like an instrument. Getting every sound from your pretty lips that made his cock that much harder.

Pulling away, he hovered over you looking down at the almost in awe expression. You weren’t used to such a side to this man, and he seemed to reveal in your innocence over it. Leaning back more, you followed the sight of his dark eyes, parted lips and down his chest to where he hands slowly pulled at his pants.

Swallowing hard, he tilted your head up his a hand firmly at your jaw. “Keep your eyes on me.” Not letting you look down as he stripped himself bare. “Good girl, keep them on me and only me.” Slowly moving down the bed he pulled your hips to, grabbing your underwear and pulling them down.

The coolness of outside did nothing to take away how warm and wet you were between your legs, and Robb forced you to stay on his face. Making you look at his eyes, greedily pushing your knees apart and expression turning dark as he stared at you. A slightly whimper leaving you, he leaned back over you, one hand running over your thigh, first on the outside, then inside, and slowly upwards.

Just as he reached you, Robb bit at your bottom lip. Using the chance to slip his tongue inside you just as he ran his hand over you. Cupping you entirely and already he smirked into the kiss at how soaked you were. Lips brushing yours as he pulled back enough to speak, his fingers gently running back and forth across your soaked slit. “Good girls don’t get this wet, do they?”

Shaking your head no, all you could do was hear his voice. Eye slipping closed as your legs shook and a coil within you twisted at such an easy touch. Robb continued. “No, good girls are sweet and innocent. This doesn’t feel very innocent to me.” Two fingers now soaked danced up and ran across your clit.

Jumping at the shock of pleasure, you grasped him by the shoulders with a whine. “It’s all for you-”

Stammering the words out as Robb now rubbed tight circles against your clit. Your muscles tensing and his own hips refusing to let you close them you had to just take it. His other fingers still soaking up whatever you drenched him with. “I know it is. You ready for me to open you up? Make you cum before you take me?”

You’d say yes to pretty much anything Robb asked of you right now. Nodding, you leaned up to kiss him, making him smile into your lips as he slipped two soaked fingers deep inside to his knuckles. You gasped so loudly, were the windows not closed no doubt the outside world would’ve heard you. Sinking them deep in one go, you writhed in his touch.

Robb slowly slid them out and back, the wetness between you making the sound obscene, but it was the only music Robb could stand to hear. He never picked up the pace, but he did, right as you tensed in his touch? Stopped rubbing at your clit, and slit a third finger down to sink inside you with the others.

You cried his name and he kissed down your neck as he slowly pumped them inside of you. Clenching around his fingers he bit your skin harder trying to force his cock to shut up. Screaming at him like a howling wolf to just take you already.

Pulling back from your lips he looked you in the eye, feeling you clench around him as your sounds grew higher. Something burned hot inside of you as the other twisted and turned so tightly. One free hand, Robb ran over your lips, and something sweet inside you, pressed a gentle kiss to his fingers as he did so.

In return? He ran his thumb roughly over your clit as pumped his fingers slow and deep into you as you came around them. You moaned his name, but muffled it as Robb gently sunk two fingers into your mouth at the same time. One hand grasped his wrist, and yet even as you came something inside you obeyed like you were a submitting prey.

Robb almost snarled at how well you sucked on his fingers, and how he wished you two had more time then tonight. He couldn’t stop the thought of how beautiful you would look on your knees before him, obediently sucking on his cock with his hand guiding you up and down his length tight in your hair.

Pulling out of you Robb pulled your body up to press against his bare one and kissed you full of tongue and a greedy desperation. A desperation you yearned for back. It was a strained rasp of your own in his ear that had him shudder. “Please, Robb. Please fuck me.”

It didn’t even occur to you to try and be sweet or innocent about it. You could feel his cock pressing against you between your still shaking legs and you felt lightheaded at how thick it felt against you. Kissing your ear, he murmured much more gentle, “Are you sure?” As you nodded he bit your earlobe and hissed into it. “Out loud.”

Nodding again, your hands wrapped around his neck as you kissed him. “I’m sure, I want you.”

Kneeling up on the bed, Robb ran his hand gently down the side of your body. His dark eyes soft for just a little while longer, as you felt something in your chest at him. Pulling your hips more up into his lap you think you understood why he kept his eyes on you.

His chest led down to coarse, rough hair surrounding a long, thick cock that you wondered if it would even fully fit in your hand. Your chest heaved as you stared, and he slipped into a deeper tone. “It’s not polite to stare.”

Slipping a hand behind your head, Robb kept you looking down, watching as he ran the tip of his cock over your entrance, up brushing against your clit and back down. Barley sliding in each time until you begged his name once more. This time Robb watched your eyes, as he kept your head looking down to watch him slide his cock inside you.

He was thick, and the stretch itself stung in a way that made you gasp but not a pain that you had feared from it. No, the deeper he sunk the more you soaked his cock. Only halfway in, Robb tugged your hair to look up at him before he in a much more punishing thrust, bottomed out.

His face snarled at how tight, how warm and soaking wet you cunt was and he pulled you right back into an equally as rough kiss. He didn’t go fast, but part of him reasoned to go more gentle, and yet?

Your cries, your begs of his name as each slow, rough fuck had your arching your back into his body all the more. Each pound of his cock inside of you slapped loudly in a way that had him grip your hips so tight, you could already feel the bruises.

Sweat built up on both your bodies and you ran your hand through his own increasingly damp curls, scratching his scalp with your nails that had him fuck into you harder each time. For all his talk, little thoughts came to his mind as Robb fucked you.

Like something of an animal took over and all he could think of was how much he wanted to fuck you more, harder, faster, fill you until his cum spilled out of you and then fill you more. You cried out, nails scratching down his back without even realizing you were doing so, but muffling each sound as you bit into the meat of his shoulder. Robb, fucked you harder and struggled to stay slow.

You clenched tightly, enough that he had to pound into your cunt roughly just to sink as deep as he could inside and pulling away enough he could see tears at the side of your eyes but you rather then begging for mercy, begged for more as you kissed him.

His hands held your knees, pushing as wide as possible as Robb lost composure. Fucking you faster and just as one hand moved to rub at your clit you came around him. Robb leaving your other knee to press his hand against your mouth at how little you could contain your cries.

Fucking into you once, twice, five more times he pushed inside as deep as he could sink and filled you with him. His cum warm and thick, it felt like there was so much more of it then a normal man would have but you let Robb pull you into another kiss, this one rough and sloppy as he filled you with his cum as his tongue did your mouth.

Never leaving, his hands eventually turned soothing, his kiss softer and his voice not commanding but assuring. Telling you how good you did, how perfect you were. Holding you in his arms and him yours, it was just the two of you in that moment and nothing more.

It was only when you started to laugh, did Robb laugh. Yanking you into his chest as he flopped onto his back with you on top of him. Kissing you gently as he ran a hand over your hair. “Aye, a man could get used to this.”

He should’ve let you rest, but he took you once more that night. This time, far less able to hold back how fast and greedy he wanted to be about fucking you. The only downside, was how exhausted the night made you.

Slipping into a deep sleep, that only meant morning would come quicker. And too quick it did.

That morning, you both stayed in bed as long as you could. Robbs back against the wall and you against his chest, far less worried about the lack of clothes either of you still had. “You were born for this, Robb. It’s not in you to fail.”

Kissing the side of your head, things were feeling a bit easier, a bit more normal between you even in such an intimate manner. “Everyone says that right up until they fail.”

Rolling your eyes, you turned. Leaving his grasp to gently face him, your body in his lap. Hands on his chest, your eyes often trailed over him. He didn’t question your gaze, you had to get used to him as much as he was getting used to you. It was still new, no matter how much a decade and a half of friendship had formed the foundation.

No joke was in your face though. “I’m serious, Robb. Even if you don’t believe in yourself?” Shrugging one shoulder you smiled softly, “I’m your wife now, so I’ll just do all the believing for you.”

Squeezing your hip, he rolled his own eyes. “And let you do all the work? We’re a team, remember?”

Saying goodbye to Robb however, was easier then what waited for you outside.

Packing up your hose, you heard the two of them in the distance. “My mother?”

“She was very kind.” You tensed slightly, hoping no one noticed but you very much doubted kind was the genuine word Jon should be using. He didn’t deserve her ire, not now, not ever.

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

“It was always my colour.”

Your eyes closed, trying to tune their goodbye out. You had no right to invade their privacy.

Part of you hoped he would ignore you. You wouldn’t have to handle this and you could ignore it, but Jon knew you way better then that. You’d hate yourself if you left it at this. Reaching over you, Jon pulled part of your things up and secured it without even saying a word. Looking up, he was closer then you thought.

Looking at each other, the responsible thing would be to nod, shake hands, say a cordial goodbye. But Jon stood with his bright eyes, a grey so deep they looked black at times and you wanted to cry. You felt pathetic for being hardly able to hold back such a display of emotions, but the love that Jon had looked at you with for so many years was as strong as it always was.

You had no doubt that you looked just the same.

Jon pulled you into a hug, one too tight and too emotional for the company around and yet neither of you cared. Neither of you knew if this would be the last time, and both of you resented the world for forcing that as a possibility. His hand held you to him from the back of your head as you sunk your face partway into his neck and the other into the fur around him. “I miss you.”

“I miss you.”

Already, even in the others arms, the grieving already begun. Pulling back, you held at his shoulders and he shamelessly cupped the side of your cheeks. “Think I could get to the wall before they catch me, if I kiss you now?”

You burst into a laugh, one bordering too close on a cry. But you tilted your head. “Now or never, Snow.”

The kiss was pressed to your cheek, slow and unrushed before hugging you once more. For too many years you and Jon ignored the inevitability of having to separate like this, and it sat deep and uncomfortable in your stomach to do so. Like leaving the other behind would be a mistake in the long run, but you couldn’t understand why your soul screamed at you to not make it. You knelt down, kissing Ghost on the forehead as he licked at your cheek, whispering to him. “Protect him, no matter what you hear me? Next time I see him, you better make sure he’s as healthy as you are now.”

Seeing the other Starks approaching, you two looked at the other one last time so close you could feel the other. You took off with the company as they all headed out to the Kingsroad, giving enough space for Lord Stark to speak to his son alone before they too parted ways.

You couldn’t hear what they talked about, but you knew Jon Snow better then anyone to guess. As his father turned to leave, you and Jon looked from the distance at the other once more. You said nothing and neither did he. His life was up north now, and yours is both by Lord Stark’s side and your future with your husband. A future you wanted, and one Jon didn’t want to get in the way of. But as you both rode off in opposite directions, that sinking feeling in your gut just screamed louder, the further away you both got.

Neither of you having any idea, what horrors would bring you two back to one another.

[comatosebunny09]

prey | astarion a.

summary: he makes you feel like small, feeble prey. something to be slowly devoured and savored. warnings: steamy, language now playing: desert rose [ slowed ] - lolo zouaï notes: i blame astarion’s bedroom eyes for this. tagging: @nanaoise08squad

The tavern is lively tonight. Filled to the brim with laughter, music, and the clinking of mugs.

You hang back from the festivities, tucked away from the other patrons at a secluded table. Not lonely. Just prefer solitude.

You raise your mug to your companions every so often as they venture past, their mirth infectious.

There’s a smile on your face. Your body buzzes from the ale settling in your belly. You nurse your tankard, the contents of it gently sloshing about.

A laugh occasionally touches your lips. Watching everyone enjoy themselves is a welcomed sight, given the doom constantly looming over your shoulders.

Subconsciously, you find yourself sifting through the crowd in search of someone. A familiar thatch of white. Vermilion eyes. Sharp features. And like a beacon, you’re drawn to him, watching him chat up some pretty brunette on the other side of the bar.

You sit up on the barstool, unconsciously tugging at your collar. Feel your stomach plummet to your feet. Your lips part with shallow breaths, and your throat grows dry.

Who the hell is that? And why are they standing so close to him?

You’ve no time to coddle the envy blooming in your chest, for his gaze finds yours through the throng of people with laser precision. As if he sensed you looking his way, his eyes crinkle with the slightest hint of amusement.

Your heart stutters at the sight. You suddenly forget how to breathe. Trapped in a soundless stare-down, only the two of you seem to exist as the noise of the tavern fades into the background. It’s all a muddled mess to you, your senses heightened and all trained on Astarion.

His eyes dip into a mysterious shade of red whilst he studies you from beneath dark lashes. Makes you feel like small, feeble prey. Something to be slowly devoured and savored. Your bones licked clean and left on display on a mantle like a trophy.

And you still can’t quite get the hang of breathing.

He pays no heed to the person in front of him. As if they were a mere distraction—an appetizer to sate him until the main course.

He continues to leisurely undo you with his eyes, stripping you down to the marrow until you’re raw and exposed. You feel heavy. Pulsing. Dizzy. Not sure if it’s the ale filling your head with static or the depth of his stare.

Whatever the cause, you tear yourself from your seat. Wend through the crowd, gulping down air as you propel yourself into one of the dark and secluded back rooms.

The noise of the tavern peters into silence.

You press your back against a cool, textured wall, fighting to get your head back on straight. You clutch your chest. Screw your eyes shut.

Breathe. Breathe.

You realize all too late that you’re not alone.

The room’s pressure shifts. And like a prowler, he emerges from the shadows. Slow and meticulous in his steps, ingesting you with those devastating eyes aglow in the darkness, and his brows quirk with intrigue.

You can’t get your limbs to work—to move. So Astarion easily traps you between the hard press of his body and the wall, and he frames either side of your head on bent arms. The hunger in his gaze never leaves, only growing whilst his face slinks in. You swallow thickly, your legs ready to give way.

You’re a sheep cornered in a wolf’s den. Gazing up at him, your lids feeling so very heavy, your head swimming. He smells divine. Feels even better. You unconsciously tangle your fingers in the collar of his coat, drawing him closer.

His lips pan in, his lids shuttering, lashes thick. You stand on the tips of your toes, waiting with bated breath. Ever patient. Obedient. But the kiss never comes.

Instead, he teases you with the promise of one. Grazes your lips with his, sparkles of delight flittering across your face. He releases little pleased, hoarse groans you have to strain your ears to hear. And he revels in this, torturing you so. Coaxing petulant whines from your throat, and you kick your feet like an impatient child.

“Astarion,” you rasp.

“My love?” The rumble of his voice is heady. Makes you throb. His lips brush against yours again, kissing along the outskirts of your mouth, causing the delicate skin to tingle pleasantly.

“Why do you insist on being such a little shit?”

A chuckle. His nose nuzzles along yours, his hands cupping your neck below your jawline, thumbs smoothing over your chin and angling your head further back. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Don’t play coy with me, Astarion,” you growl. “Just…gods dammit, just kiss me already.”

You’re desperate. Breathy. Teetering along the edge, and you have to cling to him to keep from careening over it. Your senses are overhauled, filled only with Astarion. Too hot. Too many clothes. Can’t think straight. Can’t—

“Oh, darling,” Astarion croons, continuing his cruel game of keep-away when you move to close the gap between your mouths. “Where’s the fun in giving you exactly what you want whenever you demand it?” He noses along the torrid flesh of your cheek, and you can hear the cruel smile taking hold of his voice. “I rather like the sound of you begging.”

You scoff. Try to kiss him again, but Astarion won’t have any of that.

“Now.” He zooms in, ghosting his lips over yours, fully intending to make you suffer. You lunge forward as if to bite him, earning another low, guttural laugh that you feel in the depths of your belly. “From the top, my love.”

[littlefreya]

Henry Cavill: Some news to share from The Continent…

My journey as Geralt of Rivia has been filled with both monsters and adventures, and alas, I will be laying down my medallion and my swords for Season 4. In my stead, the fantastic Mr Liam Hemsworth will be taking up the mantle of the White Wolf. As with the greatest of literary characters, I pass the torch with reverence for the time spent embodying Geralt and enthusiasm to see Liam's take on this most fascinating and nuanced of men.

Liam, good sir, this character has such a wonderful depth to him, enjoy diving in and seeing what you can find.

[spider-jaysart]

Any hot takes or unpopular opinions about super sons?

Here's some for the animated movie first:

Jon's voice doesn't suit him at all for the age he's supposed to be, it just kept throwing me off a little everytime he spoke with it. It's definitely not terrible though, it's just not for him at all

Idk about others opinions on Damian's voice though, but I really loved it. I felt like it fitted him pretty well and let his daring and mischievous side stand out really nicely. It's my favorite for him personally

I don't like that they white washed Damian in it once again when they could've definitely given him his darker skin and green eyes (I know this one's very popular already, but I just wanted to say it still). And when they showed the pitcher boy in the baseball game, he literally had EXACTLY those features on himself, which made it really feel like it was an actual annoying tease of some sort, since his model strangely looked way more like Damian than Damian himself did

And also besides all of that stuff, when Damian is in his Robin model, I feel like he looks perfectly fine and cool, but his civilian version looks a little weird to me for some reason. And I know that his hair in his Robin form is also a little funny too because of how long it is, but I don't really have a problem with it lol

Now for the ones outside of the movie:

I'm not so crazy about them being a Nightwing and Flamebird duo as adults. I want them to become their own identities, but not by using those mantles, cause it's still not completely theirs and isn't really fitting for them to me either, not even the Batman and Superman mantles either. Other characters like Dick, Chris, and Bette have already used them and made their names with it. Damian and Jon both actually deserve their own that let them shine in their real unique ways and stay independently remembered without their titles getting into the mix of confusion with other hero's. Everyone is allowed to have fun with it obviously though, no matter what I think

For a day job as an adult, Jon should become a scientist instead of a writer or reporter for the Daily Planet like his parents, because that's just totally boring and he's also his own person, not their twin. Just cause he's their child, it doesn't mean he's gonna be exactly like them and daydream about their hobbies. And it makes a lot more sense for science being his dream job too, because he's shown plenty of interest in it before

And for Damian, he should become a vetinarian as an adult, and credit to my good friend @camo-wolf for this next part here that I love, which is that he also owns his own company as a ceo to do it too, so he also has many more helpful clinics opened everywhere instead of just one

I'm not too crazy about their trinity with Lizzie and just can't see the boys having one either. It feels like it's just another thing to make them even more like their Dad's once again imo, but I think they're better off being kept as just a duo still. And unlike many other Damijon and Supersons fans, I'm also not crazy about Lizzie herself either :| (Not saying that I hate or dislike her though). I will say that the stories with the three of them together are pretty fun and cute though, despite what I feel about her. Oh, and for another little thing, even though it's Damian and Jon's thing in their relationship to fight and argue over things, it feels a little overdone in those books and feels like they're being more like just nasty to eachother with their certain comments and want to actually just get the other mad constantly

Speaking of groups, besides the boys having their little Supersons duo to themselves, as kids Damian and Jon definitely should've had their own awesome superhero team together a LONG time ago with characters their own age that could've grown with them like how it was originally planned for canon, instead of them both being shoved into ones like Teen Titans and other already established ones like that, because those groups have so much of their own stuff going on that just doesn't fit the boys and all of the members in them are usually much older than them too. For my idea about what they would have, I like to think that it's a fun group separate from the Supersons duo that both Damian and Jon lead and their main members could've been young close friends of theirs, like Maya Ducard, Kathy Brandon, and Colin Wilkes, and then for additional ones, it could be Tai Pham, Maps Mizoguchi, Flatline, Respawn, Suren Darga, Chris Kent, Irey and Jai West, Lian Harper, and even though I play around with their ages a lot in my own universes like randomly switching them both from toddlers to tweens whenever I feel like it, I'll say Mar'i and Jake too (idk if I'm forgetting any others). Then for the team name, I choose "Legacy's Youth" or "Youthful Legacy" or "Legacy's challangers"

And for another thing to do with groups, Dceased should've just let Maya and Kathy be the girls that teamed up with the boys, instead of forcing a deaged Cassie Sandsmark into it just to date Damian, create a trinity, and be the girl in a boys group, because unlike her, Maya and Kathy are the ones who actually have real relationships and history with Damian and Jon that were already made outside of that universe, so they both would've been much better picks. And without all of that dating stuff too, because them being boys and girls doesn't mean they should have to (plus, Damian and Jon seemed like they were the ones that were actually dating and also married to eachother instead in the story anyways lmao, so that's more proof that there was literally no need for it)

Jon's electric powers that came out during his Injustice crossover are so lame, cause that's not anything new. His solar flare is so much more dope and unique than that, what happened to it?!?! I prefer it way more

The team up reunion Supersons book that came out with Older!Jon and Damian in his new suit felt like their personalities were kind of swapped in some parts of the story, which was kind of weird to see and bothered me a little

During Damian's first time visit in the future, Jon should've been way more protective and stood up for him better when Saturn Girl and the other legion of heroes members began saying their hateful and nasty comments out loud about him right in front of his dang face. And even more defensive he should've been too when Saturn girl started messing with Damian's mind out of nowhere like it was okay and then put him to sleep, instead of just letting her like he did. He should've had complete second thoughts about the whole team right there and decide to leave after how uncomfortable they've made things, instead of still joining them anyways like they're still cool and forgetting about what had just happened. Jon's actual entire reaction during it all was just so naive and felt so ridiculous to me, it was disappointing

Jon and Chris Kent can both exist together at the same time, there is no problem with it at all. And just because Chris was taken away, that doesn't mean Jon's existence should be hated for it, it's the fault of DC writers for what happened, not him

Damian should also be able to finally have a sweet relationship with his Mother already instead of it still being dragged away from him all the time and also still being considered as an abusive one for him, because 1. being horrible to her child is ooc for Talia and 2. Damian deserves to have her in his life, not just Bruce as a Father. He should also be able to have a good relationship with the rest of Al Ghul's too and even a sibling relationship with Respawn as well, not just the ones he has with the Batkids. I know that some (or most?? Idk lol) fans don't like him because they say his origin made Ra's look bad for having him be abusive to him, but that's all very unnecessary blame on Respawn's character that he doesn't deserve at all, it was just a role he was put in as a victim, it's obviously the fault of the writers who wrote the story to be that way. I also feel like it would've made more sense that Slade raised him and was the one who had actually abused him, because he's done it to his other kids in the past anyways and him being a toxic parent is actually very in character for him

The Fortress of attitude is literally catching dust now that Damian and Jon have both completely forgotten about it for some reason, it deserves to make a comback!!

Jon used to have a dog named Ranger, I'm not sure what exactly happened to him (I guess he was forgotten about or whatever), but he shouldn't have been erased. He was adorable

I prefer Damian's pushed back spikey hair so much more over his current flat and long one, it fits him better. The current one does look nice on him and I get the reason behind why he has it, which is pretty sad, but it makes him look too similar to Tim and I don't like that. The same artist who made Damian's new hair that way in the first place also doesn't draw Flatline's spikey hair either, which makes me think they might actually have something against those kinds of hairstyles lol

Damian would so get along with Lois because of their sass and Talia would actually love Jon for how great he is to her Son

Annnnd I think that's probably all of my unpopular opinions about the boys for now lol

Thank you for the ask, anon!! I enjoyed answering this!

[wishesunderthestars]

Eunoia // The First Christmas

Summary: An Eunoia Christmas special in which the pack spends their first Christmas together.

Word Count: 2.6k+

Masterlist

It’s the most wonderful time of the year…

Christmas music poured out of the large speakers in the living room. A cozy fire was burning in the grand fireplace and colorful socks, large and small, were hanging from the mantle. Firewood was stacked next to it in a box painted with stars and mistletoes. The soothing smell of firewood mingled with the sugary aroma of all the desserts that were laid on every available surface.

Four different kinds of cookies—sugar cookies with icing in the shapes of Christmas trees, snowmen and snowflakes,  chocolate chip cookies, chocolate crinkle cookies, and of course gingerbread cookies—, red velvet cake, cinnamon rolls, black forest yule log, cupcakes of various flavors, espresso martini brownies and a massive gingerbread house currently residing in the middle of the dining table. All of them homemade.

You had been cooking and baking since the previous day to have everything ready for Christmas dinner. You had jokingly suggested ordering everything to avoid the hustle and it had sent Seokjin into a frenzy, spluttering and scolding you while threateningly holding a large rolling pin. You hadn’t suggested it again.

Most of Christmas Eve had been spent in the kitchen and everyone in the family had offered a helping hand. You, Seokjin, and Yoongi were in the center of the action as the ones with the most experience in cooking. You worked together like a well-oiled machine, dividing the tasks and handing things to each other. You had put on music and danced around while the younger ones tried to steal bites of whatever you were making. It was so much fun, you hadn’t noticed the day passing until Jimin came to drag you to the living room to watch Home Alone.

You had been invited to more than five Christmas parties, including a charity ball hosted by your parents. Your mother had expressed her deep disappointment when you had rejected the invitation without an explanation. For the first time, you didn’t care at all. This Christmas you would do what you actually wanted to do with the people you loved.

For the special occasion, you had bought a form-fitting green velvet dress cinched at the right hip with three white crystals and ending above your knees. A section of your hair was pinned to the side with a diamond clip and you had kept your makeup simple but elegant with red lips and neutral eyeshadows.

“John texted that they are on the way,” Namjoon said, appearing at the door of your bedroom. He was wearing a black turtleneck with a blazer over it. Everyone was dressing a little more formally for the dinner.

“Give me a minute, I’m almost ready.” You looked at yourself in the mirror again. It wasn’t nearly as extravagant as what you used to wear at the balls hosted by your parents but you liked this so much more. The finishing touch was a simple diamond teardrop necklace.

Namjoon came to stand behind you and took the necklace from your hands. “Let me.” He brushed your hair to the side before settling the necklace against your collarbones and clipping it. He placed a kiss on the side of your neck, soft as the touch of a butterfly, before taking your hand and leading you outside. His touch still ignited a fire within you, strong and steady. “You look perfect. As usual.”

“Cheeky wolf,” you said, pushing his chest lightly.

The Christmas tree towered over everything in the living room. It was the biggest one you had found and the top of the star was touching the ceiling, even though the walls in the Castle were pretty tall. Normally, you would go for something smaller that was easy to decorate but that wasn’t a problem now. Hoseok had spotted this one at the Christmas Tree Farm and had called everyone over to see it, they all got so excited and you couldn’t deny them. So you had one of the largest Christmas trees you had ever seen in your living room.

A huge Christmas tree also meant more ornaments and more lights, which prompted a long trip to the mall and three carts full of Christmas decorations. Last Christmas, you had only decorated the main rooms with Helen’s help. After your breakup and considering your busy schedule, you hadn’t been in the mood to celebrate. After all, you went home only to sleep. This year, you weren’t alone anymore—you were starting to realize that you were never truly alone—and you promised yourself you would make this the best Christmas for your family.

You decorated every single room in the house, spending hours on ladders and dividing ornaments, and sticking lights on the walls. It was worth it to see their smiles. For most of them, it would be the first proper Christmas they experienced.

Jungkook was hopping up and down all the time the first few days, carrying his sketchbook everywhere to draw the tree and the lights and the animated Christmas villages, trains, and houses placed all over the Castle. For Taehyung, it was the first time he was seeing a Christmas tree up close and he couldn’t take his eyes away from it. The first night after decorating it, he didn’t want to go back to his room. You wouldn’t let him sleep on the couch alone so you carried the extra mattress you kept in the storage closet and you, Jimin, and Taehyung slept underneath the lights of the Christmas tree.

Gifts were overflowing now, spilling past the edges of the tree and taking up a lot of the floor space. Small and large ones, in colorful wrapping paper, red, green, silver, gold, and every color you could imagine. You had agreed to wait until after dinner when everyone was here to exchange gifts.

Hoseok and Yoongi were nestled together in a heavy red blanket on the couch, a Hallmark movie playing on the TV. Yoongi’s cheeks were dusted pink, probably from a venture outside.

They both turned at the sound of your heels on the floor.

Hoseok gazed at you in appreciation. “Green looks really good on you. You look incredible.”

“Thank you,” you said, doing a little curtsy. “I would say the same about you but I can’t see underneath that blanket. It isn’t even cold in here.” If anything, the Castle had great heating and the fireplace was also adding to the warmth.

He ran his hand over the blanket. “But I like it. It’s cozy.”

“You’ll wrinkle your shirt. Get out of the blanket and let me see your clothes. John will be here soon and Amelia won’t be far behind.”

“Come on,” Yoongi told him, pushing the blanket off. Hoseok giggled and waited for Yoongi to take his hands to pull him up. “I have to go to the kitchen to check on the food, anyways.”

Yoongi was wearing a blood-red silk shirt and black pants. His hair, the longest it had been since you met him, was framing his face in soft waves. Hoseok had unbuttoned his red velvet blazer leaving his sheer white shirt in view.

“You both look amazing,” you said, clapping your hands. The excitement of the day was making you a little giddy. “Let’s go to the kitchen then.”

“I’ll go to the kitchen, you’ll stay here and wait for our guests.” Yoongi stopped you, throwing an easy smile over his shoulder.

“Seriously?” you asked, crossing your arms.

He paused and turned around. “Deadly so,” he said. “We don’t want you ruining your dress.”

Hoseok laughed, loud and bold, the way you loved. The house got a little brighter, a little warmer.

“He’s talking as if his shirt alone doesn’t cost a thousand dollars,” you muttered.

“Does he know that?” Namjoon asked.

“I’m sure he does, we went to the boutique together and the total was out of this world.”

The shirt was from the new Valentino collection and soon after it had been launched, you had been invited to the boutique to take a look at the new pieces. You didn’t remember why and how Yoongi had tagged along but you did remember that you had spent five hours trying on clothes and commenting on each look. You had left the boutique with fifteen more pieces than you had estimated and your card thousands of dollars lighter.

You picked up the discarded blanket Yoongi and Hoseok had been wrapped up in and folded it, placing it over the arm of the couch. You surveyed the room once again to make sure that everything was in place. Because of your job, you had learned to instantly spot if anything was amiss during any given scene. It wasn’t like any of your guests would care about a mismatched candle or a wrinkled tablecloth but you were a perfectionist in every aspect of your life.

“It smells like a sweets factory in here,” you said. “I’m not sure it was a good idea to put everything out already. Alice will want to eat the cookies as soon as she sees them.”

Hoseok took a deep breath of the sweet aroma. Cinnamon and sugar, chocolate and vanilla. “I want to eat them. But I’m too afraid of Jin.”

“We did spend hours making this dinner. Believe me, you won’t regret waiting.”

Hoseok took your hand in his. “I’m sure I won’t. Everything already smells delicious.”

“It must be almost ready,” Namjoon said, just as Jimin walked out of the kitchen.

The cat hybrid was wearing an electric blue flowy velvet jacket, a low-cut black shirt, and black pants. A black choker hugged his neck, expensive lace in swirling patterns and from it, blue tourmaline stones fell like teardrops.

Jungkook followed him. Like Namjoon, he was dressed in all black, a black satin shirt, unbuttoned at the top, and black dress pants. Half of his hair was pulled up, showcasing the silver earrings in the shape of arrows adorning his ears while a silver necklace dipped down his chest.  

They bounced to you, their smiles widening. You stopped them before they could reach you, already knowing what they were going to do. “No one mess with my lipstick, I just applied it and red lipstick is very easy to smudge.”

Jimin pouted, his bottom lip sticking out. The lip tint he had applied painted his lips a dark rosy hue, the gloss making them shine. You had to hold yourself back from doing exactly what you had warned them against.

“But… We’ll be careful,” Jungkook said, eyes wide the way he knew could get the pack to do anything for him.

“Photos first, then dinner, then we’ll see.” Jungkook pouted too. The last thing you wanted was John asking if you had started eating without them, already knowing that that wasn’t the reason. To appease the younger ones, you pulled them both in a hug and they instantly melted against you, wrapping their arms around your waist. “Our guests are almost here, just wait an hour or so.”

You felt Jungkook nod before both of them started scenting you. You couldn’t appreciate it the way a hybrid would but it was enough for you to see how it settled them to have your scent of them and leave their scent on you. As long as it made them happy, you didn’t care about anything else.

Regardless of what Yoongi said, you made your way to the chef’s kitchen next. You hadn’t touched the other kitchen, which was decorated for the holidays with a Christmas tree, garlands on the countertops, and ornaments on each cupboard’s handle. It would be a shame to dirty it. For as much cooking you had done and all the dishes you had made in just two days, the kitchen should be a disaster—flour everywhere, various ingredients littered on the counters, bowls, pans, and pots piled in the sink. It was the opposite. Everything was in its proper place, the countertops shining.

Yoongi had the underrated but very much appreciated habit of putting everything back in place after he was done with it and cleaning as he went along. He had claimed he needed a clean space to work so you and Seokjin had also tried to do the same to help him along. As a result, the chef’s kitchen was now spotless.

Seokjin was decorating the last dish, a perfectly roasted lamb surrounded by baby potatoes on a huge golden platter. Taehyung was plastered to his back, looking over his shoulder at what he was doing. Seokjin was so used to having one of the youngest hybrids stuck to him that he didn’t even bat an eye. Yoongi was standing next to them, surveying the results of the long day of cooking looking pleased.

“It smells incredible, my mouth may have started watering,” you said.

“It came out really good,” Seokjin said, pouring the glaze carefully. “I hope they’ll like it. It could have used a few more spices and I forgot to-”

“Shhhh.” Taehyung’s deep voice stopped his rambling before it could begin. “It’s perfect.”

You place a hand on Seokjin’s arm “They’ll love it, believe me. It will be the best Christmas dinner they’ve ever had.”

Seokjin put the sauce down and looked at the finished dish. He had pushed the sleeves of his white shirt up and his black and gold blazer was thrown over the back of one of the chairs. “Everything is ready. Should we bring the dishes out?” He looked up at you then and you noticed how his eyes trailed on your body appreciatively. “Wow, someone looks good tonight.”

“We all look really good tonight,” you said. “We’ll take so many photos. So many photos.”

Yoongi groaned but you knew he didn’t mind. He pretended he didn’t like it but never told you no even if you were taking photos for an hour, trying to find the perfect shot. That one had been a very long afternoon.

Taehyung turned around, resting his cheek on Seokjin’s back. The edges of his smile blurred, his lips falling open. “Green- You look beautiful in green.”

You had worn green on a different night too. A beautiful long dress in a similar shade to the one you were wearing. You had wanted to burn it, to rip it apart with scissors after everything was done. Such a magnificent dress had turned hideous in your eyes because it represented the most awful parts of luxury, the most awful parts of humanity.

You hadn’t worn a green dress since then.

“Are you okay, baby?” you asked, caressing his cheek. You didn’t want to bring it up, you didn’t want to speak about that awful night. Not when this was supposed to be a joyous day.

Taehyung leaned into your touch, closing his eyes. “I’m happy. You really look beautiful in green.”

“Thank you,” you said. Both of you had come a long way.

The sound of the doorbell echoed through the house.

You smoothed down your dress. “Our guests are here. I’ll go greet then and I’ll come back to help.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Yoongi said, shooing you away. “Go greet them and make small talk or whatever people do at these things. We’ve got this handled.”

“Fine, fine,” you said in the end.

Namjoon had already opened the door when you walked into the living room. John was helping Alice take off her red coat while his wife put her own coat on the coat hanger on the wall by the door. Amelia did the same while talking to her. Jimin and Jungkook were hugging Astrid and Taylor, who was holding a transparent bag with what you guessed was an enormous box of desserts inside. As if you needed more.

“Merry Christmas!” you greeted them.

Alice struggled out of the last sleeve and ran to you, throwing herself around your waist and almost sending both of you toppling over.

“Merry Christmas!” she shouted.

“Merry Christmas,” everyone echoed. 

Please comment and reblog it motivates me to keep writing

[ricardian-werewolf]

Take Me to War - Chapter II: Humbly beg the death upon my knee

Part I

Summary:

Cecily-Anne awakes in Ser Gwayne's tent and must come to terms with where she is in this new world. It is within it that she will come to form a new friendship and realize the depths of her grief.

TWs: Suicidial idealization, grief, child death, incest mention, abelism, mention of rape (though not committed)

Tag list: @lordbettany @fauxraven @rmelster

Cecily awoke to the clanking of chains. 

Chains, which by all accounts snaked around her wrists. Jangling them did nothing except force her to realise how tightly she was bound. In short, she was not a noblewoman kept here for her safety, but a prisoner. The thought and realisation filled her with fear. As a highborn woman, she was protected by a social code of purity - had she come through that cut wearing a serving woman’s gown, the horrors would be inconceivable. But seemingly on part of her fine dress of black velvets and wolf fur, she had been spared such horrors - for now. Raising her head, Cecily found her snood that held her hair back to have been torn off. Her braided coiffure tumbled down her shoulders. She had been tied to some sort of central tentpost and rested upon a woven rug bearing the image of a tower with green flames bursting from its roof.

Studying it, Cecily felt confusion rise in her. Not once at any point had she seen someone’s family heraldry bear such a symbol. As an avid studier of heraldry herself (Her own being the white stag of Richard II on an emerald green backing with ivy leaves at its feet). Lifting her head, she could hear the sounds of men carousing and making merry. Evidently the battle must have gone in their favour, perhaps?

As Cecily looked about once more, she noted the candles flickering in their sconces, settles upon which furs and rugs had been thrown to make a more comfortable space. A mirror and washbasin with a finely carved jug sat nearby. The mirror was a cut of fine glass backed (she assumed) in silver, and bore gold detailing. Whomever’s tent she was in was certainly wealthy. As she shuffled in a circle around the pole, Cecily noted the bed and its posters laid with yet more imagery of the same tower below her feet. She could only guess at the kind of fabric the bed-curtains were, though she assumed either satin or velvet. Cocking her head to one side once more, she heard the sound of two men arguing in what sounded like English, though it was certainly more heavily accented. A Northern twinge to it. Hope stirred in her chest, which she frantically squashed. No good Yorkshireman would ever have the daughter of the Lord of the North tied up like some common ne'er do-well. The tent flaps (made of stiffened oilcloth dyed deep green and edged in silver with goldwork thread made out to be tiny flames) parted and two men stepped in. One was more weary than the other, with dark hair and eyes. He carried a bottle of wine or spirits, which he uncorked and took a generous swig of. The other man spoke little, and as his shadow of a valet stepped into the room followed by squires of the body, Cecily watched. 

“What do we do with her, then, Ser Hightower?” The man hissed as he drank. The other - Ser Hightower, shrugged. Cecily froze as his eyes flitted to her, and she noted his age. Young, he was. Perhaps about ten-and-seven if not a year older. A knight, then? Of which order? She saw no familiar garter-belt about him or mantle-chain of office. He certainly wore spurs, yet not of gold but of burnished silver. Across his front of his chestplate was that same tower, and the name stuck.

Hightower. His name was of a noble family. Unlike Cecily-Anne who held no legal last name, she could say she was of House Plantagenet. Through both sets of her family, thanks to her parents being first cousins and ensuring a papal dispensation was needed to wed. Shaking her head silently, Cecily turned back to half-watching as the body-squires and barbers tended to this Ser Hightower.

Was he a poor knight then? No, his tent could not have been so lavishly furnished as such. Perhaps he was someone who preferred his material comforts over his godly ones. She wondered if he prayed as much as he ought to. What surprised her was no signs of crucifixes or depiction of the mother Mary or Holy Host. In fact, no priest had come to take Compline with the men or offer the Host in mass. Perhaps it was not yet Sunday. She did note however seven small figures in an alcove of the tent over which a glass image hung of a star with seven points.

“Have you no priest?” She spoke at last, coughing it out. Both men wheeled to look at her.

“W-what?” The first man asked. Cecily ignored him, holding Ser Hightower’s gaze.

“No, no Septons have been on this expedition, My lady.” 

Well at least he is not calling me a wench. Delightful. I wonder how this other man is faring, seeing as he is deep enough in his cups to call about a guard. 

“Septons?” She replied. “Of what order of clergy is a ‘Septon?’ “ Cocking her head again, Cecily sniffed. “One of the friars?”

“Nay, My lady.” Ser Hightower spoke again. “They are of our priestly order and raise poor boys to follow the faith.”

“So they do be priests.” She raised a brow. “Have you nuns?”

“Septas.” The other man coughed. “My lady.” He added after a long, cold pause. Cecily hungered to ignore such a slight, and settled herself back against the pole. “Tell me your conditions of capture, please.” She raised her head to glare at both men. 

“C-conditions of capture?” The other man murmured.

“We have no reason to view you as a prisoner, M’lady.” Ser Hightower spoke. “These ropes were to keep you from getting up and further injuring yourself.” He signalled to a squire who slashed through the ropes holding Cecily in place, and stepped back. Cecily rose to her feet unsteadily and gripped the tent-pole for support. Somehow, this did not feel right to her eyes and ears. Women such as herself in positions of little to no power when left with monstrous men, were often raped openly and if not that, brutally wounded, sold into slavery or worse evils. While she was Highborn as she had reminisced on earlier, her household did not exist in this place. She could not simply claim to be of some family either, seeing as she knew none of them.

“Leave us, Ser Cole. I have reason to speak to the lady alone.” Ser Hightower spoke to the other knight, who nodded. As he passed her, he turned his head and spat at her feet. Cecily’s hands balled into fists and she nearly moved to punch him. However, barely it seemed, she stayed her hand. 

As soon as Cole was gone - Cecily would have to watch her back - she found herself faced with Ser Hightower. The knight took a seat upon a settle piled high with furs and leaned one of his elbows on his portable writing desk. His emerald green eyes stared at her, and Cecily sat herself on a cushioned pouffe. Glancing down, she found her skirts to be torn and the velvet edging frayed.

“Once we reach King’s landing, I shall have my steward fetch you new clothes. There is a place near the port that sells very fine fabrics.” Hightower turned to his letter and Cecily shifted forward. She did not watch him per-se, but she was curious to see the writings of his hand in this foreign place. It seemed as though the people spoke English, but there was an accent to it that she had noted earlier.

“Oh..” She paused. “Thank you.” She inclined her head. Where was he going with this? She was only ten-and-five, he was ten-and-seven years. A proclamation of marriage had not been offered, at least not yet. Knights of noble households did not take strange women into their care. Perhaps he meant to replace her wardrobe before having her packed off to… a nunnery? She shuddered at the thought. Although there was none of her family left, she hoped to God that her grandmother would at least be going a little mad on her behalf.

The idea of Gran-mére Cecily tearing apart that nunnery for her brought Cecily-Anne the first relief she’d felt in days. She half expected the old woman to come charging through the tear she had stumbled through and rescue her. 

Sadly, that would not be the case. As soon as the letter had been dispatched to a place known as Oldtown, Cecily was re-shackled (for her safety according to Ser Hightower) and “gently” escorted from the tent by him to a waiting carriage on four wheels that looked nothing like any litter Cecily had ever sat in. Long, grand and consisting of no windows - which made her wonder what the blasted thing was like in summer - Cecily was put inside at once, her chains unshackled and dumped onto a soft bed of satin in that same deep green as everything else. The wood inside was dark oak with pearl inlay and heavy curtains were kept apart by splendid cords of gold.

Seated across from her was a woman, with white-blonde eyebrows and arresting violet eyes. Drenched in the same green as the curtains and bedspread, she almost seemed to disappear into the fabric. The door opened again and Ser Hightower stuck his head in. 

“Apologies, Your Grace. This is the lady I wrote to you of. Her name is…”

Cecily swore under her breath. The bastard had not asked her name!

“Cecily-Anne, Duchess of Gloucester.” Cecily rubbed her hands together. And princess royal, lady of Middleham, etc. She added silently to herself. 

“Lady Cecily-Anne.” The woman spoke, inclining her head. She had a nervous air to her, but one not unfriendly or unkind. Cecily noted her hair tucked into a heart-shaped hennin adorned with a crown of gold and emerald stones. 

“I am Queen Helaena Targaryen. Ser Gwayne; my uncle, has elected you to be my lady in waiting…. As my family believes I am no longer able to care for myself and require more proper… feminine company.” 

Her slow way of speech would have concluded to Cecily that this woman was slow or stupid, had she not been much the same. Cecily gave a gentle smile in return and inclined her head. 

“I thank you for this acceptance, your Grace.”

Reaching across the expanse of space, Helaena squeezed Cecily’s hands tight in her own and gave the other woman a beaming smile. “You are the first light of life I have felt since my son was killed. Please, call me any name you so wish.” Helaena giggled, the grief in her eyes fading a little with each passing moment. 

At that second, the wheels of the litter jerked into motion and they were off. From the patterned lattice screens surrounding the litter - or wheelhouse as Cecily learned it was called - she began to see Westeros in all of its late summer glory. Gwayne and his retinue of knights accompanied the carriage on its slow procession from the battle of Rook's Rest back towards the capital. To pass the time, Cecily found herself falling into the role of ladies maid as Véronique de Crécy had been to her mother, with ease. Helaena was an easy soul to charm and adored nothing more than kindness and attention. Her fascination with bugs and propensity to say the most hilarious things off the cuff had Cecily relaxed within moments. Cecily delighted in showing off her new gowns that were going to be sent, and listening to Helaena speak all about her children and her dragon, Dreamfyre.

“Do Targareyens really place a dragon egg in the cradle of their babies?” Cecily breathed as she and Helaena sampled a picnic lunch packed by one of the cooks. She simply couldn’t believe that dragons existed, and that the lady she was now serving had one as her steed!

“Indeed.” Helaena replied with shocked cheerfulness. “Do you not have dragons where you are from?”

“Nay, they’re just stories.” Cecily answered as she bit into a hard-boiled egg smeared with summer mustard. She examined the grapes on her platter, dark purple ones with a seductively sweet bite when chewed. “Are these not for wine?” She examined them in turn.

“Yes, but they’re my favourites. Aegon says I have a confuddled taste and concedes it is due to something happening before I was born.”

“And Aegon is…?” Cecily paused in sipping her wine.

“My brother.” Helaena responded as she smeared more preserves onto her bread slice. “And my husband.” She added as Cecily bit into her selection of preserved salted pork. Cecily coughed, half bent over as she struggled to process the words she was hearing. 

“By the saints!” She breathed. “I-is that not violation of some rule of incest your…” She paused. “My parents were first cousins, but the idea of my father marrying my aunt…” She shook her head. “How does your church not think it sinful?”

“The Seven turned a blind eye to it.” Helaena explained. “It is… strange. He is my brother and I have born him three children and lost one. Yet, I know naught else. My mother who you shall meet as soon as we reach the Red Keep married the king. Her father was the king’s right hand and she was only ten and five at the youngest!” She bit down on a pickle as she spoke and winced at the sour taste. “Eugh. Aegon says these are good for my health. I detest them.”

“May I?” Cecily asked, holding out her hand. The jar of pickles was passed to her and in reciprocity, Cecily handed Helaena the stewed plums. She hated plums with a passion and gobbled up the pickles. All of this was washed down with sweet wine sweetened with strawberry syrup. For afters were sugared violets and little balls of fried dough filled with flavoured preserves. 

It seemed like no time at all before they were back on the road and rolling over more of the dirt-packed and stone-riddled expanse of Westeros. “What reason is there for such large carriages?” Cecily asked as she watched the candle-lamp swing from side to side. A darkening sky heralded a storm with the crack of lightning. The sight of it flashing across the heavens reminded Cecily of an earlier time, another place where she had sat in her bedroom window up in the western tower of Middleham Castle. Rubbing against her arm then had been Ned, her dark haired, freckled twin. He had clutched her hand tight in his and the two of them had held their breaths. 

Their father had said that if one counted the time between the flash and bang of thunder, they could determine the location and direction of a storm. Then, there had been the waiting period and the yelps of joy both of them had let out when the proverbial bang did come. The flash of lighting across the night sky that one summer where Ned hadn’t been as sickly had made his dark eyes turn milk-white. It was as if the stars they had loved to create constellations of their own had taken her brother’s soul for a single, shining moment. 

Then those stars had faded, gone out like candles in the night. He was up there now, dancing amongst those beautiful, alien lights. Him and Maman and Papa. And Cecily was down here, stuck somewhere between Heaven and Hell. She pressed her hands to her forehead and began to weep. 

“Oh..” Helaena breathed. She had settled down for the night with her pet snake, which she now replaced in its basket and crept over to Cecily. “What is it? Did the lightning frighten you?” She asked, her voice so maternal and soft that Cecily only wept harder. Fetching a blanket from the bed, Helaena drew the material around Cecily’s shoulders and pulled it tight, then leaned against her.

“I noticed you do not like to be touched. Neither do I. I think this should help.” She explained. Cecily sniffled, and reached her hand hesitantly towards Helaena, who after a moment, gave it a bone-crushing squeeze. “My mother, father and twin brother are all dead.” She confessed in a whisper. “I was reminded of them with the lightning storm.” She hiccuped. “My father died only ‘ere this morn, and my mother went this past April. My brother went in the winter. He was only ten.” 

“You said you are ten-and-five, yes?” 

“Yes.” Cecily coughed. 

“I am truly sorry for your loss, sweet girl. W-when women like us know loss such as this at such young ages, it can be difficult to bear. My son Maelor was murdered in his cradle by assassins. I was forced to choose between him and his older brother.” She squeezed Cecily’s hand again. “I wonder often if the Seven do wish to test my faith and my love for my children with such horrors. I have wondered also why I do not go mad. You must be too.” She looked into Cecily’s eyes and the other woman recoiled in understanding.

“Y-yes.” Indeed, Cecily did wonder why she had not gone mad. Some days it felt like a good, merciful thing to do. Allowing herself to go mad would have meant her father could put her away somewhere. It would allow her a quiet death at her hands or the ones of her guard. Yet the church said to take one’s own life was sin. Did God not look upon her and Helaena and understand their pains? Was this just one test in many they were set to face?

Another flash of lightning, another boom of thunder. The door to the wheel-house opened and Gwayne poked his head in. In the low candlelight with the two women wrapped in blankets, he swore they looked like witches come to cast some spell upon him and this country.

“Your Grace.” He inclined his head. “My lady. We will be stopping for the night on account of the weather. The wheelhouse will keep you dry.” He nodded at Cecily. “If you need anything, please use the bell cord and I shall have a maid sent.”

“How big is this carriage?” Cecily asked after Gwayne had left. Helaena had turned to lighting the candles, which cast a warm golden glow over the room, and turned to face her. “It is large enough to carry us, a retinue of servants, luggage, a garde-robe and kitchens. In short, it is a moving palace.”

“Remarkable.” Cecily was amazed. “Where I hail from our wheel-houses are able to only carry perhaps one noble lady and her children. It is closed by wooden slats and drawn by horses.”

“Draft-horses?”

“Nay, we use others. At least I believe so.” Cecily replied as she rang the bell-cord. A maid came in, richly dressed and curtsied. ‘M’lady.” She had the comforting accent of a northern English woman, and Cecily started. It seemed that her homeland was seeping into this place in more ways than she expected.

“I would like to be readied for bed, please.”

“If ‘er ladyship wishes to follow ‘me, ‘ll ‘ave ‘er ready in no time.” The maid paused. “‘beggin your pardon, m’lady.” The maid curtsied. “‘Er Grace allows us to be much more open about our appearance and mannerisms as ‘he ‘mall folk.”

“Smallfolk?” Cecily inquired. “Ah. Common-people.” She surmised, and rubbed her hands together. “Well, As Her Grace’s lady in waiting, I am inclined to ‘gree.” Her voice was slipping back into its older more rough-and-tumble northern accent with the French roots and Latin pronouncements.

 It felt like home. 

Helaena gave her a warm smile, and for the first time since arriving into this strange land of dragons and politics, Cecily smiled back. No malice or pain shone in her eyes, and she found herself beginning to feel at home more than perhaps she had ever been since her brother and mother had died. 

As she crossed herself and knelt before her bed, the rosary-chain in her hand, she prayed silently to her mother once more.

Maman, Thank you for bringing me to a place as close to home as I can be. I hope that you and Ned and Papa are happy, wherever you are. She opened her eyes and glanced at Helaena who was talking to her snake. And keep a little Targaryen boy in your sights. I feel as though he and Ned would make wonderful playmates. 

Cecily crossed herself again and rose to her feet. She returned the crucifix and rosary to her pocket, then clambered into the turned down bed. She watched as the maids reached for tapers to extinguish the candles, and in the darkness, mused on one thing that had been made apparent by a mere day’s travel.

Ser Gwayne Hightower had been the lever and servant to her whims and had accepted them wholeheartedly. She had him to thank for her position. In the morn, perhaps she would ask the cook in this carriage to make him something sweet. Until then, she would sleep, and dream of boys with brown hair and freckles like stars, and somewhere out there, a mother who held her close. 

Somewhere out there also was a father who had died in a battle to keep his throne, and one who deserved to know she was at peace.

[hotcheetohatredwastaken]

Introduction Post (Updated 5/26/2024)

Hello strangers and acquaintances, friends and enemies, welcome to the blog! I'm HotCheetoHatred (or just Cheeto, if you prefer) she/her, fanfic writer, broke college student, and mayonnaise hater! I mainly engage with Linked Universe, but I may occasionally reblog other things. My ask box is open!

For more information, including common tags and a planned chapter list for my fic Blood Drops on Roses, and links (heh) to some of my other works, see below the cut.

Common Tags:

My general tags:

#cheetoasks #cheetotalks #cheetoanswers

Tags for my writing:

#bdor #blooddropsonroses #cheetowrites #wild's wolf #lu lc au #linked universe lethal company au

Other common tags:

#not mine #cheetoficrec #pretty art #miracle whip propaganda #cursed consumables with cheeto #blessed consumables with cheeto

Chapter Lists (Subject to Change):

Blood Drops on Roses (Arc 1):

The Beginning 

A Quiet Morning 

Chasing Cuccos 

An Oddity 

Negotiations Pt 1 

Negotiations Pt 2 

Broken Pt 1 

Broken Pt 2

Little White Lies

Reunion

The Matriarch

Doubts Pt 1 

Doubts Pt 2 

Failure

A Trail of Blood and Shadows Pt 1

A Trail of Blood and Shadows Pt 2

A Trail of Blood and Shadows Pt 3 

A Trail of Blood and Shadows Pt 4

Settling In

Bargaining: The Third Stage of Grief

A Stressful Night (D:<)

Noble's Warning

The Wolf

Differences

A Friendly Spar

Rito

A Monster Fight (D:<)

Stitches

Guardians

Hateno Fort (D:<)

An Unfriendly Spar

A Covert Meeting (D:<)

Bows and Beetles; Stars

Too Quiet

A Frantic Search

A Call for Help

Heal

[Redacted]

Blood Drops on Roses (Arc 2):

A Midnight Snack

Little Talks Pt 1

Little Talks Pt 2

A Conspiracy

Rusting on the Forest Floor

Omissions

Sink or Swim

[Redacted]

Cooking Pt 1

Cooking Pt 2

Lunch and Dinner

The Heavy Mantle of a Hero

Ruse

Ancestry

Onto the Next Adventure

Centenarians

A Question of History

A Golden Rupee

Home

An Esteemed Guest Pt 1

An Esteemed Guest Pt 2

An Alley Fight

Fireworks Pt 1

Fireworks Pt 2

A Soft Night

Trust

Resolutions (D:<)

[Redacted] (D:<)

An Interesting Request

Returning

Scolding Pt 1

Scolding Pt 2

Interrogation

Lies

The Last Straw

[Redacted]

Storm

A Last Stand

Settling In

Warnings

A Sweet Memory

The Haircut (?)

Exchange

Blood Drops on Roses (Arc 3): Coming Soon!

:D

Prologue (Really Subject to Change):

The Yiga and The Sheikah (7/7)

A Haircut (5/5)

Ballrooms and Buffoonery (1/1)

The Sword that Learned to Speak (3/?)

The Wolf that Learned to Sign

The Trap (1/3)

The "Prank"

Shadows (2/2)

Memories

Horseshoes and Storm-y Tempers

Runaway

The Wolf in the City

ABC's and Black Eyes

Alla'yall'd've

Revali's Gale

Daruk's Protection

Urbosa's Fury

Mipha's Grace

After the Calamity

No Air to Breathe

FebuWhump 2024 (Unfinished):

Day 1 — Helplessness (Time POV & Legend)

Day 9 — Bees (Wild POV & Wind)

Day 10 — Killing In Self Defense (Sky POV & Warrior)

Day 12 — Semiconscious (Four POV)

Who Heals the Healer? (3/3)

The Captain’s Sacrifice (4/4)

Cracks In the Ice (2/2)

The Yiga (1/3)

The Dangers of Dungeon Diving (1/2)

Ongoing AU's:

Wild’s Wolf (4/20?) (Started as part of Febuwhump)

Linked Universe AU: Lethal Company (2/18)

Congrats on making it this far, go drink some water. The list above will update alongside new releases.

[cambion-companion]

Sorry but now I need to know how “and winter came” continue… like how the story of out little lovers ends; would they have their own little dragon-wolf? Is just such a fantastic story 🥰

I was originally intending to end this with part 2 haha but how cute would it be to see them after Lady Stark becomes his wife? I think there will need to be a Part 4 after all. I'm thinking of including a Direwolf bond in another chapter as well as a certain Meraeda bonding with a dragon and Aemond teaching her to ride.

Tag List: @faithmust92 @xcharlottemikaelsonx @gotjonsa1 @ml0103 @castle-in-the-air0

And Winter Came Part 3

Part 1

Part 2

Aemond x Stark!reader

Word count: 1800

Winter had passed, the summer zephyr stirring your skirts as you sat at the oaken table of the small sitting room.  A flock of white doves flew by your window, a salty breeze from Blackwater Bay stirring your hair. The war was over, after your father had found out about your marriage to Prince Aemond he had made the difficult decision to pull his forces in favor of the Greens.  The whole of the North followed Lord Stark’s lead and the rest of the Targaryen civil war was swift, ending with Aegon II on the throne, and your return to King’s Landing on Aemond’s arm.  

You had not returned to Winterfell since leaving to find Aemond at Harrenhal.  Your father had broken an ancient oath to save you yes, but he had also made it clear you would not be welcome back home.  It was with an aching heart you relayed this message to your husband.  “I had wished to take you to the North someday, show you the deep snows and the Weirwood where the Old Gods still sleep.”

Aemond took your hand in his, kissing your forehead gently. “Give it some time, my love.  If your father loved you enough to change his allegiance, he will forgive you.”  He smiled ruefully, his lovely sapphire eye sparkling. “Besides if we wish to go, who’s to stop us?  Vhagar inspires men to become rather amenable to me.”

Time had passed, and still no word from Winterfell, no raven carrying a message of reconciliation from your lord father.  You gazed out of the arched window, overlooking the many red roofs and sandstone buildings, you ran a hand absentmindedly over your swollen belly.  The many heated, breathless nights spent tangled in bed with your Targaryen prince had proved fruitful.  

With a smile, you recalled how Aemond’s face lit up at the news of your pregnancy.  He had lifted you in his arms, spinning you around while the both of you laughed with overbrimming joy.  He had hardly left your side during the four months you’d been pregnant, only leaving to attend important council meetings or when his mother summoned him as she had done this afternoon.

You rose from your plush chair, casting one last look to the distant water sparkling in the sunlight, before walking to the raven’s rook as you had done every day since arriving at the Red Keep, each time hoping for some word from the North.  

There was a scroll for you, with trembling fingers you took it from the Keeper, breaking the dire wolf wax seal, your eyes scanning the brief note.  Clutching the parchment to your chest, you gathered your skirts and hastened back to your chambers.  Aemond, having finished with his duties, was waiting for you by the stone mantle of the great fireplace.  He turned at your arrival, his violet eye widening at the expression on your face. “Has something happened?”

“My father!”  You could barely breathe, as you extended the missive for Aemond to take. “He has invited us to Winterfell.”

Aemond looked the message over, his face unreadable.  “This is what you desire, my wife?” His eye flitted back up to you, lowering his hands.

Despite yourself, you hesitated. “I know our welcome will not be a warm one, for lack of better words.”  You moved closer, reaching up to trace your fingers along Aemond’s sharp jaw. “They will need assurance my father made the right decision in forsaking Rhaenyra.”

Your husband placed his hands to your pregnancy bump, rubbing his thumbs along the fabric of your dress. “Do you wish to go?  I worry for your safety, there will be many who see you as a traitor.” He continued over your protestations. “I know what it is to be given such a title, even if it is in error.”

You nodded, lowering your gaze. “You are right, of course, but I do wish to return.  I have longed for it, as you know, for months now.”

“What was it you said to me at Harrenhal?”  Aemond tucked a finger under your chin, urging you to look at him. “‘When the snow falls, and the white winds blow’…”

“The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives.”  You finished, tears blurring your vision.

Aemond made a soothing sound in the back of his throat, wiping the falling tears from your cheeks and pulling you against his chest. “We will leave as soon as you wish, my little wolf.  Let the people of the north be assured they fought for the right side.”

It was on the back of Vhagar, the largest dragon in Westeros, you traveled back home. The journey was a short one, especially compared with the time it took to travel on horseback.  Aemond held you tightly against him the entire time, the stead beating of Vhagar’s wings lulling you into a light slumber.

Most northerners had never seen a dragon before, only heard tales of their ferocity and the ruthlessness of the Targaryens because of them.  The welcome you received at Winterfell was tense, mostly due to the fact a dragon the size of an island loomed well within eyesight of everyone in the fortress.  She could easily destroy the Wall much less your entire home in the space of only a few hours, and everyone knew it.

Your family greeted you inside the muddy courtyard, your father’s noble face softened upon seeing you, his grey eyes flitting to your pregnant belly.  There was a pause, before he opened his arms to you, embracing you tightly. “Daughter.” It was one word yet conveyed more emotion than you had seen before in the man.

“Father.”  You hugged him tightly, savoring the familiar smell as you buried your face into the soft fur of his cloak.

He pulled away, his gaze sharpening as it landed on Aemond, who stood beside you. “Well met, lord Targaryen.  I have heard much about your exploits in the South as well as your dragon.”  He motioned with a gloved hand to where Vhagar could be seen over the fortress wall.

You were led inside, learning that your brothers had been unable to return from their duties abroad to see you.  You had a sneaking suspicion they still held grudges against what your love for Aemond had cost them.  Guilt prickled at your heart as you sat to dine with your father and his household.  After your mother had died, Lord Stark had refused to remarry, thus the company in the hall was mostly men save for a few serving girls who carried heaping plates of food to the oaken table.

Aemond had been right, the conversation was subdued, many less than friendly faces observed you and your husband as you ate and drank and spoke with your father.  To his credit, Aemond seemed to be making a concerted effort at polite respect, engaging your father in conversation of the history of the North.  You suspected he had read up what he could about the North in the library of the Red Keep.  With a small smile at that thought, you ducked your head and took another mouthful of hot soup.

-----

“I think he likes me.” Dusk had fallen, you and Aemond had elected to take an after-dinner stroll through the wood.  

You looked over at him, cradling your abdomen with a hand as you walked. “I think he does as well.  You certainly charmed him with your extensive knowledge of his lands and people.”

“Hmm, I knew those dusty books would come in handy one day.”  

Your footsteps halted, you had reached the pool beside the great Weirwood tree, its white bark contrasting strikingly with its red five-pointed leaves.  Aemond looked down at his rippling reflection in the water, his eye met yours as you also lowered your gaze to the gleaming surface.

“I understand now why you love your home as you do.”  Aemond’s voice was soft, his hand reaching around to pull you gently against his side.

“It holds an old magic.” You agreed, raising your head to place your lips against his in a warm kiss. “I wish to have our baby here.”

“That is months from now, Y/N.”  Aemond shook his silver head. “I’m not certain it’d be wise to linger here for that long.”

“Please, Aemond.”

The prince sighed, his eye taking in your earnest expression. “Very well, far be it from me to deny my wife anything.”

He kissed you again, wrapping his strong arms about you, the image of your entangled bodies under the ancient tree made double, reflected on the still mirror-like surface of the Weirwood lake.

It had taken some convincing, especially with the presence of Vhagar, but your father acquiesced to your desire of staying.  The winds of winter blew strong against the stone walls of Winterfell the night you felt the baby begin to make its way into the world.  It was the longest night of your life, your body racked with pain unlike anything you’d imagine feeling.  Aemond stayed by your side the entire time, sacrificing his fingers to your grip as he held your hand.

The screams of your newborn daughter were drowned out by the howling wind of the snowstorm.  Exhausted, you took her into your arms, hair damp on your forehead as the babe took her first breaths.  Aemond knelt beside you, caressing your face before gently taking your daughter’s hand in his, her tiny fingers curling around his finger.

Your eyes fluttered; the ordeal of childbirth had taken its toll.  Aemond kissed your sweaty brow. “You’ve given me a daughter.”  His voice was sweet and low, the expression on his face unlike any you’d seen there before. “What will we name her?”

“Meraeda.”  You whispered. “The name of my mother.”

“Meraeda Targaryen.”  Aemond repeated, almost reverentially. “She is beautiful, just like her mother.”

Indeed, the infant had inherited your dark hair though her eyes sparkled with light purple irises as she gazed at the adoring faces of her parents.  Meraeda yawned widely, scrunching her pink face up and nuzzling against your breast.

Aemond placed a tender kiss to her soft head. “Sleep, my little dragon.”  He ran a finger down your cheek to trace your lips. “And you, my darling wife.”  His lips pressed against yours, you melted into his embrace as he wrapped his arms around you, your baby girl nestled in between you.  “I will watch over you tonight.”  Aemond settled back, his gaze never straying as he watched you fall into a deep slumber, your daughter sleeping in your arms.

[catierambles]

Blood Moon Ch.24

Annalisa was stone-faced as she sat on the couch, the letter on the coffee table in front of her. On one hand she felt guilty for believing the lie that had been fed to her, for believing that he would abandon her. On the other she felt...rage. White hot and all consuming. She would find him, she would bring him home, and when she found the ones responsible, there wouldn’t be enough of them left to bury.

There was a knock at the front door and Pete answered it, letting Brian inside. Due to the...natures of those involved, she convinced Brian to come alone when Pete had called him. There would be no missing persons report, no formal statements to put on a record. If whoever was behind his disappearance was like him, or herself, it would be handled in-house.

“Annie.” Brian said, sitting down next to her and she hummed at him in acknowledgement. “When’s the last time you saw Kyle?”

“Physically? Last night when we got home and went to bed, but he gave me a kiss this morning before leaving.” She said, “I may have been half-asleep, but I know it was him.”

“Where was he going?”

“Pendulum. There was paperwork he needed go over as a part of his duties as Head of Security.”

“Did you hear from him at all today?”

“No.”

“Can you think of anyone that may have done this? Someone with a grudge against him personally, or someone who would go after him to hurt you?” Brian asked.

“Detective,” Ethan said as he leaned against the fireplace mantle, “Annie didn’t get where she is today by being nice. Yes, she has enemies, but she’s the way she is now because she can be, because everyone who could ever pose a threat to her knows what she would do if they even thought of going against her. Putting it simple, they could go after Sy to hurt her, but they’re too fucking scared of her to try.”

“And you are?” Brian asked.

“Ethan Turner, bartender at Annies’ clubs.” Ethan said.

“How long have you known Annie?” Brian asked and Annie nodded at him when he looked at her.

“I’ve known her since August of 1924.” His answer hung in the air.

“You don’t—”

“I’m a wolf.” He said, “Like Sy. Stopped aging when I got infected at twenty-six.”

“But you’re over a hundred.” Pete said and he nodded. “Well, shit. You been with Annie since then?”

“He’s family.” Annalisa said simply and pushed up from the couch. “Come with me, Pendulum has security cameras on the entrances and exits, as well as other areas of the club. I want to check the footage, make sure he even made it there this morning. He’s still alive, I would know if he wasn’t, but whoever took him took lengths to make it so we wouldn’t look for him.” They followed her out of the living room and up the stairs, heading into her office and taking places behind her as she sat down at her desk and booted up her computer. Remoting in and bringing up the security feeds, she went through the files, going over the time stamps. “There’s a four hour block missing, the save file has been deleted.”

“Any way to retrieve it?” Brian asked.

“The files are saved simultaneously locally and on a private server, in case of data corruption.” She said and brought them up, going through the files and finding the missing time block. The video came up on the monitor and they watched delivery drivers come and go, Annalisa speeding through the footage before resuming normal speed as a black SUV parked by the emergency exit. The door opened and Sweeney came out, the back door of the SUV opening, and they watched as she dragged an unconscious Sy out of the club, hoisting him into the back seat of the SUV. The door closed and the SUV drove off, Sweeney watching it go before heading back inside. “Ethan.”

“Don’t even have to say it.” He said, his voice tight. He left the office in quick strides and they heard the front door slam closed a moment later.

“Who was that?” Pete asked.

“Elizabeth Belford.” She said, “We call her Sweeney because she was Turned back in Victorian London.”

“Turned?” Brian asked.

“She’s a vampire.” Annalisa said, watching the footage again. “They have a privacy screen over the license plate so I can’t make it out.”

“Do you recognize the driver?”

“No.” She said, “Ethan will bring Sweeney back here and I’ll get my answers.”

It felt like hours before Ethan returned, pulling Sweeney into the office by her arm, almost shoving her down onto the couch.

"Where is he, Elizabeth?" Annalisa asked, going to stand in front of her.

"Someone want to tell me what's going on?" She asked, "Ethan comes to my house, says you need to talk to me and then drags me out."

"Where is he?"

"Where is who? What's going on?"

"Sy."

"Sy's missing?!" Sweeney exclaimed and moved to get up from the couch.

"Sit down." Annalisa said and she sank back down again. The woman's voice never raised, staying steady and almost calm. "I won't ask you again."

"Annie, please." Sweeney said, a tremor entering her voice and she reached out, grabbing her hand, "I didn't have a choice. He said he would kill Mike if I refused, and I would have to watch Merry die. Please, Annie, please."

"Merry as in Meredith?" Pete asked, "The girl Mikey's ass over tea kettle for?"

"She's her daughter, Mike is her Tovaras. Like Sy is mine. If a vampires' Tovaras dies, they also die. Eventually. It's a slow and horrible death." Annalisa said, still look down at Sweeney as tears started to run down her face. "Who threatened Mike, Elizabeth? Who threatened Meredith if you didn't comply."

"Eugene."

"Hold up," Brian said, "This is Sweeney, so I'm guessin' Meredith is Frost. Ain't Eugene her father? Ain't that what you told us?"

"He said he would kill Mike if you didn't agree to go along with what he had planned?" Pete asked, "That little puke threatened to kill my baby brother and cause the death of his own fuckin' child?"

"Where did that car take him?" Annalisa asked, her voice still steady.

"The pits." Sweeney said and a muscle in Annalisas' jaw jumped, her eyes flashing dangerously. "Annie. Annie please, I'm so sorry."

"Elizabeth, you were protecting your daughter." Annalisa said, "Call her. She's probably with Mike. Tell them to come here. I want them where I can see them."

"I'm going to Eugenes' penthouse and--" Ethan started as Sweeney got on her phone.

"He's already gone, Ethan." Annalisa said, "You know that as well as I. We'll track him down, but first we have to find Sy. Elizabeth, is Damascos also behind this?"

"Yes." Sweeney said with a nod.

"Pits?" Pete asked.

"Fighting pits. A bit like a gladiatorial arena." Annalisa said, "Shifted werewolves fighting each other as people place bets on the outcome, the winner receiving a cut of the profits. Deaths sometimes occurred so I shut them down around fifty years ago. Where is he getting fighters?"

"After you shut him down, all his fighters left." Sweeney said, "Broke their contracts. They didn't want to risk you finding out. Eugene has been supplying him with new fighters for a share of the winnings."

"Supplying how?" Brian asked.

"He finds wolves, usually homeless or runaways, drugs them with absinthe infused with wolfsbane, and delivers them to Damascos." Sweeney said, "Damascos keeps them drugged while they're not fighting so they don't try to escape, then uses electricity to force a shift, to enrage them before throwing them in the pits to fight. It's more profitable this way because Damascos doesn't have to split the pot with the winner."

"What does he do with the bodies?" Annalisa asked.

"Incinerates them."

"How long have you known this was going on?" Annalisa asked.

"I heard rumors, but I didn't believe Damascos was that stupid to go behind your back. I found out what Eugene was doing, confronted him, told him I was going to tell you. He said he'd kill Merry if I did. She's his daughter, but I don't doubt for a second he would actually do it."

"How many did you help deliver to Damascos?" Annalisa asked.

"Just Sy." Sweeney said, "I thought he was just going to talk to him, bribe him, threaten him, something to get him to leave town. I didn't think he'd--not until he told me Damascos was waiting for delivery."

"Where did he set up again?"

"I don't know."

"Elizabeth."

"I promise you, Annie. I don't know where they took him."

"I believe you." Annalisa said. "Ethan, please reach out to Simon. I want all of Xerxes Holding Groups' records and the records of any subsidiaries. Have him dig deep, I don't want information you'd find on Google."

"On it." Ethan said and took his phone out, leaving the office to make the call.

"What--what are you going to do with me?" Sweeney asked.

"You're staying here until Sy is found. If Eugene tries to contact you, you are to notify me immediately."

"But I helped him."

"An accomplice gained through threats or coercion is also a victim." Annalisa said, “You were protecting Mike, you were protecting Meredith. Sy is strong, he would have held his own, but Mike would have been an easy victim.”

“I’m guessin’ Xerxes Hold Group is owned by this Damascos guy?” Brian asked and she nodded. “How long before we have the information?”

“A couple days at the least.”

“A couple days...” Pete said.

“While I have no doubt Damascos will waste little time in breaking in his new fighter, Sy is strong. With his Army training, he will endure.”

[dreadfutures]

100 Serault Prompts

Inspired by the atmospheric and enigmatic game, Dragon Age: The Last Court, here are some prompts for art or writing. Don't forget to send the prompt along with the number to help your creator out!

Utterly indebted to the #SaveSerault preservation project, and @silvanils Plot Guide here.

The black ocean of trees seethes under a fretful night-wind.

Nightmares breed like maggots in meat.

Wolves howling in council, or prayer, or song.

Gnomic messages scratched into fragments of bark with a knife-point.

Beware of crows.

Painted Masked Goddess in the bluebelled glade.

An inquisitive wind stirs in the woods.

Questing roots crawling over a secret, locking it away against the centuries.

The forest returns to its sleep and its long, green dreams.

Streams suddenly freezing despite the sun.

A laughing wolf.

A pensive bear.

A spider the size of a carthorse.

There are stranger directions than ‘North’ and ‘South’.

Power is a difficult steed to ride. Not everyone can stay in the saddle.

Today's answer could be tomorrow's treason.

A Baker’s Breeze, early in the morning. Upon it, the scent of bread rising in the ovens.

A coy breeze carries the sounds and smells of the market.

Spice. Lies. Laughter. The play of coin.

A grey wind drones in the fireplace.

A slow rain drones on the windows.

A hard wind blows from the east, carrying fat, gloating ravens.

A song of old Serault: the Stag and the Rose.

A star-wind, high and swift, pushes silver clouds to and fro beneath the moon.

The lap of the river upon the castle’s stone feet.

The scent of leaves and nodding barley.

White feathers drift like snow.

Eels in the dark rivers.

The Applewoods are dappled with shadow and filled with succulent midnights. Come closer.

The Biting Wind that Masked Andraste keeps leashed like a dog.

The sun swarms the river.

The Chateau’s four cats stretch out on the roof-tiles.

The wind eddies in corners, making dancing columns of dust. It comes from nowhere, goes nowhere. A Fade-wind, the Dowager calls it.

The Chateau’s pennants crack like whips.

“Payment in Glass” is the Serault motto.

Dappled in gemmy light.

The Green Chapel in the Deepwoods, where wolves go to pray.

A line of grey in the dark; fighting, failing, dying.

A sound like tearing silk.

Burning blue with rage.

Sun as warm as the touch of a hand.

A garland of aster and cuckoo-flowers.

The Masked Andraste isn’t as keen on chastity as her moon-faced sister.

A mage must be a poet, a philosopher, and a butcher.

To see behind the world.

To hold fire by the throat.

Familiar territory, but never quite safe.

Serault’s pride is like her forests: root-deep, thick-skinned, hard-won from the world’s edge.

A bereskarn.

Rune-strewn bones of a fell beast.

A forest victim: flowers sprouting from their eyes.

Hands burned to the blackened bone.

The Tower of Lights, as it never was: scraping the sky, mantled in light.

Weep tears of silver.

Smashing a horned mask of glass and gemstones.

Your true face: a horned mask of glass and gemstones.

The Glassworkers' Guildmaster elections.

This is the Grand Game. Play or drown.

A glass Guildmaster's sword, the hilt spinning fractures of light across the floor.

Freedoms for the Glassworkers: to leave, and leave to marry.

If it doesn't fight back, you drink it.

Secret liaisons with the Lover: Candlelit meetings. Fingers tangling briefly in the corridors. The door to your chambers creaking softly open when the guards change their watch. Stifled giggles as a servant passes.

A change of lovers, and the fallout.

An old tome. Dense, inseparable uncials cram the book. The ink fades. Mold speckles the flimsy pages.

A pig farmer advises the Marquis.

A grin as tight as a gallows noose.

A mosaic floor.

Honor is a game that others play.

Your Chevalier Commander, and her loyalty.

Serault Town: Gold stone, red roofs.

The Horned Knight's hold: a round tower, jagged as a chipped tooth, its floors all collapsed in on one another. A great tree grows within it, spreading a canopy of burgundy leaves where the roof once was.

Grass sparkling with shards of an old, shattered mirror.

Fat partridge, simmering in a pot with sweet onions and pale beans, then a plate of round cakes, peppered with poppyseed and laced with honey.

The mother has eyes of fire; the daughter, a heart of it.

Twilit riverbanks untrod by mortal feet, and rings of tall blue stones that were not raised by human hands…

A hall where the trees walk and the stones speak.

The Horned Knight: clad in armor of forest green, with an ivy cloak that hisses along the flagstones.

Hounds in the kennels, baying for the hunt.

The effects of High Twilight.

The effects of High Peril.

The effects of Rumors of Revolution.

The Dignity of the Huntress, Glass Rose of Serault: deadly, beautiful, adored, dreaded.

The Freedom of the Scholar, who might be the one to bring change to Serault for the good of the common folk.

The apples have interesting properties: astringent... intoxicating.

The Chateau stands on an island in mid-river.

The Acerbic Dowager (Counselor)

The Cheery Baron (Counselor)

The Dashing Outlaw (Accomplice or Bodyguard)

The Elegant Abbess (Counselor or Lover)

The Kindly Knight (Counselor)

The Muttering Banker

The Purveyor of Teas (Accomplice)

The Seneschal (Counselor)

The Silent Hunter (Bodyguard)

The Smiling Guildmistress (Counselor)

The Wayward Bard (Lover)

The Well-Read Pig-Farmer (Accomplice)

His Dour Lordship (Counselor)

The Scornful Sorceress

The Anchoress.